 | Gathered poems of Ernest Myers |  |
31
PHILHELLENE
I
Grant me all the store of knowledge, grant me all the wealth that is,
Swiftly, surely, I would answer, Give me rather, give me this:
Swiftly, surely, I would answer, Give me rather, give me this:
Bear me back across the ages to the years that are no more,
Give me one sweet month of spring-time on the old Saronic shore;
Give me one sweet month of spring-time on the old Saronic shore;
Not as one who marvels mournful, seeing with a sad desire
Shattered temples, crumbling columns, ashes of a holy fire;
Shattered temples, crumbling columns, ashes of a holy fire;
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But a man with men Hellenic doing that which there was done,
There among the sons of Athens, not a stranger but a son.
There among the sons of Athens, not a stranger but a son.
There the blue sea gave them greeting when their triremes' conquering files
Swam superb with rhythmic oarage through the multitude of isles.
Swam superb with rhythmic oarage through the multitude of isles.
There they met the Mede and brake him, beat him to his slavish East;
Who was he, a guest unwished-for bursting on their freeman's feast?
Who was he, a guest unwished-for bursting on their freeman's feast?
There the ancient celebration to the maiden queen of fight
Led the long august procession upward to the pillared height.
Led the long august procession upward to the pillared height.
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Man with man they met together in a kindly life and free,
And their gods were near about them in the sunlight or the sea.
And their gods were near about them in the sunlight or the sea.
There the light of hidden Wisdom sprang to their compelling quest;
Ray by ray the dawn from Hellas rose upon the wakening West.
Ray by ray the dawn from Hellas rose upon the wakening West.
Every thought of all their thinking swayed the world for good or ill,
Every pulse of all their life-blood beats across the ages still.
Every pulse of all their life-blood beats across the ages still.
34
II
THE LOST BROTHER AMONG THE NATIONS
He is no more, that brother brave and fair,
Whose living made the whole world glorious;
His wings are closed, and for no sigh or prayer
Shall that bright brother fly again to us.
Whose living made the whole world glorious;
His wings are closed, and for no sigh or prayer
Shall that bright brother fly again to us.
What though the earth hath many a son full strong
To the wide brotherhood of peoples born,
These to a dark and wingless race belong,
And with the mother for their lost one mourn.
To the wide brotherhood of peoples born,
These to a dark and wingless race belong,
And with the mother for their lost one mourn.
Alas, and yet of old time not in vain
The queen of Eryx and Idalion
Wept sore for her Adonis, till again
From the grim flood of envious Acheron
The queen of Eryx and Idalion
Wept sore for her Adonis, till again
From the grim flood of envious Acheron
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The longed-for Hours slow treading, soft and slow,
Bare back her love, delivered from the deep;
But our Adonis no return may know;
He sleeps in silence an unending sleep.
Bare back her love, delivered from the deep;
But our Adonis no return may know;
He sleeps in silence an unending sleep.
Far far away in some enchanted glade,
The world's most secret and most solemn place,
He sleeps unchanging in the twilight shade,
Nor life nor death upon his restful face.
The world's most secret and most solemn place,
He sleeps unchanging in the twilight shade,
Nor life nor death upon his restful face.
Yet some, by grace granted to faithful love,
Are thither rapt to gaze upon the shrine,
Where on his calm couch in the glimmering grove
Lie the bright limbs of the lost boy divine.
Are thither rapt to gaze upon the shrine,
Where on his calm couch in the glimmering grove
Lie the bright limbs of the lost boy divine.
Thenceforth if any time there come to these
Some sweeter melody, some sight more fair,
They dream they catch his call among the trees,
His golden wings upon the whispering air.
Some sweeter melody, some sight more fair,
They dream they catch his call among the trees,
His golden wings upon the whispering air.
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III
Ay, let our fates be such, for such they are:So ordereth the voice oracular
Of the slow-moving, ever-moving years,
Too stern, too kind, to stay them for our fears;
And our own breasts that know a younger age
Our creditor for ampler heritage.
Yet whoso anywhiles hath lingered long
In that high realm of unforgotten song,
This man, methinks, shall never quite set free
His soul from that constraining phantasy;
Still sometimes in a lonely place and fair,
Where the warm south-winds stir the rainy air
And sigh themselves to silence, shall his ear
In that low wistful sighing seem to hear
From dreamy regions of the elder earth
A mournful music sweeter than our mirth;
Some harping of the God of golden head
By Delian waters wakened from the dead,
Some voice of wailing wood-nymphs amorous
Far off, within the folds of Maenalus.
| Gathered poems of Ernest Myers | |