Most ardent and most awful and most fond,

The fervour of his Apollonian eye

Yearned upon Hellas, yet enthralled in bond

Of time whose years beheld her and past by

Silent and shameful, till she rose and donned

The casque again of Pallas; for her cry

Forth of the past and future, depths beyond

This where the present and its tyrants lie,

As one great voice of twain

For him had pealed again,

Heard but of hearts high as her own was high,

High as her own and his

And pure as love's heart is,

That lives though hope at once and memory die:

And with her breath his clarion's blast

Was filled as cloud with fire or future souls with past.

22.

As a wave only obsequious to the wind

Leaps to the lifting breeze that bids it leap,

Large-hearted, and its thickening mane be thinned

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