"Protesiláus, lo, thy guide is gone!
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
This is our palace,-yonder is thy throne;
Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Not to appal me have the gods bestow'd
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamía! doth not leave
His gifts imperfect: Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.

And something also did my worth obtain;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold
That the first Greek who touch'd the Trojan strand
Should die; but me the threat could not withhold:
A generous cause a victim did demand;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain."

"Supreme of Heroes,- bravest, noblest, best!
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,

Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
By doubt, propell'd thee to the fatal shore;

Thou found'st- and I forgive thee - here thou art -
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;

And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
Thou shouldst elude the malice of the
grave:
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enrich'd Thessalian air.

No Spectre greets me,-no vain Shadow this;
Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day a second time thy bride!"

Jove frown'd in Heaven: the conscious Parce threw
Upon the roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past:

Nor should the change be mourn'd, even if the joys

Of sense were able to return as fast

And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys

Those raptures duly,- Erebus disdains:
Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains.

Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
A fervent, not ungovernable, love.

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn."

"Ah, wherefore?- Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on Earth in vernal bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And Eson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.
The Gods to us are merciful, and they
Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over Sun and star,

Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.

But if thou go'st, I follow

She look'd upon him and was calm'd and cheer'd;

The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;

In his deportment, shape, and mien, appear'd
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,

Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of Love, such love as Spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,-
The past unsigh'd-for, and the future sure;
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood
Revived, with finer harmony pursued;

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler ether, a diviner air,

And fields invested with purpureal gleams;

Climes which the Sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earn'd
That privilege by virtue.—"Ill," said he,
"The end of man's existence I discern'd,
Who from ignoble games and revelry

Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,
While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;

And while my youthful peers before my eyes
(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
By martial sports,-or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains and kings in council were detain'd;
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchain'd.

The wish'd-for wind was given: I then revolved
The oracle, upon the silent sea;

And, if no worthier led the

way, resolved

That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,-
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,—

The paths which we had trod,-these fountains, flowers;
My new-plann'd cities, and unfinish'd towers.

But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,
'Behold they tremble! haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die '?
In soul I swept th' indignity away:

Old frailties then recurr'd: but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
In reason, in self-government too slow:

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
Th' invisible world with thee hath sympathised;
Be thy affections raised and solemnised.

Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend,
Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
Encouraged, sanction'd, chiefly for that end;
For this the passion to excess was driven,
That self might be annull'd; her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."

Aloud she shriek'd; for Hermes re-appears:

Round the dear Shade she would have clung,-'tis vain:
The hours are past,- too brief had they been years;
And him no mortal effort can detain:

1 This refers to what follows, "That self might be annull'd"; that, in the line be fore, to what precedes.

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way,
And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.
Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,
She perish'd; and, as for a wilful crime,
By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,
Was doom'd to wear out her appointed time,
Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.
Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourn'd by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes. Upon the side
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertain'd)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gain'd
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits wither'd at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!"

[1814.

DION.

I.

FAIR is the Swan, whose majesty, prevailing
O'er breezeless water, on Locarno's lake,
Bears him on while, proudly sailing,
He leaves behind a moon-illumined wake:
Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;

An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings
Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings
A flaky weight of Winter's purest snows.
Behold! as with a gushing impulse heaves
That downy prow, and softly cleaves
The mirror of the crystal flood,

Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,

And pendent rocks, where'er, in gliding state,

Winds the mute Creature without visible Mate

2 The incident of the trees growing and withering put the subject into my thoughts, and I wrote with the hope of giving it a loftier tone than, so far as I know, has been given to it by any of the Ancients who have treated it. It cost me more trouble than almost any thing of equal length I have ever written.-Author's Notes.

Or Rival, save the Queen of night
Showering down a silver light

From heaven upon her chosen Favourite!

II.

So pure, serene, and fitted to embrace,
Where'er he turn'd, a swan-like grace
Of haughtiness without pretence,
And to unfold a still magnificence,
Was princely Dion, in the power
And beauty of his happier hour.
And what pure homage then did wait
On Dion's virtues, while the lunar beam
Of Plato's genius, from its lofty sphere,
Fell round him in the grove of Academe,
Softening their inbred dignity austere;
That he, not too elate

With self-sufficing solitude,

But with majestic lowliness endued,
Might in the universal bosom reign,
And from affectionate observance gain
Help, under every change of adverse fate.

III.

Five thousand warriors,- O the rapturous day!

Each crown'd with flowers, and arm'd with spear and shield,
Or ruder weapon which their course might yield,

To Syracuse advance in bright array.

Who leads them on?- The anxious people see
Long-exiled Dion marching at their head,
He also crown'd with flowers of Sicily,
And in a white, far-beaming corselet clad!
Pure transport undisturb'd by doubt or fear
The gazers feel; and, rushing to the plain,
Salute those strangers as a holy train
Or blest procession (to th' Immortals dear)
That brought their precious liberty again.
Lo! when the gates are enter'd, on each hand,
Down the long street, rich goblets fill'd with wine
In seemly order stand,

On tables set, as if for rites divine;

3 This exquisite stanza was taken from its original place, and thrown into a note, by the author, in his last edition, on the ground of its "detaining the reader too long from the subject, and as rather precluding, than preparing for, the due effect of the allusion to the genius of Plato." It may be so; but my old delight in the poem is bound up so closely with the original form, and pleads so strongly for the restora tion, that I cannot well refrain. The general idea of the piece, and the leading inci dents, are taken from Plutarch's Life of Dion: but what an expression is here given of them!