Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
The Song of CalliclesMatthew Arnold (18221888)
T
Thick breaks the red flame.
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-clothed frame.
Are haunts meet for thee.
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea.
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O speed, and rejoice!
Lie strewn the white flocks;
On the cliff-side, the pigeons
Roost deep in the rocks.
Soft lull’d by the rills,
Lie wrapt in their blankets,
Asleep on the hills.
So white through the gloom?
What garments out-glistening
The gold-flower’d broom?
Out-perfumes the thyme?
What voices enrapture
The night’s balmy prime?—
His choir, The Nine.
—The Leader is fairest,
But all are divine.
They stream up again.
What seeks on this mountain
The glorified train?—
In the spring by their road.
Then on to Olympus,
Their endless abode.
Of what is it told?—
What will be for ever.
What was from of old.
Of all things: and then,
The rest of Immortals,
The action of men.
The strife with the palm;
The Night in her silence,
The Stars in their calm.