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their eyes

Made Him his catspaw and the Cross his Then from the gaps and chasms of ruin tool,

left And Christ the bait to trap his dupe and Came men and women in dark clusters fool ;

round, Nor deeds of gift, but gifts of grace he Some crying, 'Set them up! they shall forged,

not fall !' And snak-- like slimed his victim ere he And others, “Let them lie, for they have gorged ;

sall’n.' And oft at Bible meetings, o'er the rest And still they strove and wrangled : and Arising, did his holy oily best,

she grieved Dropping the too rough H in Hell and In her strange dream, she knew not why, Heaven,

to find To spread the Word by which himself | Their wildest wailings never out of tune had thriven."

With that sweet note; and ever as their How like you this old satire ?'


Ran highest up the gamut, that great wave

Nay,' she said, Returning, while none mark'd it, on the • I loathe it: he had never kindly heart,

crowd Nor ever cared to better his own kind, Broke, mixt with awful light, and show'd Who first wrote satire, with no pity in it. But will you hear my dream, for I had one Glaring, and passionate looks, and swept That altogether went to music? Still

away It awed me.'

The men of flesh and blood, and men of

stone, Then she told it, having dream'd To the waste deeps together. Of that same coast.

• Then I fixt -But round the North, a light, My wistful eyes on two fair images, A belt, it seem’d, of luminous vapour, lay, Both crown’d with stars and high among And ever in it a low musical note

the stars, Swelld up and died; and, as it swell’d, The Virgin Mother standing with her a ridge

child Of breaker issued from the belt, and still | High up on one of those dark minsterGrew with the growing note, and when

fronts the note

Till she began to totter, and the child Had reach'd a thunderous fulness, on Clung to the mother, and sent out a cry those cliffs

Which mixt with little Margaret's, and I Broke, mixt with awful light (the same as woke, that

And my dream awed me :- - well - but Living within the belt) whereby she saw

what are dreams? That all those lines of cliffs were cliffs no Yours came but from the breaking of a more,

glass, But huge cathedral fronts of every age, And mine but from the crying of a Grave, florid, stern, as far as eye could see,

child.' One after one: and then the great ridge drew,

"Child? No!' said he, but this tide's Lessening to the lessening music, back,

roar, and his, And past into the belt and swell’d again Our Boanerges with his threats of doom, Slowly to music : ever when it broke And loud-lung'd Antibabylonianisms The statues, king or saint, or founder fell ; | (Altho’ I grant but little music there)

Went both to make your dream : but if

Saying this, there were

The woman half turn'd round from him A music harmonizing our wild cries,

she loved, Sphere-music such as that you dream'd Left him one hand, and reaching thro' about,

the night Why, that would make our passions far Her other, found (for it was close betoo like

side) The discords dear to the musician. No- And half-embraced the basket cradle. One shriek of hate would jar all the hymns

head of heaven :

With one soft arm, which, like the pliant True Devils with no ear, they howl in tune bough With nothing but the Devil !'

That moving moves the nest and nestling,

sway'd • “True” indeed! The cradle, while she sang this baby song One of our town, but later by an hour Here than ourselves, spoke with me on What does little birdie say the shore ;

In her nest at peep of day? While you were running down the sands, Let me fly, says little birdie, and made

Mother, let me fly away. The dimpled flounce of the sea-furbelow

Birdie, rest a little longer, flap,

Till the little wings are stronger. Good man, to please the child. She So she rests a little longer, brought strange news.

Then she flies away. Why were you silent when I spoke tonight?

What does little baby say, I had set my heart on your forgiving him

In her bed at peep of day? Before you knew. We must forgive the Baby says, like little birdie, dead.'

Let me rise and fly away.

Baby, sleep a little longer, • Dead ! who is dead ?'

Till the little limbs are stronger. •The man your eye pursued.

If she sleeps a little longer, A little after you had parted with him,

Baby too shall fly away. He suddenly dropt dead of heart disease.'

'She sleeps : let us too, let all evil, “Dead? he? of heart disease? what heart

sleep. had he

He also sleeps -- another sleep than To die of? dead !' *Ah, dearest, if there be

He can do no more wrong: forgive him,

dear, A devil in man, there is an angel too, And if he did that wrong you charge him And I shall sleep the sounder !' with,

Then the man, His angel broke his heart.

His deeds yet live, the worst is yet to rough voice (You spoke so loud) has roused the child

Yet let your sleep for this one night be again.

sound : Sleep, little birdie, sleep! will she not

I do forgive him!' sleep Without her “little birdie"? well then,

• Thanks, my love,' she said, sleep,

*Your own will be the sweeter,' and they And I will sing you "" birdie.”



But your



Storm, and what dreams, ye holy LUCRETIUS.

Gods, what dreams!

For thrice I waken'd after dreams. Per. LUCILIA, wedded to Lucretius, found

chance Her master cold; for when the morning We do but recollect the dreams that come flush

Just ere the waking: terrible! for it seem'd Of passion and the first embrace had died | A void was made in Nature; all her bonds Between them, tho' he lov'd her none the Crack'd ; and I saw the flaring atomless,

streams Yet often when the woman heard his foot | And torrents of her myriad universe, Return from pacings in the field, and ran Ruining along the illimitable inane, To greet him with a kiss, the master took Fly on to clash together again, and make Small notice, or austerely, for-his mind Another and another frame of things Half buried in some weightier argument, For ever: that was mine, my dream, I Or fancy-borne perhaps upon the rise

knew itAnd long roll of the Hexameter-he past Of and belonging to me, as the dog To turn and ponder those three hundred With inward yelp and restless forefoot scrolls

plies Left by the Teacher, whom he held divine. His function of the woodland : but the She brook'd it not ; but wrathful, petulant,

next! Dreaming some rival, sought and found | I thought that all the blood by Sylla shed a witch

Came driving rainlike down again on Who brew'd the philtre which had power,

earth, they said,

And where it dash'd the reddening meaTo lead an errant passion home again.

dow, sprang And this, at times, she mingled with his No dragon warriors from Cadmean teeth, drink,

For these I thought my dream would And this destroy'd him ; for the wicked

show to me, broth

But girls, Hetairai, curious in their art, Confused the chemic labour of the blood, Hired animalisms, vile as those that made And tickling the brute brain within the The mulberry - faced Dictator's orgies

man's Made havock among those tender cells, Than aught they fable of the quiet Gods. and check'd

And hands they mixt, and yell’d and His power to shape: he loathed himself; round me drove and once

In narrowing circles till I yelld again After a tempest woke upon a morn Half-suffocated, and sprang up, and saw, That mock'd him with returning calm, Was it the first beam of my latest day? and cried :

*Then, then, from utter gloom stood ‘Storm in the night! for thrice I heard out the breasts, the rain

The breasts of Helen, and hoveringly a Rushing; and once the flash of a sword thunderbolt

Now over and now under, now direct, Methought I never saw so fierce a fork- Pointed itself to pierce, but sank down Struck out the streaming mountain-side,

shamed and show'd

At all that beauty; and as I stared, a fire, A riotous confluence of watercourses The fire that left a roofless Ilion, Blanching and billowing in a hollow of it, Shot out of them, and scorch'd me that Where all but yester-eve was dusty-dry.

I woke.





Is this thy vengeance, holy Venus, Of Nature, when she strikes thro' the thine,

thick blood Because I would not one of thine ówn Of cattle, and light is large, and lambs doves,

are glad Not ev'n a rose, were offer'd to thee? Nosing the mother's udder, and the bird thine,

Makes his heart voice amid the blaze of Forgetful how my rich procemion makes

flowers : Thy glory fly along the Italian field, Which things appear the work of mighty In lays that will outlast thy Deity?

Gods. * Deity ? nay, thy worshippers. My • The Gods! and if I go my work is tongue

left Trips, or I speak profanely. Which of Unfinish'd-if I go. The Gods, who these

haunt Angers thee most, or angers thee at all ? The lucid interspace of world and world, Not if thou be'st of those who, far aloof Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a From envy, hate and pity, and spite and

wind, scorn,

Nor ever falls the least white star of Live the great life which all our greatest

snow, fain

Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans, Would follow, center'd in eternal calm. Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to • Nay, if thou canst, o Goddess, like Their sacred everlasting calm ! and such, ourselves

Not all so fine, nor so divine a calm, Touch, and be touch'd, then would I cry Not such, nor all unlike it, man may gain to thee

Letting his own life go. The Gods, the To kiss thy Mavors, roll thy tender arms

Gods! Round him, and keep him from the lust If all be atoms, how then should the of blood

Gods That makes a steaming slaughter-house Being atomic not be dissoluble, of Rome.

Not follow the great law? My master

held * Ay, but I meant not thee; I meant That Gods there are, for all men so not her,

believe. Whom all the pines of Ida shook to see I prest my footsteps into his, and meant Slide from that quiet heaven of hers, and Surely to lead my Memmius in a train tempt

Of flowery clauses onward to the proof The Trojan, while his neat-herds were That Gods there are, and deathless. abroad;

Meant ? I meant ? Nor her that o'er her wounded hunter I have forgotten what I meant : my mind wept

Stumbles, and all my faculties are lamed. Her Deity false in human-amorous tears ; Nor whom her beardless apple-arbiter • Look where another of our Gods, the Decided fairest. Rather, O ye Gods,

Sun, Poet-like, as the great Sicilian called Apollo, Delius, or of older use Calliope to grace his golden verse- All-seeing Hyperion—what you will — Ay, and this Kypris also--did I take Has mounted yonder; since he never That popular name of thine to shadow

sware, forth

Except his wrath were wreakd on The all-generating powers and genial heat

wretched man,


That he would only shine among the dead • How should the mind, except it loved Hereafter ; tales ! for never yet on earth

them, clasp Could dead flesh creep, or bits of roast- These idols to herself? or do they fly ing ox

Now thinner, and now thicker, like the Moan round the spit—nor knows he

flakes what he sees;

In a fall of snow, and so press in, perforce King of the East altho' he seem, and girt of multitude, as crowds that in an hour With song and flame and fragrance, slowly Of civic tumult jam the doors, and bear lifts

The keepers down, and throng, their rags His golden feet on those empurpled stairs and they That climb into the windy halls of The basest, far into that council-hall heaven :

Where sit the best and stateliest of the And here he glances on an eye new-born,

land? And gets for greeting but a wail of pain ; And here he stays upon a freezing orb "Can I not fling this horror off me That fain would gaze upon him to the again, last;

Seeing with how great ease Nature can And here upon a yellow eyelid fallin

smile, And closed by those who mourn a friend Balmier and nobler from her bath of in vain,

storm, Not thankful that his troubles are no At random ravage ? and how easily

The mountain there has cast his cloudy And me, altho' his fire is on my face

slough, Blinding, he sees not, nor at all can tell Now towering o'er him in serenest air, Whether I mean this day to end myself, A mountain o'er a mountain,-ay, and Or lend an ear to Plato where he says,

within That men like soldiers may not quit the All hollow as the hopes and fears of post

men? Allotted by the Gods: but he that holds The Gods are careless, wherefore need he • But who was he, that in the garden

snared Greatly for them, nor rather plunge at Picus and Faunus, rustic Gods? a tale once,

To laugh at—more to laugh at in myselfBeing troubled, wholly out of sight, and For look ! what is it? there? yon arbutus sink

Totters; a noiseless riot underneath Past earthquake-ay, and gout and stone, Strikes through the wood, sets all the that break

tops quiveringBody toward death, and palsy, death-in- | The mountain quickens into Nymph and

life, And wretched age—and worst disease of And here an Oread—how the sun delights all,

To glance and shift about her slippery These prodigies of myriad nakednesses,

sides, And twisted shapes of lust, unspeakable, And rosy knees and supple roundedness, Abominable, strangers at my hearth And budded bosom-peaks—who this way Not welcome, harpies miring every dish, The phantom husks of something foully Before the rest— A satyr, a satyr, see, done,

Follows; but him I proved impossible ; And fleeting thro' the boundless universe, Twy-natured is no nature : yet he draws And blasting the long quiet of my breast Nearer and nearer, and I scan him now With animal heat and dire insanity? Beastlier than any phantom of his kind


Faun ;


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