makes the gelid Hyperboreans glow, and the old polar serpent writhe, and many a Nile flow back and hide his head!—
That Phaeton of our day,
Who 'd make another milky way,
And burn the world up with his ray;
By us an undisputed seer,—
Who 'd drive his flaming car so near
Unto our shuddering mortal sphere,
Disgracing all our slender worth,
And scorching up the living earth,
To prove his heavenly birth.
The silver spokes, the golden tire,
Are glowing with unwonted fire,
And ever nigher roll and nigher;
The pins and axle melted are,
The silver radii fly afar,
Ah, he will spoil his Father's car!
Who let him have the steeds he cannot steer?
Henceforth the sun will not shine for a year.
And we shall Ethiops all appear.
- From his
"lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle."
And yet, sometimes,
We should not mind if on our ear there fell
Some less of cunning, more of oracle.
- It is Apollo shining in your face. O rare Contemporary, let us have far off heats. Give us the subtler, the heavenlier though fleeting beauty, which passes through
