"Hence, thou deceiver! This is not to die, If, by the very death which mocks me now, The life, that's left behind and past my power, Is formidably doubled--Say, there fight Two athletes, side by side, each athlete armed With only half the weapons, and no more, Adequate to a contest with their foes. If one of these should fling helm, sword and shield To fellow--shieldless, swordless, helmless late-- And so leap naked o'er the barrier, leave A combatant equipped from head to heel, Yet cry to the other side, 'Receive a friend Who fights no longer!' 'Back, friend, to the fray!' Would be the prompt rebuff; I echo it. Two souls in one were formidable odds: Admetos must not be himself and thou! "And so, before the embrace relaxed a whit, The lost eyes opened, still beneath the look; And lo, Alkestis was alive again, And of Admetos' rapture who shall speak?" How unique a treatment of a classical subject this poem is, is self-evident. Not content with making a superb translation of the play, remarkable both for its literalness and for its poetic beauty, the poet has dared to present that translation indirectly through the mouth of another speaker, and to incorporate with it a running commentary of criticism in blank verse. Still more daring was it to make play and criticism an episode in a dramatic monologue in which we learn not only the story of the rescue of the shipload of Athenian sympathizers, but the story of Balaustion's love. Along with all this complexity of interest there is still room for a lifelike portrayal of Balaustion herself, one of the loveliest conceptions of womanhood in literature.