Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/478

 440 But he, in liberty of song,

Fearless of death or other wrong,

With full spondaic toll

Poured forth his mighty soul:

Poured forth the strain his dream had taught,

A nome with lofty passion fraught

Such as makes battles won

On fields of Marathon.

The last long vowels trembled then

As awe within those wolfish men:

They said, with mutual stare,

Some god was present there.

But lo! Arion leaped on high,

Ready, his descant done, to die;

Not asking, "Is it well?"

Like a pierced eagle fell.

1873