214 Colonel Sir Ronald Ross [Juno 4, 



And slow towards their wattled home 

 The baaing Sheep do go, I ream. 

 And I have left behind me there 

 Hippocrates teaching the air ; 

 And Learning prim ; and Venus too 

 Now whipping Cupid with her shoe."' 



Then, of those slipper'd Maidens, She 

 Robed in Hush rose- red answer'd me, 

 Who brightly gazing with mild look 

 Held still a finger-parted book. 

 . " Come then," she cried, " with me and dwell 

 In my Valley of Asphodel, 

 Which is a land of laughing rills 

 And hung about with dazzling hilk, 

 Where oft the Swain with garter'd legs 

 Piping for love in music begs. 

 Nor Thisbe turns her petulant ear. 

 There large-eyed Plato thou may'st hear 

 Persuade, or, if not idly awed, 

 Masters a Master's theme applaud. 

 And then, if Thunder more invite 

 Than silver-threaded rain's delight 

 And sloping seats of knolled moss, 

 Come where some thwarted Torrent toss 

 Thro' cloven Gorges, mad to shake 

 The shagreen' d Boulders black and break 

 The gleaming silence of the Lake. 

 Or, if engross'd with human Fate, 

 On ranged boards mark Love and Hate 

 Egg on to midnight-living crime, 

 And glaring Horrors of dead time 

 Creep in behind. Or, restive still, 

 Unlock'd from Hell soar Heaven's hill 

 Thro' sun-outstaring Cherubim." 



"Not so," cried one, a Virgin slim, 



Plumed, wrap'd and robed in the gold-green 



Thro' sunset-dazed woodlands seen ; 



Who half upon her dinted breast 



Apollo sculpt in Utile press'd. 



" Come to my House of all delights, 



Whose marble Stairs with merged flights 



Are shallow'd in the viewless Lake ; 



Whose overpeering Turrets take 



The peep of Dawn, or flashing turn 



To Eve departing golden scorn. 



There fairy-fluted Pillars soar 



To cloudy Roofs of limned lore, 



And Walls are window'd with rare scape? 



And rich designs ; of biazon'd Capes 



Pawing the sunset-burnish'd flood ; 



Of rib-rail'd reaches of Solitude ; 



