I.

A Hamadryad Dies.

Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills; The Naiad murmured and the Dryad moaned; The meadow-maiden left her daffodils To join the Hamadryades who groaned Over a sister newly fallen dead. That Life might perish out of Arcady From immemorial times was never said; Yet here one lay dead by her dead oak-tree. "Who made our Hamadryad cold and mute?" The others cried in sorrow and in wonder. "I," answered Death, close by in ashen suit; "Yet fear not me for this, nor start asunder; Arcadian life shall keep its ancient zest Though I be here. My name?—is it not Rest?"