Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/942

 MATTHEW ARNOLD

W hy jaintest thou? I wonder* d till I died.

Roam on I the light we sought is shimng still.

Dost thou ask frooj f ? Our Tree yet crowns the hill, Our Scholar travels yet the loved hillside.

��757 The Song of Callicles

THROUGH the black, rushing smoke-bursts, Thick breaks the red flame. All Etna heaves -fiercely Her forest-clothed frame.

Not here, O Apollo'

Are haunts meet for thcc.

But, where Helicon breaks down

In cliff to the sea.

Where the moon-silver'd inlets Send far their light voice Up the still vale of Thisbe, O speed, and rejoice'

On the sward at the d iff -top, Lie strewn the white flocks; On the cliff-side, the pigeons Roost deep in the rocks.

In the moonlight the shepherds, Soft lull'd by the rills, Lie wrapt in their blankets, Asleep on the hills.

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