IPHIGENEIA AT AULIS.

I am Achilles. Thou wast hither brought
To be my wife, not for a sacrifice.

Greece and her kings may stand aside as nought
To what Thou art in my expectant eyes.

Or kings or Gods: I too am heaven-born.
I trample on their auguries and needs.
Where the foreboding dares to front my scorn
Or break the promise from my heart proceeds?

But thou Belovèd! smilèst down my wrath
So able to protect thee. Who should harm
Achilles' Bride?-Thou pointest to the path
Of sacrifice, yet leaning on my arm.

There is no need of words; from me reply
As little requisite: Thy lightest hand
Guideth me, as the helm the ship; Thine eye

Doth more than all the Atridæ could command.

Thou givèst life and love for Greece and Right :
I will stand by thee lest thou shouldst be weak-

Not weak of soul.-I will but hold in sight

Thy marvelous beauty. Here is She you seek!

AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE.

1814

SONG.

Seek not the tree of silkiest bark
And balmiest bud,

To carve her name while yet 'tis dark
Upon the wood!

The world is full of noble tasks

And wreaths hard won:

Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands,

Till day is done.

Sing not that violet-veined skin,
That cheek's pale roses,

The lily of that form wherein
Her soul reposes !

Forth to the fight, true man! true knight !
The clash of arms

Shall more prevail than whisper'd tale,
To win her charms.

The warrior for the True, the Right,
Fights in Love's name;

The love that lures thee from that fight
Lures thee to shame :

That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves
The spirit free,—

That love, or none, is fit for one
Man-shaped like thee.

SORROW.

When I was young, I said to Sorrow
“Come, and I will play with thee!"
He is near me now all day,

And at night returns to say

"I will come again to-morrow-
I will come and stay with thee."

Through the woods we walk together,-
His soft footsteps rustle by me:
To shield an unregarded head
He hath built a winter shed;

And all night in rainy weather
I hear his gentle breathings by me.

SONG.

Love laid down his golden head

On his mother's knee :

"The world runs round so fast "-he said,
"None has time for me."

Thought, a sage unhonor'd, turn'd
From the on-rushing crew;

Song her starry legend spurn'd ;
Art her glass down threw.

Roll on, blind world! upon thy track
Until thy wheels catch fire :

For that is gone which comes not back
To seller nor to buyer.

SONG.

Softly, O midnight Hours!

Move softly o'er the bowers

Where lies in happy sleep a Girl so fair :

For ye

have power, men say,

Our hearts in sleep to sway

And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.

Round ivory neck and arm

Enclasp a separate charm :

Hang o'er her poised; but breathe nor sigh nor prayer! Silently ye may smile,

But hold your breath the while

And let the wind sweep back your cloudy hair!

Bend down your glittering urns

(Ere yet the dawn returns)

And star with dew the lawn her feet shall tread;
Upon the air rain balm ;

Bid all the woods be calm;

Ambrosial dreams with healthful slumbers wed! That so the Maiden may

With smiles your care repay

When from her couch she lifts her golden head, Waking with earliest birds

Ere yet the misty herds

Leave warm 'mid the grey grass their dusky bed.

NOTHING MORE.

A sigh in the morning grey,—
And a solitary tear,

Slow to gather, slow to fall,—
And a painful flush of shame
At the mention of thy name :
This is little, this is all,
False One! that remains to say
That thy love of old was here,
That thy love hath pass'd away.

THOMAS BURBIDGE.

1816

LOVE'S INSISTENCE.

If I desire with pleasant songs
To throw a merry hour away,
Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs
In careful tale he doth display;
And asks me how I stand for singing
While I my helpless hands am wringing.

And then, another time, if I

A noon in shady bower would pass,
Comes he with stealthy gestures sly
And, flinging down upon the grass,

66

Quoth he to me— My Master dear!
Think of this noontide such a year."

And if elsewhile I lay my head

On pillow, with intent to sleep, Lies Love beside me on the bed

And gives me ancient words to keep : Says he "These looks, these tokens number! May be they'll help you to a slumber."

So every time when I would yield

An hour to quiet, comes he still,
And hunts up every sign conceal'd
And every outward sign of ill;
And gives me his sad face's pleasures
For Merriment's or Sleep's or Leisure's

CHARLES GEORGE ROSENBERG.

1815-1876.

THE WINGED HORSE.

Wake from your homes in tomb and shroud!
Wake, Splendours of the Past!
Joy divine, and Passion proud,
Hope sublime, and Vision vast!
Let our love your glories trace
Eye to eye and face to face;
Let our arms your beauties bind :-
Or are ye like the wind

To sight impalpable, too thin for our embrace?

Fire and water have we bound

To the car and to the wheel

With harness and with trace of steel;
A living speech and utterance found
For the very lightning's speed:
Every element compell'd