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APOLLO THE SHEPHERD.
An exile since the summer's reign was new,
All day I range the broad, path-checkered land,
A shepherd's staff and scrip laid close at hand.
Whose palace walls are stretched for many a rood.
Cool amber honey from the hollow wood, And in my cup the vintage clusters wring.
They fit 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,
Stretched in the shadow on some chosen ground;
Once heard upon Olympus' mansioned height, Where the smooth pavement glassed the leaning throngs
APOLLO TAE 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?
The myrtle bowers, where ye are wont to be ;
Nor at my island home amidst the seas,
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,
In Jove's palace full of light
When each godhead, drinking deep,
River, field, and wooded height
THE HOMESICKNESS OF GAN YMEDE.
He can only guess how fair,
He can only dream how sweet
Haply men have seen him gaze
Careless gods, take back your gift,
'While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd 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 stornis are un
leashed for the chase, Alcyone, tarry we here in the sun of the south for a
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