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 ^1 n \. ^iM^ 
 
 S E R A P I O N 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS
 
 
 Croivii Zvo., \s. 
 
 ; cloth, \s, 6d. 
 
 
 AN OUTLINE 
 
 
 OF 
 
 
 THE 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 OF IRELAND, 
 
 FRO ft 
 
 THE EARLIEST TIME; 
 
 , TO THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 
 By JUSTIN H. 
 
 McCarthy. 
 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.
 
 S E R A P I () N 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JUSTIN H. McCarthy 
 
 HouKon 
 CIIATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1883
 
 
 TO MY FATHER 
 
 E Pciicatc 
 
 THIS BOOK OF VERSES. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SERAPION ---.-.. I 
 
 IBYCUS 
 MIMXERMUS 
 
 104 
 115 
 
 RHESUS - - - - - - - 122 
 
 ISRYN HILDA - - - - - - 12/ 
 
 THE GOLD GIRL --.-.. 13S 
 SONNETS : 
 
 AMOR TYRANNUS . . - . - 143 
 
 AUREA PUELLA ------ 144 
 
 JUVENTUS MUNDI - . . - . 145 
 
 IN AVALLON -...-. 146 
 
 A GARLAND ...... 147 
 
 THE BURDEN OF LOVE - - - - 1 48 
 
 THE BELOVED - - - - - "149 
 
 VANITY OF VANITIES - - - - - 15° 
 
 LAIS - - - - - - - 151 
 
 TEMPUS EDAX - - - - - "152
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 l-AGE 
 
 SONNETS [continued) : 
 
 ARCADIAN - - - - - - '53 
 
 ELEUTHEROMANIA . . - . - 154 
 
 ADAM LUX - - - - - 155 
 
 an angel by cimabue - . . . 156 
 
 love's labour lost - - - - - 157 
 
 DEATH ------- 138 
 
 ASRAEL ------- 152 
 
 THE year's ANGELS ----- 160 
 
 love's ENVY ------ 161 
 
 TRIOLET ------- 162 
 
 I'YRRHA ------- 163 
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS ----- 167
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 An open place in Alexandria. At the left the house 
 of the Frcefect. At the right a temple to Venus. 
 Two Athanasian priests come in, running. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 I HEAR their howls behind us, and the tread 
 Of mad rebellion pouring like a flood 
 Through all the city ways. 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 Look to ourselves ! 
 This is the answer to the Julian cry 
 Against the Christians. Round the prison walls, 
 Where all this moon the Bishop George has lain 
 With Diodorus and Dracontius, 
 Charged with the grave offence of serving God, 
 The Pagans ravin, crying out for blood ; 
 The air is full of noises. Holy Mother, 
 They seem to bear this way !
 
 2 SERAPION. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 Where shall we fly 
 When all is uproar ? 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 Here, behind the temple 
 Of the lewd goddess we may find a port, 
 And mark what passes. Quick ! those shouts are near. 
 
 (The two priests hide themselves behind the 
 Temple of Venus. ^ 
 
 A crowd of 7ne7i come in, bearing the bodies of George, 
 Dracontius, and Diodorus. 
 
 ONE. 
 
 Upon the altars of the exiled gods 
 This gift is offered. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 If the ghosts would drink 
 Live blood, let those the Galileans slew 
 Come here and lap ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Let all the birds of heaven 
 Welcome this carrion ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 To the devouring sea 
 Fling we these bodies, that no loving fire 
 May burn their foul souls from this filth of flesh, 
 No kindly earth consume them day by day 
 With gentle rotting ; but reluctant waves 
 Scatter their bones to farthest reach of -tide. 
 How say ye, fellows ?
 
 s ERA p ion: : 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 To the sea with them ! 
 The Nazarenes shall make no martyrs here, 
 Hoarding their limbs in mounds of holy dust ; 
 For who would find these bones must dive and swim, 
 And fight the fishes. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 To the sea with them. 
 And no more words about it ! Kow now, Bishop 
 Great George, whose fingers itched for holy gold .'' 
 Seek, if you will, for spoil of sunken ships. 
 That litter the sea's kingdom. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Never more 
 Shall you and yours with thievish hands outstretch 
 To rob a Roman temple. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Diodorus 
 Shall drink, methinks, his deepest draught to-night : 
 A greener than the Mareotic wine, 
 A cooler than the costly chills of snow. 
 And thou, Dracontius, that didst handle coins 
 As if their jingle mocked the moving spheres. 
 Shall play with dead men's fingers, taking hold 
 Of slimy ocean weeds and coral trees. 
 And the gaunt ribs of storm-defeated ships. 
 We'll see what welcome great Poseidon gives 
 To Galileans.
 
 4 SERAPION. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 To the sea with them ! 
 Over this offal we do squander hate ; 
 There's store of Christians still. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Away with them ! 
 ( They rush out, car?yi?ig the dead bodies. The 
 hvo Atha7iasian priests come out from behind 
 the Temple of Venus.) 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 If this fire burns with long-enduring flame 
 Our feet to-day tread close to Heaven's gate. 
 How say you, brother — is your soul prepared 
 To mount its martyr's crown with Bishop George 
 And those unhappy comrades of the faith 
 Whom the fierce rabble, with a lion's wrath, 
 Now mauls and mumbles ? 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 I am aye prepared, 
 But think the time not yet. We are too strong 
 For Julian's hand to cover, crush us out 
 After such fashion. He that grasps at bees 
 Forgets their stinging. This is but a blaze 
 Of sullen anger quickened into life 
 By sudden triumph. Taken unawares. 
 These victims were ensnared by easy death ; 
 No mighty loss, moreover — Arians 
 Of the most heretic strain, reserved for hell. 
 These Pagans do us service, save our pains, 
 And so be grateful.
 
 SERAP/ON. 5 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 I see further still 
 How we shall find advantage in this fray, 
 Taking great credit that we held our hands 
 From hateful Arian throats, and had no part 
 In their dismissal to the place of pain 
 By fierce idolatrous fingers. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 You say well ; 
 Let's to our people and prepare their hearts 
 For all this day may gender ; swords can speak 
 The language of these butchers back again. 
 And there be hands among us quick to strike, 
 As Peter in his pride. 
 
 {They go out.) 
 
 Serapion comes in : he is clad in skins, and his long 
 tangled hair floats on his shoulders ; he has a staff in 
 his hand. A crowd after him. 
 
 serapion. 
 
 Woe to this evil city ! woe on woe ! 
 
 Where is the heavenly fire which long ago 
 
 Shrivelled the sinful Cities of the Plain 
 
 To handfuls of grey dust ? The curse of God 
 
 Lies like a cloud above ye in the sky : 
 
 Will it not break and whelm ye who have built 
 
 High places, and have worshipped images 
 
 Of gods obscene ? May plague bewilder you ! 
 
 ONE. 
 
 Who is this madman ?
 
 6 SERAPION. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 'Tis a Christian wizard, 
 Dwells in the Nitrian desert with his tribe 
 Of like magicians. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 God of Israel, 
 Destroy this horde of devil-worshippers ! 
 Hear me, who come as once Elisha came, 
 Preaching God's wrath to an idolatrous king ; 
 Hear and repent before it be too late, 
 And fire consume ye. 
 
 A troop of dancing-girls come out from behind the Temple 
 
 of Ve files. 
 
 ONE DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 Lo, the marvellous man ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 It is a madman or a conjuror : 
 
 One that has learnt beside the banks of Nile 
 
 How to charm serpents. 
 
 ANOTHER DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 Play to us, wizard ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Silence, ye children of Aholibah ! 
 
 Your painted faces and your tinkling feet 
 
 Cry out to Heaven for vengeance. 
 
 A DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 What is this ? 
 The old man curses !
 
 SERAPION. 7 
 
 ANOTHER DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 'Tis a Nazarene. 
 Come, girls, join hands, and dance before the fool 
 Who hates our calling. 
 
 {They Join hands, and dance about Serapion, 
 tvho strikes at them with his staff. ) 
 
 serapion. 
 Harlots, to your holes, 
 And pray for pardon ! 
 
 A dancing-girl. 
 
 Save me from the madman ! 
 
 A MAN. 
 
 Too much of this. Let's cut this Christian's throat 
 And stop his curses. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 To the house of sin 
 I will adventure, and with holy hands 
 O'erthrow the bulk of Dagon. 
 
 {He advances towards the Temple of Venus, and 
 ascends some of the steps. ) 
 
 In the Name 
 Of God the Father and of Christ the Son, 
 I here call down the wrath of Heaven upon 
 Julian, the wicked and apostate King, 
 And all his house of devils ; and I pray 
 God in His justice send the purge of fire 
 Upon this city. 
 
 ONE. 
 
 He blasphemes the gods.
 
 8 SERAPION. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 He Utters spells against the Emperor's life. 
 Silence the villain ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Drag him from the steps. 
 
 {The mob rush upo?i Serapion and seize him. 
 Enter from back Maxentius and a troop of 
 soldiers, who force their luay through the crowd 
 and rescue Serapion.) 
 
 Maxentius. 
 What spirit of tumult rages in our streets, 
 Startling the wholesome day with hideous noise, 
 And show of weapons in unwarlike hands ? 
 Whom have we here ? 
 
 a man. 
 
 May it please your captainship. 
 This is a Galilean, who but now 
 Railed at the gods and cursed the Emperor, 
 Even oh the steps of holy Venus' shrine. 
 
 the crowd. 
 Death to the wizard, to the Nazarene ! 
 
 Maxentius. 
 
 Silence, ye brawlers ! You, sir prisoner, speak ; 
 Is this charge true ? 
 
 serapion. 
 
 May flame from Heaven burn 
 You and your fifty !
 
 SERAPION. 9 
 
 Maxentius. 
 
 'Tis a kindly wish. 
 But Heaven, you see, is changeless to your spells. 
 These Christians woo their death, but must not die. 
 Bear him away ; and, fellows, to your homes. 
 
 (^The soldiers clear the place, and hear aivay 
 Serapion.) 
 
 Enter Sextus and Porphyrius. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Your father, sir, I knew exceeding well ; 
 He was most kind to me, a boy, in Athens, 
 And I may measure gratitude with duty, 
 Playing your father here. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I thank you, sir, 
 If you will aid me in my dearest wish 
 To join the Emperor's service. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 By the wings 
 That wag on Hermes' heels, I will dare wager 
 You'll make a valiant soldier. Julian loves 
 The brave broad limbs of youth, and dearly loves 
 The tuneful Attic tongue. He'll rate you high, 
 And higher for your service to the gods 
 That guard Athene's city. Just a word 
 Within our Prsefect's ear, and you shall pass 
 Among his people ere he send you on 
 To win the Emperor's heart. So lightly leap
 
 lo SERAPION. 
 
 From Africa to Asia, from Ecdicius 
 To Julian's self, the Caesar of the gods. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS, 
 
 Of the great gods whom he has throned again 
 On earth, sometime dishonoured by the praise 
 Of this Prometheus from Judaea sprung 
 To scale Olympus. Where's a Heracles 
 Shall set the rebel free whom Julian's hand 
 And the great will of Jove Olympian 
 Have hurled from heights of Heaven? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 None, I think. 
 
 (Lalage is borne in on a Utter to the Te^nple of 
 Veftus. ) 
 
 But here's a goddess stronger than the gods. 
 Jove keep you, lady ! 
 
 LALAGE {leaving her litter). 
 
 Master Mars, good-day ; 
 There is a goddess sitting in the clouds 
 Who likes me better. Jove is out of date. 
 And gets no grace from me. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 You do him wrong. 
 For he was ever a most gracious god 
 To all fair women. But we serve the sun ; 
 Since Julian made him captain of the gods, 
 Hot Phoebus is our fashion.
 
 SERAPION. II 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Nay, I care not ; 
 My goddess houses here— Pandemian Venus, 
 Who loves her daughters well. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 A most dear goddess, 
 And triply blessed with such a worshipper. 
 To teach us how she showed when first she trod 
 The silver sea, whose every little wave 
 Curled up to kiss her feet, and, kissing, turned 
 To a sweet savour. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 This is silken speech. 
 Have you thrown lucky with the treacherous dice ? 
 Or be there big wars brewing? Something sure 
 Out of the common level must have chanced 
 To teach such courtier softness to your lips, 
 That better love a round rebellious oath 
 Than praise of ladies. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 By the gods, dear queen, 
 You do me desperate wrong. But go your ways : 
 Pray to your goddess for a kindlier light 
 To see poor mortals in. Farewell, harsh lady ! 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Sextus ! I'll to Venus' feet. 
 (^She enters the temple.) 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Who is this goddess to my fortunate eyes 
 Made manifest ?
 
 12 SERAPION. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 'Tis plain you are a stranger 
 To ask who's she, beholding Lalage. 
 Why, she's our queen, man, and our goddess too : 
 Goddess and queen of every gallant heart 
 That beats for love in Alexandria. 
 Now, by the merry gods, you stand at gaze, 
 Your eyes all wonder, like the fool in the fable. 
 Who plucked the mantle from great Perseus' shield 
 And saw the Gorgon. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I am all amaze ! 
 I did not think there lived upon this earth 
 So fair a creature. Like a star she went, 
 That shoots across the sky ere we have time 
 To wish it lingered, while we frame the wish 
 The gods at such times grant us. Those her eyes 
 Dazzle me more than your Egyptian suns — 
 Where may we meet again ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Now softly, youth ; 
 Draw bridle lest you fall. Is she so fair 
 That you who are from Athens bend your knees 
 In such bewildered worship of the girl ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Mock not ; for never did Praxiteles, 
 
 Nor Phidias' self, nor cunning Calamis, 
 
 Beat out of breathing bronze or hew from stone
 
 SE RAP J ON. 13 
 
 So fair a presence ; and her colour shames 
 The heavenliest hues that Polygnotus e'er, 
 Or wise Euphranor, to a goddess gave. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 The story runs that when Apelles limned 
 The bright Campaspe, Alexander's lass, 
 He loved his model ; and the kindly King, 
 Who, if all tales be true, had scant delight 
 In women and their ways, gave him the girl ; 
 But you, who paint the praise of Lalage 
 In glowing speech, must scarcely look to find 
 An Alexander in Ecdicius. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 An Alexander in Ecdicius ! 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 The words were mine, and you have caught them well. 
 
 Why, my good Grecian, you could hardly hope 
 
 That one so fair as you have pictured her 
 
 Could go about unseen and unbeloved 
 
 In amorous Alexandria, till one 
 
 Came from Peirseus to the mouth of Nile 
 
 To find her comely. She's our Prsefect's now, 
 
 Who has been many a man's. You find her fair, 
 
 But if you look to rise in favour here. 
 
 You'd best not envy him that comes this way — 
 
 Our worthy Prgefect. Stand apart with me ; 
 
 We'll take the happiest chance of speech with him. 
 
 All hail, Ecdicius !
 
 14 SEE API ON. 
 
 Enter EcDicius, attended, and Maxentius. 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Quintus Ecdicius, 
 Prefect of Egypt, Csesar's second self ! 
 Highest and greatest 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 What's the news to-day ? 
 I am weary, good Maxentius ; for alas ! 
 I slept not well last night ; and, by the gods ! 
 Were I not master in the Stoic fashion, 
 I might complain of this. What news to-day ? 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Will great Ecdicius let the cares of state 
 
 Weigh on his wearied mind ? This, then, in brief : 
 
 This morn the angry servants of the gods 
 
 Broke through the prison, where for twice twelve days 
 
 George, the Archbishop of the Arians, 
 
 With Diodorus and Dracontius, 
 
 His friends in sin, were lodged, awaiting doom ; 
 
 But these, being weary of the law's delay. 
 
 With Justice' falchion in their violent hands. 
 
 Took them and slew, and to the burying sea 
 
 Delivered their three bodies. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 By th° gods ! 
 The slaves deserved to die, but not this fashion. 
 This must be looked to ; let no further harm 
 Befall the Christians of whatever kind, 
 Arian or Athanasian.
 
 SERA P ION. 15 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 I have taken charge ; 
 In proof whereof the captain of the guard 
 Hath here outside a fellow lost to shame, 
 Who in the open market-place this morn 
 Mocked at the gods, and made the sign of Christ 
 Before this temple. There were folk about 
 That would have slain him, but we stayed their hands 
 And brought him safely off. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 The unmannered rogue ! 
 I thought they had outgrown this childish mood, 
 And shaken hands with fortune. 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Sir, the man 
 Is stranger to the city and its ways. 
 He is a knave from Nitria, who comes 
 On some fool's errand to his pontiff here. 
 Shall he be shown ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 So — have the fellow in ; 
 'Twill serve to stop the yawning mouth of time 
 Some half an hour. 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Bring in the Nitrian ! 
 Enter the Captain of the guard with soldiers ; in 
 the midst Serapion, 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Is this the man ? Fellow, stand forth a while ! 
 You have defied your Praefect and the gods.
 
 i6 SERAPION. 
 
 If this be so it is a fearful sin, 
 And dread the penalty. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 There are no gods. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Why, this is worse and worse ! An Atheist ! 
 I thought you worshipped Christ 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 There are no gods ! 
 There is one God, and Christ His only Son, 
 Born of a Virgin pure and undefiled. 
 Your gods are devils ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Slave, respect the gods. 
 Or, by the beard of Julian, you shall die ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 I am prepared to die ; it frights me not. 
 But vengeance is the Lord's ; He will repay 
 My blood and all the blood of all the saints 
 Spilt on the shrines of those lascivious fiends 
 Ye call the gods ! 
 
 PORPKYRIUS. 
 
 Now, by the gods, you lie ! 
 The glorious gods above us in the clouds 
 Smile on their servants, and the fruitful world 
 Rejoices in their love. The gods are great. 
 And they have triumphed ; they, the beautiful gods, 
 Who touched the lips of Homer, and inspired 
 The golden line of Sophocles, and stayed
 
 S ERA P ION. 17 
 
 Beside the couch of dying Socrates. 
 Slave of a crucified slave, the gods are great, 
 And with a little effort overthrow 
 These latest Titans. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Thou blaspheming fool ! 
 God have thee in His mercy. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Silence, there ! 
 Sir Christian, guard your tongue. Who is this youth ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Noble Ecdicius, 'tis a youth from Athens ; 
 His sire and I were merry friends of old ; 
 Is hither come with hope of serving Caesar, 
 Serving Ecdicius. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Welcome, jovial Sextus ! 
 We had not seen you. 'Tis a gallant youth. 
 And shall be welcome. Who adores the gods, 
 Him the gods buckler. Give me leave awhile ; 
 You that are bold to babble at the gods, 
 You come from Nitria ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 In Nitria 
 I live alone, a hermit of the Lord. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 What brought you thence to Alexandria ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 For counsel with the Bishop of our faith, 
 
 ,L,
 
 i8 SERAPION. 
 
 How we may best these desperate times defeat, 
 And snap the snares of Satan. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Hear me, hermit : 
 I am a man of peace, and your vain brawls 
 Pleasure me nothing. You and yours are wont 
 To boast you hold the keys of those great gates 
 That shut what is from what is yet to be. 
 From forth the lips of rascal fishermen 
 Ye gather wisdom, find the answers out 
 To all the doubts that all philosophers 
 Have sorrowed over since Deucalion's flood ; 
 You are droll, dreary, swaggering, boastful knaves. 
 But you have played your play ; the time is come 
 That ye should leave the stage to newer mimes, 
 With some more marvellous scheme of heaven and hell. 
 For yourself, man, 'tis but a word from me, 
 And I upset you on a well-squared cross 
 To die your master's death. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Pronounce the word — 
 It frights me not ; but know ye this for certain, 
 That if ye murder me, ye surely bring 
 The guilt of innocent blood upon yourselves, 
 And on this city and its habitants. 
 For of a truth the Lord has sent me here 
 To howl your doom unto unwilling ears. 
 I have no dread to die. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 I know, my friend. 
 You and your fellows court a martyr's death —
 
 SERAPION. 19 
 
 All to their taste — but you'll not die to-day. 
 Take him and keep him in your ward awhile, 
 Until my pleasure and a stiller time 
 Pronounce the words that set him on his way. 
 Then, if you're wise, you'll come not back again, 
 But keep your desert. No more words : away ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Roman, I neither thank thee for my life 
 Nor fear thy menace ; as the Lord directs 
 I come and go, and in the Lord's good time 
 Shall meet my death. There is no God but God, 
 And Christ His only Son. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Enough of this ; 
 Off to your prison ! 
 
 (^The soldiers take Serapion otct) 
 To listen while a Galilean talks, 
 You'd think he held the secret ; closer peer. 
 If you have patience and a peering mind, 
 And find these slaves as fierce among themselves 
 As all are to the world that circles them. 
 The Galilean has not made his ways 
 Plain to his people, so our Christians fall 
 To cutting Christian throats ; while our old friends 
 The gods, that have contented Julius Caesar, 
 Are thrust aside for new divinity, 
 About whose Godhead, qualities, attributes. 
 No two among His worshippers agree ; 
 Yet each would force his fancy down the throat
 
 20 SERA P ION. 
 
 Of the reluctant other. Master ^'ih'sop 
 
 Had found more matter for his hunchback wit 
 
 In half an hour of Alexandria 
 
 With these same Galileans, than he had 
 
 In all the cocks and foxes of old Greece. 
 
 I have known men and cities, like my friend 
 
 Sea-washed Ulysses ; I have lived at Rome, 
 
 Read Epicurus ; have beheld the gods 
 
 Return in triumph at great Julian's heels ; 
 
 Yet am not half so sure of anything 
 
 As these are. Truth's the rarest, curious thing 
 
 In matters of an aye and of a no, 
 
 In matters of the right hand or the left. 
 
 So I have found it ; but we must be patient. 
 
 I pray your pardon, I strain courtesy ; 
 You are most welcome ; you are from Greece, from 
 
 Athens, 
 The fairest city of the fairest land 
 That Phoebus sees. Beneath thy glorious skies 
 Beauty has set her temples, and the gods 
 Protect it with their blessing. Life and art 
 Are wedded. 'Tis the country of a dream : 
 Full of fair forms, fair songs, fair shapes of women ; 
 Statues and temples too divine for earth, 
 And poets that would charm the lords of hell, 
 As shows immortal Aristophanes. 
 Sir, words are barren in fair Athens' praise, 
 And I'll be dumb ; but as I am a man. 
 And as I am an artist, here's my hand ; 
 For your Greek speech and sacred city's sake, 
 You may command me.
 
 SERA PI ON. 21 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Spoken like Ecdicius. 
 What did I say, my Grecian ? You have found 
 The very king of patrons. Fortune's face 
 Is puckered up with pleasant smiles for him 
 Who takes Ecdicius' hand. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 You flatter, friend ; 
 But what my poverty and fair intent 
 May fashion for this youth, be sure of it. 
 Give me your name. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I am called Porphyrias, 
 And am the kinsman, as I bear the name. 
 Of that wise Platonist who long ago 
 Wrote that great book against the Christians 
 Whose pages the malignant Constantine 
 Gave to the flames, a shameful sacrifice 
 On the strange altars. For myself, I seek 
 To wear a weapon in the mighty wars 
 That shall great Julian's valour echo down 
 To farthest stretch of time. 
 
 SEXTUS, 
 
 Ecdicius, 
 I have a fighting instinct bids me read 
 The preface of a soldier's chronicle 
 In his brave bearing, and I ask no better 
 Than have him for my fellow when I go 
 To fight the Persians.
 
 22 SERAPION. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 What you ask is had 
 Even with entreaty. We have present need 
 Of gallant warriors to swell our legions ; 
 The Emperor calls for soldiers at my hand. 
 You come, sir, in strange times. The gods return 
 To their old temples, and the Nazarenes, 
 But yesterday the rulers of the earth, 
 To-day are brought to their rebellious knees. 
 Give praise to Julian ! They'll not vex us long : 
 A little while, and every Christian throat 
 Will find a Christian knife prepared to slit it, 
 And Christian tongues to cry a holy deed, 
 And pleasing to the Lord. The Arians 
 Loathe Athanasius even as they loathe 
 Their Evil One, who, fashioned like a lion, 
 Ranges the world. I'm aweary of it ! 
 Sure if the cynic of your Grecian tub 
 Came with his lanthorn, he'd have work enow 
 To find one honest man. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Yes, there is one ; 
 The purest, noblest of his kind, the best 
 And bravest of all men ; upon his brow 
 Fair honour sits, and all immortal thoughts 
 Have in his tongue their habitation fixed. 
 Hear him but speak, we think a very god 
 Has passed from high Olympus to this earth 
 For one fair hour. Observe him as he walks, 
 We think we see the king of all the world,
 
 SERAPION. 23 
 
 Whose every action, every trifling deed, 
 
 Is as a pattern for all common men 
 
 To note in wonder and for envy die. 
 
 There is no secret wisdom that the earth 
 
 Within her ancient bosom garners up 
 
 But he is master of, and can unfold 
 
 With glorious glosses, adding truth to truth. 
 
 Unto the awestruck ears of poor mankind, 
 
 Who stare like pigmies at his giant bulk, 
 
 And recognise a creature far removed 
 
 From their base fancies. If our brains in travail 
 
 Should labour to beget some paragon. 
 
 By whom all virtues, all nobility. 
 
 All valour, grandeur, perfect rectitude, 
 
 Should in one human compass be displayed. 
 
 We could not come within a tenth of him 
 
 Of whom I speak — our glorious Emperor ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Now by my life, my Sextus, bravely said ; 
 
 You should have ended with ' Your hands, fair friends !' 
 
 There ran a well-read lesson. Nay, I knew not 
 
 That in your bosom burnt such fiery zeal 
 
 For god or mortal — in whichever rank 
 
 You choose to place our Emperor. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Laugh on ; 
 Eaugh on ; you have a cynic tongue 
 Spares nothing. May not a poor soldier play 
 His little loyal part, and crave applause ? 
 It is the fashion, great Ecdicius ; 
 There's no such thing as over-praising Csesar.
 
 24 SERAPION. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Sir, you say well, and will most surely prove 
 
 A wise preceptor to our Grecian here, 
 
 Whom I beseech you bring with you this eve, 
 
 If so it suits his leisure, to our house — 
 
 Indeed, I pray you. Till that hour farewell. 
 
 For here comes one whose beauty shames the sun. 
 
 (Lalage comes out of the temple atid stajids on 
 the top of the steps, while EcDicius advances 
 towards her.) 
 
 Hail, heavenly Lalage, that seem'st to stand 
 The goddess' self upon the goddess' stairs ! 
 Once in this city Cleopatra stood 
 In garb of Isis, while great Antony 
 Went as the god Osiris by her side ; 
 But thou, more fair than that lost queen for whom 
 One third the world was wasted, choosest well, 
 Shining like Venus, planet of the sea, 
 On our glad eyes. And as for Antony, 
 The great triumvir of the world might dare 
 To mimic godhead ; but ourselves, more meek, 
 If we might old Anchises' part rehearse. 
 Would ask no fairer fortune, Lalage. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 If I were Venus, as the story runs. 
 These steps should burgeon roses ; but you see 
 They stand mere marble to mere mortal tread : 
 My roses must be plucked by human hands 
 From homely bushes. Here's a flower for thee,
 
 SERAPIOX. 25 
 
 Thou new-time Antony, and there's for thee, 
 
 Grim soldier Sextus. 
 
 {Sheflmgs roses from a basket carried by a child 
 to EcDicius and Sextus. One falls on the 
 ground^ and Porphyrius seizes it. ) 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Hail to Lalage ! 
 Maxentius, scatter gold among the crowd, 
 To teach them joy for beauty and its queen. 
 
 11. 
 
 A roo>/! in the house of EcDicius, "coith a statue of 
 
 Venus. 
 
 EcDicius, Sextus, Porphyrius. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Some wine again ! this vintage is divine. 
 Never believe that old Anacreon 
 Wantoned with better when his mellow throat 
 Rippled out love-songs for the boys and girls 
 Dear to his Bacchic soul The muse he loved 
 Inspires me from yon well-filled golden jar, 
 Up-bubbling to the brim. Give me again ; 
 It is divine, and I am made divine 
 In drinking to the most divinest thing 
 Of all the earth — a health to Lalage ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Here's with you in that toast, for Father Jove, 
 Who — no offence to Caesar — was most wise 
 In choice of women, never surely saw 
 A lass more worthy to make Juno jealous,
 
 26 SERAPION. 
 
 Not even when he tumbled all of gold 
 
 Into the wondering arms of Dange. 
 
 And, by my soul ! if Jove awoke to-day, 
 
 And walking up and down our city streets, 
 
 Should chance to peer within some pillar'd place, 
 
 And see our girl with roses in her hair, 
 
 High at the top place of some festival, 
 
 Be sure the poor Olympian heart would burn 
 
 Hotter than Caesar's highest hecatomb ; 
 
 But woe to Jove in leash of Lalage ! 
 
 He'd have to coin his godhead all away. 
 
 To match that night of doubled moon and stars 
 
 Which gave the world majestic Hercules. 
 
 We've raised our prices since the hero age. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Yet if all tales be true our Lalage 
 Owes Father Jove a very world of thanks, 
 Who saved her from the Galilean madness 
 That swallowed up her sire and dam in Rome. 
 A brace of players they, and she a babe. 
 Some Christian villain won them to his way ; 
 But she, poor lass, was safe in other hands : 
 That Libius was a famous rogue to know 
 The woman in the child ; he kept her clear 
 Of Christians. She should offer thanks to Jove 
 That gave her grace to break the hearts of men. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Well may you say so ; has not Lymachus 
 Waned from his substance to a very shadow 
 Of what he was since first his wandering eyes,
 
 S ERA P ION. 27 
 
 Obedient clients in the cause of love, 
 Lit on the girl, and loved her to his cost. 
 For she consumed him as the summer heat 
 Burns out the sap of once so stalwart trees, 
 And left him barely that within his purse 
 To take him swift to Julian overseas, 
 And buy him bread to keep his bulk alive, 
 While begging some plethoric dignity 
 To feed his starved exchequer, and lure back 
 The gossamer love of laughing Lalage. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 'Tis a rare lass, and yet, for my poor part, 
 I that am fortune's soldier, scantly paid. 
 Know many a girl behind a tavern door 
 Will serve my turn as well — kiss home and hard 
 Cling me as close. To every man his taste. 
 But when I give to any she that breathes 
 My gold, my comfort, and my golden chances. 
 Call me what fool you please ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 O wiser words 
 Than ever fell from philosophic lips 
 Of those that trod at Epicurus' heel ! 
 How say you, sir — is Athens still so wise 
 As of old time ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 If I might speak for Athens, 
 I'd say that when we find a woman fair 
 We note no phrases of how far to love. 
 But love her with the strength of all our soul ;
 
 28 SERAPION. 
 
 Because we know no better way than this 
 
 To brighten with all beauty our brief life ; 
 
 And if some girl of Aphrodita's mould, 
 
 With tender hair and eyes that shame the stars, 
 
 And fair limbs fashioned for a god's desire, 
 
 Gladden our sight and set our hearts afire : 
 
 Why, I should hold him basest of the base 
 
 Who'd lay against the kisses of her lips 
 
 The Empery of Caesar. All things die. 
 
 And glory lasts a day, and proud names perish ; 
 
 Bright youth goes out too soon, but ere it flies 
 
 Seize with warm hands the blossom flower of love, 
 
 And for one kiss of hers, one hour's embrace, 
 
 Lose the world lightly. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 O my eloquent Greek, 
 'Tis merry to be young ! O blessed state, 
 To think and talk like that ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 [Pity him not ; 
 Wiser, perchance, than we who measure out 
 Our lives and loves. The eyes of Lalage 
 Are bright enough to burn old Reason up, 
 The pressure of her arms might overthrow 
 The strength of Caesar ; but my tempered soul, 
 Proved like fine steel in fiery pits of love, 
 Is not for Lady Lalage to break 
 With wanton fingers. That I love her well 
 I prove it when I pity Father Jove, 
 Knowing what it cost to bring her here to-night
 
 SEKAPIO.V. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 29 
 
 To-night ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Shall we have Lalage to-night ? 
 Now, by the breasts of Venus, this is sport 
 Fit for the blessed gods ; but, dearest lord, 
 Why comes this secret like a jewel hid 
 In bottom of a cup ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Sufficient cause : 
 A woman's promise is a thing of air ; 
 But lightest of all pretty lady oaths 
 Is Lalage's passed word. I dared not say 
 Ye shall see Lalage ; but now all's well : 
 Her litter is this moment in the street. 
 There was a slave to watch, and give me sign 
 When first he saw the torches flaring bright 
 Herald her coming, like attendant stars 
 About their mistress moon. Even now I hear 
 The bustle at my gate, and leave you thus 
 But for a moment ere I lead her in. [Exit. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 By Juno's eyes, this is the rarest news. 
 Porphyrius, you are pale, and drink no wine. 
 You have not sung one song within the week. 
 Is Athens then so fair, so very fair. 
 That merely thinking of the happy place 
 Makes Egypt dull ; or is my lord in love ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 May not a man seem sorry without love ?
 
 jO SERAPION. 
 
 Eros, that steeps men's souls in icy streams, 
 And tempers them with fiery wind of sighs. 
 Controls me not. Let him seek otherwhere 
 If he would have fools' homage. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Very like, 
 But hear the footfall light of Lalage ; 
 Let's greet her with full cups. Look in her eyes, 
 And if you then can boast you're free of love, 
 I'll set you straightway with the demigods, 
 For earth's no place for you. 
 
 {He rises and turns to the door. ) 
 
 PORPHYRius {aside, looking at the statue of Venus). 
 
 O kindliest queen, 
 If ever thou on most unhappy men 
 Have pity, now make bold my stammering lips ; 
 Give my eyes courage and the eagle's gaze. 
 That I may look on her. Ye gods, she comes ! 
 And o'er my soul such deadly faintness falls, 
 As if dark death were hid behind that curtain 
 To bid me rise and go. 
 
 {The curtaifi is thrown back, afid Lalage enters 
 7vith EcDicius.) 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Hail, Lalage ! 
 The first of all fair things. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I thank your kindness ; 
 I love my name the better that it tempts
 
 SERAPION. 31 
 
 So stern a man to wash his mouth with wine. 
 Whom have we here ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 This is Porphyrius, lady, 
 A gentleman of breeding and repute, 
 Come fresh from Athens. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Like Hymettus' honey, 
 For 'tis a most sweet youth. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I am glad to know you, sir. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Nay, you will like him better by-and-by ; 
 Just now he has a doting fit on him, 
 Which bids him frown on love, and cry. Away ! 
 He will have nothing with such foolish play. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I pray your silence. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Is it even so ? 
 Why are you found so stern with poor God Love, 
 Whose music moves the dullard days to mirth. 
 And makes us merry ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Aye, and makes us rich. 
 It girths our throat with gold, and hides our Umbs 
 With silk of Cos, as yonder fountain hides 
 Its gilded fishes.
 
 32 SERA PI ON. 
 
 LALAGE, 
 
 Stay that liberal tongue ; 
 Will you not let our young Athenian speak ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Lady, he mocks me sadly. Hold me not 
 The foe to Love, though truly I believe 
 The wise man whistles Cupid down the wind ; 
 Or so I think. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Are you a Christian, then ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 The gods forbid, 
 Who watch o'er Cecrops' city, violet-crowned 
 
 I 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I thought, to look so young and speak so wise. 
 You surely flocked with those fantastic knaves 
 Who grovel to the God they crucified. 
 
 {She lies ofi a couch beiieath the Venus.) 
 Ecdicius, you shall fan me at my feet ; 
 And Sextus, you shall be my cup-bearer — 
 A part you love to play ; give me some wine 
 In show of service. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 By Heaven, I would not change 
 My part with Ganymede to cup the gods, 
 While I can serve a goddess like to this 
 On Egypt's earth ! 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Lady, what part for me ?
 
 SERAPION. 33 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 You can look young. We'll have your golden hairs 
 As pleasant symbol of ' Remember life.' 
 'Tis better than that vile ' Remember death ' 
 With which old .Egypt soured her festivals, 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 So I may sit and know of Paris's joy 
 In first beholding Helen, I'm content, 
 And ask no further fortune. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Bravely said ! 
 'Tis right that youth should be content with trifles. 
 You will be wiser soon. No Grecian fire 
 Had ever withered the brave walls of Troy, 
 No Grecian swords been turned on Trojan throats, 
 And sad Cassandra lived and died a maid. 
 If fate had pleased content the Dardan shepherd 
 With how fair Helen looked. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Now, by the limbs 
 Of Dian dabbling in the water-brooks. 
 We put our young Athenian to the blush. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Well, boys were made to blush, and why not he ? 
 Your- health, my Sextus ; Egypt, thine as well ; 
 And yours, my baby Grecian. Edepol, 
 Have you no songs, no music ? Shall we sit 
 And wear each other out for lack of wit. 
 Or staring, fall asleep ? 
 
 3
 
 34 SERAPION. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Who looks on you 
 Would be content to watch until world's end — 
 Would we not, Grecian ? and for Master Momus, 
 You'll find him, if you drink but deep enough, 
 Somewhere within that wide-mouthed golden jar. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 There is outside a Lydian harp-player 
 
 That has a store of songs, most honey sweet, 
 
 The Teian drunkard's, and the Lesbian girl's, 
 
 Who gave her body to the angry sea, 
 
 Being weary of all loves ; Mimnermus, too, 
 
 Who did his best to trip the feet of time 
 
 With golden strands of song, he knows by heart. 
 
 And many another. Shall I call him in ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Yes ; let us have him, so he make amends 
 For Sextus's vinous praises and the air 
 Of gravity our young Athenian wears : 
 A pair for all the world like Vice and Virtue 
 In the old tale. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 You are too cruel, lady. 
 Without there ! Phrynichus. [Phrynichus comes in. 
 
 Attend me, boy ; 
 Sing at your best, for you have such an audience 
 As would inspire Apollo with more heart 
 Than every muse's praise, and make god Pan 
 Play with a lustier spirit than of old ; 
 What time he fashioned Syrinx into song,
 
 SERAPION. 35 
 
 And sent his pipings through the hollow vales 
 »0f green Arcadia. 
 
 PHRYNICHUS. 
 
 What shall I sing, my lord ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Lady, your choice ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I care not what it be. 
 He sings best singing as the nightingale, 
 For pleasure in his note. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 So, what you will. 
 PHRYNICHUS {sings). 
 
 What is life if love be missing 
 
 But a sigh ? 
 When my lips are tired of kissing, 
 
 Let me die. 
 Youth and love and summer weather 
 All must float away together 
 
 By-and-by. 
 
 Chill old age, with formless sorrow, 
 
 Soon shall creep 
 O'er young limbs, and ere the morrow 
 
 Dreamless sleep 
 Drowns all memories of pleasure. 
 Ah, for life's unfinished measure 
 
 Let me weep ! 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Gods ! what a song to drive dull thoughts away ! 
 Had it been crooned out in some place of death, 
 
 3—2
 
 36 SEE API ON. 
 
 Or chanted in the shade of cypress trees, 
 
 Beside an open grave, or sung to ghosts, 
 
 Waiting their oozy passage over Styx, 
 
 It might have passed ; but here it chills the air. 
 
 And dreary shadows grey, impalpable. 
 
 The spirits of lost hours, float silently, 
 
 And mock our mirth. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 You are a rascal ! Go ! 
 Have you no other songs, that you must need 
 Troll us a ballad with a burden of death. 
 To fright our festival ? 
 
 PHRYNICHUS. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, 
 I meant no harm. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Pray you, let him be ; 
 He did his best, and I am scarcely gracious 
 To chide his song. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Let's have some jolly stave, 
 Some drinking snatch of wise Bacchylides, 
 To wash the taste of dirges from our lips, 
 And drown sad fancies. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Will you hear again ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 No, let him go ; the echo of his song 
 
 Is sweet, for all its sadness, and perchance 
 
 He'd mar it if he strove to make amends.
 
 SERA PI ON. 37 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Hence, fellow, hence ! [Phrynichus goes out. 
 
 SEXTUS, 
 
 Now, by the hands of Hebe, 
 I had as lief a croaking raven sat 
 And whistled in my ear, as hear such songs ! 
 If days are passing, Venus, let them pass ; 
 The grape can bring the blush of brightest youth 
 To withered cheeks ; the fire within the blood 
 Defies the wintry frost ; one might as well 
 Be linked with yonder howling Christian fools 
 If all our joys were dashed with dull regret, 
 Or cry, forsooth, because the sun has set. 
 I'll meet death like a Roman, hand to hand. 
 With flowers about my brows and jesting speech 
 Upon my lips, yet wet with wine and kisses. 
 Let those who like with sheepskin and with scourge 
 Greet the eternal lord ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 The wise man holds, 
 With the lame stoic of Nicopolis, 
 That this poor life was only made to live 
 Till you are weary of the game, and then 
 The door is always open. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 What say you, 
 My silent Grecian ? Do you fear to die ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Lady, I fain would live my life out well,
 
 38 SERAPION. 
 
 Yet there be things I'd die for ; think it light, 
 And quit the world contented. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Would you die 
 
 If Lalage desired it ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 With glad heart ! 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Now, lady, here's young wisdom brought to earth ; 
 The shaft of love has pierced him through and hrough, 
 And he will fly no more, but hop as tame 
 As Lesbia's sparrow. Hail, fair conqueror ! 
 Only a Christian could resist those eyes, 
 Whose beauty shames the stars. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Only a Christian! 
 Are they so stalwart in their own conceit 
 That they can laugh at love ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 No Christian yet 
 Was ever known to laugh at anything ! 
 They are too sourly wise to show their teeth, 
 Except to snarl at life, and as for love. 
 The madness which can make them what they are 
 Burns, as I take it, all their manhood out, 
 Or gives them else such strength to hold love down 
 As others know not ! Folly often gives 
 Most marvellous force to former feebleness.
 
 SERAPION. 39 
 
 ECDICIUS 
 
 Have a care, Sextus, how thy tongue runs tilt 
 Against these knaves. Our masters yesterday ; 
 Now, by the grace of the high gods, no more 
 Than enemies alike to Jove and Ccesar ; 
 Yet here the dogs are many, show their teeth 
 Against the Julian edicts, flout the gods. 
 There is a brawling fellow at their head, 
 One Athanasius, beards the Emperor. 
 Had I my way, I'd lay him by the heels. 
 And have him to some quiet prison house, 
 And ere the dawn decrease him by a head ; 
 But 'tis not safe. I wait the Emperor's word 
 To end the matter. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Are there Christians still ? 
 This very day, in going to the shrine, 
 My litteir stopped before a crowded street, 
 And when I wondering asked, was told the people 
 Were murdering a Christian. Through the crowd 
 I saw an old man and a hundred hands 
 Dealing him blows, and blood with dust commingled 
 Pasting his face. It was a villainous sight, 
 Yet as I leaned to look they swept him off, 
 And, as I heard, they hanged him by and-by ; 
 But I went on, and saw no more of it. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Aye ; 'twas the Bishop George, who dared to jeer 
 At holy things. They gave him his quietus. 
 Would all were served so !
 
 40 SERAPION. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 They afje droll, these fellows ! 
 This Athanasius, whom our Emperor hates, 
 Has dared, and that since Julian took the throne, 
 To conjure women, dames of high condition, 
 Into the crazy Galilean fashion. 
 Who knows ? We may find women even yet 
 To join our lonely friends who live out there 
 Where scorching desert stares at scorching sky. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Well, if they do, good-bye to abstinence ; 
 'Twill be a populous desert ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Wrong, my friend. 
 Have you not heard the tale hov/ Anthony 
 Hid in the shadows of the Theban hills 
 His lonely life, and time and time again 
 "Was vainly tempted by fair shapes of women, 
 That wooed his saintly body to rebellion, 
 And lost their labour, for he closed his eyes 
 And cursed them out of doors ? Even Lalage 
 Had found old Anthony too stubborn, 
 And lowered her flag for once. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 You are a fool ! 
 What will you wager that I win this dotard 
 Back to man's elder fashion ?
 
 SERAPION. 41 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Anything — 
 My head, my heart, or all my house's wealth, 
 You could not get a smile from Anthony — 
 No, nor a look. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Now, friends, be witnesses 
 Ecdicius stakes his wealth against my wit 
 To put some warmth into an old man's blood. 
 And that I take the bet. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Be wiser, lady ; 
 Your neighbour lures you with a jesting snare ; 
 For lo the withered limbs of Anthony, 
 That rotted while he lived, now rot in death ; 
 He sleeps beneath the desert where he spent 
 His foolish life. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Now, by the blessed gods, 
 You put me from all patience. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Pardon, lady ! 
 You can make wise men foolish, brave men slaves, 
 And rich folk beggars. Be content with me, 
 And leave old Coptic Anthony alone ; 
 For not the closest kisses of your lips 
 Could breathe a quickness where the clutch of death 
 Had surely closed. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Yet if you needs must try, 
 His very fellow lives and walks the earth.
 
 42 SERAPrON. 
 
 Beyond there, in the desert ; point by point, 
 
 His Ufe is based on that of Anthony. 
 
 Like him he starves ; hke him he scourges long 
 
 His shrivelled body, till the tanned flesh tears ; 
 
 Like him outwatches all the host of stars 
 
 In ceaseless incantations, and forswears 
 
 All custom of the bath, believing it 
 
 The surest sign of virtue to be foul. 
 
 It's a disciple after Anthony's heart, 
 
 So holy and so dirty. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Who is the man ? 
 Has he a name ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 He's called Serapion, 
 And lies even now within Maxentius' ward ; 
 He is the Captain Christian, the forefront 
 Of all the faithful ; could you win him, lady, 
 Here were a victory should make you famous 
 Above that Queen of Nile whose yellow hair 
 Bound Caesar fast, and fettered Anthony ; 
 Yea, drew the great Triumvir to his death, 
 Then sent her spirit chasing after him, 
 Because she failed with chill Octavius. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 How say you, comrade, will you make a bet 
 I conquer this cold Christian ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Lalage, 
 I'll wager with my Venus all in gold,
 
 SERAPION. 43 
 
 That's fashioned after great Praxiteles, 
 You cannot win away Serapion 
 From his drear penance. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I accept the dare, 
 And stake against whatever fairest is 
 Among my treasures. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Hearken Lalage ; 
 Set me your golden self against my Venus, 
 And I'm content. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Now by great Hercules, 
 You ask too much. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Why, then, you fear to lose ! 
 Just now I thought you were invincible. 
 And lo, you fear the venture. Be it so ; 
 I knew you jested. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Nay, I jested not ; 
 I take your wager. Bid your golden Venus 
 A long farewell, great Egypt ; she is mine ! 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Unless the madman be composed of bronze ! 
 For even if the years have withered him 
 Heartless and bodiless, no more a man 
 Than yonder bust of Caesar is a statue, 
 Still he has eyes, and if they see aright, 
 Our lady wins !
 
 44 SEE A PI ON. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 I doubt it much, my Sextus. 
 There is a story, which Porphyrius here 
 May bear in mind, how fair Athenian Phryne, 
 Whom great Praxiteles loved beyond his art, 
 Heard idle rumours floating up and down 
 The streets of Pallas' city to this end, 
 That somewhere in the shadow of the hill 
 That rears its temples to ^geus' sea, 
 Xenocrates, the wisest of the wise, 
 Living apart, as fits philosophers. 
 Laughed at the love of woman, laughed to scorn 
 Her power on man. Straightway fair Phryne goes 
 At dead of night to where Xenocrates 
 Dwelt all alone ; but, as the story runs, 
 Laughing she went and weeping came away, 
 Calling the sage a statue, and no man 
 To be so cold. The moral whereof is, 
 That when you say our Lalage must win 
 I doubt it much, my Sextus. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 I not at all. If Venus still have place 
 Upon the throned Olympus of the gods, 
 Who see the stunted shadows of themselves 
 In all men's lives, she will not suffer it 
 That one who wears her beauty on the earth. 
 The goddess' fairest child, shall ever be 
 By an old man made nought of, put to rout ; 
 It cannot be ! so here with certain heart 
 I drink to Lalage, the conqueror.
 
 SERAPION. 45 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 To Lalage, that may be conqueror ! 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 You do not pledge me, Grecian ! 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Lady, no ; 
 This is the vilest jesting ! Pardon me 
 If I must answer so unmannerly ; 
 'Tis that I rate you higher than yourself. 
 And would not see so fair a gentle stoop 
 To such a quarry. This Serapion — 
 What is he that the treasure of your lips 
 Should so be squandered, that the living fire 
 Which lies within the hollow of your hands 
 Should warm a madman's limbs ! The gods themselves, 
 Who to Hephaestus Aphrodita bound, 
 Would think a mortal mixture such as this 
 Demands a second deluge. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Excellent ! 
 Now, Lalage, if age with golden speech, 
 The minted eloquence that knows not pause 
 Nor stammer while a coin is in the bag, 
 Has never laid its withered body down 
 Beside white limbs or twisted yellow hair 
 With palsied fingers, then 'twere shame indeed 
 To spend one kiss upon Serapion. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Jest as ye will, but I will try the chance.
 
 46 SERAPION. ' 
 
 Give me thy signet ring, Ecdicius, 
 The sight whereof bids every door fly back, 
 And we shall shortly see how stubborn proof 
 Is your caged Christian to the stings of love. 
 Look to your Venus. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 By the blessed gods ! 
 This is the rarest sport I ever knew, 
 And should be written with a golden gleam 
 On never-fading marble— how the queen 
 Of all the lovely women of the earth 
 Came to a prison with the merry thought 
 To tempt a Christian. I could laugh till dawn 
 Over the sport that overtops all deeds 
 E'er done or dreamed by Saturn's sweetest child. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Will you have done, or must I beg our Grecian 
 To bring me on my way ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 At your word, lady. 
 
 ECDICIUS, 
 
 Pray, sir, pardon me ; 
 I that am host here, let me play my part. 
 Here is our signet, lady ; we ourselves 
 Will bring you to the prison in whose walls 
 The sordid hermit sleeps. How say ye, friends- 
 Shall we along and see this play out played }
 
 SERAPTO.Y. 47 
 
 III. 
 
 The prison. Serapion alone. A bed. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 How long, oh God, shall this my pilgrimage 
 Creep heavily along from sun to sun 
 Before the end, and these world-weary eyes 
 Look on the glory of God's golden house ? 
 For this have I not fasted, suffered long, 
 Scourged this vile body till my sinner's blood 
 Blackens and stiffens the lean leathern snakes 
 Out of their office ? Surely now the goal 
 Draws nearer, and I knock at heaven's gate. 
 Pluck open, Peter ! let mine e3'es behold 
 The many-coloured courts of Paradise, 
 With all the saints and aogels ranged arow, 
 And in the midst of that great company 
 Some little place where I, Serapion, 
 May rest in peace at last ; there let me bide 
 Quiet, and listen to the fluttered wings 
 Of them that flit upon the sacred stairs. 
 And know God's splendour by the light upon 
 The paly brows of holy martyrdom. 
 See, I am humble. Lord ; I do but beg 
 A little place ; I am not like to those. 
 The rash, impatient brothers, who made bold 
 To sit upon Thy right hand and Thy left. 
 Above their fellows. What my deeds deserve 
 I must not say. Lord, at Thy will the hour
 
 48 SERAPION. 
 
 That sets me free from this foul cage of flesh, 
 
 For though I truly faint not on the field, 
 
 Nor weary of the battle, it were well 
 
 To look upon Thy servant's agony. 
 
 And say ' Well done !' and snatch me up to heaven ; 
 
 For what avails this further dragging on 
 
 The chain of life ? All things have I performed 
 
 Unto the full, letter and spirit both ; 
 
 What is there that a child of Christ essays 
 
 But I have bettered it? Eusebius 
 
 Bears on his body eighty pounds of lead — 
 
 I take a hundred ; yet I keep my tongue 
 
 From plaint or boast. What though Pacomius 
 
 For fifty nights has never closed an eye ? 
 
 I add ten more, and leave him far behind ; 
 
 Besides that, forty days and forty nights 
 
 I keep my Master's vigil every year. 
 
 Yea, and have kept the counsel that He gave : 
 
 Sold all I had and given to the poor. 
 
 Made ceaseless prayer, nor never wasted thought 
 
 Upon the morrow. I am ready, Lord ; 
 
 Why dost Thou keep Thy labourer over time ? 
 
 The harvest all is reaped, the vine is pressed ; 
 
 My task is over. To the watcher sleep. 
 
 To day the night, to the tired traveller rest. 
 
 Give me my wage, for nought is left to do, 
 
 And let me look in Peter's face and hear 
 
 The great key turning in the echoing gate ; 
 
 And so I enter where the hosts cry out, 
 
 ' Hail to the faithful one, Serapion !' 
 
 To stare upon the new Jerusalem.
 
 SERAPION. 49 
 
 The city meted with the golden reed, 
 Lighter than precious jasper, crystal clear. 
 Twelve gates, with guardian angels every one : 
 Its twelve foundations with apostles' names 
 Graven thereon. Is there no room for mine ? 
 Might I not hope some space of single pearl 
 Should show my name in late apostleship 
 Written with Anthony that's gone before, 
 And Paul ? Nay, nay, I do not dream of it ; 
 I am no peer for Paul. 
 
 [A knock is heard at ike door. ) 
 
 Who knocks without ? 
 Thy summons, Lord ? thy summons ? Woe is me ! 
 I am on earth again. 
 
 VOICE WITHOUT. 
 
 Serapion. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 What voice that is not of my sentinel 
 Salutes me with such sweetness ? May I dream 
 It is some speech of holy angelhood 
 Bidding me rise and go ? 
 
 VOICE WITHOUT. 
 
 Serapion. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 I come. 
 
 [The door opens and lets in one clad as a Pil- 
 gri?n, ivith hooded face, and holding a lamp 
 which is shaded by the hand). 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 All hail, the good Serapion ! 
 
 4
 
 50 SERAPION. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 What would you with the sinner of that name ? 
 The good Serapion I sought myself 
 These weary years, and yet I find him not. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Great master, I have crossed the livid sands 
 Only to kiss these holiest hands, and learn 
 High patience from the purest, goodliest man 
 That sver waited heaven. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Brother, not thus 
 Should one vile man greet other ; thou and I, 
 Fellows alike in sinning. Is it so 
 Men speak of me ? 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Indeed, how else ! your name 
 Blows with each journeying wind, and the great sea 
 Stays not thy fame. The edges of the earth 
 That groan aloud beneath the Julian hand 
 Echo thee on ; and every suffering church, 
 Voicing thy praises, bears its bruised neck 
 More stiffly up. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 The wind goes north and south, 
 Ceaselessly whirling home. The ravening sea 
 Swallows the mightiest floods, and is not filled. 
 And of the wise man no remembrance is 
 More than the fool. The glory of to-day 
 Slips out of memory in the time to be.
 
 SERAPrOA\ 51 
 
 So all men's praise is barren mockery. 
 Xfouth it no more. Serapion is dead. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Dead ? 
 
 SERAPION, 
 
 Dead to all the common moods of man. 
 He keeps his soul in patience. Fare you well. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Banish me not in my sore need of thee. 
 
 Hearing thee come to Alexandria 
 
 To tempt the scourge of Caesar. Martyrdom 
 
 Is grimly earned, and Hell's archangels triumph ; 
 
 So I have crept into this hateful place, 
 
 Bribing your watch, and daring every peril, 
 
 Only to sit a little at your feet, 
 
 Learning the perfect life that no man now 
 
 May learn in this vile town. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 The perfect life, 
 Where and what is it ? I have lived my life, 
 Reaching to Heaven my own way day by day. 
 If you have found a better, tread it out 
 To the end in your own fashion ; fight the fight 
 Like Athanasius, in the city ways. 
 With heathen and with heretic Arian ; 
 Or choose the lonely desert — who shall say 
 Which is the perfect, yours or mine ? who knows ? 
 But, both paths leading to the self-same goal, 
 
 4—2
 
 52 SERAPION. 
 
 Yours had served me, mine served your turn as well, 
 
 To bring both up before high Heaven's gate. 
 
 But in the meantime one of us will wear 
 
 The crown of all the honours of the Church, 
 
 And strive with kings, and take the earth's applause, 
 
 No doubt, I say, in all humility ; 
 
 But I will fight the prince of the power of the air 
 
 Alone, unknown, forgotten utterly. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Dear master, I would take your hand and tread 
 Your own hard road with joy. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 The way is steep, 
 The burden bitter. Many by the way 
 Faint and fall off, and so are lost to light. 
 Canst thou outwatch the courses of the stars 
 ^Vith sleepless lids ? Canst thou thy body tear 
 With the lean thongs, till sinews, flesh, and blood 
 Are one ? Or make thy couch on angry rocks, 
 Beneath the baneful glances of the moon, 
 The savage noontide sun, the torturing sand ; 
 Or tread on thorns without a writhen lip, 
 For thinking on thy Master's coronet ? 
 Fast close to death, and when thou needs must feed, 
 Feed on foul bread, and cool thy crackling throat 
 With water that the thirstieth wolf would spit, 
 Rather than swallow ? K\\. thou strongly armed 
 At every point against the pride of Hell, 
 Till all temptations that the fiend can send 
 "^'o ';tir the hidden devils of the flesh,
 
 SERAPION. 53 
 
 In shape of naked girls with wanton eyes, 
 Bright hair and gestures lewd, or troops of slaves 
 Bent with the weight of heaven-tempting gold, 
 Or show of meat and wine and rare perfume, 
 Move you no more than dancing sunlight motes 
 Of summer mornings ? Canst thou do all this ? 
 If so, the desert waits thee, where to dwell 
 The prisoner of the Lord ; but if not so. 
 Turn back to men, nor vex Serapion more. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Dear saint, I loved thee for thy holy life 
 This many a day, and what thyself has done, 
 Myself may, lagging tamely off, attempt, 
 To do thee honour in my love for thee. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Disciples I have had, but all are gone ; 
 
 And sometimes — only sometimes, understand — 
 
 On some dark day when heaven seems farther off, 
 
 I feel a little lonely. Agarus 
 
 Was patient, and he loved his master well ; 
 
 But he has sailed long since across the sea 
 
 To Bethlehem, the birthplace of our Lord. 
 
 And wise Hippolytus, the golden-haired, 
 
 Sleeps his last sleep within the walls of Rome, 
 
 While naught remains of all he was to me 
 
 Except his book upon the Trinity, 
 
 Treasured up yonder in my desert's hut. 
 
 Sarpedon is a bishop far away 
 
 In cedar shades of blissful Lebanon. 
 
 While Basilus— I heard the news but late —
 
 54 SERAPION. 
 
 Brave Basilus embraced a martyr's death, 
 By order of the abominable thing 
 Who now defiles the throne of Constantine, 
 And bends his beastly front against the saints. 
 The burden bears down Egypt ; and the power 
 Of Antichrist is mighty in the land. 
 
 PILXIRIM. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! for Csesar in his scorn 
 
 Makes mock of holiest men, and gives the earth 
 
 Back to Apollo. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 'Tis an evil time, 
 And God's own soldiers perish helplessly. 
 Apollo's flames are fed ; the brides of Christ 
 Shamefully scourged and foully done to death ; 
 The bishops of the Lord by murderous hands 
 Rendediike holy Arethusan Mark, 
 "Who, fostering once the lion cub of hell, 
 Feels now the clutches of the elder beast. 
 But neither scourging nor the stings of bees. 
 That worked the will of Tophet on the limbs 
 A\'ith honey smeared, can force the stubborn tongue 
 To say ' All hail, Apollo !' or 'All hail, 
 Great Julian, warder of the people's weal !' 
 I need not fear to meet a martyr's death, 
 Whose daily life is daily m.artyrdom. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Suffer me, lord, to take the place of those 
 ^Vhom fortune, or the sea, or pitiless death 
 Have sundered from thy side.
 
 SERAPION. 55 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Your voice is soft 
 Beyond the speech of dead Hippolytus, 
 And yet you spend its music foolishly, 
 Praying for pains too heavy for your youth. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 You wrong me, master ; choose what task you will ; 
 Pluck me the sternest of thy labours out, 
 And I'll perform to the very top 
 All in your name. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 All in the name of Heaven, 
 To whom my deeds are due. The hardest thing 
 My life has known — I well remember it — 
 When I was young and first the holy fire 
 Burnt in my soul, what time I lived in Rome, 
 I wrought my chiefest work. There dwelt a pair 
 In that vile city whom I saved from Hell, 
 Players upon the filthy Roman stage. 
 I shut my eyes and see them. The strong man 
 And the fair woman — how her golden hair 
 Glances like sunlight through the Roman streets ! 
 Ah, God ! they were so merry in their sin, 
 As if this hateful world were only made 
 For them to love, and laugh and juggle in. 
 But I, mine eyes first falling on the twain, 
 And seeing them so light of heart, so deep 
 Each in the other's love, I straightway said, 
 Here is a work for thee, Serapion !
 
 56 SERAPION. 
 
 Yet, knowing it were vain to speak of Christ 
 
 And of their mortal sin to such dead ears 
 
 And hearts so stirred by lust, I did a deed 
 
 Of wonder, for I sold myself a slave ; 
 
 Yea, came a Christian to lascivious mimes. 
 
 And for a space I lived their life with them. 
 
 Waited on their revels, watched them in their loves, 
 
 Eat of the bread of shame, and counted o'er 
 
 The kisses that were seals to death and Hell ; 
 
 Even as a swimmer in a raging sea 
 
 Will strive to save a drowning man I strove ; 
 
 And at the last, through all their lewd content. 
 
 They came to see my silent Christianhood ; 
 
 At first but dimly, and with laughing eyes, 
 
 But slowly with less mocking, till at last. 
 
 With counsel, prayer, and bold remonstrances, 
 
 I won them to the fold — the woman first, 
 
 And afterwards the harder mountebank — 
 
 Yea, won them from the juggling cheat of time, 
 
 And tore them from their loves, and gave their lives 
 
 To laughterless repentance for the past. 
 
 And they are long since dead, and lie apart 
 
 In holy graves. It was a miracle. 
 
 And after that I saw the gates of Rome 
 
 For the last time, and came across the sea 
 
 To Egypt, seeking solitude, and gained 
 
 The desert, where I measure out my days 
 
 In prayer and pain. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Dear master and dear saint, 
 If I dared hope for such a miracle
 
 SERAPION. 57 
 
 As this, thy triumph over lustful blood, 
 I should be blessed even more than now, 
 Kissing your hands. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Your kisses burn my blood. 
 What faithful fervour hidden in your lips 
 Kindles my veins thus ? Do not hold my hands ; 
 Kiss them no more. O God ! what dream is this ? 
 What thing art thou ? 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Thy slave, Serapion ; 
 Thy slave beneath thy feet. 
 
 (Lalage clhigs to Serapion, who tries to push 
 
 her off.) 
 
 serapion. 
 
 Back, devil, back ; 
 Back in the name of God ! 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Ah, spurn me not, 
 That I, a woman, sought Serapion, 
 And faced all dangers with no woman's fear, 
 To kiss thy hands and seek the light with thee ! 
 Dear master, turn not from my womanhood ; 
 Pity and save. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Rise, woman, and begone. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Banish me not, but rather pity me. 
 
 That from the proud temptations of the world,
 
 58 SERAPION. 
 
 Have fled across these evil ways to thee. 
 
 Shall it be said Serapion flung away 
 
 A human soul to darkness, just because 
 
 It wore a woman's body ? Reach thine hand ; 
 
 Forget these tresses can be snares of sin ; 
 
 Forget my bosom is not hard as thine ; 
 
 Forget these limbs are round, and know not yet 
 
 The chastening scourge to tame their whiteness down ; 
 
 Forget that woman is a thing to love ; 
 
 Think only that these arms about thee held 
 
 Cling for support to the strong pillar of God ; 
 
 Think only that these lips so near to thine 
 
 Thirst after truth. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 O God, it may be so ! 
 Thou hast a soul to save. I may not dare 
 To fling thee down a prey to nether Hell. 
 But hold me not, my body seems to burn ; 
 There is a quiver in the limbs that press 
 So close against mine own which troubles me ; 
 So let me go. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Ah ! no, Serapion. 
 Here, while I hold thee, I am filled with hope. 
 Think not my woman's blood can trouble thine. 
 Rather thy frozen spirit shall have strength 
 To cool all human pulses in my heart. 
 And make me wholly saint, even as thyself, 
 To whom I pray.
 
 SERAPION, 59 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 A mist is on my eyes. 
 'Tis true that certain holy fathers bade 
 Defy the spirit of lust in his own field, 
 And in the very bed of virginhood 
 Sleep sinless sleep. And I, Serapion, 
 Greater than they, what have I got to fear ? 
 Woman, thy lips hold farther from my face — 
 Thou needst not pray so close. Let go my robe — 
 I cannot for your clinging move my feet. 
 Why are your eyes so bright ? Ah, God ! ah, God ! 
 Is this the hour ? 
 
 {He falls in a sivoon.) 
 Lalage. 
 
 Sad hermit, are you mine ? 
 Or has death snatched my triumph out of hand 
 And given decay its own ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Where is my dream ? 
 Are you still there ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Dear master, pardon me. 
 If it be sin to love so great a saint ; 
 If it be sin to kiss thy lips as men 
 Kiss holiest relics, master, pardon me. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Methought I sank into an angry sea, 
 The roaring water closing o'er my head. 
 And yet I did not drown. What thing art thou, 
 That seem'st so young and fair ?
 
 6o SERAPION. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 But a poor girl, 
 To whom the hovel of the anchorite 
 Is dearer than the palaces of kings, 
 Serapion a mightier name than Cc-esar, 
 And holy homage more than human love. 
 You will not spurn me ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Woman, kiss me not. 
 Thy lips will set my very blood on fire. 
 Thy fingers sting. Now if I catch thee close, 
 And set my teeth so in that delicate throat ! 
 Your flesh is warm and white. How loose thy robe ! 
 See how it slips and leaves thy bosom bare ! 
 Ah, now it glides away ! 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Serapion, 
 Kiss harder yet. Do as you will with me ! 
 I'll bite your brown throat through ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Down, devil, down ! 
 Thou naked image of incarnate lust, 
 Flung forth of Hell to set my soul on fire, 
 Down, in the name of God ! 
 
 {He flings her /o the ground.) 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Serapion, 
 Why do you hurt me thus ?
 
 SERAPION. 6 1 
 
 SEKAPION. 
 
 Be silent, fiend ; 
 I know thee now ; thy power is at an end. 
 May God forgive me ; nor kind Heaven refuse 
 To cleanse my soul from this foul smirch of sin ! 
 My feet have stumbled over Satan's snare, 
 But I have slipped the net. 
 
 (Sextus, Ecdicius, and Porphyrius come in.) 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Hands off, my friend. 
 This lady is not for your love or hate. 
 Are you tried, hermit ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Gentle Lalage, 
 Be not afeard. Were we not close at hand, 
 Who would not lower you to the lion's den, 
 And leave you there unguarded ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Who are ye 1 
 What would ye with me in my hour of shame ? 
 Let me go hence, or give me up to death. 
 I ask no mercy. 
 
 SEXTUS, 
 
 This is the rarest jesting. 
 Good hermit, if she put you to the proof. 
 Ye took the testing well. Most tempered steel ; 
 I can conceive no better.
 
 62 SERAPION. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 So I have failed — 
 Failed like an untaught girl in her first hour 
 Spent with a lover alone. A little more, 
 And I had lured my goblin to the touch, 
 And staged him for eternal merriment. 
 May Venus curse him ! But I take my leave, 
 Hooding my unsuccessful beauty up 
 In this vile gown. How strong the monster is ! 
 He could have loved well, too. O, wise Ecdicius, 
 Why, you have won, and I will pay my stake. 
 You speak home-truths. Let us begone from this — 
 I faint almost to death in this vile place. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Then, gentlemen, away. Porphyrins, 
 I have a certain message for your trust, 
 That must go straight to C?esar where he camps 
 Beside the Asian stream. You start to-morrow. 
 I pray you, lady. 
 
 (Ecdicius leads Lalage out.) 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 What, without a word, 
 Without a glance ! O Zeus all merciful, 
 I cannot bear it ; Father, let me die ! 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 No talk of dying. I am sorry for you, 
 For in my youth I had great hurt of love. 
 And learned to laugh it off, and here I am. 
 Alive and merry, that had once wise thoughts
 
 SE RAP I ON. 63 
 
 Of cutting through my throat for woman's sake ; 
 
 Be thou a man — think if it best becomes 
 
 To weep that you have lost a Lalage, 
 
 Or to remember there are brave ways yet 
 
 Of using life, and store of women left, 
 
 With eyes as bright, lips red as Lalage's ; 
 
 And what's more to the matter, with soft hearts 
 
 Your hands may fashion. Get you off to Caesar. 
 
 Do well with him ; wear out this folly of love. 
 
 And in a very little space of years 
 
 You may command like Egypt, when the girl 
 
 You covet now is old, or dead and damned ; 
 
 Pluck up, my lad, the walks of earth are wide, 
 
 And much to do before we near the end ; 
 
 The heartache soon wears oif. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I tell you, friend, 
 That if you held the empire of the earth 
 Thus in one hand, and in the other showed 
 One hour of her and after shameful death, 
 I'd have no doubt to choose. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Then lucky for you 
 I can't play fortune so. 
 
 (PORPHYRIUS goes out.) 
 
 Now hearken, hermit : 
 Here are three worthy fellows, all at odds 
 Over a piece of tainted carrion flesh — 
 You, that you cannot serve her to your God,
 
 64 SERAPION. 
 
 To please him with so rare a sacrifice ; 
 While for her sake Ecdicius would forget 
 The very faith he owes to Jove and Caesar ; 
 And that poor schoolboy talks of selling life, 
 Ere it is tasted, for some minutes spent 
 With one that has grown stale to half the East. 
 I, for my part, can thank my destiny 
 That the gods made one woman like another 
 In all essential points, and so farewell. 
 
 \^Ife goes out. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Give me Thy pardon, Christ, since God has willed 
 
 To tempt me as he tempted Anthony. 
 
 I thought my soul was stronger, surelier knit, 
 
 And lo, the whisper of a wanton's breath 
 
 Knappeth my pride asunder. God is great, 
 
 And when He sees some mortal swollen big 
 
 With his own love and proud humility, 
 
 His hand, far-stretched from the immortal throne. 
 
 Touches and withers all the cloak of lies, 
 
 And bares the naked sin that Adam gave ; 
 
 O God, these pagans, in Thine own wise purpose, 
 
 Triumph, and I, Serapion, am shamed ; 
 
 My pride is shattered, at Thy feet I lie, 
 
 Waiting God's will in patience to the end.
 
 - SERAPION. 6s 
 
 IV. 
 
 Room in the palace of Ecdicius, with an altar to Apollo. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 This is a dull world, good Maxentius, 
 
 And a most sleepy city. Nothing stirs 
 
 Worthy a moment's wonder day by day ; 
 
 Each hke his fellow dwindles through the glass. 
 
 The very Galileans keep their peace, 
 
 And we for prudent reasons are content 
 
 To let them slumber safe. What news to-day ? 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Little, my lord. A ship has come to port 
 Having on board a messenger from Csesar, 
 Who will be straightway here. The news of war 
 Is fortunate — 'tis said the Persians fly; 
 Nothing beside save this, that from the Pharos, 
 Another ship — a galley, too, of war — 
 Is sighted out at sea, and in its wake 
 Still further sail. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Belike more messengers 
 Of Julian's fiery mind. 'Tis well, Maxentius, 
 I would be left alone. Let none approach. 
 Unless indeed the Lady Lalage. 
 
 [Maxentius goes out. 
 
 I had an evil dream last night ; I dreamt 
 That death had taken me and Lalage, 
 
 5
 
 66 SERAPION. 
 
 And on his mighty wings had wafted us 
 
 To the chill side of Styx. Alone we stood, 
 
 Alone and shivering in the starless air ; 
 
 And at our feet the oozy water washed 
 
 With loathsome lapping ; and a silent fear 
 
 Possessed my soul, for it most strangely seemed 
 
 That we had left some well-lit festival 
 
 To pass between the gloomy gates of death 
 
 And watch that sundering stream — on the one side 
 
 Our agony, and on the other side 
 
 Thick darkness and the drear abode of Dis. 
 
 Then, as we waited, on the stream appeared 
 
 A wherry, and the form of one that rowed. 
 
 I beckoned, and he came. Ye gods, how cold 
 
 The slippery ledge where could our feet scarce cling. 
 
 As she and I — yea, I and Lalage — 
 
 Stood waiting for that fatal boat to hold 
 
 Its silent passage on that murky tide ! 
 
 For round that prow the waves went noiselessly. 
 
 Then, as the boat drew nearer, she and I 
 
 Looked at each other ; and I most miserable, 
 
 I stooped and kissed that sweet small mouth of hers, 
 
 So cold with death behind, and clung to her 
 
 With a great joy to find love not forgot 
 
 In that dim kingdom of the paUid shades. 
 
 Then clinging to that last long kiss of ours, 
 
 We turned and saw the barge lay but a length 
 
 From where we stayed ; and then I saw the face 
 
 Who wafted it to shore. It was the face 
 
 Of that dark hermit, with a smile on it 
 
 Of such malignant triumph that the look
 
 SERAPION. 67 
 
 Haunts me to-day, as it would stay by me 
 Till I had seen the latest of my suns. 
 Then Lalage cried out, a fearful cry ; 
 Whereat, like some spell broken, all the place, 
 The silent stream and the grey silent rocks. 
 And that wild face that bent its gaze on us, 
 And she and I, all seemed to float away 
 Upon a tide of dreams ; and I awoke 
 With that wild cry still ringing in my ears, 
 And that fell visage staring into mine. 
 To thank the gods I had but dreamt a dream. 
 And when I tell it, Lalage will laugh 
 Her laugh, so sweet a man might die to hear ; 
 And I shall kiss her, and it be forgot. 
 
 (Lalage comes in.) 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 So grave and full of thought ? then Lalage 
 Troubles the State. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Let all the fond world perish 
 Before one thought for it should be a bar 
 Between us twain ! But 'twas not to the State 
 My mind was given, but to yourself, sweet queen ! 
 What have you there ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Here is a thing for you 
 I took this moment from a fellow's hand—
 
 68 SERAPION. 
 
 A messenger of Julian's fresh from sea, 
 The very foam upon him, and his speech 
 Salt as the ocean. He would fain refuse 
 The precious roll to me ; but when I frowned 
 And bent my forehead in Olympian wrath, 
 He yielded up his treasure. Welcome me, 
 If not for mine own merit, for the grace 
 That girdles an imperial messenger. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Angel of love, thou art more welcome here 
 Than Julian's herald, or than Jove himself 
 "With all the stars about him. Where is this letter 
 That knows so rare a bearer ? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Great Ecdicius, 
 Upon my knees I humbly offer up 
 The sacred characters that Csesar's hand 
 Has traced on parchment, holied by his touch 
 Beyond the human. Do I carry it well ? 
 Is it not thus that all you lesser gods, 
 Jove's deputies, are customed to receive 
 The heavenly message ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Never, by thy goddess. 
 From such an Iris ; nor do kisses pay 
 The pains of Csesar's people. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Truce ! a truce ! 
 You do forget your letter, stay my breath,
 
 SERAPJON. 69 
 
 And outrage Cassar. Let us both be wise. 
 Read you your letter ; I will stand aloof 
 And look wise counsel. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 So, the letter, then. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Judged by your face, it is not sweet to read. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 This is a troublous time. Here is a letter. 
 
 The latest message from the Emperor, 
 
 In which he sharply chides me that my hand 
 
 Lies on the Galileans far too light 
 
 I'll read again the Julian words : ' I swear 
 
 By the great God Serapis, that unless 
 
 You deal severer justice to the slaves, 
 
 Yourself shall answer it. You know my temper ; 
 
 Slow to condemn, but slower to forgive ; 
 
 Look to yourself I hear of great contempt 
 
 Shown to the gods in Alexandria ; 
 
 And as I hear, my soul is filled with grief 
 
 And fiery anger. Would to Jove that all 
 
 The Christian venom in one man were found, 
 
 That I might choke it there, and rid the world 
 
 Of the dark juggle ! Drive the Christians out. 
 
 Whose very breath pollutes our holy shrines ! 
 
 Look to yourself, unless this thing be done. 
 
 Be firm, and fear not' So, ' Be firm, and fear not !' 
 
 Light words to write, and heavy words to read. 
 
 The Christian pride swells stronger day by day,
 
 70 SERAPION. 
 
 And he that tries to crush it seems a child 
 lifting his little heel against a brood 
 Of hissing serpents. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Nay, if you'll be wise 
 And talk great themes of State, I'll fly from you 
 Till you have shook this business from your mind. 
 And turn to lighter matters. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Sweet, farewell ! 
 For but a little while I think how best 
 To pleasure Caesar : 
 
 (Lalage goes out.) 
 
 How, indeed, I know not, 
 In these uneasy times. 
 
 {A serzmtit conies hi. ) 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 My lord, here's one 
 Has touched the port but now, and with the hour 
 Craves instant audience. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Is. it Rome, or Asia ? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 My lord, I ihink from Asia. 
 
 ECDICIUS; 
 
 Bid him enter.
 
 SERAPION. 71 
 
 Enter Porphyrius. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 All hail, Ecdicius ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Porphyrius ! 
 Now, by the blessed gods, what brings you here ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Great matter, for the greatest heart is cracked 
 The world could boast of. Julian is dead ! 
 
 ECDICIUS- 
 
 The Emperor dead ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Alas that I should say it ! 
 His spirit has aspired to the high gods, 
 Who greet the friend we weep. 
 
 ECDICIUS, 
 
 Why then, indeed, 
 Jove's greatest image on the earth is gone. 
 Are you most sure ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 These eyes beheld him die ; 
 Whereafter I made speed across the sea 
 To be the hateful herald of this chance. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 The manner of his death ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 A soldier's death. 
 It was a morn of battle, and our march
 
 72 SERAPION. 
 
 Led us between a sullen line of hills, 
 
 Where the dark Persian lurked. The gods themselves, 
 
 Who teach mankind by riddles, had pronounced 
 
 The day of evil omen ; for the priests 
 
 Whispered of warnings, and man told to man 
 
 How, in the latest watches of the night, 
 
 Julian had seen his Genius, veiled and sad, 
 
 Stand by his bed ; and as he sprang from sleep 
 
 Full of that fear, he saw the God of War 
 
 Float like a fiery meteor down the sky. 
 
 Far from our Eagles. But we went our way. 
 
 Daring our fate, and fate our challenge took ; 
 
 For on a sudden from the angry rocks 
 
 The furious Persian rushed, and whelmed us up 
 
 With a great wave of war ; and in the rout 
 
 A fatal spear smote Julian, and he fell ; 
 
 At sight of which such fury filled our souls, 
 
 That never did the Romans till that day 
 
 Show how the Romans fight. We beat them back, 
 
 And had the slaughter of our foes appeased 
 
 Offended Heaven to give our Julian back. 
 
 All had been well. Alas ! it was not so. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Died he upon the field ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 We bore him thence 
 To his own tent. About his dying bed 
 Stood some of those who loved their master best. 
 To whom he whispered with his failing breath :
 
 SERAPTON. 73 
 
 ' Friends and companions, it is time to die. 
 
 And I have learned from my philosophy 
 
 Some lesson of the greatness of the soul 
 
 Beyond the body, and the joy we owe 
 
 To the fair hour which cuts the twain apart ; 
 
 And as a favour from the gods I take 
 
 This mortal stroke, for I have lived my life, 
 
 As I believe, with honour, and I die 
 
 Of no vile sickness, nor no furtive steel 
 
 By malice urged ; but as a brave man should, 
 
 A not inglorious death. And weep ye not 
 
 That I, your prince, must in a little while 
 
 Be mixed with the wide heaven and all its stars. 
 
 Then bravely with his dying lips he gave 
 
 Good counsel ; prayed us, to do well for Rome, 
 
 In whom we chose to follow after him. 
 
 And so in virtue to the last he died, 
 
 And left the world to be his monument. 
 
 There is no more to tell. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Farewell, great Julian ! 
 'Tis certain that the best of us must die ; 
 But we may die too soon. What name is his 
 Who wears the wounded purple ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Jovian 
 Is Emperor now, and Christian. 
 
 ECDICIUS, 
 
 Christian too ! 
 Julian, this news will further vex thy shade
 
 74 SERAPION. 
 
 Than could the Persian arrow vex thy body. 
 This is grave tidings. 
 
 MAXENTius {coming in). 
 
 Look to yourself, my lord, while time remains. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Thy message, man! Pronounce what frights thee thus 
 To our aspect unbidden ? 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Good my lord. 
 This is no hour for ceremonious use. 
 The Christians of the city everywhere 
 Rise up against you. Joy for Julian's death 
 Has stirred such fiery madness in their blood, 
 They dream of deep revenge on godsand men 
 Whom Julian loved ; so have a care, my lord. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Command the soldiers drive the rabble home, 
 And there's an end. 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 There's little help in that, 
 For many a soldier has a Christian heart. 
 But dared not say so while the Emperor lived ; 
 Who now, great Julian dead, proclaims his faith, 
 And lends as ready a hand as priest or bishop 
 To burn a temple or to cut a throat : 
 You have no service there. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Ecdicius, 
 Within my ship there are a score of men
 
 S ERA P ION. 75 
 
 Sure hearts and hands, true servants of the gods, 
 Will serve to sweep these Christians out of sight 
 With but a show of weapons. Ciive me leave : 
 I'll to the port and bring my fellows up 
 AV hile you hold parley here. And like enough 
 More ships have touched from Asia ; Sextus's ship 
 Was close to mine all yesternight. 
 
 LALAGE (rushing in). 
 
 Alas! 
 What tumult fills the streets ! what dismal cries 
 Startle the peace of noon ! Before our gates 
 Wild hands are weaponed, and vile voices strain 
 With fearful threatenings ; and I heard but now 
 Your name howled out, and afterwards my name. 
 What does it mean ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Nay, fear not, Lalage ; 
 'Tis but some crowd of Christians out of sorts, 
 Must vent their spleen with howling at our doors ; 
 They'll soon be gone. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Nay, there are soldiers too. 
 And all around a sea of angry men 
 Swirl round the palace steps ; they come to kill. 
 Save me ! oh, save ! 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 There is no danger, lady. 
 This is but summer fury, more of noise 
 Than graver peril. 'Tis a feverous rage 
 That, whirling through sedition's tainted blood,
 
 76 SERAPION. 
 
 Puts on a mask of passion. But ourselves, 
 Like wise physicians, with a show of steel 
 Ease the distempered body. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Who is this ? 
 You are the Greek boy with the gracious name 
 Came here last year. Oh, you are truly welcome 
 If you have weapons, and will scourge these slaves 
 Back to the kennels they have issued from ! 
 You come from Asia, from the Emperor. 
 Is not all well ? On both your looks I read 
 A sombre sorrow for I know not what ; 
 (rive me the news. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I come from Asia, from the Emperor, 
 But not the Csesar that my sword has served. 
 I may not linger longer. Ill to the harbour. 
 Ecdicius will deliver up my story. 
 Fear thou no fear. 
 
 \He goes out. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 From Caesar, not from Caesar. 
 What is his story ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 It is told too soon. 
 Julian is dead, and in his seat there sits 
 A Christian Caesar. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Then we are lost indeed ! 
 Where can we fly } This howling herd without
 
 SERAPION, 77 
 
 Know this black news, and triumph, and we fall. 
 Can we not fly before their hungry hands 
 Tear us in pieces ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Fly, my Lalage ! 
 I that am Roman and commanding here ! 
 Why would you have me fly? Take courage, sweet ! 
 This storm will soon abate. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Oh, save me ! save me ! 
 Mercy, ye gods ! If I have ever spared 
 Fit service at your shrines, forgive me now, 
 And save me from this doom ! 
 
 {She falls sobbing before the statue of Apollo.) 
 Maxentius {cojtting iti). 
 My lord ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Be silent ! 
 Fright not the woman ; breathe your tidings low. 
 Is there great danger ? 
 
 maxentius. 
 
 Imminent destruction 
 Hangs over all unless we quell this riot. 
 Porphyrius by a secret way has 'scaped 
 The palace, seeking through secluded streets 
 To gain the ships and succour ; if he win, 
 No hostile hand preventing, to the port, 
 He may return in time.
 
 78 SERA P ION. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 But as it is, 
 We tremble on the edge of Erebus — 
 Is it not so ? 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 'Tis even so, my lord. 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 I must appear, and see what virtue lies 
 Still in the semblance of authority 
 To overawe rebellion. Lalage, 
 I leave you for the moment. 
 
 LALAGE, 
 
 Do not leave me ! 
 Oh, brave Ecdicius, do not let me die ! 
 Are you the master here, and cannot save 
 One wretched woman's life ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Take courage, girl ! 
 No danger shall address thee while I live : 
 Surely more needless promise never yet 
 Came from the lips of any breathing man ! 
 Maxentius, take her to her room. Myself 
 Must to the gates and face this multitude.
 
 SERAPION. 79 
 
 V. 
 
 An ope7i place in Alexandria. At right, the house of the 
 F reefed. At left, a temple of Venus. 
 
 A PRIEST OF VENUS. 
 
 The rumours of the town are dangerous ; 
 There is an ominous quiet, like the cahn 
 Before the rifted heavens discharge their wrath. 
 What think you of it ? 
 
 ANOTHER PRIEST. 
 
 News of Julian's death, 
 Coming none know from where, or borne by whom. 
 Ran like a conflagration through and through 
 The Galilean quarter, and the day 
 Beholds them busy as a swarm of bees 
 In summer-time ; from every part they muster, 
 Holding their slaves' heads high that yesterday 
 Bent low enough. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 But would they, think you, dare 
 To make a violent show ? 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 I cannot say, 
 But the tale goes the new-made Emperor 
 Is nothing but — forgive me, gods, that say it ! — 
 A Galilean ; at the noise whereof 
 These Chrisdans, being blown up with false pride.
 
 8o SERAPION. 
 
 And our belonging with a like alarm, 
 
 Shaken from strength of custom, who shall say 
 
 What things may happen ? 
 
 Enter a soldier. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 To your holes, ye knaves ! 
 Have ye no terror of the light of day 
 Now that the enemy, thy friend, is dead, 
 And Christ resumes His kingdom? 
 
 1ST PRIEST {aside). 
 
 Is not this 
 A fellow of the guard ? 
 
 2ND PRIEST, 
 
 Most sure he is ; 
 But he speaks strangely. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Do you whisper, fellows ? 
 Are ye surprised that one who yesterday 
 Was of the legions of the lords of Hell, 
 Is fain to-day to save his soul alive ? 
 I am a Christian. Look to yourselves, I say. 
 Lest hands that have been forced to feed your shrines 
 With incense, now should turn and offer up 
 The priests of Baal as sacrifice to God. 
 Look to yourselves ! 
 
 \^He goes out. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 The man of war is wild ! 
 Brother, I like him not !
 
 SERAPION. Si 
 
 2ND PRIEST. 
 
 Let US go in 
 And pray that pleasant Venus may avert 
 The threatened evil. 
 
 {During the last few words a beggar has entered, 
 and sat at the foot of the steps leading to the 
 temple^ 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Kites, crows, vultures, daws, 
 Pack to your nests ! it is our turn at last ! 
 The kingdom of the beggars is at hand ! 
 Our God has come — the God of Lazarus, 
 Who flung down Dives howling into hell ! 
 'Tis well to-day to be a beggar born ; 
 Lepers are lucky now. 
 
 1ST PRIEST. 
 
 The man is mad ! 
 But here come other of his kind — away ! 
 ( They go into the temple. ) 
 
 Enter a dancing-girl. 
 
 DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 Good-day, old master ! Here's a coin for you ; 
 Wish me good custom. 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Whither go you, girl ? 
 
 DANCING-GIRL. 
 
 To lay these flowers at Lady Venus' feet. 
 And pray her keep her dancing-girl in mind, 
 
 6
 
 82 SERAPION. 
 
 And send me many lovers. Who shall say 
 But the dear goddess, in return for all 
 My gifts of flowers and little golden toys, 
 May grant one day such luck as Lalage's ? 
 She was no better on a time than I : 
 She worked as hard as I, and danced to clowns 
 For copper. I may snare a prasfect too ; 
 My eyes are bright as hers. 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 Be silent, girl ! 
 Your dancing-time is over, and God's wrath 
 Stoops on the city. Is not Julian dead ? 
 And with his death these shrines and images 
 Of the false gods must perish. Dance no more, 
 But hide your head, and pray to angry Heaven 
 Forgiveness of your sins. 
 
 {A crowd of armed Christians rush in.') 
 
 ONE CHRISTIAN. 
 
 Glory to God, for Antichrist is dead ! 
 The idol is thrown down, the feet of clay 
 That bruised our necks are broken, and the tongue 
 That wagged against the saints is still enough. 
 Jove cannot help him where he lingers now — 
 Hot in hell-pains. 
 
 ANOTHER CHRISTIAN. 
 
 Glory to God indeed 
 Who hath upset Apollyon, knapped in twain 
 The spears of sin ! How is it with thee, Julian,
 
 SERAPION. 83 
 
 Now that fire clings thee, and the undying worm 
 Gnaws thee for ever ? 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Antichrist is dead, 
 But not his fellows. There are folk alive 
 Who should not see the setting of the sun, 
 If Christ indeed have triumphed. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 To the pit 
 With all the Pagan lords ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Pluck down their gods ; 
 Break every image ; burn their temples up ; 
 Tear out the heart of every child of sin ; 
 Let no man live, no woman nor no child. 
 That hath not served the body and blood of Christ 
 In those dark hours wherein the faithful few 
 Watched for the dawn ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Brother, the dawn is come ; 
 The sun has risen. We who prayed for day, 
 Now with the daylight have our work to do. 
 The harvest waits for garner over-ripe. 
 Let every man take up his sickle and reap. 
 Ye labourers of the Lord ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Go, some of ye. 
 Call up our brothers ! Bid them gird their loins 
 
 6—2
 
 S4 SERAPION. 
 
 For the great battle. Seize ye torches, swords ; 
 One for the shrines, the other for the throats 
 Of Pagans. On the instant burn and slay ! 
 Jehovah arms your hands ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Here is great news ! 
 The hermits of the desert hasten here 
 To help the flock within the city ways 
 To rend the wolves that ravened yesterday. 
 They say Serapion comes. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Serapion comes ! 
 ITie man of God is here. 
 
 (Serapion enters with a number of Nitrian 
 hermits armed with clubs. ) 
 serapion. 
 
 My brethren^ 
 The hour is come at last. The little cloud 
 That hid the fair face of the sun awhile, 
 Dissolves to nothing. Julian is dead ! 
 The cankered heart is quiet, and the lips 
 That gave his soul blaspheming utterance 
 Can lie no more ; for Antichrist is dead, 
 And now lies howling in the pits of hell, 
 Praying in vain for mercy. God is great, 
 Who sent this shadow but to test our faith. 
 That shines more strongly through. But now, my 
 
 brothers. 
 Let not our hands lie idle from the task
 
 SERAPION. 8S 
 
 The Lord hath set us, till we sweep this place 
 Free from its lewd idolaters, the spawn 
 Of that dead devil. Drive the devil's brood 
 To seek their lord in Hell ! 
 
 (Maxentius appears at the palace stairs wit. 
 soldiers. ) 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 How now, ye brawlers ! 
 Seek every man his home, and leave this place. 
 On pain of great displeasure. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Silence, slave! 
 We fear no man's displeasure, who are God's, 
 To do God's bidding. 
 
 CHRISTIANS. 
 
 Death to idolaters ! 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Upon them, soldiers ! Drive the villains hence ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Ye men-at-arms, the Captain of the host 
 Fights in our battle. Ours is the holy legion, 
 And He that leads, the Saviour of the world. 
 Julian is dead ; that dark, rebellious angel 
 Who warred against high Heaven is overthrown, 
 And on his neck the Shepherd of the world 
 Plants the pierced feet of holy Calvary. 
 Who lifts his spear to wound the side of Christ ?
 
 86 SERA PI ON. 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Upon them, guards ! What, do ye falter, fellows ? 
 
 A SOLDIER, 
 
 I'll lift no hand against the holy men. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 I fight no battle with the cause of Christ. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 I am a Christian. 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 We are Christians too; 
 We will not fight our brothers of the faith 
 For the false gods of Rome. 
 
 {Sa'eral of the soldiers go down and mingle with 
 the crowd of Christians, ivho clasp their hands 
 and fall 7/pon their necks. Many kneel to 
 receive the blessing of the Nitrian fathers.) 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Rebels and traitors ! Are no true men here ? 
 Is this allegiance ? 
 
 A SOLDIER. 
 
 I am no traitor, I, 
 But a good servant of the gods above, 
 And of my masters here. What say ye, comrades ? 
 We stand together ? 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 Long live Ecdicius !
 
 SERAPION. 87 
 
 MAXENTIUS. 
 
 Keep back the Christians while I warn the Praefect, 
 And call up other aid. {^e goes in.) 
 
 A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 Down with the Praefect ! 
 Down with Ecdicius ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Bring the Pagan out. 
 (Ecdicius appears with Maxentius at the head 
 of the stairs.) 
 
 ecdicius. 
 
 Who are ye that our quiet streets profane 
 With shameless clamour on a day of grief, 
 When all the world makes wail for Julian ? 
 
 christians. 
 Antichrist ! Antichrist ! Down with Ecdicius. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Say rather that the world to-day rejoices, 
 Because the enemy of man and God 
 Has bit the dust at last, in God's good time. 
 And thou, Ecdicius, be prepared to stand 
 Before the judgment, for thy many sins ; 
 For all the stripes that ye have measured out 
 Unto the servants of the Lord of Hosts, 
 Shall now to thee be measured. To this end 
 Your heart was hardened more than Pharaoh's 
 To meet his doom. Ecdicius, you must die !
 
 88 SERAPTON. 
 
 ECDiCIUS. 
 
 You speak safe tsiiths in saying I must die, 
 Who never claimed to be immortal, friend ; 
 But that my life is yours to give or take, 
 I'll not believe it. Be advised by me, 
 And get thee hence, or vrorse may come of it 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Thmk not, thou son of Satan, with brave words 
 
 To cheat the wrath of heaven. Your days are done ; 
 
 The blood of all the holy that your hand 
 
 Has spilt, cries out for vengeance. Nor in vain 
 
 Echoes that cry through the celestial courts. 
 
 Wherefore your time has run^ Come down and die ! 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Friends all, my warning for this last time take, 
 And part in peace, before I sweep with steel 
 This wildness quiet, and once more I call 
 On those who serve the Eagles, to hold fast 
 By Jove, and by their standards. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Hear no more ! 
 The hand of Heaven is armed to overthrow 
 Lucifer's legions. With three hundred men 
 The son of Joash spoiled the Midianites. 
 Up and upon them 1 
 
 (Serapion a?id the Christians rush to the steps 
 of the palace. The soldiers make a brief re- 
 sistance^ but are scattered and overpowered.
 
 SERAPION. 89 
 
 Maxentius is killed. EcDicius, fighting 
 desperately, is whirled to the front, disarmed, 
 afid seized. ) 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Ye dogs, have done ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 So thou art fallen, Pharaoh ! 
 You made most merry with my hour of shame ; 
 Do you laugh now ? 
 
 ECDICIUS. 
 
 Aye, to the last I laugh, 
 For sure the gods devised you for their sport, 
 In scorn of nobler things, 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Away with him ! 
 See him kept safely in some prison-house, 
 Until some fitter hour decides his doom. 
 
 (EcDicius is dragged out, guarded by soine of 
 the Christian soldiers.) 
 
 Brothers, Ecdicius holds within his house 
 
 The laughing harlot, Venus' vilest child, 
 
 The sorrow of the city, Lalage ; 
 
 Who long has worn the crown of sin, and shamed 
 
 Christ's servants, 
 
 ONE. 
 
 Give her to us, that she die ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Follow and find her where she lurks within ; 
 But no man strike save I.
 
 go SE RAPT ON. 
 
 (Serapion and other Nitrians rush into the 
 palace. ) 
 
 A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 Oh, glorious day ! 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 This is the hoHest hour I ever knew. 
 
 (Serapion appears at the head of the steps with 
 Nitrians dragging La l age.) 
 
 serapion. 
 
 Behold the thing, 
 The angel of the impious Lucifer, 
 That seeks to prey on souls reserved for Heaven ! 
 It has not spread its fatal wings for flight, 
 But holds its human shape. 
 
 1ST hermit. 
 
 Spirit of Hell, 
 That cowerest there in shame ! By Christ His Cross, 
 I summon thee to quit thy present shape, 
 And show thyself the fiend ! 
 
 2ND hermit. 
 
 It answers not. 
 Incarnate sin, I bid thee turn and flee, 
 Rending the lewd and lustful veil of flesh, 
 Back to the pits of Tophet ! 
 
 3RD HERMIT. 
 
 By the blood 
 Of Him Who died upon the blessed tree, 
 I do conjure thee hence !
 
 SERAPION. 91 
 
 4TH HERMIT. 
 
 It will not go ; 
 But I am strong to wrestle with the fiend, 
 And smite it with my staff. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Ah ! hurt me not. 
 Serapion, that art called the wise and good, 
 You will not let these old men murder me ! 
 How have I done thee harm ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Thou filth, be dumb ! 
 And ye, my brothers, seize this painted shame, 
 Plucked from the stench of Alexandrian stews. 
 To tempt the saints of God ! Lay hold of it, 
 And scourge its fatal spirit howling hence ; 
 Making this mask of carnal loveliness 
 Into a shape for death to shudder at. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Ah, mercy, in the name of all your gods ! 
 Forgive me ! Let me live ! 
 
 SERAPION. ' 
 
 Take her away. 
 The fiend defies us. To the jaws of Hell 
 Beat ye his creature home. 
 
 {As the hermits seize Lalage, Porphyrius 
 rushes in, followed by some soldiers, who drive 
 back the crowd a little.) 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 What work is here ? Let go your villainous holds ?
 
 92 SEE API ON. 
 
 The gods be praised that sent me here in time. 
 Are you hurt, lady ? 
 
 {^The hermits leave Lalage, who falls on the 
 grotmd fainting, and gather together.) 
 
 1ST HERMIT. 
 
 Is this the Prince of Night, 
 Come for his demon from the caves of fire ? 
 I have no fear. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Brothers, lay hold of him ! 
 This is some other of the spawn of sin, 
 By Satan sent to help this harlot here. 
 Shall it avail ? 
 
 {The hermits advance o?i Porphyrius, who 
 dratvs his sword. ) 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Lay not a hand on me. 
 Or, though yourselves are old, and I am young, 
 I will make bold to set some blood afloat. 
 Now running sluggish in your villain veins. 
 This is my lady, and my dearly loved ! 
 Touch her, ye kites, and, by Eternal Jove ! 
 Your white hairs shall not save your wizard hearts 
 From doing strange dishonour to my sword 
 That serves to spit them. 
 
 3RD HERMIT. 
 
 Hear the infidel ! 
 He calls upon the name of Lucifer ! 
 He worships the arch-demon, the lewd god
 
 SERAPION. 93 
 
 Of Pagan beasts ! It is some imp begot 
 By goatish devil of a sorceress. 
 Pluck out his heart ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Brothers, a moment's pause. 
 Bold youth, that stand'st here with the name of Jove 
 Loud in thy mouth, and brave with naked steel — 
 Though sword nor demon stir us^ — if you come, 
 A devil sent by devils, then this sign 
 Should send you howling to the gates of flame. 
 If you are man, what madness bids you thrust 
 Your feeble arm between the wrath of God 
 And this its victim ? Be advised, and go 
 And mend your life. This woman that you s€e 
 Lies here for judgment, and must surely die. 
 Thou too, unless thy wisdom lead thee hence, 
 Repentant for thy sin. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 You juggling fool \ 
 Who, howling at the gods, wouldst offer up 
 All loveliest things unto thy rebel God, 
 You shall not take my dove. I stand alone ; 
 But if each desert sand took human shape 
 More horrid than yourselves, why, here I stay,. 
 Being better pleased to perish for her sake 
 Than reign in Csesar's seat. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Most pitiful, 
 Because most vilely snared in Satan's mesh. 
 Die with thy woman I
 
 94 SERAPION. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 A most worthy death ! 
 Forgive me, honest sword, that I must shame thee 
 By letting out some misbeUeving blood ; 
 For if we play them till the others come, 
 We've done our duty. Back, ye vultures ! back ! 
 Know that there follow, close upon my heels, 
 Those that shall make ye bitterly repent 
 Ye were so bold awhile. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Hear him no more ! 
 Seize on them both, and, by a double death, 
 Anger awhile Apollyon. 
 
 {A hermit rushes in.) 
 
 HERMIT. 
 
 We are lost ! 
 There is a very army at our doors, 
 But newly come to port. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Are they afar ? 
 
 HERMIT. 
 
 Woe on these lips that answer ! close at hand. 
 They drive our holy brothers from the streets. 
 Say, shall I run and rouse the city up ? 
 We may o'erwhelm with numbers. 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Now the gods grant 
 Our friends are here in time ! Sweet lady, rise. 
 For all is well.
 
 SERAPION. 95 
 
 Enter Sextus and soldiers. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Hail ! in the name of Rome, 
 What have we here ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Thrice welcome, noble Sextus ! 
 Being in time to teach these dogs a lesson, 
 That would have slain the loveliest thing on earth, 
 But for the gods. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 What purpose brings you here, 
 Ye men of Caesar, with this armed front. 
 Against our quiet ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Art thou Serapion ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 I am the man. 
 
 SEXTUS, 
 
 Serapion, grave report 
 Has ever voiced you for a holy man ; 
 Nor may I think that you maliciously, 
 But rather in some error of intent. 
 Aim at the lives of Roman citizens. 
 Even as I came, I heard that violent hands 
 Had slain Ecdicius. Alas ! the tale was true, 
 And I arrived too late for further use 
 Than to pluck back his body from the dogs 
 That murdered him ! This is most bloody work, 
 Which some have promptly paid for with their lives. 
 So, in the name of Rome, I here demand
 
 96 SERAPION. 
 
 You yield me up this man and woman here ; 
 And what complaint you have will find due ear 
 Before my seat in Alexandria, 
 Where I am mouthpiece of the Jovian mind, 
 That ne'er refuses justice. 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 This is justice. 
 That all who served the sinful gods should die ; 
 But most of all this wanton woman here. 
 Has she not made the holy house of God 
 Into a palace for the Paphian Queen ? 
 The shame of desolation written of 
 By Prophet Daniel ? 
 
 SEXTUS, 
 
 Now, by the palm of Paul, 
 This is too much ! I charge ye all be still. 
 And hear the words of wisdom, In your eyes 
 I read pale Rumour's lesson run before 
 To spoil my story. Julian is dead, 
 And by your voices there are some be glad. 
 Where some draw dreary faces. Hear me, friends 
 The Apostate — enemy of God and man — 
 Threatens no more with sacrilegious hands 
 Ark, priest, and temple. He is gone his ways — 
 No more of him — and in his seat there sits 
 Mild-minded Jovian, that most Christian king. 
 
 THE CROWD. 
 
 Jovian ! Long life to Christian Jovian !
 
 SERAPTON. 97 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 I thank you, friends, for your fidelity ; 
 In proof whereof I pray you to your homes, 
 And make no further tumult. Ye must know 
 That by the grace of God and Jovian, 
 Myself am Prasfect here. 
 
 A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 You are no Christian ! 
 We'll have no Prsefect but a Christian here. 
 How say ye, brothers ? — none but Christians here ! 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Silence, you rascal ! By the jaws of John, 
 
 The next who lifts his voice to howl at me 
 
 Shall have rare cause for howling ! Dear my brothers, 
 
 You do me wrong with such ungentle thoughts, 
 
 That, by the mouth of Matthew, am as good 
 
 A Christian as great Jovian himself. 
 
 Let no man question this, on pain of death. 
 
 THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 Sextus the Christian, Sextus the Prsefect, hail ! 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Thou art a most ungodly man of God. 
 
 But any weapon may do holy work. 
 
 In Heaven's disposal. By your new-found faith 
 
 I straightly cliarge you to deliver up 
 
 To present death this woman and this man, 
 
 Lest in your heart some lingering lust be found 
 
 After Apollyon. 
 
 7
 
 98 SERAPION. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Master Nitrian ! 
 Within these walls 'tis I that give command, 
 And you that take it. We have met of old, 
 And I have known you for a worthy man 
 And holy ; but your worth and holiness 
 Make you no captain here : your legions lie 
 Out in the desert ; better back to them, 
 And leave this bustle to a likelier man — 
 Even myself 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Thou Dagon-worshipper ! 
 Look to thyself ! And ye that hearken me, 
 Shall we be stayed from judgment by the speech 
 Of one that bows to Baal ? This hour is ours. 
 Remember ye the curse on Saul, who spared 
 Amalekitish cattle and its king. 
 Yonder is Agag, saying to himself, 
 'Surely the bitterness of death is past.' 
 Shall this be so, my brothers ? Cry your cry — 
 ' The sword of God and of Serapion !' 
 
 ( The mob rush threateningly forivard 7vaving their 
 weapons^ and shouting : The sword of God and 
 of Serapion !) 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Stand back, ye brawlers ! or by Caesar's hair 
 Such blood shall flow in Alexandria, 
 Ye'U have to swim to shelter. Beat them back ! 
 {The legionaries drive the mob back.)
 
 SERA PI ON. 99 
 
 Now we can breathe ; now can our words be heard : 
 They are worth hearing, for they fall like pearls 
 From Jovian's Hps, that are by me caught up 
 And borne with hasty speed across the sea. 
 
 ONE OF THE CROWD. 
 
 Is our new master of the Arian creed ? 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Does Jovian hold with Athanasius ? 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 We'll have no rule of heretic Arian. 
 The Arian is a phase of Antichrist 
 Worse than the Pagan, 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Will you give me leave ? 
 Be sure that Jovian writes upon his heart 
 The heavenly words of Athanasius. 
 Let that suffice. To all the Pagans here, 
 He in his gracious mercy deigns to grant 
 Perfect permission to adore their gods 
 In all becoming quiet, safe and sound, 
 Save when they deal in magic. Ye that hear, 
 Store up my judgment in your memory ; 
 For, by the mind of Mark, I mean to keep 
 This city quiet. Every man away ! 
 On pain of grave displeasure. 
 
 A NITRIAN. 
 
 Hark, Serapion ! 
 Shall I with speed run through the city wa}s.
 
 loo SEE API ON. 
 
 Rousing our warlike brothers everywhere 
 To fight these foemen ? 
 
 SERAPION. 
 
 Patience, brother, patience. 
 In vain to strive ; the hand of Antichrist 
 Is armed, for reasons that we know not of, 
 Heavy against us. 'Tis a little while. 
 And these same Pagans that escape us now 
 Shall meet their doom : so for the hour we yield, 
 In hope of happier days. Severus Sextus, 
 You claim this woman in the name of Rome ! 
 I claim this woman in the name of (rod. 
 Do as you will. For ye, my brothers, hence 
 Each to his house to serve the Lord with ])rayer. 
 
 (Serapion goes out, followed by the Nitrians.') 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 I thank you, sir, and take this lady hence. 
 I fear, fair Lalage, these Anchorites 
 Have frightened you. This old Serapion 
 Is tougher than you thought. Have you forgot 
 A certain wager? 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 Sextus, mock me not, 
 For I am sorely shamed ; but tell me, rather. 
 What blessed gods sent you so timely here. 
 Just on the word ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Why ! poor Porphyrius there, 
 Whose Greekish blood your eyes have set on fire,
 
 SERAPIOX. loi 
 
 Met me with wild words as I touched the port 
 But hah' an hour since— how the Christians raged 
 About the palace, arid your life was perilled ! 
 And scarcely tells his tale, but flies again 
 With some half-score of soldiers to the town. 
 I, knowing well the temper of these curs, 
 Come hasty after with my bravest men — 
 Who'd follow at my summons to the gates 
 Of golden Heaven — through the noisy streets, 
 At our best motion, on Porphyrius' track, 
 To save you both. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 I thank you heartily ; 
 You, and my Grecian lover. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Listen, lady 1 
 You have two lovers. He that holds your hand, 
 And Greek Porphyrius. Brave Ecdicius dead, 
 I, in his place as Prtefect, fain would keep 
 His golden bird within her golden cage. 
 But though I'm master here, and well might say, 
 ' I'll wear myself the jewel I have plucked 
 Out of this nest of vipers, and no man 
 Lift up his voice against,' 'tis not my way. 
 Hark you, Porphyrius ! we are friends of proof ; 
 Here is a pretty lady seeks her mate. 
 With us to choose from. You have loved her long- 
 Is it not so? — and as for me, my heart 
 Breaks for no woman. Let her choose between.
 
 102 SERAPION. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 You mock me, Sextus, but' you hold my hand ; 
 "Why would you let me go ? 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 Most noble Sextus, 
 Believe me that I thank you from my heart. 
 Though not in phrases. For this lady here 
 I make no claim — for mine are fallen fortunes; 
 I should be glad to die : my days were done 
 AVhen Julian perished by a nameless hand ; 
 And, like extinguished stars, the beautiful gods 
 Followed his shade into the fields of air, 
 And left this world to darkness. I go hence 
 Back to my home by the ^Egean Sea, 
 To wear away the burden of my life 
 With the wise spirits of the golden past. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 I pray you play the man ! 
 
 PORPHYRIUS. 
 
 I am resolved ; 
 I have no portion here : I cannot tread 
 The Galilean triumph, so farewell I 
 I am not to be pitied that have seen 
 The greatest, noblest soul on earth, the last 
 IMade in the antique fashion, and have loved 
 Earth's fairest woman ; and believe me, lady, 
 That to the latest second of my life
 
 SERAPION. 103 
 
 Your beauty shall be by me, and your eyes 
 Shine on me in my loneliness. Farewell ! 
 
 \_He goes out. 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 Porphyrins, stay — one word ! The boy is gone. 
 I thought him more a soldier, for he showed 
 A gallant front in fight. 
 
 LALAGE. 
 
 So soft a voice. 
 So brave a bearing, wooed a fairer fate, 
 Perhaps — who knows ? 
 
 SEXTUS. 
 
 If he had been a Croesus 
 You might have made a better choice than me, 
 Who, not for Julian, Jupiter, or thee, 
 Would wear such sorrow. All the gods are good. 
 And any captain serves a stout man's turn ; 
 And if the girl I covet likes me not, 
 I seek some other. But the boy will mend 
 With time's advances. In the meantime, sweet. 
 This city's master serves you, for which grace 
 In these fierce times be thankful, Lalage.
 
 I B Y C U S. 
 
 Sweet sister Syrinx, has no memory hung 
 
 About your pipes of Pan, who saw you stray 
 
 With heedless feet along the river-way, 
 
 In those dear days before the gods were flung 
 
 Forth from Olympus ? Are your last songs sung ? 
 
 Or will you let ihis piper of to-day 
 
 Make bold upon your reedy lips to play 
 
 Some of your music when the world was young — 
 
 Some music with the memory of tears 
 
 About it. Now your voice begins to moan ; 
 
 I see a marsh land where the startled steers 
 
 .Splash in the sedge ; across the red-orbed sun 
 
 The long- winged cranes fly slowly one by one ; 
 
 Down there lies slaughtered Ibycus, alone ! 
 
 ' Ibycus of Rhegium, having given the best part of his manhood 
 to the service of Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, was returning to 
 Corinth, where he had lived as a youth, when he was set upon 
 by robbers and slain. The story goes, but I can scarcely credit 
 it, that as the poet was dying, he cast his eyes towards heaven, 
 and beholding a flock of cranes there, called upon them to 
 avenge him ; which indeed they did, by flying over the theatre 
 of Corinth on a day when the murderers were pi'esent, at sight 
 whereof one of these men cried out unwittingly, " Behold the 
 avengers of Ibycus !" and was in consequence put to death, he 
 and his companions.' — Paulus Hieronvmus. De Poetis In- 
 felicibus. 
 
 A plain Jiear Corinth. 
 
 Ye mightiest gods, I thank ye that have led 
 My wandering footsteps to the well-beloved,
 
 IBYCUS. loi 
 
 Well-wardered ways of Corinth, where she lies 
 
 Within the shadow of the holiest hill 
 
 Wooed by the worshipping breezes. Once again 
 
 Your temples rise before me as of old, 
 
 Filling for joy my too long alien eyes 
 
 With tears more welcome than thy fountain's wave 
 
 To weary climbers. So I saw them last 
 
 When we were younger, I and Corinth too ; 
 
 'Twas sunrise then, and like the day my days 
 
 Were rising — had not waned to the full heat 
 
 Of manhood's summer. x'Vh ! that fair June day 
 
 When I went down the pathway of the sun. 
 
 Thy walls behind me, Corinth, to the sea. 
 
 How many a year has grown from baby Spring, 
 
 With early blossoms in its golden hair, 
 
 And wide eyes wondering at the youthful world. 
 
 To lazy Winter blinking by the fire, 
 
 Since last I stared upon your sacred hill 
 
 And laughed a light good-bye ! 'Twas sunrise then, 
 
 'Tis almost sunset now ; no other change. 
 
 Shall I believe this is the dying light 
 
 Of that long-distant dawn, and all the years 
 
 I wore away in Samos but a dream 
 
 As vague as that which stirred my sleep last night, 
 
 Telling me I should live a thousand years ? 
 
 Close but mine eyes an instant, and I see 
 
 Myself here waiting for the last farewell, 
 
 With all my youth stretched like a widening path 
 
 Far to the golden future out of sight. 
 
 Let me behold thee. Yet a little hour — 
 
 A little hour, and the great sun-god hurls
 
 io6 IBYCUS. 
 
 The latest of his fiery shafts, and leaps 
 
 All glowing downward to his deep sea halls, 
 
 Leaving this world to folded wings of night, 
 
 And the sweet service of his sister moon, 
 
 The pallid Phcebe, Ere that hour be sped 
 
 I go between the yawning brazen gates 
 
 To tread once more the old familiar streets 
 
 That watched my golden youth. O Corinth, Corinth ! 
 
 There will be music in thy ways to-night. 
 
 And the red glare from lamp-lit rooms shall mix 
 
 With the wan moonlight in thy joyous streets ; 
 
 For who will not make merry, who that hears 
 
 How Ibycus has wandered home again 
 
 To the sweet city ? I am glad at heart 
 
 I came this way unknown, unheralded, 
 
 To steal upon my Corinth unawares. 
 
 And snare her as a lover snares his love — 
 
 Who creeps to her on tiptoe with held breath, 
 
 Laying his amorous hands about her eyes. 
 
 And with light laughter bids the startled girl 
 
 Declare who hoods her so. My name is famous 
 
 Wherever Grecian winds and Grecian waves 
 
 Fill Grecian sails, or fall on Grecian shores ; 
 
 Surely most famous here, most fit for welcome ; 
 
 And this night's work should overtop the mirth ; 
 
 Made in the revel of that farewell night 
 
 Before I sailed for Samos over sea. 
 
 What a mad night ! what merry songs we sang ! 
 
 And oh, ye gods ! how mightily we drank, 
 
 Shouting wild verses with the changing cups ! 
 
 My head was hotter then. There was a girl —
 
 IBYCUS. 107 
 
 One of the fairest I have e'er beheld — 
 
 Who fluted at that feast ; and my mad blood, 
 
 Wild with the wine, and lights, and all the mirth, 
 
 Turned fire within its channels for her sake. 
 
 She stood outside in that dim portico. 
 
 Her warm flushed face beneath the golden hair 
 
 Twisted with purple roses, and the gloom 
 
 Of dark-veined ivy. From her fingers slipped 
 
 The twin-lipped tuneful pipes. Against a pillar, 
 
 AVeary of making music, so she leaned 
 
 And panted ; and I watched her bosom stir 
 
 Through the thin garment, where the leopard's skin 
 
 Had slipped away, and so I rose and passed 
 
 From the gay chamber to that pillared place 
 
 And came anigh her. And beyond us lay 
 
 The cool dark garden, where the olive-trees 
 
 Whispered of loves. Deep in the darkness' heart, 
 
 One nightingale its grief for Itylus 
 
 Told to the heedless stars. A summer air, 
 
 That kissed the nodding heads of sleepy roses, 
 
 Blew on my brow, and stirred the poor dead flowers 
 
 That wreathed my brows ; and silently I stared 
 
 Into my song-girl's lazy, lustrous eyes. 
 
 Thinking her worthy of that god's desire 
 
 Who guards the vineyards. Then my flute-player, 
 
 Stirred by some frolic spirit, lightly leaned, 
 
 And struck me on the breast, and crying out, 
 
 ' Follow, and find ;' and shrilling laughter leaped 
 
 Into the blackness. As a falling star 
 
 Fades into space, her body's whiteness gleamed 
 
 An instant, glancing through the mazy paths,
 
 io8 IB reus. 
 
 And vanished, and her footfalls died away. 
 
 Straightway I cried a hunter's cry, and sprang 
 
 Into the startled silence of the grove, 
 
 Stumbling between the trees with outstretched arms, 
 
 And steps that wine unsteadied, and a brain 
 
 Dizzy with riot ; but they say the god 
 
 Who gave the vintage watches o'er his own. 
 
 So ran I like a satyr after nymphs, 
 
 To bring up breathless where a fountain played 
 
 Deep m the garden's care, alone, alone ; 
 
 And every sound of all the sounds of night — 
 
 The sudden whirring of some startled bird, 
 
 The leaves that trembled where it passed, the fall 
 
 Of dripping water from the smooth-lipped urn — 
 
 All these were voices crying, ' Follow and find.' 
 
 But as I sank upon the grass and stared 
 
 Into the star-sown blackness of that pool, 
 
 Soft laughter thrilled me, and the gloomy wave 
 
 Mirrored her face by mine before she turned, 
 
 And laughing glided ghostlike through the trees ; 
 
 But I leaped up and after swiftly ran. 
 
 And speeding, caught her as she crouched behind 
 
 Priapus' statue, and our faces met. 
 
 Strangely that long-forgotten hour floats back. 
 
 With the sharp scent of those crushed leaves, the close 
 
 Cling of her arms, the tumult of her hair, 
 
 The kisses of her lips. Her very name 
 
 I know not, if I knew ; but all next day. 
 
 What time I sailed into the open sea, 
 
 The wind seemed warm with kisses, and the air 
 
 \Vas heavy with the scent of shattered flowers
 
 IB reus. log 
 
 And close crushed leaves; and when I closed mine eyes, 
 Her dancing feet and tossed-back golden head 
 AVhirled through my brain. The creeping course of 
 
 time 
 And the great life at Sanios soon enough 
 Rubbed out the image, nor I know not now 
 Why such a scene as this, in such a sunset, 
 Calls up the spectre of that jocund hour, 
 And brings my youth again and the wild night 
 Before I sailed to Sanios over sea. 
 The wanton boy is scarcely wiser now, 
 For all the shaking of Time's foolish head 
 And all my world of half-forgotten loves; 
 And if some woman's face and glorious hair 
 Burnt on my eyes and painted all the air 
 With her fair colours, I forsooth would weep 
 ^Vith tears as salt to leave the eyes I loved ; 
 ^Viser in this, that through my rain of tears 
 1 should be sure that I should smile again, 
 Unlike the child who sees the sun to sleep, 
 And thinks it lost for ever. So much gained. 
 What a poor beast a man is ! It is strange 
 That the most precious of all precious hours 
 Which feed the famine of devouring time 
 Lives in the memory with some idle toy. 
 Idle as this. My chiefest hour of change. 
 That cuts my boy's life and my man's apart. 
 Lives with a flute-girl's kisses bitter-sweet. 
 I wonder, when my thousand years are sped, 
 If babbling of the flamy flesh of youth 
 Will seem so keen a jest ? So runs it ever,
 
 no IBYCUS. 
 
 That our most potent moments couple close 
 
 With mocking nothings, wedded, quick to dead, 
 
 Within the marriage-chambers of the mind. 
 
 \Vas it not so that goodliest day of days 
 
 When I stood up before the Samian Court 
 
 To battle for the lyric crown it pleased 
 
 Polycrates to offer warring bards, 
 
 And so first set my name in all men's ears, 
 
 The music of my song on all men's lips. 
 
 And built my fame its lasting monument 
 
 In all men's minds? Between my hands the strings 
 
 Of the sweet lyre were trembling like the reeds 
 
 Within Eurotas' waters when the wind 
 
 Blows from the west, and all my soul went out 
 
 Upon the pinions of those sunset clouds 
 
 That hide the homes of gods. The tyrant leaned. 
 
 Crushing his bearded chin into his hand, 
 
 His gaze made fast upon me ; and behold. 
 
 There came the stir of tears in his dark eyes, 
 
 That told me I had surely won my ciown. 
 
 And yet, through all the sorrow of my song 
 
 And my triumphant heart, one thought prevailed 
 
 In lordship of my mind, and that same thought 
 
 How my left sandal's latchet lay unlaced, 
 
 Which thing I noticed as I rose to sing. 
 
 How my mind runs ! I shall be glad anon 
 
 When I go up into the crowded streets, 
 
 Pushing my way between the busy throngs, 
 
 To see some well-known visage lightly turn 
 
 The careless question of the town-taught stare 
 
 On one whose garb and unfamiliar face
 
 IB reus. Ill 
 
 Betrays the strayer from beyond the seas ; 
 
 Then catch the sudden-hghted wonder-look 
 
 Creep in the eyes, and on my ears the fall 
 
 Of soft Corinthian speech, ' By all the gods, 
 
 But this is Ibycus ! Most welcome back !' 
 
 Then turning with that marvel on his tongue 
 
 He calls to others, ' Ibycus is here ; 
 
 Give him all hail ! Most glorious Ibycus, 
 
 The honour of our city !' How they'll flock 
 
 Around me, as the swallows in the eaves 
 
 Greet the last swallow flying from the south, 
 
 Crowding about with noise of shrill surprise 
 
 To touch my hands, my very poet's gown. 
 
 The golden chain that great Polycrates 
 
 Gave to his singer. So on the full tide 
 
 Of all that noisy welcome we shall float 
 
 Into some well-lit, pillared place of pride, 
 
 Where high-crowned cups that bid us quite forget 
 
 All envy of the gods and their fair drink, 
 
 Nine times more sweet than honey, shall be drained 
 
 To the sweet singer who has drifted back 
 
 To the dear home of his delightful youth. 
 
 Wherein he, henceforth weary of strange seas 
 
 And alien lands and unfamiliar speech, 
 
 Means to live out the autumn of his life, 
 
 Hold some fair house with greenest gardens girt 
 
 Find out some woman worth a poet's praise. 
 
 And throne her there and in his heart of hearts ; 
 
 For I am sick of many shifting loves, 
 
 Fantastic passions veering with the wind, 
 
 Wild lights that flame and flicker like the torch
 
 112 IB reus. 
 
 Closed in the runner's grasp that lightly goes 
 
 From hand to hand, and is blown out at last 
 
 And tossed aside unheeded. Single love, 
 
 Like the calm beacon seen far out at sea, 
 
 Cheering with changeless purpose — single love 
 
 Is sweeter when we pass from the fierce glare 
 
 Of noontide youth, and for the first time see 
 
 That even the palace and the poet's statue 
 
 Cast a long shadow on the sunlit place. 
 
 We are no gods. The pitiless wind of chance 
 
 Blows one by one the leaves from our life's tree, 
 
 Stripped all too soon. Let us be wise in time ; 
 
 Let even me be wise, whom fate last night 
 
 Graced with the promise of a thousand years. 
 
 A thousand years ! The colours of a dream 
 
 Are brighter than all cunning hues that men 
 
 E'er smeared a wall with ; say Apollo gives 
 
 Of this dream's thousand but poor thirty summers ; 
 
 Why, I am rich indeed, for whom each hour, 
 
 To the last white-haired second, shall be full 
 
 Of joy and honour and abiding youth. 
 
 On my heart's altar I will set a flame 
 
 Steady and long-enduring ; so with love, 
 
 And restful ease, and many faithful friends, 
 
 I'll walk with patience and content at last. 
 
 Glad to be happy with the happy day, 
 
 To take all pleasures well within my arms. 
 
 Unstirred, untroubled by one vain desire. 
 
 I never yet have lived one hour of life 
 
 Out to the end ; but ever, with the cup 
 
 Raised to my lips, have sent my hopes afar
 
 IBYCUS. 113 
 
 Over its edge to some diviner drink 
 
 Untasted yet, and so the cup's put down 
 
 Ere half drunk out ; but by-and-by the taste, 
 
 The rare perfume it had, come floating up, 
 
 Just as the vintage which we thirsted for 
 
 Lies laughing in its flagon to our reach. 
 
 Thus great to-morrow and glad yesterday 
 
 Have aye between them murdered poor to-day. 
 
 And robbed me of content ; nor never love 
 
 Of all the many kindly fate has given 
 
 Could drive away some glorious ghost of love. 
 
 Long dead and buried, or delight my soul 
 
 With vague assurance of immortal joy. 
 
 Those cranes float lightly through the fields of air, 
 
 Back to their reedy marshes ; every bird 
 
 As happy in his oozy osier-beds, 
 
 Where the flags float and great bulrushes sway. 
 
 As in his tyranny Polycrates, 
 
 Or I in my cloud kingdoms. Now the sun 
 
 Shows larger in my sight before it sinks ; 
 
 The happy birds cry out their evening cry, 
 
 Whirling athwart the slowly dying disc. 
 
 I must be up and doing. Kindly cranes, 
 
 Herald me into Corinth, seeking out 
 
 My friends of ancient days ; say Ibycus 
 
 Comes back again to rouse the startled dawn 
 
 With clamorous tongues and windy strains of song, 
 
 Blown from the flutings of uncertain lips, 
 
 And noisy laughter till the started day 
 
 Stares through the window on our flower-bound hair. 
 
 Set nodding to the triply sacred things, 
 
 8
 
 114 IB reus. 
 
 Love, wine, and laughter, while the morning air 
 
 Brings to the faded blossoms of our feast 
 
 The breath of virgin roses. All ye gods, 
 
 Behold the brightest life can promise us, 
 
 To love, to bless and bury love in wine, 
 
 And over all to laugh ; he lives who laughs. 
 
 The inextinguishable mirth of gods. 
 
 Caught up by us and echoed all along 
 
 Poor human lips, makes us a moment gods : 
 
 We laugh and seem immortal; wherefore. Laughter, 
 
 I'll set thee up a temple over Love, 
 
 And call thee the Consoler. Looking back 
 
 On all the hills and levels of my life, 
 
 Its plains and peaks, there is so much to smile at, 
 
 Which while I trod it out seemed grim enow. 
 
 That I henceforward with most merry heart 
 
 Shall face the world with smiles and so trick fortune. 
 
 Serving a joyous god from this hour out. 
 
 Even if I live my tale of thousand years 
 
 To its last second. 
 
 [He is attacked atid slaiti. ) 
 
 Ye cranes, avenge me !
 
 M I M N E R M U S . 
 
 There lived in sunlit Hellas long ago 
 
 A sweet-voiced singer, who has found his fame 
 
 Because he lost his love ; and so the name 
 
 Mimnermus is most dear to those who know 
 
 The song that wooed the flute-girl, and the flow 
 
 Of the sweet Grecian sorrow for the flame 
 
 Unpitied, and the universal shame 
 
 Wrouglit by old age on youth's triumphant show. 
 
 Time that has stopped his mouth with dust, and paled 
 
 The rose-red mouth of Nanno into clay. 
 
 Has stayed her sins and stirled his despair. 
 
 But Love has over wrinkled Time prevailed, 
 
 And so I sing Mimnermus' song to-day, 
 
 And the fair flute-girl with the sunny hair. 
 
 'Mimnermus, a poet of Smyrna, is famous by reason of his 
 love for a flute-girl named Nanno, to whom he addressed a great 
 quantity of verses very unsuccessfully. He is indeed a melan- 
 choly, albeit most sweet singer, full of sullen reflections on the 
 fleetness of youth, the horrors of old age, and the delights of 
 golden Venus.' — Paulus Hieronymus : De Poetis Infdicihis. 
 
 £> 
 
 A terrace overlooking Smyrna Bay. 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 I LOVE you, and I love you ; will you heed : 
 My songs run mad with praises of your eyes, 
 Whose brightness burns my soul ! Your tresses hold 
 
 Z—2
 
 ii6 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 My heart in golden nets : have pity, sweet, 
 For love has overthrown me, and I lie 
 A beggar at your feet. 
 
 NANNO, 
 
 My lovesick poet, 
 You are the dreariest thing in all the world. 
 For ever swearing that my eyes are bright, 
 My lips are red, my tresses snares for love. 
 All with such wailing wonder in your voice, 
 As if you made a mighty voyage and found 
 The Fortunate Islands. Have I never known 
 That the high gods were pleased to make me fair, 
 Nor no one else until your wiseness came 
 Piping my charms to windy strains of song ? 
 U'hy, if I wanted lips to flatter me, 
 There is a mirror speaks delightful truth. 
 More precious than your praises ; spare your breath. 
 Are my eyes brighter than you find them fair ? 
 Or do my lips a livelier colour wear 
 Because you swear to kiss them were more joy 
 Than to command Olympus ? Are my limbs 
 The rounder for your verses ? 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 Cruel girl, 
 Your laughter stabs my heart : I love you, sweet. 
 Better than life or most delightful youth, 
 Whose summer-tinted wings are spread for flight 
 Too soon, too soon ; a little while, my dear, 
 And thou and I are dumb.
 
 MIMNER3IUS. ii7 
 
 NANNO. 
 
 I would that hour 
 Had come for one I know who wastes his wit 
 In wearing out my patience. Give me leave. 
 You come about with melancholy eyes 
 To tell me life is brief; I answer back, 
 Why should I spend one hour of it on you ? 
 What can you give me for one golden hour — 
 Some sorry screed of verses ? 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 This besides, 
 That I can leave your name to all the world, 
 To make a glory of Fantastic Time, 
 That loves to shatter all delightful things, 
 Shall spare the fair five letters of your name, 
 Because a poet loved you. 
 
 NANNO. 
 
 Craftiest bard 
 That ever spun out lilting line on line, 
 You have no wit to tell me this : my name 
 Sung in men's mouths long after you and I 
 Have suffered Time to stop our mouths with dust ! 
 You have this power, you say ; well, be it so. 
 I will not prick a poet's pride with doubt. 
 But grant you all — full measure — even so 
 You will not spare your skill the more, methinks, 
 Because within the ledger of my loves 
 Your name has found no entry. Sing away ; 
 Praise me or blame, and keep my name alive,
 
 Ji8 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 If so you please, till not a stone in Smyrna 
 
 Stands on the other ; to the end of time, 
 
 And one day after if you will — I care not. 
 
 I'll love you none the more and none the less ; 
 
 But just the same unchanging not at all, 
 
 That frights your patience : either way my gain ; 
 
 For if you pipe my praises to what tune 
 
 Of harsh or sweet you choose, by your own word 
 
 My name's immortal, and myself have lost 
 
 No hour of love upon you ; otherwise 
 
 Vou cease to sing, and I am plagued no more ; 
 
 Or find some other lass more lovable, 
 
 And pipe to her, and I am plagued no more. 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 Have ye no pity, gods ? Afford me speech. 
 Sweet as the ring-dove voicing through the trees 
 Its playmate's summons ; lend my lyre such grace 
 As his who charmed Hell's chambers long ago, 
 And broke the gates of death. 
 
 NANNO. 
 
 You conjure ill ; 
 Choose rather to be Jove with Danse 
 Dissolving into gold : you tire me out. 
 Now, by Athena and Athena's owl, 
 Why should I love you, tell me ; and wherefore ? 
 Is it a mangled mumbling line or two, 
 Spoke with a falling whisper, full of groans 
 That would affright the Furies — is it this 
 Shall make such havoc with my skilless heart,
 
 MIMNERMUS. 119 
 
 That I must fling my arms about your neck 
 Straightway, and kiss, and all deliver up ? 
 Pray you, what honour or what joy to me 
 That such a paltry fellow sucks his lip 
 For passion as I pass ? Vex me no more, 
 Or, by the gods that live in the broad heavens, 
 I shall find those will hound you out of doors, 
 And harry you from here to Pluto's house, 
 Where you may sing my beauty to the shades, 
 If them so pleases ; but to me no more. 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 Is there no way to win you to my will, 
 No secret science written in the stars, 
 Which, if I read it once, would teach my lips 
 The way to woo you ? 
 
 NANNO. 
 
 Here's the simplest way : 
 Get you a great ship with a gaudy sail, 
 And steer among the islands till you come 
 To some rich port of Egypt, where you gain. 
 By all the arts that cunning traders use. 
 Some store of golden counters ; so return. 
 And, while your purse such gilded words distils, 
 You'll see no more unkindly soul in me. 
 Than fierce Hermobius finds or Pherecles, 
 INIy lovers, whom you hate. 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 A trader I ? 
 Hang up my Lesbian lyre, and turn my hands,
 
 I20 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 That love to linger on its silver chords, 
 To hauling ropes instead? and tune my voice, 
 Not to the rise and fall of Doric strains, 
 But to the shouting hoarse commands at sea, 
 "When through the creaking cordage the bluff wind 
 Bellows his loudest ? Oh, you surely jest ! 
 IVIy life was made for music and soft love; 
 For rose-crowned revels in some painted hall 
 Of nymphs and gods and graces ; for long hours, 
 Long lazy hours beside some sacred stream, 
 To dream of lovely women, and to mourn 
 Ruin of youth. 
 
 NANNO. 
 
 'Tis your own choosing, poet; 
 Dream and as you will, and doze long hours away, 
 And waste your nights in weeping to grow old, 
 If such your pleasure : as for me, I care not ; 
 But truly you will never win me thus. 
 Singing and sighing. Every man his part ; 
 If you're content with singing of your love, 
 While others have her, there is none to blame. 
 But blame me neither that I love you not. 
 Because you find me fair, and put your praise 
 In measured metre, where another tells 
 His tale in homely prose, but offers gifts 
 Worthy the Great King's consort. You are a fool 
 If you seek love that can be snared by song ; 
 There are on earth a multitude of girls 
 Would hear you gladly, and reward your pains 
 Of polished numbers with a pastoral love
 
 MIMNERMUS. I2i 
 
 "Well worth the having ; wherefore come to me ? 
 When you drink wine you would not surely say 
 To him that sells the juice, ' No money, friend ; 
 But take a brace of verses in the praise 
 Of great God Dionysus, and farewell.' 
 You would not mock him so, yet think it strange 
 That I who sell the precious things of love. 
 Beauty and youth, should prove no greater fool 
 Than a poor vintner. Had I summoned you, 
 Smiled when you passed or flung you down a flower 
 Out of my window as you went beneath. 
 Then might you justly blame me ; but instead, 
 You seek me out and say, ' Because I sing 
 Your praises in soft rhythms, I merit love 
 More than your wealthy wooers.' Fare you well. 
 I am no goddess to be moved by hymns. 
 But one that plays the flute at rich men's feasts 
 For rich men's money. Either mend your means 
 Or love elsewhere, and vex my life no more. 
 
 {She goes out.) 
 
 MIMNERMUS. 
 
 Am I a fool ? The girl is fair enough 
 To tempt the chiefest god. O Queen of Love, 
 Why do you put such madness in the veins 
 Of a poor poet ? I was well enough 
 Making my summer music till her eyes 
 Shone, and I stand the saddest man on earth.
 
 RHESUS. 
 
 ' Rhesus, a king of Thrace, being promised by oracle that the 
 town of Troy should never be taken if he fought for it, came to 
 the leaguered city in the tenth year of the war, but was slain on 
 the very night of his arrival by Diomede and Ulysses, as is told 
 by Homer in his Iliads.' — Matthew Marvel : The Chronicle 
 of Great Captains. 
 
 These are the Trojan meadows, and this wind 
 Blows down the hollow darkness from the pines 
 Of Ida's mountain ; yonder moaning sound 
 Is the sad murmur of the Asian Sea ; 
 Where it receives the cool and silvery waves 
 Of dear Scamander ; and those points of fire 
 That flame against the night like fallen stars, 
 Those are the Grecian watch-fires. Let them burn 
 For the last time to-night : a fiercer light 
 From the tall ships shall shine on dying eyes 
 Of slaughtered Greeks to-morrow ; for the hour 
 Has brought the hero, and the war is done. 
 Nor nothing save a mound of broken spears 
 And shattered shields, and deeply-cloven helms. 
 Shall leave the lightest memory to the world 
 How Grecian robbers crossed the writhing sea
 
 I^HESUS. 123 
 
 To threat the sons of Troy with bloodied swords ; 
 
 Nor any hull of all their glorious fleet 
 
 Shall breast with painted prow the purple flood, 
 
 But all burn up together. Praise to Zeus 
 
 That has preserved me for this great emprise ; 
 
 For it is written in the heavenly stars, 
 
 And muttered in the mouths of haunted caves, 
 
 And told by wrinkled wizards, and pronounced 
 
 By the oracular wind of holiest groves. 
 
 That I am called to be the doom of Greece, 
 
 The prop and stay of many-templed Troy. 
 
 For when these barbed warders of the night 
 
 Blaze in to-morrow's heaven, the famous war 
 
 Shall be a tale for women, and the songs 
 
 Of ancient singers hymn the last great fight. 
 
 And how the Thracian Rhesus swept the Greeks 
 
 Back to the sea, and like a hunter drove 
 
 The fiery hounds of Vulcan on the ships. 
 
 Nor let great Hector blame me that my sword 
 
 Through all the wasted circle of lost years 
 
 Was busy spilling of no Grecian blood, 
 
 That I have heaped no Grecian armour up 
 
 Before my tents beside Scamander stream. 
 
 Is Troy the only leaguered town on earth ? 
 
 Are Greeks the only foes ? myself have fought 
 
 These weary years the angry Scythian hordes. 
 
 More harsh than hunger and more fierce than flame. 
 
 Who bayed me as in wintry northern woods 
 
 The tawny dogs their Macedonian boar 
 
 Circle with fury, whom the forest lord 
 
 Scatters with fiery rushes : never once
 
 124 RHESUS. 
 
 Have I withheld from all-delightful war 
 
 My conquering sword, nor my dear friends in Troy 
 
 Have I one hour forgotten — never yet, 
 
 >Vhile like the northern wind I cut my way 
 
 Between the Scythian spears, or stood alone 
 
 Right in the midmost of mine enemies, 
 
 Like some tall stag the hungry dogs annoy 
 
 But cannot close upon ; why, even then 
 
 My thoughts have been with Ilium, and my hand 
 
 Has deemed itself the death of Grecian men. 
 
 Yet Hector mocks me with some speech of feasts, 
 
 And rose-crowned hours of revel and light loves. 
 
 Whose couch has ever been the hollow plain, 
 
 Whose lullaby the howling Thracian wind 
 
 Coming more keen across the angry sea 
 
 Than stings of hostile arrows. And for love — 
 
 Love I have known too Uttle. As I came 
 
 In triumph back from Scythia, on my way 
 
 I hunted in the angry Thracian woods ; 
 
 And there I met a maid — a huntress maid — 
 
 A very sister maid of Artemis, 
 
 Who chased the boar between the hollow hills, 
 
 And knew no fear. Her, when I first beheld, 
 
 I loved ; and straight upon my loving spoke. 
 
 And she — for she beheld me overthrow 
 
 "With one straight stroke a monarch of the woods, 
 
 And lay the dusky spoil before her feet — 
 
 She saw me more than I deserved to seem. 
 
 And chose me for her lord. Too brief, too brief, 
 
 Our love : 'twas but a little while 
 
 I laid me down in Argathone's arms.
 
 RHESUS. 125 
 
 A hunter lover with a huntress maid, 
 
 And left the huntress maid a hero's wife. 
 
 But with my hour of rest came thoughts of Troy 
 
 Still harassed by the hungry Grecian hordes ; 
 
 And straight I led my fellows night and day 
 
 Till we could meet these Grecians face to face, 
 
 And send them howling homewards. I would fain 
 
 Deal quickly with this thing, and so return, 
 
 Leaving no Grecian on the Trojan field. 
 
 Save such as saved their souls by Styx's stream, 
 
 Waiting for Charon's coming. Argathone 
 
 Watches afar for my returning tread ; 
 
 So let me loose upon these Greeks at dawn, 
 
 And by the night I promise that no more 
 
 Sits any foe before the gates of Troy. 
 
 I am most sure of this ; the gods themselves, 
 
 Down-stooping from their awful mountain-top, 
 
 Have whispered in the ears of oracles 
 
 The certain glory of my conquering sword. 
 
 So sleep great Hector sweetest sleep this night, 
 
 Untroubled by dread dreams of darting flames 
 
 And howling women, and the rapturous yells 
 
 Of Greeks that scale the walls. The war is done ! 
 
 Give me at dawn the forefront of the fight. 
 
 And ere the eve the widest Trojan waste 
 
 Shall lie as idly open to the world 
 
 As if no skimmer of the Grecian seas 
 
 Had ever strutted by Scamander stream 
 
 And cooped the sons of Priam up at home. 
 
 I hunger for the morrow morn as one 
 
 Who waits and waits outside his bridal door
 
 126 RHESUS. 
 
 Stabbed with sweet pain. How strange it is to think 
 
 That when Jove's skyey cressets reillume, 
 
 I shall have done what I am here to do — 
 
 Shall be remembered to all time to come 
 
 For this great day ! Ye heavenly fires, good-night ! 
 
 I shall sleep well, and dream of Argathone, 
 
 And paint myself that happy hour to come 
 
 When I shall say, ' Behold Achilles' shield ! 
 
 Behold the helmet of great Peleus' son ! 
 
 These are my spoils that smote him to the dust 
 
 And freed fair Helen and delivered Troy !' 
 
 'Twill be a blessed hour, and so good-night ; 
 
 Sleep your last sleep, Achilles. I am come !
 
 B R Y N H I L D A . 
 
 ' Alors cette belle, cruelle et malheureuse femme et reine, 
 par ordre du roi Clotaire, fut liee a un cheval sauvage, et ainsi 
 horriblement mise a mort.' — Amadis de Tours : La Calandre 
 des Keines. 
 
 There rose a sudden tumult through the night, 
 As down the woods that lay along the hill 
 A horse came plunging madly, as if strid 
 By some fierce fiend ; but on his steaming back 
 There showed no rider ; only at his heels, 
 Even as he fled, there fled along with him 
 Something that dragged and bumped upon the ground. 
 And dashed itself at trees and sprang from stones. 
 And from that fearful burden which he drew 
 And could not shake away, the startled steed 
 Leaped out into the blackness, mad with fear, 
 And clattered down the stony slope with hoofs 
 That sent the pebbles flying left and right, 
 And through the stream that at the foothill flowed, 
 Splashed with a shriek, and staggered to the field. 
 And stumbling, huddled in a breathless heap. 
 Breathed out his life. And in the wood behind
 
 128 BRYNHILDA. 
 
 Rose the shrill voices of a thousand birds 
 
 In noisiest clamour. The bewildered owls 
 
 Blundered against each other in the dark ; 
 
 The jay shrilled out his questions to the thrush, 
 
 Who, in his turn, the angry nightingale 
 
 Disturbed from dreams of Philomela fair ; 
 
 The russet squirrel, from his slumber stirred, 
 
 Leaped to the topmost of the tallest trees, 
 
 And first discerned the yellow lines of dawn 
 
 Divide the darkness of the orient ; 
 
 And all the horned and dappled beasts that dwell 
 
 Within the forest hastened from their lairs 
 
 In mossy caves or by some flower-sown bank, 
 
 And glided ghostly in and out the trees. 
 
 Or creeping to the edges of the wood, 
 
 Peered down the dusky valley. One by one 
 
 Rose up behind the swart uncleanly fowl. 
 
 Floated some ominous circles in the air, 
 
 And, croaking, wheeled along the meadow where 
 
 The horse lay shuddering, with the thing he drew 
 
 Heaped up behind him. Round about in rows 
 
 They stood, those evil sable-plumaged birds. 
 
 With half-turned heads and bright expectant eye 
 
 Watching until the creature's agony 
 
 Should cease at last, and leave him carrion. 
 
 But while they watched, with sudden bound the dawn 
 
 Climbed up her golden stairs and scaled the sky 
 
 And a huge shoulder of Sol's scarlet disc 
 
 Thrust up beyond the meadows far away ; 
 
 And with the morn, along the woodland way, 
 
 A man came slowly. A poor hind he was,
 
 BRYNHILDA. 129 
 
 One from the abbey that behind the hill 
 
 Sheltered its nest of holy-hearted men. 
 
 Slowly he came, his eyes upon the ground, 
 
 Lingering along and paining his dulled brain 
 
 With wonder at the torn-up ground, the print 
 
 Of horses' hoofs, the blood about the trees, 
 
 And some few threads of twisted golden hair 
 
 Caught by the brambles. These he slowly drew 
 
 Through his hard palm, and bound in shining rings 
 
 About his fingers, by unceasing toil 
 
 Toughened to iron ; and his slow mind still 
 
 Wonderad ; and as he wondered, so he came 
 
 To where the slope led down into the stream 
 
 Before the stretching meadow-land ; and there 
 
 He lifted up his eyes, and saw beyond 
 
 The ebon ranks of birds the huddled mass — 
 
 A horse and something else. Then, with a shout, 
 
 He gripped his axe, and hastened down the slope, 
 
 And sprang from stone to stone across the stream 
 
 Into the meadow ; and the dark birds rose. 
 
 Croaking their wrath into the fields of air, 
 
 While he ran up and stared upon their prey. 
 
 The horse was of a noble breed, so much 
 
 He well might guess through all the mire and foam. 
 
 And, as he hastened closer, with a neigh 
 
 It strove to rise, and gave a groan and died. 
 
 And then the churl saw how behind it lay 
 
 The body of a woman, naked, dead, 
 
 Who had been bound with twisted ropes, to trail 
 
 Behind the flying horse. 'Twas hard at first — 
 
 So torn and bruised the naked body was, 
 
 9
 
 I30 BRYNHILDA. 
 
 So scarred with stones and torn with thorns, so marred 
 With hideous blotches, shattered out of shape 
 In that fell journey — to be sure the thing 
 Was truly woman : for the golden hair, 
 Clotted with blood and paste of bloodied earth, 
 Seemed like no woman's tresses, and the breasts 
 Were shamed and beaten out of human grace ; 
 The open mouth was choked with stones and grass ; 
 The arms, that lay unpinioned and outstretched, 
 Were flayed with brambles, and one dead hand 
 
 clutched 
 A screed of nettles ; and the blood ran down 
 The ruin of the blackened, formless trunk. 
 From where the pitiless cords about the i&tl 
 Ate through the tender flesh unto the bone. 
 Awhile the man stood silent, gazing down 
 On the dishonoured corpse, and made no move ; 
 But in his eyes the unaccustomed tears 
 Flowed, and about his patient heart there came 
 Strange pangs of pain and pity ; and he stooped 
 And with the knife he carried at his belt 
 Severed the strands that bound the dismal pair, 
 And bent with trembling fingers to unwind 
 The serpent-coils of bondage, red and stiff, 
 And laid the body out upon the grass. 
 Leaning and moaning like a wounded beast 
 A little ere he rose, and in his arms 
 Lifting the loathsome burden tenderly, 
 He stumbled down to where the noisy burn 
 Babbled and gurgled through the smoothened stones. 
 Then in mid flood he laid the body down>
 
 BRYN HILDA. 131 
 
 Holding it firmly ; and the runnel ran 
 Wondering and bubbling through the twisted limbs, 
 And swift around the eddying current sped, 
 Staining its whirl with forest filth and blood. 
 Then with his hands he stayed the tide, and sluiced 
 With kindly cleansing water the broad thighs, 
 The blue-veined breasts that kingly lips had kissed, 
 Horribly mangled now, the broken arms 
 That once had tightened in their warm embrace 
 So many lovers ; from the gaping mouth 
 That had been touched so many thousand times 
 By such a world of wooers, this poor churl 
 Now washed away the mire and shameful grass. 
 And closed the staring eyes whose light had been 
 Likened to stars of heaven ; fallen stars, 
 Their lustre faded. Could her lovers now 
 Come from their grave or from the ends of earth 
 To see the limbs so well-desired, so loved, 
 Thus lying helpless in a country brook, 
 The channel reddened with that queenly blood, 
 And only this poor slave, this woodcutter, 
 To be her handmaid ! On the middle stream 
 Her gold hair floated fan-like, freed at last 
 From that ensanguined paste of mire and blood. 
 And charitable water had restored 
 Something like whiteness to that tortured skin, 
 Whose wounds that bled no more, with livid blue, 
 Latticed the shapely image. Then the churl, 
 Perceiving that the water's work was done, 
 Bore out the corpse again into the field, 
 To lie beneath the sun that now had climbed 
 
 9—2
 
 132 BRYN HILDA. 
 
 A goodly height of heaven ; and by the side 
 
 He sat and watched and wept, he knew not why, 
 
 But that his mind, long deadened by harsh toil, 
 
 And his dull life no better than the beasts', 
 
 Was stirred to see so fairly made a thing 
 
 So foully treated. Womankind to him 
 
 Was but some peasant girl about the farm. 
 
 Rough like himself, and fierce, and strong of arm, • 
 
 Large handed and harsh featured, built to bear 
 
 A brood as rugged as their sire and dam. 
 
 So this white woman with the comely limbs 
 
 Made in the mould of beauty, the soft skin. 
 
 The silken hair, the curve of scornful lips, 
 
 The smooth and rounded breasts, bewildered him 
 
 With a vague marvel and a vague desire 
 
 For what he knew not : it seemed all a dream ; 
 
 But as he leaned beside the corpse and touched 
 
 With fearful hands the pale and angry face. 
 
 The poor discoloured body, the gold hairs, 
 
 There came two horsemen riding o'er the hill. 
 
 Who reined their horses on the brow and gazed 
 
 Into the meadow, saw the fallen steed. 
 
 The stretched-out body of the slaughtered queen, 
 
 And by her side the sobbing crouching slave. 
 
 Then with a shout they dashed adown the hill 
 
 And splashed across the streamlet, and rode straight 
 
 For that strange group ; and as they rode, the churl, 
 
 Hearing the noise, upleaped and seized his axe, 
 
 Full of mad anger as a forest beast 
 
 Disturbed about his prey. Then those who rode 
 
 Leaped from their seats and strode along the grass
 
 BRYN HILDA. i; 
 
 Nigher some yards ; and then one shouted out, 
 ' How dare you meddle with the king's command ? 
 This is that vile Brynhilda whom Clotaire, 
 By grace of God the monarch of the Franks, 
 Has thus condemned unto a shameful death 
 For all her lusts and all her many sins ; 
 And we are bid to follow up the chase 
 And see the harlot in no quiet grave 
 Buried, but on some thrice accursed tree 
 Her bones shall whiten.' So they spoke, and drew 
 Nearer the corpse, while the churl made no sign, 
 But waited while a fire within his eyes 
 Burned sombre ; but when one of those king's men 
 Raised up his arm to push the churl aside, 
 With a choked cry of mad unmeaning rage 
 He swung his axe and struck the knave to earth, 
 Dead, fallen on his face, and a great wound 
 Gaped in his throat where neck and shoulder met; 
 Then with a howl the other king's fellow, 
 Waving his flat sword at the churl — who made 
 No motion towards his foe, but grimly stood 
 With the red hatchet poised — backed to his horse, 
 And leaped upon and madly whirled away. 
 Shrieking some words of vengeance which the wind 
 Scattered, and so tore clattering up the hill 
 And through the forest, speeding out of sight. 
 Then the churl went to where that other horse, 
 The steed of him who lay there on his face, 
 With trailing bridle bent and cropped the grass, 
 Edging a little as the man approached. 
 To watch his motions with unquiet eyes ;
 
 134 BRYNHILDA. 
 
 But the churl, speaking softly with soft speech, 
 
 Came close and quickly by the bridle seized 
 
 And led him where the body of the queen 
 
 Lay, and anigh the body of the knave ; 
 
 And as he came a black ungainly bird, 
 
 That from the highest trees had floated down, 
 
 Lured thither by the later scent of blood. 
 
 Rose with discordant, melancholy croak, 
 
 Back to the tree-tops and his sable peers, 
 
 A disappointed herald. Then the churl. 
 
 His arm still through the bridle, stooped and raised 
 
 The pale, insulted body of the queen 
 
 High in his arms and laid it on the horse. 
 
 Across the saddle, and secured it there 
 
 With strips of horse's gear ; on the one side 
 
 The white maimed legs swung helpless, and across 
 
 The golden tresses trailed upon the ground. 
 
 And the fixed eyes stared out across the fields ! 
 
 Then on the earth he wiped his bloody axe, 
 
 And with no thought of the dead man whose blood 
 
 Had smirched it, thrust the weapon in his belt. 
 
 And turning, led the unreluctant horse 
 
 Across the meadow and across the stream. 
 
 The golden tresses trailing in the flood. 
 
 Nor once looked back to notice how the birds. 
 
 The grim funereal ravens, floated down 
 
 From skyey tree-tops to the bloodied field 
 
 And settled in dark rows upon the man 
 
 Who lay there on his face, and round about 
 
 The foundered horse ; but slowly went his way 
 
 Into the forest and between the trees,
 
 BRYNHILDA. ly-, 
 
 By devious turnings, to his woodland eyes 
 
 Long time familiar, till at length they came 
 
 To a dim place far in the forest's heart, 
 
 Known only to himself, vv'here never came 
 
 Men's footsteps, or the sound of hunting-horn, 
 
 Or wandering shepherd. There he paused, and drew 
 
 The body from its place and laid it down 
 
 On the dark grass, all checkered where the sun 
 
 Played through the thickly interlacing leaves, 
 
 And o'er her limbs the shadows floated soft. 
 
 And there he tied the charger to a tree 
 
 To feed in quiet of the forest grass ; 
 
 While with his axe and his broad-bladed knife, 
 
 And with his hands, he hollowed out a grave, 
 
 And made it long and deep; and when 'twas done 
 
 The sun had passed the zenith and begun 
 
 His gliding to the west : and all the while 
 
 The churl had worked in silence, and in peace 
 
 The horse had plucked the grasses, and the queen 
 
 Lay with the shadows floating over her ; 
 
 But now his task was ended, and the churl 
 
 Rose with a groan and o'er the body bent, 
 
 And in his eyes the tears again filled up, 
 
 While a strange crowd of unaccustomed thoughts 
 
 Thronged his numbed brain : the pity of the thing ; 
 
 The beauty of the rent, dishonoured limbs ; 
 
 The corpse that was a queen's and wore a crown 
 
 Once, like the crown the holy image wears 
 
 Within the chapel ; and had regal robes, 
 
 And many lovers, and a royal bed.
 
 136 BRYNHILDA, 
 
 And now lay naked from a shameful death, 
 
 In that still forest, with no man save him, 
 
 The abbey serf, to find her funeral : 
 
 Such fancies, and a world of dim desires, 
 
 Coursed through his sluggard mind even as he crouched 
 
 Over the carcase that was once a queen. 
 
 But suddenly the horse, impatient, stirred 
 
 And slightly neighed ; and at the sound the churl, 
 
 Startled to memory of his task undone, 
 
 Took up the queen, who for the last time lay 
 
 In any human arms, and lowered her down 
 
 In that deep hole, and with a heavy groan 
 
 Huddled the earth upon her with his hands, 
 
 And swept it with his arms into the grave 
 
 Till she was wholly hidden, heaped it up 
 
 To the grave's lips and fiercely stamped it down ; 
 
 And when the work was done the sun had sunk, 
 
 Glowing a crimson circle through the trees. 
 
 Not far from setting. Then the churl arose 
 
 Like one whom some bewildering dream has dazed, 
 
 And sprang across the horse and rode it out 
 
 Unto the farthest limits of the wood, 
 
 And there leaped off and struck it, and it sprang 
 
 Into the fields and galloped out of sight. 
 
 Then the churl hastened where the abbey lay 
 
 Grey in the valley ; as he drew anigh, 
 
 From out a crowd about the postern gate 
 
 There stepped the comrade of the knave he slew 
 
 That morning, crying out, ' Behold the man !' 
 
 And straightway soldiers seized and questioned him
 
 BRYNHILDA. 137 
 
 Where was the queen ; and when he answered not, 
 They tortured him, and still he made no sign, 
 But only groaned awhile for very pain, 
 And smiled to keep his secret ; and at length 
 They took the churl and hanged him on a tree.
 
 THE GOLD GIRL. 
 
 {Painting by James Whistler. Portrait of Miss Con- 
 stance Gilchrist. ) 
 
 Though the painter's art can show you, 
 
 Golden lass with girlish grace, 
 ^Vill an age that does not know you 
 
 Wonder at your lovely face ? 
 Wonder in what days Arcadian, 
 Such a gracious golden maiden 
 
 Danced in such a pleasant place ? 
 
 Will the world to whom we leave you, 
 
 In your picture as you seem, 
 Smile and sigh, and so believe you 
 
 Nothing but a painter's dream ? 
 Utterly refuse to credit 
 That you lived in town and led it. 
 
 That you reigned by Thames supreme ? 
 
 AV'ill the people who may view you 
 In some other cycle stare,
 
 THE GOLD GIRL. 139 
 
 AVhispering, Is it really true you 
 Had such wondrous eyes and hair ? 
 
 Will they think, The painter's clever ? 
 
 But we can't believe there ever 
 Lived on earth a child so fair. 
 
 Shall I tell these fools who doubt you, 
 
 How you trod with dainty feet 
 Many loves to dust about you ? 
 
 How our hearts were wont to beat 
 If by chance we saw you pass us, 
 Like a vision from Parnassus, 
 
 Down some dreary London street ? 
 
 You that laugh, shall we that love you 
 
 Make these future gazers frown, 
 Swearing we would prize some glove you 
 
 Once had worn, above the crown 
 Of our Prince or laurelled Poet, 
 And how proudly we would show it 
 
 To the envious eyes of town ? 
 
 They can never feel the fire you 
 
 Cherish in your wistful eyes, 
 Never know how we desire you 
 
 For the face we canonize, 
 For your comely close-cut tresses, 
 For your lips whose sweet caresses 
 
 Well were worth a world of sighs. 
 
 "&' 
 
 Golden girl, does life content you ? 
 Have you played a pleasing game.
 
 I40 THE GOLD GIRL. 
 
 With the good the gods have sent you ? 
 
 Are you satisfied with fame ? 
 Do you think with melancholy 
 That the town will feed its folly 
 
 Sometime with some other name ? 
 
 That old Time in time will claim you, 
 As he claims each golden lass ? 
 
 That his hands will strive to shame you, 
 And the image in your glass ? 
 
 For the knave has no compassion 
 
 On the form that moved our passion. 
 Girls are sin — their flesh is grass. 
 
 But your picture still will match you 
 With your body's graceful play. 
 
 As your lovers used to watch you 
 When you danced their hearts away ; 
 
 For the golden girl, beguiling 
 
 Future centuries to smiling, 
 
 Laughs at Time and Time's decay. 
 
 And some future bard, who sees you, 
 Troubled by your beauty, may 
 
 Whisper, ' Dear ! I'd die to please you, 
 If you danced on earth to-day! 
 
 Ah, how sweet to feel your kisses, 
 
 If you were as fair as this is ; 
 If to-day were yesterday !'
 
 SONNETS.
 
 SONN£TS. 143 
 
 A 3/ OR TYRANNUS. 
 
 Now could I weep with Autumn-time betrayed 
 To Winter's kiss, or mourn the dateless lease 
 Of Death's dominion, and the chill surcease 
 Of youth, and beauty harshly disarrayed. 
 Not by the common destiny dismayed. 
 But grieving to behold my wisdom cease, 
 Since Love has rudely shattered ancient peace, 
 And bears at me with all his arms displayed. 
 Can I pluck patience from the stars, to teach 
 My sick soul comfort, bidding ' Be of cheer,' 
 That am like one who strives in vain to steer 
 His storm-shook vessel from some angry reach 
 Of dangerous rocks, where breaking terribly 
 Thunders the hoarse rebellion of the sea ?
 
 144 SONN£TS. 
 
 AUREA PUELLA. 
 
 I CANNOT praise you : I have tried to chain 
 
 Soft rhyme with rhyme, and dainty phrase with phrase, 
 
 Into the tuneful garland of your praise ; 
 
 Which done, I straight destroy to shape again, 
 
 Doing, undoing with a world of pain ; 
 
 Twisting my verse in all fantastic ways. 
 
 But though I laboured for a year of days. 
 
 Even at the end my toil were spent in vain. 
 
 You are too fair for any praise of mine. 
 
 I will be dumb, and burn up all my rhymes. 
 
 What need to tell you you are half divine, 
 
 Who have been told so many thousand times 
 
 In sweeter fashion ? Think of me as one 
 
 Dazzled from gazing upon Beauty's sun.
 
 SONNETS. 145 
 
 JUVENTUS MUNDI. 
 
 Let no regretful memory degrade 
 
 This gracious day from Saturn's age of gold ; 
 
 Let us believe we never shall grow old, 
 
 Nor never more this summer splendour fade ; 
 
 Let us believe no living man or maid 
 
 Shall ever lie their length beneath the mould ; 
 
 That love shall never, like a dream half-told, 
 
 Float from the merry sunlight into shade. 
 
 To-day let life be as those Tuscan tales 
 
 Of lovers hidden from the world away 
 
 In gardens where the quick-winged nightingales 
 
 Haunt the dark hollows and soft fountains play ; 
 
 Where youth is young, where passion never pales 
 
 Its scarlet lips to weep for yesterday. 
 
 10
 
 146 SONNETS. 
 
 IN A VALLON. 
 
 Here, where my lazy limbs are stretched to press 
 
 The grass beneath the elm-tree's kindly shade, 
 
 I lie and watch the mellow sunlight braid 
 
 Fantastic shadows : through my drowsiness 
 
 Tricks of strange thought and fancies framed at guess 
 
 Juggle my spirit ; surely I have strayed 
 
 From the great town to some enchanted glade, 
 
 Where fair Armida holds me in duress, 
 
 Or I am prisoned in the pleasant land 
 
 Of Avallon, like Ogier, long ago, 
 
 And am content to stay : alas, the sand 
 
 Holds longer impress of the feet that go 
 
 'Twixt tide and tide, than su^ch a summer show 
 
 May hold me captive with its fairy wand.
 
 SONNETS. 147 
 
 A GARLAND. 
 
 For you, how many a posy have I tied 
 
 Of blood-red poppies that must fade too soon, 
 
 Pale lilies with the magic of the moon 
 
 In their white petals, the imperial pride 
 
 Of starred narcissus, violets purple-eyed, 
 
 Sad hyacinthus with its written rune, 
 
 All-coloured roses the delight of June, 
 
 Anemones with blood of Adon dyed ; 
 
 For all these flowers the self-same tale repeat, 
 
 'Learn to be wise, and let no flower of spring 
 
 Go by unheeded for its odour sweet ; 
 
 For soon chill age and conquering time defeat 
 
 Love, youth, and beauty, even as they fling 
 
 A ruin of marred blossoms at your feet. ' 
 
 10-
 
 148 SONNETS. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF LOVE. 
 
 When you are cruel, then the wholesome day 
 Sickens, and inextinguishable pain 
 Consumes my youth ; all beauty bears a stain ; 
 Unloved and tuneless runs the world away, 
 While its fair roses canker and decay 
 Before the winter of your chill disdain ; 
 The stars go out, the sun forgets his reign, 
 And sorrow rules with undisputed sway. 
 Then do I long for bitter words to curse 
 Her at whose frown all happiness has fled ; 
 But when rebellious fancy would rehearse 
 Some imprecation on your golden head, 
 Spite of myself the foolish faithful verse 
 Runs into praise and leaves the ill unsaid.
 
 SONNETS. 149 
 
 THE BELOVED. 
 
 You know not of my love, and need not know ; 
 Why should you heed, if once again the snare 
 Of those clear eyes and crown of comely hair 
 Have brought another victim to lie low 
 Before your conquering feet, that well might go 
 Treading on lovers' bodies everywhere ? 
 The thing is common, and you need not care 
 Who have grown sick of loving long ago. 
 But for my part, it pleases me to lie 
 So in Love's chains, and dream glad hours away. 
 To sing your fair all other fair above. 
 Perchance I may prove wiser by-and-by, 
 And weep for this my folly ; but to-day 
 It pleases me to love you, and I love.
 
 3 50 SONNETS. 
 
 VAN/TV OF VANITIES. 
 
 Though in my verse I leave no monument 
 More lasting than the sepulchres of kings ; 
 Although my song-birds fold their failing wings, 
 And my star tumbles from the firmament ; 
 Although I may not cheat the discontent 
 Of Time, who, heedless how a lover sings. 
 Closes his hand about his throat and clinss 
 Close and cUngs hard until his Ufe is spent, 
 I should not heed, if in the hours that run 
 To dust between my hands, one hour of thee 
 Flamed like a jewel : so when hot desire 
 Has passed away, and pleasant youth is done, 
 A gracious memory may abide with me, 
 Dreaming of love beside a dying fire.
 
 SONNETS. 151 
 
 LAIS. 
 
 As one who looking in a wizard's glass 
 Sees undisturbed phantasmal shapes go by, 
 Prefiguring the ages yet to die, 
 When all his time shall lie beneath the grass, 
 So should I wait and watch your lovers pass, 
 If I were wise, and never waste a sigh, 
 Like children for the moon within the sky, 
 Or hope to be your lover, golden lass. 
 Your loves are like the shadows on a stream, 
 Which, living by the favour of the sun. 
 For that bright hour a brief existence bear; 
 But with the hidden sun they cease to seem, 
 And all unchanged the wanton waters run, 
 As if Love's shade had never fallen there.
 
 152 , SONNETS. 
 
 TEMPUS EDAX. 
 
 Have you no pity ? Then I turn to Time, 
 Knowing that in the hollow of his hand, 
 After some years have spent their shifting sands. 
 Lies such revenge as shall outpay your crime ; 
 For Eld, that's skilled most harshly to begrime 
 All lovely things, your fair can scarce withstand. 
 So must the beauty fade that could command 
 The love that lives in my dishonoured rhyme ; 
 Then when old age has clung you, taking hold 
 More close than lovers' arms ; when never more 
 Come kisses on those lips that lose their glow ; 
 Then while you sorrow for your hair's lost gold. 
 And that lost seal of grace your body bore, 
 Think of my name, that loved you long ago.
 
 SONNETS. 153 
 
 ARCADIAN. 
 
 His surely is a happy lot who dwells 
 
 In pleasant pastures far removed from town, 
 
 Whose life from sunrise till the sun goes down 
 
 The same unchanging peaceful story tells ; 
 
 Deep in the rustic lore of fleecy fells, 
 
 Proud of the harvest he himself has sown, 
 
 The spreading meadows that his hands have mown, 
 
 And the great cattle that he buys and sells. 
 
 For whom the placid night brings slumber sweet, 
 
 Stirred by no sound of any dancing feet, 
 
 Lit by no light of any laughing eyes, 
 
 Whose quiet days unmoved by vain desire. 
 
 From summer's sunlight to the winter's fire, 
 
 Creep slowly on, until at last he dies.
 
 154 SONNETS. 
 
 ELEUTHEROMANIA. 
 
 26 MESSIDOR. 
 
 That you indeed are with us in some things 
 Touches us not ; keep thou thy honeyed speech 
 For love and ladies' praise, nor think to preach 
 At her whose banners bear the blood of kings. 
 The minstrel of the red-capped goddess sings 
 The burden of Marseilles, the best to teach 
 Democracy u-ith hundred hands to reach 
 At any throne where any tyrant clings. 
 We keep our feast of pikes, our sterner feast, 
 That second rain-month day when Capet died ; 
 But most the Revolution loves to-day, 
 This happy day, when in the startled East 
 The fair sun Freedom burnt in heaven's side, 
 Flaming from where the fatal prison hy.
 
 SONA'ETS. 155 
 
 ADAM LUX, 
 
 When Charlotte Corday journeyed towards the dead 
 For slaying him she deemed her country's foe, 
 Through all the angry crowd that watched her go 
 To that ill place, by frequent blood stained red. 
 One man, who looked his last on that fair head, 
 Unshamed as yet by any headsman's blow, 
 Felt all the currents of his being flow 
 The quicker for the girl whose life was shed. 
 Seeing and loving, to like end he came — 
 Lived but to praise her dead, and praising died 
 The self-same death of not inglorious shame. 
 O Adam Lux, thus seeking thy soul's bride 
 Across the stretch of that ensanguined tide, 
 High with Love's martyrs let me write thy name.
 
 156 SONNETS. 
 
 AN ANGEL BY CIMABVE. 
 
 Cimabue's angel, lowliest 
 
 At the right elbow of Madonna's chair, 
 
 1 long have loved your russet curling hair, 
 The tender pressure of each girlish breast 
 On the soft raiment : what among the blest 
 Have you to do, whose melancholy air, 
 Scornful in part, and partly of despair, 
 
 Says Heaven is good, but surely Earth is best ? 
 
 You should have played your part, and not the least, 
 
 With those that worshipped Venus long ago ; 
 
 That red voluptuous mouth was made to blow 
 
 The double pipes at some Athenian feast 
 
 Of revel, till the cocks began to crow, 
 
 And scarlet sunrise hurried through the East.
 
 SONNETS. 157 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 To-night Navarre lays down his crown ; to-night 
 
 His mimic kingdom withers into air; 
 
 No more his rule wins honour anywhere, 
 
 And none do homage when he comes in sight ; ^ 
 
 No more his merry company delight 
 
 In scheming how to break the oaths they swear ; 
 
 No more they whisper love to ladies fair, 
 
 Who come from France to put their vows to flight. 
 
 Farewell, Dumain. Lord Longaville, farewell. 
 
 And you, Berowne, the jesting slave of love, 
 
 Take this farewell from yester evening's king. 
 
 Love while you may, nor let your lips rebel 
 
 Against the power which makes a woman's glove 
 
 The symbol of our highest worshipping.
 
 158 SONNETS. 
 
 DEA TH. 
 
 Out of the air, and exiled from the sun, 
 Stranger to beauty, stripped of all delight 
 That lies between the morning and the night, 
 Of each new day in which our sands may run ; 
 Farewell to all fair women — everyone 
 That we have loved, farewell the eyes so bright, 
 Farewell the lips so sweet to kiss, the light 
 Hid in their hair, the love now all undone : 
 Out of the cold, the sorrow, the regret, 
 The waste despair of hoping against hope. 
 The dreams too harshly wakened, out of pain ; 
 Far from the tortures of a love beset 
 With sorrows, from the darkness where we grope, 
 Into — alas ! this question ask in vain.
 
 SONNETS. 1 59 
 
 A SR AE L. 
 
 Farewell to youth, farewell to that which makes 
 Youth seem so fair ; the ignorance of death, 
 And the brief hour in which we still draw breath, 
 Unknown while happy childhood sleeps and wakes, 
 Unknown until that angel comes who breaks 
 With pitiless hands to-day from yesterday ; 
 For with the human life he bears away. 
 How much beside the gloomy angel takes ! 
 All hope, all gladness wither in that hour 
 When first the rudely startled soul is taught 
 The law of death's inexorable power ; 
 All hope, all gladness wither like a flower ; 
 The sun deserts the sky, and earth is naught 
 But the chill grave upon whose edge we cower.
 
 i6o SONNETS. 
 
 THE YEAR'S ANGELS. 
 
 Out watching all alone the dying year 
 
 I sudden saw two forms before me stand, 
 
 One like an angel bearing in its hand 
 
 Such lily-flowers as to the saints are dear ; 
 
 The other was a shapeless thing of fear, 
 
 A dusky vision on whose brow the brand 
 
 Of vile old age seemed writ by God's command. 
 
 Of whom I wondering asked, ' What do ye here?' 
 
 To whom the angel answered, ' Woe is me, 
 
 I am your hopes — I am what might have been. 
 
 Look on my face, and as you look lament.' 
 
 Then that foul other, smiling terribly, 
 
 ' As in this bright one thou thy hopes hast seen. 
 
 Now look on me and learn their fulfilment.'
 
 i6r 
 
 LOVES ENVY. 
 
 I AM envious of the wind 
 
 When it blows 
 
 Kisses to you, oh my fair ! 
 
 I am envious of the rose 
 
 That you bind 
 
 In the tresses of your hair. 
 
 I am envious of your glove, 
 
 Or your fan, 
 
 Or the jewel at your breast. 
 
 But I envy most the man 
 
 Whom you love 
 
 For the passing moment best. 
 
 1 1
 
 l62 
 
 TRIOLET. 
 
 Lo, my heart so sound asleep ! 
 Lady, will you wake it ? 
 For lost love I used to weep, 
 Now my heart is sound asleep. 
 If it once were yours to keep, 
 I fear you'd break it. 
 Lo, my heart so sound asleep ! 
 Lady, will you wake it ?
 
 1 63 
 
 PYRRHA. 
 
 (after HORACE.) 
 
 What dainty lover steeped in scented air 
 Among the roses scattered everywhere, 
 Shall woo you, Pyrrha, in the grateful cave ? 
 Tell me for whom you bind your yellow hair 
 
 Simple in neatness ? Ah ! how often he 
 Shall learn to weep for your fidelity 
 And the changed gods, and wondering behold 
 How the black breezes rouse the writhing sea ! 
 
 Alas, poor fool ! whose fond and faithful mind 
 Believes you all his own, and always kind — 
 Yea, deems you purer than the purest gold, 
 Who are as false and fleeting as the wind. 
 
 Most wretched he to whom untried you shine ; 
 My votive tablet on the wall divine 
 Proclaims for me that long ago I gave 
 My dripping garments to the Sea-God's shrine. 
 
 T 1—2
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS.
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 The gods are all forgotten long ago — 
 The merry gods to whom the Grecians prayed 
 In those soft words so honey-sweet to flow 
 Like some rare vintage that for long has stayed 
 Deep hidden in some happy earthen jar, 
 Whose ruddy grapes were ripely grown beneath some 
 fortunate star. 
 
 They have gone hence and left us, floated out 
 Over the pallid ocean of the sky, 
 Into those purpling clouds that cling about 
 The setting splendour of the sun and lie 
 Upon the edge of plain or sea, unfurled 
 To the dim shapes of stately gods who ruled an elder 
 world. 
 
 But ye who pity these poor deities 
 Whose temples long have tumbled to the earth, 
 Who from their groves and happy summer seas 
 Have fled, and left no echo of their mirth, 
 Pour a libation out to every one 
 Of the immortal gods who long ago are dead and 
 gone.
 
 168 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 Although for us the gods are never dead — 
 For us who, in the yellowing wastes of dawn, 
 Still see Aurora hasten from her bed — 
 For us who hear on every upland lawn 
 The pipings of God Pan upon the breeze, 
 And see the merry Satyrs chase the Dryads through the 
 trees. 
 
 And surely when the summer clothes the wold 
 With gaudy grasses and a world of flowers, 
 We may believe that Saturn's age of gold 
 Has come again, and the delightful hours 
 May pass like comely maidens on their way 
 About the flaming chariot of the glorious god of day. 
 
 In such an hour upon some woodland hill 
 Lapped in a lazy leisure we may lie, 
 And dream that Grecian gods inhabit still 
 The coloured temples of the shifting sky, 
 Still hearken with some pity to our sighs, 
 And watch our mortal grief and joy with kindly death- 
 less eyes. 
 
 They are not dead, the joyous gods of Greece, 
 A Pan endures where any green thing grows ; 
 Within their hills the Oreads sleep in peace; 
 The Naiads float where any river flows ; 
 The Dryads linger in each haunted wood ; 
 And still Poseidon and the Nereids rule the writhing 
 flood;
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 169 
 
 And in the evening clouds about the sky 
 You may behold the shapes of ancient gods. 
 Can you not see great Ares sweeping by ? 
 And in yon storm-rack Zeus the saviour nods 
 His curls ambrosial ; in that vapour, see, 
 The fiery steeds of Dis bear off Persephone ! 
 
 Hail, heavenly Hera, floating down the wind, 
 Borne by thy gaudy birds, the Argus-eyed ! 
 Now that the gods are banished, do you find 
 That Zeus remains more faithful by thy side, 
 Than when of old his uncontrolled desire 
 On half the heroes of the world bestowed a heavenly 
 sire ? 
 
 Great Pan, the laughing fountains and the edges 
 Of ancient rivers are thy altars still ; 
 And where the wind makes sport among the sedges 
 Thy pleasant pipings of lost Syrinx fill 
 The hollow groves and mossy mountain ledges : 
 And so we find old Arcady between our leafy hedges. 
 
 God of the gardens, lord of Lampsacus, 
 Grinning with half shut eyes against the sun 
 Although the world has laughed and left you thus 
 With desolate altars, where sad ivies run, 
 Yet, while the Queen of Love finds worshippers, 
 Be well assured your horde of slaves shall aye out- 
 number hers.
 
 I70 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 Wing-footed Hermes, cunning king of thieves, 
 Whose duty 'twas to herald down to hell 
 The ghosts more thick than winter-scattered leaves, 
 Say, hast thou led the shapes of gods as well ? 
 Hast thou, thyself a shade, been forced to float 
 Across the muddy waves of Styx in Charon's creaking 
 boat? 
 
 Archer Apollo, young in the world's age, 
 Come with the sunshine in your face and hair ! 
 You served Admetus once ; ah ! with what wage 
 Will ye serve us, whose summer fields are fair, 
 And fair our meadows and our wood-clad hills, 
 And fair our babbling rivers as the old Castalian rills ? 
 
 O golden lord of sunlight, goodliest 
 Of all thy heavenly fellows, where are they, 
 Calliope, Euterpe, and the rest 
 Of thy nine maidens ? Have they lost their way 
 To old Parnassus, where the trembling trees 
 Give to the winds the echo of your ancient melodies ? 
 
 Where is thy sister Artemis to-day, 
 Lyric Apollo ? Do her white feet run 
 Down the green track to bring the stag to bay 
 In some unknown-of forest, where the sun 
 Shines on the shapes of deathless deities, 
 That wander in eternal youth among eternal trees ?
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 171 
 
 Surely of moonlit nights the Parthenon 
 Beholds Athene, and the broad white brows 
 Of Pallas bent in godlike grief upon 
 Her much beloved Piraeus, where the prows 
 Of all the nations cluster as of old, 
 When she was throned in solemn pride of ivory and 
 gold. 
 
 Surely about that ghostly hour when dawn 
 Creeps through the sky and stares on Salamis, 
 The ghosts come thick from each Elysian lawn. 
 And from the hollow flowerless fields of Dis, 
 And wend their way from the still town in pairs 
 To greet their goddess at the head of holy temple 
 stairs. 
 
 Those comely youths with lissom limbs that ride 
 Around thy storied frieze, O Virginal ! 
 Those glorious girls for whom their lovers sighed 
 What time they went upon thy festival, 
 Bearing thy yellow garment softly spun 
 In token that another year of jocund life was run. 
 
 Once more the noisy gaily coloured crowd 
 People thy holy courts with many a gift ; 
 Once more the choral voices, rising loud 
 In clear triumphant tuneful union, lift 
 Thy holy praises to the heedless sky. 
 O goddess, these are dead and gone who thought not 
 thou couldst die !
 
 172 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 Down on the hill the long-deserted stage 
 Is thronged with changing shadows ; sure I see 
 The tortured Titan brave Olympian rage, 
 And CEdipus bewail his misery 
 By white Colonos, from whose olive trees 
 Thick haunting nightingales make moan to every 
 wandering breeze. 
 
 Medea, with love's ruin in her heart, 
 Calls to her young with cruel Colchian breath ; 
 The great good-humoured giant takes the part 
 Of the true woman and o'ermasters death ; 
 And lo, from seat to seat runs ghostly mirth, 
 While Socrates in basket swings between the heaven 
 and earth ! 
 
 O Dionysus, gladdest-hearted god. 
 Do not the purple vineyards hold you still ? 
 Do you not rule us with your tendrilled rod, 
 And the soft juices that defeat the will, 
 From any heed of cruel hours that creep 
 Away in fancies brighter than the dreams of poppied 
 sleep? 
 
 For every man to whom the subtle fire 
 Gives an unreal lordship of the earth. 
 And feigned accordance of his heart's desire — 
 The love of woman or what nobler worth 
 His heart most hungers after — each of these 
 Adds one more loyal worshipper to all your votaries.
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 '/J 
 
 No more the dappled leopards draw thy car 
 Adown the noisy flower-sown street; no more 
 Some baby Bacchus on a giant jar, 
 By jolly vine-clad Satyrs lifted o'er 
 The heads of all the laughing people, wields 
 His little thyrsus in the praise of him the vineyard 
 yields. 
 
 Perchance on summer evenings calm and still, 
 You sit with Ariadne by your side 
 On the soft slope of some Arcadian hill. 
 Singing and drinking of the purple tide, 
 Crushed beneath sunburnt feet with merry noise 
 Of laughter and oi rustic song from brown-skinned 
 girls and boys. 
 
 No more the laughing girls, with bright limbs bare 
 To all the kisses of the wind and sun, 
 With twisted ivy in their tumbled hair, 
 And girt with skins of gaudy leopards, run 
 About thy jocund car, and leap and bound 
 To music of the double pipes and clashing cymbals 
 sound. 
 
 But we, while drinking of the earth's best blood 
 That glows and trembles in some well-crowned cup, 
 Even as we bend to the delightful flood. 
 Think of thy name, and once again fill up, 
 With shouts of ' lo Bacchus, evoe ! 
 Hail thou that teachest men how best to laugh the 
 world away !'
 
 174 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 For if perchance some woman's loveliness 
 Dazzle more surely than the noontide sun, 
 Would we forget the lips we long to press, 
 And may not — watch ye how the red drops run 
 Into some spacious goblet over-crowned ; 
 There drink till all your dreams in that Lethean stream 
 are drowned. 
 
 For while you drink of that immortal juice, 
 All hopes seem idle, idle all desire. 
 And lordship of the earth of little use. 
 And love no better than a burnt-out fire, 
 Whilst thou, Lycean, in the guise of wine 
 Slipst through our veins, and makest us seem for that 
 bright hour divine. 
 
 't3' 
 
 Lo, the unfettered fancy floats away 
 Into the far fantastic land of dreams, 
 Where the pure sunlight of a warmer day 
 Gilds deathless meadows and immortal streams — 
 The true Elysian fields, the Fortunate Isles, 
 Where women aye are young, and kind, and ever full 
 of smiles ! 
 
 O Dionysus, when the southern wind 
 Blows softly through the vineyards, sure thy breath 
 Is mingled with its course and makes it kind. 
 That when the grapes are carried to their death 
 In the great winepress such sweet juice shall flow 
 As gods and mighty heroes cupped in Hellas long ago !
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 175 
 
 Oh for one beaker of those wondrous wines, 
 Tides of a thousand vineyards cool and clear, 
 Whose names, like music, linger in the lines 
 Of some forgotten Grecian singer dear 
 To all the muses, and most dear to thee, 
 Thou merriest god that ever trod the land or sailed 
 the sea ! 
 
 Those glorious liquors of the Grecian valleys, 
 Whose grapes were gathered when the south wind 
 
 blows 
 Its softest kisses through the narrow alleys 
 Of sunny vineyards where the ripe grape glows. 
 Waiting the moment to be pluckt and pressed 
 To that dark stream, its drinkers blessing, by its drinkers 
 
 blessed. 
 
 High Homer's Chian, and the rare perfume 
 Of honeyed Thasian ; Saprian that closes 
 Within its scented stream the triple bloom 
 Of hyacinths and violets and roses ; 
 True Psithian nectar ; Rhodian and Mendasan, 
 Loved by the gods and by all men who raised the lo 
 psean. 
 
 And then the glorious Lesbian, loved the best 
 Of all the vineyards of the antique earth ; 
 O fortunate island, and thus doubly blessed. 
 That to such wine and to such songs gave birth, 
 The sweetest and the saddest ever sung 
 To happy mortal ears by any hapless mortal tongue !
 
 !76 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 Pramnian, the vintage of the holy vine 
 That grows in fishful Icarus they say, 
 Was of all juices the most wondrous wine 
 For strength to drive all angry thoughts away : 
 But all these streams are long ago drunk up, 
 And we must thirst in vain for drink that crowned an 
 ancient cup. 
 
 O glorious goddess, if my prayer could reach 
 To the dark hollow of thy haunted hill, 
 Or haply find thee by the yellow beach 
 Of some lone Grecian island where the still 
 Blue waters tell the tale that Sappho told, 
 And know to-day no gods except the merry gods of old, 
 
 Would you not hear me, even as long ago 
 You heard the lovelorn girl of Mytilene 
 Cry for the faithless fool she worshipped so ? 
 W^ould you not hear and pity, O my queen ! 
 Give me my love, if you have still the power 
 Which gave the boy of Ida her of womenkind the 
 - flower ? 
 
 Sometimes before your image, which the hand 
 Of some Greek sculptor fashioned for a shrine 
 For Grecian lovers, I have dared to stand, 
 Praying and dreaming that the lips divine 
 Parted and smiled in pity for my pain. 
 O helper of unhappy men, be helper once again !
 
 THE GODS OF HELLAS. 
 
 I// 
 
 O lover, tortured with a vain desire 
 For some fair woman, till in every place 
 You seek your wandering star, and come no nigher 
 The splendour of that fair Olympian face 
 And purple mouth, of which one single kiss 
 Were worth whole cycles, age on age, of barren loveless 
 bliss ! 
 
 You are the servant of the Cyprian Queen ! 
 No less than those who by the silver flood, 
 Or in some temple garden evergreen. 
 Implored her by Adonis' dabbled blood, 
 And for her many mortal lovers' sake. 
 To pity lips that wait unkissed, and hungry hearts that 
 ache. 
 
 O Lady and O Queen ! be sure of this, 
 That if my homage at thy altar-shrine 
 Could give me up one woman's lips to kiss, 
 Could make the girl I love but one hour mine. 
 No one of all thy singers of old time 
 Could hymn thy praises with more loyal or more 
 loving rhyme ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINtERS, GUILDFORD AND LONDON.
 
 [May, 1SS3. 
 
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 Miss or Mrs. P 
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 The Dead Heart. 
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 Fated to be Free. 
 
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 Oakshott Castle. 
 Number Seventeen. 
 
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 Patricia Kemball. 
 The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 The World Well Lost. 
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 With a Silken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 " IVly Love! " 
 
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 Linley Rochford. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
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 ISY CHARLES READE. 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
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 Peg Wofnngton. 
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 GriflRth Gaunt. 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 A Simpleton. 
 A Wcman-Hater. 
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