 | Orion |  |
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BOOK III.
101
CANTO THE FIRST.
There is an age of action in the world;
An age of thought; lastly, an age of both,
When thought guides action and men know themselves,
What they would have, and how to compass it.
Yet are not these great periods so distinct
Each from the other,—or from all the rest
Of intermediate degrees and powers,
Cut off,—but that strong links of nature run
Throughout, and prove one central heart, wherein
Time beats twin-pulses with Humanity.
In every age an emblem and a type,
Premature, single, ending with itself,
Of loftier being in an after-time,
May germinate, develope, radiate,
And, like a star go out, and leave no mark
Save a high memory. One such is our theme.
An age of thought; lastly, an age of both,
When thought guides action and men know themselves,
What they would have, and how to compass it.
Yet are not these great periods so distinct
Each from the other,—or from all the rest
Of intermediate degrees and powers,
Cut off,—but that strong links of nature run
Throughout, and prove one central heart, wherein
Time beats twin-pulses with Humanity.
In every age an emblem and a type,
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Of loftier being in an after-time,
May germinate, develope, radiate,
And, like a star go out, and leave no mark
Save a high memory. One such is our theme.
The wisdom of mankind creeps slowly on,
Subject to every doubt than can retard,
Or fling it back upon an earlier time;
So timid are man's footsteps in the dark,
But blindest those who have no inward light.
One mind, perchance, in every age contains
The sum of all before, and much to come;
Much that's far distant still; but that full mind,
Companioned oft by others of like scope,
Belief, and tendency, and anxious will,
A circle small transpierces and illumes:
Expanding, soon its subtle radiance
Falls blunted from the mass of flesh and bone.
The man who for his race might supersede
The work of ages, dies worn out—not used,
And in his track disciples onward strive,
Some hairs'-breadths only from his starting-point:
Yet lives he not in vain; for if his soul
Hath entered others, though imperfectly,
The circle widens as the world spins round,—
His soul works on while he sleeps 'neath the grass.
So, let the firm Philosopher renew
His wasted lamp—the lamp wastes not in vain,
Though he no mirrors for its rays may see,
Nor trace them through the darkness;—let the Hand
Which feels primeval impulses, direct
A forthright plough, and make his furrow broad,
With heart untiring while one field remains;
So, let the herald Poet shed his thoughts,
Like seeds that seem but lost upon the wind.
Work in the night, thou sage, while Mammon's brain
Teems with low visions on his couch of down;—
Break, thou, the clods while high-throned Vanity,
Midst glaring lights and trumpets, holds its court;—
Sing, thou, thy song amidst the stoning crowd,
Then stand apart, obscure to man, with God.
The poet of the future knows his place,
Though in the present shady be his seat,
And all his laurels deepening but the shade.
Subject to every doubt than can retard,
Or fling it back upon an earlier time;
So timid are man's footsteps in the dark,
But blindest those who have no inward light.
One mind, perchance, in every age contains
The sum of all before, and much to come;
Much that's far distant still; but that full mind,
Companioned oft by others of like scope,
Belief, and tendency, and anxious will,
A circle small transpierces and illumes:
Expanding, soon its subtle radiance
Falls blunted from the mass of flesh and bone.
The man who for his race might supersede
The work of ages, dies worn out—not used,
And in his track disciples onward strive,
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Yet lives he not in vain; for if his soul
Hath entered others, though imperfectly,
The circle widens as the world spins round,—
His soul works on while he sleeps 'neath the grass.
So, let the firm Philosopher renew
His wasted lamp—the lamp wastes not in vain,
Though he no mirrors for its rays may see,
Nor trace them through the darkness;—let the Hand
Which feels primeval impulses, direct
A forthright plough, and make his furrow broad,
With heart untiring while one field remains;
So, let the herald Poet shed his thoughts,
Like seeds that seem but lost upon the wind.
Work in the night, thou sage, while Mammon's brain
Teems with low visions on his couch of down;—
Break, thou, the clods while high-throned Vanity,
Midst glaring lights and trumpets, holds its court;—
Sing, thou, thy song amidst the stoning crowd,
Then stand apart, obscure to man, with God.
The poet of the future knows his place,
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And all his laurels deepening but the shade.
But what is yonder vague and uncouth shape,
That like a burthened giant bending moves,
With outspread arms groping its upward way
Along a misty hill? In the blear shades,
Sad twilight, and thick dews darkening the paths
Whereon the slow dawn hath not yet advanced
A chilly foot, nor tinged the colourless air—
The labouring figure fades as it ascends.
That like a burthened giant bending moves,
With outspread arms groping its upward way
Along a misty hill? In the blear shades,
Sad twilight, and thick dews darkening the paths
Whereon the slow dawn hath not yet advanced
A chilly foot, nor tinged the colourless air—
The labouring figure fades as it ascends.
'T was he, the giant builder-up of things,
And of himself, now blind; the worker great,
Who sees no more the substance near his hands,
Nor in them, nor the objects that his mind
Desires and would embody. All is dark.
It is Orion now bereft of sight,
Whose eyes aspired to luminous designs.
The sun and moon and stars are blotted out,
With their familiar glories, which become
Henceforth like chronicles remote. The earth
Forbids him to cleave deep and trace her roots,
And veins, and quarries: Whose wide purposes
Are narrowed now into the safest path:
Whose lofty visions are all packed in his brain,
As though the heavens no further could unfold
Their wonders, but turned inward on themselves;
Like a bright flower that closes in the night
For the last time, and dreams of by-gone suns
Ne'er to be clasped again: Thou art reduced
To ask for sympathy and to need help;
Stooping to pluck up pity from all soils—
Bitterest of roots that round Pride's temple grow—
Losing self-centred power, and in its place
Pressed with humiliation almost down:
Whose soul had in one passion been absorbed,
Which, though illimitable in itself,
Profound and primal, yet had wrapped him round
Beyond advance, or further use of hand,
Purpose and service to the needy earth:
Whose passion, being less than his true scope,
Had lowered his life and quelled aspiring dreams,
But that it led to blindness and distress,
Self-pride's abasement, more extensive truth,
A higher consciousness and efforts new.
And of himself, now blind; the worker great,
Who sees no more the substance near his hands,
Nor in them, nor the objects that his mind
Desires and would embody. All is dark.
It is Orion now bereft of sight,
Whose eyes aspired to luminous designs.
The sun and moon and stars are blotted out,
With their familiar glories, which become
Henceforth like chronicles remote. The earth
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And veins, and quarries: Whose wide purposes
Are narrowed now into the safest path:
Whose lofty visions are all packed in his brain,
As though the heavens no further could unfold
Their wonders, but turned inward on themselves;
Like a bright flower that closes in the night
For the last time, and dreams of by-gone suns
Ne'er to be clasped again: Thou art reduced
To ask for sympathy and to need help;
Stooping to pluck up pity from all soils—
Bitterest of roots that round Pride's temple grow—
Losing self-centred power, and in its place
Pressed with humiliation almost down:
Whose soul had in one passion been absorbed,
Which, though illimitable in itself,
Profound and primal, yet had wrapped him round
Beyond advance, or further use of hand,
Purpose and service to the needy earth:
Whose passion, being less than his true scope,
Had lowered his life and quelled aspiring dreams,
But that it led to blindness and distress,
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A higher consciousness and efforts new.
In that dark hour when anguished he awoke,
Orion from the sea-shore made his way,
Feeling from cliff to cliff, from tree to tree,
Guided by knowledge of the varied tracks
Of land,—the rocks, the mounds of fern, the grass,
That 'neath his feet made known each spot he passed—
Hill, vale, and woodland; till he reached the caves,
Once his rude happy dwelling. All was silent.
Rhexergon and Biastor were abroad,
Searching the jasper quarries for a lynx
That had escaped the wreck. Deeply he sighed.
The quiet freshness came upon his heart,
Not sweetly, but with aching sense of loss.
He felt his way, and listened at the cave
Of Akinetos, whom he heard within
Sing to himself. And Akinetos rose,—
Perceiving he was blind—and with slow care
Rolled forth a stone, and placed him by his side.
Orion from the sea-shore made his way,
Feeling from cliff to cliff, from tree to tree,
Guided by knowledge of the varied tracks
Of land,—the rocks, the mounds of fern, the grass,
That 'neath his feet made known each spot he passed—
Hill, vale, and woodland; till he reached the caves,
Once his rude happy dwelling. All was silent.
Rhexergon and Biastor were abroad,
Searching the jasper quarries for a lynx
That had escaped the wreck. Deeply he sighed.
The quiet freshness came upon his heart,
Not sweetly, but with aching sense of loss.
He felt his way, and listened at the cave
Of Akinetos, whom he heard within
Sing to himself. And Akinetos rose,—
Perceiving he was blind—and with slow care
Rolled forth a stone, and placed him by his side.
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Orion's tale soon closed; its outward acts
And sad results were all that he could speak:
The rest writhed inwardly, and—like the leads
That sink the nets and all the struggles hide,
Till a strong hand drags forth the prize—his words
Kept down the torment, uttered all within
In hurrying anguish. Yet the clear, cold eye,
Grey, deep-set, steady, of the Great Unmoved,
Saw much of this beneath, and thus he spake.
And sad results were all that he could speak:
The rest writhed inwardly, and—like the leads
That sink the nets and all the struggles hide,
Till a strong hand drags forth the prize—his words
Kept down the torment, uttered all within
In hurrying anguish. Yet the clear, cold eye,
Grey, deep-set, steady, of the Great Unmoved,
Saw much of this beneath, and thus he spake.
‘My son, why wouldst thou ever work and build,
And so bestir thyself, when certain grief,
Mischief, or error, and not seldom death,
Follows on all that individual will
Can of itself attain? I told thee this:
Nor for reproach repeat it, but to soothe
Thy mind with consciousness that not in thee
Was failure born. Its law preceded thine:
It governs every act, which needs must fail—
I mean, give place—to make room for the next.
Each thinks he fails, because he thinks himself
A chain and centre, not a link that runs
In large and complex circles, all unknown.
Sit still. Remain with me. No difference
Will in the world be found: 't will know no change,
Be sure. Say that an act hath been ordained?
Some hand must do it: therefore do not move:
An instrument of action must be found,
And you escape both toil and consequence,
Which run their rounds with restless fools; for ever
One act leads to another, and disturbs
Man's rest, and Reason—which foresees no end.’
And so bestir thyself, when certain grief,
Mischief, or error, and not seldom death,
Follows on all that individual will
Can of itself attain? I told thee this:
Nor for reproach repeat it, but to soothe
Thy mind with consciousness that not in thee
Was failure born. Its law preceded thine:
It governs every act, which needs must fail—
I mean, give place—to make room for the next.
Each thinks he fails, because he thinks himself
A chain and centre, not a link that runs
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Sit still. Remain with me. No difference
Will in the world be found: 't will know no change,
Be sure. Say that an act hath been ordained?
Some hand must do it: therefore do not move:
An instrument of action must be found,
And you escape both toil and consequence,
Which run their rounds with restless fools; for ever
One act leads to another, and disturbs
Man's rest, and Reason—which foresees no end.’
‘I feel that thou art wise,’ Orion said;
‘The worker ever comes to thee cast down!
Who with alacrity would frame, toil, build,
If he had wisdom in results, like thee?
Would Strength life's soil upheave, though close it clung,
And heavy, like a spade that digs in clay,
Therein to plant roots certain not to grow?
O miserable man! O fool of hope!
All I have done has wrought me no fixt good,
But grief more bitter as the bliss was sweet,
Because so fleeting. Why did Artemis
Me from my rough and useful life withdraw?
O'er wood and iron I had mastery,
And hunted shadows knowing they were shades.
Since then, my intellect she filled, and taught me
To hunt for lasting truth in the pale moon.
Such proved my love for her; and such hath proved
My love for Meropé, to me now lost.
I will remain here: I will build no more.’
‘The worker ever comes to thee cast down!
Who with alacrity would frame, toil, build,
If he had wisdom in results, like thee?
Would Strength life's soil upheave, though close it clung,
And heavy, like a spade that digs in clay,
Therein to plant roots certain not to grow?
O miserable man! O fool of hope!
All I have done has wrought me no fixt good,
But grief more bitter as the bliss was sweet,
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Me from my rough and useful life withdraw?
O'er wood and iron I had mastery,
And hunted shadows knowing they were shades.
Since then, my intellect she filled, and taught me
To hunt for lasting truth in the pale moon.
Such proved my love for her; and such hath proved
My love for Meropé, to me now lost.
I will remain here: I will build no more.’
He paused: but Akinetos was asleep.
Wherefore Orion at his feet sank down,
Tired of himself, of grief, and all the world,
And also slept. Ere dawn he had a dream:
'T was hopeful, lovely, though of no clear sense.
He said, ‘Methinks it must betoken good;
Some help from Artemis, who may relent,
And think of me as one she sought to lift
To her own sphere of purity; or, indeed,
Some God may deem me worthy of a fate
Better than that which locks up all design
In pausing night. Perchance the dream may bode
That Meropé shall be to me restored,
And I see nature through her death-deep eyes,
And know the glorious mysteries of the grave,
Which, through extremes of blissful passion's life,
Methought I saw. Oh, wherefore am I blind?’
Wherefore Orion at his feet sank down,
Tired of himself, of grief, and all the world,
And also slept. Ere dawn he had a dream:
'T was hopeful, lovely, though of no clear sense.
He said, ‘Methinks it must betoken good;
Some help from Artemis, who may relent,
And think of me as one she sought to lift
To her own sphere of purity; or, indeed,
Some God may deem me worthy of a fate
Better than that which locks up all design
In pausing night. Perchance the dream may bode
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And I see nature through her death-deep eyes,
And know the glorious mysteries of the grave,
Which, through extremes of blissful passion's life,
Methought I saw. Oh, wherefore am I blind?’
‘Abandon all such hopes of Meropé,’
Murmur'd the Great Unmoved: ‘her truth was strong,
First to herself, and through herself to thee,
While that it lasted; but that's done and gone.
How should she love a giant who is blind,
And sees no beauty but the secret heart
Panting in darkness? That is not her world.’
Orion rose erect. ‘She is not false—
Although she may forget. I will go forth:
I may find aid, or cause some help to come
That shall restore my sight.’ The sage replied,
‘Thou'st seen enough already, and too much
For happiness. This passion prematurely
Endeth; and therefore endeth as seems best,
Ere it wear out itself with languor and pain,
Or prostrate all thy mind to its small use—
Far worse, methinks.’ ‘Hast thou,’ Orion cried,
‘No impulses—desires—no promptings kind?’
The sage his memory tasked; then slow replied:
‘Once I gave water to a thirsty plant:
'T was a weak moment with us both. Next morn
It craved the like—but I, for “Nature” calling,
Passed on. It drooped—then died, and rotted soon,
And living things, more highly organized,
With quick eyes and fine horns, reproached my hand
Which had delayed their birth. What wrong we do
By interfering with life's balanced plan!
Do nothing—wait—and all that must come, comes!’
Silent awhile they stood. Orion sighed,
‘I know thy words are wise—’ and went his way.
Murmur'd the Great Unmoved: ‘her truth was strong,
First to herself, and through herself to thee,
While that it lasted; but that's done and gone.
How should she love a giant who is blind,
And sees no beauty but the secret heart
Panting in darkness? That is not her world.’
Orion rose erect. ‘She is not false—
Although she may forget. I will go forth:
I may find aid, or cause some help to come
That shall restore my sight.’ The sage replied,
‘Thou'st seen enough already, and too much
For happiness. This passion prematurely
Endeth; and therefore endeth as seems best,
Ere it wear out itself with languor and pain,
Or prostrate all thy mind to its small use—
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‘No impulses—desires—no promptings kind?’
The sage his memory tasked; then slow replied:
‘Once I gave water to a thirsty plant:
'T was a weak moment with us both. Next morn
It craved the like—but I, for “Nature” calling,
Passed on. It drooped—then died, and rotted soon,
And living things, more highly organized,
With quick eyes and fine horns, reproached my hand
Which had delayed their birth. What wrong we do
By interfering with life's balanced plan!
Do nothing—wait—and all that must come, comes!’
Silent awhile they stood. Orion sighed,
‘I know thy words are wise—’ and went his way.
The blindness of their leader, and his woe,
Now had Rhexergon and Biastor learnt,
And thoughts of plunder cried out for revenge,
Which on Oinopion they proposed to wreak,
And make good pastime round his ruined throne.
‘Revenge is useless,’ Akinetos said:
‘It undoes nothing, and prevents repentance
Which might advantage others.’ Both replied,
‘Thou speakest truth and wisdom;’ and at eve
Departed for the city, bent to choose
Some rebel chieftains for their aid, or slaves,
Or robbers who inhabited the rocks
North of the isle. A great revenge they vowed.
Now had Rhexergon and Biastor learnt,
And thoughts of plunder cried out for revenge,
Which on Oinopion they proposed to wreak,
And make good pastime round his ruined throne.
‘Revenge is useless,’ Akinetos said:
‘It undoes nothing, and prevents repentance
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‘Thou speakest truth and wisdom;’ and at eve
Departed for the city, bent to choose
Some rebel chieftains for their aid, or slaves,
Or robbers who inhabited the rocks
North of the isle. A great revenge they vowed.
And where was Meropé? The cruel deed
Her sire had compassed for Orion's fall,
Smote through her full breast, and at every beat
Entered her heart; nor settled there, but coursed
Through all her veins in anguish. Her despair
Was boundless, many days, until her strength,
Worn with much misery and the need of sleep,
Gave way, and slumber opened 'neath her soul
Like an abyss. The deed, beyond recall,
Was done. She woke, and thought on this with grief.
The cruel separation, and the loss
Of sight, had been completed. Nothing now
Of passion past remained but memory,
Which soon grew painful; and her thoughts oft turned
For some relief, to listen to the songs
That minstrels sang, sent by the youthful King
Of Syros, rich in pastures and in corn.
Beardless he was, dwarf-shaped, and delicate,
Freckled and moled, with saffron tresses fair;
Yet were his minstrels touched with secret fires,
And beauty was the theme of all their lays.
Of her they sang—sole object of desire—
And with rare presents the pale king preferred
His suit for Meropé. Her sire approved;—
Invited him;—he came;—and Meropé
With him departed in a high-beaked ship;
And as it sped along, she closely pressed
The rich globes of her bosom on the side,
O'er which she bent with those black eyes, and gazed
Into the sea that fled beneath her face.
Her sire had compassed for Orion's fall,
Smote through her full breast, and at every beat
Entered her heart; nor settled there, but coursed
Through all her veins in anguish. Her despair
Was boundless, many days, until her strength,
Worn with much misery and the need of sleep,
Gave way, and slumber opened 'neath her soul
Like an abyss. The deed, beyond recall,
Was done. She woke, and thought on this with grief.
The cruel separation, and the loss
Of sight, had been completed. Nothing now
Of passion past remained but memory,
Which soon grew painful; and her thoughts oft turned
For some relief, to listen to the songs
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Of Syros, rich in pastures and in corn.
Beardless he was, dwarf-shaped, and delicate,
Freckled and moled, with saffron tresses fair;
Yet were his minstrels touched with secret fires,
And beauty was the theme of all their lays.
Of her they sang—sole object of desire—
And with rare presents the pale king preferred
His suit for Meropé. Her sire approved;—
Invited him;—he came;—and Meropé
With him departed in a high-beaked ship;
And as it sped along, she closely pressed
The rich globes of her bosom on the side,
O'er which she bent with those black eyes, and gazed
Into the sea that fled beneath her face.
All this Orion heard: his blind eyes wept.
Now was each step a new experiment;
Within him all was care; without, all chance;
Dark doubts sat in his brain; danger prowled round.
He wandered lost and lone, and often prayed,
Standing beside the tree 'neath which he slept,
And would have offered pious sacrifice,
But that himself a victim blindly strayed.
His forehead's dark with wrinkles premature
Of vexing action; his cheek scored all down
With debts of will that never can be paid;
Chagrin, pain, disappointment, and wronged heart.
At length, one day, some shepherd as he passed,
With voice that mingled with the bleat of lambs,
Cried, ‘Seek the source of light!—begin anew!’
Now was each step a new experiment;
Within him all was care; without, all chance;
Dark doubts sat in his brain; danger prowled round.
He wandered lost and lone, and often prayed,
Standing beside the tree 'neath which he slept,
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But that himself a victim blindly strayed.
His forehead's dark with wrinkles premature
Of vexing action; his cheek scored all down
With debts of will that never can be paid;
Chagrin, pain, disappointment, and wronged heart.
At length, one day, some shepherd as he passed,
With voice that mingled with the bleat of lambs,
Cried, ‘Seek the source of light!—begin anew!’
On went he thinking, pausing, listening,
Till sounds smote on his ear, whereby he knew
That near the subterranean palace-gates
Which for Hephaistos he of iron had framed,
His feet approached. He entered there, and found
Brontes, the cyclops, whom he straight besought
His shoulders to ascend, and guide his course
Eastward, to meet the Morning as she rose.
'T was done. Their hazy forms erewhile we saw.
Till sounds smote on his ear, whereby he knew
That near the subterranean palace-gates
Which for Hephaistos he of iron had framed,
His feet approached. He entered there, and found
Brontes, the cyclops, whom he straight besought
His shoulders to ascend, and guide his course
Eastward, to meet the Morning as she rose.
'T was done. Their hazy forms erewhile we saw.
Swift down the misty eastern hill, whose top
Through broken vapours, swooning as they creep
Along the edges into the wide heavens,
Shows Morn's first ruddy gleam, a shape uncouth,
And lumbering forward in half-falls and bounds,
Comes with tossed arms! The Cyclops hoar with rime,
His coarse hair flying, through the wet woods ran,
And in the front of Akinetos' cave,
Shouting the jovial thunder of his life,
Performed a hideous but full-hearted dance.
‘Dance, rocks and forests! Akinetos, dance!
The Worker and the Builder hath his sight!
Ho! ho! come forth—with either eye he sees!
Come forth, O Akinetos! laugh, ye rocks!’
Through broken vapours, swooning as they creep
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Shows Morn's first ruddy gleam, a shape uncouth,
And lumbering forward in half-falls and bounds,
Comes with tossed arms! The Cyclops hoar with rime,
His coarse hair flying, through the wet woods ran,
And in the front of Akinetos' cave,
Shouting the jovial thunder of his life,
Performed a hideous but full-hearted dance.
‘Dance, rocks and forests! Akinetos, dance!
The Worker and the Builder hath his sight!
Ho! ho! come forth—with either eye he sees!
Come forth, O Akinetos! laugh, ye rocks!’
A shadow o'er the face of him who sat
Within that cave, passed,—wrinkling with slight grains
The ledge-like brow, which, though of granite, smoothed,
Not vexed, by ocean's tempests, now relaxed,
As it would say, ‘I pity this return
Of means for seeking fresh distress;’—and then
The broad great features their fixed calm resumed.
Within that cave, passed,—wrinkling with slight grains
The ledge-like brow, which, though of granite, smoothed,
Not vexed, by ocean's tempests, now relaxed,
As it would say, ‘I pity this return
Of means for seeking fresh distress;’—and then
The broad great features their fixed calm resumed.
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'T was thus Orion fared; and this the scene.
Fast through the clouds retiring, the pale orb
Of Artemis a moment seemed to hang
Suspended in a halo, phantom-like,
Over a restless sea of jasper fire,
While bending forward tow'rds the eastern mount,
She gazed and hearkened. Soon the fervent voice
Of one who prayed beneath amid the mist,
Rose thrilling on the air; and onward slow
Her car its voyage held, and waned more pale
And distant, as the prayer ascended heaven.
Fast through the clouds retiring, the pale orb
Of Artemis a moment seemed to hang
Suspended in a halo, phantom-like,
Over a restless sea of jasper fire,
While bending forward tow'rds the eastern mount,
She gazed and hearkened. Soon the fervent voice
Of one who prayed beneath amid the mist,
Rose thrilling on the air; and onward slow
Her car its voyage held, and waned more pale
And distant, as the prayer ascended heaven.
‘Eos! blest Goddess of the Morning, hear
The blind Orion praying on thy hill,
And in thine odorous breath his spirit steep,
That he, the soft gold of thy gleaming hand
Passing across his heavy lids, sealed down
With weight of many nights, and night-like days,
May feel as keenly as a new-born child,
And, through it, learn as purely to behold
The face of nature. Oh, restore my sight!’
The blind Orion praying on thy hill,
And in thine odorous breath his spirit steep,
That he, the soft gold of thy gleaming hand
Passing across his heavy lids, sealed down
With weight of many nights, and night-like days,
May feel as keenly as a new-born child,
And, through it, learn as purely to behold
The face of nature. Oh, restore my sight!’
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His prayer paused tremulous. O'er his brow he felt
A balmy beam, that with its warmth conveyed
Divine suffusion and deep sense of peace
Throughout his being; and amidst a pile,
Far in the distance, gleaming like the bloom
Of almond-trees seen through long floating halls
Of pale ethereal blue and virgin gold,
A Goddess, smiling like a new-blown flower,
Orion saw! And as he gazed he wept.
The tears ran mingling with the morning dews
Down his thick locks. At length once more he spoke.
A balmy beam, that with its warmth conveyed
Divine suffusion and deep sense of peace
Throughout his being; and amidst a pile,
Far in the distance, gleaming like the bloom
Of almond-trees seen through long floating halls
Of pale ethereal blue and virgin gold,
A Goddess, smiling like a new-blown flower,
Orion saw! And as he gazed he wept.
The tears ran mingling with the morning dews
Down his thick locks. At length once more he spoke.
‘Blest Eos! mother of the hopeful star,
Which I, with sweet joy, take into my soul;
Star-rays that first played o'er my blinded orbs,
Even as they glance above the lids of Sleep,
Who else had never known surprise, nor hope,
Nor useful action; Golden Visitant,
So lovely and benign, whose eyes drive home
Night's foulest ghosts, and men as foul; who bring'st
Not only my redemption, but who art
The intermediate beauty that unites
The fierce Sun with the Earth, and moderates
His beams with dews and tenderness and smiles;
O bird-awakener! giver of fresh life,
New hopes, or to old hopes new wings,—receive
Within thy care, one who with many things
Is weary, and though nought in energy
Abated for good work, would seek thine aid
To some fresh course and service for his hand;
Of peace, meantime, and steadfast truth, secure!’
Which I, with sweet joy, take into my soul;
Star-rays that first played o'er my blinded orbs,
Even as they glance above the lids of Sleep,
Who else had never known surprise, nor hope,
Nor useful action; Golden Visitant,
So lovely and benign, whose eyes drive home
Night's foulest ghosts, and men as foul; who bring'st
Not only my redemption, but who art
118
The fierce Sun with the Earth, and moderates
His beams with dews and tenderness and smiles;
O bird-awakener! giver of fresh life,
New hopes, or to old hopes new wings,—receive
Within thy care, one who with many things
Is weary, and though nought in energy
Abated for good work, would seek thine aid
To some fresh course and service for his hand;
Of peace, meantime, and steadfast truth, secure!’
END OF CANTO I.
119
CANTO THE SECOND.
Level with the summit of that eastern mount,
By slow approach, and like a promontory
Which seems to glide and meet a coming ship,
The pale-gold platform of the morning came
Towards the gliding mount. Against a sky
Of delicate purple, snow-bright courts and halls,
Touched with light silvery green, gleaming across,
Fronted by pillars vast, cloud-capitalled.
With shafts of changeful pearl, all reared upon
An isle of clear aerial gold, came floating;
And in the centre, clad in fleecy white,
With lucid lilies in her golden hair,
Eos, sweet Goddess of the Morning, stood.
By slow approach, and like a promontory
Which seems to glide and meet a coming ship,
The pale-gold platform of the morning came
Towards the gliding mount. Against a sky
Of delicate purple, snow-bright courts and halls,
Touched with light silvery green, gleaming across,
Fronted by pillars vast, cloud-capitalled.
With shafts of changeful pearl, all reared upon
An isle of clear aerial gold, came floating;
And in the centre, clad in fleecy white,
With lucid lilies in her golden hair,
Eos, sweet Goddess of the Morning, stood.
120
From the bright peak of that surrounded mount,
One step sufficed to gain the tremulous floor
Whereon the Palace of the Morning shone,
Scarcely a bow-shot distant; but that step,
Orion's humbled and still mortal feet
Dared not adventure. In the Goddess' face
Imploringly he gazed. ‘Advance!’ she said,
In tones more sweet than when some heavenly bird,
Hid in a rosy cloud, its morning hymn
Warbles unseen, wet with delicious dews,
And to earth's flowers, all looking up in prayer,
Tells of the coming bliss. ‘Believe—advance!—
Or, as the spheres move onward with their song
That calls me to awaken other lands,
That moment will escape which ne'er returns.’
Forward Orion stepped: the platform bright
Shook like the reflex of a star in water
Moved by the breeze, throughout its whole expanse;
And even the palace glistened fitfully,
As with electric shiver it sent forth
Odours of flowers divine and all fresh life.
Still stood he where he stepped, nor to return
Attempted. To essay one pace beyond
He felt no power—yet onward he advanced
Safe to the Goddess, who, with hand outstretched,
Into the palace led him. Grace and strength,
With sense of happy change to finer earth,
Freshness of nature, and belief in good,
Came flowing o'er his soul, and he was blest.
One step sufficed to gain the tremulous floor
Whereon the Palace of the Morning shone,
Scarcely a bow-shot distant; but that step,
Orion's humbled and still mortal feet
Dared not adventure. In the Goddess' face
Imploringly he gazed. ‘Advance!’ she said,
In tones more sweet than when some heavenly bird,
Hid in a rosy cloud, its morning hymn
Warbles unseen, wet with delicious dews,
And to earth's flowers, all looking up in prayer,
Tells of the coming bliss. ‘Believe—advance!—
Or, as the spheres move onward with their song
That calls me to awaken other lands,
That moment will escape which ne'er returns.’
Forward Orion stepped: the platform bright
Shook like the reflex of a star in water
Moved by the breeze, throughout its whole expanse;
And even the palace glistened fitfully,
As with electric shiver it sent forth
Odours of flowers divine and all fresh life.
Still stood he where he stepped, nor to return
121
He felt no power—yet onward he advanced
Safe to the Goddess, who, with hand outstretched,
Into the palace led him. Grace and strength,
With sense of happy change to finer earth,
Freshness of nature, and belief in good,
Came flowing o'er his soul, and he was blest.
'T is always morning somewhere in the world,
And Eos rises, circling constantly
The varied regions of mankind. No pause
Of renovation and of freshening rays
She knows, but evermore her love breathes forth
On field and forest, as on human hope,
Health, beauty, power, thought, action, and advance.
All this Orion witnessed, and rejoiced.
The turmoil he had known, the late distress
By loss of passion's object, and of sight,
Were now exchanged for these serene delights
Of contemplation, as the influence
That Eos wrought around for ever, dawned
Upon his vision and his inmost heart,
In sweetness and success. All sympathy
With all fair things that in her circle lay,
She gave, and all received; nor knew of strife;
For from the Sun her cheek its bloom withdrew,
And, ere intolerant noon, the floating realm
Of Eos—queen of the awakening earth—
Was brightening other lands, wherefrom black Night
Her faded chariot down the sky had driven
Behind the sea. Thus from the earth upraised,
And over its tumultuous breast sustained
In peace and tranquil glory—oh blest state!—
Clear-browed Orion, full of thankfulness,
And pure devotion to the Goddess, dwelt
Within the glowing Palace of the Morn.
And Eos rises, circling constantly
The varied regions of mankind. No pause
Of renovation and of freshening rays
She knows, but evermore her love breathes forth
On field and forest, as on human hope,
Health, beauty, power, thought, action, and advance.
All this Orion witnessed, and rejoiced.
The turmoil he had known, the late distress
By loss of passion's object, and of sight,
Were now exchanged for these serene delights
Of contemplation, as the influence
That Eos wrought around for ever, dawned
Upon his vision and his inmost heart,
122
With all fair things that in her circle lay,
She gave, and all received; nor knew of strife;
For from the Sun her cheek its bloom withdrew,
And, ere intolerant noon, the floating realm
Of Eos—queen of the awakening earth—
Was brightening other lands, wherefrom black Night
Her faded chariot down the sky had driven
Behind the sea. Thus from the earth upraised,
And over its tumultuous breast sustained
In peace and tranquil glory—oh blest state!—
Clear-browed Orion, full of thankfulness,
And pure devotion to the Goddess, dwelt
Within the glowing Palace of the Morn.
But these serene airs did not therefore bring
A death-sleep o'er the waves of memory,
Where all its clouds and colours, specks of sails,
Its car-borne Gods, shipwrecks and drowning men,
Passed full in view; yet with a mellowing sense
Ideal, and from pain sublimed. Thus came
Mirrors of nature to him, and full oft
Downward on Chios turned his happy eyes,
With grateful thoughts that o'er life's sorrows wove
The present texture of a sweet content,
Passing all wisdom, or its rarest flower.
He saw the woods, and blessed them for the sake
Of Artemis; the city, and rich gloom
That o'er the cedar forest ever hung,
He also blessed for Meropé; the isle,
And all that dwelt there, he with smiles beheld,—
Nor, it may be, without prophetic thrill
When on Mount Epos turned his parting glance.
There, in an after age, close at its foot,
In the stone level was a basin broad
Scooped out, and central on a low shaft sat
A sage with silver hair, and taught his school,
Where the boy Homer on the stony rim
Sat with the rest around. Bright were his eyes.
A death-sleep o'er the waves of memory,
Where all its clouds and colours, specks of sails,
Its car-borne Gods, shipwrecks and drowning men,
Passed full in view; yet with a mellowing sense
Ideal, and from pain sublimed. Thus came
Mirrors of nature to him, and full oft
123
With grateful thoughts that o'er life's sorrows wove
The present texture of a sweet content,
Passing all wisdom, or its rarest flower.
He saw the woods, and blessed them for the sake
Of Artemis; the city, and rich gloom
That o'er the cedar forest ever hung,
He also blessed for Meropé; the isle,
And all that dwelt there, he with smiles beheld,—
Nor, it may be, without prophetic thrill
When on Mount Epos turned his parting glance.
There, in an after age, close at its foot,
In the stone level was a basin broad
Scooped out, and central on a low shaft sat
A sage with silver hair, and taught his school,
Where the boy Homer on the stony rim
Sat with the rest around. Bright were his eyes.
With re-awakened love, and sight enlarged
For all things beautiful, and nobly true
To the great elements that rule the world,
Orion's mind, left to itself, reviewed
Past knowledge, and of wisdom saw the fruit
Far nearer than before, the path less rough,
The true possession not austere and cold,
But natural in its strength and balance just
Of body and of soul; each to respect,
And to the other minister, and both
Their one harmonious being to employ
For general happiness, and for their own.
Such was the lore which now his thoughts attained,
And he to Eos humbly would display,
Beseeching her response! She only gazed
With a benignant smile upon the earth
That rolled beneath, and rendered back the gleam
With tender radiance over many a field.
For all things beautiful, and nobly true
To the great elements that rule the world,
Orion's mind, left to itself, reviewed
124
Far nearer than before, the path less rough,
The true possession not austere and cold,
But natural in its strength and balance just
Of body and of soul; each to respect,
And to the other minister, and both
Their one harmonious being to employ
For general happiness, and for their own.
Such was the lore which now his thoughts attained,
And he to Eos humbly would display,
Beseeching her response! She only gazed
With a benignant smile upon the earth
That rolled beneath, and rendered back the gleam
With tender radiance over many a field.
The story of his life Orion told—
His youth—his labours—lastly of his loves;
Nor what for Artemis his opening soul
Had felt—what deep desire for Meropé—
Sought to conceal. How much his intellect,
And entire nature, owed to the pale Queen
Of night's illumined vault, with grateful sighs
Of reverential memory he declared;
To Eos turning with a pleading look,
Lest she might not approve. She took his hand,
And placed it on her side beneath her heart,
Which beat a sphery music audibly.
He, listening, still enraptured, countless echoes
Rang sweetly faint from distant groves beneath
Upon the earth. Within his hurrying heart
The trembling echoes now Orion felt,
And silent stood, as one who apprehends
Some new and blissful hope that round him soars,
Which still eludes his vision and his mind.
His youth—his labours—lastly of his loves;
Nor what for Artemis his opening soul
Had felt—what deep desire for Meropé—
Sought to conceal. How much his intellect,
And entire nature, owed to the pale Queen
Of night's illumined vault, with grateful sighs
125
To Eos turning with a pleading look,
Lest she might not approve. She took his hand,
And placed it on her side beneath her heart,
Which beat a sphery music audibly.
He, listening, still enraptured, countless echoes
Rang sweetly faint from distant groves beneath
Upon the earth. Within his hurrying heart
The trembling echoes now Orion felt,
And silent stood, as one who apprehends
Some new and blissful hope that round him soars,
Which still eludes his vision and his mind.
Not in like doubt was Artemis, whose car—
Blank as it passed away before the morn,
Herself invisible—collapsed and yearned
Beneath the Goddess' spurning foot. At once
The lasting love of Eos she foresaw,
When at the tale of other loves he told
Sincerely, fully, with kind memories rife,
Orion's hand she pressed. His earnest eyes
All filled with new-born light, she also read,
As in a mirror where the future's writ—
And, reading, closed her own as she retired.
Blank as it passed away before the morn,
Herself invisible—collapsed and yearned
Beneath the Goddess' spurning foot. At once
The lasting love of Eos she foresaw,
When at the tale of other loves he told
Sincerely, fully, with kind memories rife,
Orion's hand she pressed. His earnest eyes
All filled with new-born light, she also read,
126
And, reading, closed her own as she retired.
Meantime Rhexergon through the Chian streets
Triumphant, with Biastor and a host
Of rebel chieftains and their armed bands,
And drunken slaves and robbers, drove the King
From his lost throne. Beyond the suburb fields
Oinopion fled, and secret refuge found
Among the tombs, beneath a chain of hills,
Where dense cold gloom his robe and crown became,
While over head along the hill-sides ran
The sunny vines. Tumult now choaked the city
With adverse crowds, and deafened it with cries
Of slayers, and of those who fled or fell.
The giants led the slaughter, oft commencing
Pillage, then turning yet again to slay,
Having no plan. They paused but to blaspheme
The Gods, like giants doomed to die. Rich spoil
Was found, seized, left—and trampled into mire
By feet that onward sprang for other spoil,
Or to tear down, wrench, overthrow, destroy;
Till thus Rhexergon rendered up his life:—
Triumphant, with Biastor and a host
Of rebel chieftains and their armed bands,
And drunken slaves and robbers, drove the King
From his lost throne. Beyond the suburb fields
Oinopion fled, and secret refuge found
Among the tombs, beneath a chain of hills,
Where dense cold gloom his robe and crown became,
While over head along the hill-sides ran
The sunny vines. Tumult now choaked the city
With adverse crowds, and deafened it with cries
Of slayers, and of those who fled or fell.
The giants led the slaughter, oft commencing
Pillage, then turning yet again to slay,
Having no plan. They paused but to blaspheme
The Gods, like giants doomed to die. Rich spoil
Was found, seized, left—and trampled into mire
By feet that onward sprang for other spoil,
127
Till thus Rhexergon rendered up his life:—
All the chief rulers, priests, and sages old,
And heroes most renowned, Rhexergon vowed
Within the temple of Zeus to congregate;
Wall up each means of egress, and from gaps
Made in the roof, pour down a rocky hail
From broken fanes, cliff, quarry and sea beach,
Upon their heads; nor cease the crashing shower
Until the temple was filled up with stones.
To make the gaps, he with his club advanced,
Where central, 'neath the roof, a pillar rose,
Which was its main support. Blow upon blow
He smote; the base gave way; the pillar fell;
And with it fell the roof, and buried him.
And heroes most renowned, Rhexergon vowed
Within the temple of Zeus to congregate;
Wall up each means of egress, and from gaps
Made in the roof, pour down a rocky hail
From broken fanes, cliff, quarry and sea beach,
Upon their heads; nor cease the crashing shower
Until the temple was filled up with stones.
To make the gaps, he with his club advanced,
Where central, 'neath the roof, a pillar rose,
Which was its main support. Blow upon blow
He smote; the base gave way; the pillar fell;
And with it fell the roof, and buried him.
With equal skill Biastor wrought his fate.
On a long terrace, which precipitously
Looked down on suburb gardens deep below,
Near to the edge upon a pediment stood
A great gilt statue to Encolyon,
By the high rulers reverently set up;
And this inscription bearing on its base;—
‘To the wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!
August preserver of revered decay;
Votive—erected by a people's love.’
On a long terrace, which precipitously
Looked down on suburb gardens deep below,
Near to the edge upon a pediment stood
A great gilt statue to Encolyon,
128
And this inscription bearing on its base;—
‘To the wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!
August preserver of revered decay;
Votive—erected by a people's love.’
Biastor, covered with a brazen shield,
Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,
A panic-stricken crowd before him drove
On tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,
Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—
The rest throng round the statue. It was carved
Of wood, and at its flat square base the sun
Had often turned a scornful glance, and made
Dry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.
They cling around its knees!—the giant Force
Comes like a mighty wind;—and, as a mast
In shipwreck, black with rigging flanking loose,
And black with wild-haired creatures clinging round,
With crash and horried slant its blasted tree
Surrenders sidelong,—so the statue fell.
With it the crowd were carried; after it
Biastor, knowing not the depths beyond,
Or his strong impulse having no power to check,
Followed head foremost. Down the hollow banks
He, floundering o'er the statue's tangled coil,
Into an orchard midst the vale below,
Deep in the mould lay prone; and over him
The fallen statue lay athwart. 'T was thus,
The Builder absent, and at that time blind,
Force, and the Breaker-down their course fulfilled.
Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,
A panic-stricken crowd before him drove
On tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,
Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—
The rest throng round the statue. It was carved
Of wood, and at its flat square base the sun
Had often turned a scornful glance, and made
Dry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.
They cling around its knees!—the giant Force
Comes like a mighty wind;—and, as a mast
In shipwreck, black with rigging flanking loose,
And black with wild-haired creatures clinging round,
With crash and horried slant its blasted tree
Surrenders sidelong,—so the statue fell.
With it the crowd were carried; after it
129
Or his strong impulse having no power to check,
Followed head foremost. Down the hollow banks
He, floundering o'er the statue's tangled coil,
Into an orchard midst the vale below,
Deep in the mould lay prone; and over him
The fallen statue lay athwart. 'T was thus,
The Builder absent, and at that time blind,
Force, and the Breaker-down their course fulfilled.
‘What have I done on earth?’ Orion said,
While pensive on the platform of the morn
He stood. ‘My youth's companions are destroyed,
And Akinetos evermore seems right,
Predicting failure to our human acts:
Or good, or ill, alike untoward prove.
I have not well directed mine own strength,
Nor theirs.’ As thus he mused, a skylark sang
Within the gleaming Palace, and a voice
Followed melodious as it spake these words.
While pensive on the platform of the morn
He stood. ‘My youth's companions are destroyed,
And Akinetos evermore seems right,
Predicting failure to our human acts:
Or good, or ill, alike untoward prove.
I have not well directed mine own strength,
Nor theirs.’ As thus he mused, a skylark sang
Within the gleaming Palace, and a voice
Followed melodious as it spake these words.
‘Well hast thou striven, and due reward shalt find;
For though reward held dalliance with thy hopes
Of former days, and for thyself thou wrought'st,
The suffering and the lesson have sufficed
To fit thee for more noble aims. Sigh not
That those companions of thine unformed youth
Their rude career have closed: evil was all
They could have done without thee. Thou hast won
The love of Eos: doubt not of her truth,
And to thyself be constant, as to her.’
130
Of former days, and for thyself thou wrought'st,
The suffering and the lesson have sufficed
To fit thee for more noble aims. Sigh not
That those companions of thine unformed youth
Their rude career have closed: evil was all
They could have done without thee. Thou hast won
The love of Eos: doubt not of her truth,
And to thyself be constant, as to her.’
He turned, and at his side the Goddess smiled,
With tenderness of grace, such as the soul
Can through the heart convey, where both accord
One object to exalt. Orion knelt,
And looked up in her face, then rose and clasped
Her yielding loveliness. As they retired,
An eye glanced fire-like through the clear blue air,
And saw the embrace!—and marked the glowing beams
On Eos' bosom, rosy yet all gold,
Like ripened peaches in the morning light.
That eye grew deadly—flashed—and it was gone,
As onward in its course the Palace moved.
'T was Artemis!—beware her fatal dart.
With tenderness of grace, such as the soul
Can through the heart convey, where both accord
One object to exalt. Orion knelt,
And looked up in her face, then rose and clasped
Her yielding loveliness. As they retired,
An eye glanced fire-like through the clear blue air,
And saw the embrace!—and marked the glowing beams
On Eos' bosom, rosy yet all gold,
Like ripened peaches in the morning light.
That eye grew deadly—flashed—and it was gone,
131
'T was Artemis!—beware her fatal dart.
O'er meadows green or solitary lawn,
When birds appear earth's sole inhabitants,
The long clear shadows of the morning differ
From those of eve, which are more soft and vague,
Touched with old day-dreams and a mellowed grief.
The lights of morning, even as her shades,
Are architectural, and pre-eminent
In quiet freshness, midst the pause that holds
Prelusive energies. All life awakes.
Morn comes at first with white uncertain light;
Then takes a faint red, like an opening bud
Seen through grey mist: the mist clears off; the sky
Unfolds; grows ruddy; takes a crimson flush;
Puts forth bright sprigs of gold, which soon expanding
In saffron, thence pure golden shines the morn;
Uplifts its clear bright fabric of white clouds,
All tinted, like a shell of polished pearl,
With varied glancings, violet gleam and blush;
Embraces Nature; and then passes on,
Leaving the Sun to perfect his great work.
When birds appear earth's sole inhabitants,
The long clear shadows of the morning differ
From those of eve, which are more soft and vague,
Touched with old day-dreams and a mellowed grief.
The lights of morning, even as her shades,
Are architectural, and pre-eminent
In quiet freshness, midst the pause that holds
Prelusive energies. All life awakes.
Morn comes at first with white uncertain light;
Then takes a faint red, like an opening bud
Seen through grey mist: the mist clears off; the sky
Unfolds; grows ruddy; takes a crimson flush;
Puts forth bright sprigs of gold, which soon expanding
In saffron, thence pure golden shines the morn;
Uplifts its clear bright fabric of white clouds,
All tinted, like a shell of polished pearl,
With varied glancings, violet gleam and blush;
132
Leaving the Sun to perfect his great work.
So came thy love upon Orion's heart,
O life-awakening Queen of early light,
And the devotion he, at first, had deemed
All spiritual, now quickened, glowed, attained
Entire vitality, and that highest state
Which every noblest faculty employs
With self-enjoyment and beneficence.
O life-awakening Queen of early light,
And the devotion he, at first, had deemed
All spiritual, now quickened, glowed, attained
Entire vitality, and that highest state
Which every noblest faculty employs
With self-enjoyment and beneficence.
True happiness no idle course endures,
But by activity renews its strength,
Which else would fail, and happiness revolve
Within itself, still dwindling to the point
Where pain first stings. Far otherwise it fared
With thee, Orion. Watchful tow'rds the world
His eye oft turned. The pure realm where he dwelt
Absorbed not all his sympathies in itself,
Which yet sprang forth, and sighed o'er ills below;
Like one uplifted in abstraction's mood,
Who sits alone, and gazes in the fire,
Watching red ruins as they fall and change
To glorious fabrics,—which forthwith dissolve,
Or by some hideous conflict sink to nought,
While from a black mass issues tawny smoke,
Followed by a trumpet flame. War, and the waste—
So far as man's one life and purpose feel—
Of human labour—both its hand and heart—
Came crowding on his mind. Nor less his eye
Earth's loveliness perceived; nor less his thoughts
Of Eos, who in all his fresh designs,
Feelings, and wishes, shared, and urged him on
With constant impulse, hidden in sweet smiles,
And perfect love that thinks not of itself;—
Conscious, contented, sphered beyond fresh hopes.
Earth was their child; and constant morn their home.
But by activity renews its strength,
Which else would fail, and happiness revolve
Within itself, still dwindling to the point
Where pain first stings. Far otherwise it fared
With thee, Orion. Watchful tow'rds the world
His eye oft turned. The pure realm where he dwelt
Absorbed not all his sympathies in itself,
Which yet sprang forth, and sighed o'er ills below;
Like one uplifted in abstraction's mood,
Who sits alone, and gazes in the fire,
133
To glorious fabrics,—which forthwith dissolve,
Or by some hideous conflict sink to nought,
While from a black mass issues tawny smoke,
Followed by a trumpet flame. War, and the waste—
So far as man's one life and purpose feel—
Of human labour—both its hand and heart—
Came crowding on his mind. Nor less his eye
Earth's loveliness perceived; nor less his thoughts
Of Eos, who in all his fresh designs,
Feelings, and wishes, shared, and urged him on
With constant impulse, hidden in sweet smiles,
And perfect love that thinks not of itself;—
Conscious, contented, sphered beyond fresh hopes.
Earth was their child; and constant morn their home.
Three things Orion contemplated oft:
The first, his gratitude to Artemis
Inspired; its general service and import
To human happiness, a duty made.
Her temple in Delos darkened to the east
With towering trees, amidst whose hollowed roots
Dwelt poisonous Harpies. These to dislodge, destroy;
And hew the trees down, that the morning light,
Followed by radiant warmth, might penetrate
Its depths, even to the temple's central shine,
He purposed. Thus would Eos give her love
To Artemis, and all be reconciled.
The first, his gratitude to Artemis
Inspired; its general service and import
To human happiness, a duty made.
Her temple in Delos darkened to the east
With towering trees, amidst whose hollowed roots
134
And hew the trees down, that the morning light,
Followed by radiant warmth, might penetrate
Its depths, even to the temple's central shine,
He purposed. Thus would Eos give her love
To Artemis, and all be reconciled.
His second purpose this: beneath the earth,
So might the Father of the Gods give aid,
To build a dungeon for the God of War,
Wherein, confined in a tumultuous sleep,
The visions of his madness should present
The roar of battles and its sanguine joys,
Its devastations, glories, and vain graves.
Here might he gloat on death, while o'er his head
The sea-wide corn-fields smiled in golden waves.
So might the Father of the Gods give aid,
To build a dungeon for the God of War,
Wherein, confined in a tumultuous sleep,
The visions of his madness should present
The roar of battles and its sanguine joys,
Its devastations, glories, and vain graves.
Here might he gloat on death, while o'er his head
The sea-wide corn-fields smiled in golden waves.
The last would need Poseidon's trident hand,
Which, fervent prayers and filial offerings
Would fail not to obtain; whereby a blow,—
Such as had lifted out of the frothed sea
Delos,—Kalliste, with its fathomless bay,—
Mountains and coral rocks,—repeated oft,
Might many mountains cause at once to rise,
Higher and higher, till their summits kissed
The clouds. Then Eos, casting forth her robe
From peak to peak, and her immortal breath
Combining and sustaining that bright floor,—
A web of perfect skill, and guileless art,
Unlike the dark artificers below,—
Large space for mortals of the earth would thus
Be lifted to the platform of the morn.
There, by the Goddess beckoned, and beholding
Her face, divine in youth, the lengthened toil
Of the ascent were but a test of worth,
And hollow sounds of roaring from the sea
Beneath, cause none, who should ascend, to fall.
Which, fervent prayers and filial offerings
Would fail not to obtain; whereby a blow,—
Such as had lifted out of the frothed sea
Delos,—Kalliste, with its fathomless bay,—
135
Might many mountains cause at once to rise,
Higher and higher, till their summits kissed
The clouds. Then Eos, casting forth her robe
From peak to peak, and her immortal breath
Combining and sustaining that bright floor,—
A web of perfect skill, and guileless art,
Unlike the dark artificers below,—
Large space for mortals of the earth would thus
Be lifted to the platform of the morn.
There, by the Goddess beckoned, and beholding
Her face, divine in youth, the lengthened toil
Of the ascent were but a test of worth,
And hollow sounds of roaring from the sea
Beneath, cause none, who should ascend, to fall.
To Delos now Orion made descent
With Eos, hand in hand, when lofty Night
Advanced her shadowy shoulder on the sky.
Good speed made he with his well-practised hand;
The Harpies slew; the eastward trees hewed down;
And laid the temple open to the morn,
With all her genial beams. Then Eos first
Felt doubt; and trembled as she saw the fane
Gleam with her presence, glancing like the light
Within an angry eye-ball. A keen breeze
Now whistled all around, and as it rose
The high green corn, like rapids tow'rds a fall,
Flowed, wave on wave, before the strenuous wind.
She gazed with a cold cheek, till underneath
The sea she heard the coming Sun rejoice;
And felt the isle for blest events prepare.
Yet was she silent. The untended Sun,
While Eos lingered midst the southern groves,
Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.
Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,
Who noting not her tender, anxious face,
In generous feelings happy, took his rest.
With Eos, hand in hand, when lofty Night
Advanced her shadowy shoulder on the sky.
Good speed made he with his well-practised hand;
The Harpies slew; the eastward trees hewed down;
And laid the temple open to the morn,
136
Felt doubt; and trembled as she saw the fane
Gleam with her presence, glancing like the light
Within an angry eye-ball. A keen breeze
Now whistled all around, and as it rose
The high green corn, like rapids tow'rds a fall,
Flowed, wave on wave, before the strenuous wind.
She gazed with a cold cheek, till underneath
The sea she heard the coming Sun rejoice;
And felt the isle for blest events prepare.
Yet was she silent. The untended Sun,
While Eos lingered midst the southern groves,
Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.
Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,
Who noting not her tender, anxious face,
In generous feelings happy, took his rest.
Midst songs and garlands and uplifted joy,
Day's bright beam sped. Night came; but not the Moon.
Night passed. Two spectral armies in the air
Appeared, and with mute fury fought; then died
In mist. A cloud of pale and livid blue,
Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!
Day's bright beam sped. Night came; but not the Moon.
Night passed. Two spectral armies in the air
Appeared, and with mute fury fought; then died
137
Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!
What scarce-apparent ray! what wavering light
Down glances, arching through the silent vault!
Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!
The omen and the deed unite—in death!
Slain is Orion! slain is the Friend of Man!
Into the grove, and to the self-same spot
The darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,
O Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,
Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill:
Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midst
Of all thy fresh designs for human weal,
To make the morning feel itself in vain,
And men turn pale who never shed a tear!
Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—
Thy Maker takes thee, for He loved thee well.
Down glances, arching through the silent vault!
Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!
The omen and the deed unite—in death!
Slain is Orion! slain is the Friend of Man!
Into the grove, and to the self-same spot
The darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,
O Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,
Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill:
Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midst
Of all thy fresh designs for human weal,
To make the morning feel itself in vain,
And men turn pale who never shed a tear!
Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—
Thy Maker takes thee, for He loved thee well.
Haggard and chill as a lost ghost, the Morn,
With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—
Her colourless robe like a poor wandering smoke,—
Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her arms
A shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fading
In a dark rain, through which the sun arose
Scarce visible, and in his orb confused.
With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—
138
Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her arms
A shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fading
In a dark rain, through which the sun arose
Scarce visible, and in his orb confused.
END OF CANTO II.
139
CANTO THE THIRD.
Strong Spirit of Nature! if with pious hand,
Of all humanity sensitive, and true
To the first heart of childhood, thou hast striven
Good to effect, and seemingly hast failed,
Lament it not; that impulse on the frame
Of the dense earth, which no result displays,
Effect or consciousness, not utterly
Shall turn aside, and glancing into space
Be lost and cast away. As with a thought
That, dormant in the brain well nigh a score
Of years, will suddenly, we know not how,
Rise bright before the mind, thus recognised
As that so long forgotten,—while two brains
Entire, have their material parts used up,
Given off, and changed for new;—so shall the deeds
Of virtuous power, in their appointed day,
Rise with due strength above the buried hand
That called them first to light. Know this, and hope:
The earth has hard rind, but a subtle heart.
Therefore amidst those shadows, by no form
Projected; which in secret regions flit,
Of future being, through unnumbered states,
Which are most truly the substantial dreams,
Nor less the aspirations most unearthly,
Of man; shadows oft hunted, never caught,
Yet traced beyond the grave; to thought well known;
Amidst these shadows stride not thou forlorn,
O Giant sublime, whom death shall not destroy.
Of all humanity sensitive, and true
To the first heart of childhood, thou hast striven
Good to effect, and seemingly hast failed,
Lament it not; that impulse on the frame
Of the dense earth, which no result displays,
Effect or consciousness, not utterly
Shall turn aside, and glancing into space
Be lost and cast away. As with a thought
That, dormant in the brain well nigh a score
Of years, will suddenly, we know not how,
Rise bright before the mind, thus recognised
140
Entire, have their material parts used up,
Given off, and changed for new;—so shall the deeds
Of virtuous power, in their appointed day,
Rise with due strength above the buried hand
That called them first to light. Know this, and hope:
The earth has hard rind, but a subtle heart.
Therefore amidst those shadows, by no form
Projected; which in secret regions flit,
Of future being, through unnumbered states,
Which are most truly the substantial dreams,
Nor less the aspirations most unearthly,
Of man; shadows oft hunted, never caught,
Yet traced beyond the grave; to thought well known;
Amidst these shadows stride not thou forlorn,
O Giant sublime, whom death shall not destroy.
'T was eve, and Time his vigorous course pursuing,
Met Akinetos walking by the sea.
At sight of him the Father of the Hours
Paused on the sand,—which shrank, grew moist, and trembled
At that unwonted pressure of the God.
And thus with look and accent stern, he spake:
Met Akinetos walking by the sea.
At sight of him the Father of the Hours
Paused on the sand,—which shrank, grew moist, and trembled
141
And thus with look and accent stern, he spake:
‘Thou art the mortal who, with hand unmoved,
Eatest the fruit of others' toil; whose heart
Is but a vital engine that conveys
Blood, to no purpose, up and down thy frame;
Whose forehead is a large stone sepulchre
Of knowledge! and whose life but turns to waste
My measured hours, and earth's material mass!’
Eatest the fruit of others' toil; whose heart
Is but a vital engine that conveys
Blood, to no purpose, up and down thy frame;
Whose forehead is a large stone sepulchre
Of knowledge! and whose life but turns to waste
My measured hours, and earth's material mass!’
Whereto the Great Unmoved no answer made,—
And Time continued, sterner than before:
‘Thy sire, Tithonos, living nine score years,
Knew many things; but when thou wert begot,
Olympos chimed with crystal laughter bright,
Since, for thy mother, his dim vision chose
A fallen statue which he deemed a nymph,
White as a flint amid a field of corn.
I warn thee by that memory!—thou mistakest
A prostrate stone for the fair truth of life.’
And Time continued, sterner than before:
‘Thy sire, Tithonos, living nine score years,
Knew many things; but when thou wert begot,
Olympos chimed with crystal laughter bright,
Since, for thy mother, his dim vision chose
A fallen statue which he deemed a nymph,
White as a flint amid a field of corn.
I warn thee by that memory!—thou mistakest
A prostrate stone for the fair truth of life.’
142
Whereto the Great Unmoved no answer made,—
And Time continued, sterner than before:
‘O not-to-be-approved! thou Apathy,
Who gazest downward on that empty shell,—
Is it for thee, who bear'st the common lot
Of man, and art his brother in the fields,
From birth to funeral pyre; is it for thee,
Who didst derive from thy long-living sire
More knowledge than endows far better sons,—
Thy lamp to burn within, and turn aside
Thy face from all humanity, or behold it
Without emotion, like some sea-shelled thing
Staring around from a green hollowed rock,
Not aiding, loving, caring—hoping aught—
Forgetting Nature, and by her forgot?’
And Time continued, sterner than before:
‘O not-to-be-approved! thou Apathy,
Who gazest downward on that empty shell,—
Is it for thee, who bear'st the common lot
Of man, and art his brother in the fields,
From birth to funeral pyre; is it for thee,
Who didst derive from thy long-living sire
More knowledge than endows far better sons,—
Thy lamp to burn within, and turn aside
Thy face from all humanity, or behold it
Without emotion, like some sea-shelled thing
Staring around from a green hollowed rock,
Not aiding, loving, caring—hoping aught—
Forgetting Nature, and by her forgot?’
Whereto, with mildness, Akinetos said,
‘Hast thou considered of Eternity?’
‘Profoundly have I done so, in my youth,’
Chronos replied, and bowed his furrowed head;
‘Most, when my tender feet from Chaos trod
Stumbling,—and, doubtful of my eyes, my hands
The dazzling air explored. But, since that date,
So many ages have I told; so many,
Fleet after fleet on newly opening seas,
Descry before me, that of late my thoughts
Have rather dwelt on all around my path,
With anxious care. Well were it thus with thee.’
‘Hast thou considered of Eternity?’
‘Profoundly have I done so, in my youth,’
Chronos replied, and bowed his furrowed head;
‘Most, when my tender feet from Chaos trod
Stumbling,—and, doubtful of my eyes, my hands
143
So many ages have I told; so many,
Fleet after fleet on newly opening seas,
Descry before me, that of late my thoughts
Have rather dwelt on all around my path,
With anxious care. Well were it thus with thee.’
Then Akinetos calmly spake once more,
With eyes still bent upon the tide-ribbed sands:
‘And dost thou of To-morrow also think?’
Whereat—as one dismayed by sudden thought
Of many crowding things that call him thence,—
Time, with bent brows, went hurrying on his way.
With eyes still bent upon the tide-ribbed sands:
‘And dost thou of To-morrow also think?’
Whereat—as one dismayed by sudden thought
Of many crowding things that call him thence,—
Time, with bent brows, went hurrying on his way.
Slow tow'rds his cave the Great Unmoved repaired,
And, with his back against the rock, sat down
Outside, half smiling in the pleasant air;
And in the lonely silence of the place
He thus, at length, discoursed unto himself:
And, with his back against the rock, sat down
Outside, half smiling in the pleasant air;
And in the lonely silence of the place
He thus, at length, discoursed unto himself:
‘Orion, ever active and at work,
Honest and skilful, not to be surpassed,
Drew misery on himself and those he loved;
Wrought his companions' death,—and now hath found,
At Artemis' hand, his own. So fares it ever
With the world's builder. He, from wall to beam,
From pillar to roof, from shade to corporal form,
From the first vague Thought to the Temple vast,
A ceaseless contest with the crowd endures,
For whom he labours. Why then should we move?
Our wisdom cannot change whate'er's decreed,
Nor e'en the acts or thoughts of brainless men:
Why then be moved? Best reason is most vain.
He who will do and suffer, must—and end.
Hence, death is not an evil, since it leads
To somewhat permanent, beyond the noise
Man maketh on the tabor of his will,
Until the small round burst, and pale he falls.
His ear is stuffed with the grave's earth, yet feels
The inaudible whispers of Eternity,
While Time runs shouting to Oblivion
In the upper fields! I would not swell that cry.’
144
Drew misery on himself and those he loved;
Wrought his companions' death,—and now hath found,
At Artemis' hand, his own. So fares it ever
With the world's builder. He, from wall to beam,
From pillar to roof, from shade to corporal form,
From the first vague Thought to the Temple vast,
A ceaseless contest with the crowd endures,
For whom he labours. Why then should we move?
Our wisdom cannot change whate'er's decreed,
Nor e'en the acts or thoughts of brainless men:
Why then be moved? Best reason is most vain.
He who will do and suffer, must—and end.
Hence, death is not an evil, since it leads
To somewhat permanent, beyond the noise
Man maketh on the tabor of his will,
Until the small round burst, and pale he falls.
His ear is stuffed with the grave's earth, yet feels
The inaudible whispers of Eternity,
While Time runs shouting to Oblivion
In the upper fields! I would not swell that cry.’
145
Thus Akinetos sat from day to day,
Absorbed in indolent sublimity,
Reviewing thoughts and knowledge o'er and o'er;
And now he spake, now sang unto himself,
Now sank to brooding silence. From above,
While passing, Time the rock touched!—and it oozed
Petrific drops—gently at first—and slow.
Reclining lonely in his fixt repose,
The Great Unmoved unconsciously became
Attached to that he pressed,—and gradually—
While his thoughts drifted to no shore—a part
O' the rock. There clung the dead excrescence, till
Strong hands, descended from Orion, made
Large roads, built markets, granaries, and steep walls,—
Squaring down rocks for use, and common good.
Absorbed in indolent sublimity,
Reviewing thoughts and knowledge o'er and o'er;
And now he spake, now sang unto himself,
Now sank to brooding silence. From above,
While passing, Time the rock touched!—and it oozed
Petrific drops—gently at first—and slow.
Reclining lonely in his fixt repose,
The Great Unmoved unconsciously became
Attached to that he pressed,—and gradually—
While his thoughts drifted to no shore—a part
O' the rock. There clung the dead excrescence, till
Strong hands, descended from Orion, made
Large roads, built markets, granaries, and steep walls,—
Squaring down rocks for use, and common good.
When Death with moth-like wing and in-drawn breath
Hovers above a dying brain of power,
And the soul knows the moment of its flight
Is surely near, there floats a crowding train
Of passions, thoughts, actions, events, and hopes—
Tenderest affections, and those storms and calms
Wherein the man each complex scene reviews,
And in swift visions lives his course again.
Then sigh the vain regrets o'er wasted days,
And wasted efforts, bred of ignorance,
Pride, folly, vanity—or the world's gross wrongs,
Exasperating once—now pitied. Then—
No casuist baseness making ill acts good—
Hurried self-questionings dart to and fro,
If this or that were right, or wrong—or kind,
Mean, or magnanimous—forgiving—hard—
Generous, or selfish;—if the sum of all,
Balanced in fairness, were the heart's best aim?
Nor less the painful sense of means yet strong—
The consciousness of so much power to do,
And no more time for doing. How they float
Away in mist, all those rare plans, designs—
Clear-outlined fabrics reared on solid truths,
Doomed to resolve themselves into the brain
That bred them, and be lost for evermore!
This, and a reverent hopeful resignation,
For many might suffice, without the fears
Of crippled souls, that crawl to fancied hells,
Who are mere grave-worms in reality.
But of his stern philosophy what thoughts
Were last in Akinetos' mind? Said he,
‘Annihilation means but perfect change—
All are annihilated in the end;
Or if there be no end, why that's the same,
If the dead know not their connecting past,
Nor present being.’ Held he thus to the last?
There might have been misgivings—not unwise—
That wisdom should be put to use? But he
Knew better, as he thought—and there were none.
Hovers above a dying brain of power,
And the soul knows the moment of its flight
Is surely near, there floats a crowding train
146
Tenderest affections, and those storms and calms
Wherein the man each complex scene reviews,
And in swift visions lives his course again.
Then sigh the vain regrets o'er wasted days,
And wasted efforts, bred of ignorance,
Pride, folly, vanity—or the world's gross wrongs,
Exasperating once—now pitied. Then—
No casuist baseness making ill acts good—
Hurried self-questionings dart to and fro,
If this or that were right, or wrong—or kind,
Mean, or magnanimous—forgiving—hard—
Generous, or selfish;—if the sum of all,
Balanced in fairness, were the heart's best aim?
Nor less the painful sense of means yet strong—
The consciousness of so much power to do,
And no more time for doing. How they float
Away in mist, all those rare plans, designs—
Clear-outlined fabrics reared on solid truths,
Doomed to resolve themselves into the brain
That bred them, and be lost for evermore!
This, and a reverent hopeful resignation,
147
Of crippled souls, that crawl to fancied hells,
Who are mere grave-worms in reality.
But of his stern philosophy what thoughts
Were last in Akinetos' mind? Said he,
‘Annihilation means but perfect change—
All are annihilated in the end;
Or if there be no end, why that's the same,
If the dead know not their connecting past,
Nor present being.’ Held he thus to the last?
There might have been misgivings—not unwise—
That wisdom should be put to use? But he
Knew better, as he thought—and there were none.
Now had Poseidon with tridental spear
Torn up the smitten sea, which raged on high
With grief and anger for Orion slain;
And black Hephaistos deep beneath the earth
A cold thrill felt through his metallic veins,
Which soon with sparkling fire began to writhe
Like serpents, till from each volcanic peak
Burst smoke and threatening flames. Day hid his head,
And while the body of Orion sank,
Drawn down into the embraces of the Sea,
The four winds with confronting fury arose,
And to a common centre drove their blasts,
Which, meeting, brake like thunder-stone, or shells
Of war, far scattering. Shipwreck fed the deep.
No Moon had dared the ringing vault to climb;
No star, no meteor's steed; and ancient Night
Shook the dishevelled lightening from her brows,
Then sank in deeper gloom. Ere long the roar
Rolled through a distant yawning chasm of flame,
Dying away, and in the air obscure,
Feverish and trembling,—like the breath of one
Recovering from convulsion's throes,—appeared
Two wavering misty shapes upon a mount:
Whence now a solemn and reproachful voice,
With broken pauses spake, and thus lamented:—
Torn up the smitten sea, which raged on high
With grief and anger for Orion slain;
And black Hephaistos deep beneath the earth
A cold thrill felt through his metallic veins,
Which soon with sparkling fire began to writhe
Like serpents, till from each volcanic peak
Burst smoke and threatening flames. Day hid his head,
148
Drawn down into the embraces of the Sea,
The four winds with confronting fury arose,
And to a common centre drove their blasts,
Which, meeting, brake like thunder-stone, or shells
Of war, far scattering. Shipwreck fed the deep.
No Moon had dared the ringing vault to climb;
No star, no meteor's steed; and ancient Night
Shook the dishevelled lightening from her brows,
Then sank in deeper gloom. Ere long the roar
Rolled through a distant yawning chasm of flame,
Dying away, and in the air obscure,
Feverish and trembling,—like the breath of one
Recovering from convulsion's throes,—appeared
Two wavering misty shapes upon a mount:
Whence now a solemn and reproachful voice,
With broken pauses spake, and thus lamented:—
‘Call it not love!—oh never yet for thee
Did Love's ambrosial pinions fan the hours,
To lose themselves in bliss, which memory
Alone can find, so to renew their life.
Thou couldst not ever thus enjoy, thus give
Thy nature fully up,—thine attributes,
Whate'er of beauty and supreme estate
They owned,—surrendering all before Love's feet,
And in his breath to melt. How shall we name
Thy passion,—ice-pure, self-entire, exacting
All worship, for a limited return?
But how, ah me! shall time record the hour,
When with thy bow—its points curved stiffly back,
Like a snake's neck preparing for a spring,
Thou stood'st in lurid ire behind a cloud,
And loosed the fatal shaft! Where then was love?
O Artemis! O miserable Queen!
Call it pride, jealousy, revenge—self-love;
No other. Thou repliest not. Wherefore pride?
Thou gav'st thyself that wound, rejecting one
Who to thee tendered all his nature; noble,
Though earth-born, as thou knew'st when first ye met,
And thou not Zeus with a creator's power
His being to re-make? Thou answerest not.
Why jealous, but because thou saw'st him happy
Without thee, though cast off by thee? Then why
Destroy? Revenge, the champion of self-love,
Can make his well-known sign. O horrible!
Despair to all springs up from murdered love,
And smites revenge with idiocy of grief,
Seeing itself. But wake, and look upon
My loss unutterable. What hast thou gained?
Nothing but anguish; and for this accomplished
His death, my loss, and the earth's loss beside,
Of that much-needed hand. I curse thee not—
Thou hast, indeed, cursed me—thou know'st it well.
Did Love's ambrosial pinions fan the hours,
To lose themselves in bliss, which memory
Alone can find, so to renew their life.
149
Thy nature fully up,—thine attributes,
Whate'er of beauty and supreme estate
They owned,—surrendering all before Love's feet,
And in his breath to melt. How shall we name
Thy passion,—ice-pure, self-entire, exacting
All worship, for a limited return?
But how, ah me! shall time record the hour,
When with thy bow—its points curved stiffly back,
Like a snake's neck preparing for a spring,
Thou stood'st in lurid ire behind a cloud,
And loosed the fatal shaft! Where then was love?
O Artemis! O miserable Queen!
Call it pride, jealousy, revenge—self-love;
No other. Thou repliest not. Wherefore pride?
Thou gav'st thyself that wound, rejecting one
Who to thee tendered all his nature; noble,
Though earth-born, as thou knew'st when first ye met,
And thou not Zeus with a creator's power
His being to re-make? Thou answerest not.
Why jealous, but because thou saw'st him happy
Without thee, though cast off by thee? Then why
150
Can make his well-known sign. O horrible!
Despair to all springs up from murdered love,
And smites revenge with idiocy of grief,
Seeing itself. But wake, and look upon
My loss unutterable. What hast thou gained?
Nothing but anguish; and for this accomplished
His death, my loss, and the earth's loss beside,
Of that much-needed hand. I curse thee not—
Thou hast, indeed, cursed me—thou know'st it well.
With face bowed o'er her bosom, Artemis,
As in sad trance, remained. The night was gone;
The day had dawned, but she perceived it not;
Nor Eos knew that any light had passed
From her rent robes. But hope unconsciously
Grew up in her, and yet again she spake:
As in sad trance, remained. The night was gone;
The day had dawned, but she perceived it not;
Nor Eos knew that any light had passed
From her rent robes. But hope unconsciously
Grew up in her, and yet again she spake:
‘Ah, me! alas! why came this great affliction,
Which seems, indeed, beyond all remedy,
Though scalding tears from our immortal eyes
Make constant arcs in heaven. Beauty avails not
Where power is needed. Seek we, then, for power,
That some reviving or renewing beam
May call him back, now pale in the deep sea!
Thou answerest not. I think thou hast a heart,
Which beats thy reasoning down to silent truth,
And therefore deem I thou with me wilt seek
The throne of Zeus, who may receive our prayers,
Nor from our supplications utterly
Take sorrow's sweetness, which hath secret hope,
Like honey drops in some down-fallen flower.’
Which seems, indeed, beyond all remedy,
Though scalding tears from our immortal eyes
Make constant arcs in heaven. Beauty avails not
151
That some reviving or renewing beam
May call him back, now pale in the deep sea!
Thou answerest not. I think thou hast a heart,
Which beats thy reasoning down to silent truth,
And therefore deem I thou with me wilt seek
The throne of Zeus, who may receive our prayers,
Nor from our supplications utterly
Take sorrow's sweetness, which hath secret hope,
Like honey drops in some down-fallen flower.’
Her lofty, pallid visage, Artemis
Raised slowly, but with eyes still downward bent
Upon the Ocean rolling dark below,
And answered,—‘I will go with thee.’ The twain
Departed heavily on their ascent
Through the grey air, and paused not till they reached
The region of Olympos, where their course
Was barriered by a mass of angry cloud
Piled up in surging blackness, with a gleam
Of smouldering red seen through at intervals.
The sign well understood, both Goddesses
Knelt down before the cloud, and Artemis
Brake silence first, with firm yet hollow voice:
Raised slowly, but with eyes still downward bent
Upon the Ocean rolling dark below,
And answered,—‘I will go with thee.’ The twain
Departed heavily on their ascent
Through the grey air, and paused not till they reached
The region of Olympos, where their course
Was barriered by a mass of angry cloud
Piled up in surging blackness, with a gleam
Of smouldering red seen through at intervals.
152
Knelt down before the cloud, and Artemis
Brake silence first, with firm yet hollow voice:
‘Father of Gods, and of the populous earth!
Who know'st the thoughts and deeds we most would hide;
And also know'st the secret thrill within,
Which owns no thought nor action, yet comprises
Life's sole excuse for what seems worthiest hate—
Extremes and maddened self-opposing springs—
Not always thus excused,—O Zeus! receive
Our prayers, and chiefly mine, which pardon sue,
Besides the dear request. Grant that the life
Of him these hands, once dazzling white, have slain,
May be to earth restored.’ More had she said,
But the dark pile of cloud shook with the voice
Of Zeus, who answered: ‘He shall be restored;
But not returned to earth. His cycle moves
Ascending!’ The deep Sea the announcement heard;
And from beneath its ever-shifting thrones
The murmuring of a solemn joy sent up.
Who know'st the thoughts and deeds we most would hide;
And also know'st the secret thrill within,
Which owns no thought nor action, yet comprises
Life's sole excuse for what seems worthiest hate—
Extremes and maddened self-opposing springs—
Not always thus excused,—O Zeus! receive
Our prayers, and chiefly mine, which pardon sue,
Besides the dear request. Grant that the life
Of him these hands, once dazzling white, have slain,
May be to earth restored.’ More had she said,
But the dark pile of cloud shook with the voice
Of Zeus, who answered: ‘He shall be restored;
But not returned to earth. His cycle moves
Ascending!’ The deep Sea the announcement heard;
And from beneath its ever-shifting thrones
The murmuring of a solemn joy sent up.
153
The cloud expanded darkly o'er the heavens,
Which, like a vault preparing to give back
The heroic dead, yawned with its sacred gloom,
And iron-crowned Night her black breath poured around,
To meet the clouds that from Olympos rolled
Billows of darkness with a dirging roar,
Which by gradations of high harmony
Merged in triumphal strains. Their earnest eyes,
Filled with the darkness, and their hands still clasped,
Kneeling the Goddesses' bright rays perceived,
Reflected, glance before them. Mute they rose
With tender consciousness; and, hand in hand,
Turning, they saw slow rising from the sea
The luminous Giant clad in blazing stars,
New-born and trembling from their Maker's breath,—
Divine, refulgent effluence of Love.
Though to his insubstantial form no gleam
Of mortal life's rich colours now gave warmth,
Yet was the image he had worn on earth,
With all its memories of the old dim woods—
The caves—his toils, joys, griefs—the fond old ways—
The same—his heart the same, e'en as of yore.
With pale gold shield, like a translucent Moon
Through which the Morning with ascending cheek
Sheds a soft blush, warming cerulean veins;—
With radiant belt of glory, typical
Of happy change that o'er the zodiac round
Of the world's monstrous phantasies shall come;
And in his hand a sword of peaceful power,
Streaming like a meteor to direct the earth
To victory over life's distress, and show
The future path whose light runs through death's glooms;—
In grandeur, like the birth of Motion, rose
The glorious Giant, tow'rds his place in heaven;
And, while ascending, thus his Spirit sang:
Which, like a vault preparing to give back
The heroic dead, yawned with its sacred gloom,
And iron-crowned Night her black breath poured around,
To meet the clouds that from Olympos rolled
Billows of darkness with a dirging roar,
Which by gradations of high harmony
Merged in triumphal strains. Their earnest eyes,
Filled with the darkness, and their hands still clasped,
Kneeling the Goddesses' bright rays perceived,
Reflected, glance before them. Mute they rose
With tender consciousness; and, hand in hand,
Turning, they saw slow rising from the sea
The luminous Giant clad in blazing stars,
New-born and trembling from their Maker's breath,—
Divine, refulgent effluence of Love.
Though to his insubstantial form no gleam
Of mortal life's rich colours now gave warmth,
Yet was the image he had worn on earth,
With all its memories of the old dim woods—
154
The same—his heart the same, e'en as of yore.
With pale gold shield, like a translucent Moon
Through which the Morning with ascending cheek
Sheds a soft blush, warming cerulean veins;—
With radiant belt of glory, typical
Of happy change that o'er the zodiac round
Of the world's monstrous phantasies shall come;
And in his hand a sword of peaceful power,
Streaming like a meteor to direct the earth
To victory over life's distress, and show
The future path whose light runs through death's glooms;—
In grandeur, like the birth of Motion, rose
The glorious Giant, tow'rds his place in heaven;
And, while ascending, thus his Spirit sang:
‘I came into the world a mortal creature,
Lights flitting upwards through my unwrought clay,
Not knowing what they were, nor whither tending,
But of some goodness conscious in my soul.
With earth's rude elements my first endeavour
I made; attained rare mastery, and was proud
Then felt strange longings in the grassy woodlands,
And hunted shadows under the slant sun.
Lights flitting upwards through my unwrought clay,
Not knowing what they were, nor whither tending,
But of some goodness conscious in my soul.
155
I made; attained rare mastery, and was proud
Then felt strange longings in the grassy woodlands,
And hunted shadows under the slant sun.
‘O Artemis! bright queen! high benefactress!
My love forgive, that with its human feet
Could not to thy pure altitude ascend,—
Nor couldst thou stoop to me. A fiery passion,
Deep as mortality, possessed my life;
Nor shall I from my destiny, star-bright
Henceforth, and from transforming change exempt,
Banish the grateful thoughts of Meropé,
Though blindness followed that ecstatic dream.
My love forgive, that with its human feet
Could not to thy pure altitude ascend,—
Nor couldst thou stoop to me. A fiery passion,
Deep as mortality, possessed my life;
Nor shall I from my destiny, star-bright
Henceforth, and from transforming change exempt,
Banish the grateful thoughts of Meropé,
Though blindness followed that ecstatic dream.
‘On thee I gaze, blest Goddess of the Morning!
In whose sweet smile these stars shall ever melt,
All human beauty perfected in thee,
Divine with human blending. In my heart
Bared full before thee, to the essence fine
Wherewith, by whisperings of my Maker's breath,
These stars of my new life are now inspired—
In this pure essence shall thy treasured love
Receive my adoration; and the thoughts
Of thee shall open ever in my mind
Like the bland meads in flower when thou appear'st.
In whose sweet smile these stars shall ever melt,
All human beauty perfected in thee,
Divine with human blending. In my heart
Bared full before thee, to the essence fine
Wherewith, by whisperings of my Maker's breath,
These stars of my new life are now inspired—
156
Receive my adoration; and the thoughts
Of thee shall open ever in my mind
Like the bland meads in flower when thou appear'st.
‘Thou Earth, whom I have left, and all my brothers!
Followers of Time through steep and thorny ways;
Wrestlers with strong Calamity, and falling
For ever, as with generations new
Ye carry on the strife,—deem it no loss
That in full vigour of his fresh designs,
Your Worker and your Builder hath been called
To rest thus undesired. Though for himself
Too soon, and not enough of labour done
For high desires; sufficient yet to give
The impulse ye are fitted to receive:
More, were a vain ambition. Therefore strive,
My course, without its blindness, to pursue,
So that ye may through night, as ye behold me,
And also through the day by faithful hope,
Ascend to me; and he who faints half way,
Gains yet a noble eminence o'er those
Whose feet still plod the earth with hearts o'erdusted.
Followers of Time through steep and thorny ways;
Wrestlers with strong Calamity, and falling
For ever, as with generations new
Ye carry on the strife,—deem it no loss
That in full vigour of his fresh designs,
Your Worker and your Builder hath been called
To rest thus undesired. Though for himself
Too soon, and not enough of labour done
For high desires; sufficient yet to give
The impulse ye are fitted to receive:
More, were a vain ambition. Therefore strive,
My course, without its blindness, to pursue,
So that ye may through night, as ye behold me,
And also through the day by faithful hope,
Ascend to me; and he who faints half way,
157
Whose feet still plod the earth with hearts o'erdusted.
‘Then with aspiring love behold Orion!
Not for his need, but for thine own behoof:
He loved thy race, and calls thee to his side.
The human spirit is a mountain thing,
But ere it reach the constellated thrones,
It may attain, and on mankind bestow,
Substance, precision, mastery of hand,
Beauty intense, and power that shapes new life.
So shall each honest heart become a champion,
Each high-wrought soul a builder beyond Time—
The ever-hunted, ne'er-o'ertaken Time,
For whom so many youthful hours are slain
Vainly: the grave's brink shows we have been deceived,
And still the aged God his flight maintains!
But not in vain the earth-born shall pursue,
E'en though with wayward, often stumbling feet,
That substance-bearing Shadow, if with a soul
That to an absolute unadulterate truth
Aspires, and would make active through the world,
He hath resolved to plant for future years.
And thus, in the end, each soul may to itself,
With truth before it as its polar guide,
Become both Time and Nature, whose fixt paths
Are spiral, and when lost will find new stars,
Beyond man's unconceived infinities,
And in the Universal Movement join.’
Not for his need, but for thine own behoof:
He loved thy race, and calls thee to his side.
The human spirit is a mountain thing,
But ere it reach the constellated thrones,
It may attain, and on mankind bestow,
Substance, precision, mastery of hand,
Beauty intense, and power that shapes new life.
So shall each honest heart become a champion,
Each high-wrought soul a builder beyond Time—
The ever-hunted, ne'er-o'ertaken Time,
For whom so many youthful hours are slain
Vainly: the grave's brink shows we have been deceived,
And still the aged God his flight maintains!
But not in vain the earth-born shall pursue,
E'en though with wayward, often stumbling feet,
That substance-bearing Shadow, if with a soul
That to an absolute unadulterate truth
Aspires, and would make active through the world,
158
And thus, in the end, each soul may to itself,
With truth before it as its polar guide,
Become both Time and Nature, whose fixt paths
Are spiral, and when lost will find new stars,
Beyond man's unconceived infinities,
And in the Universal Movement join.’
The song ceased; and at once a chorus burst
From all the stars in heaven, which now shone forth!
The Moon ascends in her rapt loveliness;
The Ocean swells to her forgivingly;
Bright comes the dawn, and Eos hides her face,
Glowing with tears divine, within the bosom
Of great Poseidon, in his rocking car
Standing erect to gaze upon his son,
Installed midst golden fires, which ever melt
In Eos' breath and beauty; rising still
With nightly brilliance, merging in the dawn,—
And circling onward in eternal youth.
From all the stars in heaven, which now shone forth!
The Moon ascends in her rapt loveliness;
The Ocean swells to her forgivingly;
Bright comes the dawn, and Eos hides her face,
Glowing with tears divine, within the bosom
Of great Poseidon, in his rocking car
Standing erect to gaze upon his son,
Installed midst golden fires, which ever melt
In Eos' breath and beauty; rising still
With nightly brilliance, merging in the dawn,—
And circling onward in eternal youth.
THE END.
| Orion | |