PROMETHEUS THE

FIRE-GIVER

SPOTTISWOODE

LONDON: PRINTED BY

AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE

AND PARLIAMENT STREET

TO ÆSCHYLUS.

ACROSS the gulfs of Time I cast
The peering of mine hungering eyes
To pierce the thick gloom of the past
Where hides the all of all that dies;
I lean into the ghost-filled night
And my will pierces on to dreams

Of shapes and shades that seem to sight
Till one, thine own, so sought for! seems;
Then is thought smit with wondering awe
And hushed before thine ancient brow
Ploughed with the furrows Athens saw
Throning thee then as we do now.

What hoards lie in the mounds of death

To-day nor after time may bare!

Where are the treasures of thy breath

Save these great with thy greatness-where ! What Death has grasped can Time regive? Forgive me, mightiest, that I here

Dare bid thy solemn chanted hymns relive,

Dare call to thy gone gods to yet again appear.