University of Virginia Library

I. THE TOMB OF AGAMEMNON.—1.

Two peaks I saw: one eminent in light;
The other shrouded by the shadow thrown
From his great brother's bosom on his own:
They stood, as Life to Death or Day to Night
Opposed. Descending from their common height
The mountain rivulet clasped with gentle moan
A funeral vault in vernal bravery dight—
Through the dim arch a low faint breeze was blown:
Not fainter through his murderer's hair unshaken
Breathed once the sleeping King! Sad odours blended
With that faint breeze: poppies on high suspended
Their dark lamps fed as with Elysian oil:
While bees low murmured, like the whispering coil
Round the sick bed of one men fear to waken!

II. THE TOMB OF AGAMEMNON.—2.

III. A STATUE OF JUNO.

That breadth and amplitude of brow uncrowned;
Those awful lids, lifted, nor e'er to close:
Those orbs that on their own calm gaze repose;
Those lips sedate though wreathed with smiles around:
That grand expanse of breast, wherein, enthroned,
Majesty dwells, and peaceful pleasure grows
And spreads, unheaving its Olympian snows
Against that marble zone, their sacred bound;
These, and the tall spear like a sceptre grasped,
Making a firm foot firmer; and the mien
Divine, and sphere in one large hand enclasped,
Fitly announce and without words rehearse
The Matron Ruler of the World, the Queen
Of Gods, and Mistress of the Universe!

IV. THE THEATRE AT ARGOS.

This rock-hewn theatre, yon stage-like plain,
Are not unpeopled: onward in my trance
From those blue mountains to the glimmering main
A mightier theatre, bright hosts advance;
The old Homeric hosts, with spear and lance:
The brother monarchs lead the glorious train
Car-borne—a herald leans on either rein:
Clear rings the trump: bright crests in myriads dance.
O'er Juno's Argolis the Sun is set:
Her car is here; her tempest-footed steeds:
Still on that poppied stone her victim bleeds:
Shoreward her Argive ranks are rushing yet;
Down the grey sands the last black ship has grated—
And now, woe, woe to Troy—her fall is fated!

V. THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES AT THE PIRÆUS.

The Sun is slowly sinking—it is set—
Yet still yon mountain range of Megara
(Like one that on his palate strives to stay
A taste forgone) retains, purpureal yet,
The sweet remembrance: crimsoned, the waves fret
Against those far-famed Walls that gird the bay,
Marmoreal record of a mightier day
When, pushed above that rocky parapet
In one elliptic wave of blood-stained brine,
This gulf, beneath the unwonted weight accurst
Of Persia's myriad ships, bounded and burst,
And, sinking, left more high its sanguine line
Than yonder margin where the Athenian's grave
Still in its secret joy engulfs the applauding wave!

VI. SOPHOCLES.

Alone I wandered through a city lone,
(The tomb august, and monumental state
Of Empire passed away and desolate)
To where, 'mid crumbling frieze, and columns prone.
Down a great Temple-court the shades were thrown
Of seven majestic Statues calm as Fate:
The mouldering altar, like a snowy zone
They girt: I midmost in that circle sate.
One was a King; and regal though uncrowned,
Low-bent he stood, standing as if he slept,
With blinded eyes, and chains his feet around:
Another was a royal Maid, who kept
Her eyes upon an urn funereal pressed
By both her marble hands deep deep into her breast.

VII. ÆSCHYLUS.

A sea-cliff carved into a bas-relief!
Dark thoughts and sad, conceived by brooding Nature;
Brought forth in storm:—dread shapes of Titan stature,
Emblems of Fate, and Change, Revenge, and Grief,
And Death, and Life:—a caverned Hieroglyph
Confronting still with thunder-blasted frieze
All stress of years, and winds, and wasting seas:—
The stranger nears it in his fragile skiff
And hides his eyes. Few, few shall pass, great Bard,
Thy dim sea-portals! Entering, fewer yet
Shall pierce thy mystic meanings, deep and hard:
But these shall owe to thee an endless debt:
The Eleusinian caverns they shall tread
That wind beneath man's heart; and wisdom learn with dread.

VIII. THE SUN GOD.

I saw the Master of the Sun. He stood
High in his luminous car, himself more bright;
An Archer of immeasurable might:
On his left shoulder hung his quivered load;
Spurned by his Steeds the eastern mountain glowed;
Forward his eager eye, and brow of light
He bent; and, while both hands that arch embowed,
Shaft after shaft pursued the flying Night.
No wings profaned that godlike form: around
His neck high held an ever-moving crowd
Of locks hung glistening: while such perfect sound
Fell from his bowstring, that th' ethereal dome
Thrilled as a dewdrop; and each passing cloud
Expanded, whitening like the ocean foam.

IX. URANIA.

Urania! Voice of Heaven, sidereal Muse!—
Lo, through the dark vault issuing from afar,
She comes, reclining on a lucid star:
Her dark eyes, trembling through celestial dews,
The glory of high thoughts far off diffuse:
While the bright surges of her refluent hair
Stream back, upraised upon sustaining air
Which lifts that scarf deep-dyed in midnight hues
To a wide arch above her hung like heaven.
I closed my eyes. Athwart me, like a blast,
Music as though of jubilant gods was driven.
Once more I gazed. That form divine had passed
Earth's dark confine. The ocean's utmost rim
Burned yet a moment: then the world grew dim.

X. THE ACROPOLIS OF ATHENS.—1.

All ye who seek the famed Acropolis,
First bathe in old Ilyssus, Muse-loved stream,
Whilst yet it laughs in Citherea's beam,
Lifting its cheek to catch her fugitive kiss:
There drown all thoughts save thoughts of mirth and bliss!
Fanciful sighs for rites of old supreme—
Now past—blow from you like an idle dream:
That which yon Summit ever was it is.
Entwine your heads with myrtle: with light heart
(A joyful band and deeming joy a duty)
Ascend that fairest hill which Earth sustains.
A giant Altar vowed to sovran Art
It stands; its sacred Offerings sun-clad Fanes,
To Beauty raised—owning no God but Beauty!

XI. THE ACROPOLIS OF ATHENS.—2.

Pallas Athena! deep of soul and wise!
Mighty in thought and act; severe of breast;
To this high fane, thine ancient region's crest,
Descend, and roll once more thine azure eyes
O'er th' Olive land, remembering well those ties
Which lured thee hither from the World's wide quest,
And reared thy seat of venerable rest
Under the equal arch of those broad skies!
Leave it not ever—round thee stand the mountains;
Bright as thy shield when it becomes thy mirror,
For victory arming, gleams yon purple Sea:
Nor silent yet the old poetic fountains—
Make thou thy Sons, redeemed from ancient Error
And recent bonds, more vile—strong, pure, and free!

XII. THE PRISON OF SOCRATES.

(A CAVE OPPOSITE TO THE ACROPOLIS.)

Pious the memory, or, if fabulous,
The Mythos reverent which such spot assigned
Prison of him the wisest of his kind,
Self-dedicated to the grave: for thus,
By setting suns touched with light dolorous
Thy countenance, Pallas, as the day declined
Was turned, dread image of a sorrowing mind,
On him—as Fancy turns it now on us.
But Wisdom's self in all its might and glory
On him for ever without shadow shone,
In Life as Death. No need of song or story—
Authentic or imagined needeth none!
Truth bent from Heaven, and fixed on him for aye
That gaze whose light is everlasting Day.

XIII. WRITTEN WHILE SAILING ON THE GULF OF LEPANTO.

All around they lie, deep breath to breath replying,
Those outworn seamen in their well-earned sleep:
From the blue concave to the dim blue deep
No sound beside. Fluttering all night, or sighing,
Since morn the breeze delicious hath been dying,
And now is dead. On yonder snowy steep
The majesty of Day diffused is lying;
While Evening's Powers in silence seaward creep
From glens that violet-shade the lilac vest
Of Delphi's hills. Ye mariners, sleep well!
Run slowly, golden sands, and noiselessly!
There stands the great Corinthian citadel:
Parnassus there: Rest, wearied pinnace, rest!
Sleep, sacred air! sleep on, marmoreal sea!

XIV. THE SETTING OF THE MOON NEAR CORINTH.

From that dejected brow in silence beaming
A light it seems too feeble to retain,
A sad, calm, tearful light through vapours gleaming,
Slowly thou sinkest on the Ægean main;
To me an image, in thy placid seeming
Of some fair mourner who will not complain;
Of one whose cheek is pale, whose eyes are streaming,
Whose sighs are heaved unheard,—not heaved in vain.
And yet what power is thine? as thou dost sink,
Down sliding slow along that azure hollow,
The great collected Deep thy course doth follow,
Amorous the last of those faint smiles to drink;
And all his lifted fleets in thee obey
The symbol of an unpresuming sway!

XV. CONSTANTINOPLE.

Is this the sovereign seat of Constantine?
Is that indeed Sophia's far-famed Dome,
Where first the Faith was led in triumph home
Like some high bride, with banner and bright sign,
And melody and flowers? Round yonder shrine
The sons, the rivals, yea the lords of Rome,
Bowed they in reverence, awed by truths divine
Breathed through the golden lips of Chrysostom?
But where that conquering Cross, which, high in heaven,
That Dome of old surmounted? Angels sweeping
The aërial coasts hand now no more suspended—
With the wild sea-dirge their chaunts are no more blended—
Onward they speed, onward by anguish driven;
And the winds waft alone their heavenly weeping.

XVI. ISLAM.

That Asian ardour, deep, and wide, and still,
Which once, like Heaven o'er glowing sands, did brood
Over this People's heart, stubborn and rude,
Hath left them. Did it yet their pulses fill,
They had not lost that fateful might of Will
Which from Imaus on to Atlas hewed
A way before them—in its terrible mood
‘Making ridiculous’ the boasted skill
Of Western Art alike and Arms. Of old
This People's spirit was an arch of fire,
Like a ‘clear heat at harvest.’ Now remains
Nought but the hoary herb and branded plains,
Which beasts shall trample, issuing in their ire
Forth from the depth of their morasses cold!