Through the clouds, ere they divide
them;

And this atmosphere divinest
Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

Fair are others; none beholds thee

(But thy voice sounds low and tender, Like the fairest), for it folds thee

From the sight that liquid splen-
dor;

And all feel, yet see thee never,
As I feel now, lost for ever!

Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest, Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,

And the souls of whom thou lovest

Walk upon the winds with lightness,

Till they fail, as I am failing,
Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

HYMN OF PAN.

FROM the forests and highlands

We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the
rushes,

The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle-bushes,

The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing,

And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni and Sylvans and
Fauns,

And the Nymphs of the woods
and waves.

To the edge of the moist riverlawns,

And the brink of the dewy

caves,