VII.

IRIS THE RAINBOW.

1.

'MID the cloud-enshrouded haze

Of Olympus I arise,

With the full and rainy gaze

Of Apollo in mine eyes;
But I shade my dazzled glance

With my dripping pinions white Where the sunlight sparkles dance

In a many-tinctured light:

My foot upon the woof

Of a fleecy cloudlet small, I glimmer thro' the roof

Of the paven banquet-hall,

And a soft pink radiance dips

Thro' the floating mists divine, Touching eyes and cheeks and lips

Of the mild-eyed gods supine,

And the pinky odour rolls

Round their foreheads, while I stain,

With a blush like wine, the bowls

Of foam-crusted porcelain :

Till the whole calm place has caught
A deep gleam of milky fire-
When I darken to the thought

In the eyes of Zeus the Sire.

2.

Then Zeus, arising, stoops

O'er the ledges of the skies,

Looking downward, thro' the loops

Of the starry tapestries,

On the evident dark plain

Speck'd with wood and hill and stream,

On the wrinkled tawny main

Where the ships, like snowflakes, gleam;

And with finger without swerve,

Swiftly lifted, swiftly whirl'd,

He draws a magic curve

O'er the cirrus of the world; When with waving wings display'd,

On the Sun-god's threshold bright I upleap, and seem to fade

In a humid flash of light;

But I plunge thro' vapours dim
To the dark low-lying land,

And I tremble, float, and swim,

On the strange curve of the Hand:

From my wings, that drip, drip, drip, With cool rains, shoot jets of fire,

As across green capes I slip

With the thought of Zeus the Sire.

3.

Thence, with drooping wings bedew'd,

Folded close about my form,

I alight with feet unview'd

On the ledges of the storm;

For a moment, cloud-enroll'd,

Mid the murm'rous rain I stand,

And with meteor eyes behold
Vapoury ocean, misty land;

Till the thought of Zeus outsprings
From my ripe mouth with a sigh,
And unto my lips it clings

Like a shining butterfly;

When I brighten, gleam, and glow
And my glittering wings unfurl,

And the melting colours flow

To my foot of dusky pearl;

And the ocean mile on mile

Gleams thro' capes and straits and bays,

And the vales and mountains smile,

And the leaves are wet with rays,—

While I wave the humid Bow

Of my wings with flash of fire,

And the Tempest, crouch'd below,

Knows the thought of Zeus the Sire.

H

VIII.

ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN.

I SAT of old beside a stream new-born

Out of the loamy loins of mountains cold, And it was garrulous with dreams forlorn

And mystic legends old.

Wherefore the secrets of the peaks and caves

With the faint music in mine ears were blended; And as the stream slid down to ocean-waves,

I heard and comprehended.

Into a moss-soft silence dim and deep

I sank with murmurous sighs and drowsy nods: Then, opening eyes, like one who starts from sleep,