There by the river banks he wander'd on,
From palm-grove on to palm-grove, happy trees,
Their smooth tops shining sunwards, and beneath
Burying their unsunn'd stems in grass and flowers:
Where in one dream the feverish time of Youth
Might fade in slumber, and the feet of Joy
Might wander all day long and never tire:
Here came the king, holding high feast, at morn,
Rose-crown'd; and ever, when the sun went down,
A hundred lamps beam'd in the tranquil gloom,
From tree to tree, all through the twinkling grove,
Revealing all the tumult of the feast,

Flush'd guests, and golden goblets, foam'd with wine;
While the deep-burnish'd foliage overhead

Splinter'd the silver arrows of the moon.

It may be that sometimes his wondering soul

From the loud joyful laughter of his lips

Might shrink half startled, like a guilty man
Who wrestles with his dream; as some pale Shape,

Gliding half hidden through the dusky stems,

Would thrust a hand before the lifted bowl,
Whispering, "A little space, and thou art mine."
It may be on that joyless feast his eye

Dwelt with mere outward seeming; he, within,
Took measure of his soul, and knew its strength,
And by that silent knowledge, day by day,
Was calm'd, ennobled, comforted, sustain❜d.

It may be; but not less his brow was smooth,
And his clear laugh fled ringing through the gloom,
And his mirth quail'd not at the mild reproof
Sigh'd out by Winter's sad tranquillity;

Nor, pall'd with its own fulness, ebb'd and died

In the rich languor of long summer days;

Nor wither'd, when the palm-tree plumes that roof'd
With their mild dark his grassy banquet-hall,

Bent to the cold winds of the showerless Spring;
No, nor grew dark when Autumn brought the clouds.
So six long years he revell'd, night and day;

And when the mirth wax'd loudest, with dull sound

Sometimes from the grove's centre echoes came,
To tell his wondering people of their king;
In the still night, across the steaming flats,
Mix'd with the murmur of the moving Nile.

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,
old man and woman: yet of old

A grey
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