And there the Ionian father of the rest;

A million wrinkles carved his skin;

A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast,
From cheek and throat and chin.

Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set
Many an arch high up did lift,

And angels rising and descending met
With interchange of gift.

Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd
With cycles of the human tale

Of this wide world, the times of every land
So wrought, they will not fail.

The people here, a beast of burden slow,

Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings;

Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro

VOL. I.

The heads and crowns of kings;

L

Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind

All force in bonds that might endure,

And here once more like some sick man declined, And trusted any cure.

But over these she trod: and those great bells
Began to chime. She took her throne:
She sat betwixt the shining Oriels,

To sing her songs alone.

And thro' the topmost Oriels' colour'd flame
Two godlike faces gazed below;
Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam,

The first of those who know.

And all those names, that in their motion were Full-welling fountain-heads of change,

Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair

In diverse raiment strange:

Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue,

Flush'd in her temples and her eyes,

And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rivers of melodies.

No nightingale delighteth to prolong

Her low preamble all alone,

More than

my soul to hear her echo'd song

Throb thro' the ribbed stone;

Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth,

Joying to feel herself alive,

Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible earth,

Lord of the senses five;

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Communing with herself: All these are mine,

And let the world have peace or wars,

'Tis one to me." She-when young night divine Crown'd dying day with stars,

Making sweet close of his delicious toils

Lit light in wreaths and anadems, And pure quintessences of precious oils

In hollow'd moons of gems,

To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried, "I marvel if my still delight

In this great house so royal-rich, and wide,

Be flatter'd to the height.

"From shape to shape at first within the womb The brain is modell'd," she began, "And thro' all phases of all thought I come Into the perfect man.

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All Nature widens upward.

Evermore

The simpler essence lower lies:

More complex is more perfect, owning more

Discourse, more widely wise."

Then of the moral instinct would she prate,

And of the rising from the dead,

As hers by right of full-accomplish'd Fate;
And at the last she said:

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I take possession of men's minds and deeds.

I live in all things great and small.

I sit apart holding no forms of creeds,

But contemplating all."

Full oft the riddle of the painful earth

Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone,

Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth,

And intellectual throne

Of full-sphered contemplation. So three years She throve, but on the fourth she fell,

Like Herod, when the shout was in his ears,

Struck thro' with pangs of hell.