 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
51
Canto V
Though Pity's self has made thy breastIts earthly shrine, oh gentle maid!
Shed not thy tears, where Love's last rest
Is sweet beneath the cypress shade;
Whence never voice of tyrant power,
Nor trumpet-blast from rending skies,
Nor winds that howl, nor storms that lower,
Shall bid the sleeping sufferer rise.
But mourn for them, who live to keep
Sad strife with fortune's tempests rude;
For them, who live to toil and weep
In loveless, joyless solitude;
Whose days consume in hope, that flies
Like clouds of gold that fading float,
Still watched with fondlier lingering eyes
As still more dim and more remote.
Oh! wisely, truly, sadly sung
The bard by old Cephisus' side,
(While not with sadder, sweeter tongue,
His own loved nightingale replied:)
—“Man's happiest lot is not to be;
And when we tread life's thorny steep,
Most blest are they, who, earliest free,
Descend to death's eternal sleep.”—
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Long, wide, and far, the youth has strayed,
Forlorn, and pale, and wild with woe,
And found no rest. His loved, lost maid,
A beauteous, sadly-smiling shade,
Is ever in his thoughts, and slow
Roll on the hopeless, aimless hours.
Sunshine, and grass, and woods, and flowers,
Rivers, and vales, and glittering homes
Of busy men, where'er he roams,
Torment his sense with contrast keen,
Of that which is, and might have been.
Forlorn, and pale, and wild with woe,
And found no rest. His loved, lost maid,
A beauteous, sadly-smiling shade,
Is ever in his thoughts, and slow
Roll on the hopeless, aimless hours.
Sunshine, and grass, and woods, and flowers,
Rivers, and vales, and glittering homes
Of busy men, where'er he roams,
Torment his sense with contrast keen,
Of that which is, and might have been.
The mist that on the mountains high
Its transient wreath light-hovering flings,
The clouds and changes of the sky,
The forms of unsubstantial things,
The voice of the tempestuous gale,
The rain-swoln torrent's turbid moan,
And every sound that seems to wail
For beauty past and hope o'erthrown,
Attemper with his wild despair;
But scarce his restless eye can bear
The hills, and rocks, and summer streams,
The things that still are what they were
When life and love were more than dreams.
Its transient wreath light-hovering flings,
The clouds and changes of the sky,
The forms of unsubstantial things,
The voice of the tempestuous gale,
The rain-swoln torrent's turbid moan,
And every sound that seems to wail
For beauty past and hope o'erthrown,
Attemper with his wild despair;
But scarce his restless eye can bear
The hills, and rocks, and summer streams,
The things that still are what they were
When life and love were more than dreams.
It chanced, along the rugged shore,
Where giant Pelion's piny steep
O'erlooks the wide Ægean deep,
He shunned the steps of humankind,
Soothed by the multitudinous roar
Of ocean, and the ceaseless shock
Of spray, high-scattering from the rock
In the wail of the many-wandering wind.
A crew, on lawless venture bound,
Such men as roam the seas around,
Hearts to fear and pity strangers,
Seeking gold through crimes and dangers,
Sailing near, the wanderer spied.
Sudden, through the foaming tide,
They drove to land, and on the shore
Springing, they seized the youth, and bore
To their black ship, and spread again
Their sails, and ploughed the billowy main.
Where giant Pelion's piny steep
O'erlooks the wide Ægean deep,
He shunned the steps of humankind,
Soothed by the multitudinous roar
Of ocean, and the ceaseless shock
Of spray, high-scattering from the rock
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A crew, on lawless venture bound,
Such men as roam the seas around,
Hearts to fear and pity strangers,
Seeking gold through crimes and dangers,
Sailing near, the wanderer spied.
Sudden, through the foaming tide,
They drove to land, and on the shore
Springing, they seized the youth, and bore
To their black ship, and spread again
Their sails, and ploughed the billowy main.
Dark Ossa on their watery way
Looks from his robe of mist; and, grey
With many a deep and shadowy fold,
The sacred mount, Olympus old,
Appears: but where with Therma's sea
Penëus mingles tranquilly,
They anchor with the closing light
Of day, and through the moonless night
Propitious to their lawless toil,
In silent bands they prowl for spoil.
Looks from his robe of mist; and, grey
With many a deep and shadowy fold,
The sacred mount, Olympus old,
Appears: but where with Therma's sea
Penëus mingles tranquilly,
They anchor with the closing light
Of day, and through the moonless night
Propitious to their lawless toil,
In silent bands they prowl for spoil.
Ere morning dawns, they crowd on board,
And to their vessel's secret hoard
With many a costly robe they pass,
And vase of silver, gold, and brass.
A young maid too their hands have torn
From her maternal home, to mourn
Afar, to some rude master sold,
The crimes and woes that spring from gold.
And to their vessel's secret hoard
With many a costly robe they pass,
And vase of silver, gold, and brass.
A young maid too their hands have torn
From her maternal home, to mourn
Afar, to some rude master sold,
The crimes and woes that spring from gold.
—“There sit!”—cried one in rugged tone,—
“Beside that boy. A well-matched pair
Ye seem, and will, I doubt not, bear,
In our good port, a value rare.
There sit, but not to wail and moan:
The lyre, which in those fingers fair
We leave, whose sound through night's thick shade
To unwished ears thy haunt bewrayed,
Strike; for the lyre, by beauty played,
To glad the hearts of men was made.”—
“Beside that boy. A well-matched pair
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In our good port, a value rare.
There sit, but not to wail and moan:
The lyre, which in those fingers fair
We leave, whose sound through night's thick shade
To unwished ears thy haunt bewrayed,
Strike; for the lyre, by beauty played,
To glad the hearts of men was made.”—
The damsel by Anthemion's side
Sate down upon the deck. The tide
Blushed with the deepening light of morn.
A pitying look the youth forlorn
Turned on the maiden. Can it be?
Or does his sense play false? Too well
He knows that radiant form. 'Tis she,
The magic maid of Thessaly,
'Tis Rhododaphne! By the spell,
That ever round him dwelt, opprest,
He bowed his head upon his breast,
And o'er his eyes his hand he drew,
That fatal beauty's sight to shun.
Now from the orient heaven the sun
Had clothed the eastward waves with fire:
Right from the west the fair breeze blew:
The full sails swelled, and sparkling through
The sounding sea the vessel flew:
With wine and copious cheer the crew
Caroused: the damsel o'er the lyre
Her rapid fingers lightly flung,
And thus, with feigned obedience, sung.
Sate down upon the deck. The tide
Blushed with the deepening light of morn.
A pitying look the youth forlorn
Turned on the maiden. Can it be?
Or does his sense play false? Too well
He knows that radiant form. 'Tis she,
The magic maid of Thessaly,
'Tis Rhododaphne! By the spell,
That ever round him dwelt, opprest,
He bowed his head upon his breast,
And o'er his eyes his hand he drew,
That fatal beauty's sight to shun.
Now from the orient heaven the sun
Had clothed the eastward waves with fire:
Right from the west the fair breeze blew:
The full sails swelled, and sparkling through
The sounding sea the vessel flew:
With wine and copious cheer the crew
Caroused: the damsel o'er the lyre
Her rapid fingers lightly flung,
And thus, with feigned obedience, sung.
—“The Nereid's home is calm and bright,
The ocean-depths below,
Where liquid streams of emerald light
Through caves of coral flow.
She has a lyre of silver strings
Framed on a pearly shell,
And sweetly to that lyre she sings
The shipwrecked seaman's knell.
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Where liquid streams of emerald light
Through caves of coral flow.
She has a lyre of silver strings
Framed on a pearly shell,
And sweetly to that lyre she sings
The shipwrecked seaman's knell.
The ocean-snake in sleep she binds;
The dolphins round her play:
His purple conch the Triton winds
Responsive to the lay:
Proteus and Phorcys, sea-gods old,
Watch by her coral cell,
To hear, on watery echoes rolled,
The shipwrecked seaman's knell.”—
The dolphins round her play:
His purple conch the Triton winds
Responsive to the lay:
Proteus and Phorcys, sea-gods old,
Watch by her coral cell,
To hear, on watery echoes rolled,
The shipwrecked seaman's knell.”—
—“Cease!”—cried the chief in accents rude—
“From songs like these mishap may rise.
Thus far have we our course pursued
With smiling seas and cloudless skies.
From wreck and tempest, omens ill,
Forbear; and sing, for well I deem
Those pretty lips possess the skill,
Some ancient tale of happier theme;
Some legend of imperial Jove,
In uncouth shapes disguised by love;
Or Hercules, and his hard toils;
Or Mercury, friend of craft and spoils;
Or Jove-born Bacchus, whom we prize
O'er all the Olympian deities.”—
“From songs like these mishap may rise.
Thus far have we our course pursued
With smiling seas and cloudless skies.
From wreck and tempest, omens ill,
Forbear; and sing, for well I deem
Those pretty lips possess the skill,
Some ancient tale of happier theme;
Some legend of imperial Jove,
In uncouth shapes disguised by love;
Or Hercules, and his hard toils;
Or Mercury, friend of craft and spoils;
Or Jove-born Bacchus, whom we prize
O'er all the Olympian deities.”—
He said, and drained the bowl. The crew
With long coarse laugh applauded. Fast
With sparkling keel the vessel flew,
For there was magic in the breeze
That urged her through the sounding seas.
By Chanastræum's point they past,
And Ampelos. Grey Athos, vast
With woods far-stretching to the sea,
Was full before them, while the maid
Again her lyre's wild strings assayed,
In notes of bolder melody:
—“Bacchus by the lonely ocean
With long coarse laugh applauded. Fast
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For there was magic in the breeze
That urged her through the sounding seas.
By Chanastræum's point they past,
And Ampelos. Grey Athos, vast
With woods far-stretching to the sea,
Was full before them, while the maid
Again her lyre's wild strings assayed,
In notes of bolder melody:
Stood in youthful semblance fair:
Summer winds, with gentle motion,
Waved his black and curling hair.
Streaming from his manly shoulders
Robes of gold and purple dye
Told of spoil to fierce beholders
In their black ship sailing by.
On the vessel's deck they placed him
Strongly bound in triple bands;
But the iron rings that braced him
Melted, wax-like, from his hands.
Then the pilot spake in terror:
—‘'Tis a god in mortal form!
Seek the land; repair your error
Ere his wrath invoke the storm.’—
—‘Silence!’—cried the frowning master,—
Mind the helm: the breeze is fair:
Coward! cease to bode disaster:
Leave to men the captive's care.’—
While he speaks and fiercely tightens
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From the deck wine bubbling lightens,
Winy fragrance fills the gale.
Gurgling in ambrosial lustre
Flows the purple-eddying wine:
O'er the yard-arms trail and cluster
Tendrils of the mantling vine:
Grapes, beneath the broad leaves springing,
Blushing as in vintage-hours,
Droop, while round the tall mast clinging
Ivy twines its buds and flowers,
Fast with graceful berries blackening:—
Garlands hang on every oar:
Then in fear the cordage slackening,
One and all they cry,—‘To shore!’—
Bacchus changed his shape, and glaring
With a lion's eyeballs wide,
Roared: the pirate-crew, despairing,
Plunged amid the foaming tide.
Through the azure depths they flitted
Dolphins by transforming fate:
But the god the pilot pitied,
Saved, and made him rich and great.”—
The crew laid by their cups, and frowned.
A stern rebuke the leader gave.
With arrowy speed the ship went round
Nymphæum. To the ocean-wave
The mountain-forest sloped, and cast
O'er the white surf its massy shade.
They heard, so near the shore they past,
The hollow sound the sea-breeze made,
As those primæval trees it swayed.
A stern rebuke the leader gave.
With arrowy speed the ship went round
Nymphæum. To the ocean-wave
The mountain-forest sloped, and cast
O'er the white surf its massy shade.
They heard, so near the shore they past,
58
As those primæval trees it swayed.
—“Curse on thy songs!”—the leader cried,—
“False tales of evil augury!”—
—“Well hast thou said,”—the maid replied,—
“They augur ill to thine and thee.”—
“False tales of evil augury!”—
—“Well hast thou said,”—the maid replied,—
“They augur ill to thine and thee.”—
She rose, and loosed her radiant hair,
And raised her golden lyre in air.
The lyre, beneath the breeze's wings,
As if a spirit swept the strings,
Breathed airy music, sweet and strange,
In many a wild phantastic change.
Most like a daughter of the Sun
She stood: her eyes all radiant shone
With beams unutterably bright;
And her long tresses, loose and light,
As on the playful breeze they rolled,
Flamed with rays of burning gold.
His wondering eyes Anthemion raised
Upon the maid: the seamen gazed
In fear and strange suspense, amazed.
And raised her golden lyre in air.
The lyre, beneath the breeze's wings,
As if a spirit swept the strings,
Breathed airy music, sweet and strange,
In many a wild phantastic change.
Most like a daughter of the Sun
The children of the Sun were known by the splendor of their eyes and hair. Πασα γαρ ηελιου γενεη αριδηλος ιδεσθαι Ηεν: επει βλεφαρων αποτηλοθι, μαρμαρυγησιν Οιον εκ χρυσεων αντωπιον ιεσαν αιγλην. Apollonius, IV. 727. And in the Orphic Argonautics Circe is thus described:—εκ δ'αρα παντες Θαμβεον εισοροωντες: απο κρατος γαρ εθειραι Πυρσαις ακτινεσσιν αλιγκιοι ηωρηντο: Στιλβε δε καλα προσωπα, φλογος δ'απελαμπεν αυτμη.
She stood: her eyes all radiant shone
With beams unutterably bright;
And her long tresses, loose and light,
As on the playful breeze they rolled,
Flamed with rays of burning gold.
His wondering eyes Anthemion raised
Upon the maid: the seamen gazed
In fear and strange suspense, amazed.
From the forest-depths profound
Breathes a low and sullen sound:
'Tis the woodland spirit's sigh,
Ever heard when storms are nigh.
On the shore the surf that breaks
With the rising breezes makes
More tumultuous harmony.
Louder yet the breezes sing:
Round and round, in dizzy ring,
Sea-birds scream on restless wing:
Pine and cedar creak and swing
To the sea-blast's murmuring.
Far and wide on sand and shingle
Eddying breakers boil and mingle:
Beetling cliff and caverned rock
Roll around the echoing shock,
Where the spray, like snow-dust whirled,
High in vapory wreaths is hurled.
Breathes a low and sullen sound:
'Tis the woodland spirit's sigh,
Ever heard when storms are nigh.
On the shore the surf that breaks
With the rising breezes makes
More tumultuous harmony.
Louder yet the breezes sing:
Round and round, in dizzy ring,
Sea-birds scream on restless wing:
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To the sea-blast's murmuring.
Far and wide on sand and shingle
Eddying breakers boil and mingle:
Beetling cliff and caverned rock
Roll around the echoing shock,
Where the spray, like snow-dust whirled,
High in vapory wreaths is hurled.
Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven,
Curtain round the vault of heaven.
—“To shore! to shore!”—the seamen cry.
The damsel waved her lyre on high,
And to the powers that rule the sea
It whispered notes of witchery.
Swifter than the lightning-flame
The sudden breath of the whirlwind came.
Round at once in its mighty sweep
The vessel whirled on the whirling deep.
Right from shore the driving gale
Bends the mast and swells the sail:
Loud the foaming ocean raves:
Through the mighty waste of waves
Speeds the vessel swift and free,
Like a meteor of the sea.
Curtain round the vault of heaven.
—“To shore! to shore!”—the seamen cry.
The damsel waved her lyre on high,
And to the powers that rule the sea
It whispered notes of witchery.
Swifter than the lightning-flame
The sudden breath of the whirlwind came.
Round at once in its mighty sweep
The vessel whirled on the whirling deep.
Right from shore the driving gale
Bends the mast and swells the sail:
Loud the foaming ocean raves:
Through the mighty waste of waves
Speeds the vessel swift and free,
Like a meteor of the sea.
Day is ended. Darkness shrouds
The shoreless seas and lowering clouds.
Northward now the tempest blows:
Fast and far the vessel goes:
Crouched on deck the seamen lie;
One and all, with charmed eye,
On the magic maid they gaze:
Nor the youth with less amaze
Looks upon her radiant form
Shining by the golden beams
Of her refulgent hair, that streams
Like waving star-light on the storm;
And hears the vocal blast that rings
Among her lyre's enchanted strings.
The shoreless seas and lowering clouds.
Northward now the tempest blows:
Fast and far the vessel goes:
Crouched on deck the seamen lie;
One and all, with charmed eye,
On the magic maid they gaze:
60
Looks upon her radiant form
Shining by the golden beams
Of her refulgent hair, that streams
Like waving star-light on the storm;
And hears the vocal blast that rings
Among her lyre's enchanted strings.
Onward, onward flies the bark,
Through the billows wild and dark.
From her prow the spray she hurls;
O'er her stern the big wave curls;
Fast before the impetuous wind
She flies—the wave bursts far behind.
Through the billows wild and dark.
From her prow the spray she hurls;
O'er her stern the big wave curls;
Fast before the impetuous wind
She flies—the wave bursts far behind.
Onward, onward flies the bark,
Through the raging billows:—Hark!
'Tis the stormy surge's roar
On the Ægean's northern shore.
Tow'rds the rocks, through surf and surge,
The destined ship the wild winds urge.
High on one gigantic wave
She swings in air. From rock and cave
A long loud wail of fate and fear
Rings in the hopeless seaman's ear.
Forward, with the breaker's dash,
She plunges on the rock. The crash
Of the dividing bark, the roar
Of waters bursting on the deck,
Are in Anthemion's ear: no more
He hears or sees: but round his neck
Are closely twined the silken rings
Of Rhododaphne's glittering hair,
And round him her bright arms she flings,
And cinctured thus in loveliest bands
The charmed waves in safety bear
The youth and the enchantress fair,
And leave them on the golden sands.
Through the raging billows:—Hark!
'Tis the stormy surge's roar
On the Ægean's northern shore.
Tow'rds the rocks, through surf and surge,
The destined ship the wild winds urge.
High on one gigantic wave
She swings in air. From rock and cave
A long loud wail of fate and fear
Rings in the hopeless seaman's ear.
Forward, with the breaker's dash,
She plunges on the rock. The crash
Of the dividing bark, the roar
Of waters bursting on the deck,
Are in Anthemion's ear: no more
He hears or sees: but round his neck
Are closely twined the silken rings
Of Rhododaphne's glittering hair,
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And cinctured thus in loveliest bands
The charmed waves in safety bear
The youth and the enchantress fair,
And leave them on the golden sands.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |