Yet ever, thro’ the trembling lovely light, Known voice on voice re-echoed, face on face Uprose in resurrection. They were safe, And Athens, hark! from her long thraldom free! And Theseus, victor, sang and sailed with them, The pale unsistered Phædra for his bride, For whom was constant Ariadne cast On Naxos, where a god did comfort her. Theseus! who when his bark the shallows grazed, Leaped in the gentle waves for boyish glee, Gained the thronged highway, crossed it at a bound, Scaling the cliffs; and stood among them there, Clausus, and his dear Theron, and the rest, Nodding upon the clamorous crowd below; But they, as soon, had turned them blunt away, In hot resentment of that false one. He, O’erbrimming with frank welcomes, in dismay, Stricken with sight of unresponsive hands, Scenting disaster, reining up his tongue, Asked sharply for the king. He understood After mad struggle and bewilderment, And gloomy gazing on the absent deeps. Down on the penitential rock he sank, All his fair body palpitant with shame, Syllabing agony: ‘Ægeus, Ægeus! ah, Glory of Hellas! dead for trust in me. Life-giver, irrecoverable friend, My father! ah, ah, loving father mine, Ah, dear my father!... I forgot the sail.’ And the great morn burst. On a hundred hills The marigold unbarred her casement bright. LEGENDS TARPEIA. WOE: lightly to part with one’s soul as the sea with its foam! Woe to Tarpeia, Tarpeia, daughter of Rome! Lo, now it was night, with the moon looking chill as she went: It was morn when the innocent stranger strayed into the tent. The hostile Sabini were pleased, as one meshing a bird; She sang for them there in the ambush: they smiled as they heard. Her sombre hair purpled in gleams, as she leaned to the light; All day she had idled and feasted, and now it was night. The chief sat apart, heavy-browed, brooding elbow on knee; The armlets he wore were thrice royal, and wondrous to see: Exquisite artifice, whorls of barbaric design, Frost’s fixèd mimicry; orbic imaginings fine In sevenfold coils: and in orient glimmer from them, The variform voluble swinging of gem upon gem. And the glory thereof sent fever and fire to her eye. ‘I had never such trinkets!’ she sighed,--like a lute was her sigh. ‘Were they mine at the plea, were they mine for the token, all told, Now the citadel sleeps, now my father the keeper is old, ‘If I go by the way that I know, and thou followest hard, If yet at the touch of Tarpeia the gates be unbarred?’ The chief trembled sharply for joy, then drew rein on his soul: ‘Of all this arm beareth I swear I will cede thee the whole.’