POETRY.
FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY.
ALEXANDRIANISSI.
Mac:, 4cti 7;:pfg'olToy ipL,thevom, oCr' cilsO xpiy4; Irlyer • orxxcetyrd irLiI,Tet hp4TIZ.
CALLIMACHUS.
THE NEW ALEXANDRIANISM.
Your Scotts and Moores and Byrons I sedulously shun, For my way is no highway for every mother's son.
To the Sirdar whom all hang upon, like onions on a string, I'll avoid an introduction through the Literary Ring. Since I'd just as lief drink poison as stoop the cup to drain That depends from public fountains by a brazen British chain I Yes! each thought and thing and person that's popular I bar, And thank Jove that to the General I still am caviar.
THE DEAD SCHOLAR.
'ilpci,ast:-E, 7E0Y ,U0y0Y, 4; Oi 12E Vtxpu iyayEy, iAzinjahly Eoarixt; ci,a;COTEoot 'HXicv i9 J4ax, KEZ7E73■;f7CE,GGEY • thEY IrOV,
xo yno.si; , TeToTa.X0Ii oiroOl)j.
Al iiTEcei ,),"Laugry ar:(16.:it; :r7,70 óIrcivredv ciprrotzr>jp 'Ann; obx ldzfipxj3xAEZ.
CALLI31ACHITS.
THE DEAD SCHOLAR.
Heracleitus, when they told me of your fate, I turned and wept; While many and many a memory of that magic past upleapt, When how often, ah, bow often in rapt converse you and I Talked the sun into the ocean, talked the stars into the sky. You, my Carian guest delightful, you, with genius all aglow, To a heap of dull, cold ashes calcined long and long ago! Yet at least this comfort rises, "Death, who over all prevails, Death himself can never silence Heracleitus' Nightingales."
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.
Previous page
