No More Learning

Only, only one, I know:
Apollo's son was he,
Who healed men long ago.
Were he but on earth to see,
She would rise from the dark below
And the gates of eternity.
For men whom the Gods had slain
He pitied and raised again;
Till God's fire laid him low,
And now, what help have we?

OTHERS.
All's done that can be. Every vow
Full paid; and every altar's brow
Full crowned with spice of sacrifice.
No help remains nor respite now.

_Enter from the Castle a_ HANDMAID, _almost in tears. _

LEADER.
But see, a handmaid cometh, and the tear
Wet on her cheek! What tiding shall we hear? . . .
Thy grief is natural, daughter, if some ill
Hath fallen to-day.
Say, is she living still
Or dead, your mistress? Speak, if speak you may.

MAID.
Alive. No, dead. . . . Oh, read it either way.

LEADER.
Nay, daughter, can the same soul live and die?

MAID.
Her life is broken; death is in her eye.

LEADER.
Poor King, to think what she was, and what thou!

MAID.