‘Bibber besotted, with scowl of a cur, having heart of a deer, thou! MARSHALLING OF THE ACHAIANS, 225 Like as a terrible fire feeds fast on a forest enormous, AGAMEMNON IN THE FIGHT, 227 These, then, he left, and away where ranks were now clashing the thickest, PARIS AND DIOMEDES, 228 So he, with a clear shout of laughter, HYPNOS ON IDA, 230 They then to fountain-abundant Ida, mother of wild beasts, CLASH IN ARMS OF THE ACHAIANS AND TROJANS, 231 Not the sea-wave so bellows abroad when it bursts upon shingle, THE HORSES OF ACHILLES, 232 So now the horses of Aiakides, off wide of the war-ground, THE MARES OF THE CAMARGUE, 234 A hundred mares, all white! their manes ‘ATKINS’, 236 Yonder’s the man with his life in his hand, THE VOYAGE OF THE ‘OPHIR’, 237 Men of our race, we send you one THE CRISIS, 239 Spirit of Russia, now has come OCTOBER 21, 1905, 241 The hundred years have passed, and he THE CENTENARY OF GARIBALDI, 243 We who have seen Italia in the throes, THE WILD ROSE, 245 High climbs June’s wild rose, THE CALL, 247 Under what spell are we debased ON COMO, 250 A rainless darkness drew o’er the lake MILTON, 251 What splendour of imperial station man, IRELAND, 253 Fire in her ashes Ireland feels THE YEARS HAD WORN THEIR SEASONS’ BELT, 255 The years had worn their seasons’ belt, FRAGMENTS, 257 Open horizons round, A wilding little stubble flower From labours through the night, outworn, This love of nature, that allures to take IL Y A CENT ANS, 259 That march of the funereal Past behold; YOUTH IN AGE, 261 Once I was part of the music I heard Epitaphs TO A FRIEND LOST, 265 When I remember, friend, whom lost I call, M. M., 265 Who call her Mother and who calls her Wife THE LADY C. M., 266