gold and buried in a howe. This is the story which the poet
rehandled in his old age, completing the work of his happy youth when
he walked with Hallam in the Pyrenean hills, that were to him as Ida.
The romance of OEnone and her death condone, as even Homer was apt to
condone, the sins of beautiful Paris, whom the nymphs lament, despite
the evil that he has wrought. The silence of the veiled OEnone, as
she springs into her lover's last embrace, is perhaps more affecting
and more natural than Tennyson's


"She lifted up a voice
Of shrill command, 'Who burns upon the pyre?'"


The St Telemachus has the old splendour and vigour of verse, and,
though written so late in life, is worthy of the poet's prime:-


"Eve after eve that haggard anchorite
Would haunt the desolated fane, and there
Gaze at the ruin, often mutter low
'Vicisti Galilaee'; louder again,
Spurning a shatter'd fragment of the God,
'Vicisti Galilaee!' but--when now
Bathed in that lurid crimson--ask'd 'Is earth
On fire to the West? or is the Demon-god
Wroth at his fall?' and heard an answer 'Wake
Thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life
Of self-suppression, not of selfless love.'
And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost