So he had made his prayer unto the gods,
If haply he might see with his own eyes
The glorious Athens which his soul foreknew.
But either fate is more than Zeus himself,
Or the gods take no heed for mortal men;

For now, ere he was old, his time was come

To die, while yet the clouds were dark and lowering, Before one ray of hope had beamed upon him. Athenè, to die thus was hard indeed!

Yet he lay very quiet, ebbing out

Day after day, well knowing that the end
Came nearer daily not without a hope;
That he who loved his country more than life,

And honour more than her, might seem at last
Worthy to tread Olympus, and to see
The shining faces of the eternal gods.

And one day, when the fountains of his life
Ran small and low, came many sorrowing friends
With kindly lies of comfort: some to bring
News of successful battle; how the State
Was rising from despair; or how the plague

Was waning from among them, knowing well
That this to him was more than life itself,
The welfare of his Athens; some to breathe
Kind words of pious prayer, that the great gods
Might spare him to their city, which had else
Champion nor saviour. Not a word he spake,
But pointed smiling to the amulets

Which woman's blinder faith had hung around him :
An eloquent smile, for what it said was this,—
"Think ye that I who have lived all my life
Striving to see Truth's face, I who have sat
Beneath the planes, and heard the sages tell
Of Life and Death, and God's unerring will,
But that the end were near, would suffer this?"

And then he closed his eyes as if to sleep,

And each man knew within his inner soul

That death was hard upon him. As they gazed
On that tall wasted form stretched out before them,
They seemed to look on Athens. So their souls
Were kindled, and they spake in glowing words
Of all his glorious deeds by land and sea,

And so bethought them of the eloquent tongue

Which there was mute among them; how his honour Spurned at the bribe which won Themistokles ; And how since they were young who now grew old, He held the reins of state so wise and pure, He showed like Zeus among his fellow-men; And, firing with the theme, discoursed with pride Of Athens' greatness, mistress of the seas; "And who had built her up but Perikles!" "And who could save her then but Perikles!" "And who was truer soul than Perikles!"

Till, when a silence held them, not because
They had no other glorious deeds to tell,

But that their hearts were strung too high for words,
Again once more the sweet calm voice, "Oh, friends,
When you lie helpless as I lie to-day,

The chiefest solace of your end will be,
Not in the memory of battles won,

Or widened empire, or the fame of men.
For what are men but ministers of Zeus !
Defeat or victory, disgrace or fame,
Lie 'tween his knees to measure as he will.
Be this your glory rather, as 'tis mine,—

Never in life's long fight to have done a wrong

To the humblest son of Athens!"

Words dying not unworthy of his life.

So he spake

ALONE.

WHAT shall it profit a man

To have stood by the source of things,

To have spent the fair years of his youthful prime In mystical questionings;

To have scaled the lovely height,

While his brothers slept below;

To have seen the vision bright

Which but few on earth may know,—

If when his task be done

He lives his life alone?

If in the busy street

None come whom he may greet ?

If in his lonely room

With the night the shadows deepen into ghostly

shapes of gloom?

It

may be his soul may say,

"I have gained me a splendid dower;

I can look around on the toiling crowd,
With the pride of a conscious power.
I can hear the passer-by

Tell of all my world-wide fame;
I have friends I shall not see
Who dwell fondly on my name.
If the sweet smile of wife

Light not my joyless life,

If to my silent home

No childish laughter come,

Shall I no solace find

In communion with the monarchs of the fair broad

realm of mind?"

But when sickness wears him, or age

Creeps on, and his soul doth yearn

For the tender hand and the soothing voice

That shall nevermore return;

When the crowd of careless friends,

Not unkind, but each one set

Safe within white walls of home,