And though the hand is thronged again,
Strange sadness trückes all that

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with thice.


The small birds flaming note, the wild, sharp calls, spirite it is sadness all!

Share thine own

How dark & Stein




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Zonder tool bleff! _ be with the brow crowow,
And see! Those sable Pines along the steep
tire come to join they requiem, gloomy Deap!
Like stoled monks they stand & chant the dinges
Onew the dead with they low besting surges
Point H. Danas

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This is love, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessings unawares.
Draw, if then cauft, the mythe.
Severing rightly his from theres

Which is human, which divine,


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IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON. IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom At Aulis, and when all beside the king Had gone away, took his right hand, and said : "O father! I am young and very happy. I do not think the pious Calchas heard Distinctly what the goddess spake; old age Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood, While I was resting on her knee both arms, And hitting it to make her mind my words, And looking in her face, and she in mine, Might not he, also, hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus ?" The father placed his cheek upon her head, And tears dropt down it; but the king of men Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more: "O father! sayest thou nothing? Hearest thou



Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
Listened to fondly, and awakened me
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,
When it was inarticulate as theirs,
And the down deadened it within the nest?'
He moved her gently from him, silent still;
And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with sighs:
"I thought to have laid down my hair before
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed

Her polished altar with my virgin blood;
I thought to have selected the white flowers
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each
By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
And (after these who mind us girls the most)
Adore our own Athene, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes,
But, father, to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father! go ere I am gone!
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers;

And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
He turned away,
not far, but silent still.

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She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
And like it. Once again she raised her voice :
“O father! if the ships are now detained,
And all your vows move not the gods above,
When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer
The less to them; and purer can there be
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer
For her dear father's safety and success?"
A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
The fillet of the priest and calm, cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried :
'O father! grieve no more; the ships can sail."


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