English

I .

The G ODDESSES .

TheRE is a valley by the northern sea,
O'ershadow'd softly by eternal hills
And canopied by the ethereal blue.
Above it silently for ever gleam
Cold peaks of ice and snow, and over these
The wind goes, and the shadows of the wind;
While far below, the hollows of the vale
Are strewn most deep with heather and with thyme,
And weeping willows hang their silken hair
O'er dusky tarns with summer lilies sown;

1.

FREA IN THE WOOD .

Blue night. Along the lonely forest way
The goddess, mighty-limb'd and marble white,
Tall in the shadow of the pines that waved
Their black arms in the moonrise overhead,
Stole silent-footed. Round her naked feet
The dews were luminous, and the breath of flowers
Rose from the scented path of grass and fern,
And all was stiller than a maiden's dream.
From grove to grove she went, like one that knew
Each shadow of that silent forest old,
And ever as she went the tangled light

1.

BALDER'S Birth -SONG .

There blent with his growing
The leaf and the flower,
The wind lightly blowing
Its balm from afar,
The smile of the sunshine,
The sob of the shower,
The beam of the moonshine,
The gleam of the star.
'Mid shining of faces
And waving of wings,
With gifts from all places
Came beautiful things;
The blush from the blossom,
The bloom from the corn,
Blent into his bosom,
Ere Balder was born.

As a rainbow in heaven
Was woven the rune,

Proem To —

A SONG OF A DREAM .

O WHAT is this cry in our burning ears,
And what is this light on our eyes, dear love?
The cry is the cry of the rolling years,
As they break on the sun-rock, far above;
And the light is the light of that rock of gold
As it burneth bright in a starry sea;
And the cry is clearer a hundredfold,
And the light more bright, when I gaze on thee.

CHORUS OF SPIRITS .

Strange hands are passing across our eyes,
Before our souls strange visions rise.
And dim shapes flash and flee.
The mists of dream are backward roll'd —
As from a mountain, we behold
What is, and yet shall be.

A VOICE .

Speak, while the depths of dream unfold,
What is it that ye see?

SEMI-CHORUS I .

SEMI-CHORUS I .

Form of her the Titan full of patience
Sees amid the darkness of the nations;
Voice of her whose sound in the beginning
Came upon him desolate and sinning;
Face and fairest form of her whose gleaming
Soothes his gentle spirit into dreaming;
Spirit! whom the Titan sees above him!

SEMI-CHORUS II .

Gentle eyes that shine and seem to love him!
Tender touch, the thrill of her sweet fingers,
Thrill that reach'd his soul and burns and lingers;

The cup is overflowing. Pour, pour yet,
My Famulus — pour with free arm-sweep still,
And when the wine is running o'er the brim,
Sparkling with golden bubbles in the sun,
I will stoop down and drink the full great draught
Of glory, and as did those heroes old
Drinking ambrosia in the happy isles,
Dilate at once to perfect demigod.
Meantime, I feast my eyes as the wine runs
And the cup fills. Fill up, my Famulus!
Pour out the precious juice of all the earth,
Pour with great arm-sweep, that the world may see.

'Twas the height of the world's night, there was neither warmth nor light,
And the heart of Earth was heavy as a stone;
Yet the nations sick with loss saw the surge of heaven toss
Round the meteor of the Cross; and with a moan
All the people desolate gazed thereon and question'd fate,
And the wind went by and bit them to the bone.

Hope was fled and Faith was dead, and the black pell overhead
Hung like Death's, for doom was heavy everywhere, —
When there rose a sudden gleam, then a thunder, then a scream,

How in the end the Judgment dread
Shall by the Lord thy God be said, —
While brightly in a City of Rest
Shall flash the fountains of the Blest,
And gladdening around the Throne
All mortal men shall smile, — save one. ...
Children of Earth, hear, last and first,
The Vision of the Man Accurst.

Judgment was over; all the world redeem'd
Save one Man, — who had sinned all sins, whose soul
Was blackness and foul odour. Last of all,
When all was lamb-white, through the summer Sea
Of ministering Spirits he was drifted

A scroll antique, with weeds behung,
Writ in a mystic pagan tongue,
Wash'd to Orm's feet by the wan Main
After long nights of wind and rain:
Translating this at dead of night,
The Celt beholds with dazzled sight
Strange gods stalk past, and in their train,
Supreme, the King of Sin and Pain.

I.

The I NSCRIPTION W ITHOUT .

The Moral Law: all Evil is Defect;
The limb deform'd for common use of life