Near and nearer, far-off flying; Pulsing along each quivering string As though the Lyre were a living thing. New is the ship, as new the freight; The Dolphin feels never the weight; New is the ship, and new the fare, That of the water, this of the air: The sailors in their greed him lost, The Dolphin bears him withouten cost. Away and away with a shim'ring track Arion goes on the Dolphin's back; Away and away, still softly playing, Each string his lightest touch obeying. Under the spell the Sea grows calm, Listing attent his witching psalm; Under the spell the air grows mild, Breathing soft as sleeping child. But who may seek all the tale to tell? It is a tale unspeakable. Onward and onward careering they go, Silence above and silence below: The Storm-gale shuts its mouth and lists, The Wind folds its pinions and desists, Following, not blowing, drawing not, but drawn, From early ev'ning to breaking dawn. Tenarus at last Arion beheld; Tenarus, his own dear home that held; And as together they swiftly come, He claps hands loud and thinks of home. The Dolphin seeks a quiet cove; The Dolphin arching its back above The azure waters, leaves him there, A-list'ning still his Lyre to hear. Homeward to Corinth Arion proceeds: Periander a tale of suff'ring reads In the thinnèd cheek and the dreamy eye, In the tremulous words and the laden sigh. The story is told. O story of wrong! The ship returns; and it is not long Ere captain and crew, at bar arraign'd, Must tell where Arion they detain'd. 'He tarries,' quoth they, 'in Sicily, Winning all men by his minstrelsie.' Lies were proven in their throat. Periander his hands together smote, Swearing a solemn oath that they-- One, all--should drown'd be in the Bay. Tied hand and foot, pallor'd and grim, 'Tis done as they would ha' done to him. A plunge as of a plunging stone, A few bubbles--Vengeance is done! G. IN APOLLINEA DEPEREUNTEM DAPHNEN. Stulte Cupido, Quid tua flamma parat? Annos sole sub ipso Accensae pereunt faces? Sed fax nostra potentior istis, Flammas inflammare potest, ipse uritur ignis, Ecce flammarum potens Majore sub flamma gemit. Eheu, quid hoc est? En Apollo Lyra tacente, ni sonet dolores, Coma jacente squallet aeternus decor Oris, en, dominae quo placeat magis, Languido tardum jubar igne promit. Pallente vultu territat aethera. Mundi oculus lacrymis senescit, Et solvit pelago debita, quodque hauserat ignibus, His lacrymis rependit. Noctis adventu properans se latebris recondit, Et opacas tenebrarum colit umbras, Namque suos odit damnans radios nocensque lumen. An lateat tenebris dubitat, an educat diem, Hinc suadet hoc luctus furens, inde repugnat amor.