To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod— Yea, sodden laborers dumb; To brains overplied, to feet that plod, In solace of the _Truce of God_ The Calumet has come! IV Ah for the world ere Raleigh’s find Never that knew this suasive balm That helps when Gilead’s fails to heal, Helps by an interserted charm. Insinuous thou that through the nerve Windest the soul, and so canst win Some from repinings, some from sin, The Church’s aim thou dost subserve. The ruffled fag fordone with care And brooding, God would ease this pain: Him soothest thou and smoothest down Till some content return again. Even ruffians feel thy influence breed Saint Martin’s summer in the mind, They feel this last evangel plead, As did the first, apart from creed, Be peaceful, man—be kind! V Rejected once on higher plain, O Love supreme, to come again Can this be thine? Again to come, and win us too In likeness of a weed That as a god didst vainly woo, As man more vainly bleed? VI Forbear, my soul! and in thine Eastern chamber Rehearse the dream that brings the long release: Through jasmine sweet and talismanic amber Inhaling Herba Santa in the passive Pipe of Peace. OFF CAPE COLONNA Aloof they crown the foreland lone, From aloft they loftier rise— Fair columns, in the aureole rolled From sunned Greek seas and skies. They wax, sublimed to fancy’s view, A god-like group against the blue. Over much like gods! Serene they saw The wolf-waves board the deck, And headlong hull of Falconer, And many a deadlier wreck. THE APPARITION _The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the approach to Athens._ Abrupt the supernatural Cross, Vivid in startled air, Smote the Emperor Constantine And turned his soul’s allegiance there. With other power appealing down, Trophy of Adam’s best! If cynic minds you scarce convert, You try them, shake them, or molest. Diogenes, that honest heart, Lived ere your date began; Thee had he seen, he might have swerved In mood nor barked so much at Man. L’ENVOI _The Return of the Sire de Nesle._ A.D. 16 My towers at last! These rovings end, Their thirst is slaked in larger dearth: The yearning infinite recoils, For terrible is earth. Kaf thrusts his snouted crags through fog: Araxes swells beyond his span, And knowledge poured by pilgrimage Overflows the banks of man. But thou, my stay, thy lasting love One lonely good, let this but be! Weary to view the wide world’s swarm, But blest to fold but thee. SUPPLEMENT Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples.