as the sorg-gok, uttering 'sorrow,' or floated The 



out of the east as the tr'6$te-g'6k, calling ' con- Cuckoo's 



Silencp 

 solation ' ? When Finland loses her, and the 



Baltic peasant no more counts with dread the 



broken cries, and she has passed from the Irish 



valleys, so that men and women are safe for 



another year from the wildness of wild love, 



whither is she gone ? Like a dream her voice 



fades from Broceliande, is heard no more by 



Fontarabia, has no echo in the wood of Vallom- 



brosa. In the last reaches of the Danube she 



no longer mocks love ; above the Siberian 



steppe the exile no more hears her ironic Go ! 



Go ! : from the dim Campagna she is lifted 



into silence, sospir d amove : she is not heard 



across the waters of Corinth from that fallen 



temple where Zeus took her form upon him, 



nor is the shadow of her wings in that wild 



mountain-valley of Mykenai, where Agamemnon 



and Clytaimnestra sleep, where once the marble 



statue of divine Hera stood bearing on a 



sceptre her perilous image. Where, then, is 



she gone, she who from the dim Asian valleys 



to the Aztec wilderness, from one world to 



another, is the mysterious voice of wandering 



love ; she who is, in one place, to be hailed 



with hymns of gladness, in another to be 



hearkened to with bowed head or averted eyes ? 



For thus it is, even to-day, among the ancient 



179 



