APOLLO THE SHEPHERD.

AN exile since the summer's reign was new,
All day I range the broad, path-checkered land,
And sleep at night beneath the moon and dew,
A shepherd's staff and scrip laid close at hand.
Low seems my state, a lowly hireling's guise,
Yet am I richly served as any king

many a rood.

Whose palace walls are stretched for
My palace walls are merged in bending skies;
My servitors haste every way, and bring

Cool amber honey from the hollow wood,
And in my cup the vintage clusters wring.
They flit before me in the solitude,

Their kind eyes smiling through their glistening locks; Love greets me here, though keeper of Admetus' flocks.

So well the god I mask, they know me not,

Young shepherds of the hills, who gather round, Care-loosed at evening, or in noontides hot

Stretched in the shadow on some chosen ground; They know me not, who feed upon my songs And flute-blown memories of the golden lyre, Once heard upon Olympus' mansioned height, Where the smooth pavement glassed the leaning throngs

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APOLLO THE SHEPHERD.

That listened breathless, all their hearts on fire,
In the deep, starlit, nectar-flowing night!
Men know me not, yet I the wilds inspire;

Glad beasts draw near, and birds in circling flight, While voices waken in the mountain rocks,

And hail me king, though keeper of Admetus' flocks.

Where go ye now astray, ye zealous bards,
And sigh your spirits forth for love of me?
Leave now the drowsy groves, the garden swards,
The myrtle bowers, where ye are wont to be;
No longer seek for me at Delphi's shrine,
Nor where steep Helicon his freshness spills,
Nor at my island home amidst the seas,
Nor yet with flowers my templed image twine:
Come up to me, among the heathy hills,

Led by the whispering of laurel-trees,
The conscious echoes and the muse-taught rills;
Listen, and trace my deity by these ;

It is my hand the source of song unlocks,

I am your king, come keep with me Admetus' flocks!

THE HOMESICKNESS OF GANYMEDE.

EAGLE pinions, swift as thought,
Ganymede to heaven brought,
Stolen from the plains of Troy,
Loved of gods, immortal boy!
Still a stranger in the skies,
Ganymede in heaven sighs.

In Jove's palace full of light
He doth serve the nectar bright;
Smile on him the Ever-Blest,
As he moves to do their hest:
Downward still he bends his eyes,
Still a stranger in the skies!

When each godhead, drinking deep,
Sinks beneath the tide of sleep,
Ganymede on winged feet

Hastes where sky and mountain meet:
Soft the mist around him lies,

Ganymede in heaven sighs.

River, field, and wooded height
Swim together in his sight;

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THE HOMESICKNESS OF GANYMEDE.

He can only guess how fair,
In the moonlit, midnight air,
Ilion's walls and turrets rise,
Still a stranger in the skies!

He can only dream how sweet
Are the ways where mortals meet,
Chariot-race, or hunter's spear,

Temple service, vintage cheer,

Young maid's laughter, youth's fond eyes:

Ganymede in heaven sighs!

Haply men have seen him gaze
Through the summer-evening haze,
Leaning past the piny crest
Of the mountain in the west,
Wavering there in star-bright guise,
Still a stranger in the skies!

Careless gods, take back your gift,
Or his human heart uplift:
Deathless youth ye gave in sport,
Deathless sorrow haunts your court.
Still a stranger in the skies,
Ganymede in heaven sighs.

THE KINGFISHER.

"While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave."

THE north is flocking with snow, with plumes that were fledged in the sky;

The east is a garden of thorns where the frost's keen javelins fly;

The west is a world of caverns whence storms are unleashed for the chase,

Alcyone, tarry we here in the sun of the south for a

space!

Rest, for the air is softer than dreams that hover in

sleep;

Rest, for the summer rests with us, mantling the gulf and the steep.

The long-severed rivers are folded at last in the arms of the sea,

With drift from the thyme-sweet meadows, and sheaves they have caught from the lea.

The riotous winds and the ocean are bound by a truce for thy sake,

And well may the mariner sing, for he knows that no flaw will awake,

Thou flying in languorous curves or dipping thy breast

in the spray.

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