e force of lightning winds
Flown where for ages sacred hatreds burn

In flames? Or has an evil wound thrown thee
Upon the earth where now in vain the god
Of idyls tries to raise thee with his kisses?

_1897._

SOLDIER AND MAKER

Soldier and maker swiftly I
Seized with my hand the spear and spoke:
"Fall on the beast of the world beyond
And strike the eagle-winged lion!"

Before me with God's grace, I saw
Soulless the griffin seven-souled,
Blood spurting from a hole hell-like
And scorching with its heat the grass!

And then restored with calm, I saw
The savage strife like a day's dawn;
And the destroyer, I, became

A maker; and with this same hand,
I carve on ivory the man
Who slew the beast and make him deathless.

_1896._

THE ATHENA RELIEF

Why leanest thou on idle spear?
Why is thy dreadful helmet bent
Heavy upon thy breast, O virgin?
What sorrow is so great, O thought,

As to touch thee? Are there no more
Of thunder-bearing enemies
To yield thee trophies new? No pomp
Athenian to guide thy ship

On to the sacred Rock? I see
Some pain holds Pallas fixed upon
A gravestone. Some great blow moves her:

Is it thy sacred city's loss,
Or seest thou all Greece--alas--
Of now and yesterday entombed?

_1896._

THE HUNTRESS RELIEF

Whither so light of garb and swift of foot, O Huntress?
Is it the sacred gifts of pure Hippolytus
That make thee leave Arcadia's forest land behind,
O shelter of the pure, and slayer of the wild?

Wild lily of virginity raised on the fields
Olympian, O mountain Queen of gleaming bow,
I envy him who in a careless hour did face
Thy beauty's lightning with thy heartless vengefulness.

And yet white like the morn, thou openest in secret
Thy lips thrice fragrant with divine ambrosia
And sayest: "Latona's deathless grace has moulded me

Under the sacred tree upon Ortygia;
But now once more upon the noble stone, the new
Maker has moulded me with a new deathlessness."

_1895._

A FATHER'S SONG

O first-born pride and joy of my own home,
I still remember thy coming's sacred day:
The early dawn was breaking as from pearls,
Whitening the sky that spread star-spangled still;

Thou wert not like the fresh and budding rose
In its green mother's clasp before it opens;
Thou camest like a victim pitiful
And feeble cast by a rude hand among us.

And as if thou wert seeking help, thy wail
Rose sadder than the sound of a de