Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy."

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's-length, so much the thought

of power Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where she

stood Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed

Shall strike within thy pulses, like a

God's, To push thee forward thro’a life of shocks, Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow Sinew'd with action and the full-grown

will, Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, Commeasure perfect freedom.”

"Here she ceas'd, And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, “O

Paris, Give it to Pallas !” but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me !

spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry

cheek Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

• “Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self

control, These three alone lead life to sovereign

power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by

law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of conse

quence.”

"O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Idalian Aphroditè beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian

wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her

deep hair Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder : from the violets her light

foot Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded

form Between the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she

moved.

*Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Again she said : “I woo thee not with gifts. Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shalt thou find me fairest.

Yet, indeed, If gazing on divinity disrobed Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbias'd by self-profit, oh ! rest thee sure That I shall love thee well and cleave to

* Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, “I promise

thee The fairest and most loving wife in

Greece,” She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my sight

for fear : But when I look’d, Paris had raised his

arm, And I beheld great Here's angry eyes,

thee,

So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,

As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.

Among the fragments tumbled from the

glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, The Abominable, that uninvited came Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall, And cast the golden fruit upon the board, And bred this change ; that I might speak

my mind, And tell her to her face how much I hate Her presence, hated both of Gods and

men.

* Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest--why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most

loving is she? Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my

arms *Were wound about thee, and my hot lips

prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling

dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.

O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a thousand

times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this

stone ? Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? O happy tears, and how unlike to these ! O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my

face? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my

weight? O death, death, death, thou ever-floating

cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live : I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die.

! O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest pines, My dark tall pines, that plumed the

craggy ledge High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Foster'd the callow eaglet--from beneath Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark

morn The panther's roar came muffled, while I

sat

Low in the valley. Never, never more Shall lone Enone see the morning mist Sweep thro' them ; never see them over

laid With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, Between the loud stream and the trem

bling stars.

“O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and

more, Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the

inmost hills, Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child

O mother, hear me yet before I die. I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds,