V.
ANTIGONE
(READ IN A HIGHLAND MANSE).
A form of beauty blent with hardihood,
Majestic as Olympus wreathed in snows,
What modern pages of romance disclose
A radiant maiden of such dauntless mood!
Yet, when the tyrant strives with outrage rude
The unyielding maid in darkness to enclose,
Then, only then, her burning heart outflows
In anguished cries of love, but unsubdued
By baser throbbings. Ah! that nuptial hymn
Unsung! that bond in death! All men agree
To crown thee in that chamber dark and dim
With love's immortal wreath, Antigoné.
Since love and duty in thy death combine,
An immortality of praise is thine.
VI.
SHADOWS OF THE MANSE.
I.
Lo! we have him of shaven face
And curls of long and lustrous hair,
Who breathes an atmosphere of grace
And has a wondrous gift in prayer.
You'd ne'er suspect to see him there,
Shaking his head in solemn guise,
The college life of deil-may-care
Diversion that behind him lies.
II.
And then the little starveling pope
Who strives to make his sermons new
By stringing florid scraps of hope
And faith and love to dazzle you:
From Stopford Brooke a phrase or two,
A gleaming line from Arnold's page,
Whole screeds of Browning and a few
Stolen thunders from the Chelsea sage.
III.
Perhaps the most diverting wight
Is he who sees in Holy Writ
Old Jewish fables gross and trite
To semblance of a system knit—
Fables for modern taste unfit,
Until he cleans the dross away
And shows the tiny little bit
Of gold that gleams amid the clay.