“Ye shall never know Summer again like this; Ye shall play no more with the Fauns, I wis, No more in the nymphs’ and dryads’ playtime Shall echo and answer kiss and kiss. “Though the flowers in your golden hair be bright, Your golden hair shall be waste and white On faded brows ere another May time Bring the spring, but no more delight.” HOMERIC UNITY. THE sacred keep of Ilion is rent By shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow Through plains where Simois and Scamander went To war with Gods and heroes long ago. Not yet to tired Cassandra, lying low In rich Mycenæ, do the Fates relent: The bones of Agamemnon are a show, And ruined is his royal monument. The dust and awful treasures of the Dead, Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee, Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead, And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see The crown that burns on thine immortal head Of indivisible supremacy! IN TINTAGEL. LUI. AH lady, lady, leave the creeping mist, And leave the iron castle by the sea! ELLE. Nay, from the sea there came a ghost that kissed My lips, and so I cannot come to thee! LUI. Ah lady, leave the cruel landward wind That crusts the blighted flowers with bitter foam! ELLE. Nay, for his arms are cold and strong to bind, And I must dwell with him and make my home! LUI. Come, for the Spring is fair in Joyous Guard And down deep alleys sweet birds sing again. ELLE. But I must tarry with the winter hard, And with the bitter memory of pain, Although the Spring be fair in Joyous Guard, And in the gardens glad birds sing again! PISIDICÊ. The incident is from the Love Stories of Parthenius, who preserved fragments of a lost epic on the expedition of Achilles against Lesbos, an island allied with Troy. THE daughter of the Lesbian king Within her bower she watched the war, Far off she heard the arrows ring, The smitten harness ring afar; And, fighting from the foremost car, Saw one that smote where all must flee; More fair than the Immortals are He seemed to fair Pisidicê! She saw, she loved him, and her heart Before Achilles, Peleus’ son, Threw all its guarded gates apart, A maiden fortress lightly won! And, ere that day of fight was done, No more of land or faith recked she, But joyed in her new life begun,— Her life of love, Pisidicê!