and land, not knowing what he sought. For this he
had wandered with a hungry heart, and now was the hunger of his heart
to be appeased? Between him and her was the unknown barrier and the
invisible Death. Was he to pass the unmarked boundary, to force those
guarded gates and achieve where all had failed? Had a magic deceived his
eyes? Did he look but on a picture and a vision that some art could call
again from the haunted place of Memory?

He sighed and looked again. Lo! in his charmed sight a fair girl seemed
to stand upon the pylon brow, and on her head she bore a shining urn of
bronze.

He knew her now. He had seen her thus at the court of King Tyndareus as
he drove in his chariot through the ford of Eurotas; thus he had seen
her also in the dream on the Silent Isle.

Again he sighed and again he looked. Now in his charmed sight a woman
sat, whose face was the face of the girl, grown more lovely far, but sad
with grief and touched with shame.

He saw her and he knew her. So he had seen her in Troy towers when he
stole thither in a beggar's guise from the camp of the Achaeans. So he
had seen her when she saved his life in Ilios.

Again he sighed and again he looked, and now he saw the Golden Helen.

She stood upon the pylon's brow. She stood with arms outstretched,
with eyes upturned, and on her shining face there was a smile like the
infinite smile of the dawn. Oh, now indeed he knew the shape that was
Beauty's self--the innocent Spirit of Love sent on earth by the undying
Gods to be the doom and the delight of men; to draw them through the
ways of strife to the unknown end.

Awhile the Golden Helen stood thus looking up and out to the worlds
beyond; to the peace beyond the strife, to the goal beyond the grave.
Thus she stood while men scarce dared to breathe, summoning all to come
and take that which upon the earth is guarded so invincibly.

Then once more she sang, and as she sang, slowly drew herself away, till
at length nothing was left of the vision of her save the sweetness of
her dying song.

Who wins his Love shall lose her,
Who loses her shall gain,
For still the spirit woos her,
A soul without a stain;
And Memory still pursues her
With longings not in vain!

He loses her who gains her,
Who watches day by day
The dust of time that stains her,
The griefs that leave her grey,
The flesh that yet enchains her
Whose g