And worship Truth, if Truth should e'er to Man Show her full face. Let such ordain them laws If Justice e'er should mate with laws of men. Above the mountain summits of Man's hope There spreads, I know, a land illimitable, The table land of Virtue trial-proved, Whereon one day the nations of the world Shall race like emulous Gods. A greater God Served by our sires, a God unknown to Rome, Above that shining level sits, high-towered: Millions of Spirits wing His flaming light, And fiery winds among His tresses play: When comes that hour which judges Gods and men, That God shall plague the Gods that filched His name, And cleanse the Peoples. When ye hear, my sons, That God uprising in His judgment robes And see their dreadful crimson in the West, Then know ye that the knell of Rome is nigh; Then stand, and listen! When His Trumpet sounds Forth from your forests and your snows, my sons, Forth over Ister, Rhenus, Rhodonus, To Moesia forth, to Thrace, Illyricum, Iberia, Gaul; but, most of all, to Rome! Who leads you thither leads you not for spoil: A mission hath he, fair though terrible;-- He makes a pure hand purer, washed in blood: On, Scourge of God! the Vengeance Hour is come. I know that hour, and wait it. Odin's work Stands then consummate. Odin's name thenceforth Goes down to darkness. Farewell, Ararat! How many an evening, still and bright as this, In childhood, youth, or manhood's sorrowing years, Have I not watched the sunset hanging red Upon thy hoary brow! Farewell for ever! A legend haunts thee that the race of man In earliest days, a sad and storm-tossed few, From thy wan heights descended, making way Into a ruined world. A storm-tossed race, But not self-pitying, once again thou seest Into a world all ruin making way Whither they know not, yet without a fear. This hour--lo, there, they pass yon valley's verge!-- In sable weeds that pilgrimage moves on, Moves slowly like thy shadow, Ararat, That eastward creeps. Phantom of glory dead! Image of greatness that disdains to die! Move Northward thou! Whate'er thy fates decreed, At least that shadow shall be shadow of man, And not of beast gold-weighted! On, thou Night Cast by my heart! Thou too shalt meet thy morn! LEGENDS _KING ETHELBERT OF KENT AND SAINT AUGUSTINE._ Ethelbert, King of Kent, converses first with his Pagan Thanes, and next with Saint Augustine, newly landed on the shores of Thanet Island. The Saint, coming in sight of Canterbury, rejoices greatly, and predicts the future greatness of that city.