University of Virginia Library

I

Amid the merrymaking came the cry
Of instant war; as when the mountain wind
Shrills thro' the purple vineyards, and bears down
At summernoon the frore breath of the snows.
We spread the banquet in the Armoury,
That Love should not forget the morrowmorn;
That he was sitting under cloud of Death,
And that his flutes and tabors must give place
To brazen tongues of wrath; that War should part
Not without the sweet memories of Love;
For partings must be with the coming dawn.
Meanwhile, let there be joy with dance and song;
That, when the clash of arms is in our ears,
Still they may echo with the festal sounds
Of this sweet eve, and make the warrior's heart
Impregnable to fears, with thought of those
He leaves behind him; and his armed hand
Insuperable, in the hope to save
The land he loves and yearns to tread again.
So, soon all friends were gather'd at the board;
And the bright day gave place to softer light
Let down by silver chains from lamps that burn'd
Sweet odours; lamps that shone, as summer moons,
Over the carven cups, and urns of flowers.
The evening wind blew from the plots without
Their dewy breathings; and the sound was heard
Of fountains in the gardens; and the rain,
Seen 'twixt the parting curtain's wind-blown folds,
Glitter'd in the moonlight like sparks of fire;
And from rosethickets, under arching sprays,
Came, ever and anon, the distant swell
Of choral voices, whose soft tide of song
Swam, mingling with the moonbeams. And we paused
Amid our converse; as though in our ears,
And hearts, Elysium seem'd to fall in drops
Of Music, sweet tears of Melpomene;
Melpomene best Muse of all the Nine!
Foremost sat Citharus with his dove-eyed bride;
And all the children of our house were there
But Antimenidas; ah! where was he?
And first in honour, and not least in grace,
The dear house-mother with her children sat;
Then kindred faces, from far mountain homes
Seldom turn'd city-wards; and many a friend,
Loved for his truth, or honour'd for his skill;
Menon, the sun of wit, and soul of mirth;
And Melanippus, trusty friend; and she,
The pale-brow'd Sappho, through whose dark, deep eyes
Rose, starlike, inner glories. And I saw
There Anaktoria wreath'd with rose, herself
The queen of beauty; and she tamed her lips
To tenderness; her eyes, two sunlit heavens,
To dewy twilights; everyone was glad.
And ev'n the sad Erinna left her loom,
And solitary home, to warm her heart
For years to come; and feed upon those joys
In memory which she never hoped to feel.
And now the youths and damsels, cupbearers,
The fairest children of our noblest chiefs,
Each a young Hermes, or a Hebe, clad
In many-colour'd vests, began to run
Between the tables, filling to the brim
The beakers wreathed with fresh-gather'd flowers,
That painted in the purple Lesbian wine
Their hues, as 'twere dark fountains shaded o'er
By hanging gardens. Some cast odours in,
That fill'd the place with blisses; some sweetmeats,
As was the custom of the early times;
Some on their knees did hold up silver ewers,
Wherein they dipp'd their hands: the elders fill'd
The highest seats; and then the foremost men
In noble deeds; along the centre stood
White images of the great Gods. Then rose
Citharus, now the Master of the feast;
And bade us pour out the first and best wine
To the Immortals, on the festal board,
Altar of Friendship, and convivial Joy,
And hospitable Peace: “For are not those
Gather'd around me, a mirror of the World,
A picture of Humanity on earth
Call'd by the good Gods to the feast of Life,
Its fruits and flowers? Pour out the best of all
To them who give it; that our hopes may be
Crown'd by their graces, and our joys be full.
And first to Vesta, guardian of the hearth,
And home, who holds the rooftree o'er our heads;
Without whose mercies all our household cares
Were frail, as dwellings builded on the slope
Of fiery mountains, or earthquaking plains.”
Then from tall vases, running o'er with flowers,
He handed to the guests fresh garlands, strung
With silver braid, till every man had bound
His brows, and scatter'd roundabout him all
The remnant roses; till but half the floor
Was visible between the fallen rain
Of garden sweets, of leaves, and buds, and flowers.
Oh! who shall tell how soft the moments were,
How swiftly sped, though on their plumes they bore
More lovely, glancing colours than the wings
Of turtles in the sunbeam; were more sweet
Than dew-dropt musk-rose petals shed at dawn?
The laugh of Menon, heard among the rest,
Set mirth a moving, like a flute-note high
Above the timbrels, or a dancer's foot.
Fair Anaktoria bent her queenlike brow,
—Well pleased to read heart-homage in men's eyes—
In answer to sweet words, though her own heart
Unvanquish'd laugh'd at their captivity.
She spoke of her own land, Ionia,
Its wealth and wonders; and “Alas!” she sigh'd,
“Shall a strange sceptre shadow us at last,
A conqueror's heel press on us? let me hope
That here are some, who will turn back the proud
The way they came, ere my Miletus hear
The owl of Athens hooting from her towers.”
Atthis was gleeful as a dimpling spring
Shaded with maiden-hair, and briery rose;
But Sappho lean'd back, dreamful even then;
And from the beauty of the Actual
Weaving a lovelier beauty, to the tune
To some unheard sweet song; and oft her smile,
Like a warm moonbeam cross'd by twinkling leaves,
Seem'd all astir with inner fancy-work.
Then follow'd many a pleasant tale, or sad,
Of prowess, peril, wonders, accidents;
Ventures by flood and field, heroic acts;
Triumphs of patience, nights in mountain snows;
Spoils won; the chase, the race; midsummer days
Among the islands; wanderings into wilds
Unknown before; memories that kindled hopes;
Young hopes that look'd on to far years, and drew
Smiles from old eyes that look'd back to the same;
Of victors crown'd, of wrestlers overthrown;
The chariot-course when last the rivals met,
And to the inland solitudes went up
The shoutings from the amphitheatre.