His beloved Argive seer would Zeus retain
From his appointed end

In this our Thebes; but when
His flying steeds came near

To cross the steep Ismenian glen,

The broad earth opened, and whelmed them and him, And through the void air sang

At large his enemy's spear.

And fain would Zeus have saved his tired son,
Beholding him where the Two Pillars stand

O'er the sun-reddened western straits,14
Or at his work in that dim lower world.
Fain would he have recalled

The fraudulent oath which bound
To a much feebler wight the heroic man.

But he preferred fate to his strong desire.
Nor did there need less than the burning pile
Under the towering Trachis crags,

And the Spercheios vale, shaken with groans,
And the roused Maliac gulf,

And scared Etæan snows,

To achieve his son's deliverance, O my child!

FRAGMENT OF CHORUS OF A

"DEFANEIRA.”

O FRIVOLOUS mind of man,

Light ignorance, and hurrying, unsure thoughts! Though man bewails you not,

How I bewail you !

Little in your prosperity

Do you seek counsel of the gods.

Proud, ignorant, self-adored, you live alone.
In profound silence stern,

Among their savage gorges and cold springs,
Unvisited remain

The great oracular shrines.

Thither in your adversity

Do you betake yourselves for light,

But strangely misinterpret all you hear.

For

you will not put on

New hearts with the inquirer's holy robe,

And purged, considerate minds.

And him on whom, at the end

Of toil and dolour untold,

The gods have said that repose

At last shall descend undisturbed, -
Him you expect to behold

In an easy old age, in a happy home:
No end but this you praise.

But him on whom, in the prime
Of life, with vigor undimmed,
With unspent mind, and a soul

Unworn, undebased, undecayed,

Mournfully grating, the gates

Of the city of death have forever closed, – Him, I count him, well-starred.

EARLY DEATH AND FAME.

FOR him who must see many years,
I praise the life which slips away

Out of the light, and mutely; which avoids
Fame, and her less fair followers, envy, strife,
Stupid detraction, jealousy, cabal,
Insincere praises; which descends
The quiet mossy track to age.

But when immature death
Beckons too early the guest
From the half-tried banquet of life,
Young, in the bloom of his days;
Leaves no leisure to press,

Slow and surely, the sweets
Of a tranquil life in the shade, —
Fuller for him be the hours!
Give him emotion, though pain!

Let him live, let him feel, I have lived.
Heap up his moments with life!

Triple his pulses with fame !

PHILOMELA.

HARK! ah, the nightingale -
The tawny-throated!

Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst.
What triumph! hark! what pain!

O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still, after many years, in distant lands,

Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain

That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, old-world pain. Say, will it never heal?

And can this fragrant lawn

With its cool trees, and night,

And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy racked heart and brain
Afford no balm?

Dost thou to-night behold,

Here, through the moonlight on this English grass.
The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild?

Dost thou again peruse

With hot cheeks and seared eyes

The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame?

Dost thou once more assay

Thy flight, and feel come over thee,

Poor fugitive, the feathery change

Once more, and once more seem to make resound

With love and hate, triumph and agony,

Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale?

URANIA.

SHE smiles and smiles, and will not sigh,
While we for hopeless passion die;
Yet she could love, those eyes declare,
Were but men nobler than they are.

Eagerly once her gracious ken

Was turned upon the sons of men ;
But light the serious visage grew-

She looked, and smiled, and saw them through.

Our petty souls, our strutting wits,
Our labored, puny passion-fits, -
Ah, may she scorn them still, till we
Scorn them as bitterly as she!

Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers,
One of some worthier race than ours!
One for whose sake she once might prove
How deeply she who scorns can love.

His eyes be like the starry lights,
His voice like sounds of summer nights;
In all his lovely mien let pierce

The magic of the universe!

And she to him will reach her hand,
And gazing in his eyes will stand,

And know her friend, and weep for glee,
And cry, Long, long I've looked for thee.

Then will she weep: with smiles, till then,
Coldly she mocks the sons of men;
Till then, her lovely eyes maintain
Their pure, unwavering, deep disdain.