Ashtaroth is justly forgotten. I adore Adam Lindsay Gordon, even though he was notoriously uneven in his poetry (often writing as the mood took him, using his saddle as a desk sitting under a gum tree). But his other two works of poetry have more highs than lows. This confusing melange of Faust and Childe Harold doesn't cut it. It didn't sell well in 1867, it hasn't sold well since. ( )