God shall plague the Gods that filched His name,
And cleanse the Peoples.
When ye hear, my sons,
That God uprising in His judgment robes
And see their dreadful crimson in the West,
Then know ye that the knell of Rome is nigh;
Then stand, and listen! When His Trumpet sounds
Forth from your forests and your snows, my sons,
Forth over Ister, Rhenus, Rhodonus,
To Moesia forth, to Thrace, Illyricum,
Iberia, Gaul; but, most of all, to Rome!
Who leads you thither leads you not for spoil:
A mission hath he, fair though terrible;--
He makes a pure hand purer, washed in blood:
On, Scourge of God! the Vengeance Hour is come.
I know that hour, and wait it. Odin's work
Stands then consummate. Odin's name thenceforth
Goes down to darkness.
Farewell, Ararat!
How many an evening, still and bright as this,
In childhood, youth, or manhood's sorrowing years,
Have I not watched the sunset hanging red
Upon thy hoary brow! Farewell for ever!
A legend haunts thee that the race of man
In earliest days, a sad and storm-tossed few,
From thy wan heights descended, making way
Into a ruined world. A storm-tossed race,
But not self-pitying, once again thou seest
Into a world all ruin making way
Whither they know not, yet without a fear.
This hour--lo, there, they pass yon valley's verge!--
In sable weeds that pilgrimage moves on,
Moves slowly like thy shadow, Ararat,
That eastward creeps. Phantom of glory dead!
Image of greatness that disdains to die!
Move Northward thou! Whate'er thy fates decreed,
At least that shadow shall be shadow of man,
And not of beast gold-weighted! On, thou Night
Cast by my heart! Thou too shalt meet thy morn!

LEGENDS

_KING ETHELBERT OF KENT AND SAINT AUGUSTINE._

Ethelbert, King of Kent, converses first with his Pagan Thanes, and
next with Saint Augustine, newly landed on the shores of Thanet
Island. The Saint, coming in sight of Canterbury, rejoices greatly,
and predicts the future greatness of that city.

Far through the forest depths of Thanet Isle,
That never yet had heard the woodman's axe,
Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn,
Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun
Flamed on the forests' dewy jewelry,
While, under rising mists, a