University of Virginia Library

The Upper Peneios, as before.
Sirens, Seismos, Sphinxes, Griffins, Ants, Pygmies, Dactyls, Cranes of Ibycus, &c.
Sirens.
[Earthquake.

Seismos
(still in the depths of the earth, struggling upward and grumbling; his voice makes itself heard).
One shove more—one shove will do it;
Put but sides and shoulders to it;
One tug more and I am through it.
Thus I tear my way before me,
Sure to rise o'er all that's o'er me.
One tug more—another shove now:
I am in the world above now.

[Appears as described.
Sphinxes.

Seismos.
I've done it all alone—'twas my sole act.
They now believe—they've seen me in the fact.
Had I not toiled and tugged with push and pull,
Would the world have been half so beautiful?
The mountain-summit's pure ethereal blue,
That, as from some enchanted heaven above,
So smiles upon the raptured painter's view;
Where would it be, did I not shake and shove?
My proud progenitors were looking on—
Swart Night and Chaos gloried in their son—
As in my strength, I, 'mong the Titans tall,
With Pelion played and Ossa, as at ball.
We then were young, and, as young blood inspired,
We raved and raged. At last, like children tired,
In half-malicious mirth the hills we clap
Upon Parnassus-head—a double cap.
And there Apollo lingers with his lyre,
Or listens, as the Muses sing in choir.
Even Jove's high stretcher I it was heaved out,
Where his loose thunder-bolts lie strewn about.
And now, with might and main, with stress and strain,
I haste head-foremost from the depths again.
In upper air have worked myself a place,
And shout out for some animated race
Of occupants—and doubtless not in vain—
With joyance and new life to people the new space.

Sphinxes.
We might have thought him one of the true stock
Of the primitive old Hills—a real Rock—
Had we not seen the struggles of his birth,
As the poor upstart wriggled out of earth.
Now bushy woods come clothing his gaunt sides—
Stone pressing upon stone his bald pate hides.
But what care we?—the intruder must retreat—
The Sphinx will never yield her holy seat.

Griffins.
Gold in leaflet—gold in glitter—
Take good care that thieves get none of it;
Through the chinks I see it glitter:
Up! ye Emmets, make your own of it.

Chorus of Ants.
Giants, with shattering
Strength, have up sped it;
Little feet pattering
Joyously tread it.
O'er the hill, in and out,
Tiny things many
Wander in groups about
Fissure and cranny.
Swifter come—swifter come.
Each chink has in it
Rich gold in every crumb:
Hasten to win it.
Loiter and linger not;
Hasten to snatch it;
The treasure is yours
If you only can catch it.
Be earnest—be active—
Come quick to the fountain
Of wealth—seize the gold,
And good-bye to the mountain!

Griffins.
In with the gold! In with it!—swell the heap!
We'll lay our claws upon't—the best bolts they:
I warrant safe the treasure that they keep.

Pygmies.
We're here—we have our place. We cannot say
How it came to be, but so it is. Ask not
Whence 'tis we came—here we are, on the spot,
Here undeniably. And here and there,
Where'er there is but room to breathe—where'er
You find a region meet for joyous life,
If but a rocky crevice shows itself,
Up springs your dwarf; and with the tiny elf
Be sure ere long to find his tiny wife.
The active little man, the dwarfess fair,
You find them here, and there, and everywhere;
Diligent little people—pair and pair.
I do not know if things in the old day
Went on in Paradise the self-same way;
That here they do so happily we know,
And thank our stars delighted that 'tis so.
Life, joyous life, everywhere, east and west,
Springs evermore from Earth's maternal breast.

Dactyls.
In one creative night, if Earth
Hath brought these little things to birth,
Be sure the same life-giving power
To lesser folk will lend their hour,
Who, led by the same law of kind,
Will everywhere fit partners find.

Eldest of the Pygmies.
'Tis a time of Peace, and therefore
The true moment to prepare for
War. Then build the smithy! heap on
Coals! and cuirass shape and weapon!
All our vassals should be arming.
Come, ye Emmets, hither swarming;
Come, in thousands come, and with ye
Bring the metals for the smithy.
Dactyls, come with logs and tinder;
Come with coals, and coke, and cinder.

Generalissimo.

Emmets and Dactyls.
None now to rescue—all resistance vain.
We knead the iron, and they forge the chain.
We are and must be Slaves—Oppressors they;
And helpless we, but hope a better day,
And till it's dawn, repine, but must obey.

The Cranes of Ibycus.

[Disperse, croaking in the air.