Jephthah and Other Mysteries

162 MYSTERIES: Thy pale feet kiss the daffodils; they roam By moss-grown springs, and shake the bluebell tips. Each flower of the deep glade Has whispered kisses for thy listening lips, While Eos blushes in the sky, to find A fairer, queenlier maiden, and as kind To man and maid, whose eyes are lit by the same mind. Thou hast, as Pallas hath, a polished shield, Whose Gorgon-head is Hatred, and a sword Sharper than Love’s. Thy wisdom is revealed To them who love, but thou hast aye abhorred The children of revenge, to them is sealed Thy book, so clear to me. Thy book where seven sins their sceptres wield, And seven sorrows track them, and one joy Cancels their infamy ; Shame and regret are fused to an alloy, Whose drossy weight sinks down and is consumed, While o’er the ruddy metal is relumed A purer flame of peace, with knowledge now per- fumed. Thy ways are very bitter. Not one rose Twines in the crown of thorns thy spouse must wear; There is no Lethe for the scoffs, the blows, Nor find they a Cyrenian anywhere