220

In deeds and devices of guile,

And strong to quench as to quicken,

O Love, have we named thee well?

[Str. 6.

By thee was the spear's edge whetted

That laid her dead in the dew,

In the moist green glens of the midland

By her dear lord slain and thee.

And him at the cliff's end fretted

[Pg 12]

By the grey keen waves, him too,

Thine hand from the white-browed headland

230

Flung down for a spoil to the sea.

[Ant. 6.

But enough now of griefs grey-growing

Have darkened the house divine,

Have flowered on its boughs and faded,

And green is the brave stock yet.

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