TO ÆSCHYLUS. ACROSS the gulfs of Time I cast Of shapes and shades that seem to sight What hoards lie in the mounds of death To-day nor after time may bare! Where are the treasures of thy breath Save these great with thy greatness-where ! What Death has grasped can Time regive? Forgive me, mightiest, that I here Dare bid thy solemn chanted hymns relive, Dare call to thy gone gods to yet again appear. |