p 



rA 



Spring's ipromlse 



"T^i^j 



the young divinity as he died, leaving the sound of Echo's 

 voice lamenting him among the hills. 



Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; 



Yet slower, yet; Oh faintly gentle springs: 

 List to the heavy part the music bears, 

 Woe weeps out her division when she sings 

 Droop, herbs and flowers; 

 Fall, grief in showers, 

 Our beauties are not ours; 

 Oh I could still; 

 :e melting snow upon some craggy hill 

 Drop, drop, drop, drop, 

 v. Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil.'/ 



V 



id Nar^s5 



,!iy 



Poor, old, neglected NarHssos ! As a god, even as a very 

 'x. little god, you are completely forgotten, while Echo, the 

 beautiful nymph, is known and heard the whole world round. 

 \x Why, little god, to most of us your name today means only 

 ^ "insensibility," the very insensibility which was a god's 

 tmdoing and which we commemorate in our familiar ex- 

 pression "narcotic." "Le rot est mort," you say, "vive le 

 roiy Indeed yes, let him Hve, although this king no longer 

 is a god but is become a simple little flower. 



Coy Greek nymph with your pretty Greek fa|)le, here 



must we leave you with your 



e leave y 



*/ '' / ^-^ I "Narcissus fair, 



O'er the fabled fountain hanging still." 



