ALBERT   PIKE.                          123
Strong-limb'd and swift, leap on with eager bounds,
And with their long, deep note each hill resounds,
Making thee music:— Goddess, hear our cry,
And let us worship thee, while far and high
Goes up thy Brother — while his light is full
Upon the earth; for, when the night-winds lull
The world to sleep, then to the lightless sky
Dian must go, with silver robes of dew,
And sunward eye.
Perhaps thou liest on some shady spot
Among the trees, while frighten'd beasts hear not
The deep bay of the hounds ; but, dropping down
Upon green grass, and leaves all sere and brown,
Thou pillowest thy delicate head upon
Some ancient mossy root, were wood-winds run
Wildly about thee, and thy fair nymphs point
Thy death-wing'd arrows, or thy hair anoint
With Lydian odours, and thy strong hounds lie
Lazily on the earth and watch thine eye,
And watch thine arrows, whilst thou hast a dream.
Perchance, in some deep bosom'd, shaded stream
Thou bathest now, where even thy brother Sun
Cannot look on thee — where dark shades and dun
Fall on the water, making it most cool,
Like winds from the broad sea, or like some pool
In deep dark cavern : Hanging branches dip
Their locks into the stream, or slowly drip
With tear-drops of rich dew: Before no eyes
But those of flitting wind-gods, each nymph hies
Into the deep, cool, running stream, and there
Thou pillowest thyself upon its breast,
0 Queen, most fair!