and I fall forsaken,
Unwept and unregarded, here;
By death from caitiff hands o'ertaken,
Nor ev'n one late avenger near!"

Down to the earth the death-stroke bore him--
Hark, where the Cranes wheel dismal o'er him!
He hears, as darkness veils his eyes,
Near, in hoarse croak, their dirge-like cries.
"Ye whose wild wings above me hover,
(Since never voice, save yours alone,
The deed can tell)--the hand discover--
Avenge!"--He spoke, and life was gone.

Naked and maim'd the corpse was found--
And, still through many a mangling wound,
The sad Corinthian Host could trace
The loved--too well-remember'd face.
"And must I meet thee thus once more?
Who hoped with wreaths of holy pine,
Bright with new fame--the victory o'er--
The Singer's temples to entwine!"

And loud lamented every guest
Who held the Sea-God's solemn feast--
As in a single heart prevailing,
Throughout all Hellas went the wailing.
Wild to the Council Hall they ran--
In thunder rush'd the threat'ning Flood--
"Revenge shall right the murder'd man,
The last atonement-blood for blood!"

Yet 'mid the throng the Isthmus claims,
Lured by the Sea-God's glorious games--
The mighty many-nation'd throng--
How track the hand that wrought the wrong?--
How guess if that dread deed were done,
By ruffian hands, or secret foes?
He who sees all on earth--the SUN--
Alone the gloomy secret knows.

Perchance he treads in careless peace,
Amidst your Sons, assembled Greece;
Hears with a smile revenge decreed;
Gloats with fell joy upon the deed.
His steps the avenging gods may mock
Within the very Temple's wall,
Or mingle with the crowds that flock
To yonder solemn scenic[9] hall.

Wedg'd close, and serried, swarms the crowd--
Beneath the weight the walls are bow'd--
Thitherwards streaming far, and wide,
Broad Hellas flows in mingled tide tide--
A tide like that which heaves the deep
When hollow-sounding, shoreward driven;
On, wave on wave, the thousands sweep
Till arching, row on row, to heaven!

The tribes, the nations, who shall name,
That guest-like, there assembled came?
From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand--
From Phocis, from the Spartans' land--
From Asia's wave-divided clime,
The Isles that gem the AEgean Sea,
To hearken on that Stage Sublime,
The Dark Choir's mournful melody!

True to the awful