A form of beauty blent with hardihood, Majestic as Olympus wreathed in snows, What modern pages of romance disclose A radiant maiden of such dauntless mood! Yet, when the tyrant strives with outrage rude The unyielding maid in darkness to enclose, Then, only then, her burning heart outflows In anguished cries of love, but unsubdued By baser throbbings. Ah! that nuptial hymn Unsung! that bond in death! All men agree To crown thee in that chamber dark and dim With love's immortal wreath, Antigoné. Since love and duty in thy death combine, An immortality of praise is thine. VI. SHADOWS OF THE MANSE. I. Lo! we have him of shaven face And curls of long and lustrous hair, Who breathes an atmosphere of grace And has a wondrous gift in prayer. You'd ne'er suspect to see him there, Shaking his head in solemn guise, _The college life of deil-may-care Diversion that behind him lies_. II. And then the little starveling pope Who strives to make his sermons new By stringing florid scraps of hope And faith and love to dazzle you: From Stopford Brooke a phrase or two, A gleaming line from Arnold's page, Whole screeds of Browning and a few Stolen thunders from the Chelsea sage. III. Perhaps the most diverting wight Is he who sees in Holy Writ Old Jewish fables gross and trite To semblance of a system knit-- Fables for modern taste unfit, Until _he_ cleans the dross away And shows the tiny little bit Of gold that gleams amid the clay. IV. But worst of all is he who jests, Or tries to jest, in pulpit gown, Lord, save us from such holy pests Who so unseemly act the clown And pull the tabernacle down To something worse than pantomime: On all such zanies let us frown And scourge them both in prose and rhyme. VII. "MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS." Puzzling over musty tomes, What a life to lead, While each gay companion roams Where his fancies lead! One beside a shady pool Sweeps the wave for hours, Comes home with his basket full, When the evening lowers. Some more energetic wights Leave the level land, Mountaineer on dizzy heights, Alpenstock in hand. Others boat in sunny bays Where bright sands are seen Glimmering amid a maze Of tangled flowers marine. Luck to all is what I wish With a meed of fun, I'll row, mountaineer, and fish, When _your_ sports are done. VIII. SADDELL (KINTYRE). Fresh gusts of wind ripple the ocean's face, And the green slopes, after the night's soft rain, Glitter beneath the blue. Most glorious are the sea-descending glens, Vivid with countless ferns, and with the blaze Of sun-enamoured broom.