POETRY.
THE FESTIVAL OF TORCHES.
"ACLIAT'aSta fXOYTES &cadet-ow:7.a, laxhiots."—PLATO, Rep. 1.
SWIFTER than arrow from thy bended bow, Goddess, they go,
As though from branch and root There sprang one fleet of foot, Till rowan, rowan greet with ruddy kiss.
Wilt thou have these for runners, Artemis ?
Sparks such as lit the tossing lampads' track With fiery wrack, The fountained birch shall shake Bright in her flying wake, A golden rain that shall like water fall. These, too, oh Goddess, keep thy festival.
Where racing fires of Autumn swift outstrip, Berry and hip,
Fleet foot and ready hand, Till the quick-kindling brand Has fired the frosty brake by bolt and scar. These, Artemis, thy flambeau-bearers are.
Though never more beneath the moonless night Of Thrace their flight, Yet here shall trees conspire To bear thy festal fire, Oh Artemis, when through the woodland's maze Flame-garlanded, the gean shall run ablaze.
MARNA PEASE.
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