Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/960

 MATTHEW ARNOLD

They feel the biting spears

Of the grim Lapithae, and Theseus, drive,

Drive crashing through their bones, they feel

High on a jutting rock in the red stream

Alcmena's dreadful son

Ply his bow. such a price

The Gods exact for song;

To become what we sing.

They sec the Indian

On his mountain lake. but squalls

Make their skiff reel, and worms

In the unkind spring have gnaw'd

Their melon-harvest to the heart They see

The Scythian but long frosts

Parch them in winter-time on the bare Stepp,

Till they too fade like grass* they crawl

Like shadows forth in spring.

They see the Merchants

On the Oxus' stream. but care

Must visit first them too, and make them pale.

Whether, through whirling sand,

A cloud of desert robber-horse has burst

Upon their caravan or greedy kings,

In the wall'd cities the way passes through,

Crush'd them with tolls or fever-airs,

On some great river's marge,

Mown them down, far from home.

They see the Heroes Near harbour. but they share Their lives, and former violent toil, in Thebes,

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