. . . loiter here, for what have such as we To do herein, where, 'mid undying trees, Undying watch the wise Hesperides, And where the while they watch, scarce can a God Set foot upon the fruit-besprinkled sod That no snow ever covers? therefore haste, Nor yet in wondering your fair lives waste; For these are as the Gods, nor think of us, Nor to their eyes can aught be glorious That son of man can do; would God that I Could see far off the misty headland lie, Where we the guilt of blood shall wash away, For I grow weary of the dashing spray, And ceaseless roll of interwoven seas, And fain were sitting 'neath the whispering trees In homely places, where the children play, Who change like me, grow old, and die some day." She ceased, and little soothly did they grieve, For all its loveliness, that land to leave, For now some God had chilled their hardihead, And in their hearts had set a sacred dread, They knew not why; but on their oars they hung, A little longer as the si. . . Read More