Pholus

Light alder floats upon the boiling flood sped down the Padus; and bees house their swarms in rotten holm-oak's hollow bark and bole.

What of like praise can Bacchus' gifts afford? Nay, Bacchus even to crime hath prompted: he the wine-infuriate Centaurs quelled with death, Rotas and Pholus, and with mighty bole Hylaeus threatening high the Lapithae.

Oh, all too happy tillers of the soil, could they but know their blessedness! For whom far from the clash of arms all-equal earth pours from the ground herself their easy fare.

What though no lofty palace, portal-proud, from all its chambers vomits forth a tide of morning courtiers?

Ah, who shall tell if all the bounties of Bacchus may compare with theirs? He hath been the cause of crime as well.

The centaurs, mad for slaying, his creatures were, Retus, and Pholus, and Hylius, he who flingeth his huge bowl at the

Lapithee.

oh happy beyond all happiness did they their weal but know whose husbandman obscure whose life deep hidden from strife of arms away the all-righteous earth and kind doth well secure what though for them no towering mansion pours at early morning forth of its haughty doors and halls a surge of courtiers untold gaping on the rich portals as they pass fair with mosaic of tortoiseshell the gold of broidered vestments and the corinthian brass they with notyrian dyes their white wool soil nor yet with cinnamon foul their limpid oil but they are at peace in life in guile untaught and dowered with manifold riches there's the ease of acres simple and many a shady grot and slumber of sweetness under sheltering trees and living lakes and the cool of tempe's vale and the lowing of herds are theirs continually theirs are the haunts of game on the wooded hill and theirs a harder youth unto humble ways are tempered and patient in their toil and still the old have honour of them and the gods have praise justice methinks when driven from earth away left her last footprint among such as they my heart's desire all other desires above is i the minister and priest to be of the sweet muses whom i utterly love so might they graciously open unto me the heavens, and the courses that the stars do run, therein and all the labours of moon and sun, and the source of the earthquake, and the terrible swell of mounting tides, all barriers that break and on themselves recoil.