1 JULY 1871, Page 16

POETRY.

And know not the wine in my blood,— Bacchante ! Nor Christian, nor human,— Bacchante I Nor evil nor good.

"Repentant "? Because men desired me ?

" Sobered"? Can wine be made drunk ? "Remorseful "? Does ocean lament him That a ship in his bosom has sunk ?

Bacchante, I tell you, not Woman ; It is ichor, not blood, in my veins ; The Brute-god at least is not human, Nor I, his child bound by your chain's. " Duty "? My duty is living.

"Right "? Can immortals be bound ? These rules are for you serfs of heaven,— For you who return to the ground.

For me, I am Paris Bacchante,— Paris, the late child of Pan, Left behind in a world that had tired him With its Faiths, and its Duties, and Man. W.