CADMUS AND HARMONIA.

FAR, far, from here,

The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay

Among the green Illyrian hills; and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,
And by the sea, and in the brakes.
The grass is cool, the sea-side air

Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers

More virginal and sweet than ours.

And there, they say, two bright and aged Snakes, Who once were Cadmus and Harmonia,

Bask in the glens or on the warm sea-shore,

In breathless quiet, after all their ills.

Nor do they see their country, nor the place Where the Sphinx liv'd among the frowning hills, Nor the unhappy palace of their race,

Nor Thebes, nor the Ismenus, any more.

There those two live, far in the Illyrian brakes.

They had stay'd long enough to see,
In Thebes, the billow of calamity
Over their own dear children roll'd,

Curse upon curse, pang upon pang,

For years, they sitting helpless in their home,
A
gray old man and woman: yet of old
The Gods had to their marriage come,
And at the banquet all the Muses sang.

Therefore they did not end their days
In sight of blood; but were rapt, far away,
To where the west wind plays,

And murmurs of the Adriatic come

To those untrodden mountain lawns: and there Placed safely in chang'd forms, the Pair Wholly forget their first sad life, and home, And all that Theban woe, and stray

Forever through the glens, placid and dumb.

PHILOMELA.

HARK! ah, the Nightingale !

The tawny-throated!

Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst!

What triumph! hark-what pain!

O Wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still, after many years, in distant lands,

Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain

That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain –
Say, will it never heal?

And can this fragrant lawn
With its cool trees, and night,

And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy rack'd heart and brain

Afford no balm ?

Dost thou to-night behold

Here, through the moonlight on this English grass,

The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild?

Dost thou again peruse

With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes

The too clear web, and thy dumb Sister's shame ?

Dost thou once more assay

Thy flight, and feel come over thee,

Poor Fugitive, the feathery change

Once more, and once more seem to make resound

With love and hate, triumph and agony,

Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale?

Listen, Eugenia

How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves !

THE STRAYED REVELLER.

The Portico of Circe's Palace. Evening.

A YOUTH. CIRCE.

THE YOUTH.

FASTER, faster,

O Circe, Goddess,

Let the wild thronging train,

The bright procession

Of eddying forms,

Sweep through my soul!

Thou standest, smiling

Down on me; thy right arm

Lean'd up against the column there,
Props thy soft cheek;