 | Forest Songs and Other Poems |  |
101
TO THE ALBANI ATHENA.
What was he, man or more, whose valorous brainEndured anew the throes of Zeus, and wrought
Glad self-deliverance when this virgin thought
Leaped forth full-armed to ease creation's pain?
Waste is that womb of gods; thou dost remain
Orphaned, alone. So stood grave Pallas, fraught
With radiant power, and gazed her foes to naught,
Calm sentinel of her Athenian fane!
August, serene, austere, thou marble dream
Of her, the holiest life of living Greece,
Terrible Maid! did thy creator bow
In a sublime abasement, when the beam
Of thy full beauty awed his hand to cease—
Transfigured by stern love—as I do now?
| Forest Songs and Other Poems | |