CLV.

'TIMOR MORTIS CONTURBAT ME.'

COULD I have sung one Song that should survive
The singer's voice, and in my country's heart
Find loving echo-evermore a part

Of all her sweetest memories; could I give

One great Thought to the People, that should prove
The spring of noble action in their hour

Of darkness, or control their headlong power
With the firm reins of Justice and of Love;
Could I have traced one Form that should express
The sacred mystery that underlies

All Beauty, and through man's enraptured eyes
Teach him how beautiful is Holiness,-

I had not feared thee.

But to yield my breath,

Life's Purpose unfulfilled!—This is thy sting, O

Death!

CLVI.

SIBYL.

THIS is the glamour of the world antique ;
The thyme-scents of Hymettus fill the air,
And in the grass narcissus-cups are fair.
The full brook wanders through the ferns to seek
The amber haunts of bees; and on the peak
Of the soft hill, against the gold-marged sky,
She stands, a dream from out the days gone by.
Entreat her not. Indeed she will not speak!
Her eyes are full of dreams; and in her ears

There is the rustle of immortal wings;

And ever and anon the slow breeze bears

The mystic murmur of the song she sings. Entreat her not: she sees thee not, nor hears

Aught but the sights and sounds of bygone springs.

CLVII.

HESPERIA.

My dream is of a city in the west,

Built with fair colour, still and sad as flow'rs That wear the blazon of the autumn hours, Set by the side of some wide wave's unrest; And there the sun-fill'd calm is unimprest Save by a flutter as of silver showers, Rain-rippled on dim Paradisal bowers, And some far tune of bells chimed softliest. About the still clear streets my love-thoughts go; A many-coloured throng-some pale as pearl, Some gold as the gold brow-locks of a girl : And 'midst them where the saddest memories teem, My veiled hope wanders, musingly and slow, And hears the sad sea murmur like a dream.

CLVIII.

LIFE UNLIVED.

How many months, how many a weary year
My soul hath stood upon that brink of days,
Straining dim eyes into the treacherous haze
For signs of life's beginning. Far and near
The grey mist floated, like a shadow-inere,
Beyond hope's bounds; and in the lapsing ways,
Pale phantoms flitted, seeming to my gaze
The portents of the coming hope and fear.

"Surely,” I said, "life shall rise up at last,

Shall sweep me by with pageant and delight!" But as I spake, the waste shook with a blast Of cries and clamours of a mighty fight; Then all was still. Upon me fell the night, And a voice whisper'd to me, "Life is Past.”

CLIX.

EVOLUTION.

HUNGER that strivest in the restless arms
Of the sea-flower, that drivest rooted things
To break their moorings, that unfoldest wings
In creatures to be rapt above thy harms;
Hunger, of whom the hungry-seeming waves

Were the first ministers, till, free to range, Thou mad'st the Universe thy park and grange, What is it thine insatiate heart still craves ? Sacred disquietude, divine unrest !

Maker of all that breathes the breath of life, No unthrift greed spurs thine unflagging zest,

No lust self-slaying hounds thee to the strife; Thou art the Unknown God on whom we wait: Thy path the course of our unfolded fate.