cometh. Attend their voices as one by one they
sing to thee here. Each note shalt thou hear again in the poetry which
is to come; the poetry which shall bring peace and pleasure to thy soul,
though search for it through bleak years thou must. Attend with
diligence, for each chord that vibrates away into hiding shall appear
again to thee after thou hast returned to earth, as Alpheus, sinking his
waters into the soil of Hellas, appears as the crystal Arethusa in
remote Sicilia."

Then arose Homeros, the ancient among bards, who took his lyre and
chaunted his hymn to Aphrodite. No word of Greek did Marcia know, yet
did the message fall not vainly upon her ears; for in the cryptic rhythm
was that which spake to all mortals and Gods, and needed no interpreter.

So too the songs of Dante and Goethe, whose unknown words clave the
ether with melodies easy to read and to adore. But at last remembered
accents rebounded before the listener. It was the Swan of Avon, once a
God among men, and still a God among Gods:

"Write, write, that from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son, may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify."

Accents still more familiar arose as Milton, blind no more, declaimed
immortal harmony:

"Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I might oft outwatch the Bear
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
Th' immortal mind, that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshy nook.
. . .
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine."

Last of all came the young voice of Keats, closest of all the messengers
to the beauteous faun-folk.

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on....
. . .
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty'--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

As the singer ceased, there came a sound in the wind blowing from far
Egypt, where at night Aurora mourns by the Nile for her slain son
Memnon. To the feet of the T