The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, And all the men mourn'd at his side: but we Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I With mine affianced. Many a little hand Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, Many a light foot shone like a jewel set In the dark crag: and then we turn'd, we wound About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all The rosy heights came out above the lawns. The splendour falls on castle walls Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 6 IV. THERE sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' Said Ida; let us down and rest;' and we Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, By every coppice-feather'd chasm and cleft, And blissful palpitations in the blood, Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. But when we planted level feet, and dipt Beneath the satin dome and enter'd in, There leaning deep in broider'd down we sank Our elbows on a tripod in the midst |