TO LEDA * AND OTHER - ODE! 
 BY-T. STURGE MOORE 
 
 f 
 
 DUCKWORTH AND CO, 
 LONDON MDCCCCIV 
 ONE SHILLING NET 

 
 v ' 
 
 TO LEDA AND OTHER ODES
 
 All rights reserved
 
 TO LEDA AND - OTHER ODES 
 BY \ T. STURGE MOORE 
 
 L 
 
 DUCKWORTH AND CO. 
 LONDON MDCCCCIV
 
 TO MICHAEL FIELD
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 To Leda . . . . . . page 9 
 
 On a Grecian Amphora . . . . . ,, 13 
 
 A Lament for Orpheus . . . . . 18 
 
 A Lament Re-echoed . . . . . ,,23 
 
 On Death . . . . . . . ,, 27 
 
 ToLoki. . . 33 
 
 For Dark Days . . . . . ,, 37
 
 TO LEDA 
 
 Wiseliest confirmed of river bathers, thou, 
 
 Most nobly wooed of any god-loved queen, 
 
 That oft didst swimming, like a snow-white plough, 
 
 The swiftest crystal furrow, then didst lean, 
 
 A panting majesty, on willow arms 
 
 Which, yielding, cradled thee, while all thy charms 
 
 Lay, open-bloomed, beneath the eye of heaven ; 
 
 Thus lapped serene, through many a summer even, 
 
 Consenting to the silence, thou wast seen 
 
 Not only of white swans and cygnets gray, 
 Dove-coloured cygnets, swans of arching pride 
 That passed thee in abstraction ; clouds of day 
 Sail azure as such birds o'er waters glide, 
 And clouds will no more pause near kings' fair homes, 
 Though queens watch at the casements while their combs 
 Gleam indolently drawn through perfumed tresses 
 Than those swans loitered ; tell me ! had thy guesses 
 Soared trembling towards Olympus, wonder-eyed ? 
 
 Frail though the empyrean, hadst thou sent 
 
 Some fond surmise ? 
 
 Or had conjecture, with mere swans content, 
 
 In fowler wise 
 
 Stolen on islet lone 
 
 B ix.
 
 Girt with its bullrush zone ? 
 
 Watched some proud mother warm her nest, 
 
 Or strike her tardy eggs ? 
 
 Watched the soft cygnets quaintly test 
 
 Freedom on doubtful legs ? 
 
 Watched, by an odd bright notion madly caught, 
 
 Stout babies break from shells, 
 
 And, hooded under fragile domes, make sport, 
 
 Like bees from flower bells ? 
 
 Not virtues, that the sweetest sins forego, 
 Envy thee sadly ; nay, thou dost not blanch 
 Their cheeks with base regret ; for they can glow 
 With joy, to watch thee, on rose-laurel branch, 
 Hang thy gold belt of weight to stoop pink blooms 
 And make them kiss themselves in water glooms ; 
 Thy royal robe against the trunk suspended, 
 Loose then thy locks and vests ; for, these descended, 
 Thy beauty all the joy of light assumes : 
 
 Thou being hence, here, with enquiring hops 
 The robin ventures, perks with knowing look 
 His shrewd small eye, still draweth nigh, still stops ; 
 Thy picture-broidered train might be a book, 
 And he a child enacting someone wise ; 
 Soon hither, too, the bright kingfisher flies ;
 
 His glance demands how gemmy-gauds are fashioned ; 
 On thy return both vanished ; then, impassioned, 
 Burst in the imperial swan with ardent eyes : 
 
 O beautiful white woman, that white bird, 
 
 Embraced ere long, 
 
 Made rapturous music and was nobly stirred 
 
 To wondrous song ; 
 
 Note surging through his throat 
 
 On modulated note, 
 
 Sounds unsealing worlds of bliss, 
 
 Dream-hallowed, sunset-flushed, 
 
 Sounds more melting than a kiss 
 
 Received on midnight hushed, 
 
 Sounds that made thee know, Troy must be burned, 
 
 Helen be loved and blamed ; 
 
 Ay, distant, 'neath thy closed lids, were discerned 
 
 Those shriek-pulsed towers that flamed : 
 
 Yet never, never, if the pain waxed shrewd 
 (Though in a vaster pleasure wholly merged) 
 Would thy great lover let remorse intrude 
 Upon that bliss, that like an anguish surged 
 Beneath his ardour, as beneath the blast 
 Swoll'n ocean in tall waves runs high and fast ; 
 Oh, never had a pale regret permission
 
 To slow interpret to thy soul each vision 
 
 That flashed like summer lightning, flashed and past ! 
 
 Forbidden loves are sweet to human hearts, 
 And, would but spare Necessity consent, 
 They might ennoble ; sanction she imparts 
 Was ne'er to any other woman lent : 
 Thy heart alone felt shame dissolve away 
 In pleasure limpid as the dawn of day ; 
 Beauty, unhumbled by the cold next morning, 
 Rash impulse thou createdst brought adorning 
 And like a bridegroom wrapped thee from dismay : 
 
 Delicious down of pulsing throat and breast 
 
 Thine arms have known ; 
 
 Thy fanned heart all the power of wings confessed, 
 
 Wings that had flown 
 
 Where thy dazed thoughts ne'er dared ; 
 
 In bliss then thine, hath shared 
 
 Strength, that had churned the river white 
 
 Behind the mightiest swan ; 
 
 Strength, that was sudden like the light 
 
 That reddens day-break wan ; 
 
 Strength thou couldst no more question or forbid, 
 
 Than struggle of thine might check 
 
 When, round thy shoulders, through thy tresses, glid 
 
 That amorous god-like neck. 
 
 xii.
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE REPRESENTATION ON A GRECIAN 
 AMPHORA OF A WINGED AND ADOLESCENT EROS 
 SEEKING TO CATCH A RABBIT IN A SCARF 
 
 Whirr ! and the dread wings flap ; 
 
 Scamper ! the rabbit flies 
 
 Down the branched lanes like a streak ! 
 
 Eyes he but the prickly hoops, 
 
 In covert furze some tunnelled gap, 
 
 He hears those pinions flap 
 
 As they poise that trenchant beak ; 
 
 In his heart the venture dies, 
 
 And headlong on he flies, 
 
 Bolts, and the buzzard stoops, 
 
 Swerves, and the buzzard swoops, 
 
 Checks, and those dark wings flap. 
 
 Swift in the liquid light, 
 
 Steering between the furze, 
 
 Down the rough and hummocked slopes, 
 
 Skirting briery clumps of fern, 
 
 Brown and red-brown and jetty bright, 
 
 With dire reserve of might 
 
 Tracking those panic hopes, 
 
 Forward the buzzard skirrs, 
 
 Intently threads the furze, 
 
 Veers with the rabbit's turn, 
 
 xiii.
 
 Dogs, and keeps close astern, 
 Cheered by that reckless flight. 
 
 Love, on like wings, in chase 
 
 Held a like timid harmless prey ; 
 
 Young, in his teens, with beardless face, 
 
 His body lithe, direct and slant 
 
 And smooth as the glossy rich display 
 
 On arrowy buzzard's form ; but Love, 
 
 Sailing the warren close above, 
 
 The white-tailed scurryer all apant 
 
 Sought not with talon or with beak 
 
 To strike, but in a scarf did seek 
 
 To trap his timid quarry ; 
 
 And after helter-skelter race, 
 
 In victory did close the chase, 
 
 And caught his panting quarry. 
 
 Not as when plunged beak joys 
 Eyeless the rabbit bleeds, 
 While his quivering ends in death ; 
 When detaches here and there 
 The handsome bird a morsel choice ; 
 When a strange proud noise 
 Making, at times he heeds 
 The distance, where the breath 
 xiv.
 
 Of August stirs the heath ; 
 Dreams, and is keen and fair, 
 And as that desert air 
 Seems staidly to rejoice : 
 
 Love with soft silk doth blind 
 His prey, and thus transports 
 Far to hutch of white pine wood 
 Closed by latch of orichalch, 
 A hutch where he shall to his mind 
 Straw, oats, and parsley find 
 And gaze o'er templed courts 
 Round which doves coo and brood, 
 Where in their tender mood 
 White-handed Graces walk, 
 Pause, stroke his fur and talk 
 To him with voices kind. 
 
 Soul, thou art caught by Love 
 After such chase, such pangs ; so blind 
 With darkness round, beneath, above, 
 Transported to like quiet shrine ; 
 Which far more wondrous thou shalt find 
 Than freedom's rugged wilderness. 
 There thou may'st watch in dainty dress 
 Virtues and Graces that combine, 
 
 XV.
 
 Not only with soft-sounding word, 
 But converse understood when heard, 
 To raise thee up to glory ; 
 And, if thou follow as they lead, 
 Their patience will ere long indeed 
 Have raised thee nigh to glory. 
 
 Taught are the wild and free, 
 The warren is their school ; 
 Hazard, fate, the hawk, mishap 
 Teach them, bringing home the truth ; 
 Death at their doors they daily see, 
 They learn or cease to be : 
 Such as do never nap 
 Grow old and strong and rule : 
 They dub who is caught a fool, 
 Age and forget their youth, 
 Hold, though with scanty proof, 
 Their life the best that may be. 
 
 Love, and they see thee too ! 
 Flee from thee, crouch or hide ! 
 Beauty, youth and power and joy, 
 Golden curls that please the winds, 
 Naked perfection, wings that outdo 
 In power the kite's, in fcue 
 xvi.
 
 The Halcyon's ! Their minds 
 Are Fear's, not theirs they hide 
 From eyes, in which to confide 
 Meaneth life shall be joy ! 
 They see thee, half man, half boy, 
 Unbewitched they thy beauty view 
 
 Thy house they have never seen : 
 Its covered courts are paved with tiles, 
 The open ones with grass are green ; 
 While, indoor water's channell'd speech 
 The music-loving ear beguiles. 
 Psyche, thy bride, thy sisters three, 
 The Graces and that mother of thee, 
 Beauty divine, these all and each, 
 With the seven kirtled Virtues, tell 
 (Holding the rapt soul in a spell) 
 Thy captives many a story 
 Of great example and great grace 
 Of lovers, who all fear did face, 
 And died, but live in story. 
 
 xvil
 
 A LAMENT FOR ORPHEUS 
 
 This is his head, O women ; see these lips 
 
 Still now for ever, 
 
 Lips, that persistently were dumb so long, 
 
 And, pinched together, 
 
 Refused our supplication that sweet song, 
 
 Which, in days never to return, did charm 
 
 Gaunt oaks of stubborn growth, stooping to hearken ; 
 
 And pines, whose tall throngs earnest broodings darken, 
 
 Of their austere aloofness did disarm ; 
 
 While every savage dweller in the forest, 
 
 (Like moon-struck lovers when their pain is sorest) 
 
 Followed him gentle, followed him in tears ; 
 
 Lions with shaggy mane brushed past his knees ; 
 
 And leopards silent paced with spell-bound ears, 
 
 And eyes that could not from fond worship cease ; 
 
 With honey-loving tongue huge bears caressed 
 
 His white unsandalled feet, 
 
 Which trod those paths our childhood followed in, 
 
 Drawn on by reverence meet. 
 
 So well the aim of living he expressed, 
 
 His lute such escort everywhere could win. 
 
 O women, look ; I part these heavy curls, 
 
 To show ye those fair portals where our prayers 
 
 Clamoured in vain ; these blood-damped heavy curls, 
 
 xviii.
 
 To show ye shell-like mouldings, where, fond girls, 
 
 Your love was foiled and fainted ; 
 
 Oh, with his soon-to-wither beauty, now 
 
 Be thoroughly acquainted 
 
 While yet Death opportunity allow ! 
 
 Brief, brief, the stay of sweet looks after death ! 
 
 See, see, how thickly 
 
 The blood drops from the severed neck beneath, 
 
 While cheeks, waned sickly, 
 
 Foretell a ghastness which we dare not face. 
 
 Fast closes in our fortune's narrow space ; 
 
 Yea, all our fortune rests with this pale mien, 
 
 Austere no longer, 
 
 Where sorrow fenced herself, and brooding teen 
 
 Than life's hope stronger : 
 
 As rock, ringed by fair flowers, harsh and stern, 
 
 Such marble grief dismayed our blushful leaguer 
 
 Who camped about his feet, frail, wistful, eager, 
 
 And, hearkening, mute like flowers, could discern 
 
 A sound of tears within his riven frame. 
 
 He inly wept and heeded not our woe ; 
 
 His heart was weeping : 
 
 Like shadows of swift birds that passed above, 
 
 Or thoughts expressed from under features sleeping, 
 
 His sighs across our smiling patience came, 
 
 xix.
 
 Or, traversing our hearts, confused our lips ; 
 
 Meanwhile, from all and each youth's glory slips, 
 
 Unheeded melts,, as from bloom's petalled head 
 
 Its diadem of dew ; or idly drips, 
 
 Spilled out from languid chalices of gold. 
 
 Was his heart cold ? 
 
 We never dreamed it : no, he loved the dead, 
 
 Preferred her to the living ; and was live 
 
 As is the ash-heap's treasured core of red, 
 
 Which waits all day the wood-cutter's return 
 
 Within his hut, and, when he fans, will burn 
 
 And make his cabin glow, his comfort thrive ; 
 
 So shall, life's day once closed, that long-mourned love 
 
 Find her lost comfort cheer the night below : 
 
 " Eurydice " we heard him sigh her name ; 
 
 It sought .the soft vast dome of blue above 
 
 Dove-winged, but shadowed us with raven woe. 
 
 Then from our smouldering hearts leaped forth the flame ; 
 
 Who knows what far-off echoes heard our cries, 
 
 And mocked them round their lonesome upland glen, 
 
 Repeating yells of frenzy, thinned in tone, 
 
 From passive wall to passive wall of stone ? 
 
 Who knows what leisured eagles, through the skies, 
 
 In idle wonder, quit rock perches then ? 
 
 O Zeus, that madest, hast thou seen thy work 
 
 XX.
 
 Mar its own beauty, ignorantly, blindly, 
 Untaught, unwarned, unreasoned with, unkindly 
 Dowered with liberty ? or dost thou shirk 
 All care and thy deed's outcome leave to fate ? 
 Or is our weakness tortured by thy hate ? 
 
 As the wind takes the forest, passion took 
 
 Our arms and hair, and all our being shook : 
 
 Like ships that, at the flood-tide, from their ranks 
 
 A tempest launches off steep shingle banks, 
 
 Sails drenched and water-logged, 
 
 We heaved upon the swell of black emotion, 
 
 At mercy of a rude remorseless ocean. 
 
 Like swimmers, seaweed-clogged, 
 
 Then felt our beauty fail and overstrain ; 
 
 Our grace and our resistance were annulled : 
 
 Our souls like bind-weed bells, draggled with rain, 
 
 Swung to the blast, 
 
 The glory of white youth completely dulled, 
 
 Forever past. 
 
 This river seeks eternally the sea, 
 
 As youth unwitting to salt sorrow flows. 
 
 Bright waves, whose keen pursuit of destiny 
 
 Draws all our bloodstained thoughts the way it goes, 
 
 Accept of what bereaves us, this fair head : 
 
 We overdrove our hopes and weep them dead. 
 
 xxi
 
 We murdered him, O women, and our guilt 
 Is, as the ravenous sea, insatiate ; 
 All our good will to come, all thoughts elate 
 Shall be as jars of honey vainly spilt, 
 To sweeten that salt main. 
 
 Down, down this stream, speed on, thou fair head, floating 
 
 Past iris beds and king-cups less worth noting 
 
 Than were our smiles ; retain 
 
 That cold indifferent aspect, those drooped lids 
 
 Where'er thou wendest ; whether Nereus bids 
 
 Thee welcome, o'er some jasper threshold borne ; 
 
 Or lank and shipwrecked sailors, under crags 
 
 Crouched round their drift-wood blaze, behold 
 
 Thy beauty up-turned in the surf forlorn ; 
 
 Or, thou (where, fishing over billows grey, 
 
 On pinion slow, some lonely seamew lags 
 
 Till the moon rise) athwart the wan ray rolled, 
 
 To feast on thee, her weary wings upfold ; 
 
 Nay, rather, to brown-footed fisher maiden 
 
 Shall soft foam sweep up whispering, with thee laden, 
 
 And thy face meet with innocent tears at last. 
 
 Our part with thee is played and of the past ; 
 
 Nor is there rugged darkness deep in caves, 
 
 Wherein the life of youth-resembling waves 
 
 Is broken, half so cruel as the thought 
 
 That our hearts loathe the deed our hands have wrought. 
 
 xxiL
 
 A LAMENT RE-ECHOED 
 
 That noble stag, the leader of the herd, 
 
 Lies pierced upon the heights : 
 
 Who, then, can say a word ? 
 
 Let dumb does cry, let frail fawns bleat, since night's 
 
 Un-eared, responseless silence wounds them not : 
 
 Have they conceived of Pity to improve their lot ? 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ? by what chance ? 
 
 Where now is honour gone ? 
 
 O tell it not in Gath ! Publish it not 
 
 In streets of Askelon ! 
 
 Lest daughters of the Philistine rejoice, 
 
 Lest they for gladness dance 
 
 (The daughters of uncircumcised men), 
 
 And give their triumph voice : 
 
 Who could bear comfort then ? 
 
 O let there not on you be dew again, 
 
 Ye mountains of Gilboa. No ; 
 
 Never let there be rain 
 
 Upon your lofty fields, where yearly go 
 
 Tribes purified, and there a clamour raise 
 
 Around the sacrifice, undaunted praise 
 
 That need not stint to shout : it shall be so 
 
 No more ; for there 
 
 The mighty left their shields for there, alas, 
 
 ixiii.
 
 The shield of Saul was vilely cast away, 
 
 As though he ne'er 
 
 Had been with oil anointed : nay, 
 
 Let spring there no more grass ; 
 
 Suffer not there to fall 
 
 By night the dew, nor any rain by day ; 
 
 There let no flocks or shepherds henceforth stray : 
 
 But be they barren all, 
 
 Thy tops, Gilboa, mournful and not gay : 
 
 Who shall praise beauty now, since this has come to pass ? 
 
 Never the bow of Jonathan grew slack, 
 
 Never the sword of Saul was carried back 
 
 Save crimsoned with the blood of foes left dead, 
 
 Save on the flesh of warriors fully fed : 
 
 Yet, in one day, both son and father perished ! 
 
 Saul was, of Jonathan, beloved and cherished ; 
 
 Division had no portion in their lives 
 
 And found none in their death : less honour strives, 
 
 Less honour : both were lovely, both are dead. 
 
 Oh pleasant in their lives, lovely were they ! 
 More rapid were they than grown eagles yea, 
 Stronger were they than lions ! Maidens all, 
 Daughters of Israel, weep ye for Saul ! 
 For he it was who clothed you, from of old, 
 xxiv.
 
 In scarlet with other delights. 
 
 Had your apparel ornaments of gold ? 
 
 They were won from armed Canaanites. 
 
 Lament ye, weep, and wail ; 
 
 What sweet word addeth comfort to a tale 
 
 Which speechlessly tears can tell : 
 
 Though the shedding of tears it is well, 
 
 Yet, i ) ye maidens, let it not be all ; < 
 
 Sing with your loftiest passion songs for Saul. 
 
 How have the mighty fallen ! At what place 
 Did they from out the battle drop ? Tell me, 
 Doth Jonathan lie pierced upon the hills? 
 Come, lead me thither, I would see his face, 
 E'en add one other evil to my ills. 
 
 Ah ! this indeed is he ! 
 
 I am distressed for thy sake, O my brother ; 
 
 Thou, Jonathan, hast more than any other 
 
 Been pleasant unto me : 
 
 What is left to me then ? 
 
 Wonderful love was thine, 
 
 Passing that of women even, 
 
 And all that love was mine. 
 
 Who loving after this shall deem he doeth well ? 
 
 D XXV.
 
 Who knoweth who rejoiced when my love stricken fell ? 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! How are they broken, 
 Those swords of the battle ! Rend we for a token 
 Our garments, cast dust on each head for a sign 
 That they are dead, that even those have perished 
 Whom most our hearts had cherished. 
 Ah God, whose god seems strongest to the Philistine ? 
 
 XXVI.
 
 ON DEATH 
 
 Why question what my thoughts of death may be ? 
 
 Behold 'tis Autumn in yon poplar mass, 
 
 Whose green ripples to silver breezily, 
 
 Dangle pale yellow leaves like lemons large ; 
 
 And lo ! beyond there ! what has come to pass ? 
 
 Suave haze and sunshine from its utmost marge 
 
 Have taken London to their mighty keeping, 
 
 Which, self-forgetful, smiles in glory sleeping : 
 
 And here hath she flown down whom children charge 
 
 " Fly away home" and busily is creeping 
 
 A scurrying carnelian on my sleeve. 
 
 O Lady-bird, begone ; 
 
 We men forebode ; stay, thou wilt ne'er believe, 
 
 Nor spoil glad hours whilst yet their sands run on. 
 
 Self-questioned ignorance yields no reply ; 
 
 And thus there grows an aching in our ear 
 
 Which stir of insect wings can magnify 
 
 And hear whole flights of angels oar their vans 
 
 Nothing is silent when the heart will hear ; 
 
 All echoes, answers ; yet the thought is man's, 
 
 Not a new thought, brings not new knowledge, never 
 
 Breaks on the silence where his brain dwells ever, 
 
 Nor peoples that vast night the mind's eye scans, 
 
 Nor can prized beauties from what pains love sever. 
 
 xxvii.
 
 Wise, heartless, Lady Bird, hear thou, thy home 
 
 Is burnt, thy children flown ; 
 
 Yet be not less industrious to roam 
 
 The infant's hand, who makes such harsh things known. 
 
 When to the mightiest man death did draw near, 
 
 He shut himself within his bathing hall 
 
 And lent to his great admiral his ear ; 
 
 Who told of voyage on the Indian main, 
 
 The first by Grecian captains dared that all 
 
 The glamour of unconquered seas might reign 
 
 Over the greatest conqueror's spirit failing. 
 
 By the bath-side, he, picturing them sailing, 
 
 Was as he had been in his youth again, 
 
 Conversed of conquest nigh as when unailing, 
 
 And pleased his captains ; yet grew worse once more, 
 
 Soon in a deep trance sank ; 
 
 His anxious Macedonians at the door, 
 
 Then would not be gainsaid, but, rank by rank, 
 
 In single file, were ushered past his bed. 
 
 His Indian and Egyptian veterans 
 
 Passed mute, were satisfied he was not dead ; 
 
 Unarmed they passed and many a tear let fall ; 
 
 Man, he had won more than had erst been man's 
 
 Till each owned him the embodied soul of all : 
 
 xxviii.
 
 And lo ! they saw him vanquished, helpless, dying ; 
 So childishly their hearts were in them crying. 
 He no more moved, nor for one friend did call, 
 Yet two days lay, as all had seen him lying ; 
 Then on the tenth day of his fever, on 
 The twenty-eighth of June, 
 
 Died ; and from what vast schemes the life was gone, 
 Which up and down far lands like wrecks lay strewn ! 
 
 His end was beautiful, though from vile cause 
 
 A surfeit at a feast his fever came. 
 
 Alaric's grave likewise commands applause 
 
 Though he sacked Rome and Italy trod under : 
 
 His captives, by those careful of his fame, 
 
 Were forced to turn Calabrian torrent's thunder 
 
 And in the dry bed delve a sepulchre, 
 
 And house his trophies and his ashes there : 
 
 But when the stream, which their hard toil did sunder, 
 
 Resumed his haughty course, then all they were 
 
 Slaughtered in thousands on his rocky shores, 
 
 That what they knew might be 
 
 Kept by their lips, as by his thund'rous roar's 
 
 Blank bellow, secret to eternity. 
 
 " The morning after Goethe's death I yearned 
 To look upon his well-known form once more." 
 
 xxix.
 
 So writes that friend who to his house returned. 
 
 " Stretched on his back he seemed to sleep, while, fraught 
 
 With peace, profound security reigned o'er 
 
 His mien : that grand brow still might harbour thought ! 
 
 By one white sheet the naked form was hidden : 
 
 Large lumps of ice lay round it ; then, unbidden, 
 
 His man the linen from the body caught, 
 
 And laid bare what since eighty years was hidden ; 
 
 I was astounded so magnificent 
 
 The limbs, the breast's broad slant 
 
 Was arched and powerful, the arms and thighs unspent 
 
 And muscular, the feet were elegant ! 
 
 Nowhere was any trace of fat, and none 
 
 Of leanness or decay ; a perfect man 
 
 In all his beauty lay before me ; one 
 
 Moment, enraptured at the sight, might I 
 
 Forget that blood therein no longer ran : 
 
 And on his breast my thoughtless hand might lie 
 
 Ere me to horror stillness could awaken ; 
 
 But then I turned away, by sobs rude-shaken, 
 
 And gave free course to tears." Ah, wrought so high, 
 
 We, our revered or cherished from us taken, 
 
 By eloquent grief's passion rapt, may deem 
 
 That beauty finds in death 
 
 Merest defeat ; yet sometimes tombs will seem 
 
 XXX.
 
 To echo angel voices, hoard swung-censer's breath. 
 
 'Tis known how on her bridal morn one died ; 
 
 Greatly beloved, most beautiful and young, 
 
 She lay there ; on the white quilt in their pride 
 
 Flowers were strewn, fresh opened, scented, glowing ! 
 
 Purple anemones together flung 
 
 With crimson pheasant-eyes ; one hand unknowing 
 
 Oppressed green mignonette ; the other fern 
 
 Embowered ; near, forget-me-nots did yearn 
 
 Neath poppies crushed ; like mimic sconces blowing, 
 
 Orange set her brow round with lamps to burn. 
 
 While, stricken, her poor bridegroom, hour by hour, 
 
 Tear-blind, stared at her face. 
 
 Yet calmed by beauty, awed by sovran power, 
 
 One could have thanked death, though one dared not praise. 
 
 Such scenes concern but us who linger here ; 
 
 What their own death was to themselves none knows. 
 
 Heard they our wailing, as the insect's ear 
 
 Lists to the children's chaunt, a mere vague sound, 
 
 While calmly she, since life within her glows, 
 
 Is on her present occupation bound? 
 
 Though all death's dreaded pain and hoped-for glory 
 
 Be nursed of us as children hug a story, 
 
 E'en croon one o'er the beetle they have found, 
 
 xxxL
 
 (Fair lie old snows upon the mountains hoary) 
 
 Imagination must teach us to die, 
 
 Must age and death enhance 
 
 And give to both a value clear and high : 
 
 Or fail and leave us to blank ignorance. 
 
 XXXII.
 
 TO LOKI 
 
 Cease, thou art terrible ! Cease, thou tireless god ; 
 N o purpose doth thy crude, brief laugh declare ; 
 Thy beauty charms the less, for being odd ; 
 Thy skin is bronzed, like red flame flaps thy hair : 
 Shalt thou attract the would-be-self-possessed ? 
 Oh, thou art young forever, there it lies ; 
 Bewilder me forever with thy mocking eyes ! 
 
 Thrall me ! what though thy laugh ring hollow ? Stay 
 
 Those limbs from dancing ! Hover lower, 
 
 From off those sulphurous rocks thy feet leave grey 
 
 In spots like aged lichen patches ! Slower ; 
 
 M ine eyes ache following thy yellow vest 
 
 Which crisps and curdles round hips, neck and shoulder 
 
 While, lightning-like, it streams from bouldertopto boulder! 
 
 Leaps as, from desert snow, 
 
 That ice-plough cleaves beneath the spangled night, 
 
 When clearest wind doth blow, 
 
 Flash and fly up those brandished spears of light,. 
 
 They hopping twang or crack with zest, 
 
 While the white bear facing north, 
 
 The silken blue-fox stealing forth, 
 
 Blinking seal in furry vest, 
 
 And the thick muffled Laplander, 
 
 Gaze and wonder at the stir ! 
 
 xxxiii.
 
 Is it happy warriors dancing, 
 
 Fire-light on their gay spears glancing ? 
 
 Is it gods, or demon sprites, 
 
 Or shooting thoughts of summer nights, 
 
 Like pangs that torpid flesh contains, 
 
 Thrilling Winter's ice-locked brains ? 
 
 No, for it is thee and thine, 
 
 Who plans of men and gods do plot to countermine. 
 
 Volcanic nature, passionless desire, 
 
 Divine mobility, intuitive 
 
 Touchstone of qualities, enter, thou Fire, 
 
 Enter our life once more, force us to live ! 
 
 May I encounter thee in some long lane, 
 
 A gipsy with stained garments on thy back, 
 
 With toys and charms, and songs bedizening thy pack t 
 
 Let weeds with wicked smells, as fumitory, 
 
 Make smart the shattered ruin of thy hat ; 
 
 And, volubly persistent with thy story, 
 
 Trap me with hints, and like a wary cat 
 
 Let me believe escape were not in vain ; 
 
 Then make me feel, how fond man's thought to rest 
 
 When none but active thought fulfils the soul's behest ; 
 
 And of that ship tell me 
 
 Which storms, which fogs, which calms, which bergs of ice, 
 
 xxxiv.
 
 No danger of the sea, 
 
 Can wholly wreck ; that still its voyage plies, 
 Righted, after each mischance, 
 By an old but nimble crew, 
 Lovers of green, salt, and blue, 
 That have oft, with fiery glance, 
 Watched the ice-floe's closing jars, 
 And have steered by astral stars, 
 Known Newfoundland's milk-white gloom, 
 Mirage through hot hazes loom, 
 Noontide darked by clouds of birds 
 And large fishes utter words. 
 Garbs of many climes they wear, 
 Hoary unkempt beards and hair, 
 Wiry comrades proved of thine 
 
 Dauntless like thee, though old, they have like eyes that 
 shine. 
 
 Life is not vain, I know it ; I am thine, 
 O Loki, thine to teach or to betray ; 
 Thy treacheries are punishments condign : 
 Cheat me, and laugh ; be cruel the god's way ; 
 Get hungry lips with vivid truth-like lies, 
 Then grant them speech with lords and harlots grand ; 
 Whose hearts shall faint and leap like birds held in the 
 hand ! 
 
 XXXV.
 
 Than pity more sensitive to bridle thought ! 
 
 No eyes, like thine, foresee the course of Change, 
 
 As, step by step, with Time, followed by nought, 
 
 She passes, and still is : endlessly strange, 
 
 Enamouring speech until with thee it vies, 
 
 Thou patronizest thieves who keep their bad lives jolly, 
 
 And wags who pilfer seers, in wisdom to deck folly. 
 
 Content thou dost abhor : 
 
 The gods were happy once, and joyed their fill ; 
 
 Those days on thee lay sore ; 
 
 Thou lovely Balder by their hands didst kill. 
 
 Beauty to win back from Death, 
 
 Sadly turned they then to toil, 
 
 Labourers in obdurate soil ; 
 
 But more freely came thy breath, 
 
 And more nimbly worked thy wit ; 
 
 Oftener then, thy travel kit 
 
 Donned, thou wentest singing forth, 
 
 East, or west, or south, or north ; 
 
 Every homestead knew thee then, 
 
 Humoured, railed upon, by men, 
 
 Mischievous Lob, or Ian thorn Jack, 
 
 Fiend upon the grumbler's back, 
 
 Thou wast ours ; but we are thine 
 
 By halves at most, ha ha ! Thou art but half divine ! 
 
 xxxvi.
 
 FOR DARK DAYS 
 
 Ah, when a fair day finds me cold to it 
 Who should be friendlier far, 
 Or when the night seems too august, so lit 
 With tranquil star on star ; 
 
 They ban unworthy every thought of mine, 
 That once seemed symbols meant 
 To help my sense express my soul and shine 
 Equal to that event 
 
 Which any hour creation thrusts on man, 
 
 Who inattentive, weak, 
 
 Feels the vast spectacle surpass his will 
 
 Which would respond to it, and sometimes can 
 
 Find thoughts as grand, as beautiful, and fill 
 
 As though a voice did speak 
 
 Ocean, sky, cloud-land, valley, plain and hill ; 
 
 Then, then, abhorrent, wasted human life, 
 All life of beast and pest 
 Maintained by rapine, lust, and strife, 
 I hate and would arrest : 
 
 Stay thou to multiply thy cruel wealth ; 
 
 And cease thou to cajole, 
 
 xxxvii.
 
 Stealing from that young girl her thoughtless health, 
 Her joy and self-control ; 
 
 Thou tiger, leave defenceless herds alone j 
 
 Thou shark, submit to law ; 
 
 'Tis your example circumscribes my thought. 
 
 Collusion with your ruthless greed has thrown 
 
 So strong a spell that now my mind is brought 
 
 To horror down from awe, 
 
 And all I find doth mock all I have sought. 
 
 Oh, it is nothing that a day is fair, 
 If life cannot be sweet ! 
 If souls cannot be lovers, and if care 
 School not desire's feet ! 
 
 If always generations generations breed, 
 And race give place to race 
 Sapped by inadequacy, doomed to bleed 
 And, dying, pine for grace ! 
 
 Only if fact can answer reason's prayer 
 
 Both in one life and all, 
 
 And in resultant beauty souls be good ; 
 
 Only if towards that goal each day we fare, 
 
 And never stand below where we have stood 
 
 xxxviii.
 
 Answer I to your call, 
 
 Ye stars, or yours, ye flowers of field and wood. 
 
 Yet is all vain ? vain then this sad surmise ; 
 For still unknown our doom ; 
 Yet we have fancies, can enchant our eyes, 
 Paint bliss upon the gloom ; 
 
 We have some strength, though it be not enough 
 The vast whole to transform ; 
 It can spread lawns where yet the waste is rough, 
 Some blossom shield from storm ; 
 
 Our strength can make fair skies its harvest fields, 
 
 And glean from cloud and star ; 
 
 The grace of trees, the calm of distant hills 
 
 Garner, and add what every flower yields 
 
 To feed a beauty and a light that fills 
 
 Our eyes, when those eyes are 
 
 Glad to see other eyes forget life's ills. 
 
 XKX1X.
 
 HERE ENDS TO LEDA AND OTHER ODES. PRINTED 
 BY R. FOLKARD AND SON, XXII DEVONSHIRE STREET, 
 QUEEN SQUARE, BLOOMSBURY, FOR DUCKWORTH AND 
 CO., Ill HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON, 
 W.C. MDCCCCIV.
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 PRESENT PAMPHLET. 
 
 I THE CENTAUR'S BOOTY. 
 'This is a poet who has put into h< 
 mental brainwork' of which R> 
 beautiful and new, but th< 
 impression, caught and perpetrated, of th,< 
 met, or mi^ht have met, the e , . Y 
 
 wake to-morrow feeling that we been perhaps a 
 
 little morbid over-night ; we shall take this iiisi 
 this humour with us all day and be the stroi it." 
 
 The Monthly j\ 
 
 II. THE ROUT OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 " He can take these old themes and si 
 over anew, in a manner that is full of the great tradition, 
 and carries its echo of the past, recalling the Greek way 
 of telling them, and the romantic way to 
 no mere copy of either, but his own mann< 
 has the right touch of our own day abou; 
 The Times Literary Supplement, 
 
 III. THE GAZELLES AND OTHER POEMS. 
 " It is not often that the earth-dweller 
 unlike the bright folk of fairyland) ha 
 chance of 'buying joy for a shillii; 
 
 Daily News, April r 
 
 IV PAN'S PROPHECY. 
 
 " Unlike almost every one of our groat Vi 
 
 he (Mr. Moore) does not, 
 
 flatter our weaknesses nor pander 
 
 neither speaks comfortably 
 
 and stupidity ; nor yet doe 
 
 the parade of an interestin 
 
 poems do become popular, it will I 
 
 sign that better times are at hand." 
 
 R. C. TREVELYAN, in The in