Till in he broke: 'Rejoice, we conquer!' Like wine through clay, Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died-the bliss! So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute Is still Rejoice!' his word which brought rejoicing indeed. So is Pheidippides happy forever, the noble strong man Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved so well; He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, So to end gloriously-once to shout, thereafter be mute: 'Athens is saved!'-Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed. R. Browning. LONGER NARRATIVE POEMS THE EVE OF ST. AGNES I ST. AGNES' EVE-Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. II. His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. III Northward he turneth through a little door, But no already had his deathbell rung; His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, IV That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. V At length burst in the argent revelry, The brain, new-stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay VI They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require VII Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, VIII She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, IX So, purposing each moment to retire, She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss-in sooth such things have been. X He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. XI Ah, happy chance! the agèd creature came, The sound of merriment and chorus bland: XII "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: . Flit like a ghost away.”—“ Ah, Gossip dear, We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit, And tell me how "-" Good Saints; not here, not here: Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." XIII He follow'd through a lowly archèd way, |