Fearless for him, and calm through perfect joy,
Seeing at length his foot upon the heights

Of highest song, by me discerned from far,

Now suddenly attained in confident

And errorless ascension. Did I ask

The lesser joy, lips' touch and clasping arms,
Or was not this salvation? For I urged
Always, in jealous service to his art,

'Now thou hast told their secrets to the trees

Of which they muse through lullèd summer nights; Thou hast gazed downwards in the formless gulf

Of the brute-mind, and canst control the will

Of snake, and brooding panther fiery-eyed,

And lark in middle heaven: leave these behind!

And let some careless singer of the fields

Set to the shallow sound of cymbal-stroke

The Faun a-dance; some less true-tempered soul,
Which cannot shape to harmony august

The splendour and the tumult of the world,
Inflame to frenzy of delirious rage

The Monad's breast; yea, and the hearts of men,

Smoke of whose fire upcurls from little roofs
Let singers of the wine-cup and the roast,
The whirling spear, the toy-like chariot-race,
And bickering counsel of contending kings
Delight them leave thou these; sing thou for Gods.'
And thou hast sung for Gods; and I have heard.

I shall not fade beneath this sunless sky,
Mixed in the wandering, ineffectual tribe;

For these have known no moment when the soul

Stood vindicated, laying sudden hands

On immortality of joy, and love

Which sought not, saw not, knew not, could not

know

The instruments of sense; I shall not fade.

Yea, and thy face detains me evermore

Within the realm of light. Love, wherefore blame
Thy heart because it sought me? Could the years'
Whole sum of various fashioned happiness
Exceed the measure of that eager face

Importunate and pure, still lit with song,

Turning from song to comfort of my love,.
And thirsty for my presence? We are saved!
Yield Heracles, thou brawn and thews of Zeus,

Yield up thy glory on Thessalian ground,
Competitor of Death in single strife!

The lyre methinks outdoes the club and fist,
And beauty's ingress the outrageous force
Of tyrant though beneficent; supreme
This feat remains, a memory shaped for Gods.

Nor canst thou wholly lose me from thy life;
Still I am with thee; still my hand keeps thine;
Now I restrain from too intemperate grief
Being a portion of the thoughts that claim
Thy service; now I urge with that good pain
Which wastes and feeds the spirit, a desire
Unending; now I lurk within thy will

As vigour; now am gleaming through the world
As beauty; and if greater thoughts must lay
Their solemn light on thee, outshining mine,
And in some far faint-gleaming hour of Hell

I stand unknown and muffled by the boat

Leaning an eager ear to catch some speech
Of thee, and if some comer tell aloud

How Orpheus who had loved Eurydice
Was summoned by the Gods to fill with joy
And clamour of celestial song the courts
Of bright Olympus,—I, with pang of pride
And pain dissolved in rapture, will return
Appeased, with sense of conquest stern and high."

But while she spoke, upon a chestnut trunk
Fallen from cliffs of Thracian Rhodope

Sat Orpheus, for he deemed himself alone,

And sang. But bands of wild-eyed women roamed
The hills, whom he had passed with calm disdain.
And now the shrilling Berecynthian pipe
Sounded, blown horn, and frantic female cries:

He ceased from song and looked for the event.

BY THE SEA.

I. THE ASSUMPTION.

Why would the puissant sky not be denied

Possession of me, when I sat to-day

Rock-couched, and round my feet the soft slave

lay,

My singing Sea, dark-bosom'd, dusky-eyed?
She breathed low mystery of song, she sighed,
And stirred herself, and set lithe limbs to play
In blandishing serpent-wreaths, and would betray
An anklet gleaming, or a swaying side.

Why could she not detain me? Why must I
Devote myself to the dread Heaven, adore
The spacious pureness, the large ardour? why
Sprang forth my heart as though all wanderings
Had end? To what last bliss did I upsoar

Beating on indefatigable wings?