Collected Works (Vol. I)

26 THE TALE OF ARCHIAIS CHARICLES, Not a flower of them shall die, Every one shall blossom newly ; Stars shall lend them of their beauty, Rain and sunshine know their duty. ARCHAIS. Not a flower of them shall die That compose our canopy 5 Beech and chestnut, poplar tall, Birch and elm shall flourish all Dewed with ever-living spring. Song and dance shall close the day, CHORUS, Close this happy, happy day. . CHARICLES. Of your revels I'll -be king, ARCHAIS. I the queen of your array. Both. Foot it nimbly in the ring ! CHORUS. Stay, stars, and dance with us! Our songs compel The very gods to tremble, Banish the ill ghosts of hell, Make fiends their shape dissemble. Freedom forbids their tyrannous reign here, Flee to their prison must they, nor deceive ; Love has a lightning that shall strip them clear, Truth through the curtain of the dark shall reave. Ye love, O happy ones andl chaste, Ye love, and light indwells your eyes ; Truth is the girdle of your waist, Ye play before the gates of pearl of Paradise. Happy lovers, dwell together In the isles of golden weather, Free of tyranny and tether, Roam the world, linked hand in hand, Moonlight for your sleep, and breezes Fresh from where the Ocean freezes, And the cold Aurora stands With new lilies in her hands. Ilappy lovers, twilight falls. Let us leave you for awhile, Guarding all the golden walls With the weapon ofa smile. Silver arrows from the maiden With new labours laden Shall be shot at bold intruders who would violate your peace ; Lightning shall keep watch and warden through the sea-born isles of Greece. Sleep ! Sleep! Sleep, ye happy lovers, sleep, Soft and dreamless, sweet and deep, Sleep! Sleep! We will steal away Till the break of day. ARCIIAIS. In the arms oflove at last Love is anchored fast, Firm beyond the rage of Heaven, safe bhe- yond the occan blast. CHARICLES. In the arms of love close prest ! O thy tender breast Pillows now my happy head; softly breezes from the west Poth. Stir the ring-dove’s nest. In the arms of love we lie; Music from the sky Tunes the hymeneal lyre that will echo till we die. God we feel is very nigh ; Soft, breeze, sigh While we kiss at last to slumber, And the varied number Of the forest songsters cry: This is immortality; this is happiness for aye.