Ix

Once more I watch the hills take fire With dawn; and, shaggy spine by spine, Flush like dark tyrants o’er their wine, Who grasp the sword and break the lyre, And carve the world to their desire; While, red as blocks where kingdoms bleed, The rocks trail crimson vine and weed.

To walls of gold, Enchantment built, Again my fancy bids me go-- Through woods, bewitched with fire, where blow Wild horns of tournament and tilt-- A fairy-prince, whose spear hath spilt No blood but in a shadow-world, While at the real his gage is hurled.

What far, æolian echoes lead My longing?--as a voice might wake A lost child from deep sleep and take, With music of a magic reed, Him home where love will give him heed:-- What echoes, blown from lands that lie Melodious ’neath no mortal sky?