ADMETUS.

ADMETUS, king of men, uprose at morn,
Unrested, unrefresh'd, and vigil-worn,
And call'd his councillors and trusted friends,
His skilful fashioners of means to ends,
To aid him in the darkness of a doubt,
To clear a pathway to the light without,
And disentangle the perplexing chain
Of public peril that oppress'd his brain.

He talk'd-they talk'd;--but from their talk upsprang Nor aid, nor cheer, nor aught but wordy clang

And windy argument. He smote his head,

Despairing of their help. 'Begone!' he said,
And I will pour the story of my grief

To one whose wisdom shall afford relief

A youth whose lightest word or idlest thought
Reveals more judgment than the years have brought
To graybeards such as you, who never learn
A new experience, and refuse to turn
Out of the ancient ruts in which you toil
To evener paths across untrodden soil.'

'Who, and whence comes, this wonder of the land?'
Said one whose place was at the king's right hand;
"This marvellous boy, whom eye hath never seen,
Except the king's, and in whose soul serene
Wisdom hath found her throne?' The king replied,
Cheerily, calmly, and forbore to chide,

'A shepherd boy, as fair as morning light,

Who tends my flocks upon the mountain height--
My servant and my friend.' Each look'd at each,
And said with glances eloquent as speech,

'The king is crazed; much care hath driven him wild.'
Admetus understood them; but he smiled
Contemptuous, and went forth from them alone
To the bleak moorland and the mossy stone,
Where oft at sunrise sat the shepherd boy,
To gaze upon its light, as if 'twere joy
And duty both in one, to hail and bless
Its first faint radiance in the wilderness.

Admetus found him, facing the full orb,
Drinking the rays as if he would absorb
The sunshine, till it pierced through all his frame,
And lit his human flesh with heavenly flame.
Divine he seem'd, but sad; his eye of fire
Shot sparkles of unsatisfied desire,

As t'ward the sun he turn'd; but when he saw

The king approaching, and the love and awe
That mingled in his face, a smile benign
Lit him all over. 'Friend and master mine,
I've thought of thee the long, long summer day,
And grieve to quit thee-for I must away-
Back to my native home. But tell me now,
O king, with care and sorrow on thy brow,
And countless councillors to aid thee ever
Through all the tangled mazes of endeavour,
Why hast thou sought me-me, a shepherd youth,
Poor and unknown, to guide thee to the truth
Thy courtiers cannot find?' Replied the king-
'Because I found thee fruitful as the Spring
In modest wisdom, charity, and love,
And all the virtues of the gods above;

And more than all, because when I would choose
To take unto my heart, and never lose,
A friend indeed, he must be man of men,
Of lion-heart, dove-eye, and eagle-ken-
A man, whatever be his rank or birth,
By Heaven predoom'd to sanctify the earth.
Such have I found thee, herding on the hill
My sheep and beeves; and such I find thee still,
Nobler in poverty and mean estate

Than all the kings who enter at my gate.'

'True friend of Man, and searcher of the heart,
Replied the shepherd boy, though I depart—
My penance done-and seek my heavenly bowers,
Know, thou hast harbour'd in his evil hours,
A banish'd god. Admetus! close thine eyes,
Lest thou behold, this day, without disguise,
Apollo in his glory, and be slain

By the too fatal splendour, veil'd in vain,
To save from doom, pronounced since Time began,
The too presumptuous and unhappy man
Who'd gaze upon the gods!' Admetus knew
That a god spake; and kneeling in the dew,
Cover'd his reverent face; while from afar
A voice came floating from the morning star,
Which said, in words that seem'd to wave and roll
In seas of music through his listening soul-
'Admetus! king of men! when evil days
Afflict thy spirit, turn thy hopeful gaze

To judging Heaven, and know that thou shalt find
Friends in the gods, for friendship to mankind!'

PHIDIAS IN HIS STUDIO.

I.

AM I so old, so feeble, and so faded,

That my right hand hath lost for evermore
The cunning of its prime? Is my light shaded,
And all the fruitful fancies that it bore?
My mind was once an orchard, ripe and sunny,
A forest opulent with flower and tree,
Where idlest bees might gather store of honey;
And hath my winter come? Ah, woe is me!

II.

I will go back again into my summer,

Into the spring-time and the mid-noon blaze,
And sit among my foliage, a fresh-comer,
To study what I did in ancient days.

In my past strength I'll bathe me as in ocean--
With mine own beauties fire my fading sight,
And kindle yet again mine old emotion

In my own labours, and my youth's delight.

III.

Lo! here the young Apollo! lithe and lustrous
In the immortal beauty of my thought!
His lips apart with joy, his rich hair clustrous
Over his godlike brow! his right hand fraught
With power and majesty; a visible glory
Veiling him over, as a mist the sun

New risen o'er the mountain summits hoary

To wake the world! And this mine hands have done!

IV.

Lo! Pallas! with her face of calm, sweet sorrow---
A sorrow of divinest wisdom born-

Looks upwards to the stars, as if to borrow

Comfort from them, to cast on men forlorn.
And I, too, fashion'd her: my brain conceived her!
Ah, no! I must have seen her, must have known

That she came unto me, and I received her,
And carved from life the vision of the stone.

V.

And lo! beside her, beautiful and tender,
White as the ocean-foam from which she sprang,
Great Aphrodite! in her nude, pure splendour,

At whose glad birth the expectant planets rang.
Lovely! most lovely! fondled by the Graces,

Even in the marble where she stands, and showers

From her lips kisses, from her arms embraces,
And from her eyes, looks that unfold the flowers.

VI.

Ye shall suffice me, ye fair creations

Of mine exulting prime! Though dim mine eyes—
Though I be quite forgotten of the nations-
Here I am young for ever, and arise
Amid my youthful fancies, time-defiant!
The old fire burns within me as of yore;
I stand upon the Past, and, self-reliant,
Know that my name shall live for evermore.

When Faith hath gone out from the And heartless laughter settles