There's no room for tears of weakness in the blind eyes of a Phemius:

Into work the poet kneads them,and he does not die till then.

CONCLUSION.

Bertram finished the last pages, while along the silence ever Still in hot and heavy splashes, fell the tears on every leaf: Having ended, he leans backward in

his chair, with lips that quiver From the deep unspoken, ay, and deep unwritten thoughts of grief.

-

Soh! how still the lady standeth!'tis a dream! a dream of mercies! 'Twixt the purple lattice-curtains, how she standeth still and pale!

'Tis a vision, sure, of mercies, sent to soften his self-cursesSent to sweep a patient quiet o'er the tossing of his wail.

"Eyes," he said, "now throbbing through me! are ye eyes that did undo me? Shining eyes, like antique jewels set in Parian statue-stone! Underneath that calm white forehead, are ye ever burning torrid

O'er the desolate sand-desert of my heart and life undone?"

Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me,

From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born,

A shepherd all thy life, but yet kingborn,

Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power,

Only, are likest gods, who have attained

Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss

In knowledge of their own supremacy,'

"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die, She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit

Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power

Flattered his spirit; but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazenheaded spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,

The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,

These three alone lead life to sovereign power.

Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for), but to live by law,

Acting the law we live by without fear;

And, because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom in the scorn of conse quence.'