 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
48
ODE TO THE PLANET MERCURY.
1
In these dull, proud daysFew how few there be
Songs or eyes that raise,
Star of Joy, to thee!
Profane, our hearts we spend
On earthly loves and wars;
Or kindle factory fires, far-kenned
With beam as red as Mars.
2
Not now the Poets soarTo Heaven, or tempt the seas:
On clouds and trees they pore;
Or men, dim-seen ‘like trees,’
Through melting mists that loom
Of metaphysic dreams;—
Or bend in apathetic gloom
Over Lethean streams.
3
Too fierce delights will come unbidden!(Io Pæan, Io sing)
Too leaden thoughts are wisely chidden—
Such moods let Saturn bring.
Mirth is thine, and witching words
That thrill, not jar, our lute-strung hearts;
Devices sweet, and jocund chords,
And art of life—the art of arts!
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4
O'er the woodland promontoryI beheld thee rise alone,
Car divine, and Youth whose glory
Lit that argent throne.
Wingèd Helm I knew, and eyes
Smiling glance with glance pursuing—
They shine, not flash, with sweet surprise
Winning Earth ere wooing!
5
Lo! that keen, exulting gladness(Spite of Phœbus, Io sing)
Pierces all the heart of sadness
With bright, heavenly sting:
And preaches, he is wiser-witted
Who plays the wanton knave in jest,
Than those who live of joy self-cheated,
By false cares depressed.
6
Hermes to his cavern hollow(Io Pæan, Io sing)
Lured the bright herd of Apollo,
And mocked the Delphic King,
As, bending his great brow, he pondered
Why the Babe this feat had done:
From maze to maze the Augur wandered,
Nor guessed that—cause was none.
7
New-born he slipped through bowers of myrtle(Io Pæan, Io sing),
50
And wrought with bridge and string.
O teach our kind, those wanderers slow
Who toil life's weary waste along,
Each clod of earth, thus touched, would grow
A fount of gladsome song!
8
Jove's great sceptre thou hadst stolen:(Io Pæan, Io sing)
With clouds the brow supreme was swollen,
Ruffled the Eagle's wing:
But thy winking shot bright weather
All the Olympian tempest round:
The grave-faced Eagle laughed: the Father
Thy locks with both hands crowned!
9
Mocked hast thou the breast of PallasWith a love-shaft from thy lyre:
In self-despite the maids of Hellas
Felt thy fraudful fire.
Thee that monster triple-headed,
Couched in darkness, doth revere:
Souls on Stygian billows bedded
Leap thy lyre to hear.
10
Argus on the hill-side nodded,Charmed perforce with pleasing sloth
Soon his spirit disembodied
Fluttered, a pale moth,
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O'er thy lustre softly glassed
In the forest streamlet's mirror,
Then to Hades passed.
11
Enough! thy beams which long have revelledOn the bosom of the wave
Reach now the ivies wind-dishevelled
Of thy mother's cave.
Under its arch of alabaster
She sits, or leans above the main:
Her happy heart beats fast and faster,
Beats to catch thy strain.
12
Tempering all things by the suasionOf gay wiles and flatteries bland,
Wave o'er every heart-sick nation
Wave once more thy wand!
Io Pæan, Io Pæan!
Maia's child, henceforth of all
The stars that gem this blue Ægean
On thee alone I call!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |