 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
Dyseris
DYSERIS
I am alone at last: what does this mean?
I fear and dare not shape my fear in thought.
I only in this universal joy
Stand brooding with my mantle round my brows:
I only, a mother, with my son new-snatched
From that unknown conclusion and fierce dread,
Loiter to meet him with my sullen feet:
Am I not glad then, nay, I think I am not!
And yet I know that had he died, my sorrow
Would have bit keenly enough: Why this cold mother
Spoke angrily to Simus when he went
About his safety, and now knowing him safe
I care no jot: am I a monster then?
I were a perfect queen, but for one spot
Upon my iron will, that one taint love.
So am I bound to Simus. Strange it is,
That I, whom all obey, should have found one
My master; him I fear because I know not
Whither this man may lead me, on what ways
Of bloody mire, not to be trod of queens.
CHORUS
DYSERIS
I am alone at last: what does this mean?
I fear and dare not shape my fear in thought.
I only in this universal joy
Stand brooding with my mantle round my brows:
I only, a mother, with my son new-snatched
From that unknown conclusion and fierce dread,
Loiter to meet him with my sullen feet:
Am I not glad then, nay, I think I am not!
And yet I know that had he died, my sorrow
Would have bit keenly enough: Why this cold mother
Spoke angrily to Simus when he went
About his safety, and now knowing him safe
I care no jot: am I a monster then?
I were a perfect queen, but for one spot
Upon my iron will, that one taint love.
230
That I, whom all obey, should have found one
My master; him I fear because I know not
Whither this man may lead me, on what ways
Of bloody mire, not to be trod of queens.
CHORUS
O Delian, hear us from the echoing leaves,
From our own Tempe's shore,
Ere dawning on night's blue her purple weaves,
And the large light is flashed on Pindus hoar
As snows in twilight; where the rocks make head
To crowd their terraces in heaven, and shed
Alternate gleam and darkness from afar
Between the moon-set and white Eos' car
Bringing sweet things yet bearing sweet away.
To thee we pray,
Lord of the triumph of the light, give ear.
From our own Tempe's shore,
Ere dawning on night's blue her purple weaves,
And the large light is flashed on Pindus hoar
As snows in twilight; where the rocks make head
To crowd their terraces in heaven, and shed
Alternate gleam and darkness from afar
Between the moon-set and white Eos' car
Bringing sweet things yet bearing sweet away.
To thee we pray,
Lord of the triumph of the light, give ear.
O Delian, hear:
And thou incline, fair sister sphere;
Whose sweetest light
Dissolves the cloud upon thee with delight,
To save thy beaming from the wavey floor.
Hear us before the island rocks are white,
Hear us before the rippled mists are bright,
And all the voices of the light begun,
Where the lark rises ere the mellow sun;
And the rills sparkle all awake to glide
Between the pale star and the beating tide.
And thou incline, fair sister sphere;
Whose sweetest light
Dissolves the cloud upon thee with delight,
To save thy beaming from the wavey floor.
Hear us before the island rocks are white,
Hear us before the rippled mists are bright,
And all the voices of the light begun,
Where the lark rises ere the mellow sun;
And the rills sparkle all awake to glide
Between the pale star and the beating tide.
O, hear us from the dells where thou delayest,
Bright lord. The nereid slumbers in her lair,
Sick with thy love, till thou thy strength arrayest
In the deep morning, thro' the burning air:
Thou goest as a warrior in whose hair
The leaf-bands of thy conquest newly shine.
Thou goest blithely as a lover, where
Her lips await thee with their glows divine,
The fleeting Daphne; whose white breast divides
The laurel branches, thine own fleeting Daphne,
Longing and yet perverse the sweet one hides
Among the osier arches,
Trembling as each ray searches,
And fears thou may'st not find her and pass on.
Is there, O lord, such triumph as thine own?
Light, strength, and speed,
Have builded up thy throne,
A throne indeed.
Thy majesty shall we confine
Within some puny shrine,
Or dream the essence of thy glory may
Inhabit earthly fane,
Who dost the stars disdain,
Or temple dim,
To whom the rounded heaven from belt to rim
Is but sufficient way?
Bright lord. The nereid slumbers in her lair,
Sick with thy love, till thou thy strength arrayest
In the deep morning, thro' the burning air:
Thou goest as a warrior in whose hair
The leaf-bands of thy conquest newly shine.
Thou goest blithely as a lover, where
Her lips await thee with their glows divine,
The fleeting Daphne; whose white breast divides
The laurel branches, thine own fleeting Daphne,
Longing and yet perverse the sweet one hides
Among the osier arches,
Trembling as each ray searches,
And fears thou may'st not find her and pass on.
231
Light, strength, and speed,
Have builded up thy throne,
A throne indeed.
Thy majesty shall we confine
Within some puny shrine,
Or dream the essence of thy glory may
Inhabit earthly fane,
Who dost the stars disdain,
Or temple dim,
To whom the rounded heaven from belt to rim
Is but sufficient way?
Still, Phœbus, to thy throne our vows be paid;
Nor let blue incense fail,
Nor choral song,
Because, O king of triumph, thou hast made
Our king prevail:
And with thy breath hast made him very strong
To conquer, as to thee, king, rightly doth belong.
Therefore our city throngs to sing
Its pæan unto thee,
Seed of our ancient kings, a king
Thyself, Orestes, as a king should be.
Who, taking vengeance, made it so complete,
That we must fling these flowers about thy feet,
And gird thy sword with wreath, thy brow with bays;
Therefore entreat we Phœbus, that this town,
Helmed by thy hand and fenced with thy renown,
May taste sweet ease and length of peaceful days.
Nor let blue incense fail,
Nor choral song,
Because, O king of triumph, thou hast made
Our king prevail:
And with thy breath hast made him very strong
To conquer, as to thee, king, rightly doth belong.
Therefore our city throngs to sing
Its pæan unto thee,
Seed of our ancient kings, a king
Thyself, Orestes, as a king should be.
Who, taking vengeance, made it so complete,
That we must fling these flowers about thy feet,
And gird thy sword with wreath, thy brow with bays;
Therefore entreat we Phœbus, that this town,
Helmed by thy hand and fenced with thy renown,
May taste sweet ease and length of peaceful days.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |