FOR thee soft crowns in thine untrampled mead I wove, my lady, and to thee I bear; Thither no shepherd drives his flocks to feed, Nor scythe of steel has ever laboured there; Nay, through the spring among the blossoms fair The brown bee comes and goes, and with good heed Thy maiden, Reverence, sweet streams doth lead About the grassy close that is her care! Souls only that are gracious and serene By gift of God, in human lore unread, May pluck these holy blooms and grasses green That now I wreathe for thine immortal head, I that may walk with thee, thyself unseen, And by thy whispered voice am comforted. CRITICISM OF LIFE. (_Hippol._, _Eurip._, 252–266.) LONG life hath taught me many things, and shown That lukewarm loves for men who die are best, Weak wine of liking let them mix alone, Not Love, that stings the soul within the breast; Happy, who wears his love-bonds lightliest, Now cherished, now away at random thrown! Grievous it is for other’s grief to moan, Hard that my soul for thine should lose her rest! Wise ruling this of life: but yet again Perchance too rigid diet is not well; He lives not best who dreads the coming pain And shunneth each delight desirable: _Flee thou extremes_, this word alone is plain, Of all that God hath given to Man to spell! AMARYLLIS. (_Theocritus_, _Idyll_, iii.) FAIR Amaryllis, wilt thou never peep From forth the cave, and call me, and be mine? Lo, apples ten I bear thee from the steep, These didst thou long for, and all these are thine. Ah, would I were a honey-bee to sweep Through ivy, and the bracken, and woodbine; To watch thee waken, Love, and watch thee sleep, Within thy grot below the shadowy pine. Now know I Love, a cruel god is he, The wild beast bare him in the wild wood drear; And truly to the bone he burneth me. But, black-browed Amaryllis, ne’er a tear, Nor sigh, nor blush, nor aught have I from thee; Nay, nor a kiss, a little gift and dear. THE CANNIBAL ZEUS. A.D. 160 Καὶ ἔθυσε τὸ βρέφος, καὶ ἔσπεισεν ἐπὶ τοῦ βωμοῦ τὸ ‘αῖμχ—έπὶ τούτου βωμοῦ τῷ Δὺ θύουσιν ἐν ἀποῤῥήτῳ.—_Paus._ viii. 38 NONE elder city doth the Sun behold Than ancient Lycosura; ’twas begun Ere Zeus the meat of mortals learned to shun, And here hath he a grove whose haunted fold The driven deer seek and huntsmen dread: ’tis told That whoso fares within that forest dun Thenceforth shall cast no shadow in the Sun, Ay, and within the year his life is cold!