Fiercer, fiercer, fiercer yet;
As if a Titan had strung his lyre to a new creation, or the fingers of a god swept the strings.
It is finished; and to man is given the art to rule the airs of heaven.
They turned, while yet the sledge fell heavy by the beating sea, and Erix wound a horn of joy, calling, then wound, then called, and wound and called again, and the echoes answered, calling;
[Conclusion in our next.]
I THINK OF THEE.
I think of thee, at twilight’s hour,
When the last sunbeam sinks away;
When night-birds sing in every bower,