I have never loved you, ye gods! For to me are the Greeks antipathetic, And even the Romans are hateful. But holy compassion and sacred pity Penetrate my heart, When I now gaze upon you yonder, Deserted gods! Dead night-wandering shadows, Weak as mists which the wind scares away. And when I recall how dastardly and visionary Are the gods who have supplanted you, The new, reigning, dolorous gods, Mischief-plotters in the sheep's clothing of humility, Oh then a more sullen rancor possesses me, And I fain would shatter the new Temples, And battle for you, ye ancient gods,-- For you and your good ambrosial cause. And before your high altars, Rebuilt with their extinguished fires, Fain would I kneel and pray, And supplicating uplift mine arms. Always ye ancient gods, Even in the battles of mortals, Always did ye espouse the cause of the victor. But man is more magnanimous than ye, And in the battles of the gods, he now takes the part Of the gods who have been vanquished. * * * * * Thus spake I, and lo, visibly blushed Yonder the wan cloud figures, And they gazed upon me like the dying, Transfigured by sorrow, and suddenly disappeared. The moon was concealed Behind dark advancing clouds. Loud roared the sea. And triumphantly came forth in the heavens The eternal stars. VII. THE PHOENIX. A bird comes flying out of the West; He flies to the Eastward, Towards the Eastern garden-home, Where spices shed fragrance, and flourish, And palms rustle and fountains scatter coolness. And in his flight the magic bird sings: "She loves him! she loves him! She carries his portrait in her little heart, And she carries it sweetly and secretly hidden, And knoweth it not herself! But in dreams he stands before her. She implores and weeps and kisses his hands, And calls his name, And calling she awakes, and she lies in affright, And amazed she rubs her beautiful eyes,-- She loves him! she loves him!" Leaning on the mast on the upper deck, I stood and heard the bird's song. Like blackish-green steeds with silver manes, Leapt the white crisp-curling waves. Like flocks of swans glided past, With gleaming sails, the Helgolands, The bold nomads of the North Sea. Above me in the eternal blue Fluttered white clouds, And sparkled the eternal sun, The Rose of heaven, the fire-blossoming, Which joyously was mirrored in the sea. And the heavens and seas and mine own heart Resounded in echo-- She loves him! she loves him! VIII. QUESTION.