The lamp, renewed, still sheds a cheerful light,
Hope lends a halo to its steady blaze;
And through the casement beam the westward stars,
Taking their noiseless way, and shining still,
Though sleeps the world and there are few to note.
And thus, encouraged by example high,
The Muse awakes her simple theme and sings,
And breathes, in the attentive ear of night,
The song to-morrow may refuse to hear.
When comes the tumult of the noisy day.
And the great city, like a cataract, swells,
Pouring its drowning tide of toil and trade,

Along the roads, with busy pick and spade,
The neighbours gather, and, in cheerful groups,
Repair the way. Some hold the heavy plough,
Which grates and scours along the sandy side,
Or from the rock rebounds, with sudden jerk,
Or caught beneath the deep-laid elm-root, stalls.
Some fill the gullies which the winter made,
And with broad shovels smooth the gravelly ground
And all, with frequent jest and laugh, pursue
Their labour, making holiday of toil;
And, when the work is done, turn cheerly home,
Well pleased to know the yearly tax is paid.

Hear! for our ploughshare is sundering
The glebe-furrows of starry-eyed
Aphrodite, where Graces guide
Our feet drawing nigh to the shrine
At the navel of earth hollow-thundering,
Where for Emmenus' heaven-blest line
And for Akragas' city enfolden
By her river, and, more than all,
For Xenocrates, riseth the hall
Of a treasure-house song-upholden
In Apollo's glen of the golden
Gifts gracing his temple-wall.

That treasure no rain-storm, hurling
Its pitiless hosts from the cloud
Amid thunders crashing loud
Shall sweep to abysses of sea

Far-reaching power has wealth for him to whom
It comes, a gift that Destiny sends
With stainless honour linked: so leads he home
A charm that wins him friends.
Thou, O Arkesilas the heaven-blest,
Since from its first steps glory crowned
Thy life, hast held that boon of Heaven in quest,
Hast sought fair fame, and found,
With aid of Kastor of the chariot golden,
Who bade the wintry tempest cease,
And sheds upon thine hearthstone bliss-enfolden
Sunlight of skies of peace.

Whoso are noble bear with fairest grace
Such power as God bestows on thee;

Lover of splendour, above all cities beauty-dowered,
Persephone's home, who dost dwell by Akragas' water-meads green
Sheep-pastured, throned on thine hill of the ramparts stately-towered,
With kindly favour of Gods and of men accept, O Queen,
This crown that from Pytho is brought thee: the glory of Midas hailing
Welcome him, him who is champion of Hellas in that flute-strain
Which Pallas Athene devised when she wove into music the wailing
Of the Gorgons fierce, their death-dirge over a sister slain,

Daughters of Kadmus!—Semele borne mid flame
To Olympus' streets—White Goddess whose earth-name
Was Ino, who dost share the hyaline caves
Of Nereus' daughters, maidens of the waves;
Come with the mother of that mighty son
Herakles: pace to Melia's temple on
Come to the treasure-house of tripods golden
Which Loxias hath in chiefest honour holden,

And named the Shrine Ismenian, the home
Of truthful oracles. Ye children come
Born of Harmonia! Lo, he doth command
The host of goddess-heroines of the land
To gather to his temple, that at fall

Happy is Sparta, and blessèd is Thessaly, seeing there reigneth
In one and the other a race descended from Herakles
Is not the vaunt out of season? O nay, for a summons constraineth
Me from Pelinna and Pytho and sons of Aleuas, for these
Would bring to Hippokleas chanting of victory-choruses

He hath tasted the joy of the athlete: the gorge of Parnassus hath hailed him
To the host of the dwellers around as first in the boys' double-race
Sweet, O Apollo, man's work is when God's strong help hath availed him,

The windows flash in Taunton town
With hurrying lights and muffled lamps,
And torches wander up and down
The streets, alive like scattered camps:
Far goes the word o'er field and fen,—
Monmouth is here with all his men!

Follow the Duke! and fife and drum
Startle the nightmared country round.
Hither in flocks the lads are come,
The gallant lads so staunch and sound;
Hither in troops they march all night,
And wives and mothers mourn their flight.

The whisper warns that close on dawn,
Before the village cock crows thrice,

It 's an odd thing how one changes . . .
Walking along the upper ranges
Of this land of plains,
In this month of rains,
On a drying road where the poplars march along,
Suddenly,
With a rush of wings flew down a company,
A multitude, throng upon throng,
Of starlings,
Successive orchestras of song,
Flung, like the babble of surf,
On to the roadside turf—

And so, for a mile, for a mile and a half—a long way,
Flight follows flight
Thro' the still grey light
Of the steel-grey day,
Whirling beside the road in clamorous crowds,

Come the oak before the ash,
My lady's sure to wear her sash;
Come the ash before the oak,
My lady's sure to wear her cloak.