“As judged by the little judges Who hearken not well, nor see? Not thus, by the outer issue, The Wise shall interpret thee. “Thy will is the very, the only, The solemn event of things; The weakest of hearts defying Is stronger than all these Kings. “Tho’ out of the past they gather, Mind’s Doubt and Bodily Pain, And pallid Thirst of the Spirit That is kin to the other twain, “And Grief, in a cloud of banners, And ringletted Vain Desires, And Vice, with the spoils upon him Of thee and thy beaten sires, “While Kings of eternal evil Yet darken the hills about, Thy part is with broken sabre To rise on the last redoubt; “To fear not sensible failure, Nor covet the game at all, But fighting, fighting, fighting, Die, driven against the wall!” ALEXANDRIANA _Alexandriana_ I I LAID the strewings, sweetest, on thine urn; I lowered the torch, I poured the cup to Dis. Now hushaby, my little child, and learn Long sleep how good it is. In vain thy mother prays, wayfaring hence, Peace to her heart, where only heartaches dwell; But thou more blest, O wild intelligence! Forget her, and Farewell. II Gentle Grecian passing by, Father of thy peace am I: Wouldst thou now, in memory, Give a soldier’s flower to me, Choose the flag I named of yore Beautiful Worth-dying-for, That shall wither not, but wave All the year above my grave. III Light thou hast of the moon, Shade of the dammar-pine, Here on thy hillside bed; Fair befall thee, O fair Lily of womanhood, Patient long, and at last Here on thy hillside bed, Happier: ah, Blæsilla! IV Two white heads the grasses cover: Dorcas, and her lifelong lover. While they graced their country closes Simply as the brooks and roses, Where was lot so poor, so trodden, But they cheered it of a sudden? Fifty years at home together, Hand in hand, they went elsewhither, Then first leaving hearts behind Comfortless. Be thou as kind. V Upon thy level tomb, till windy winter dawn, The fallen leaves delay; But plain and pure their trace is, when themselves are torn From delicate frost away. As here to transient frost the absent leaf is, such Thou wert and art to me: So on my passing life is thy long-passèd touch, O dear Alcithoë! VI Hail, and be of comfort, thou pious Xeno, Late the urn of many a kinsman wreathing; On thine own shall even the stranger offer Plentiful myrtle. VII Here lies one in the earth who scarce of the earth was moulded, Wise Æthalides’ son, himself no lover of study, Cnopus, asleep, indoors: the young invincible runner. They from the cliff footpath that see on the grave we made him, Tameless, slant in the wind, the bare and beautiful iris, Stop short, full of delight, and shout forth: “See, it is Cnopus Runs, with white throat forward, over the sands to Chalcis!” VIII