Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/476

 ARION.

(, i. 24.)

RION, whose melodic soul

Taught the dithyramb to roll

Like forest fires, and sing

Olympian suffering,

Had carried his diviner lore

From Corinth to the sister shore

Where Greece could largelier be,

Branching o'er Italy.

Then weighted with his glorious name

And bags of gold, aboard he came

'Mid harsh seafaring men

To Corinth bound again.

The sailors eyed the bags and thought;

"The gold is good, the man is naught-

And who shall track the wave

That opens for his grave?"

With brawny arms and cruel eyes

They press around him where he lies

In sleep beside his lyre.

Hearing the Muses quire.