Chapter VI: Act V: SCENE I.--Outside LAMACHUS'S palace

MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, Courtiers, _and_ Citizens _of Cherson._

_Meg._ Oh, this has been a happy day. All has gone admirably. Not a hitch in all the arrangements. Precedence kept, rank observed, dresses all they should be. I do not, I really do not think, though I say it who should not, that the Imperial Chamberlain at Constantinople could have conducted the matter better.

_1st Court._ Nay, that he could not, good Megacles. Let us hope that what remains to do will go as smoothly.

_Meg._ What remains? Doubtless you mean the banquet. That is all arranged long ago under three heads. First, the order of entering the hall; second, the order of the seats; third, the order of going forth.

_Lys._ Doubtless the last will arrange itself. Remember, the only order of going to be observed is this, that thou get thyself gone, and all the guests from Cherson gone, fully half an hour before midnight.

_Meg._ But, my lord, that is impossible; you ask too much. How long do you suppose it will take, at a moderate computation, to get one hundred men of ill-defined rank out of a room with a decent regard for Precedence. Why, I have seen it take an hour at the Palace, where everybody knew his place, and here I cannot undertake to do it under two.

_Lys._ My friend, you will get it done; you will waive ceremony. None but the Prince and ourselves must remain within half an hour of midnight, and the hall must be cleared.

_Meg._ Ah, well, my Lord Lysimachus, the responsibility rests with you; I will have none of it. It is as much as my reputation is worth. But if I do this, cannot you let me have a guard of honour of armed men to stand at intervals along the hall. I have been longing for them all day.

_Lys._ (_angrily_). Peace, fool! I have told you before we have no soldiers here.

[People _of Cherson overhearing him._

_1st Cit._ Didst hear that old man? He believes there are soldiers here. Whence do they come? and why did the other check him?

_Meg._ Well, my Lord Lysimachus, if not soldiers, men-at-arms, and these there certainly are, and highly decorative too.

_2nd Cit._ I hate these Bosphorians. What if the rumour should be true? Pass the word to the citizens that they sleep not to-night, but keep their arms ready for what may come. We are a match for them, whatever may be their design. To-morrow we will probe this matter to its depths.

_2nd Court._ Depend upon it, there is no time to lose if we would forestall these fellows. But here comes the procession to the banqueting-hall.

[Citizens _going to banquet two and two._

_Meg._ (_with a gold wand_). This way, gentlemen; this way, masters and mistresses; this way, Respectables!

[_Accompanies them to the end of the stage towards the banqueting-hall in the distance. Returns to escort another party._ Musicians, _etc._

_Enter_ Senators, _two and two._

_Meg._ (_bowing profoundly three times_). Most Illustrious Senators! this way, your Highnesses; this way.

_Enter_ MELISSA _and other_ Ladies.

(_To_ MELISSA) Fairest and loveliest of your adorable sex, your slave prostrates himself before your stainless and beatific feet (_bowing low and kissing his fingers_). Illustrious Ladies, I pray you to advance.

_Lys._ (_with Courtiers standing apart_). A good appetite, my friends. Enjoy yourselves while you may.

_Bard._ We are quite ready, my Lord Lysimachus. Are you not (_with a sneer_) for the banquet?

_Lys._ In good time, in good time. If they only knew.

[_Aside._

_Bard._ (_overhearing_). If _you_ knew all, my friends.

_Meg._ (_returning_). I pray you, most Illustrious Senators, to excuse the absence of a guard of honour.

_Bard._ Nay, nay; we are peaceful people, and have no armed men nearer than Bosphorus, as my Lord Lysimachus knows. There are plenty in that favoured State, no doubt.

_Lys._ (_confused_). What does this insolence mean? I would the hour were come.

_Enter_ ZETHO, _with his retinue._

_Meg._ Your Gravity, Your Sincerity, Your Sublime and Wonderful Magnitude, Your Illustrious and Magnificent Highness, I prostrate myself before Your Altitude. Will You deign to walk this way?

_Zetho._ My lord, I am no Cæsar, but a simple citizen of Cherson, called by my fellows to preside over the State. Use not to me these terms, I pray of you, but lead on quickly.

_Meg._ I prostrate myself before Your Eminence.

_Enter_ ASANDER _and_ GYCIA.

_Meg._ (_returning_). Noble Prince, will your Illustrious Consort and yourself deign to follow me?

_Asan._ Nay, good Megacles, will you and these gentlemen go first? I have a word to say to the Lady Gycia. We will be with you before the guests are seated.

_Meg._ I obey, my Lord Asander, and will await you at the door.

[MEGACLES, LYSIMACHUS, _and the rest, pass on._

_Asan._ Gycia, though we have passed from amity
And all our former love, yet would I pray you,
By our sweet years of wedded happiness,
Give ear to me a moment. It may be
That some great shock may come to set our lives
For evermore apart.

_Gycia._ Ah yes, Asander--
For evermore apart!

_Asan._ And I would fain,
If it must be, that thou shouldst know to-night
That never any woman on the earth
Held me one moment in the toils of love
Except my wife.

_Gycia._ What! not Irene's self?

_Asan._ Never, I swear by Heaven. She was a woman
In whom a hopeless passion burnt the springs
Of maiden modesty. I never gave her
The solace of a smile.

_Gycia._ Dost thou say this?
Is thy soul free from all offence with her,
If thou camest now to judgment?

_Asan._ Ay, indeed,
Free as a child's.

_Gycia._ Oh, my own love! my dear!
Ah no! too late, too late!

[_Embraces him._

_Asan._ I ask thee not
Counter assurance, since I know thy truth.

_Gycia._ Speakst thou of Theodorus? He loved me
Before I knew thee, but I loved no man
Before I met Asander. When he knelt
That day, it was in pity for my grief,
Thinking thee false, and all his buried love
Burst into passionate words, which on the instant
I as thy wife repelled.

_Asan._ Oh, perfect woman!

[_They embrace._

O God, it is too late! Come, let us go;
The guests are waiting for us. What can Fate
Devise to vanquish Love.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter two drunken_ Labourers _of Cherson, bearing faggots and
straw._

_1st Lab._ Well, friend, what kind of day has it been with you?

_2nd Lab._ Oh, a white day, a happy day! Plenty of food, plenty of wine, raree shows without end, such processions as were never seen--the very model of a democracy; nothing to pay, and everybody made happy at the expense of the State. I have lived in Cherson, man and boy, for fifty years, and I never saw anything to compare with it. Here's good luck to Lamachus's memory, say I, and I should like to celebrate his lamented decease as often as his daughter likes.

_1st Lab._ Didst know him, citizen?

_2nd Lab._ No, not I. He has been dead these two years. Time he was forgotten, I should think. They don't commemorate poor folk with all these fal-lals and follies.

_1st Lab._ Well, citizen, there is one comfort--the great people don't enjoy themselves as we do. Did you ever see such a set of melancholy, frowning, anxious faces as the grandees carried with them to-day? And as for the Prince and the Lady Gycia, I don't believe they spoke a word the livelong day, though they walked together. That is the way with these grandees. When you and I quarrel with our wives, it is hammer and tongs for five minutes, and then kiss and make friends.

_2nd Lab._ And fancy being drilled by that old fool from Bosphorus--"Most Illustrious, this is your proper place;" "Respectable sir, get you back there" (_mimics_ MEGACLES), and so forth.

_1st Lab._ Well, well, it is good to be content. But I warrant we are the only two unhappy creatures in Cherson to-night, who have the ill fortune to be sober. And such wine too, and nothing to pay!

_2nd Lab._ Never mind, citizen, we shall be paid in meal or malt, I dare say, and we are bound to keep sober. By the way, it is a curiously contrived bonfire this.

_1st Lab._ It will be the crowning triumph of the whole festival, the senator said.

_2nd Lab._ But who ever heard of a bonfire on a large scale like this, so close to an old building? You know our orders: we are to place lines of faggots and straw close to the building on every side, well soaked with oil, and certain sealed vessels full of a secret compound in the midst of them. And just before midnight we are to run with torches and set light to the whole bonfire, to amuse the noble guests at the banquet.

[IRENE _at a window, overhearing._

_1st Lab._ Ah! do you not see? It is a device of the Senate to startle our friends from Bosphorus. The faggots and straw blaze up fiercely round the wall; then, when all is confusion, the substance in the sealed vessels escapes and at once puts out the fire, and the laugh is with us. Our friends from Bosphorus know what we can do in chemistry before now.

_2nd Lab._ Faith, a right merry device! Ha! ha! What a head thou hast, citizen! Well, we must go on with our work. Lay the faggots evenly.

_Ire. (at the window above)._ Great God! what is this?
We are doomed to die!
Good friends,
Know you my brother, the Lord Theodorus?
I have something urgent I would say to him.
I will write it down, and you shall give it him
When he comes forth from the banquet.

[_Disappears._

_1st Lab._ Good my lady. Her brother, too, she calls him. I go bail it is her lover, and this is an assignation. Well, well, we poor men must not be too particular.

_2nd Lab._ No, indeed; but let us get on with our work, or we shall never finish in time.

_Ire. (reappearing)._ Here it is. Give it him, I pray,
when he comes forth.
'Tis a thing of life and death.

_1st Lab._ So they all think,
Poor love-sick fools!

_Ire._ See, here is gold for you--
'Tis all I have; but he will double it,
If you fail not.

_1st Lab._ Lady, we shall be here,
We must be here. Fear not, we shall not miss him.

SCENE II.--_The banquet hall._

_At a table, on a dais_, ZETHO, ASANDER, GYCIA, _and_ Senators;
LYSIMACHUS, _and_ Courtiers _of Bosphorus._ Magnates _of Cherson at
cross tables._ ASANDER, LYSIMACHUS, _the_ Courtiers, _and_ Senators
_seem flushed with wine._

_Zetho._ I drink to him whose gracious memory
We celebrate to-day. In all our Cherson,
Which boasts descent from the Athenian race,
Who one time swayed the world, there was no man,
Nor ever had been, fired with deeper love
Of this our city, or more heartfelt pride
In our republican rule (LYSIMACHUS _sneers_), which free-born men
Prize more than life. I do not seek to bind
Those who, long nurtured under kingly rule,
Give to the Man the love we bear the State;
But never shall the name of King be heard
In this our Cherson.

_Lys._ Archon, 'twere unwise
To risk long prophecies.

_Bard._ Be silent, sir,
If you would not offend.

_Zetho._ I bid you all
Drink to the memory of Lamachus
And weal to our Republic.

_Lys._ Shall we drink
Its memory, for it has not long to live,
If it be still alive?

_Bard._ It will outlive thee.
_Thou_ hast not long to live.

_Lys._ Longer than thou,
If swords be sharp.

_Zetho._ I pray you, gentlemen,
Bandy not angry words.

_Gycia._ My Lord Asander,
Thy cup is empty. Shall I fill it for thee?
Thou lovedst Lamachus?

_Asan._ Ay, that I did;
And I love thee. But I have drunk enough.
I must keep cool to-night.

_Gycia._ Nay; see, I fill
My glass to drink with thee.

_Asan._ Well, well, I drink,
But not to the Republic.

_Gycia._ Ah! my lord,
There is a gulf still yawns 'twixt thee and me
Which not the rapture of recovered love
Can ever wholly bridge. To my dead father
I drink, and the Republic!

_Lys._ Which is dead.

_Bard._ Nay, sir, but living, and shall live when thou
Liest rotting with thy schemes.

_Enter_ MEGACLES.

_Meg._ My Lord Asander,
A messenger from Bosphorus, just landed,
Has bid me give thee this.

[_Gives_ ASANDER _letter._

_Asan._ (_reading_) "My Lord, the King
Is dead, asking for thee." Oh, wretched day!
Had I but gone to him, and left this place
Of sorrow ere he died!

_Gycia._ My love, my dear!
Thou wilt go hence too late. I would indeed
The law had let thee go. Sorrow like this
Draws parted lives in one, and knits anew
The rents which time has made.

_Lys._ The King is dead!
Ay, then long live the King of Bosphorus!
And more ere long!

_Bard._ Think you that he will live
To wear his crown?

_Zetho._ Brethren, the hour is late,
And draws to midnight, and 'tis time that all
Should rest for whom rest is. (_To_ BARDANES _aside_) We must consider
What change of policy this weighty change
Which makes Asander King may work in us.

_Bard._ (_aside_). Nay, nay, no change! He is a murderer still,
And shall be punished were he thrice a king.

_Asan._ Good night to all. And thou, good Megacles,
Thou wert my father's servant, take thy rest.
Go hence with these.

_Meg._ I have no heart to marshal
These dignitaries forth. My King is dead;
I am growing old and spent.

_Zetho._ Daughter, remember
Thy duty to the State.

_Gycia._ I will, good Zetho.
I am my father's daughter. Gentle Sirs
And Ladies all, good night.

[_Exeunt omnes except_ ASANDER _and_ GYCIA; LYSIMACHUS _and_
Courtiers _by one door, then the_ Chersonites _by another
opposite._

_Asan._ Dearest of women,
How well this fair head will become a crown!
I know not how it is, but now this blow
Has fallen, it does not move me as I thought.
I am as those who come in tottering age
Even to life's verge, whom loss of friend or child
Touches not deeply, since the dead they love
Precede them but a stage upon the road
Which they shall tread to-morrow. Yet am I
Young, and thou too, my Gycia; we should walk
The path of life together many years,
But that some strange foreboding troubles me.
For oh, my dear! now that the sun of love
Beams on our days again, my worthless life
Grows precious, and I tremble like a coward
At dangers I despised. Tell me, my Gycia,
Though I am true in love, wouldst thou forgive me
If I were false or seemed false to thy State?
Hast thou no word for me? May I not tell thee
My secret, which so soon all men shall know,
And ask thy pardon for it?

_Gycia._ Say on, Asander.

_Asan._ Know, then, that soldiers sent from Bosphorus
Have long time hid within our palace here--
Long time before I knew, or I had nipt
The treason in the bud; and in an hour
Or less from when we speak, they will go forth,
When all the citizens are wrapt in sleep
After the toilsome day, and seize the gate,
And open to the army which lies hid
On board the ships without. They will not shed
The blood of any, since the o'erwhelming force
Will make resistance vain. I never liked
The plot, I swear to thee; but, all being done,
And I a subject, dared not disavow
That which was done without me. But I have forced
A promise that no blood be spilt.

_Gycia._ Asander,
I have known it all, and have discovered all

[ASANDER _starts._

Thy secret to the Senate! But I knew not,
Save by the faith that is the twin with love,
That thou didst follow only in this plot,
And wert unwilling; and I do rejoice
Thy hands are free from blood. But oh, my love,
Break from these hateful men! Thou art now a King,
Thou canst command. Come, let us fly together;
There yet is time! I tell thee that this plot
Is doomed to ruin. Ere the morning dawns,
All but the guilty leaders will be sent
Prisoners to Bosphorus, and thou with them.
I have gained this on my knees; but for the guilty
The State has punishments.

_Asan._ Gycia, thou wouldst not
That I should break my faith? 'Tis a King's part
To keep faith, though he die. But when they have seized
The city, then, using my kingly office,
I will undo the deed, and make alliance
With Cherson, and this done I will depart,
Taking my Queen with me.

_Gycia._ Then must I go;
I cannot live without thee.

_Asan._ Now to rest,
If not to sleep.

_Gycia._ Good night, my love; farewell.

_Asan._ Nay, not farewell, my love!

_Gycia._ Ah yes, farewell!
Farewell! farewell for ever!

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_Outside the banquet hall. Darkness._

GYCIA _hurriedly descends the steps, closing the great doors of the
banquet hall softly._

_Gycia._ I hear no sound within; the lights are gone,
And all the hall is dark. These doors alone
Of all the many outlets of the palace
Remain unlocked. There is not now a moment
To lose ere midnight comes, and here I hold
The safety of our Cherson. Oh, my love!
I could not tell thee all, nor recompense
Thy faith in me, since duty held me fast--
My duty which should also prove thy safety,
For now the solemn promise of the State
Is pledged to hold thee harmless, and defeat
The shameful plot I knew was never thine,
Without one drop of bloodshed. All my path
Shows clear as noonday, and I save our city
And those who with thee err in innocence,
Why do I hesitate? Yet does some dark
And dreadful presage of impending ill
So haunt me that I know not how to face it.
I dare not do it. I must stay with him,
Or bring him forth with me.

[_Ascends the steps, throws open the doors, and finds all
darkness and silence._

Asander! husband!
It is thy wife who calls! Come forth, Asander!

[_Listens._

Nay, there is no one there. I cannot stay;
This is mere folly. I must keep my word;
There's not a moment's time, or all is lost.
Which is the key?

[_Closes the doors and locks them with a clang._

I must go forth alone
To the Senate-chamber. I have saved our Cherson
And my Asander!

[_Totters down the steps and exit hurriedly._

SCENE IV.--_The Senate-chamber._

ZETHO _and_ Senators; _afterwards_ GYCIA.

_Zetho._ What is the hour?

_Bardanes._ It wants five minutes only
To midnight. Think you she will come?

_Zetho._ I know her.
She is the soul of honour, and would keep
Her word if 'twere her death.

_Bard._ But would she keep it
If 'twere her lover's?

_Zetho._ She thinks not that it is,
Nor should it be, indeed, were we but true
As I believe her.

_Bard._ True! There is no truth
In keeping faith with murderers; they must perish
In the same net which they laid privily
Against a faithful city.

_Enter_ GYCIA, _tottering in, with the keys._

_Zetho._ Hail, noble daughter! Thou hast saved the State.
I knew thou wouldst not fail us.

_Gycia._ See, good Zetho,
The proof that I have done my part to you.
There are the master keys of all the doors
Within the palace. When I closed the last,
A few brief minutes since, there was no sound
Nor light in hall or chamber; every court
Was silent as the grave.

_Bard._ Ay, as the grave
It is, or will be soon.

_Gycia._ What mean you, sir,
I pray you? I am but a timid woman,
Full of foreboding fears and dread of ill,
And such a doubt doth overspread my soul,
Hearing thy words, I think I shall go mad.
Nay, Zetho, he is safe; I have your promise
Thou wouldst not harm him. An o'erwhelming force,
Thou saidst, should so surround them that resistance
Were vain, and ere the dawn they should go hence
Without one drop of bloodshed.

_Zetho._ Ay, my daughter,
Such was the promise.

_Bard._ And it will be kept.

[_Bell strikes midnight._

Hark, 'tis the hour! An overwhelming force

[_A red glare rising higher and higher is seen through the
windows of the Senate-chamber. Confused noises and shouts heard
without._

Surrounds them, but no drop of blood is shed.
All will go hence ere dawn.

_Gycia._ Oh, cruel man,
And most perfidious world! Oh, my Asander!
To die thus and through me!

[_A violent knocking is heard at the door._

_Enter_ THEODORUS _in great agitation, and_ IRENE, _who throws
herself on her knees, weeping._ GYCIA _falls swooning in Zetho's
arms._

_Zetho._ Whence cam'st thou, Theodorus?

_Theo._ Straight, my lord,
From Gycia's palace.

_Zetho._ Say, what didst thou there?
And what of horror has befallen thee
That makes thine eyes stare thus?

_Theo._ Most noble Zetho,
When from the banquet scarce an hour ago
I passed, came one who offered me a letter
And bade me read. 'Twas from this woman here,
My sister, and it told of some great peril
By fire, which she, within the prison locked,
Expected with the night. Wherefore I sped
With one I trusted, and did set a ladder
Against her casement, calling her by name,
And bidding her descend. But no voice came,
And all was dark and silent as the grave;
And when I called again, the Prince Asander,
From an adjacent casement looking, cried,
"I had forgot thy sister. Take her hence;
She should go free!" And then, at her own casement

[GYCIA _revives and listens._

Appearing, he came forth, and in his arms
A woman's senseless form. As they descended
And now were in mid-air, there came the sound
Of the bell striking midnight, and forthwith
In a moment, like a serpent winged with fire,
There rose from wall to wall a sheet of flame,
Which in one instant mounted to the roof
With forked red tongues. Then every casement teemed
With strange armed men, who leapt into the flames
And perished. Those who, maimed and burnt, escaped,
Ere they could gain their feet, a little band
Of citizens, who sprang from out the night,
Slew as they lay. The Prince, who bore my sister
Unhurt to ground, stood for a moment mute.
Then, seeing all was lost, he with a groan
Stabbed himself where we stood. I fear his hurt
Is mortal, since in vain I tried to staunch
The rushing blood; then bade them on a litter
Carry him hither gently. Here he comes.

_Enter_ Citizens, _bearing_ ASANDER _on a litter, wounded._

_Gycia._ Oh, my love, thou art hurt! Canst thou forgive me?
I thought to save thee and the rest. I knew not,
I did not know! Oh, God!

_Asan._ I do believe thee.
The fates have led our feet by luckless ways
Which only lead to death. I loved but thee.
I wished thy State no wrong, but I am dying.
Farewell! my love, farewell!

[_Dies._

_Gycia._ Oh, my lost love!

[_Throws herself on the body and kisses it passionately._

_Zetho._ Poor souls! Mysterious are the ways of Heaven,
And these have suffered deeply in the fortune
That bound their lives together.

_Bard._ That dead man
Would have betrayed our State, and thou dost pity!
So perish all the enemies of Cherson!

_Gycia_ (_rising_). Nay, sir, be silent. 'Tis a coward's part
To vilify the dead. You, my Lord Zetho,
I had your promise that you would hurt none
Except the guilty only, and I thought
That to your word I might entrust my life
And one more dear than mine; but now it seems
That in some coward and unreasoning panic
This worthy Senator has moved his colleagues--
Since cruelty is close akin to fear--
To break your faith to me, and to confuse
The innocent and guilty, those who led
And those who followed, in one dreadful death!
I pray you pardon me if, being a woman,
Too rashly taking part in things of State,
I have known nought of State-craft or the wisdom
Which breaks a plighted word.

_Zetho._ Daughter, I would
Our promise had been kept, and I had kept it
But that the safety of the State to some
Seemed to demand its breach.

_Gycia._ Farewell, good Zetho,
And all who were my friends. I am going hence;
I can no longer stay. There lies my love.
There flames my father's house. I go far off,
A long, long journey. If you see me not
In life again, I humbly pray the State
May, if it think me worthy--for indeed
I have given it all--bury me, when I die,
Within the city, in a fair white tomb,
As did our Grecian forefathers of old
For him who saved the State; and, if it may be,
Lay my love by my side.

_Zetho and Sens._ Daughter, we swear
That thou shalt have thy wish.

_Gycia._ I thank you, sirs.
Then, I may go. Kiss me, good Theodorus:
I am no more a wife. I know thy love,
And thank thee for it. For that wretch whose lie
Has wrecked our life and love, I bless the gods
That I am childless, lest my daughter grew
As vile a thing as she; and yet I know not.
She loved him in some sort, poor wretch, poor wretch!
But now I must be going. 'Tis past midnight;

[_Snatches dagger from_ THEODORUS'S _side._

I must go hence. I have lost my life and love.
But I have saved the State.

[_Stabs herself and falls on_ _Asander's_ _body._

Citizens _of Cherson bursting in._

_Cits._ The State is saved! Long may our Cherson flourish!
The State is saved! Long live our Lady Gycia,
Who saved the State!

_Gycia_ (_rising a little_). Yes, I have saved the State!

[_Falls back dead._

_Citizens_ (_without_). Long live the Lady Gycia!

_Curtain._

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

SELECTIONS FROM THE NOTICES

OF THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

LEWIS MORRIS.

SONGS OF TWO WORLDS.

These poems were originally published in three volumes, issued in the years 1872, 1874, and 1875. The following are a few selections from the Press notices which appeared as they were issued.

FIRST SERIES.

"No one, after reading the first two poems--almost perfect in
rhythm and all the graceful reserve of true lyrical
strength--could doubt for an instant that this book is the result
of lengthened thought and assiduous training in poetic forms.
These poems will assuredly take high rank among the class to
which they belong."--_British Quarterly Review_, April, 1872.

"If this volume is the mere prelude of a mind growing in power,
we have in it the promise of a fine poet.... In 'The Wandering
Soul,' the verse describing Socrates has that highest note of
critical poetry, that in it epigram becomes vivid with life, and
life reveals its inherent paradox. It would be difficult to
describe the famous irony of Socrates in more poetical and more
accurate words than by saying that he doubted men's doubts
away."--_Spectator_, February 17th, 1872.

"In all this poetry there is a purity and delicacy of feeling
which comes over one like morning air."--_Graphic_, March 16th,
1872.

SECOND SERIES.

"In earnestness, sweetness, and the gift of depicting nature, the
writer may be pronounced a worthy disciple of his compatriot,
Henry Vaughan, the Silurist. Several of the shorter poems are
instinct with a noble purpose and a high ideal of life. One
perfect picture, marginally annotated, so to speak, in the
speculations which it calls forth, is 'The Organ-Boy.' But the
most noteworthy poem is the 'Ode on a Fair Spring Morning,' which
has somewhat of the charm and truth to nature of 'L'Allegro' and
'Il Penseroso.' It is the nearest approach to a master-piece in
the volume."--_Saturday Review_, May 30th, 1874.

"This volume is a real advance on its predecessor of the same
name, and contains at least one poem of great originality, as
well as many of much tenderness, sweetness, and beauty. 'The
Organ-Boy' we have read again and again, with fresh pleasure on
every reading. It is as exquisite a little poem as we have read
for many a day."--_Spectator_, June 13th, 1874.

"The reception of the New Writer's first series shows that, in
his degree, he is one of the poetical forces of the time. Of the
school of poetry of which Horace is the highest master, he is a
not undistinguished pupil."--_Academy_, August 11th, 1874.

"The verses are full of melodious charm, and sing themselves
almost without music."--_Blackwood's_, August 1st, 1874.

THIRD SERIES.

"Not unworthy of its predecessors. It presents the same command
of metre and diction, the same contrasts of mood, the same grace
and sweetness. It cannot be denied that he has won a definite
position among contemporary poets."--_Times_, October 16th, 1875.

"'Evensong' shows power thought, and courage to grapple with the
profoundest problems. In the 'Ode to Free Rome' we find worthy
treatment of the subject and passionate expression of generous
sympathy."--_Saturday Review_, July 31st, 1875.

"More perfect in execution than either of its predecessors....
The pure lyrics are sweeter and richer. In the 'Birth of Verse'
every stanza is a little poem in itself, and yet a part of a
perfect whole."--_Spectator_, May 22nd, 1875.

"If each book that he publishes is to mark as steady improvement
as have his second and third, the world may surely look for
something from the writer which shall immortalize him and remain
as a treasure to literature."--_Graphic_, June 1st, 1875.

THE EPIC OF HADES.

_BOOK II._[A]

"Fresh, picturesque, and by no means deficient in intensity; but
the most conspicuous merits of the author are the judgment and
moderation with which his poem is designed, his self-possession
within his prescribed limits, and the unfailing elegance of his
composition, which shrinks from obscurity, exuberance, and rash
or painful effort as religiously as many recent poets seem to
cultivate such interesting blemishes.... Perhaps the fine bursts
of music in Marsyas, and the varied emotions portrayed in
Andromeda, are less characteristic of the author than the prompt,
yet graceful, manner in which he passes from one figure to
another.... Fourteen of these pieces written in blank verse which
bears comparison with the very best models make up a thoroughly
enjoyable little volume...."--_Pall Mall Gazette_, March 10th,
1876.

[Footnote A: Book II. was issued as a separate volume prior to the publication of Books I. and III. and of the complete work.]

"It is natural that the favourable reception given to his 'Songs
of Two Worlds' should have led the author to continue his
poetical exercises, and it is, no doubt, a true instinct which
has led him to tread the classic paths of song. In his choice of
subject he has not shrunk from venturing on ground occupied by at
least two Victorian poets. In neither case need he shrink from
comparison. His Marsyas is full of fine fancy and vivid
description. His Andromeda has to us one recommendation denied to
Kingsley's--a more congenial metre; another is its unstrained and
natural narrative."--_Saturday Review_, May 20th, 1876.

"In his enterprise of connecting the Greek myth with the high and
wider meaning which Christian sentiment naturally finds for it,
his success has been great. The passage in which Apollo's victory
over Marsyas and its effect are described is full of exquisite
beauty. It is almost as fine as verse on such a subject could
be.... The little volume is delightful reading. From the first
line to the last, the high and delicate aroma of purity breathes
through the various spiritual fables."--_Spectator_, May 27th,
1876.

"The blank verse is stately, yet sweet, free, graceful, and never
undignified. We confidently believe that our readers will agree
with us in regarding this as one of the finest and most
suggestive poems recently published. We trust to have, ere long,
more poetic work from his hand."--_British Quarterly Review_,
April 1st, 1876.

"The writer has shown himself more critical than his friends, and
the result is a gradual, steady progress in power, which we
frankly acknowledge.... This long passage studded with
graces."--_Academy_, April 29th, 1876.

_BOOKS I. and III. and the COMPLETE WORK._

"In one sense the idea of his Epic is not only ambitious, but
audacious, for it necessarily awakens reminiscences of Dante. Not
unfrequently he is charmingly pathetic, as in his Helen and
Psyche. There is considerable force and no small imagination in
the description of some of the tortures in the 'Tartarus.' There
is genuine poetical feeling in the 'Olympus.'... We might invite
attention to many other passages. But it is more easy to give
honest general praise than to single out particular
extracts."--_Times_, February 9th, 1877.

"The whole of this last portion of the poem is exceedingly
beautiful.... Nor will any, except critics of limited view, fail
to recognize in the Epic a distinct addition to their store of
those companions of whom we never grow tired."--_Athenæum_, March
3rd, 1877.

"We believe that the Epic will approve itself to students as one
of the most considerable and original feats of recent English
poetry."--_Saturday Review_, March 31st, 1877.

"Thought, fancy, music, and penetrating sympathy we have here,
and that radiant, unnamable suggestive delicacy which enhances
the attraction with each new reading."--_British Quarterly
Review_, April, 1877.

"The present work is by far his greatest achievement; the whole
tone of it is noble, and portions, more especially the concluding
lines, are excessively beautiful."--_Westminster Review_, April,
1877.

"The work is one of which any singer might justly be proud. In
fact, the Epic is in every way a remarkable poem, which to be
appreciated must not only be read, but studied."--_Graphic_,
March 10th, 1877.

"We do not hesitate to advance it as our opinion that 'The Epic
of Hades' will enjoy the privilege of being classed amongst the
poems in the English language which will live."--_Civil Service
Gazette_, March 17th, 1877.

"Exquisite beauty of melodious verse.... A remarkable poem, both
in conception and execution. We sincerely wish for the author a
complete literary success."--_Literary World_, March 30th, 1877.

"Will live as a poem of permanent power and charm. It will
receive high appreciation from all who can enter into its
meaning, for its graphic and liquid pictures of external beauty,
the depth and truth of its purgatorial ideas, and the ardour,
tenderness, and exaltation of its spiritual life."--_Spectator_,
May 5th, 1877.

"I have lately been reading a poem which has interested me very
much, a poem called 'The Epic of Hades.' Many of you may never
have heard of it; most of you may never have seen it. It is, as I
view it, another gem added to the wealth of the poetry of our
language."--_Mr. Bright's speech on Cobden, at Bradford_, July
25th, 1877.

"In the blank verse of the 'Epic of Hades,' apt words are so
simply arranged with unbroken melody, that if the work were
printed as prose, it would remain a song, and every word would
still be where the sense required it; not one is set in a wrong
place through stress of need for a mechanical help to the music.
The poem has its sound mind housed in a sound body."--PROFESSOR
MORLEY _in the Nineteenth Century_, February, 1878.

"I have read the 'Epic of Hades,' and find it truly charming. Its
pictures will long remain with me, and the music of its
words."--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, April, 1884.

THE EPIC OF HADES.

_ILLUSTRATED QUARTO EDITION._

"Of Mr. Chapman's illustrations it is pleasant to be able to
speak with considerable admiration, not only because they are a
fortunate echo of the verse, and represent the feelings and
incidents of the 'Epic,' but because of their intrinsic merits.
There is in them a fine and high inspiration of an indefinite
sort."--_Athenæum_, March 29th, 1879.

"'The Epic of Hades' is certainly one of the most remarkable
works of the latter half of the nineteenth century. Here is an
_édition de luxe_ which may possibly tempt the unthinking to
search for the jewel within the casket."--_World_, February 12th,
1879.

"The exquisite aërial feeling of 'Eros and Psyche,'--by far the
best of the drawings,--in which the figures seem literally to
float in ether. 'Laocoon' is grand and dignified, and all deserve
to be noticed with attention."--_Graphic_, January 25th, 1879.

"These designs of themselves would be of the highest value, and
when they are placed, as in this book, by way of illustration of
a text which is full of power, their value is not easily
estimated. The book ought to be one of the most cherished gifts
that any lover of poetry or the pencil could
desire."--_Scotsman_, January 23rd, 1879.

"The author has been most fortunate in his illustrator. The
designs are gems of drawing and conception, and the mezzotint is
admirably adapted to the style of drawing and subject. This is
truly a charming addition to the literary table. It is seldom one
sees figure illustrations of such graceful and powerful beauty,
and so thoroughly in sympathy with the visionary subjects of the
author."--_Art Journal_, April, 1879.

"'The Epic of Hades' has already won a place among the immortals.
The lovely and terrible figures of the Greek mythology have never
received a more exquisite consecration than at the hands of the
author, who, with the true divination of the poet, has known how
to interpret in the modern spirit the profound and pathetic
fables of antiquity without vulgarizing by modern affectations
their divine simplicity. This beautiful poem appears now in an
_édition de luxe_--a setting not unworthy of such gems. The
designs are noteworthy for their tenderness of sentiment and
their languid grace."--_Daily News_, April 2nd, 1879.

GWEN:

_A DRAMA IN MONOLOGUE._

"The charm of this beautiful little poem is its perfect
simplicity of utterance; its chastened and exquisite grace. There
is nothing very new in the incidents or in the characters of this
most touching story, except in its unconventional ending, which
takes the reader by surprise. The genius of the author has closed
an idyll of love and death with a strain of sweet, sad music in
that minor key which belongs to remembrance and regret."--_Daily
News_, January 22nd, 1879.

"We have read this new work with the interest arising from the
expectations which the author had quickened in us, and with the
hope of finding those expectations confirmed. We are not
disappointed, for we have here the same selectness of language,
the same high, pure tone, the same delicate power of touching the
deeper chords of thought and feeling, which have previously won
our attention and sympathy."--_Literary World_, January 17th,
1879.

"At the close of the tale the heart swells with pathos, and the
tears all but force their way into the eyes. To turn from the
most noteworthy of modern poetry to the verse in which 'Gwen' is
written is like turning from a brilliant painting to a fine
statue. We are scarcely sensible of want of colour, so refreshed
are we by purity of outline. All, indeed, is graceful, good, and
poetical work, as pure and limpid in flow as a brook."--_Sunday
Times_, February 2nd, 1879.

"The piece as a whole will repay very attentive perusal, while
here and there in it there is a particular choice bit of work.
Here, for example, is a fine lyric ... and here a love-song of
rare and exquisite beauty."--_New York Evening Post_, February
20th, 1879.

"Few among the later poets of our time have received such a
generous welcome as the author. He has been appreciated not by
critics alone, but by the general public.... The charm of 'Gwen'
is to be found in the limpid clearness of the versification, in
the pathetic notes which tell the old story of true love wounded
and crushed. Nothing can be more artistically appropriate or more
daintily melodious than the following...."--_Pall Mall Gazette_,
October 8th, 1879.

"The poem is, as a whole, tender, simple, chaste in feeling, and
occasionally it rises to a lyrical loftiness of sentiment or
grows compact with vigorous thought."--_New York "Nation"_, March
27th, 1879.

"The writer has gained inspiration from themes which inspired
Dante; he has sung sweet songs and musical lyrics; and whether
writing in rhyme or blank verse, has proved himself a master of
his instrument. He knows, like all true poets, how to transmute
what may be called common into the pure gold of
poetry."--_Spectator_, July 26th, 1879.

THE ODE OF LIFE.

"The 'Ode of Life' ought to be the most popular of all the
author's works. People flock to hear great preachers, but in this
book they will hear a voice more eloquent than theirs, dealing
with the most important subjects that can ever occupy the
thoughts of man."--_Westminster Review_, July, 1880.

"The many who have found what seemed to them of value and of use
in the previous writings of the author, may confidently turn to
this, his latest and, in his own view, his most mature work. It
is full of beauty of thought, feeling, and language."--_Daily
News_, April 8th, 1880.

"Full of exquisite taste, tender colour, and delicate fancy,
these poems will add considerably to the reputation of their
author."--_Sunday Times_, April 25th, 1880.

"The author is one of the few real poets now living. Anything at
once more sympathetic and powerful it would be difficult to find
in the poetry of the present day."--_Scotsman_, May 11th, 1880.

"Next to the 'Epic of Hades,' it is his best work."--_Cambridge
Review_, May 19th, 1880.

"Here is one standing high in power and in fame who has chosen a
nobler course.... The experiment is successful, and though we
must not now discuss the laws to which the structure of an ode
should conform, we rank the poem in this respect as standing far
above Dryden's celebrated composition, but below the Odes of
Wordsworth on Immortality and of Milton on the Nativity, which
still remain peerless and without a rival."--_Congregationalist_,
May 1st, 1880.

"A high devout purpose and wide human sympathy ennoble all the
writer's work, and his clear language and quiet music will retain
his audience."--_Nineteenth Century_, August, 1880.

"In all that respects technical points, certainly the most
finished work we have yet had from the author's hand, and here
and there the phrasing is exquisite. For ambitious aims, and for
art which so far has justified those aims, for elevation and
refinement, these poems are in advance of any of the author's
former works."--_British Quarterly Review_, July, 1880.

"Any notice of recent poetry would be inadequate without a
reference to the 'Ode of Life.' The only fault we have to find
with this really remarkable effort--a sort of expansion of
Wordsworth's famous Ode--is that it is rather too long for its
ideas; but it possesses power, sweetness, occasional profundity,
and unmistakable music. It is, when all is said and done, a true
'Ode,' sweeping the reader along as the ode should do, and

'Growing like Atlas, stronger for its load.'

It appears to us to bring definite proof that the writer's
pretensions have not been over-stated."--_Contemporary Review_,
February, 1881.

SONGS UNSUNG.

"Some of the more important pieces make almost equal and very
high demands alike on my sympathy and my admiration, and I hope
you may long be enabled to cherish the enviable gift of finding
utterance for Truths so deep in forms of so much power and
beauty."--_Letter from_ MR. GLADSTONE, November, 1883.

"The reader of his former work will probably commence this volume
with considerable expectations. Nor will he be altogether
disappointed, although he will probably wish that Mr. Morris had
given the world more of his exquisite classical
workmanship."--_Fortnightly Review_, November, 1883.

"'The New Creed' is, in some respects, his most striking
achievement. The poem is one well suited to his mind, but we are
not aware that he has ever before written anything at once so
impressive, so solemn, and so self-restrained. The last two lines
have all the happy energy of the highest poetry."--_Spectator_,
November 10th, 1883.

"In reading it one feels constantly 'How worthy this book would
be of beautiful illustrations!'"--_Academy_, November 24th, 1883.

"The volume is full of the sweet fruits of a large experience; a
profound study of the many problems of life; a clear insight
into human nature; and the book as a whole ranks among the best
gifts which the press has in recent years bestowed upon
us."--_Leeds Mercury_, November 21st, 1883.

"There is not one of these 'Songs Unsung' which does not deserve
to be read and re-read."--_Glasgow Herald_, November 16th, 1883.

"In Mr. Morris's new volume we recognize the old qualities which
are so dear to his wide circle of admirers."--_Daily News_,
December 4th, 1883.

"We may safely predict as warm a welcome for the new volume as
has been accorded to its predecessors."--_Ecclesiastical
Gazette_, November 15th, 1883.

"Those who have followed Mr. Morris's career will be pleased to
find that his poetic grasp, his argumentative subtlety, his
tenderness of sympathetic observation, his manly earnestness, are
as conspicuous and impressive as before."--MR. BAYNE, _in the
Helensburgh Times._

"The reputation earned by the author's books has been such as few
men in a century are permitted to enjoy. Beginning with the first
volume, it has gone on increasing."--_Liverpool Mercury_,
November 9th, 1883.

"For ourselves we dare hardly say how high we rank Mr. Morris.
This last volume is deserving of highest praise. In some of its
contents no living poet, to our mind can surpass him."--_Oxford
University Herald_, March 8th, 1884.

"The gems of this volume, to our mind, are some of the shorter
poems, which are full of melody and colour, saturated with
lyrical feeling, and marked by that simplicity without which no
poem of this class can be called great."--_British Quarterly
Review_, January, 1884.

"The writer is never diffuse or vague or pointless, both his road
and the end of it are always in view."--_New York Critic_,
January 19th, 1884.

"In one sense 'Songs Unsung' is more typical of Mr. Morris's
genius than any of his previous works. There is in them the same
purity of expression, the same delicate fancy, the same mastery
of technique, and withal the same loftiness of
conception."--_Scotsman_, December 22nd, 1883.

"In some respects we must award him the distinction of having a
clearer perception of the springs of nineteenth-century existence
than any of his contemporaries.... What could be more magnificent
than the following conception of the beginning of
things...."--_Whitehall Review_, October, 1883.

"Mr. Morris has always that picturesque power which limns in a
few words a suggestive and alluring picture of nature or of life
evoking the imagination of the reader to supplement the clear and
vigorous work of the poet."--_New York Christian Union_,
February, 1884.

"No lover of poetry will fail to make himself possessed of this
volume from the pen of one who has made for himself so high and
distinctive a place among modern writers."--_Manchester
Examiner_, January 31st, 1884.

"After making every possible deduction, 'Songs Unsung' is a noble
volume, and ought to be received by those who, like ourselves,
believe in the necessary subordination of art to morality with
profound gratification."--_Freeman_, April 18th, 1884.

"We have quoted enough to show that this book has genuine merit
in it, merit in poetry, merit in philosophy, and, we may add,
merit in religion. Lewis Morris takes the 'new and deeper view of
the world' of which Carlyle now and then caught sunny glimpses.
He sings in sweet and measured Tennysonian strains of philosophy
what Darwin and Herbert Spencer teach in prose; without the
informing glow of the imagination. There are living poets greater
than Lewis Morris, but of the younger race of poets he is
foremost."--_The Inquirer_, April 5th, 1884.

"The hold which a poet who writes with such intense seriousness
of purpose and such passionate earnestness gains upon his
generation is far stronger and more lasting than if his sole
attempt were to stimulate or to satisfy the sense of the
beautiful. All the things of which we wish that poetry should
speak to us, have voice given to them in the song of this
glorious singer."--_South Australian Advertiser_, March 24th,
1884.

"As a whole this volume, while charming anew the poet's former
admirers, should win for his genius a wider acquaintance and
appreciation."--_Boston Literary World_, February 23rd, 1884.

"Mr. Morris has the invaluable gift of recognizing and being in
full sympathy with the current ideas and feelings of the time.
The broad humanitarianism, the genuine sympathy with the
sufferings of the poor and unfortunate, characteristic of our
age, is one of the most attractive features of his poetry, and to
the revival of the feeling for classical beauty, which may be
looked upon as a collateral branch of the 'æsthetic' movement, he
owes more than one charming inspiration.... To sum up. Mr.
Morris's volume is likely to add to his reputation. It is healthy
in tone, and shows no decline of the varied qualities to which
the author owes his widespread reputation."--_Times_, June 9,
1884.

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