Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that,
Like the contented peasant of a vale,

Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond.
So, haply meeting in the afternoon

Some comrades who were playing at the dice,
He joined them and forgot all else beside.

The dice were rattling at the merriest, And Rhocus, who had met but sorry luck, Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, When through the room there hummed a yellow bee That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs As if to light. And Rhecus laughed and said, Feeling how red and flushed he was with loss, "By Venus! does he take me for a rose?” And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand. But still the bee came back, and thrice again Rhocus did beat him off with growing wrath. Then through the window flew the wounded bee, And Rhocus, tracking him with angry eyes, Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly

Against the red disc of the setting sun,

And instantly the blood sank from his heart,
As if its very walls had caved away.

Without a word he turned, and, rushing forth,

Ran madly through the city and the gate,

And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long shade, By the low sun thrown forward broad and dim, Darkened wellnigh unto the city's wall.

Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree,
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more
The low voice murmur "Rhocus!" close at hand:
Whereat he looked around him, but could see
Nought but the deepening glooms beneath the oak.
Then sighed the voice, "O, Rhocus! nevermore
Shalt thou behold me or by day or night,

Me, who would fain have blest thee with a love
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet

Filled up with nectar any mortal heart:

But thou didst scorn my humble messenger,

And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings.

We spirits only show to gentle eyes,

We ever ask an undivided love,

And he who scorns the least of Nature's works

Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all.
Farewell! for thou canst never see me more."

Then Rhocus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me yet

This once, and I shall never need it more !"

"Alas!

" the voice returned, "t is thou art blind,

Not I unmerciful; I can forgive,

But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes;

Only the soul hath power o'er itself."

With that again there murmured "Nevermore ! "

And Rhocus after heard no other sound,
Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves,

Like the long surf upon a distant shore,

Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down.

The night had gathered round him: o'er the plain The city sparkled with its thousand lights,

And sounds of revel fell upon his ear

Harshly and like a curse; above, the sky,

With all its bright sublimity of stars,

Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze:

Beauty was all around him and delight,

But from that eve he was alone on earth.

THE FALCON.

I KNOW a falcon swift and peerless
As e'er was cradled in the pine;
No bird had ever eye so fearless,
Or wing so strong as this of mine.

The winds not better love to pilot
A cloud with molten gold o'errun,

Than him, a little burning islet,

A star above the coming sun.

For with a lark's heart he doth tower,
By a glorious, upward instinct drawn ;
No bee nestles deeper in the flower

Than he in the bursting rose of dawn.