And methought that beauty and terror are only one, not

two;

And the world has room for love, and death, and thun

der, and dew;

And all the sinews of hell slumber in summer air;

And the face of God is a rock, but the face of the rock is fair.

Beneficent streams of tears flow at the finger of pain; And out of the cloud that smites, beneficent rivers of rain.

VAILIMA.

AN END OF TRAVEL

ET now your soul in this substantial world

LET

Some anchor strike.

Be here the body moored: This spectacle immutably from now

The picture in your eye; and when time strikes,
And the green scene goes on the instant blind,
The ultimate helpers, where your horse to-day
Conveyed you dreaming, bear your body dead.

VAILMA.

XLII

E uncommiserate pass into the night

WE

From the loud banquet, and departing leave

A tremor in men's memories, faint and sweet

And frail as music. Features of our face,

The tones of the voice, the touch of the loved hand,
Perish and vanish, one by one, from earth:
Meanwhile, in the hall of song, the multitude
Applauds the new performer. One, perchance,
One ultimate survivor lingers on,

And smiles, and to his ancient heart recalls
The long forgotten. Ere the morrow die,
He too, returning, through the curtain comes,
And the new age forgets us and goes on.

THE LAST SIGHT

NCE more I saw him. In the lofty room,

Where oft with lights and company his tongue

Was trump to honest laughter, sate attired
A something in his likeness.- "Look!" said one,
Unkindly kind, "look up, it is your boy!"

And the dread changeling gazed on me in vain.

XLIV

ING me a song of a lad that is gone,

SING

Say, could that lad be I?

Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Egg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul:
Where is that glory now?

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Give me again all that was there,
Give me the sun that shone!
Give me the eyes, give me the soul,
Give me the lad that's gone!

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?

Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.