POETRY.

WAS it a dream from out the ivory gate,

The same sad dream that ever, night and day, Mocks me with fond delusion, and hot shame Mantles upon my forehead, that the man That is in me in battle, should give place To thoughts of her,—I have not named her name Through all these weary years,—it was no dream ! She stood on yonder turret, veiled in white ; The elders round, and Prism's aged self, Greeted her steps with no unloving looks.

Yet, sure, a reverend wisdom such as his, Gazing upon the ruin of his land, Should shrink with loathing,—can it be, that force, Brute force of brigands, that day— Let me think!

Think, what else is it that I do but think—

Think, think, till thought devours me,—let it be !

And yet, metliought, some look of wistfulness, Some far-off dream of sadness in her eyes, That seemed, if I had beckoned— Now, may earth Yawn wide for me, and Zeus' thunderbolt Hurl me to utter Hades, ere such deed

Shame me before the Princes ! Oh, I know—

How can I fail to know—their thoughts of scorn, Old Nestor, with his tales of bygone wars, And wisdom earned by thrice the age of men ; Wolf Ajax, harder than his bull's-hide shield, Eager to lap his daily dole of blood ; Achilles, ever brooding o'er his doom ; Yea, he, their noblest, be who pledged this host To me and to my quarrel, King of men, My own true brother, mingles with his love Some look of pity, some sad thought of those Whose bones lie hidden in this dust of Troy.

And well it were that I were laid with them, Or in some midway depth, with sand and slime O'erhea.ped, that none might know my grave, and say, "This mound is his, who wrought great woe to Greece," And curse the day my mother bare a son.

Yet have I never sought my private wealth, Ransom of men, and arms, and captive maids, Nor in the Princes' council claimed my place, To order the array, or fence the ships, Chide or encourage ; but have ate my heart In silence, caring for one only thing, If Zeus, who guards the homes and hearths of men, May give me in the field to front my foe Who did the wrong, that men of after-time May fear the like. But never, face to face, In equal hazard of the spear and sword, Has caitiff Alexander dared to meet The man he wronged so foully. Yea, this morn, I saw him in the vaward of their lines, Flaunting the godlike beauty of his limbs, And all the passion leapt in me that leaps Within the lion's heart, what time he sees The slayer of his mate, and reeks not darts, Nor circling bay of hounds, nor flaming brands, So he may reach and rend ; so sprang I forth.

And he,—he ran ! Can she have sunk so low, To love a coward P Could I think her will Was privy to the deed— But no ! some charm Of Aphrodite, bane of gods and men, Some cursed philtre poisoned all her blood, And stained the whiteness of her soul, till faith Was fouled to faithlessness ! 0 me! the shame, The misery, when the Gods make sport with men, Working their wanton pleasure !

Stay, I hear An unfamiliar voice, that sounds my name : "Paris, this day, for Helen and her wealth, Will fight in single battle to the death With Menelaus, that the war may cease, And Greek and Trojan be at one again."

0 Zeus ! it may be,—must be ! Yes,—that look !

She saw his shame this morning,—hers the thought,— She gives him to my sword ! Now, all the Gods Be thanked, and Thou, most great, most glorious, Strengthen this arm to strike one downright blow,

And free her from the spell! Armour, my men,— Give me my armour,—bicl my brother come,—

Prepare the victim,—haste Talthybius here,—

I will have Priam's oath,—no false boy's word,—

Will she be there to see P 0 heart within, Burst not with beating, till this day be done, And Greece shall smile forgiveness of the past, And she—that look 1—she shall be mine again r

0. OGLE.