The Masque Of Pandora




    HEPHAESTUS (standing before the statue of Pandora.)
    Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's throne,
    Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts
    Of Zeus omnipotent, or other works
    Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus,
    But moulded in soft clay, that unresisting
    Yields itself to the touch, this lovely form
    Before me stands, perfect in every part.
    Not Aphrodite's self appeared more fair,
    When first upwafted by caressing winds
    She came to high Olympus, and the gods
    Paid homage to her beauty.    Thus her hair
    Was cinctured; thus her floating drapery
    Was like a cloud about her, and her face
    Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea.

    Is thy work done, Hephaestus?

    It is finished!

    Not finished till I breathe the breath of life
    Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks.

    Will she become immortal like ourselves?

    The form that thou hast fashioned out of clay
    Is of the earth and mortal; but the spirit,
    The life, the exhalation of my breath,
    Is of diviner essence and immortal.
    The gods shall shower on her their benefactions,
    She shall possess all gifts: the gift of song,
    The gift of eloquence, the gift of beauty,
    The fascination and the nameless charm
    That shall lead all men captive.

    Wherefore? wherefore?

    (A wind shakes the house.)

    I hear the rushing of a mighty wind
    Through all the halls and chambers of my house!
    Her parted lips inhale it, and her bosom
    Heaves with the inspiration.    As a reed
    Beside a river in the rippling current
    Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts her head.
    She gazes round about as if amazed;
    She is alive; she breathes, but yet she speaks not!

    (PANDORA descends from the pedestal.)


    In the workshop of Hephaestus
        What is this I see?
    Have the Gods to four increased us
        Who were only three?
    Beautiful in form and feature,
        Lovely as the day,
    Can there be so fair a creature
        Formed of common clay?

    O sweet, pale face!    O lovely eyes of azure,
        Clear as the waters of a brook that run
        Limpid and laughing in the summer sun!
        O golden hair that like a miser's treasure
    In its abundance overflows the measure!
        O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on
        With the soft, undulating gait of one
        Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure!
    By what name shall I call thee?    Nymph or Muse,
        Callirrhoe or Urania?    Some sweet name
        Whose every syllable is a caress
    Would best befit thee; but I cannot choose,
        Nor do I care to choose; for still the same,
        Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness.

    Dowered with all celestial gifts,
        Skilled in every art
    That ennobles and uplifts
        And delights the heart,
    Fair on earth shall be thy fame
        As thy face is fair,
    And Pandora be the name
        Thou henceforth shalt bear.



    HERMES (putting on his sandals.)
    Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods,
    And I, who am their herald, most of all.
    No rest have I, nor respite.    I no sooner
    Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet,
    Than I again must clasp them, and depart
    Upon some foolish errand.    But to-day
    The errand is not foolish.    Never yet
    With greater joy did I obey the summons
    That sends me earthward.    I will fly so swiftly
    That my caduceus in the whistling air
    Shall make a sound like the Pandaean pipes,
    Cheating the shepherds; for to-day I go,
    Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead
    A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower,
    And by my cunning arguments persuade him
    To marry her.    What mischief lies concealed
    In this design I know not; but I know
    Who thinks of marrying hath already taken
    One step upon the road to penitence.
    Such embassies delight me.    Forth I launch
    On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall
    Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him
    Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery steeds.
    I sink, I fly! The yielding element
    Folds itself round about me like an arm,
    And holds me as a mother holds her child.



    I hear the trumpet of Alectryon
    Proclaim the dawn.    The stars begin to fade,
    And all the heavens are full of prophecies
    And evil auguries.    Blood-red last night
    I saw great Kronos rise; the crescent moon
    Sank through the mist, as if it were the scythe
    His parricidal hand had flung far down
    The western steeps.    O ye Immortal Gods,
    What evil are ye plotting and contriving?

    (HERMES and PANDORA at the threshold.)

    I cannot cross the threshold.    An unseen
    And icy hand repels me.    These blank walls
    Oppress me with their weight!

    Powerful ye are,
    But not omnipotent.    Ye cannot fight
    Against Necessity.    The Fates control you,
    As they do us, and so far we are equals!

    Motionless, passionless, companionless,
    He sits there muttering in his beard.    His voice
    Is like a river flowing underground!

    Prometheus, hail!

    Who calls me?

    It is I.
    Dost thou not know me?

    By thy winged cap
    And winged heels I know thee.    Thou art Hermes,
    Captain of thieves!    Hast thou again been stealing
    The heifers of Admetus in the sweet
    Meadows of asphodel? or Hera's girdle?
    Or the earth-shaking trident of Poseidon?

    And thou, Prometheus; say, hast thou again
    Been stealing fire from Helios' chariot-wheels
    To light thy furnaces?

    Why comest thou hither
    So early in the dawn?

    The Immortal Gods
    Know naught of late or early.    Zeus himself
    The omnipotent hath sent me.

    For what purpose?

    To bring this maiden to thee.

    I mistrust
    The Gods and all their gifts. If they have sent her
    It is for no good purpose.

    What disaster
    Could she bring on thy house, who is a woman?

    The Gods are not my friends, nor am I theirs.
    Whatever comes from them, though in a shape
    As beautiful as this, is evil only.
    Who art thou?

    One who, though to thee unknown,
    Yet knoweth thee.

    How shouldst thou know me, woman?

    Who knoweth not Prometheus the humane?

    Prometheus the unfortunate; to whom
    Both Gods and men have shown themselves ungrateful.
    When every spark was quenched on every hearth
    Throughout the earth, I brought to man the fire
    And all its ministrations.    My reward
    Hath been the rock and vulture.

    But the Gods
    At last relent and pardon.

    They relent not;
    They pardon not; they are implacable,
    Revengeful, unforgiving!

    As a pledge
    Of reconciliation they have sent to thee
    This divine being, to be thy companion,
    And bring into thy melancholy house
    The sunshine and the fragrance of her youth.

    I need them not.    I have within myself
    All that my heart desires; the ideal beauty
    Which the creative faculty of mind
    Fashions and follows in a thousand shapes
    More lovely than the real.    My own thoughts
    Are my companions; my designs and labors
    And aspirations are my only friends.

    Decide not rashly.    The decision made
    Can never be recalled.    The Gods implore not,
    Plead not, solicit not; they only offer
    Choice and occasion, which once being passed
    Return no more.    Dost thou accept the gift?

    No gift of theirs, in whatsoever shape
    It comes to me, with whatsoever charm
    To fascinate my sense, will I receive.
    Leave me.

    Let us go hence.    I will not stay.

    We leave thee to thy vacant dreams, and all
    The silence and the solitude of thought,
    The endless bitterness of unbelief,
    The loneliness of existence without love.


    How the Titan, the defiant,
    The self-centred, self-reliant,
    Wrapped in visions and illusions,
    Robs himself of life's best gifts!
    Till by all the storm-winds shaken,
    By the blast of fate o'ertaken,
    Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken,
    In the mists of his confusions
    To the reefs of doom he drifts!

    Sorely tried and sorely tempted,
    From no agonies exempted,
    In the penance of his trial,
    And the discipline of pain;
    Often by illusions cheated,
    Often baffled and defeated
    In the tasks to be completed,
    He, by toil and self-denial,
    To the highest shall attain.

    Tempt no more the noble schemer;
    Bear unto some idle dreamer
    This new toy and fascination,
    This new dalliance and delight!
    To the garden where reposes
    Epimetheus crowned with roses,
    To the door that never closes
    Upon pleasure and temptation,
    Bring this vision of the night!



    HERMES (returning to Olympus.)
    As lonely as the tower that he inhabits,
    As firm and cold as are the crags about him,
    Prometheus stands.    The thunderbolts of Zeus
    Alone can move him; but the tender heart
    Of Epimetheus, burning at white heat,
    Hammers and flames like all his brother's forges!
    Now as an arrow from Hyperion's bow,
    My errand done, I fly, I float, I soar
    Into the air, returning to Olympus.
    O joy of motion!    O delight to cleave
    The infinite realms of space, the liquid ether,
    Through the warm sunshine and the cooling cloud,
    Myself as light as sunbeam or as cloud!
    With one touch of my swift and winged feet,
    I spurn the solid earth, and leave it rocking
    As rocks the bough from which a bird takes wing.



    Beautiful apparition! go not hence!
    Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy voice
    Is a celestial melody, and thy form
    Self-poised as if it floated on the air!

    No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly birth,
    But a mere woman fashioned out of clay
    And mortal as the rest.

    Thy face is fair;
    There is a wonder in thine azure eyes
    That fascinates me.    Thy whole presence seems
    A soft desire, a breathing thought of love.
    Say, would thy star like Merope's grow dim
    If thou shouldst wed beneath thee?

    Ask me not;
    I cannot answer thee.    I only know
    The Gods have sent me hither.

    I believe,
    And thus believing am most fortunate.
    It was not Hermes led thee here, but Eros,
    And swifter than his arrows were thine eyes
    In wounding me.    There was no moment's space
    Between my seeing thee and loving thee.
    O, what a telltale face thou hast!    Again
    I see the wonder in thy tender eyes.

    They do but answer to the love in thine,
    Yet secretly I wonder thou shouldst love me.
    Thou knowest me not.

    Perhaps I know thee better
    Than had I known thee longer.    Yet it seems
    That I have always known thee, and but now
    Have found thee.    Ah, I have been waiting long.

    How beautiful is this house!    The atmosphere
    Breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers
    Seem full of welcomes.

    They not only seem,
    But truly are.    This dwelling and its master
    Belong to thee.

    Here let me stay forever!
    There is a spell upon me.

    Thou thyself
    Art the enchantress, and I feel thy power
    Envelop me, and wrap my soul and sense
    In an Elysian dream.

    O, let me stay.
    How beautiful are all things round about me,
    Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls!
    What treasures hast thou here!    Yon oaken chest,
    Carven with figures and embossed with gold,
    Is wonderful to look upon!    What choice
    And precious things dost thou keep hidden in it?

    I know not.    'T is a mystery.

    Hast thou never
    Lifted the lid?

    The oracle forbids.
    Safely concealed there from all mortal eyes
    Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods.
    Seek not to know what they have hidden from thee,
    Till they themselves reveal it.

    As thou wilt.

    Let us go forth from this mysterious place.
    The garden walks are pleasant at this hour;
    The nightingales among the sheltering boughs
    Of populous and many-nested trees
    Shall teach me how to woo thee, and shall tell me
    By what resistless charms or incantations
    They won their mates.

    Thou dost not need a teacher.

    (They go out.)

    What the Immortals
    Confide to thy keeping,
    Tell unto no man;
    Waking or sleeping,
    Closed be thy portals
    To friend as to foeman.

    Silence conceals it;
    The word that is spoken
    Betrays and reveals it;
    By breath or by token
    The charm may be broken.

    With shafts of their splendors
    The Gods unforgiving
    Pursue the offenders,
    The dead and the living!
    Fortune forsakes them,
    Nor earth shall abide them,
    Nor Tartarus hide them;
    Swift wrath overtakes them!

    With useless endeavor,
    Forever, forever,
    Is Sisyphus rolling
    His stone up the mountain!
    Immersed in the fountain,
    Tantalus tastes not
    The water that wastes not!
    Through ages increasing
    The pangs that afflict him,
    With motion unceasing
    The wheel of Ixion
    Shall torture its victim!



    Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether
    Is but the sovereign Zeus, who like a swan
    Flies to fair-ankled Leda!

    Or perchance
    Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of Hera,
    That bore the Centaurs.

    The divine and human.

    Gently swaying to and fro,
    Rocked by all the winds that blow,
    Bright with sunshine from above
    Dark with shadow from below,
    Beak to beak and breast to breast
    In the cradle of their nest,
    Lie the fledglings of our love.

    Love! love!

    Hark! listen!    Hear how sweetly overhead
    The feathered flute-players pipe their songs of love,
    And echo answers, love and only love.

    Every flutter of the wing,
    Every note of song we sing,
    Every murmur, every tone,
    Is of love and love alone.

    Love alone!

    Who would not love, if loving she might be
    Changed like Callisto to a star in heaven?

    Ah, who would love, if loving she might be
    Like Semele consumed and burnt to ashes?

    Whence knowest thou these stories?

    Hermes taught me;
    He told me all the history of the Gods.

    Evermore a sound shall be
    In the reeds of Arcady,
    Evermore a low lament
    Of unrest and discontent,
    As the story is retold
    Of the nymph so coy and cold,
    Who with frightened feet outran
    The pursuing steps of Pan.

    The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made,
    And when he plays upon it to the shepherds
    They pity him, so mournful is the sound.
    Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx was.

    Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless.

    PROMETHEUS (without).
    Ho!    Epimetheus!

    'T is my brother's voice;
    A sound unwelcome and inopportune
    As was the braying of Silenus' ass,
    Once heard in Cybele's garden.

    Let me go.
    I would not be found here.    I would not see him.

    (She escapes among the trees.)

    Haste and hide thee,
    Ere too late,
    In these thickets intricate;
    Lest Prometheus
    See and chide thee,
    Lest some hurt
    Or harm betide thee,
    Haste and hide thee!

    PROMETHEUS (entering.)
    Who was it fled from here?    I saw a shape
    Flitting among the trees.

    It was Pandora.

    O Epimetheus!    Is it then in vain
    That I have warned thee?    Let me now implore.
    Thou harborest in thy house a dangerous guest.

    Whom the Gods love they honor with such guests.

    Whom the Gods would destroy they first make mad.

    Shall I refuse the gifts they send to me?

    Reject all gifts that come from higher powers.

    Such gifts as this are not to be rejected.

    Make not thyself the slave of any woman.

    Make not thyself the judge of any man.

    I judge thee not; for thou art more than man;
    Thou art descended from Titanic race,
    And hast a Titan's strength, and faculties
    That make thee godlike; and thou sittest here
    Like Heracles spinning Omphale's flax,
    And beaten with her sandals.

    O my brother!
    Thou drivest me to madness with thy taunts.

    And me thou drivest to madness with thy follies.
    Come with me to my tower on Caucasus:
    See there my forges in the roaring caverns,
    Beneficent to man, and taste the joy
    That springs from labor.    Read with me the stars,
    And learn the virtues that lie hidden in plants,
    And all things that are useful.

    O my brother!
    I am not as thou art.    Thou dost inherit
    Our father's strength, and I our mother's weakness:
    The softness of the Oceanides,
    The yielding nature that cannot resist.

    Because thou wilt not.

    Nay; because I cannot.

    Assert thyself; rise up to thy full height;
    Shake from thy soul these dreams effeminate,
    These passions born of indolence and ease.
    Resolve, and thou art free.    But breathe the air
    Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits
    Will lift thee to the level of themselves.

    The roar of forests and of waterfalls,
    The rushing of a mighty wind, with loud
    And undistinguishable voices calling,
    Are in my ear!

    O, listen and obey.

    Thou leadest me as a child, I follow thee.

    (They go out.)

    Centuries old are the mountains;
    Their foreheads wrinkled and rifted
    Helios crowns by day,
    Pallid Selene by night;
    From their bosoms uptossed
    The snows are driven and drifted,
    Like Tithonus' beard
    Streaming dishevelled and white.

    Thunder and tempest of wind
    Their trumpets blow in the vastness;
    Phantoms of mist and rain,
    Cloud and the shadow of cloud,
    Pass and repass by the gates
    Of their inaccessible fastness;
    Ever unmoved they stand,
    Solemn, eternal, and proud,

    Flooded by rain and snow
    In their inexhaustible sources,
    Swollen by affluent streams
    Hurrying onward and hurled
    Headlong over the crags,
    The impetuous water-courses,
    Rush and roar and plunge
    Down to the nethermost world.

    Say, have the solid rocks
    Into streams of silver been melted,
    Flowing over the plains,
    Spreading to lakes in the fields?
    Or have the mountains, the giants,
    The ice-helmed, the forest-belted,
    Scattered their arms abroad;
    Flung in the meadows their shields?

    High on their turreted cliffs
    That bolts of thunder have shattered,
    Storm-winds muster and blow
    Trumpets of terrible breath;
    Then from the gateways rush,
    And before them routed and scattered
    Sullen the cloud-rack flies,
    Pale with the pallor of death.

    Onward the hurricane rides,
    And flee for shelter the shepherds;
    White are the frightened leaves,
    Harvests with terror are white;
    Panic seizes the herds,
    And even the lions and leopards,
    Prowling no longer for prey,
    Crouch in their caverns with fright.

    Guarding the mountains around
    Majestic the forests are standing,
    Bright are their crested helms,
    Dark is their armor of leaves;
    Filled with the breath of freedom
    Each bosom subsiding, expanding,
    Now like the ocean sinks,
    Now like the ocean upheaves.

    Planted firm on the rock,
    With foreheads stern and defiant,
    Loud they shout to the winds,
    Loud to the tempest they call;
    Naught but Olympian thunders,
    That blasted Titan and Giant,
    Them can uproot and o'erthrow,
    Shaking the earth with their fall.

    These are the Voices Three
    Of winds and forests and fountains,
    Voices of earth and of air,
    Murmur and rushing of streams,
    Making together one sound,
    The mysterious voice of the mountains,
    Waking the sluggard that sleeps,
    Waking the dreamer of dreams.

    These are the Voices Three,
    That speak of endless endeavor,
    Speak of endurance and strength,
    Triumph and fulness of fame,
    Sounding about the world,
    An inspiration forever,
    Stirring the hearts of men,
    Shaping their end and their aim.



    Left to myself I wander as I will,
    And as my fancy leads me, through this house,
    Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete
    Were I indeed the Goddess that he deems me.
    No mansion of Olympus, framed to be
    The habitation of the Immortal Gods,
    Can be more beautiful.    And this is mine
    And more than this, the love wherewith he crowns me.
    As if impelled by powers invisible
    And irresistible, my steps return
    Unto this spacious hall.    All corridors
    And passages lead hither, and all doors
    But open into it.    Yon mysterious chest
    Attracts and fascinates me.    Would I knew
    What there lies hidden!    But the oracle
    Forbids.    Ah me!    The secret then is safe.
    So would it be if it were in my keeping.
    A crowd of shadowy faces from the mirrors
    That line these walls are watching me.    I dare not
    Lift up the lid.    A hundred times the act
    Would be repeated, and the secret seen
    By twice a hundred incorporeal eyes.

    (She walks to the other side of the hall.)

    My feet are weary, wandering to and fro,
    My eyes with seeing and my heart with waiting.
    I will lie here and rest till he returns,
    Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios.

    (Throws herself upon a couch, and falls asleep.)

    Come from thy caverns dark and deep.
    O son of Erebus and Night;
    All sense of hearing and of sight
    Enfold in the serene delight
    And quietude of sleep!

    Set all the silent sentinels
    To bar and guard the Ivory Gate,
    And keep the evil dreams of fate
    And falsehood and infernal hate
    Imprisoned in their cells.

    But open wide the Gate of Horn,
    Whence, beautiful as planets, rise
    The dreams of truth, with starry eyes,
    And all the wondrous prophecies
    And visions of the morn.

         Ye sentinels of sleep,
         It is in vain ye keep
    Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate;
         Though closed the portal seems,
         The airy feet of dreams
    Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate.

         We phantoms are and dreams
         Born by Tartarean streams,
    As ministers of the infernal powers;
         O son of Erebus
         And Night, behold! we thus
    Elude your watchful warders on the towers!

         From gloomy Tartarus
         The Fates have summoned us
    To whisper in her ear, who lies asleep,
         A tale to fan the fire
         Of her insane desire
    To know a secret that the Gods would keep.

         This passion, in their ire,
         The Gods themselves inspire,
    To vex mankind with evils manifold,
         So that disease and pain
         O'er the whole earth may reign,
    And nevermore return the Age of Gold.

    PANDORA (waking).
    A voice said in my sleep: "Do not delay:
    Do not delay; the golden moments fly!
    The oracle hath forbidden; yet not thee
    Doth it forbid, but Epimetheus only!"
    I am alone.    These faces in the mirrors
    Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself;
    They cannot help nor hinder.    No one sees me,
    Save the all-seeing Gods, who, knowing good
    And knowing evil, have created me
    Such as I am, and filled me with desire
    Of knowing good and evil like themselves.

    (She approaches the chest.)

    I hesitate no longer.    Weal or woe,
    Or life or death, the moment shall decide.

    (She lifts the lid.    A dense mist rises from
    the chest, and fills the room.    PANDORA
    falls senseless on the floor.    Storm without.)

    Yes, the moment shall decide!
    It already hath decided;
    And the secret once confided
    To the keeping of the Titan
    Now is flying far and wide,
    Whispered, told on every side,
    To disquiet and to frighten.

    Fever of the heart and brain,
    Sorrow, pestilence, and pain,
    Moans of anguish, maniac laughter,
    All the evils that hereafter
    Shall afflict and vex mankind,
    All into the air have risen
    From the chambers of their prison;
    Only Hope remains behind.



    The storm is past, but it hath left behind it
    Ruin and desolation.    All the walks
    Are strewn with shattered boughs; the birds are silent;
    The flowers, downtrodden by the wind, lie dead;
    The swollen rivulet sobs with secret pain,
    The melancholy reeds whisper together
    As if some dreadful deed had been committed
    They dare not name, and all the air is heavy
    With an unspoken sorrow!    Premonitions,
    Foreshadowings of some terrible disaster
    Oppress my heart.    Ye Gods, avert the omen!

    PANDORA (coming from the house).
    O Epimetheus, I no longer dare
    To lift mine eyes to thine, nor hear thy voice,
    Being no longer worthy of thy love.

    What hast thou done?

    Forgive me not, but kill me.

    What hast thou done?

    I pray for death, not pardon.

    What hast thou done?

    I dare not speak of it.

    Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me!

    I have brought wrath and ruin on thy house!
    My heart hath braved the oracle that guarded
    The fatal secret from us, and my hand
    Lifted the lid of the mysterious chest!

    Then all is lost!    I am indeed undone.

    I pray for punishment, and not for pardon.

    Mine is the fault not thine.    On me shall fall
    The vengeance of the Gods, for I betrayed
    Their secret when, in evil hour, I said
    It was a secret; when, in evil hour,
    I left thee here alone to this temptation.
    Why did I leave thee?

    Why didst thou return?
    Eternal absence would have been to me
    The greatest punishment.    To be left alone
    And face to face with my own crime, had been
    Just retribution.    Upon me, ye Gods,
    Let all your vengeance fall!

    On thee and me.
    I do not love thee less for what is done,
    And cannot be undone.    Thy very weakness
    Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth
    My love will have a sense of pity in it,
    Making it less a worship than before.

    Pity me not; pity is degradation.
    Love me and kill me.

    Beautiful Pandora!
    Thou art a Goddess still!

    I am a woman;
    And the insurgent demon in my nature,
    That made me brave the oracle, revolts
    At pity and compassion.    Let me die;
    What else remains for me?

    Youth, hope, and love:
    To build a new life on a ruined life,
    To make the future fairer than the past,
    And make the past appear a troubled dream.
    Even now in passing through the garden walks
    Upon the ground I saw a fallen nest
    Ruined and full of rain; and over me
    Beheld the uncomplaining birds already
    Busy in building a new habitation.

    Auspicious omen!

    May the Eumenides
    Put out their torches and behold us not,
    And fling away their whips of scorpions
    And touch us not.

    Me let them punish.
    Only through punishment of our evil deeds,
    Only through suffering, are we reconciled
    To the immortal Gods and to ourselves.

         Never shall souls like these
         Escape the Eumenides,
    The daughters dark of Acheron and Night!
         Unquenched our torches glare,
         Our scourges in the air
    Send forth prophetic sounds before they smite.

         Never by lapse of time
         The soul defaced by crime
    Into its former self returns again;
         For every guilty deed
         Holds in itself the seed
    Of retribution and undying pain.

         Never shall be the loss
         Restored, till Helios
    Hath purified them with his heavenly fires;
         Then what was lost is won,
         And the new life begun,
    Kindled with nobler passions and desires.


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Add The Masque Of Pandora to your library.

Return to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Meeting

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