Let no man move his bones.

As for Samaria, her king is cut off like the foam upon the water.[63]

But nothing of this is actually told or pointed out, and the expressions, as they stand, are perfectly severe and accurate, utterly uninfluenced by the firmly governed emotion of the writer.  Even the word “mock” is hardly an exception, as it may stand merely for “deceive” or “defeat,” without implying any impersonation of the waves.

It may be well, perhaps, to give one or two more instances to show the peculiar dignity possessed by all passages, which thus limit their expression to the pure fact, and leave the hearer to gather what he can from it.  Here is a notable one from the Iliad.  Helen, looking from the Scaean gate of Troy over the Grecian host, and telling Priam the names of its captains, says at last:—­

“I see all the other dark-eyed Greeks; but two I cannot see,—­Castor and Pollux,—­whom one mother bore with me.  Have they not followed from fair Lacedaemon, or have they indeed come in their sea-wandering ships, but now will not enter into the battle of men, fearing the shame and the scorn that is in Me?”

Then Homer:—­

    “So she spoke.  But them, already, the life-giving earth possessed,
    there in Lacedaemon, in the dear fatherland."[64]

Note, here, the high poetical truth carried to the extreme.  The poet has to speak of the earth in sadness, but he will not let that sadness affect or change his thoughts of it.  No; though Castor and Pollux be dead, yet the earth is our mother still, fruitful, life-giving.  These are the facts of the thing.  I see nothing else than these.  Make what you will of them.

Take another very notable instance from Casimir de la Vigne’s terrible ballad, “La Toilette de Constance.”  I must quote a few lines out of it here and there, to enable the reader who has not the book by him, to understand its close.

“Vite, Anna! vite; au miroir! 
Plus vite, Anna.  L’heure s’avance,
Et je vais au bal ce soir
Chez l’ambassadeur de France.

“Y pensez-vous? ils sont fanes, ces noeuds;
Ils sont d’hier; mon Dieu, comme tout passe! 
Que du reseau qui retient mes cheveux
Les glands d’azur retombent avec grace. 
Plus haut!  Plus bas!  Vous ne comprenez rien! 
Que sur mon front ce saphir etincelle: 
Vous me piquez, maladroite.  Ah, c’est bien,
Bien,—­chere Anna!  Je t’aime, je suis belle.”

“Celui qu’en vain je voudrais oublier ... 
(Anna, ma robe) il y sera, j’espere. 
(Ah, fi! profane, est-ce la mon collier? 
Quoi! ces grains d’or benits par le Saint-Pere!)
II y sera; Dieu, s’il pressait ma main,
En y pensant a peine je respire: 
Frere Anselmo doit m’entendre demain,
Comment ferai-je, Anna, pour tout lui dire?...

“Vite! un coup d’oeil au miroir,
Le dernier.—­J’ai l’assurance
Qu’on va m’adorer ce soir
Chez l’ambassadeur de France.”