Far from the jutting crags’ unhopeful gloom,
Where there blows never wind save summer breeze,
And where the growing rose may clasp his tomb.
And thither in the splendid nights of spring,
When stars in legions over heaven are flung,
Shall come the ancient gods, all wondering
Why he sings not that had so richly sung:
[pg 74] There Heracles with peaceful foot shall press
The springing herbage, and Hephæstus strong,
Hera and Aphrodite’s loveliness,