I.

A Hamadryad Dies.

Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills;

The Naiad murmured and the Dryad moaned;

The meadow-maiden left her daffodils

To join the Hamadryades who groaned

Over a sister newly fallen dead.

That Life might perish out of Arcady

From immemorial times was never said;

Yet here one lay dead by her dead oak-tree.

“Who made our Hamadryad cold and mute?”

The others cried in sorrow and in wonder.

“I,” answered Death, close by in ashen suit;

“Yet fear not me for this, nor start asunder;

Arcadian life shall keep its ancient zest

Though I be here. My name?— is it not Rest?”