John William Mackail

Even as when the maid of Pandarus The greenwood nightingale melodious, Amid the thickening leafage sits and sings When the young spring is waving over us:And she with many a note and hurrying trill Pours forth her liquid voice, lamenting …

Saw you perchance before the Trojan wall A sister's husband or wife's father fall, A valiant man? for next one's kin and blood Is such affinity most close of all:Or one knit close to you in friendship's bands, Gracious of heart and mighty …

And the sun left the lovely lake and clomb Upward across the sky's brass-paven dome, To light the deathless gods, and mortal men That have the acres of the corn for home.

O Muse, instruct me of the man who drew His changeful course through wanderings not a few After he sacked the holy town of Troy, And saw the cities and the counsel knewOf many men, and many a time at sea Within his heart he bore calamity, …

The soul beyond her knowing seems to sweep Out of the deep, fire-winged, into the deep.

Still . . . fair, though scarce less old than Rome. Now once again at rest from wandering Across the high Alps and the dreadful sea, In utmost England let it find a home.