University of Virginia Library

I.

Hast heard the ancient story,
The worthy old Greek theme
Of lovely Galatea
And ugly Polypheme?
It is a tale of sadness,
As many tales there be:
Attend, and I will tell it,
As it was told to me.
There lived a heathen giant
In ancient Sicily,
A son of strong Poseidon,
That rules the stormy sea;
A huge unsightly monster;
Beneath his shaggy hair
(So learned Virgil sayeth),
One big round eye did stare.
His trunk was like a huge tree
Deep buried in a moss;
His skin was hard and horny,
Like a stiff rhinoceros.
On bloody food he feasted;
As ancient tales relate,
Each blessed day to supper
Two living men he ate,
A score of goats' milk cheeses,
And, mingled with black gore,
Red wine he drank in rivers
Till he could drink no more.
This monster was enamoured
(That such a thing should be!)
Of lovely Galatea,
A daughter of the sea.
His love he plied full stoutly;
He fell upon his knees,
And swore she might command him
In all that she should please.
He filled the seas with weeping;
His big round eye was red;
His hair he tore like forests
From off his clumsy head.
He beat his breast—by Neptune
He swore, and with wild nails
Digged his rude cheeks; loud Ætna
He rivalled with his wails.
But the maid was cold as marble,
She would nor see nor hear;
She shrank with chaste discernment
When his brutish bulk came near.
“What shall I do?” quoth Cyclops,
“This sin she shall atone;
Me shall she scout?—a sea-girl
Strong Neptune's son disown?”
He asked advice of Proteus;
Old Proteus said, “Behold!
I change myself; but can I
Change thy lead into gold?”
He asked advice of Nereus:
The hoary god appeared;
He could not give the monster
His own white snowy beard,
The beard that charmed young Doris
More than mad Triton's eye,
But Nereus had an eye, too,
Of calm blue prophecy.
Quoth Nereus, “Son of Neptune,
If thou wilt win her love,
Eat not the flesh of mortals,
Revere the name of Jove:—
And yet thy case is hopeless,
Even wert thou free from blame,—
She loves a gentle shepherd,
And Acis is his name.”
He spake: the Cyclops bellowed,
And, like a cloven rock,
His monstrous jaws were sundered;
Earth trembled at the shock.
Quoth he, “By Father Neptune,
It will be wondrous strange
If this same piping shepherd
Oust me—I vow revenge!”
And Ocean from his blue depths
Replied, “It will be strange!”
And from their hollow caverns
The rocks replied—“Revenge!”

II.

It was an hour of stillness,
In the leafy month of June,
Midway between the cool eve
And the sultry ray of noon.
Thin clouds were floating idly,
And with his changing rays
The playful sun bedappled
The green and ferny braes.
The birds were chirping faintly,
It scarcely was a song;
But the breath of green creation
And fragrant life was strong.
The lazy trees were nodding,
The flowers were half awake,
And toilsome men were basking,
Like the serpent in the brake.
The Borean winds were sleeping,
Asleep was ocean's roar,
And ripple was chasing ripple
On the silver-sounding shore.
The countless ocean daughters
Were weaving from the waves
Bright webs of scattered sun-light,
To deck their sparry caves;
And in her sapphire chamber,
Of lucent beauty rare,
The sea-queen Amphitrite
Was plaiting her sea-green hair.
But the chase, and the dance, and the gambol,
And the tramp of Triton war
Were dumb—for father Neptune
Had reined his billowy car.
The lovely Galatea,
Within a silent bay,
With her dear shepherd Acis
In blest seclusion lay.
High craggy rocks steep-rising
The bosomed beach enclose;
And at the feet of the goddess
The rippling ocean flows.
The shepherd sang to please her:
He piped a simple air,
And as he sang gazed alway
Into that face so fair;
He drank the dew of heaven,
Deep draughts of beauty rare,
And he never could weary gazing
On the face of the sea-nymph fair.
He sang the shepherd of Latmos,
Endymion the blest,
He sang his sweet day labours,
And his sweeter night of rest.
His labours sweet and easy,
Beneath the sunny cope,
To watch the fleecy wanderers
That cropped the Carian slope;
His rest more sweet, when Dian,
Fleet huntress of the woods,
Came bounding over the mountains,
Came leaping over the floods,
Came dancing over the rivers,
That with her beauty shone,
To see in mellow moonlight
The sleep of Endymion.
She looked on the lovely sleeper,
The soul that knew no strife;
He look'd like some spotless marble
God-wakened into life.
She bended gently o'er him;
Beneath his breast of snow,
She heard the pure blood flowing,
So musical below.
She smooth'd the mossy pillow
Beneath him as he slept,
And a fragrant flower sprang near him,
Each tear the goddess wept.
She kiss'd his cheeks so downy,
So beautiful, so brown,
And amid his locks so golden
She wove a silver crown.
Her breath was music round him,
And her presence fancies fair,
That cradled the happy dreamer
In a winged and rosy lair.
She look'd on the sleeping shepherd,
And her love with gazing grew,
And the limbs of the lovely mortal
She bathed in immortal dew.
Oh, happy shepherd of Latmos,
What sleeping bliss divine!
I might close mine eyes for ever,
To win one sleep like thine!
Thus sang the gentle Acis,
And rose to pluck a bloom,
With the hair of the lovely sea-nymph
To mingle its sweet perfume.
A noise was heard—a rumbling,
A crashing sound.—“O stay!
Oh, Acis, Acis!”—Buried
Beneath a rock he lay.
The rock came from the high cliff,
A huge and pointed stone,
By the hand of the savage monster,
The bloody Cyclops, thrown.
He stood on the craggy coping,
And laughed with a laughter wild;
“I have slain at once, and buried,
False goddess, thy mortal child!”
The lovely Galatea,
She fell in speechless woe;
On the rock that covered her Acis
Her tears unceasing flow.