University of Virginia Library

II

But suddenly both eyes and ears were closed
To all around me, and I saw but one.
Whose is that face, so dark with eastern suns,
That eye so bright, those limbs so knit with toil
To sinewy strength, that form heroical,
But thine, my brother? He had but enter'd now;
And stood awhile apart, with both his palms
Resting upon an ivory-hilted sword
Of eastern fashion, rarely wrought; “'Tis he!
'Tis Antimenidas!” ah! then I rose;
I ran, I fell upon his neck; but he
Smiled as he press'd me to him: “It is well
That warlike rumours reach'd me; else had I
O brother, never reach'd our home to see
This feast of friends; I see that good things gush,
Like fountains in the desert unforeseen,
From evils; had I lost another day
We should have met only in battle-field
Without the memory of this bliss to cheer
My spirit onward.” Again I cried, “O thou
Deem'd lost, as to our senses thou hast been,
This many a winter, since we parted last,
For no sign reach'd us; when thou wert not seen—
As they who listen in a vacant night,
And hearkening ever to the dreary void
May hear weird noises in the silence—I,
Methought, heard Death articulate thy name.
So doubly is this moment blest to me,
That from the ashes of dead Hope awakes
No fancied form to baffle me, no shape
Cloudlike of memory; but thyself, the same
Thy very self:” just then a lamp pass'd by,
And cast a light upon his weary face;
And then I saw, clearer than in my own,
How moments, like to little waterdrops,
Had worn them channels, like dry torrent beds,
Laid for those tears that only dew the cheeks
Where they are not; and how his brow had felt
The breath of the scorch'd deserts, and the fire
Of other climes! He sat down by my side.
I bade the cup-boy bear him of that wine
That had slept, dreaming underneath the earth
Of this great day, since last he parted hence,
When I was but a boy, and look'd on him,
As only boyhood can on one advanced
One lustre onward; as he drain'd the cup
He cried—“Ah! Lesbos, Lesbos; never since
Hath any vintage purpled on my lip
Like this our island nectar;” and I said—
“While they are talking of their divers feats,
Tell me, my brother, of thine own; and when
Came to thee the great sword I see thee bear;
An ivory-hilted sword of massy weight,
Wreathed with fantastic scroll-work, and inlaid
With gold device:” “I bring thee this” he said.
“My voice hath never had a charm, like thine,
For tears, for triumphs, for delight—a voice
To make the young heart echo, and the old
Live o'er again—a voice, to which the world
Trembles in answer, like a harp struck well.
One only note it hath, and that hath been
A clarion-sound in peril. But take this;
And hang it up amid the curious arms
Of many generations; if they say,
‘Which of thy forefathers of mighty build
Carried this weapon?’ thou shalt say ‘My brother
Won it from him who bore it, one who stood
A giant of six cubits’; and my praise,
Pour'd from thy lips, will be to me and thee
A double harvest from the selfsame field.
Thou know'st full well my heart was not as thine
From the beginning; tho' we grew together,
As two tall trees that bend to one another,
Thine was the seemlier, mine the sturdier frame;
Thy hair was dark, but mine was sunny-fair.
And while thy soul shone chiefly in thine eyes,
When some great thought, as lightning in the night,
Struck thro' their blackness; mine, as the blue sea
Lifting the sunbeams on its surface, throbb'd
With momentary passions, eager hopes,
Brief joys, and high thoughts of heroic acts,
And strength, and names of honour won with arms.
Yet how we loved each other, how we loved!
Star drawn to star by powers that cross'd each other;
Loud trumpet-notes round which soft harpings shower'd;
So that sweet Sappho named us Night and Day.
And twain were thus as one—unlike grew like—
Our spirits borrow'd aspects of each other—
For thou my hardihood with dews of pity
Didst temper; and I lent thee linked mail
For action. Hand in hand we trod the earth;
I loved to hear thee sing of deeds of mine;
Thou lovedst to see me body forth thy songs.
And when thy heart, as sometimes needs must be,
With shadows scared, or dazzled with its light,
Saw not the shapes of things, my clear gray eyes
Peer'd thro' the mists of dark and bright; and thou,
When with mine iron will I would rebel
'Gainst Time, and Space, and Possibility,
Wouldst with keen arrows of thy fancy sound
The abysses; till my soul unused to fear,
Grew still as at the wholesome touch of frost.
And yet not all unlike; for both were born
Fashion'd with eyes that open'd on the sun,
And those strong wings that seek it; hearts that held
Unhonour'd life a living death; and death,
Honour achieved, immortal life! alas!
But we were dreamers both; both fired too soon
To lift the anchor reckless of the helm;
Scornful of rest and peaceful thoughts, to sail
Far forth from shelter'd inlets undisturb'd,
And dash athwart the great seas manifold.
Ah me! ah me! how many days seem fled
Since those thoughts were; for, tho' my years are few,
My thoughts are many; and here we meet again
A little space, too soon to part once more.
Ah me! how dreadful is the spectre fair
That once was joy in life; how mournful-sweet
The memory of those moments—days—ev'n years—
When all before us, whether Earth or Heaven,
Desert or vineyard, icy peak, or plain,
Swathed in the selfsame Summer azure, fled
Before us as we trod the dews at morn.
Soon shall we stand upon the top of all;
Touch with faint hands the barrenness that seem'd
Elysium; hear the silence round us, whence
Far songs seem'd waving to us; or only hear
The cinders crash beneath our heels; the dust
Of vanities—cold ashes, loves or fears—
The spirits of the Dead go by as wind,
Or Death, like the lone thunder, calls to us.
Now we are met, and have between us set
This jar of golden Lesbian, I will tell thee
All that befell me since that saddest hour
Of all my life; it was a rainy eve,
I well remember, when as now we sat,
Our young morn shadow'd with untimely cloud,
As now the noonday of our vexed years
Is lit a moment with returning mirth.
Tell me which is the better—hard to say—
Yet such is Life—Songs end in sighs—and sighs
Kindle with songs again. The host's swart face
Peep'd thro' the fluttering trellis, anger'd half,
And half well-pleased, that we had order'd wine
We could not taste; the breeze swept by, and broke
Our sad low murmur'd speech with wailing sound.
We heard the melody of one sweet song—
Known from our cradles unto me and thee—
Wave from behind; and ebb with the hoarse sea
That sobb'd beneath us. I rose, and took thy hand;
And with my feet upon the plashy stair
That met the sea, I stretch'd the other down
To the boatmen; and when first I raised my eyes
Out of my folded arms, I saw thee there,
Thine hand upon the marble balustrade,
Thy brows bent forward with an eager look,
Till misty twilight shut out all but that
One mournful image shadow'd in my soul.”
“The heart is faithful whose fond records are
Slight things like these”—I answer'd, “O my brother;
And yet thy spirit, better knit than mine,
Needed but merry voices, or a song;
Or welcome of bold comrades wing'd with hope;
Thine eyes to look upon the busy crowd,
And common purpose, making many one,
And the weak strong; straight to put off, like sleep,
The present weight of sorrow, and forget
Like dreams in sudden daylight. But I stood
In love with grief; and shrank from sight of men
For weary hours; as tho' familiar life
Like loving touches to a wounded side
Made sorrow ache the more: Oh! how I loved
To torture mine own soul, with memories wrought
To such a fairy skein of tenderness
By cunning fancies, that thy smallest acts,
Unnoted words, and unremember'd looks,
As ghostly witnesses against me came
And charged me with ingratitude. One morn
That we had plann'd to reach a mountain peak
Before the Sun, I woke thee with a shout;
But thou wert sick and all our purpose lost;
And I went forth half anger'd, and alone.
Again, when I was lying with fix'd eyes,
And fever'd tongue, I saw my mother pass
Into the chamber with thee, and thy hand
Did clasp hers piteously, thy wondering eyes
Look'd weeping up into her anxious face;
I heard thee whisper ‘Can he die so soon?’
I saw thee running on the morning sands,
A warrior leading on the fisher boys,
Thy trumpet but a wreathen rosy shell;
A swimmer buffeting the ridgy sea;
A horseman flying towards the mountains dark,
Thy fair head smitten by a spark of light
Over the dark cloud of his rolling mane,
Bent like the morning star above the sea.
O Brother, none but those whose daily life
Is fed by Love's sun, and perennial dew,
By hourly converse, like the Summer air
That stirs the flowers and draws forth all their sweetness,
Can feel how like Night in a wilderness
With barrenness, and silence, and the dark,
It is to lose the interchanging moods
Of that home-life; tho' crost with stormy hours,
That make relapsing peace like Summer blue
Come back with tenfold blisses—let me hear thee—”