 | Dedicated |  |
9
I. PART I
11
DIONYSUS ZAGREUS
AI, ai! The pursuit of my hunters illuded,
I pant, I stretch on the spines of this desolate forest.
Rock on rock, as bone on bone in a body
Sucked of its flesh by the wind and sunshine and days,
Rock is loose-piled on rock; and below, a continuous whiteness
Roars in my ears and swirls through my sight. O torrent,
Beguiler of those who would murder me, savage to keep
My anguish in prison to hear and to watch thy flood
Crave, as no multitude craves for its prey,
For my loneliness, sorrow,
All pain I can know 'mid the pulses of breath,
All fears with their smarting languor, all wrongs I suffer
That heave the sources of grief and yet, as an earthquake swallows
A fountain, banish my tears down their blinded gulfs,
O torrent, you need my godhead in manhood to stay you
From hunger so infinite . . . those whom thy fury baffled
Had need but of flesh, my flesh and the jets of my blood.
I lie on the spines that prick me, on moss-chilled soil,
No longer pursued. . . . Ai, ai! but above me, around,
Beneath me pursuit, as a Power of the earth and air,
Rules in the silence, the silence no Men approach.
The rocks evoke a terror, like lions that couch;
The stream gives the terror of appetite fierce to spring
On my passions in lust, and the wind moves around my form
As it wandered in stealth to capture: the mountain eagle
Watches grey on the roofless walls of rock.
I, who love the shooting and summer of trees,
See the pale firs above, the constant-hued,
The mad-rent boughs of mourning that has no end,
Cybele's tortured grief for the love-lost Atys.
Grieving trees of the dark shade, how I dread you!
I, the son of a god, in the form of man,
Lie on the troublous spines with a mighty burthen
Thrust on my human weakness, the burthen of craft,
Of Nature's patience and craft that pursue a mortal
Steadily, open-eyed, with terrible gold in the gaze,
Sunshine's pitiless blank. I ran from men, the cruel,
That sought my life; but here I lie down, I slumber
Struck with the charm of the elements, held submissive
To vast inflictions, to impious, secret Death.
O trees, pale firs of the dark, dark shade,
O scenting wind, O rock-edged quietude,
O voice that slides like thunder through the gorge,
O eagle-wings at poise, I yield, I sleep,
Laid on the moss-chilled ground
With rhododendron's hard tufts
A ridge about my body as a tomb's,
I yield to die. I who have fled from men
In gnashing hate, with speed as swift as hate,
I yield undone
To you, the great, obliterating airs,
To you, the world's rapacious substances
Grown still to feed—earth, sunlight, and yon bird
That watches grey above the roofless rocks.
My father's bird,
His witness looking on—
Not sent to feed on me, his child, but sent
To bear the record of this great temptation,
And how it fails or triumphs, to the sky,
Where in unthwarted power the gods abide.
O kingly feathers sweep the stone!
It may be I mistake
The meaning of these watchers at my side,
As I mistook, O bird, thy hoary guard.
Zeus, can it be,
My father, that this dreadful peace is made
About me for my glory, not defeat?
I must lie quiet and humble on the ground,
As if in very deed obdurate Death
Were on me parched and cold. . . .
Thus I must lie until the silence break
Again into disclosure: yet no more
The wilderness repels, where all things wait.
I pant, I stretch on the spines of this desolate forest.
Rock on rock, as bone on bone in a body
Sucked of its flesh by the wind and sunshine and days,
Rock is loose-piled on rock; and below, a continuous whiteness
Roars in my ears and swirls through my sight. O torrent,
Beguiler of those who would murder me, savage to keep
My anguish in prison to hear and to watch thy flood
Crave, as no multitude craves for its prey,
For my loneliness, sorrow,
All pain I can know 'mid the pulses of breath,
All fears with their smarting languor, all wrongs I suffer
That heave the sources of grief and yet, as an earthquake swallows
A fountain, banish my tears down their blinded gulfs,
O torrent, you need my godhead in manhood to stay you
From hunger so infinite . . . those whom thy fury baffled
Had need but of flesh, my flesh and the jets of my blood.
12
No longer pursued. . . . Ai, ai! but above me, around,
Beneath me pursuit, as a Power of the earth and air,
Rules in the silence, the silence no Men approach.
The rocks evoke a terror, like lions that couch;
The stream gives the terror of appetite fierce to spring
On my passions in lust, and the wind moves around my form
As it wandered in stealth to capture: the mountain eagle
Watches grey on the roofless walls of rock.
I, who love the shooting and summer of trees,
See the pale firs above, the constant-hued,
The mad-rent boughs of mourning that has no end,
Cybele's tortured grief for the love-lost Atys.
Grieving trees of the dark shade, how I dread you!
I, the son of a god, in the form of man,
Lie on the troublous spines with a mighty burthen
Thrust on my human weakness, the burthen of craft,
Of Nature's patience and craft that pursue a mortal
Steadily, open-eyed, with terrible gold in the gaze,
Sunshine's pitiless blank. I ran from men, the cruel,
That sought my life; but here I lie down, I slumber
Struck with the charm of the elements, held submissive
To vast inflictions, to impious, secret Death.
13
O scenting wind, O rock-edged quietude,
O voice that slides like thunder through the gorge,
O eagle-wings at poise, I yield, I sleep,
Laid on the moss-chilled ground
With rhododendron's hard tufts
A ridge about my body as a tomb's,
I yield to die. I who have fled from men
In gnashing hate, with speed as swift as hate,
I yield undone
To you, the great, obliterating airs,
To you, the world's rapacious substances
Grown still to feed—earth, sunlight, and yon bird
That watches grey above the roofless rocks.
My father's bird,
His witness looking on—
Not sent to feed on me, his child, but sent
To bear the record of this great temptation,
And how it fails or triumphs, to the sky,
Where in unthwarted power the gods abide.
O kingly feathers sweep the stone!
It may be I mistake
The meaning of these watchers at my side,
As I mistook, O bird, thy hoary guard.
Zeus, can it be,
My father, that this dreadful peace is made
About me for my glory, not defeat?
I must lie quiet and humble on the ground,
As if in very deed obdurate Death
Were on me parched and cold. . . .
Thus I must lie until the silence break
14
The wilderness repels, where all things wait.
The preying, slant-head bird,
With eye and beak intent upon my sloth,
Wheels, now I raise my limbs,
Reveals himself august,
God's messenger, my father's twin-throned joy.
I rise, I bend the pale firs to my grasp,
I break the whitened whorls, the honied cones;
I of such sorrows, greater than a man's,
I, the rejected, hunted, mad, unwelcome,
I weave these tragic bunches in a wreath,
Fit crown for ever, of my misery;
Yea, I am crowned with the dark-shading boughs
I dreaded and I choose them as my own;
Heart's anguish in a garland, in a knot
Of cones and shadow-spines upon my wand,
My wand cast down beside me when the force,
Next to a god's, of Nature laid me low.
Evoe! Ye rocks,
A King leaps over you with crown of fir,
With sceptre of the hard fruit of the fir,
Choosing to turn all sorrow into life,
All darkness into motion, all mad pain
And burthen into realms beneath his sway.
O torrent, from thy writhing voice I learn
The rhythm of this my empire, dithyrambs
That rush and break and rage ineffably,
Songs of the Clamour-King. O rocks, O rocks,
One day my ritual shall beat your floors
With dance and feet that scorn you, scoop your sides
To show amid you to the world my grief,
My conquest—you subservient. And, O breeze,
That coveted my breath, to you I give
My victor-cries, the waving of my garlands,
The carriage of my music through the air.
Evoe! Hence, hence, O Eagle! Fly, yea, fly!
The wings stretch. . . . He is gone.
Zeus welcome him! O terrible, strange Powers,
That plotted for your prey, receive your lord.
O solitude of rock and stream and fir,
I stand erect amid my enemies,
And draw them into sanctitude and faith,
Making the woe-struck fir
My chaplet, and the hungry rocks my haunt,
The stream, the stream my anthem turbulent.
I climb! The eagle in Olympus lights
Beside my father's knee: the heaven receives
My father's smile. The terrible still forest
Breathes conquered. . . . If I climb into the snows,
And through them where the unseen slopes descend,
It may be there are vineyards, it may be
Some streak of gay, gold leafage for my hair,
Some grass, some noiseless waters: but I climb.
With eye and beak intent upon my sloth,
Wheels, now I raise my limbs,
Reveals himself august,
God's messenger, my father's twin-throned joy.
I rise, I bend the pale firs to my grasp,
I break the whitened whorls, the honied cones;
I of such sorrows, greater than a man's,
I, the rejected, hunted, mad, unwelcome,
I weave these tragic bunches in a wreath,
Fit crown for ever, of my misery;
Yea, I am crowned with the dark-shading boughs
I dreaded and I choose them as my own;
Heart's anguish in a garland, in a knot
Of cones and shadow-spines upon my wand,
My wand cast down beside me when the force,
Next to a god's, of Nature laid me low.
Evoe! Ye rocks,
A King leaps over you with crown of fir,
With sceptre of the hard fruit of the fir,
Choosing to turn all sorrow into life,
All darkness into motion, all mad pain
And burthen into realms beneath his sway.
O torrent, from thy writhing voice I learn
The rhythm of this my empire, dithyrambs
That rush and break and rage ineffably,
Songs of the Clamour-King. O rocks, O rocks,
One day my ritual shall beat your floors
15
To show amid you to the world my grief,
My conquest—you subservient. And, O breeze,
That coveted my breath, to you I give
My victor-cries, the waving of my garlands,
The carriage of my music through the air.
Evoe! Hence, hence, O Eagle! Fly, yea, fly!
The wings stretch. . . . He is gone.
Zeus welcome him! O terrible, strange Powers,
That plotted for your prey, receive your lord.
O solitude of rock and stream and fir,
I stand erect amid my enemies,
And draw them into sanctitude and faith,
Making the woe-struck fir
My chaplet, and the hungry rocks my haunt,
The stream, the stream my anthem turbulent.
I climb! The eagle in Olympus lights
Beside my father's knee: the heaven receives
My father's smile. The terrible still forest
Breathes conquered. . . . If I climb into the snows,
And through them where the unseen slopes descend,
It may be there are vineyards, it may be
Some streak of gay, gold leafage for my hair,
Some grass, some noiseless waters: but I climb.
16
THE GENETHLIACS OF WINE
ROME and the Palace-gardens and October,
And vintage on the trellises, great weight
Of stony-massive clusters, drab and sober,
Their purple screened in umbrage against Fate:
And vintage on the trellises, great weight
Of stony-massive clusters, drab and sober,
Their purple screened in umbrage against Fate:
Their leaves with hint of blood-stain on the tarnished
Warm green of autumn and their tendrils dry.
'Tis vintage, and the trellises are garnished
With wreathing limbs of vintagers, sky-high.
Warm green of autumn and their tendrils dry.
'Tis vintage, and the trellises are garnished
With wreathing limbs of vintagers, sky-high.
Who catch and rend away and then drop under
The mass of turbid grapes that on the ground
Shoot out in light confession they are plunder
Worth laughing to receive: a jewel-mound.
The mass of turbid grapes that on the ground
Shoot out in light confession they are plunder
Worth laughing to receive: a jewel-mound.
And laughter breaks from boys and girls, commingled
With children, baskets, tuns and stammel juice;
A seething troop where nothing can be singled
As coy to let the mirth-distraction loose.
With children, baskets, tuns and stammel juice;
A seething troop where nothing can be singled
As coy to let the mirth-distraction loose.
With hats of sunlit straw and garlands heavy
Of branching vine-leaves and of clumps of fruit,
The youths and maidens in an amorous bevy
Their pile of grapes down in the presses shoot:
Of branching vine-leaves and of clumps of fruit,
The youths and maidens in an amorous bevy
Their pile of grapes down in the presses shoot:
17
Where crimson feet receive the rush, and splashes
Of grape-must give to clowns the stain of war,
As bunch on top of bunch, with melting flashes,
The harvest runs to wine, the presses pour.
Of grape-must give to clowns the stain of war,
As bunch on top of bunch, with melting flashes,
The harvest runs to wine, the presses pour.
While jests and toyings and wild untuned noises
Love feasts on pertly nor will be appeased;
The lads are satyrs and each girl that poises
Her pannier on her head is rash and pleased.
Love feasts on pertly nor will be appeased;
The lads are satyrs and each girl that poises
Her pannier on her head is rash and pleased.
The Palace-gardens echo, for the revel
Around the running vats and web of vines
Is taken up with rapture from the level
Of the great platform where the Palace shines.
Around the running vats and web of vines
Is taken up with rapture from the level
Of the great platform where the Palace shines.
The sobbing cry that cleaves the grapes when trodden
Dies round still feet; the vintagers are dumb:
And from a bosomed heap of fruit half-sodden
An infant cries . . . The mother does not come.
Dies round still feet; the vintagers are dumb:
And from a bosomed heap of fruit half-sodden
An infant cries . . . The mother does not come.
She listens, as a chorus, mid its thunder,
Star-spotted faun skins and slant ivy-staves,
Its ribbon-fluttered drums, the hands that sunder
On cymbal-clashes, down the garden raves.
Star-spotted faun skins and slant ivy-staves,
Its ribbon-fluttered drums, the hands that sunder
On cymbal-clashes, down the garden raves.
With hair afloat and wanton silks wide-flowing
The Empress-harlot Messalina speeds
The rout of Bacchanals, her forehead glowing
Toward Silius, the enchanted youth she leads.
The Empress-harlot Messalina speeds
The rout of Bacchanals, her forehead glowing
Toward Silius, the enchanted youth she leads.
18
There is unknown profaneness in her carriage:
For mid soul-stricken witnesses—her lord
Away at Ostia—she in open marriage
Has knit to her the lover last adored.
For mid soul-stricken witnesses—her lord
Away at Ostia—she in open marriage
Has knit to her the lover last adored.
Her passion cried for vintage; she was weary
Of lust unpunished, unwithstood excess.
What was her love but dereliction dreary
Without an end or pleasure's painfulness.
Of lust unpunished, unwithstood excess.
What was her love but dereliction dreary
Without an end or pleasure's painfulness.
She would be mad and smart with joy and tingle
With ache of panic; she would clasp despair
And win it death by dying; she would mingle
A candour with a courage past compare.
With ache of panic; she would clasp despair
And win it death by dying; she would mingle
A candour with a courage past compare.
So she has claimed defiant by the altar
To sanctify her paramour her own;
To publish such desire as will not falter,
Co-equal with her life-blood, with her throne.
To sanctify her paramour her own;
To publish such desire as will not falter,
Co-equal with her life-blood, with her throne.
And now she feasts intractable, the sunny,
Loud revel in her wake, her lover gripped
Beside her, on his brow the sun like honey
Spread flat, his mouth impassionate, red-lipped;
Loud revel in her wake, her lover gripped
Beside her, on his brow the sun like honey
Spread flat, his mouth impassionate, red-lipped;
His eyes a glory as when steel is flooded
At battle-heat with noon; to right and left
His golden-tressèd neck, dark ivy-hooded,
Beats with the music as if sense-bereft.
At battle-heat with noon; to right and left
His golden-tressèd neck, dark ivy-hooded,
Beats with the music as if sense-bereft.
19
The husbandmen are scattered and their labour
Is turned to sport by noble vintagers:
Some dance upon the press with hoisted tabor,
A dozen heap the ground with cumbering furs.
Is turned to sport by noble vintagers:
Some dance upon the press with hoisted tabor,
A dozen heap the ground with cumbering furs.
The tumult of bare limbs and veils together
Is like a whirl of doves above new seed:
And one might doubt, who stood to listen, whether
A cry could pierce the storm from brass and reed.
Is like a whirl of doves above new seed:
And one might doubt, who stood to listen, whether
A cry could pierce the storm from brass and reed.
But no one drains the vessels overrunning;
The vat stands flooded and the soil drinks deep
As old Silenus, while these Bacchants, shunning
The ladders, pluck from lower vines that creep.
The vat stands flooded and the soil drinks deep
As old Silenus, while these Bacchants, shunning
The ladders, pluck from lower vines that creep.
The Empress dances: she has lost the measure
Of mortal empire, and the heaven and earth
Have added wings to freedom, wings to pleasure;
A calm is made for dizziness of mirth.
Of mortal empire, and the heaven and earth
Have added wings to freedom, wings to pleasure;
A calm is made for dizziness of mirth.
Young Silius, frantic, rocks his head, surrounded
By arms that shake the castanets amain;
While boyhood and his early youth confounded,
As he were drowning, glide before his brain.
By arms that shake the castanets amain;
While boyhood and his early youth confounded,
As he were drowning, glide before his brain.
The orgies at their height—as fire is riven
By wind in devious streams, so restlessly,
With sudden panic from the concourse driven,
One, Vettius, starts aside and climbs a tree.
By wind in devious streams, so restlessly,
With sudden panic from the concourse driven,
One, Vettius, starts aside and climbs a tree.
20
Then terror circles through the dance, an anguish
Of limitless constraint; the pipes break off
Upon a shriek, the whirr and triumph languish;
Some dancers, struck with guilt, their badges doff—
Of limitless constraint; the pipes break off
Upon a shriek, the whirr and triumph languish;
Some dancers, struck with guilt, their badges doff—
Their panther-skin and garland: all would follow
The climber's eyes; they shout, they wait, they yell;
And he sees nothing save a distance hollow
Of any sign that might disclose their spell.
The climber's eyes; they shout, they wait, they yell;
And he sees nothing save a distance hollow
Of any sign that might disclose their spell.
The tragic moments pause, as dead for token;
Till to unblenching life each ear awakes,
For Vettius from the turret-tree has spoken,
And made the silence valid that he breaks.
Till to unblenching life each ear awakes,
For Vettius from the turret-tree has spoken,
And made the silence valid that he breaks.
“Io, Io! I see a cloud.” The Empress ceases
Her dance to laugh an echoing laugh and cry
“What further portent?” “The small cloud increases,
It moves above the plain, benights the sky;
Her dance to laugh an echoing laugh and cry
“What further portent?” “The small cloud increases,
It moves above the plain, benights the sky;
“A cloud of dust.” Impatient of the story
Their satyr-watchman tells, the maddest climb.
“It moves from Ostia”—Every face turns hoary.
“It will sweep on us in a little time.
Their satyr-watchman tells, the maddest climb.
“It moves from Ostia”—Every face turns hoary.
“It will sweep on us in a little time.
“The Emperor leaves his sacrifice impassioned
To strike our treason, aweless of his pride.
That cloud is by his furious coming fashioned;
His armed centurions through the country ride.”
To strike our treason, aweless of his pride.
That cloud is by his furious coming fashioned;
His armed centurions through the country ride.”
21
The Empress throbs, yet turns her eyes elated
With desperation, a sweet rage, a charm
Devoted on the eyes of him new-mated,
Yet binds his neck with her remorseless arm.
With desperation, a sweet rage, a charm
Devoted on the eyes of him new-mated,
Yet binds his neck with her remorseless arm.
He wakes as children into youth must waken;
Response is gold in eyes and smile; he finds
Profusion where was nothing, and, unshaken
By fear, his arm about her body winds.
Response is gold in eyes and smile; he finds
Profusion where was nothing, and, unshaken
By fear, his arm about her body winds.
And now the turning spheres, the endless quiver
Of tides and light are rivalled by these two
That dance on threatened and sublime deliver
Their perfect life to motion as a clue.
Of tides and light are rivalled by these two
That dance on threatened and sublime deliver
Their perfect life to motion as a clue.
All may behold their mystery; a stranger
Would see that death alone could break their dance,
And end engulf it; there could be no danger
From interception nor discountenance:
Would see that death alone could break their dance,
And end engulf it; there could be no danger
From interception nor discountenance:
None, for the God of Vintage loves such lovers,
The god whose sap is wine, who ripes for doom,
Who in the transport of the year discovers
Divinest mettle that exacts a tomb.
The god whose sap is wine, who ripes for doom,
Who in the transport of the year discovers
Divinest mettle that exacts a tomb.
They breathe to end their joy, they dance as fellows
Of Spring, the ocean-waves, the stars, the rain,
And of the movement of that zest that mellows
The grape for autumn, cornlands for the wain.
Of Spring, the ocean-waves, the stars, the rain,
And of the movement of that zest that mellows
The grape for autumn, cornlands for the wain.
22
A blow! The Emperor's tribune strikes abhorrent
The impious boy to earth, the Empress down
On bursting grapes, that in her life-blood's torrent
Lose all their started rivulets and drown.
The impious boy to earth, the Empress down
On bursting grapes, that in her life-blood's torrent
Lose all their started rivulets and drown.
She sinks into the spume and plants a whiteness
Deep in the ruddied clusters of her bed:
And thus she sleeps a Bacchanal the brightness
Of noon's impartial flame avouches dead.
Deep in the ruddied clusters of her bed:
And thus she sleeps a Bacchanal the brightness
Of noon's impartial flame avouches dead.
Then round her crowd the vintagers, returning
A chorus to the field her passion trod:
And over her magnificent, unspurning,
Rests as her meed the harvest of their god.
A chorus to the field her passion trod:
And over her magnificent, unspurning,
Rests as her meed the harvest of their god.
23
DE PROFUNDIS
THE grey world of the dead is conquered—all
Its coolness, unconcern; its misty pall
Of cavern-air, its sacred tripod-fumes
Prophetic, all its sunken gems and metals,
Its germs of plant and fruit and summer petals,
Its laws that breed the world, its roots and tombs;
Its coolness, unconcern; its misty pall
Of cavern-air, its sacred tripod-fumes
Prophetic, all its sunken gems and metals,
Its germs of plant and fruit and summer petals,
Its laws that breed the world, its roots and tombs;
Conquered! The shadows know it by their breath
Warm on lip-ridges of the ice of death;
They know it by the comfort in their eyes,
And by the flute-like sympathies that waken
Each pulse and vein, of music long-forsaken;
They know it by a passion to arise:
Warm on lip-ridges of the ice of death;
They know it by the comfort in their eyes,
And by the flute-like sympathies that waken
Each pulse and vein, of music long-forsaken;
They know it by a passion to arise:
They lift themselves and move. They cannot see
The spring-tide changing Dis—that cannot be,
Where all is solemnnes of blindfold glades;
They cannot see the spring, but in the hollow
Unmirroring, vast, their feet are blessed and follow
Some bent of beauty twilight overshades.
The spring-tide changing Dis—that cannot be,
Where all is solemnnes of blindfold glades;
They cannot see the spring, but in the hollow
Unmirroring, vast, their feet are blessed and follow
Some bent of beauty twilight overshades.
And then the dusk grows blue across its web;
The sable in the blue begins to ebb
To pure sky-azure, and the ghosts sweep white
As clouds of April: in the mighty clearness
The gems and metals shake themselves and drearness
Reels with their chequer. Pluto, there is light;
The sable in the blue begins to ebb
To pure sky-azure, and the ghosts sweep white
As clouds of April: in the mighty clearness
The gems and metals shake themselves and drearness
Reels with their chequer. Pluto, there is light;
24
And in the light thy Conqueror! He lies
All love across a shadow's knee, his eyes
Beneath her gaze as if he were a child;
The budded vine-stems of his hair declining
Down to her feet, his level body shining
Under her bosom with the grave-clothes piled,
All love across a shadow's knee, his eyes
Beneath her gaze as if he were a child;
The budded vine-stems of his hair declining
Down to her feet, his level body shining
Under her bosom with the grave-clothes piled,
His bloom of life surrendered to her arms:
His mouth, soft, open for her kiss, embalms,
Like crevice honey-filled, the air she draws.
This youth that is her babe she looks on powerless
To fondle him, for she has tasted hourless
Duration of despair that slowly thaws.
His mouth, soft, open for her kiss, embalms,
Like crevice honey-filled, the air she draws.
This youth that is her babe she looks on powerless
To fondle him, for she has tasted hourless
Duration of despair that slowly thaws.
Then first across her brain the image dawns
Of Thebes, her city, and those genial morns
She parted from a god unseen as sleep;
Till, by sore lust for seeing him o'ertaken,
Fire swept her blind. And can her eyes awaken
To look on joy and yet their vision keep?
Of Thebes, her city, and those genial morns
She parted from a god unseen as sleep;
Till, by sore lust for seeing him o'ertaken,
Fire swept her blind. And can her eyes awaken
To look on joy and yet their vision keep?
Can she at last behold her very son,
Who might not see her god, or must she shun
His grace divine of smile and laughing touch,
That claim her from her cinder-desolation,
That are her mighty lover's own creation
Soliciting her eyes to feed, to clutch.
Who might not see her god, or must she shun
His grace divine of smile and laughing touch,
That claim her from her cinder-desolation,
That are her mighty lover's own creation
Soliciting her eyes to feed, to clutch.
Again flames spring in rage; they swell and smite
Her orbs; there is jagged frenzy in her sight,
That fails resplendent with its quick desire;
But from the lightning-stroke her son has wielded
Tears rain: the Mother, from her passion shielded,
Weeps silently above the lightning's pyre.
Her orbs; there is jagged frenzy in her sight,
25
But from the lightning-stroke her son has wielded
Tears rain: the Mother, from her passion shielded,
Weeps silently above the lightning's pyre.
And thus she bows herself and seeks the mouth
That never sought her breast: she stills her drowth
With kisses . . . and the Dead refresh their love
Beholding; all the coverts pulse and listen;
The roots, a fringe round yellow corms that glisten,
Drink rain in Hades for the spring above.
That never sought her breast: she stills her drowth
With kisses . . . and the Dead refresh their love
Beholding; all the coverts pulse and listen;
The roots, a fringe round yellow corms that glisten,
Drink rain in Hades for the spring above.
Rose-tender mid the phantom's direful clothes,
The child of Zeus and Semele still glows
As sun throughout its morning to a height
Of triumph—for the phantom glows with rapture,
And is the woman he has lived to capture
For Heaven and Zeus and unforbidden sight.
The child of Zeus and Semele still glows
As sun throughout its morning to a height
Of triumph—for the phantom glows with rapture,
And is the woman he has lived to capture
For Heaven and Zeus and unforbidden sight.
“Mother, I knew thee when the nymphs bent down
On Nysa's sward to touch me, and my frown
Met their smooth finger-prints; at shadow-fall
I sorrowed for thee, till I sought thee, lonely,
Round olive-boles, believing thou wert only
Warm-screened among them, hiding for my cry.
On Nysa's sward to touch me, and my frown
Met their smooth finger-prints; at shadow-fall
I sorrowed for thee, till I sought thee, lonely,
Round olive-boles, believing thou wert only
Warm-screened among them, hiding for my cry.
“I knew thee when the lambs lay still and slept,
A single tree above them: and I wept
On summer banks to feel how firm it were
To own thy comfort; I have never striven
For joy but I was seeking thee, nor thriven
Save for such hopes the want of thee would stir.
A single tree above them: and I wept
On summer banks to feel how firm it were
To own thy comfort; I have never striven
For joy but I was seeking thee, nor thriven
Save for such hopes the want of thee would stir.
26
“Mother, when Ariadne smiled her smile
Brought me this sun-glow on thy face. Awhile
I triumphed over earth, the kings, the laws;
Then old Silenus told me of thy story,
Told me of Pluto's kingdom, deep and hoary,
The thwarting rivers, the hound-guarded doors.
Brought me this sun-glow on thy face. Awhile
I triumphed over earth, the kings, the laws;
Then old Silenus told me of thy story,
Told me of Pluto's kingdom, deep and hoary,
The thwarting rivers, the hound-guarded doors.
“Through coils of rock I reached the Stygian flood,
That came as sodden snow upon my blood;
But the black oarsman, dazzled, took his seat,
Rowed and forgot he cleaves the flood for money;
The hell-hound licked my hand as if for honey,
The groves became aware and voiced my feet.
That came as sodden snow upon my blood;
But the black oarsman, dazzled, took his seat,
Rowed and forgot he cleaves the flood for money;
The hell-hound licked my hand as if for honey,
The groves became aware and voiced my feet.
“I broke a spell, and yet with no surprise
The shadows raised their heads and gave me eyes
Full of the earth and lenient. Hades' tomb
With all it held took heed I sought my mother,
Not spouse nor bond-maid, nay, nor any other
Than she who bore me darkling in her womb.
The shadows raised their heads and gave me eyes
Full of the earth and lenient. Hades' tomb
With all it held took heed I sought my mother,
Not spouse nor bond-maid, nay, nor any other
Than she who bore me darkling in her womb.
One tall grey form among the thousands more
Drew me and owned me by the look it wore;
Those veils would cling to me, the unseen face
Be as my birth-star, holy, sure, and fateful.
The shadow's solitude was cursed and hateful . . .
A son was in thy arms' abiding-place.”
Drew me and owned me by the look it wore;
Those veils would cling to me, the unseen face
Be as my birth-star, holy, sure, and fateful.
The shadow's solitude was cursed and hateful . . .
A son was in thy arms' abiding-place.”
“My child, my love . . . My child! But thou canst speak;
I cannot: my unfathomed want grows weak
Before its bliss; and thou canst never hear
What pain has called for thee, what sunk thanks-giving
My dearth of thee yet made shouldst thou be living,
The light upon thee, while my breast lay drear.
I cannot: my unfathomed want grows weak
27
What pain has called for thee, what sunk thanks-giving
My dearth of thee yet made shouldst thou be living,
The light upon thee, while my breast lay drear.
“You raise me from my ashes to the throne
Of Zeus within the heavens: and not alone
You take me past the star-sparks to my youth,
But to my future also, to the lover
No fearful vow, no fear, nor shame shall cover
Away from worship eagle-eyed as truth.
Of Zeus within the heavens: and not alone
You take me past the star-sparks to my youth,
But to my future also, to the lover
No fearful vow, no fear, nor shame shall cover
Away from worship eagle-eyed as truth.
“Let us go hence, above; for at thy side
There is no fire I may not now abide,
No lightning and no deity.” The souls
Pant with the sweeping motion through their valleys
Of son and mother as they pass, like galleys
Tide-borne, while severed Dis together rolls.
There is no fire I may not now abide,
No lightning and no deity.” The souls
Pant with the sweeping motion through their valleys
Of son and mother as they pass, like galleys
Tide-borne, while severed Dis together rolls.
The visit of the Conqueror fades away
From each convinced recess: yet day by day
The Dead are cheered of those who carry grapes,
And smeared bold masks and flutes across the river,
Who tell that Eleutherios is the giver
Of these new pledges to the Stygian shapes.
From each convinced recess: yet day by day
The Dead are cheered of those who carry grapes,
And smeared bold masks and flutes across the river,
Who tell that Eleutherios is the giver
Of these new pledges to the Stygian shapes.
28
SYLVANUS CUPRESSIFER
Et teneram a radice ferens, Sylvane, cupressum.
Georg. I.
Georg. I.
A FOREST glade: a muffling sound of boughs,
One ominous, sweet coo, small breaths about;
And then a scowl, a doubt
If sun will fall through to the moss again;
Then floating on the floor a tide of wind.
One fir-tree joint creaks, with a twang of pain,
That lifts the feathers of the startled dove;
While the green pathway has a sense that comes
Not from rude shades above,
Nor breezes with the pattering leaves behind,
But from one coming as the robber comes.
One ominous, sweet coo, small breaths about;
And then a scowl, a doubt
If sun will fall through to the moss again;
Then floating on the floor a tide of wind.
One fir-tree joint creaks, with a twang of pain,
That lifts the feathers of the startled dove;
While the green pathway has a sense that comes
Not from rude shades above,
Nor breezes with the pattering leaves behind,
But from one coming as the robber comes.
His little body, that can hardly serve
To keep itself on goat-haired, swagging legs,
Trembles and pauses, still and terrified
From creeping on; the little hairy side
Lifts with its terror: one hand stretched in span
For solitude most desolately begs,
The other hand lets drop with timorous swerve
A plant so black it seems beneath day's ban.
To keep itself on goat-haired, swagging legs,
Trembles and pauses, still and terrified
From creeping on; the little hairy side
Lifts with its terror: one hand stretched in span
For solitude most desolately begs,
The other hand lets drop with timorous swerve
A plant so black it seems beneath day's ban.
And straight I feel the wood-depths apprehend
That I, of mortal race, shall hold him bond;
Reluctantly they fear
As when the thunder-rain is gathered near
I see the flowers of wood-sage that before
The light had hidden, plainly see one frond
Of fern above all others twirl elate. . . .
O panic! I could run; but hold the tighter
This half-god creature, while the nutted floor
Cracks with his strife against me, as I wait
His peace, yea, wait till the dulled woods flash brighter
From threatening end to end.
That I, of mortal race, shall hold him bond;
Reluctantly they fear
As when the thunder-rain is gathered near
I see the flowers of wood-sage that before
29
Of fern above all others twirl elate. . . .
O panic! I could run; but hold the tighter
This half-god creature, while the nutted floor
Cracks with his strife against me, as I wait
His peace, yea, wait till the dulled woods flash brighter
From threatening end to end.
A sunbeam grows: the butterflies are tilted
Each toward the other through the amorous air;
Wings speak of joy; wings, wings through every alley
Unstartled now are up and down, or dally
Or dance or pasture, but are everywhere.
Gone is the panic as of daylight thunder,
For he and I are reconciled, are still.
Beneath the growing beam of sun his wonder
Grew gentle: then a bird, whose every motion
Had been a start while terror lay around,
Rose from a holly-branch that trailed the ground,
And from a topmost branch of holly lilted,
With open dew-drenched bill.
Each toward the other through the amorous air;
Wings speak of joy; wings, wings through every alley
Unstartled now are up and down, or dally
Or dance or pasture, but are everywhere.
Gone is the panic as of daylight thunder,
For he and I are reconciled, are still.
Beneath the growing beam of sun his wonder
Grew gentle: then a bird, whose every motion
Had been a start while terror lay around,
Rose from a holly-branch that trailed the ground,
And from a topmost branch of holly lilted,
With open dew-drenched bill.
And we are friends, and I have led the creature
I know divine to roots where we may sit,
Have lifted from the track his sable plant,
Have shaken it from fly and ant,
And placed it in his hand that folds on it.
Now first I see his eyes and then his face . . .
The eyes where confidence itself is hidden,
And all the other gentlenesses bidden
To lurk before they spring in one dark blaze,
Jump from their refuge to a stranger's heart:
And in the sheltered countenance I trace
No boorish sullenness, no churl disfeature,
But through the shyness woe
Of long ago.
I know divine to roots where we may sit,
Have lifted from the track his sable plant,
Have shaken it from fly and ant,
And placed it in his hand that folds on it.
Now first I see his eyes and then his face . . .
30
And all the other gentlenesses bidden
To lurk before they spring in one dark blaze,
Jump from their refuge to a stranger's heart:
And in the sheltered countenance I trace
No boorish sullenness, no churl disfeature,
But through the shyness woe
Of long ago.
Crowsfeet and little wrinkles weave their maze
Under the squills and birch-twigs of his crown,
And yet his front is simple with no frown;
And the lips, soft as women's, fall apart.
I woo his voice: words tread upon its tone
As feet on spines and moss of fragrant pile;
And on his mouth the fir-seed as he chews
Moves glidingly or drops or clings awhile:
He snaps a fly and now and then will muse
Till all the wood deep through is quiet as stone.
Under the squills and birch-twigs of his crown,
And yet his front is simple with no frown;
And the lips, soft as women's, fall apart.
I woo his voice: words tread upon its tone
As feet on spines and moss of fragrant pile;
And on his mouth the fir-seed as he chews
Moves glidingly or drops or clings awhile:
He snaps a fly and now and then will muse
Till all the wood deep through is quiet as stone.
Yet hour by hour I learn from him his story,
For I have loved the woods and I may hear;
And I can listen till the pines are hoary
With eve and surgent moonlight and the dew.
He tells me he is Sylvan—and a fear
Booms from the doves' nest—how he once loved dearly
Young Cyparissus of the lovely locks;
How sweet the boy was in his eyes, how clearly
He was more godlike than the starry flocks,
Though bred on Earth and they withheld above.
He tells of the boy's love
For one red fawn, of how that shaggy head
Lay on the brilliant side, a spot of shade,
And his white arms clung tight,
Strained to the beast at noontide and at night;
Of how he watched it feed and as it fed
Enjoyed it and its appetite. Ah, never
Could Sylvan win the fair boy's fellowship
Unless that ruddy fawn were close or lying
At rest or softly sighing
Where scarce a breadth of shaded turf might sever;
And all the while from Cyparissus' lip
Bubbled a language chosen for his pet,
More tender than the tenderest human phrase
He used to Sylvan in the dear sunset
When they were close at heart in the last rays.
For I have loved the woods and I may hear;
And I can listen till the pines are hoary
With eve and surgent moonlight and the dew.
He tells me he is Sylvan—and a fear
Booms from the doves' nest—how he once loved dearly
Young Cyparissus of the lovely locks;
How sweet the boy was in his eyes, how clearly
He was more godlike than the starry flocks,
Though bred on Earth and they withheld above.
31
For one red fawn, of how that shaggy head
Lay on the brilliant side, a spot of shade,
And his white arms clung tight,
Strained to the beast at noontide and at night;
Of how he watched it feed and as it fed
Enjoyed it and its appetite. Ah, never
Could Sylvan win the fair boy's fellowship
Unless that ruddy fawn were close or lying
At rest or softly sighing
Where scarce a breadth of shaded turf might sever;
And all the while from Cyparissus' lip
Bubbled a language chosen for his pet,
More tender than the tenderest human phrase
He used to Sylvan in the dear sunset
When they were close at heart in the last rays.
He tells of how, one August afternoon,
Wandering apart from the fantastic lad,
He shot the forest deer,
And ate the ivory filberts as a boon,
And drank the stream from its brown shelves,
And lay, as hunters loose on leaves and glad
To cool themselves;
And how, while lying thus, he chanced to hear
A movement through the deeps of fern, and shot.
Ah, had he not!
He would have died to gather back that dart:
A cry went through the tree-tops, through his heart:
And in a dimple of the level fern
A well of darkness had been sunk and there
He found the boy he loved who would not turn
His face away from what was stretched below;
And Sylvan saw a rim of ruddy glow,
And knew what he had done and shuddered with despair.
Wandering apart from the fantastic lad,
He shot the forest deer,
And ate the ivory filberts as a boon,
And drank the stream from its brown shelves,
And lay, as hunters loose on leaves and glad
To cool themselves;
And how, while lying thus, he chanced to hear
A movement through the deeps of fern, and shot.
Ah, had he not!
He would have died to gather back that dart:
A cry went through the tree-tops, through his heart:
And in a dimple of the level fern
32
He found the boy he loved who would not turn
His face away from what was stretched below;
And Sylvan saw a rim of ruddy glow,
And knew what he had done and shuddered with despair.
And well he might despair: for on the sun
Cool evening breathed, yet Cyparissus lay;
And night entrenched itself among the pines,
Then waited, then made sortie and then won
The dales and chases from the green of day,
Yet still he gave no signs,
No comfort, no forgiveness to the grief
That moaned beside his form, with no relief
Of tears, though dew was on the cloakless cheek.
Space filled with doom; leaves turned and slept once more;
A fruit fell . . . and Sylvanus strove to speak,
But something smothered every sound before
He spoke: and then the strong adjacent wild
Was blown across . . . and loneliness was made
For Sylvan evermore through bourn and glade.
Cool evening breathed, yet Cyparissus lay;
And night entrenched itself among the pines,
Then waited, then made sortie and then won
The dales and chases from the green of day,
Yet still he gave no signs,
No comfort, no forgiveness to the grief
That moaned beside his form, with no relief
Of tears, though dew was on the cloakless cheek.
Space filled with doom; leaves turned and slept once more;
A fruit fell . . . and Sylvanus strove to speak,
But something smothered every sound before
He spoke: and then the strong adjacent wild
Was blown across . . . and loneliness was made
For Sylvan evermore through bourn and glade.
At dawn he saw the stately firs were fresh
With shower, he heard them sigh.
The fir-pricks fell, the fir-boughs spread their mesh
Of foliage for laments from age to age;
While voiceless sorrow that could only die
Was huddled at his feet. He would assuage
At least the cold restriction of that wrong:
And at his word a funeral tree arose
Where Cyparissus lay, and there was song
Full through the tree and freedom of its woes.
Poor Sylvan heard; he saw the mourning fir
Rise up instead of that soft-greeting boy
He loved so well;
He heard its music swell
With piteous plaint, and then he heard the joy
He had in love been powerful to confer.
He wept, he cried aloud, he bathed his hands
With weeping, and he came and broke some strands
Of foliage, that his sorrow might be able
To touch with lover's touch its misery.
Then the sun smote him; day received the tree,
And Sylvan wandered with his branches sable.
With shower, he heard them sigh.
The fir-pricks fell, the fir-boughs spread their mesh
Of foliage for laments from age to age;
While voiceless sorrow that could only die
Was huddled at his feet. He would assuage
33
And at his word a funeral tree arose
Where Cyparissus lay, and there was song
Full through the tree and freedom of its woes.
Poor Sylvan heard; he saw the mourning fir
Rise up instead of that soft-greeting boy
He loved so well;
He heard its music swell
With piteous plaint, and then he heard the joy
He had in love been powerful to confer.
He wept, he cried aloud, he bathed his hands
With weeping, and he came and broke some strands
Of foliage, that his sorrow might be able
To touch with lover's touch its misery.
Then the sun smote him; day received the tree,
And Sylvan wandered with his branches sable.
I listened to this story hours by hours,
While butterflies approached their fans to flowers;
While the green woodpecker was gliding hither
And thither 'mid the crannies of his bark;
While jays shook sky-ribbed feathers with a jeer,
And seeds or leaves or insects in the dark
Of silent shadows crackled far or near.
At last we parted; and I knelt to win
The drear serenity his blessing shed.
I saw his swagging goat-hoofs pass within
A bowery path that slanted round his head,
And covered him away.
O Sylvan, I have known your lore, your sway,
O mcurner of obscure and unhoused death,
That reeks up from the balm
Of fallen leaves, of falling autumn fern,
At instants, through the fresh woods, on their breath,
I too have known, O little, gentle King,
Your comforting—
To hear a sorrow of all sorrows sing:
And I as you can turn
With measured feet afar where boughs are calm.
While butterflies approached their fans to flowers;
While the green woodpecker was gliding hither
And thither 'mid the crannies of his bark;
While jays shook sky-ribbed feathers with a jeer,
And seeds or leaves or insects in the dark
Of silent shadows crackled far or near.
At last we parted; and I knelt to win
The drear serenity his blessing shed.
I saw his swagging goat-hoofs pass within
A bowery path that slanted round his head,
And covered him away.
O Sylvan, I have known your lore, your sway,
34
That reeks up from the balm
Of fallen leaves, of falling autumn fern,
At instants, through the fresh woods, on their breath,
I too have known, O little, gentle King,
Your comforting—
To hear a sorrow of all sorrows sing:
And I as you can turn
With measured feet afar where boughs are calm.
35
THE CHILDHOOD OF ZEUS
“THOU of the ægis, of Dodona's oaks
And doves oracular, whose eagle bears
Thy thunder on his neck and in his claw
Thy lightning-truss; thou to whom Ætna flares
Praise of thy lightning, while its summit smokes,
Zeus, by what law
Wert thou enabled, Shining One, to be
To gods and earth and men the final Majesty?”
And doves oracular, whose eagle bears
Thy thunder on his neck and in his claw
Thy lightning-truss; thou to whom Ætna flares
Praise of thy lightning, while its summit smokes,
Zeus, by what law
Wert thou enabled, Shining One, to be
To gods and earth and men the final Majesty?”
I cried out toward the clouds: but I was taught
All unawares by an old man whose brow
Tilted a chaplet-vine o'er joyous cheeks,
Ripe round the potent eyes. He pushed a bough
Aside, and laughed “What riddle pains thy thought?
To him who seeks
Strange knowledge, I impart it. Thou shalt know
What thou are fain to ask, and I am here to show.”
All unawares by an old man whose brow
Tilted a chaplet-vine o'er joyous cheeks,
Ripe round the potent eyes. He pushed a bough
Aside, and laughed “What riddle pains thy thought?
To him who seeks
Strange knowledge, I impart it. Thou shalt know
What thou are fain to ask, and I am here to show.”
“Why is Zeus lord of gods and earth and men?”
Silenus drew me to an oak-tree's root:
He taught me in a language like a song,
And on his lip his breathing was a flute.
He bade me from Olympus turn my ken,
Where Zeus among
The lighted faces sits in light complete,
And through the lower sky descend to hilly Crete.
Silenus drew me to an oak-tree's root:
He taught me in a language like a song,
And on his lip his breathing was a flute.
He bade me from Olympus turn my ken,
Where Zeus among
The lighted faces sits in light complete,
And through the lower sky descend to hilly Crete.
36
There once I might have seen a child in shade
Of round-scooped oak-leaves burst on by a beam;
And as the brightness wandered he would watch
Until he grew gold-smiling at the gleam;
And he would thump the moss where he was laid,
Or grasp a notch
Of rooty trunk or mid its fibres creep,
While tier on tier above the tent of leaves hung deep.
Of round-scooped oak-leaves burst on by a beam;
And as the brightness wandered he would watch
Until he grew gold-smiling at the gleam;
And he would thump the moss where he was laid,
Or grasp a notch
Of rooty trunk or mid its fibres creep,
While tier on tier above the tent of leaves hung deep.
There through the hours he listened to the song
Of the wreathed sky above him, heard the hush
When dew was on the foliage, dew of eve
And morning, heard the wind and oak-leaves brush,
In summer and when autumn swept along;
Or firmer weave
An anthem airy, sibilant, assured,
As though from elder days it had in peace endured.
Of the wreathed sky above him, heard the hush
When dew was on the foliage, dew of eve
And morning, heard the wind and oak-leaves brush,
In summer and when autumn swept along;
Or firmer weave
An anthem airy, sibilant, assured,
As though from elder days it had in peace endured.
To him it was but lullaby: he slept
And dreamed as dreams a god when fresh to earth—
For all his vision was of future time.
And near him crouched the goat that from his birth
Had nurtured him with tawny milk and kept
The mountain rime
From chilling him, a nurse of rudest love,
With dugs from which he drew sap of the leaves above.
And dreamed as dreams a god when fresh to earth—
For all his vision was of future time.
And near him crouched the goat that from his birth
Had nurtured him with tawny milk and kept
The mountain rime
From chilling him, a nurse of rudest love,
With dugs from which he drew sap of the leaves above.
37
He waxed in primal vigour, cool and proud;
The woods had wondrous thoughts of him, the beasts
Made him their vigil and of stealthy choice
They haunted him; the eagle from its feasts
Sailed to nod over him; a steadfast crowd,
The doves gave voice
To themes for which nor breeze nor leaves had scope—
The motions of their heart in dread at some dear hope.
The woods had wondrous thoughts of him, the beasts
Made him their vigil and of stealthy choice
They haunted him; the eagle from its feasts
Sailed to nod over him; a steadfast crowd,
The doves gave voice
To themes for which nor breeze nor leaves had scope—
The motions of their heart in dread at some dear hope.
Once on the forest's rim of boughs and scrub
He paused and saw the sun's wide prevalence,
And felt the ease with which it spread its power,
Yet felt more affluent; and, going thence,
Deep to the holy lawns mid tree and shrub
In tangled flower,
He thought with open thought upon the sun,
And knew not how, yet knew it had through him begun.
He paused and saw the sun's wide prevalence,
And felt the ease with which it spread its power,
Yet felt more affluent; and, going thence,
Deep to the holy lawns mid tree and shrub
In tangled flower,
He thought with open thought upon the sun,
And knew not how, yet knew it had through him begun.
He gathered up his fist upon his heart—
Why did it close as by a sceptre filled?
Why did he hear all sounds as if they drew
His breath? And why was every silence thrilled
With pain he smothered of excessive smart?
The wood he knew
Became an unknown kingdom to his youth;
And happiness trod harsh upon his silent ruth.
Why did it close as by a sceptre filled?
Why did he hear all sounds as if they drew
His breath? And why was every silence thrilled
With pain he smothered of excessive smart?
The wood he knew
Became an unknown kingdom to his youth;
And happiness trod harsh upon his silent ruth.
38
With absent hand he seized some boughs of oak
And ground them each on each with careless heat,
His mind absorbed in generous magnitude
Of vague ambition. Lo, he checks his feet
At flash of miracle! The boughs he broke
In sullen mood
Have darted sunshine and the secret light
That fed the sun leaps rustling on his sight.
And ground them each on each with careless heat,
His mind absorbed in generous magnitude
Of vague ambition. Lo, he checks his feet
At flash of miracle! The boughs he broke
In sullen mood
Have darted sunshine and the secret light
That fed the sun leaps rustling on his sight.
He has awakened of his force alone
That which awakes all life; his brow is great
With joy that is the ripeness of sweet forms,
The beating colour that makes day elate:
Wide sweeps the brilliance that he hails his own,
His beauty warms,
And clear to view he stands beneath his oaks,
An image that the world down every path invokes.
That which awakes all life; his brow is great
With joy that is the ripeness of sweet forms,
The beating colour that makes day elate:
Wide sweeps the brilliance that he hails his own,
His beauty warms,
And clear to view he stands beneath his oaks,
An image that the world down every path invokes.
He nursed that fire with twig and withered leaf;
A wind assumed it as its own—it spread:
Then suddenly it swooned and where it waved
Nothing was left but void that it was dead,
And marvel that such visit was so brief.
But the boy braved
All fear, and wrought again that oaken spark,
And let it pass, and then roamed on through alleys dark.
A wind assumed it as its own—it spread:
Then suddenly it swooned and where it waved
Nothing was left but void that it was dead,
And marvel that such visit was so brief.
But the boy braved
All fear, and wrought again that oaken spark,
And let it pass, and then roamed on through alleys dark.
He comes to the lone nursery of his lire,
The midmost oak-grove of the mighty groves;
The sun in sparkles like the dragon-fly's
Winged sparkle strays on the mid-bole he loves,
His cradle once: he stands, a tortured strife
Fixed in his eyes;
Then gentleness falls over him once more,
But keener than he showed on any day of yore.
The midmost oak-grove of the mighty groves;
The sun in sparkles like the dragon-fly's
Winged sparkle strays on the mid-bole he loves,
39
Fixed in his eyes;
Then gentleness falls over him once more,
But keener than he showed on any day of yore.
He twists his fingers in the shaggy coat
Of Amalthea, she that nursed so well
His infancy; bends over her and bids
In sudden glowing whisper a farewell:
Then leaves her swift—that solitary goat;
And on his lids
Dew rises to remember how she lies
Mid flecked and flecking oaks with white, untroubled eyes.
Of Amalthea, she that nursed so well
His infancy; bends over her and bids
In sudden glowing whisper a farewell:
Then leaves her swift—that solitary goat;
And on his lids
Dew rises to remember how she lies
Mid flecked and flecking oaks with white, untroubled eyes.
A filial yearning after her he sends,
As he must grasp her shaggy hair or die;
Yet hurries on inveterately hot:
The wing-stroke of a dove as he draws nigh
To the brisk covert, where the forest ends
In bushy plot,
Is like the pulse in him that backward beats
To those dense inmost shades from which his step retreats.
As he must grasp her shaggy hair or die;
Yet hurries on inveterately hot:
The wing-stroke of a dove as he draws nigh
To the brisk covert, where the forest ends
In bushy plot,
Is like the pulse in him that backward beats
To those dense inmost shades from which his step retreats.
And thus he left his forest-home behind—
Green guardian of his strength, the sanctuary
Of his prevailing secret—far and wide
Wrought deeds of revelation none might see
With bosom imperturbable, or mind
Unglorified,
For of those many wonders that he wrought
All owned the sudden flame with which he ruled and fought.
Green guardian of his strength, the sanctuary
Of his prevailing secret—far and wide
Wrought deeds of revelation none might see
With bosom imperturbable, or mind
Unglorified,
40
All owned the sudden flame with which he ruled and fought.
He drew from threatening woods that jet of fire,
And cast it at the giants—they fell, they moaned:
He reached Olympus, and the gods of Time,
Grey instantly and shrunk with terror, owned
The advent of their end, their lighted pyre:
With glow sublime
He bent o'er field and sea, and hymns were sung,
And gods and earth and men rejoiced that god was young.
And cast it at the giants—they fell, they moaned:
He reached Olympus, and the gods of Time,
Grey instantly and shrunk with terror, owned
The advent of their end, their lighted pyre:
With glow sublime
He bent o'er field and sea, and hymns were sung,
And gods and earth and men rejoiced that god was young.
He looked upon the low shores of the world
And saw how beast and herb and flower increased
Beneath his day; and with full voice he bade
Necessity weave various forms of beast
And herb and flower upon the cloak unfurled
Of her, and laid
Round knee and shoulder as his sovereign guise.
Then once more toward the earth he swept immortal eyes.
And saw how beast and herb and flower increased
Beneath his day; and with full voice he bade
Necessity weave various forms of beast
And herb and flower upon the cloak unfurled
Of her, and laid
Round knee and shoulder as his sovereign guise.
Then once more toward the earth he swept immortal eyes.
The goat was dead that fostered him of old,
But still lay fresh upon the acorn-sod.
He raised her faithful being as a star
To argent softness, she that nursed a god
In solitude, through menaces untold:
No gulfs debar
Their converse, their fond interchange on high;
She shares his kingdom now, fast-tethered to the sky.
But still lay fresh upon the acorn-sod.
He raised her faithful being as a star
To argent softness, she that nursed a god
In solitude, through menaces untold:
No gulfs debar
41
She shares his kingdom now, fast-tethered to the sky.
But of her dearly-loved, rude skin he makes
The buckler of his godhead, for he knows
Her sappy milk and her maternal cares
Formed him his awful presence to his foes,
Gave him that dark solemnity that shakes
A host nor spares
Till vanquished feet such panic-dread confess
As strikes down from the leaves of woodland wilderness.
The buckler of his godhead, for he knows
Her sappy milk and her maternal cares
Formed him his awful presence to his foes,
Gave him that dark solemnity that shakes
A host nor spares
Till vanquished feet such panic-dread confess
As strikes down from the leaves of woodland wilderness.
He has his ægis: from the cliffs in air
He calls the watchful eagle to his knee,
And lays a thunder, as of virgin woods
In which he hides his fire abysmally,
On the portentous wings and forehead bare;
The shade that hoods
The fire-filled branches of his sacred oaks
Shall murmur in its cloud above his lightning-strokes.
He calls the watchful eagle to his knee,
And lays a thunder, as of virgin woods
In which he hides his fire abysmally,
On the portentous wings and forehead bare;
The shade that hoods
The fire-filled branches of his sacred oaks
Shall murmur in its cloud above his lightning-strokes.
And since an oak-grove cherished him and told
Its secret and his glory to his youth,
To it he will impart his Voice, his word,
His inmost ponderings, his breathèd Truth
To wander through the boughs of vocal gold,
By breezes stirred;
And doves through hollows of the leafy wood
Musing shall bring forth sounds by prophets understood.
Its secret and his glory to his youth,
To it he will impart his Voice, his word,
His inmost ponderings, his breathèd Truth
To wander through the boughs of vocal gold,
By breezes stirred;
42
Musing shall bring forth sounds by prophets understood.
Thus Zeus is lord of gods and earth and men:
For the old forest set its heart on him,
And drew from him his voice as he had drawn
From it the fire of life in ages dim,
When first he ruled athwart the heaven's span,
In the far dawn
Of younger, happier worship than had been
Till golden oaks avowed the flame beneath their screen.
For the old forest set its heart on him,
And drew from him his voice as he had drawn
From it the fire of life in ages dim,
When first he ruled athwart the heaven's span,
In the far dawn
Of younger, happier worship than had been
Till golden oaks avowed the flame beneath their screen.
43
CAENIS CAENEUS
YEA, from the sea she won her will,
From Neptune of the restless waves,
The changeful channels and unfathomed caves:
By Neptune she had stood and prayed
He would her fickle need fulfil,
Give her a solace unessayed,
And let her life be altered to the core,
Dissevering it from what had been before.
From Neptune of the restless waves,
The changeful channels and unfathomed caves:
By Neptune she had stood and prayed
He would her fickle need fulfil,
Give her a solace unessayed,
And let her life be altered to the core,
Dissevering it from what had been before.
He heard across his billows' fret
Her dear petition haunt his foam,
And echo down the waters of his home.
He climbed his car—it spouted brine;
And bannered with sea-ribbons wet,
His dolphins 'mid their issuing shine,
Paw in the daylight, and disclose their King,
Propitious to the maid's petitioning.
Her dear petition haunt his foam,
And echo down the waters of his home.
He climbed his car—it spouted brine;
And bannered with sea-ribbons wet,
His dolphins 'mid their issuing shine,
Paw in the daylight, and disclose their King,
Propitious to the maid's petitioning.
He heard her discontent make moan
Even as the ocean round his wheels
Itself will voice impatience when it feels
To yearn for alteration, yearn
For other being than its own,
And other tides to flow and turn,
And other shores and streams, and gulfs and bays,
For any end at last to weary days.
Even as the ocean round his wheels
Itself will voice impatience when it feels
To yearn for alteration, yearn
For other being than its own,
And other tides to flow and turn,
And other shores and streams, and gulfs and bays,
For any end at last to weary days.
44
He loves to see her urgent face,
'Mid banners and 'mid ribbons wet
Of floating tresses the foam-bubbles set;
So covetous to have its prayer:
He loves to find it in that place,
To meet such lips and eyes as dare
Press for a mercy that the sea in vain
Cries after in fatigue nor may attain.
'Mid banners and 'mid ribbons wet
Of floating tresses the foam-bubbles set;
So covetous to have its prayer:
He loves to find it in that place,
To meet such lips and eyes as dare
Press for a mercy that the sea in vain
Cries after in fatigue nor may attain.
His realm for ever he would lose
If he could give dejected waves
The new existence that his ocean craves:
But he will grant this maiden's hope,
And let her reach, as she would choose,
Her goal of wellnigh impious scope,
She shall be changed—a very change be wrought,
And she become a man in form and thought.
If he could give dejected waves
The new existence that his ocean craves:
But he will grant this maiden's hope,
And let her reach, as she would choose,
Her goal of wellnigh impious scope,
She shall be changed—a very change be wrought,
And she become a man in form and thought.
For so she prayed, and so he heard,
And looked on her—with billow-crest
Bowed on her little foot and splashed her breast;
While from his head of mounded snow
His azure-netted veil he stirred,
That his compliance he might show
To the fair woman the last time she prayed:
Then toward her with magnificence he swayed.
And looked on her—with billow-crest
Bowed on her little foot and splashed her breast;
While from his head of mounded snow
His azure-netted veil he stirred,
That his compliance he might show
To the fair woman the last time she prayed:
Then toward her with magnificence he swayed.
Close in a mist he shut her round,
And with a voice that drew its tone
From welling deeps of prevalence unknown
He rent her soul away, he breathed
A valiant breath . . . The mist unwound;
And, turning, with his veil he wreathed
His hoary mound of hair and waved adieu
Light-fingered to the youth that stood in view.
And with a voice that drew its tone
From welling deeps of prevalence unknown
He rent her soul away, he breathed
45
And, turning, with his veil he wreathed
His hoary mound of hair and waved adieu
Light-fingered to the youth that stood in view.
The shore was desolate, the boy
Saw the curled dolphin-tails divide
A coming wave and in blue fathoms hide:
Then turned to scan the cliff that rose
Up to the land. A curious joy
Hath made him to himself propose
The conquest of that overhanging height,
That faces him with challenge of its light.
Saw the curled dolphin-tails divide
A coming wave and in blue fathoms hide:
Then turned to scan the cliff that rose
Up to the land. A curious joy
Hath made him to himself propose
The conquest of that overhanging height,
That faces him with challenge of its light.
He climbed, he feasted on the air
Drawn up from seaward by the rock;
He circled many a precipice and block,
Discovered, rifled in their holes
The sea-birds' nests, while everywhere
He started birds to veer in shoals,
And reached the grasses, shivering with nods,
High on the summit's scarcely-woven clods.
Drawn up from seaward by the rock;
He circled many a precipice and block,
Discovered, rifled in their holes
The sea-birds' nests, while everywhere
He started birds to veer in shoals,
And reached the grasses, shivering with nods,
High on the summit's scarcely-woven clods.
Affrighting was the silence high;
He felt no fright, he knew no pain
In treading over the unpeopled plain;
Sureness was on his nerve, his heart;
The tang of fern as he passed by,
The herd of deer, their eager start,
Their bound and their alluring eyes on him
Roused up the hunter's lust in every limb.
He felt no fright, he knew no pain
In treading over the unpeopled plain;
Sureness was on his nerve, his heart;
The tang of fern as he passed by,
The herd of deer, their eager start,
Their bound and their alluring eyes on him
Roused up the hunter's lust in every limb.
46
He wanted but the dart to slay:
So chased the fleeting creatures wide,
And breathless came where countryfolk abide.
A stranger, on the grass he laughed
And ate with them at close of day,
And of their liberal vintage quaffed.
He had no tales to tell, but they were bred
To chat in legend while they drank and fed.
So chased the fleeting creatures wide,
And breathless came where countryfolk abide.
A stranger, on the grass he laughed
And ate with them at close of day,
And of their liberal vintage quaffed.
He had no tales to tell, but they were bred
To chat in legend while they drank and fed.
It came to pass that Caeneus won
Men's praises when along the street
Or market-place he trod with buskin'd feet;
Though oft he strove with them in fight
And would no chance of quarrel shun,
Yet never was his piercing might
Struck down nor staggered by the rival's blow,
Nor any wound delivered by a foe.
Men's praises when along the street
Or market-place he trod with buskin'd feet;
Though oft he strove with them in fight
And would no chance of quarrel shun,
Yet never was his piercing might
Struck down nor staggered by the rival's blow,
Nor any wound delivered by a foe.
Fame gave him of her noblest sport—
He hunted the Arcadian boar,
Across the forest heard its whining roar,
And stood beside its spiny heap;
He sailed on Argo from the port
Of fell Iolchus to the deep
Sicilian seas, and many wonders met,
And loved the sea he never might forget.
He hunted the Arcadian boar,
Across the forest heard its whining roar,
And stood beside its spiny heap;
He sailed on Argo from the port
Of fell Iolchus to the deep
Sicilian seas, and many wonders met,
And loved the sea he never might forget.
For when upon the sea, he felt,
As he beheld it fall and climb,
Misgivings, intimation of a time
Before he lived a man as now:
Against the vessel's side he knelt,
Or stood apart upon the prow,
And thought, till ever-baffled in his quest,
He put the strange, unguarded thought to rest.
As he beheld it fall and climb,
Misgivings, intimation of a time
Before he lived a man as now:
47
Or stood apart upon the prow,
And thought, till ever-baffled in his quest,
He put the strange, unguarded thought to rest.
Though when it came to him it charmed,
It harrowed him and made him reel
With sense of things too far away to feel:
And then he joined the sailor-throng,
For from that trance he woke alarmed;
Yea, ample-throated sang their song,
But with his eyes still on the fluent bars
Of sunny foam or grey beneath the stars.
It harrowed him and made him reel
With sense of things too far away to feel:
And then he joined the sailor-throng,
For from that trance he woke alarmed;
Yea, ample-throated sang their song,
But with his eyes still on the fluent bars
Of sunny foam or grey beneath the stars.
And when on shore he passed a maid
Who tangled flowers about her hair,
She caught stray smiles, a question in the stare
That Caeneus fastened on her coil;
And by the bridges he delayed
To see the washers at their toil;
And when he wooed the girl whom he would kiss
Oft deemed he shared her shrinking from her bliss.
Who tangled flowers about her hair,
She caught stray smiles, a question in the stare
That Caeneus fastened on her coil;
And by the bridges he delayed
To see the washers at their toil;
And when he wooed the girl whom he would kiss
Oft deemed he shared her shrinking from her bliss.
And so he loved and sailed and sang,
And fought in battle with his peers,
And laboured for his joy through glorious years;
Till at Pirithous' marriage-feast
The fair Thessalian meadows rang
With fratricidal war, increased
By fumes of wine, as flashing Centaurs strove
To rape the women whom the Lapiths love.
And fought in battle with his peers,
And laboured for his joy through glorious years;
Till at Pirithous' marriage-feast
The fair Thessalian meadows rang
With fratricidal war, increased
By fumes of wine, as flashing Centaurs strove
To rape the women whom the Lapiths love.
48
There Caeneus roused him 'gainst the crew
Of ravishers, a mortal fight.
The cunning Centaurs weighed his wound-proof might,
And came on him with forest trees,
Rent and uprooted, that they threw
In masses, with gigantic ease,
Against the hapless warrior buried deep
By firs and oak-trees in a funeral heap.
Of ravishers, a mortal fight.
The cunning Centaurs weighed his wound-proof might,
And came on him with forest trees,
Rent and uprooted, that they threw
In masses, with gigantic ease,
Against the hapless warrior buried deep
By firs and oak-trees in a funeral heap.
Crushed down, he fainted in the sod,
Immovable, but living long
Without a sigh through the hot summer day:
His victors, who had wrought such doom,
Far over other valleys trod,
And left him proudly in his tomb;
Nor did they watch how through the trees amassed
Above their foe a bird, the Caenis, passed.
Immovable, but living long
Without a sigh through the hot summer day:
His victors, who had wrought such doom,
Far over other valleys trod,
And left him proudly in his tomb;
Nor did they watch how through the trees amassed
Above their foe a bird, the Caenis, passed.
Then a fresh life began in air
And on the wing and in the tree:
Song, when the Spring was striking sunnily
Deep to the greenwood's heart-felt green;
Rest, when the night was everywhere,
And leaves for warmth and not for screen
Were blindly sought; and feasting, when the day
Touched into laughter dews that crept away.
And on the wing and in the tree:
Song, when the Spring was striking sunnily
Deep to the greenwood's heart-felt green;
Rest, when the night was everywhere,
And leaves for warmth and not for screen
Were blindly sought; and feasting, when the day
Touched into laughter dews that crept away.
49
The little space of wingèd time
Soon ended, and a nipping frost,
That over the black woodland crossed,
Laid low the Caenis-bird in death;
Still were the feet that loved to climb
The topmost bough, and cold the breath
That made aloud their music for the flowers,
And note on note more sweet o'erbrimmed the hours.
Soon ended, and a nipping frost,
That over the black woodland crossed,
Laid low the Caenis-bird in death;
Still were the feet that loved to climb
The topmost bough, and cold the breath
That made aloud their music for the flowers,
And note on note more sweet o'erbrimmed the hours.
Thus earth is left behind at last,
And Hades covers in a soul
That nevermore will follow any goal;
The world of judgment is her home,
And here the lives that she has passed
Under the sky's tremendous dome
The maiden Caenis in her narrow days
Must ponder on, dividing blame or praise.
And Hades covers in a soul
That nevermore will follow any goal;
The world of judgment is her home,
And here the lives that she has passed
Under the sky's tremendous dome
The maiden Caenis in her narrow days
Must ponder on, dividing blame or praise.
“And I am Caenis: once again
Her life of shadow I resume,
Closed in by walls and by prevailing doom,
Unable with my hand or will
The dreaming in me to attain,
Or any impulse to fulfil.
O ghost, thou art the Caenis thou wert born,
And Hades is thy fitting house forlorn.
Her life of shadow I resume,
Closed in by walls and by prevailing doom,
Unable with my hand or will
The dreaming in me to attain,
Or any impulse to fulfil.
O ghost, thou art the Caenis thou wert born,
And Hades is thy fitting house forlorn.
“Well that I once could breast the sea
And lure from it the gift of change!
My maiden life could win no valid range,
Aye waiting impotent to win;
But with my manhood's sovereignty
I struck where woman's hopes begin:
The world was in each plan, in every deed;
Mine was the doing: for the rest no heed.
And lure from it the gift of change!
My maiden life could win no valid range,
Aye waiting impotent to win;
50
I struck where woman's hopes begin:
The world was in each plan, in every deed;
Mine was the doing: for the rest no heed.
“God of the sea, I loved my life
Should leaven earth; I loved the heat,
The calm events, the merrymaking meet
For triumph and the ease of choice:
Then all was possible to strife,
And every moment might rejoice
In what it bred of its affiance high;
While every moment pushed the zest to die.”
Should leaven earth; I loved the heat,
The calm events, the merrymaking meet
For triumph and the ease of choice:
Then all was possible to strife,
And every moment might rejoice
In what it bred of its affiance high;
While every moment pushed the zest to die.”
So she bemoans herself and weeps
Her spectral days and bends her sight
On heroes as they strive in spectral fight.
The vanity of all she sees
Or faintness on her sorrow sweeps,
For with a sudden run she flees
To a dark wood no tremble ever stirred,
And there she sobs “Ah, would I were a bird!”
Her spectral days and bends her sight
On heroes as they strive in spectral fight.
The vanity of all she sees
Or faintness on her sorrow sweeps,
For with a sudden run she flees
To a dark wood no tremble ever stirred,
And there she sobs “Ah, would I were a bird!”
51
SIRENUSAE
“LAND!”: from the helm was called at dawn.A mystic dome, a silver mound,
Stood in the sea beneath the morn.
Between the summit and deep sound
A haze of polished silver lay.
Sea at the helm—and far away
That mountain silver and alone:
No land beside,
Save what must hide
Behind the vapour's glittering zone.
And Argo, since the wind was fair,
Lowered all sail, and, poles sail-bare,
She ran the waves toward land, toward land.
But suddenly a lower strand
Burst forth beneath the silver hill,
As the sun burnt away the haze;
And, sundered from its polished screen,
The lower island seemed ablaze
With green that could not drain its fill
Of light, it lay there—oh, so green!
What voice is this, what startling charm
Upon the surge, upon the ear?
It comes, by its own coming dear;
The porpoise listening takes alarm
Of joy and leaps within the swell;
The birds more shy wheel round in spell.
52
All memory to awful day;
And chains desire and bids it stay
With pulses that no lust forsakes.
It is as sweet as blood that sings
Around the heart that nears its dream.
A voice of voices past that seem
To laugh and cry and tell of things
They told to listeners far away.
The land-clouds melt, the Argo swift
Ranges ahead, the shores are clear,
The song more ardent in its drift
Of lasting sweetness, floated near . . .
And who are those upon the grass,
The sea below their slanted rocks,
Who fix wide eyes on all that pass,
And lift their solemn irised locks
Up from damp shoulders, slung with plumes?
What scales are those the diamond-blink
Of adamantine rock illumes?
And is the song their song—those three,
Who flap with harps on yonder brink,
And make a sleep with rich monotony?
They sing of ease that by its might
Will lull the sailor: he will think
Of ships and watch the constellations go
Upon their voyage round the starlit night;
But he will know
Will lull the sailor: he will think
Of ships and watch the constellations go
Upon their voyage round the starlit night;
But he will know
That he is safe becalmed and cannot sink,
Save on a bosom patient for his rest.
They sing such pleasure is of pleasures best:
Then sing of gold and how it shines,
How they will lead the seeker down
To fathomless, resplendent mines.
They sing of great ambition set
By them, in wisdom, on a crown:
They sing of leisure to forget
All save the roses as they move
Their buds out into hymning flowers:
They sing of indolence and hours
Of wealth and empire, dreams and love.
Then Jason to the steersman at the helm
Save on a bosom patient for his rest.
53
Then sing of gold and how it shines,
How they will lead the seeker down
To fathomless, resplendent mines.
They sing of great ambition set
By them, in wisdom, on a crown:
They sing of leisure to forget
All save the roses as they move
Their buds out into hymning flowers:
They sing of indolence and hours
Of wealth and empire, dreams and love.
Shrieked he should turn the vessel from the shore.
“The Sirens strive to overwhelm
Our sense with slumber as a frost:
Turn, turn the helm or we are lost,
And build their nest of bones for evermore.”
The music drew the helm, the song
Drew the race-currents to its stress,
Drew mariners and sea along.
Ligea lays her hand upon a bone,
And smiles a pearl-smile's softest loveliness;
Parthenope, more cautious witch, has thrown
Across her scales and the white lime of men
Her feathery garland, while she wings
Her voice with softness from her den:
Leucosia bares her breast and softly sings,
While to her lip the surf of hunger clings.
54
Beneath that murdering music numb—
“Let Orpheus face the rocky shelf,
And drown the noise: let Orpheus come.”
He came, he sat before the three,
He faced the ruinous delight,
And struck his harp across his knee,
And sang with unconfuted sight.
“O Zeus, of Thee my song, of all
Thou art to mortals in their youth,
To mortals when their years appal,
And Thou dost teach their memory truth:
Of Thee my song, of Thee, of those
Beside Thee in Thy rule above,
The gods who give our pain repose,
Who fill the forests that we love,
The fountains that we drink for life,
The fields that gird us with their food,
The fiery soil with vineyards rife,
The soil that breeds the olive-wood.
I sing their influence, clean in gift,
Their joys I sing, their buoyancy
Beneath the hands of Zeus that lift
The worlds, yea, raise them to their place.
I sing the powers of hill and sea,
Of sun and rain-cloud—sing the race
Of men who worship them, and deem
They have a faithfulness, a worth
Of hallowed claim on every age:
55
The noble sepulchres of earth—
Their holy dust, our heritage
Of their great sway in deed and choice.
I sing of legend—I rejoice
In ancient pith and spirit warm.
I sing of those that not alone
Will live, but seek some precious form,
Beloved with pulse a star might own:
I sing of lustrousness, of health,
Of will that shapes with looming stealth,
Of riches a King's hand must spend,
Of battle and the hero's end,
Of labour and its craft, its speed.
I sing of song that hath its meed
From breathing earth and sacred grove,
From gods and men the gods approve.
Down in the sea's depth with wild arms
The sirens plunge—no more to rise—
Plunge as though drowned asleep by charms
Surpassed, they vanish, blue and drear:
Their music stays awhile and dies
But tardily from wave and ear:
And Orpheus as he listens sighs.
Sad is the crew to mark those cries
Of volant sweetness lose their breath:
The empty cliff attests of death;
The helm is turned and Argo flies.
56
THE HEART OF AN ISLAND
WHY such radiance, why such showers,
Not of rain but heavenly rays;
Why such glory as empowers
Earth to breed, in tilth and wild,
Wreathing roses, petal-piled,
Of indelible, red blaze?
Not of rain but heavenly rays;
Why such glory as empowers
Earth to breed, in tilth and wild,
Wreathing roses, petal-piled,
Of indelible, red blaze?
Why these lilies on the waste,
In the gardens by the streams,
Each with score of flowers enchased
On the whitest grain of light;
Clouds of honey from their white
Filling air with hiving dreams?
In the gardens by the streams,
Each with score of flowers enchased
On the whitest grain of light;
Clouds of honey from their white
Filling air with hiving dreams?
O'er the ocean-isle of Rhodes
Why this panoply of cloud?
Why this purple screen that loads
Sunset, when the day as yet
With its noon has scarcely met?
Why this secret, western shroud?
Why this panoply of cloud?
Why this purple screen that loads
Sunset, when the day as yet
With its noon has scarcely met?
Why this secret, western shroud?
Why? Oh, hush! What twain are these?
Venus and the Sun are laid
'Neath the solemn canopies,
'Mid the rose and lily hosts
Of those erubescent coasts,
In the island's loneliest glade.
Venus and the Sun are laid
'Neath the solemn canopies,
'Mid the rose and lily hosts
Of those erubescent coasts,
In the island's loneliest glade.
57
THE RITUAL OF EARTH
ONCE in Aegira, on its headlong hills,
That Crathis girds with billow fed by Styx,
That ocean worships from the port—yea, fills
With brine the air that tops their summits, licks
Their sudden old declivities—of yore
The earth had there a temple and there spoke
Her prophecies that breathed in her before
Another shape had origin or woke
From out all-powerful Chaos, cold and stark.
A priestess kept the Temple and the cave
Where the first voice made language in the dark,
As on the earliest-moving, moulded wave:
A priestess chaste as stalactite, and doomed,
Before her virgin steps might be entombed
Within that nether cell, to drink a draught
Of fresh blood from a bull, and, having quaffed,
Descend to listen, cloyed with vital power,
With lips as purple as a victim's heart,
And inspiration a salt fume, a dower
Of vigour, slaughtered that it might impart
Its tides in death to continence. So fed,
And so inculpable she reached the voice,
The earliest lifted from the strident bed
Of Chaos with its immemorial noise.
That Crathis girds with billow fed by Styx,
That ocean worships from the port—yea, fills
With brine the air that tops their summits, licks
Their sudden old declivities—of yore
The earth had there a temple and there spoke
Her prophecies that breathed in her before
Another shape had origin or woke
From out all-powerful Chaos, cold and stark.
A priestess kept the Temple and the cave
Where the first voice made language in the dark,
As on the earliest-moving, moulded wave:
A priestess chaste as stalactite, and doomed,
Before her virgin steps might be entombed
Within that nether cell, to drink a draught
Of fresh blood from a bull, and, having quaffed,
Descend to listen, cloyed with vital power,
With lips as purple as a victim's heart,
And inspiration a salt fume, a dower
Of vigour, slaughtered that it might impart
Its tides in death to continence. So fed,
And so inculpable she reached the voice,
The earliest lifted from the strident bed
Of Chaos with its immemorial noise.
O Earth, first of all deities, to whom
Oaths and not prayers are vowed, how shall we reach,
Even we, thy cloudy oracles, the tomb
From whence, in thy precedence thou dost teach
Initiatory lore? First-fruit of birth,
And Mother therefore of all creatures, Earth,
We too would listen, stalwart, to thy gloom.
Oaths and not prayers are vowed, how shall we reach,
Even we, thy cloudy oracles, the tomb
58
Initiatory lore? First-fruit of birth,
And Mother therefore of all creatures, Earth,
We too would listen, stalwart, to thy gloom.
“Ye do not drink my sacrifice, and none
Come with inviolate spirit to my cell.
But if perchance one needs me, such an one
Must seek me in deep forests under spell
Of tracklessness, for there his lips may drain
My power's severity, if sweet yet rude,
That rises from the tufts enlarged by rain,
From moss and fern, hot with my plenitude.
This let him drink: I will remit the draught
Of fresh blood from a bull my priestess quaffed.
Drink this for inspiration and to test
The freshness of thy being. If thy breast
Heave with assurance and clean lustihood
It may be thou wilt hear through the dim wood
A murmur: if thy pulses are contained,
Intact from luxury or evil flaw,
The moment of thy quest may be attained,
For then the murmur to a voice will draw
Its mysteries of sound, and thou shalt hear
What Chaos through its boom first heard with fear.”
Come with inviolate spirit to my cell.
But if perchance one needs me, such an one
Must seek me in deep forests under spell
Of tracklessness, for there his lips may drain
My power's severity, if sweet yet rude,
That rises from the tufts enlarged by rain,
From moss and fern, hot with my plenitude.
This let him drink: I will remit the draught
Of fresh blood from a bull my priestess quaffed.
Drink this for inspiration and to test
The freshness of thy being. If thy breast
Heave with assurance and clean lustihood
It may be thou wilt hear through the dim wood
A murmur: if thy pulses are contained,
Intact from luxury or evil flaw,
The moment of thy quest may be attained,
For then the murmur to a voice will draw
Its mysteries of sound, and thou shalt hear
What Chaos through its boom first heard with fear.”
59
HYLAE
YOU to whom Time is cruel, striking down
The force of life with blow of year by year,
To Hylae come, where Phocian mountains brown
Break into stony valleys far and near
About Apollo's shrine:
Worship his image on the shrine—from thence
Strength will invade you, ageless and divine,
That owns no stay, that suffers no offence.
The force of life with blow of year by year,
To Hylae come, where Phocian mountains brown
Break into stony valleys far and near
About Apollo's shrine:
Worship his image on the shrine—from thence
Strength will invade you, ageless and divine,
That owns no stay, that suffers no offence.
What men are those edging yon precipice,
That stand among the firs bold-spirited,
And careless of abysses that entice
The weak to frenzied downfall of mere dread?
See how they move and sway
Among the firs, and from the firs leap sheer,
Like fallen trees sprung from the axe away,
Yet every jag and pinnacle they clear.
That stand among the firs bold-spirited,
And careless of abysses that entice
The weak to frenzied downfall of mere dread?
See how they move and sway
Among the firs, and from the firs leap sheer,
Like fallen trees sprung from the axe away,
Yet every jag and pinnacle they clear.
As if the cliff were but a step to leap
They reach the ground beneath with planted feet;
They pause unshattered and then nimbly keep
Their motion through rock-roses and the sweet,
Stretched rugs of blazing thyme;
For they have sought at Hylae's village fane
A superhuman might, and if they climb
Descend as visiting gods the earth attain.
They reach the ground beneath with planted feet;
They pause unshattered and then nimbly keep
Their motion through rock-roses and the sweet,
Stretched rugs of blazing thyme;
For they have sought at Hylae's village fane
A superhuman might, and if they climb
Descend as visiting gods the earth attain.
60
And out of forest-mould huge oaks are heaved,
Their moss in flakes, the streaming ivy torn,
And on the shoulders of the athletes sheaved
Are upward to the walls of mountain borne
Across defiles. Ah, see,
Against the great escarpment of the West
How lines of men and trees triumphantly
Pass black upon the vapours of the crest.
Their moss in flakes, the streaming ivy torn,
And on the shoulders of the athletes sheaved
Are upward to the walls of mountain borne
Across defiles. Ah, see,
Against the great escarpment of the West
How lines of men and trees triumphantly
Pass black upon the vapours of the crest.
There is a might Apollo can bestow
To conquer mountains in a mountain-land.
And not at Delphi on the slopes below
We ask thy counsel, touch thee with the hand,
But here where life is hard,
Where heights lift far away from us the sky,
Where we must walk round boulder or on shard,
We hug thy village-altars lest we die.
To conquer mountains in a mountain-land.
And not at Delphi on the slopes below
We ask thy counsel, touch thee with the hand,
But here where life is hard,
Where heights lift far away from us the sky,
Where we must walk round boulder or on shard,
We hug thy village-altars lest we die.
61
DELPHICA
O PILGRIM from the South,
You ask for sudden prophecy
From this my mouth,
As if my god were near me at your cry.
You ask for sudden prophecy
From this my mouth,
As if my god were near me at your cry.
Behold yon laurel-tree
In every span of leaf a sun;
The whiteness, see,
That the impenetrable green hath won.
In every span of leaf a sun;
The whiteness, see,
That the impenetrable green hath won.
From off this laurel-branch
The thick leaves that I pluck away
My teeth must graunch,
Before I can be told what I shall say.
The thick leaves that I pluck away
My teeth must graunch,
Before I can be told what I shall say.
Yea, I must take and eat
My god's own bracing laurel, find
Its substance sweet
To flesh and blood, ere I unveil my mind.
My god's own bracing laurel, find
Its substance sweet
To flesh and blood, ere I unveil my mind.
But even then, if fed
On Delphicus, and having savoured well,
With inmost dread
Corporeal the body of his spell,
On Delphicus, and having savoured well,
With inmost dread
Corporeal the body of his spell,
Unless your victim shake
Before me, as august with god,
I cannot take
The darkness from my brain, the mortal clod.
Before me, as august with god,
I cannot take
The darkness from my brain, the mortal clod.
62
O Prince, be taught
That inspiration in the nourished blood
By heaven is wrought,
And must by votive awe be understood.
That inspiration in the nourished blood
By heaven is wrought,
And must by votive awe be understood.
63
II. PART II
65
MEMNONIDES
CHILD of my husband's age and my young hope,
I see thee, Memnon, on the serried heap
Of funeral wood, dark-stained with wine and strewn
As a king's wharfe, with storax and soft gums—
My dusk, strong son, now heavy-dead and small,
Within thy purple hair and purple robe,
Almost as if thou wert the child I kissed
With my fond light those olden morning-times
And hours of evening when I took thy kiss.
For thou hast loved me: rarely is the voice
Of music in a mother's heart returned
From nursery or the school or white-spread camp
With equal echo; but I heard thy love
When thou didst speak to me and heard it not
In any of thy tones for other ears.
O voiceless, little image of my son,
Laid stiff across my sight, how shall I bear
Immortally the unresponsive hours,
Now thou hast closed thy lips and sealed thy heart,
O inconversible by word or sign,
A surdity to all I have been, am,
And ever shall be since thy first of cries.
I see thee, Memnon, on the serried heap
Of funeral wood, dark-stained with wine and strewn
As a king's wharfe, with storax and soft gums—
My dusk, strong son, now heavy-dead and small,
Within thy purple hair and purple robe,
Almost as if thou wert the child I kissed
With my fond light those olden morning-times
And hours of evening when I took thy kiss.
For thou hast loved me: rarely is the voice
Of music in a mother's heart returned
From nursery or the school or white-spread camp
With equal echo; but I heard thy love
When thou didst speak to me and heard it not
In any of thy tones for other ears.
O voiceless, little image of my son,
Laid stiff across my sight, how shall I bear
Immortally the unresponsive hours,
Now thou hast closed thy lips and sealed thy heart,
O inconversible by word or sign,
A surdity to all I have been, am,
And ever shall be since thy first of cries.
I saw thee strive; I saw Achilles strive;
I watched, as stars the heaving plain of waves,
The swaying balance in the hand of Zeus,
Unsteadfast with the fate of each that fought;
Saw how thy fate wavered irresolute,
Till it flew up and struck me into swoon.
I woke to nothing but the dew of tears
I wept on thy fresh dying, wept unstayed.
Thou wert not dead as stone, because thy smile
And my sore tears together gleamed one eve,
One morn: and then I wept within my cloak,
For thou wert stone, for thou wert dead indeed,
And hastening men toiled hot to build thy pyre.
I watched, as stars the heaving plain of waves,
The swaying balance in the hand of Zeus,
Unsteadfast with the fate of each that fought;
Saw how thy fate wavered irresolute,
Till it flew up and struck me into swoon.
66
I wept on thy fresh dying, wept unstayed.
Thou wert not dead as stone, because thy smile
And my sore tears together gleamed one eve,
One morn: and then I wept within my cloak,
For thou wert stone, for thou wert dead indeed,
And hastening men toiled hot to build thy pyre.
Now while my tears are ice behind my lids,
Ice that in fever of the brow remains,
I can but watch the Trojans hang thy arms
To blazon from the pile the conquering fire;
But watch the little service of mankind,
As keepsakes are remembered in thy tent,
Brought out and set around thy body. Zeus,
I am not mortal; I can lay no pledge
On his spread breast; I cannot rear the shield
Or sword he grasped and mottled with his death;
I cannot bring the beasts with leaf-hung throat
To bleed for him: yet I must sacrifice,
Must make propitiation for my son.
Lord Zeus, have mercy! Yield me some response,
Yield me some emblem of a mortal grief,
That I too may have dressed in part his couch
Before it lapses through the fire to ash.
See, it is lighted . . . Zeus, I pray, I pray!
I smell the offering of the Trojan host,
A trail of luscious nurture for the airs
Of all the West; and now the flames stab fine,
Redden and darken, and the thawing mass
Begins to drop as the blaze opens out
To heaven. O Zeus! . . .
Ice that in fever of the brow remains,
I can but watch the Trojans hang thy arms
To blazon from the pile the conquering fire;
But watch the little service of mankind,
As keepsakes are remembered in thy tent,
Brought out and set around thy body. Zeus,
I am not mortal; I can lay no pledge
On his spread breast; I cannot rear the shield
Or sword he grasped and mottled with his death;
I cannot bring the beasts with leaf-hung throat
To bleed for him: yet I must sacrifice,
Must make propitiation for my son.
Lord Zeus, have mercy! Yield me some response,
Yield me some emblem of a mortal grief,
That I too may have dressed in part his couch
Before it lapses through the fire to ash.
See, it is lighted . . . Zeus, I pray, I pray!
I smell the offering of the Trojan host,
A trail of luscious nurture for the airs
Of all the West; and now the flames stab fine,
Redden and darken, and the thawing mass
Begins to drop as the blaze opens out
67
From where the hollow reeks
With basking wine and gums that simmer slow,
What is it flies aloft and does not fall,
As any fragment of the burning heap,
But soars a fire? Nay, nay, 'tis song I hear,
'Tis glitter of a pinion that I see—
A bird! His spirit sings me back my love,
And wheeling, gives me range who have been bound.
His spirit! And, behold, from forth the pile
Troops of swift birds escape, like sparks to air,
Divide their flocks embattled, meet and slay,
Till all are slain and fall a sacrifice
Down from the sky and whelm the seething planks
With passionate descent, as if I threw
The immolated fliers on the blaze.
Thanks be to Zeus! For he hath given the Soul
Of him I bore a voice, and he hath turned
My dire regrets to victims, winged and wild,
That have been dashed in holocaust athwart
The hungry planks of the funereal fire.
It sinks; and now is white upon the sand,
White as a sheep-skin: and I hear the waves
Breaking aslant down all the shores of Troy.
With basking wine and gums that simmer slow,
What is it flies aloft and does not fall,
As any fragment of the burning heap,
But soars a fire? Nay, nay, 'tis song I hear,
'Tis glitter of a pinion that I see—
A bird! His spirit sings me back my love,
And wheeling, gives me range who have been bound.
His spirit! And, behold, from forth the pile
Troops of swift birds escape, like sparks to air,
Divide their flocks embattled, meet and slay,
Till all are slain and fall a sacrifice
Down from the sky and whelm the seething planks
With passionate descent, as if I threw
The immolated fliers on the blaze.
Thanks be to Zeus! For he hath given the Soul
Of him I bore a voice, and he hath turned
My dire regrets to victims, winged and wild,
That have been dashed in holocaust athwart
The hungry planks of the funereal fire.
It sinks; and now is white upon the sand,
White as a sheep-skin: and I hear the waves
Breaking aslant down all the shores of Troy.
68
ODE TO DAWN
I BREATHE: the cloud below the night is breaking;
The air uncloses:
Thou risest from thy couch. O Dawn, thy waking
Is that of roses!
Thou child of Titan, how thy power prevails!
One sister hand touches the Moon that sails
Away, that sinks; one greets the Sun, withheld
By the chill shadows thou art brave against.
What may not by thy buoyant cheer be quelled
Of dominance by which thou art incensed?
O Dawn so wondrous bright,
Thou canst by force of thy salubrity,
From heaven's own height,
Compass thy will in heaven and earth and sea.
The air uncloses:
Thou risest from thy couch. O Dawn, thy waking
Is that of roses!
Thou child of Titan, how thy power prevails!
One sister hand touches the Moon that sails
Away, that sinks; one greets the Sun, withheld
By the chill shadows thou art brave against.
What may not by thy buoyant cheer be quelled
Of dominance by which thou art incensed?
O Dawn so wondrous bright,
Thou canst by force of thy salubrity,
From heaven's own height,
Compass thy will in heaven and earth and sea.
Thou art immortal, and thine eyes immortal
Rest on the ocean,
The shore, the groves, the temple's open portal,
On new-tuned motion
Of animals refreshed by sleep and dream,
On birds, and field and flock and starting team,
As if they were immortal—on the youth
That girt for toil or journey in thy gaze
Receives his immortality for truth,
And lifts to thee an almost stifled praise,
Thou bracest so his heart.
Yea, the whole burnished land, as if eterne
In every part,
Doth toward thy face with equal glitter yearn.
Rest on the ocean,
The shore, the groves, the temple's open portal,
On new-tuned motion
Of animals refreshed by sleep and dream,
On birds, and field and flock and starting team,
As if they were immortal—on the youth
That girt for toil or journey in thy gaze
Receives his immortality for truth,
And lifts to thee an almost stifled praise,
Thou bracest so his heart.
69
In every part,
Doth toward thy face with equal glitter yearn.
And yearningly thou in thy course dost linger,
With gracious boldness,
O'er Cephalus laid sleeping, and thy finger,
A rose-bud coldness,
Startles and pricks him till the boy awakes,
Who, smiled at from thine honest eyes, forgets
His first sigh for his Procris: to thy car
Thou dost constrain him captive, and with speed,
Beyond the lark-glint and the morning-star,
Discouraging the heaven with thy deed,
Thou and thy coursers glow,
On toward Olympus where thou facest all
The wise gods know,
Nor can their congregated eyes appal.
With gracious boldness,
O'er Cephalus laid sleeping, and thy finger,
A rose-bud coldness,
Startles and pricks him till the boy awakes,
Who, smiled at from thine honest eyes, forgets
His first sigh for his Procris: to thy car
Thou dost constrain him captive, and with speed,
Beyond the lark-glint and the morning-star,
Discouraging the heaven with thy deed,
Thou and thy coursers glow,
On toward Olympus where thou facest all
The wise gods know,
Nor can their congregated eyes appal.
Thy chastity is in thy will, thy beauty
Is eager flushing.
On him thou lov'st thou layest as love's duty,
(All terror hushing)
From earth steeply to travel at thy side,
Till by adventure he be deified.
Not Cephalus alone, Orion too,
And young Tithonus thou hast borne above.
No matter should the mortal prove untrue,
And pine in stupor for an earthly love,
Or hurled down from the sky
Be sunk in waves, or 'mid the heavenly born
See Age draw nigh
To snow upon a single head forlorn.
Is eager flushing.
On him thou lov'st thou layest as love's duty,
(All terror hushing)
From earth steeply to travel at thy side,
Till by adventure he be deified.
Not Cephalus alone, Orion too,
And young Tithonus thou hast borne above.
No matter should the mortal prove untrue,
And pine in stupor for an earthly love,
Or hurled down from the sky
70
See Age draw nigh
To snow upon a single head forlorn.
It is thy impulse of inviolate willing
Stirs glade and mountain.
The nests in arbour, birds beside the rilling
Of forest fountain,
The wood-flowers and the stream-flowers and all things
Would drive aloft with thee. Ah, thou hast wings!
Most lovable, forget not what thou art:
Thou drawest us to thee, to heaven amain.
Intrepid dreamers, to the clouds we start,
And smile with thee along, with thee attain
The gods, the placid Throne;
Then 'mid the hollow vapours of the way
We wake alone,
O rose-hung Queen of steeds—and, lo, 'tis day.
Stirs glade and mountain.
The nests in arbour, birds beside the rilling
Of forest fountain,
The wood-flowers and the stream-flowers and all things
Would drive aloft with thee. Ah, thou hast wings!
Most lovable, forget not what thou art:
Thou drawest us to thee, to heaven amain.
Intrepid dreamers, to the clouds we start,
And smile with thee along, with thee attain
The gods, the placid Throne;
Then 'mid the hollow vapours of the way
We wake alone,
O rose-hung Queen of steeds—and, lo, 'tis day.
Spare thou the flowers! Let not their discs be flattered
With lofty dreaming
Of Hera's bosom and her pavement scattered
With their first beaming:
Let not the birds tune for Apollo's thanks
Where, voicing heaven, he crowds the happier banks.
Vain prayer! Most merciless of visions, shown
Too often to thy victims, yet so fresh
That never as a custom may we own
Thy presence, but are dazzled in thy mesh
And suffer thy strong goad;
Deluded, brilliant with each new daybreak,
Thy chiming road,
Even to the end, we and our world must take.
With lofty dreaming
Of Hera's bosom and her pavement scattered
With their first beaming:
Let not the birds tune for Apollo's thanks
Where, voicing heaven, he crowds the happier banks.
Vain prayer! Most merciless of visions, shown
Too often to thy victims, yet so fresh
That never as a custom may we own
71
And suffer thy strong goad;
Deluded, brilliant with each new daybreak,
Thy chiming road,
Even to the end, we and our world must take.
72
CIRCE AT CIRCAEUM
HOW may the drooping poppy-leaf abide
Wreathed in the bladder-weeds
Athwart the tide?
Whose are the white-robed, whiter-shadowed limbs
Within the shaggy rims
Of the shore's last rock-pool?
O Circe, Circe! Is there hope or woe
Can bring her to a mirror set so low?
Deep into it the shadowed poppy bleeds,
Mid crabs and fishes cool,
The poppy on her forehead: and she cooes
Across the shallows; toward the deeper sea,
As out from woods; her lips above the swing
Of little tide-tracks have a freshet's spring
Of smiles for the vast glitter of the brine.
Wreathed in the bladder-weeds
Athwart the tide?
Whose are the white-robed, whiter-shadowed limbs
Within the shaggy rims
Of the shore's last rock-pool?
O Circe, Circe! Is there hope or woe
Can bring her to a mirror set so low?
Deep into it the shadowed poppy bleeds,
Mid crabs and fishes cool,
The poppy on her forehead: and she cooes
Across the shallows; toward the deeper sea,
As out from woods; her lips above the swing
Of little tide-tracks have a freshet's spring
Of smiles for the vast glitter of the brine.
O Circe, Circe! Do not sorely pine
For answer to thy call,
For answer to thy smiles:
It is the slow noontide that bindeth all,
Beguiling further than thy charm beguiles.
Her breath removes from lips to her still heart;
No covert in the foldings of a hill
Was ever from all breeze so greatly still
As she with waiting: and, their lids apart,
As lakes that never look from off the sky,
Her eyes are on the sea. Thus noon goes by.
For answer to thy call,
For answer to thy smiles:
It is the slow noontide that bindeth all,
Beguiling further than thy charm beguiles.
Her breath removes from lips to her still heart;
No covert in the foldings of a hill
Was ever from all breeze so greatly still
As she with waiting: and, their lids apart,
As lakes that never look from off the sky,
Her eyes are on the sea. Thus noon goes by.
73
O Circe, Circe, wake, arouse thy magic!
The poppy-bud now dribbles from its drop
Through the rock-pool, nor will its flowing stop;
Shadows from the heaven breast the sea;
The hour is tempered to thy potency.
She breathes as if the rustling ferns set free
The evening dew; she looses from her bosom
A trail of jasmine-flower; her breathing stirs
All that bees ravish from auriculas
Of drugged, delicious, smothering meal; she closes
With tremor to the shadowy breeze her lids,
And lets her sweetness overlap the salt.
What coldness in the ocean-ooze forbids
A lover to attempt such rare assault?
The ripples crease her mirror; from its bed
No spasm-waves in coiling current spread
From sudden pressure. Are the sea-gods dead?
The poppy-bud now dribbles from its drop
Through the rock-pool, nor will its flowing stop;
Shadows from the heaven breast the sea;
The hour is tempered to thy potency.
She breathes as if the rustling ferns set free
The evening dew; she looses from her bosom
A trail of jasmine-flower; her breathing stirs
All that bees ravish from auriculas
Of drugged, delicious, smothering meal; she closes
With tremor to the shadowy breeze her lids,
And lets her sweetness overlap the salt.
What coldness in the ocean-ooze forbids
A lover to attempt such rare assault?
The ripples crease her mirror; from its bed
No spasm-waves in coiling current spread
From sudden pressure. Are the sea-gods dead?
O suppliant by the sea, are spells in vain?
She rises and a cloud of summer rain
Washes the wave-tips as it washed green leaves,
Dashes its dew to sea-spray, nestling cleaves
Soft to the barren eddies in their lapse;
And with its beauty and its shower enwraps
The churning bubbles in a rainbow clear.
She rises and a cloud of summer rain
Washes the wave-tips as it washed green leaves,
Dashes its dew to sea-spray, nestling cleaves
Soft to the barren eddies in their lapse;
And with its beauty and its shower enwraps
The churning bubbles in a rainbow clear.
O Circe, Circe! A King died beneath
The poison of thine anger that is death:
Thy weariness recoils on doting Kings,
And they turn brutish in their wallowings.
The poison of thine anger that is death:
Thy weariness recoils on doting Kings,
And they turn brutish in their wallowings.
74
Her rain is gathered in, and the blank sea
Receives a shadow cast immovably.
As thunder rolls along through mountain-glens,
Her eyes and lips and nostrils, as from dens,
Give forth their curse. A budded stalk among
The poppies on her forehead reareth strong,
No bud-head, but a serpent that by fits
The sea-gust and the sea-shine madly hits
With fork on fork, until one moment grows
An imprecation: “Glaucus, thou hast braved
All charms I bring from earth: await its ban.
Thou liest on a breast that is my foe's!
Not by thy closest love shall she be saved.”
Receives a shadow cast immovably.
As thunder rolls along through mountain-glens,
Her eyes and lips and nostrils, as from dens,
Give forth their curse. A budded stalk among
The poppies on her forehead reareth strong,
No bud-head, but a serpent that by fits
The sea-gust and the sea-shine madly hits
With fork on fork, until one moment grows
An imprecation: “Glaucus, thou hast braved
All charms I bring from earth: await its ban.
Thou liest on a breast that is my foe's!
Not by thy closest love shall she be saved.”
Ocean heard dumbly. There was poppy-seed
Scumming the streamers of the bladder-weed,
Where poppy-flowers had vanished from the glass.
No one would come out seaward till at dawn
The maiden Scylla to the pool would pass
Across the reefs and bathe amid that spawn
Of steeping poppy-seeds. At dead of night
The waves howled once or twice: but day dawned bright.
Scumming the streamers of the bladder-weed,
Where poppy-flowers had vanished from the glass.
No one would come out seaward till at dawn
The maiden Scylla to the pool would pass
Across the reefs and bathe amid that spawn
Of steeping poppy-seeds. At dead of night
The waves howled once or twice: but day dawned bright.
75
APPLE-BOUGH AND DEER
THE night is come and Night's tranquillity:
Now is the volume of her darkness stable,
Possessing land and air but not the Sea.
The Sea is stronger than the Night, and able
To bring back to her heart a lover's reign.
They lie together and their past attain,
As man and woman wedded long ago.
Now is the volume of her darkness stable,
Possessing land and air but not the Sea.
The Sea is stronger than the Night, and able
To bring back to her heart a lover's reign.
They lie together and their past attain,
As man and woman wedded long ago.
For she in virgin youth was drawn below
The secret canopy of stretching waves
By ocean, in a kiss that drowns and saves
From death at very last of its control.
And she remembers yet the billow's roll
Above her maiden strife, as she was held
Remorselessly, to depths of love compelled;
Lost, but how cherished, in unfathomed caves.
The secret canopy of stretching waves
By ocean, in a kiss that drowns and saves
From death at very last of its control.
And she remembers yet the billow's roll
Above her maiden strife, as she was held
Remorselessly, to depths of love compelled;
Lost, but how cherished, in unfathomed caves.
And that old passion broods between the two.
Soon as the bat moves round an air of dew,
Night and the Ocean meet in confidence,
While earth is but a darksome mass more dense
Than darkness overhead: but on the Sea
There lies pale love at watch immutably
For the whole heaven of Night; while she bows down
To meet those kisses that she knows half-drown.
Soon as the bat moves round an air of dew,
Night and the Ocean meet in confidence,
While earth is but a darksome mass more dense
Than darkness overhead: but on the Sea
There lies pale love at watch immutably
For the whole heaven of Night; while she bows down
To meet those kisses that she knows half-drown.
Beside the Ocean, underneath the Night,
A shore is washed by waves and full moonlight.
See, how it stretches! Who is on that shore—
With furled great wings, furled as for evermore;
Solemn as Night and faithful as the Sea,
A woman with her wings as tall as she,
Her hand around an apple-bough, in flower
With milky, tangled stars of spring's prime power;
And, circling, lightly set upon her head,
A diadem wrought of fast-running deer,
That follow each another that hath fled,
Image by image, in a double tier?
A shore is washed by waves and full moonlight.
76
With furled great wings, furled as for evermore;
Solemn as Night and faithful as the Sea,
A woman with her wings as tall as she,
Her hand around an apple-bough, in flower
With milky, tangled stars of spring's prime power;
And, circling, lightly set upon her head,
A diadem wrought of fast-running deer,
That follow each another that hath fled,
Image by image, in a double tier?
What is more sure to bloom
Than apple-flower,
More sure to drop from bud into a shower,
To flourish and make spring from hour to hour,
Then break away and fall on death?
Than apple-flower,
More sure to drop from bud into a shower,
To flourish and make spring from hour to hour,
Then break away and fall on death?
What is more swift of limb
Than deer at chase?
Sun-spots and glamour, with a sunbeam's pace
They are beside us: then another place
Receives their shaft of fleetness dim.
Than deer at chase?
Sun-spots and glamour, with a sunbeam's pace
They are beside us: then another place
Receives their shaft of fleetness dim.
What of the apple-flower, O Night,
What of the speeding deer, O Sea?
Why is that form so whelmed in deep moonlight,
Why are her pinions closed, and who is she?
The Ocean knows his child; the Night above
Looks on the secret of her shadowed love,
Then slowly thrills, as under Ocean's kiss,
And, on a windless breath, sighs Nemesis.
What of the speeding deer, O Sea?
Why is that form so whelmed in deep moonlight,
Why are her pinions closed, and who is she?
The Ocean knows his child; the Night above
Looks on the secret of her shadowed love,
Then slowly thrills, as under Ocean's kiss,
And, on a windless breath, sighs Nemesis.
77
GLAUCUS
OCEAN, I am thy prophet and thy seer,
And all I see is from thy fastnesses.
I visit every coast, in every year,
And bring thy omens to the little towns,
And little bays, and watchers on the downs.
Sleek dolphins bear me forth; the well-wrought foam
Piles me my chariot, and the ocean-maids
Spread out their long anointed hair to comb,
Or by my chariot-wheels re-pearl their braids,
And listen for my message to the ships
With shell-like heave-apart of wondering lips;
While Triton blows my flourish from the sound
To bring the fishers down with leap and bound:
And then I sing forth from thy fastnesses.
And all I see is from thy fastnesses.
I visit every coast, in every year,
And bring thy omens to the little towns,
And little bays, and watchers on the downs.
Sleek dolphins bear me forth; the well-wrought foam
Piles me my chariot, and the ocean-maids
Spread out their long anointed hair to comb,
Or by my chariot-wheels re-pearl their braids,
And listen for my message to the ships
With shell-like heave-apart of wondering lips;
While Triton blows my flourish from the sound
To bring the fishers down with leap and bound:
And then I sing forth from thy fastnesses.
I was a fisher once and loved to hear
The voice of calm or tempest singing clear
Up round the points and round the harbour-bar.
I felt the music rose from deeply far
And god-like depths: it urged me when to stay
In port and when to launch upon the tide:
But there was something in the sounds beside
Their augury that moved me to be drear
And lonely in my listening, till one day
Spell-bound I leapt
Free to thy bodeful waters and was swept,
Unseen, away,
Far from Anthedon's low and sandy bay.
O wavering sea,
I stole your ripples, hauling
My net of tremulous, white fish to land,
While the dawn-fleckered waves were falling
In gradual decline from waist to knee;
And thine eastward breath I breathed
As thy brackish creatures seethed,
Beating the sand.
The voice of calm or tempest singing clear
Up round the points and round the harbour-bar.
I felt the music rose from deeply far
And god-like depths: it urged me when to stay
In port and when to launch upon the tide:
But there was something in the sounds beside
Their augury that moved me to be drear
And lonely in my listening, till one day
Spell-bound I leapt
Free to thy bodeful waters and was swept,
Unseen, away,
Far from Anthedon's low and sandy bay.
78
I stole your ripples, hauling
My net of tremulous, white fish to land,
While the dawn-fleckered waves were falling
In gradual decline from waist to knee;
And thine eastward breath I breathed
As thy brackish creatures seethed,
Beating the sand.
The hour I burned
To drag thee to me netted,
O wonder I had sailed, whose shells I trod
And nestled in my toe, wave-wetted;
For whose tremendous, plunging walls I yearned,
And the spiky thrones that hold
Great Proteus, Nereus—each enrolled
Prophet and god.
To drag thee to me netted,
O wonder I had sailed, whose shells I trod
And nestled in my toe, wave-wetted;
For whose tremendous, plunging walls I yearned,
And the spiky thrones that hold
Great Proteus, Nereus—each enrolled
Prophet and god.
I lay beside
My stranded draught-net, weary
For thy deep waters and their brooding hush,
When, lo, across the shingle dreary
My haul of fish leapt sudden to the tide,
As they touched, between the sedge,
Leaves upon a quagmire's edge
Clothing its slush.
My stranded draught-net, weary
For thy deep waters and their brooding hush,
When, lo, across the shingle dreary
My haul of fish leapt sudden to the tide,
As they touched, between the sedge,
Leaves upon a quagmire's edge
Clothing its slush.
I understood
Their leap of magic gladness—
The token I must follow them to sea.
The moment reeled, and in its madness
I swept the fathoms where I longed to be,
Clutched those beach-side leaves that shone
Like frilled glass . . . and I was gone
Whither I would.
Their leap of magic gladness—
The token I must follow them to sea.
The moment reeled, and in its madness
I swept the fathoms where I longed to be,
79
Like frilled glass . . . and I was gone
Whither I would.
Ocean, I splashed among sun-ripples down,
The ebb-tide took me, like the hour of death:
I was washed out afar; then sank below
The billows and their clouds of sky-touched snow.
But yet I had within a fount of breath,
But yet there was evoked in me a thought,
As terribly I sank, I could not drown.
And thus thy will and my great change was wrought.
The ebb-tide took me, like the hour of death:
I was washed out afar; then sank below
The billows and their clouds of sky-touched snow.
But yet I had within a fount of breath,
But yet there was evoked in me a thought,
As terribly I sank, I could not drown.
And thus thy will and my great change was wrought.
I who had come to thee, as nightly come
The stars to the wide darkness of the night,
Like them received deep auguries and might
Over men's fortunes and mysterious sway
From thee and from thy darkness and the dumb
Abysses of thy dark. With great array,
By all the blue-eyed Oceanides
Of blanched blue eyes, and past the beams and helm
From many a craft or trireme, I was led
And seated on a throne, while o'er my knees
A sceptre fell.
The stars to the wide darkness of the night,
Like them received deep auguries and might
Over men's fortunes and mysterious sway
From thee and from thy darkness and the dumb
Abysses of thy dark. With great array,
By all the blue-eyed Oceanides
Of blanched blue eyes, and past the beams and helm
From many a craft or trireme, I was led
And seated on a throne, while o'er my knees
A sceptre fell.
I saw athwart my realm
One throned beside me, and a herd outspread
Of curveting and midnight-sable seals;
Then knew I Proteus sat with me. Amaze
Lay on my pulse that I 'mid looming keels
That sunk, supernal vision might behold;
When, lo, another head broke through the haze
Of potent depth, a visage simply old
For veneration, tressed with parsley-green;
And I received my doom, to sit between
The wave-taught Nereus and great Proteus hoar.
And seated there I drank the hidden sea;
For thou, Thalassa, from thy gulf below
Wast filling every cranny of my mind,
So that it waved with living sea-weed, took
Pure gems into its hollows, whelmed in thee
Its earthliness; its memory forsook,
And thy great wrath and solitude divined
Out of the calm that has no ebb or flow.
One throned beside me, and a herd outspread
Of curveting and midnight-sable seals;
Then knew I Proteus sat with me. Amaze
Lay on my pulse that I 'mid looming keels
80
When, lo, another head broke through the haze
Of potent depth, a visage simply old
For veneration, tressed with parsley-green;
And I received my doom, to sit between
The wave-taught Nereus and great Proteus hoar.
And seated there I drank the hidden sea;
For thou, Thalassa, from thy gulf below
Wast filling every cranny of my mind,
So that it waved with living sea-weed, took
Pure gems into its hollows, whelmed in thee
Its earthliness; its memory forsook,
And thy great wrath and solitude divined
Out of the calm that has no ebb or flow.
Thus of my passion I was raised and crowned
A sea-god by the sea. Her prophecy
Within the fulness of my soul I found—
Those voices, heard along the bays on high,
In springtides and in tempests and before
The tempest has sailed down upon the shore;
Or when in summer, noises more content
Than those by flower-lost bees of Hybla sent
Through all the flowering valleys, from the surf
Come in a chorus over the warm rocks,
And sweet in omen hang about the turf,
Then die among the halcyons' dreaming flocks.
A sea-god by the sea. Her prophecy
Within the fulness of my soul I found—
Those voices, heard along the bays on high,
In springtides and in tempests and before
The tempest has sailed down upon the shore;
Or when in summer, noises more content
Than those by flower-lost bees of Hybla sent
Through all the flowering valleys, from the surf
Come in a chorus over the warm rocks,
And sweet in omen hang about the turf,
Then die among the halcyons' dreaming flocks.
And charge is laid on me to breathe them forth,
Thus multitudinous upon the air,
Wherever coasting billows flow or fall;
To rise beside the headlands, south or north;
By Asia and the lone Hesperides,
To speed my dæmon on the shoreward breeze,
And fatal round each point, each harbour call.
I see the tumbling waves rush to the earth,
The little dismal earth, so plain and bare,
The sod that thinly covers in their graves
My father and forefathers, that at birth
Received me as its child of dust. Ah, then,
My tears that drop are salt as these dear waves,
And 'mid my dolphins I lament for men.
Thus multitudinous upon the air,
Wherever coasting billows flow or fall;
To rise beside the headlands, south or north;
81
To speed my dæmon on the shoreward breeze,
And fatal round each point, each harbour call.
I see the tumbling waves rush to the earth,
The little dismal earth, so plain and bare,
The sod that thinly covers in their graves
My father and forefathers, that at birth
Received me as its child of dust. Ah, then,
My tears that drop are salt as these dear waves,
And 'mid my dolphins I lament for men.
82
NO
TARRYING under pines in a pine wood—
That swept the air along as the wind wished,
Although it moaned and swished
Under its haircloth hood
To feel constraint of toil so ruthlessly—
I beheld a sparrow-hawk roam by
In wide circles and I heard her cry
After her slain young, cry impatiently
Above the sunset of that starry sky.
Sudden the wind ceased and the hawk was dumb
Up in the bareness of the scarlet grove,
Where pine-trunks and pine-branches held above
A golden, grassless floor the haircloth hood
Of that laborious and spiny wood:
Then through the pause I heard a Presence come,
As if each foot fell on a muffled drum;
And towers, great city-towers, I seemed to know
Were climbing through the foliage, so compact
The Power that frowned down as from pinnacles,
'Mid silence such as in the heaven dwells,
Or gods lay round their altar-stones below,
That men might learn of altars to forgo
Vain words and keep their peace in holy act.
That swept the air along as the wind wished,
Although it moaned and swished
Under its haircloth hood
To feel constraint of toil so ruthlessly—
I beheld a sparrow-hawk roam by
In wide circles and I heard her cry
After her slain young, cry impatiently
Above the sunset of that starry sky.
Sudden the wind ceased and the hawk was dumb
Up in the bareness of the scarlet grove,
Where pine-trunks and pine-branches held above
A golden, grassless floor the haircloth hood
Of that laborious and spiny wood:
Then through the pause I heard a Presence come,
As if each foot fell on a muffled drum;
And towers, great city-towers, I seemed to know
Were climbing through the foliage, so compact
The Power that frowned down as from pinnacles,
'Mid silence such as in the heaven dwells,
Or gods lay round their altar-stones below,
That men might learn of altars to forgo
Vain words and keep their peace in holy act.
The Power that breathed was Cybele. I heard
Upon her breath and heart-beats what in man
Had been his speech, what in the speckled bird
That late was wheeling would have been its cry.
“Mortal, sit down upon the sod, 'tis I,
The Earth, who drew from silence at the first
Thee and all woods and the horizon's span,
The loose, fierce lion, the mountains in the sky;
Who as I wrought and cradled them and nursed,
Wove my deep ritual into everything,
That never but by prayer might any fling
My temple open, not with hands; that none
Whose breath was garlic-tainted and less sweet
Than fern is after rain beneath the sun,
Should dare my threshold with forbidden feet;
That all who brought a sacrifice should sit,
Should touch the soil before they offered it,
Bringing for sacrifice the victim's heart.
The heart, the very heart, I will have that!”
Steep loomed the sovereign-goddess where I sat;
And terror seized me at her straight command
Silence resolved that I should understand:
I rose up out of moss and cones, and stood
A fugitive betrayed by a whole wood,
But soon I felt the passion swept along
Beyond me with a fluting rush too strong
To compass me—filled with an ancient wrong;
And toward the pines it breathed itself. “Thy heart,
Atys, I claimed and thou didst yield it mine,
Burning before me, sacrifice divine,
In which I had the heat of flesh and wine
As worship and received it as an oath.
For my oblation I accept no part,
Only the central being, the full cup
Of love, the jewel that the body gives—
Let it receive all jewels that blaze up
From brow and strike from throat, but while it lives,
If it would hold my godhead, nothing loath,
Its ruby carcanet it must enshrine
For me, and my omnipotence proclaim.
Upon her breath and heart-beats what in man
Had been his speech, what in the speckled bird
That late was wheeling would have been its cry.
“Mortal, sit down upon the sod, 'tis I,
83
Thee and all woods and the horizon's span,
The loose, fierce lion, the mountains in the sky;
Who as I wrought and cradled them and nursed,
Wove my deep ritual into everything,
That never but by prayer might any fling
My temple open, not with hands; that none
Whose breath was garlic-tainted and less sweet
Than fern is after rain beneath the sun,
Should dare my threshold with forbidden feet;
That all who brought a sacrifice should sit,
Should touch the soil before they offered it,
Bringing for sacrifice the victim's heart.
The heart, the very heart, I will have that!”
Steep loomed the sovereign-goddess where I sat;
And terror seized me at her straight command
Silence resolved that I should understand:
I rose up out of moss and cones, and stood
A fugitive betrayed by a whole wood,
But soon I felt the passion swept along
Beyond me with a fluting rush too strong
To compass me—filled with an ancient wrong;
And toward the pines it breathed itself. “Thy heart,
Atys, I claimed and thou didst yield it mine,
Burning before me, sacrifice divine,
In which I had the heat of flesh and wine
As worship and received it as an oath.
For my oblation I accept no part,
Only the central being, the full cup
Of love, the jewel that the body gives—
84
From brow and strike from throat, but while it lives,
If it would hold my godhead, nothing loath,
Its ruby carcanet it must enshrine
For me, and my omnipotence proclaim.
“Thus, Atys, two whole years thou wert the same;
Uncloven was thy life by any jar;
And with thy woodland eyes, pale as love's star,
Yet ringed with midnight, in my box-groves dense,
Thou gavest me thy beating heart, and hence
Within my awful presence breathed at peace.
Why did thy temple service ever cease?
One day thy gift was gone, my altar bare;
Thy worthless body of young bistre glow
I loved while on the forest sod it lay,
Or rose with sacrificial gesture fair,
While thou didst lift some creature's heart away
Far out to see its berried droplets flow—
Thy body shut its little alien gem
Tight from me for a mortal's recompense,
And sundered its one vow by loathed offence,
Faithless and abject, whom my cool, vast hours
Had bred to courage and to wisdom, powers
Of spell and powers of gaiety;—what dire
Infatuation caught thee by its fire
And seared and branded thee with sapless blight,
When thy discovered treason knew my sight?
Vain panic-folly! Vainly was it done.
Unending banishment thou couldst not shun,
My banished! Yet I heard thy ruin cry
For parents, country, something thou couldst give
Thy miserable heart to, and so live;
But to thy shrill appeal came no reply.
Frenzied with solitude thou couldst not die;
And through my solitudes thy frenzy roved;
Yea, down my paths ran the lost thing I loved.
Uncloven was thy life by any jar;
And with thy woodland eyes, pale as love's star,
Yet ringed with midnight, in my box-groves dense,
Thou gavest me thy beating heart, and hence
Within my awful presence breathed at peace.
Why did thy temple service ever cease?
One day thy gift was gone, my altar bare;
Thy worthless body of young bistre glow
I loved while on the forest sod it lay,
Or rose with sacrificial gesture fair,
While thou didst lift some creature's heart away
Far out to see its berried droplets flow—
Thy body shut its little alien gem
Tight from me for a mortal's recompense,
And sundered its one vow by loathed offence,
Faithless and abject, whom my cool, vast hours
Had bred to courage and to wisdom, powers
Of spell and powers of gaiety;—what dire
Infatuation caught thee by its fire
And seared and branded thee with sapless blight,
When thy discovered treason knew my sight?
Vain panic-folly! Vainly was it done.
Unending banishment thou couldst not shun,
85
For parents, country, something thou couldst give
Thy miserable heart to, and so live;
But to thy shrill appeal came no reply.
Frenzied with solitude thou couldst not die;
And through my solitudes thy frenzy roved;
Yea, down my paths ran the lost thing I loved.
“O Pines, that shelter Atys in your lair,
A madhouse for the anguish and despair
To which I drove him, must ye ever wreak
Upon my ears your weary, spavined shriek,
And moan with unaccepted sacrifice,
That may not to the Earth be offered twice?
O Atys, Atys, Atys!”
A madhouse for the anguish and despair
To which I drove him, must ye ever wreak
Upon my ears your weary, spavined shriek,
And moan with unaccepted sacrifice,
That may not to the Earth be offered twice?
O Atys, Atys, Atys!”
Then to me,
As if she asked a boon already won,
She breathed in fondness “Mortal, give thy heart.”
The hawk rose up and called about a tree.
I heard the pines still offering ceaselessly
What was refused—then heard slow steps depart
Along the wood, whence I had heard them come,
As if they fell upon a muffled drum.
As if she asked a boon already won,
She breathed in fondness “Mortal, give thy heart.”
The hawk rose up and called about a tree.
I heard the pines still offering ceaselessly
What was refused—then heard slow steps depart
Along the wood, whence I had heard them come,
As if they fell upon a muffled drum.
86
ONE SIN
ONCE I was Phœbus: now my crown of sun
Zeus hath sequestered, and my arrows lie
Under the soles of his imprisoning feet;
While I am overawed by circumstance.
For am I not a slave? And as a slave
All heavy chance impends above my day,
And keeps me fearing what shall come to pass,
What shame shall crush me like a rock rolled down.
Why hath my thought thus fixed on Phlegyas, that
Poor sinner whom I tortured by a stone,
For ever in suspension overhead
Upon the side of a bowed cliff in Hell?
Why must I think of Phlegyas and his deed;
Of how I won his daughter from the cold,
From maidenhood to woman's kindled fate,
Flashing my life through kisses and embrace,
Whereof was born Asclepius? O my dead,
My son, my thunder-blasted yesterday,
How I have lost thee! And Coronis too—
How she died faithless and hath found her place
Of sepulchre within the funeral shape
I gave her as a raven! But her father,
Swelling with fury that a daughter's fame
Was subject to my splendour, at the first
Flew to a pine wood seasoned for the stuff
Of such a torch as might ignite whole woods,
Hill-sides or cities. Hotly to my shrine
The Lapith travelled over day and night,
Down valleys, up ravines, the holy spot
White and alone upon Parnassus, white
And very lone at daybreak, reaching fast,
So unassailable his speed. A flash
Went up as from an altar of my house,
Though not ascending freely, but engaged
Within a second with the roof-beams round;
And soon the tangling flashes dimmed the white
Of my facade, and down the steps there poured,
Like earliest sunlight, a long stream of gold
From all the molten tripods, shrines and chests
Of my departing treasury. The fumes
Of divination lawlessly were mixed
With clouds of empty smoke; my priestess tore
Her tresses, and within her eyes the blaze
Made furnaces and turned them into blood.
I shot one arrow . . . and imagined doom
For the man's soul in Hades.
Zeus hath sequestered, and my arrows lie
Under the soles of his imprisoning feet;
While I am overawed by circumstance.
For am I not a slave? And as a slave
All heavy chance impends above my day,
And keeps me fearing what shall come to pass,
What shame shall crush me like a rock rolled down.
Why hath my thought thus fixed on Phlegyas, that
Poor sinner whom I tortured by a stone,
For ever in suspension overhead
Upon the side of a bowed cliff in Hell?
Why must I think of Phlegyas and his deed;
Of how I won his daughter from the cold,
From maidenhood to woman's kindled fate,
Flashing my life through kisses and embrace,
Whereof was born Asclepius? O my dead,
My son, my thunder-blasted yesterday,
How I have lost thee! And Coronis too—
How she died faithless and hath found her place
Of sepulchre within the funeral shape
I gave her as a raven! But her father,
Swelling with fury that a daughter's fame
Was subject to my splendour, at the first
Flew to a pine wood seasoned for the stuff
Of such a torch as might ignite whole woods,
Hill-sides or cities. Hotly to my shrine
87
Down valleys, up ravines, the holy spot
White and alone upon Parnassus, white
And very lone at daybreak, reaching fast,
So unassailable his speed. A flash
Went up as from an altar of my house,
Though not ascending freely, but engaged
Within a second with the roof-beams round;
And soon the tangling flashes dimmed the white
Of my facade, and down the steps there poured,
Like earliest sunlight, a long stream of gold
From all the molten tripods, shrines and chests
Of my departing treasury. The fumes
Of divination lawlessly were mixed
With clouds of empty smoke; my priestess tore
Her tresses, and within her eyes the blaze
Made furnaces and turned them into blood.
I shot one arrow . . . and imagined doom
For the man's soul in Hades.
Now from cleft
Of that descending rock at perilous poise
Among the gales of Tartarus his fear
Is wafted to all passers-by, in words
That make obeisance with their rending pain
To justice and due honour toward the gods.
He cries aloud his folly, who attacked
The inmost power of Power, attacking me
At Delphi, in his vengeance, where unique
The golden centre of the world gives back
The voices from my cave.
Of that descending rock at perilous poise
Among the gales of Tartarus his fear
Is wafted to all passers-by, in words
That make obeisance with their rending pain
To justice and due honour toward the gods.
He cries aloud his folly, who attacked
The inmost power of Power, attacking me
At Delphi, in his vengeance, where unique
The golden centre of the world gives back
The voices from my cave.
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O Zeus, O Zeus,
My father, so I sinned! Thy law is pure.
Thou rollest over me vicissitude,
As over Phlegyas I set that curse
Of fearful and delaying lava-stone.
Yea, being a god, I have offended thee
As he, the man, offended in his rage
The god I was: for when my son that came
Of that Lapithean stock, the famous leech
Asclepius shining with my favour, brought
The purple dead to life and smiles again,
Thou with a bolt didst shatter him and slay
My hope that through my son I might confer
On man immortal healing: deadly rays
I caught from out my orb and with the sheaf
Descended Ætna's mines, and took an aim
Hour after hour at every Cyclops shut
In the jagged prison till they all lay dead
Among the half-punched thunder-bolts, the brands
Of cooling levin; and the forges sank
In mountainous night.
My father, so I sinned! Thy law is pure.
Thou rollest over me vicissitude,
As over Phlegyas I set that curse
Of fearful and delaying lava-stone.
Yea, being a god, I have offended thee
As he, the man, offended in his rage
The god I was: for when my son that came
Of that Lapithean stock, the famous leech
Asclepius shining with my favour, brought
The purple dead to life and smiles again,
Thou with a bolt didst shatter him and slay
My hope that through my son I might confer
On man immortal healing: deadly rays
I caught from out my orb and with the sheaf
Descended Ætna's mines, and took an aim
Hour after hour at every Cyclops shut
In the jagged prison till they all lay dead
Among the half-punched thunder-bolts, the brands
Of cooling levin; and the forges sank
In mountainous night.
I rose triumphant up
The gaping mine; but when I saw and breathed
Thy sky an isolation came about
My issue from the gulf. I fell to earth;
For thou hadst rent my sparkle from me, lo,
My laurel-wreath was parchment, leaf on leaf,
And split against my hair; the evening sun
Gave me no welcome: but a Voice moved forth
To dispossess me to my face. As man,
Nay, among men a slave, I wept before
Thy anger brooding where the Cyclops lay,
And loading me with anguish. Till this hour
I have been blinded to my sin nor knew
My punishment aright, I who had hung
My torture over Phlegyas. O Zeus, Zeus,
I struck thee in thy thunder, in thy might
Of fire and crash, in thy omnipotence:
But like my wretched mortal bowed in Hell
Under the stone of hesitating mass,
Who cries out worship to the gods, acclaims
Justice, with vigilance of lifted eyes,
To all that pass, I feel in my own pulse
Thy actual indignation. Year by year
Bow over me my serfdom, let me dread
The stale events that shall humiliate
Each moment—hunger, loneliness, the touch
Of buyer's hand or owner's promised stripes.
All I accept, and in my service, Zeus,
Will meekly, as a creature once divine,
Praise thee, beloved Avenger. Father, mould
My threatening seven long years of banishment
That I may learn a cleanness in my wrath,
And never thrust out worship from my deeds.
As round my birth at Lemnos the salt wave
Swept its pure circle, wholesome to my doom,
My cleansing, be thou round me, penetrate!
Confer not any more upon me wreath
Or arrow, I can bear no gift of thee.
My god, even as a god, heal thou thy son,
Heal him and raise: the joy will recompense.
The gaping mine; but when I saw and breathed
Thy sky an isolation came about
My issue from the gulf. I fell to earth;
For thou hadst rent my sparkle from me, lo,
My laurel-wreath was parchment, leaf on leaf,
And split against my hair; the evening sun
Gave me no welcome: but a Voice moved forth
To dispossess me to my face. As man,
89
Thy anger brooding where the Cyclops lay,
And loading me with anguish. Till this hour
I have been blinded to my sin nor knew
My punishment aright, I who had hung
My torture over Phlegyas. O Zeus, Zeus,
I struck thee in thy thunder, in thy might
Of fire and crash, in thy omnipotence:
But like my wretched mortal bowed in Hell
Under the stone of hesitating mass,
Who cries out worship to the gods, acclaims
Justice, with vigilance of lifted eyes,
To all that pass, I feel in my own pulse
Thy actual indignation. Year by year
Bow over me my serfdom, let me dread
The stale events that shall humiliate
Each moment—hunger, loneliness, the touch
Of buyer's hand or owner's promised stripes.
All I accept, and in my service, Zeus,
Will meekly, as a creature once divine,
Praise thee, beloved Avenger. Father, mould
My threatening seven long years of banishment
That I may learn a cleanness in my wrath,
And never thrust out worship from my deeds.
As round my birth at Lemnos the salt wave
Swept its pure circle, wholesome to my doom,
My cleansing, be thou round me, penetrate!
Confer not any more upon me wreath
Or arrow, I can bear no gift of thee.
My god, even as a god, heal thou thy son,
Heal him and raise: the joy will recompense.
90
VISITANTS
STRANGE, on the lofty-builded boat,
The ferryman should weep!
Old Charon, avid still to note
The coin his crossings reap!
Ruthless and plain to all,
With aspect like the foiling pall
Of his dire roof, our sweet sky's funeral.
The ferryman should weep!
Old Charon, avid still to note
The coin his crossings reap!
Ruthless and plain to all,
With aspect like the foiling pall
Of his dire roof, our sweet sky's funeral.
Last night the dead, still more and more,
Had lowered his boat-side:
Those who beneath the mournful roar
Of a volcano died,
In thousands, as they must,
Had each in turn his obol thrust
Into a palm that wearied of its lust.
Had lowered his boat-side:
Those who beneath the mournful roar
Of a volcano died,
In thousands, as they must,
Had each in turn his obol thrust
Into a palm that wearied of its lust.
Now on the shore no ghost—not one;
But with tired, stealthy eyes
The boatman saw a tumult run
Forward, as white dust flies.
His palm itched, yet he bent
Reluctant on his oar, still spent
With waftage of those hosts to Hades sent.
But with tired, stealthy eyes
The boatman saw a tumult run
Forward, as white dust flies.
His palm itched, yet he bent
Reluctant on his oar, still spent
With waftage of those hosts to Hades sent.
On came the cloud, as if with feet
All plumes—a multitude
In clinging dance, their numbers fleet
To impetus subdued
Of one fatality.
O Charon, what is this you see,
This snowy flock, a wind their Mercury?
All plumes—a multitude
In clinging dance, their numbers fleet
To impetus subdued
Of one fatality.
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This snowy flock, a wind their Mercury?
They drift across the beamless slopes,
They drift upon the weeds
That do not dout them, streak the ropes,
Frost the giant river-reeds.
They are but blossom-leaves,
O Charon, that a tempest cleaves
From orchards, or from hawthorn-hedge bereaves.
They drift upon the weeds
That do not dout them, streak the ropes,
Frost the giant river-reeds.
They are but blossom-leaves,
O Charon, that a tempest cleaves
From orchards, or from hawthorn-hedge bereaves.
His oar drops down, his palms are pressed
Together at that sight:
His boat—the ferryman may rest,
And dream 'mid spectres white.
He weeps their vanishing,
Who offer him no gold, but bring
The news that high on earth there has been spring.
Together at that sight:
His boat—the ferryman may rest,
And dream 'mid spectres white.
He weeps their vanishing,
Who offer him no gold, but bring
The news that high on earth there has been spring.
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JASON
“UPON the sea-beach I diffuse my limbs;
My wail athwart the harping sea-plain heaves;
The shards are bitter and the ocean brims
My sorrow from a fount where darkness grieves;
I, Jason, by this vessel of my pride,
Lie, as vain flotsam, 'neath its doughty side.
My wail athwart the harping sea-plain heaves;
The shards are bitter and the ocean brims
My sorrow from a fount where darkness grieves;
I, Jason, by this vessel of my pride,
Lie, as vain flotsam, 'neath its doughty side.
A wife I had and children—she is gone
To her own land—but first she waved my feet
To where my sons, her wrath had fallen upon,
Lay dead together 'neath their cradle-sheet.
A bride I had, but ere to bed she came
Ashes of flame she was, ashes of flame.
To her own land—but first she waved my feet
To where my sons, her wrath had fallen upon,
Lay dead together 'neath their cradle-sheet.
A bride I had, but ere to bed she came
Ashes of flame she was, ashes of flame.
And I had comrades in grand years of youth:
They are all slain or care no more for deeds.
A golden aim I followed to its truth:
It is a story now no mortal heeds.
Once I drove oxen of fire-shooting lips,
Once I was ruler of a ship of ships” . . .
They are all slain or care no more for deeds.
A golden aim I followed to its truth:
It is a story now no mortal heeds.
Once I drove oxen of fire-shooting lips,
Once I was ruler of a ship of ships” . . .
The pebbles ground like teeth within a jaw;
A moan of angry timber thundered forth;
And the great poop of Argo rolled its maw,
With a wave's action, from the south to north:
Earth quaked in fear at glimpse of Jason's doom,
As slant on him fell Argo as a tomb.
A moan of angry timber thundered forth;
And the great poop of Argo rolled its maw,
With a wave's action, from the south to north:
Earth quaked in fear at glimpse of Jason's doom,
As slant on him fell Argo as a tomb.
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A DYING VIPER
THE lethargy of evil in her eyes—
As blue snow is the substance of a mere
Where the dead waters of a glacier drear
Stand open and behold—a viper lies
As blue snow is the substance of a mere
Where the dead waters of a glacier drear
Stand open and behold—a viper lies
Brooding upon her hatreds: dying thus
Wounded and broken, helpless with her fangs,
She dies of her sealed curse, yea, of her pangs
At God's first ban that made her infamous.
Wounded and broken, helpless with her fangs,
She dies of her sealed curse, yea, of her pangs
At God's first ban that made her infamous.
Yet, by that old curse frozen in her wreath,
She, like a star, hath central gravity
That draws and fascinates the soul to death;
She, like a star, hath central gravity
That draws and fascinates the soul to death;
While round her stare and terrible repose,
Vaults for its hour a glittering sapphire fly,
Mocking the charm of death. O God, it knows!
Vaults for its hour a glittering sapphire fly,
Mocking the charm of death. O God, it knows!
94
VISITING STARS
DIAN, the summer Moon, her stars hath led
Down the still greyness of the heat to shine
As disc on disc of bowering eglantine,
Through the recesses of her forest spread.
Down the still greyness of the heat to shine
As disc on disc of bowering eglantine,
Through the recesses of her forest spread.
The pale troops of her night are in the shade
Under the oak-trees, cool and scattered far;
In starred and starrier paths each ancient star
Breathes as a white rose of an inmost glade.
Under the oak-trees, cool and scattered far;
In starred and starrier paths each ancient star
Breathes as a white rose of an inmost glade.
She wills her constellations, set remote,
Should once at least be rural in the year,
As she 'mid her green country. Mortals note
Should once at least be rural in the year,
As she 'mid her green country. Mortals note
Their camps are as a firmament, and there
Banished, but sweet of chequer as on high,
Through squirrel-threaded roof they dream the sky.
Banished, but sweet of chequer as on high,
Through squirrel-threaded roof they dream the sky.
95
NOON
STRENGTH of the world, O Noon, strange things are done
'Neath thy prepollence, when the fir-spines bake
A rare feast for our nostrils, and the snake
With yellow-fleckered body courts the sun,
'Neath thy prepollence, when the fir-spines bake
A rare feast for our nostrils, and the snake
With yellow-fleckered body courts the sun,
Till all its reptile's blood is ichor-flame,
And it becomes at once and for the hour
A Prince of Heaven. We receive thy power
As if the hands of some gigantic frame
And it becomes at once and for the hour
A Prince of Heaven. We receive thy power
As if the hands of some gigantic frame
Beneath our arms lifted us up on high,
Till we breathe sun-rays and our feet are hot,
And space and shadows are remembered not.
Till we breathe sun-rays and our feet are hot,
And space and shadows are remembered not.
There are two moments of Earth's wizardry,
Moonlight and noon: one female, of dread lure;
And one in crisis giant-like, blazing, pure.
Moonlight and noon: one female, of dread lure;
And one in crisis giant-like, blazing, pure.
96
HIPPONOE
SHE had come downhill to the wedding-feast:
Among the wealthy Lapiths she had held
The white wheat-cake, and keeping watchful eyes
Upon the guests, even as they spread, had spread
Across it sweet new butter, drained the milk
Of meadow-nurtured cows and set her teeth
Deep in the pulp of unfamiliar fruit.
For through the mountains where her Centaurs dwell
Only the blaeberry and strawberry hard
Push up around the stones.
Only mare's milk and cheese
Had ever passed her lips, now gluttonous
With simple treat of feeding. Her blue eyes
Hang in their misty blueness on the cates,
The jewels of great globe, the bridegroom's trimness,
The women spare, Hippodamia's grace,
The white fringe of her feet upon the grass,
Those cheeks of valley tenderness, those close
And snake-like skirts: then dwell with constancy
On Cyllarus among her Centaur race
The noblest in his beauty. But he too
Is gazing on the jewels as they shoot
Through the bride's hair, like glow-worms, on her bosom
Quicken its slope with variable flame:
And ever as he chews white bread or blots
The darkening grape-juice on his eager mouth
Cyllarus tracks the movement of the gems,
The movement of the snake-like clinging skirts
The bride is wrapped in, as she stirs her feet
And welcomes oft. “Hippodamia—ah!
And I Hipponoe.” The Centaur-girl
Unites her name with sighing to the bride's,
And mourns unheard—“At the first dawn of day
I sought out through the highland grass a knoll
Where lilies of the field
Split their white pods in flower;
I gathered all the flowers;
Then smiled above a torrent's dam
To see the wild white lilies crest my hair.
And as we trotted down the mountain-path
Cyllarus kept abreast with me and praised
The health upon my face and fixed his gaze
On the white spikes that rayed out from my hair.
But, lo, she has a throne,
And leans her head against it. I could never.
Be queen above him thus. Oh, bitterly
I long for the young spruce-firs of my glen
To hide me from him, though he never looks.”
Dropping one wrist upon her hoof, she eats
With misty eyes her portion, and again
Fixes her constant gaze on Cyllarus.
“Men are about me with small loins that curve
No more than harvest-sickle, men whose necks
The roof-tree shades from scorching, with fair hair
Fine on their heads. O Cyllarus, they win
In no-wise my intentness; but the more
I love thy chestnut flanks that like a ridge
Of mountain lie behind thy lofty front;
I love the hair that hoods thee, the bold eyes
That strike from it, as weapons from a pit.
I love thee more, beside the little race
Of vale men, more, far more than yesterday.”
Swiftly Cyllarus springs up,
Swift the gilded crates are spilt,
Swift the apples roll away,
And the wine is lost for lips.
All the Centaurs leap afoot
'Mid the womenfolk, and catch
By the waist those spare white forms—
Wrathful they are carried on,
Till the trees take voice of shrieks.
Eurytus the Centaur bears
Throned Hippodamia off:
While in fury Cyllarus
And Peirithous pursue.
Underneath the bridegroom's stroke
Eurytus rolls dead at last,
And the bridegroom holds the bride,
Save that Cyllarus still clings
To her rumpled garment tight.
Heavily Peirithous hurls
Down a brazen candlestick.
Straight the Attic Theseus shoots . . .
With a cry, a Centaur-girl
Kneels where Cyllarus is laid,
Gathers up his fainting head,
Kisses long his spouting wound,
Gazes with a misty light
On her eyes upon his eyes,
Soft and tender as sun-down.
Among the wealthy Lapiths she had held
The white wheat-cake, and keeping watchful eyes
Upon the guests, even as they spread, had spread
Across it sweet new butter, drained the milk
Of meadow-nurtured cows and set her teeth
Deep in the pulp of unfamiliar fruit.
For through the mountains where her Centaurs dwell
Only the blaeberry and strawberry hard
Push up around the stones.
Only mare's milk and cheese
Had ever passed her lips, now gluttonous
With simple treat of feeding. Her blue eyes
Hang in their misty blueness on the cates,
The jewels of great globe, the bridegroom's trimness,
The women spare, Hippodamia's grace,
The white fringe of her feet upon the grass,
Those cheeks of valley tenderness, those close
And snake-like skirts: then dwell with constancy
On Cyllarus among her Centaur race
The noblest in his beauty. But he too
Is gazing on the jewels as they shoot
Through the bride's hair, like glow-worms, on her bosom
Quicken its slope with variable flame:
And ever as he chews white bread or blots
The darkening grape-juice on his eager mouth
97
The movement of the snake-like clinging skirts
The bride is wrapped in, as she stirs her feet
And welcomes oft. “Hippodamia—ah!
And I Hipponoe.” The Centaur-girl
Unites her name with sighing to the bride's,
And mourns unheard—“At the first dawn of day
I sought out through the highland grass a knoll
Where lilies of the field
Split their white pods in flower;
I gathered all the flowers;
Then smiled above a torrent's dam
To see the wild white lilies crest my hair.
And as we trotted down the mountain-path
Cyllarus kept abreast with me and praised
The health upon my face and fixed his gaze
On the white spikes that rayed out from my hair.
But, lo, she has a throne,
And leans her head against it. I could never.
Be queen above him thus. Oh, bitterly
I long for the young spruce-firs of my glen
To hide me from him, though he never looks.”
Dropping one wrist upon her hoof, she eats
With misty eyes her portion, and again
Fixes her constant gaze on Cyllarus.
“Men are about me with small loins that curve
No more than harvest-sickle, men whose necks
The roof-tree shades from scorching, with fair hair
Fine on their heads. O Cyllarus, they win
In no-wise my intentness; but the more
I love thy chestnut flanks that like a ridge
98
I love the hair that hoods thee, the bold eyes
That strike from it, as weapons from a pit.
I love thee more, beside the little race
Of vale men, more, far more than yesterday.”
Swiftly Cyllarus springs up,
Swift the gilded crates are spilt,
Swift the apples roll away,
And the wine is lost for lips.
All the Centaurs leap afoot
'Mid the womenfolk, and catch
By the waist those spare white forms—
Wrathful they are carried on,
Till the trees take voice of shrieks.
Eurytus the Centaur bears
Throned Hippodamia off:
While in fury Cyllarus
And Peirithous pursue.
Underneath the bridegroom's stroke
Eurytus rolls dead at last,
And the bridegroom holds the bride,
Save that Cyllarus still clings
To her rumpled garment tight.
Heavily Peirithous hurls
Down a brazen candlestick.
Straight the Attic Theseus shoots . . .
With a cry, a Centaur-girl
Kneels where Cyllarus is laid,
Gathers up his fainting head,
Kisses long his spouting wound,
Gazes with a misty light
99
Soft and tender as sun-down.
Wan was his stare to see her shine with love,
And wild his groan as she plucked forth the dart;
He faded as she pierced herself; he turned
His cheek against her heart that struck the cheek
As with a blow, but ever-more was still.
And wild his groan as she plucked forth the dart;
He faded as she pierced herself; he turned
His cheek against her heart that struck the cheek
As with a blow, but ever-more was still.
100
EROS
“I HAVE no Temple!”—“O young god,
Give me that wide, protecting hand . . .
No Temple in the land!”
He gave the hand, and foot by foot we trod.
Give me that wide, protecting hand . . .
No Temple in the land!”
He gave the hand, and foot by foot we trod.
Supine before us lay the Earth,
Held of impregning light and half-enskied,
Yet adverse—woe betide!—
Uneasy, as the starving in their dearth.
Held of impregning light and half-enskied,
Yet adverse—woe betide!—
Uneasy, as the starving in their dearth.
A restless bull clanged on the air;
Bitten young buds, once red, were pressing red
Up to frost-edges dead:
And on young things fell an unwearied care.
Bitten young buds, once red, were pressing red
Up to frost-edges dead:
And on young things fell an unwearied care.
Birds were dark-cradled lutes, and men
And women listened, tho' they knew it not,
But in a trance forgot,
Till from their flesh lutes echoed back again.
And women listened, tho' they knew it not,
But in a trance forgot,
Till from their flesh lutes echoed back again.
And secret in a green-leaved place,
The Beautiful, the Idalian goddess lay
Watching a spring-flower's way
Up from the dark, with tremulous breast and face.
The Beautiful, the Idalian goddess lay
Watching a spring-flower's way
Up from the dark, with tremulous breast and face.
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AT THE GOAL
“I HAVE been thralled along
Down the deep defile from the hills
To the dale that low murmurings throng
And flight of a dark river fills.
Wherefore? I love the hills,
I love the clear trees in clear wind,
Why have I left them behind?”
Down the deep defile from the hills
To the dale that low murmurings throng
And flight of a dark river fills.
Wherefore? I love the hills,
I love the clear trees in clear wind,
Why have I left them behind?”
He sat upon a stone and felt the sun,
And on his yellow hair the sun fell gay.
He was so young that nothing severed him
From unremembering light, from summer trees:
He dreamt as they dreamt in placidity . . .
And rested, lifting up his yellow hair
Wet from the fervour of his brow through speed.
And on his yellow hair the sun fell gay.
He was so young that nothing severed him
From unremembering light, from summer trees:
He dreamt as they dreamt in placidity . . .
And rested, lifting up his yellow hair
Wet from the fervour of his brow through speed.
She speeding by among her rivulets,
Glanced and was gone . . . but came again and sped
Again before him, 'mid green groves of box,
For so the cresses 'neath the water shone
As noble groves of boxwood, sable-green
And firm in crystal—came with tresses green
As sea-nymphs stream round coral-reefs and masts
The deep sea-shells have climbed, undevious green
Behind her as the symbol of her flight,
Direct as any dove's; and little mirrors
Of silver pools were swinging at her side,
In which the broidered mimulus showed spots
Of taffeta, reflected from her side
And broidery-covered limbs, or specks of blue
From pictured blue forget-me-nots. So swift
She passed he did not feel her in his dream,
Nor far less see her in his loitering eyes.
Glanced and was gone . . . but came again and sped
Again before him, 'mid green groves of box,
For so the cresses 'neath the water shone
As noble groves of boxwood, sable-green
And firm in crystal—came with tresses green
As sea-nymphs stream round coral-reefs and masts
The deep sea-shells have climbed, undevious green
Behind her as the symbol of her flight,
Direct as any dove's; and little mirrors
Of silver pools were swinging at her side,
In which the broidered mimulus showed spots
102
And broidery-covered limbs, or specks of blue
From pictured blue forget-me-nots. So swift
She passed he did not feel her in his dream,
Nor far less see her in his loitering eyes.
“Come from your holes of cress,
My old otter and water-rats!
Up through my channel the currents press,
Sit on the isle my cress-bed plats,
Then eat, O my water-rats!
Plunge my old otter, chime the bell
Set in my stream for a spell!”
My old otter and water-rats!
Up through my channel the currents press,
Sit on the isle my cress-bed plats,
Then eat, O my water-rats!
Plunge my old otter, chime the bell
Set in my stream for a spell!”
The boy was startled as the otter rang
The glassy chime in plunging for a swim.
He fixed intent the nibbling water-rats,
Round on the cress-bank as brown cedar cones
On grass-plots of old turf; to his fixed eye
His hand responded straight and aimed the stroke.
. . . One creature rolled, all splashed among the weeds,
While ripples round, aggressive in their sweep,
Dazzled her watching eyes and made her faint.
The glassy chime in plunging for a swim.
He fixed intent the nibbling water-rats,
Round on the cress-bank as brown cedar cones
On grass-plots of old turf; to his fixed eye
His hand responded straight and aimed the stroke.
. . . One creature rolled, all splashed among the weeds,
While ripples round, aggressive in their sweep,
Dazzled her watching eyes and made her faint.
Lying in thwarted languor and with sting
Of wrath that thrilled to phantasy of joy,
She held her hair and plunged it in deep vats
Of shade till it was dusk and green at once
As basalt of the caves; then floated it
About her, garment-like, and spotted it,
On cunning clasps, with flowers in star—such flowers
As rural Naiades must wear for pearls
That spot sea-maidens with such preciousness.
Last in her still alcove she sought her harp,
Her fingers dallying with its shady cloth,
Then drooped on its emergent silver strings,
That made the coral-beaded river-trout
Run past her flecked hair, and the grailings swerve.
The harp was lifted, the hair-braids thrown free,
Smiles wakened on the face, the lips . . . what song
Can tell the softness of the gates of song?
Of wrath that thrilled to phantasy of joy,
She held her hair and plunged it in deep vats
Of shade till it was dusk and green at once
As basalt of the caves; then floated it
About her, garment-like, and spotted it,
103
As rural Naiades must wear for pearls
That spot sea-maidens with such preciousness.
Last in her still alcove she sought her harp,
Her fingers dallying with its shady cloth,
Then drooped on its emergent silver strings,
That made the coral-beaded river-trout
Run past her flecked hair, and the grailings swerve.
The harp was lifted, the hair-braids thrown free,
Smiles wakened on the face, the lips . . . what song
Can tell the softness of the gates of song?
“All notes of my music, sound,
That were mine and no mortal heard,
That are like the dew before dawn on the ground,
All notes that night's marvellous bird
From unchecked throat never heard!
All the streams of the river sing
To an ear's bewildering!”
That were mine and no mortal heard,
That are like the dew before dawn on the ground,
All notes that night's marvellous bird
From unchecked throat never heard!
All the streams of the river sing
To an ear's bewildering!”
He rose: the stream ran on so swift, no longer
Was idleness full ease—the stream ran swift,
And when an element or creature runs
Who would not follow that is young for sport?
How pleasant was the riverside, such greenness
Under the water, such cool swish of things!
The edge, the music of the water-way
Through silence, taking drought from heated ears.
What breath to meet that sailed refreshing on!
Was idleness full ease—the stream ran swift,
And when an element or creature runs
Who would not follow that is young for sport?
How pleasant was the riverside, such greenness
Under the water, such cool swish of things!
The edge, the music of the water-way
Through silence, taking drought from heated ears.
What breath to meet that sailed refreshing on!
104
What happiness to traverse wood and rocks
Close to the fountain-gurgles and the cooings
Of the stream's passage!—crannies where the ooze
Was shouldered by the lobster, or dun crabs
Had given a gait to pebbles (so it seems
To one who watches). Onward tripped the boy,
And whistled clear and merrily a short,
Glad, stunted music of the lips alone,
In careless concert with that voice from bosom
Of ages, from the grot of mountain-gods,
And from a harp in lovely witching hands
Appealing to bewitch.
Close to the fountain-gurgles and the cooings
Of the stream's passage!—crannies where the ooze
Was shouldered by the lobster, or dun crabs
Had given a gait to pebbles (so it seems
To one who watches). Onward tripped the boy,
And whistled clear and merrily a short,
Glad, stunted music of the lips alone,
In careless concert with that voice from bosom
Of ages, from the grot of mountain-gods,
And from a harp in lovely witching hands
Appealing to bewitch.
She drew her song
Through cadences of such entreaty, boughs
Stirred with it on the surface of the stream:
Or, growing desperate, she flashed the strings
And flashed her leaping ankles where her flood
Sprang from a waterfall, such haste was hers
To stop his whistling mouth and drink the lips
By power of her unintermittent strain
Gathering on his fancy. Yet her lures
Availed not, startling, pleading openly.
Had not his hand cast out the stone that struck
Her messenger? Her song, assailing wide
His traversed way, his steps, his way beyond,
Was answered by a whistling in the sun,
No voice . . .
Through cadences of such entreaty, boughs
Stirred with it on the surface of the stream:
Or, growing desperate, she flashed the strings
And flashed her leaping ankles where her flood
Sprang from a waterfall, such haste was hers
To stop his whistling mouth and drink the lips
By power of her unintermittent strain
Gathering on his fancy. Yet her lures
Availed not, startling, pleading openly.
Had not his hand cast out the stone that struck
Her messenger? Her song, assailing wide
His traversed way, his steps, his way beyond,
Was answered by a whistling in the sun,
No voice . . .
She paused and fell in manifold
Depths of her stream: hidden her face; the fishes
Swam fearless over her, and, as rock-crystal
Out of unvalued quarries of a King,
Her roof of water purpled o'er her woe,
And thus through age-long moments did she dream
Of that harsh valley-earth her loved one trod;
And, as the strong dream entered every sense,
It passed of her divinity within
The substance of her rule: the pinnacles,
Crests, bastions of the valley, castles, towers,
Wonderful turrets of fantastic rock,
She thought of, and her plastic element
Took of her thought the image—ah, and woods
Forlorn for secret love, steps to a bower,
Her sorrow and desire both clear in art
Created through that mirroring house of doom
The love-path to the shadowy gaol . . . and fishes
Swam over her still form; and at its brink
Her river guarded her with martial reeds—
Their spears and brazen sabres motionless.
Depths of her stream: hidden her face; the fishes
Swam fearless over her, and, as rock-crystal
Out of unvalued quarries of a King,
105
And thus through age-long moments did she dream
Of that harsh valley-earth her loved one trod;
And, as the strong dream entered every sense,
It passed of her divinity within
The substance of her rule: the pinnacles,
Crests, bastions of the valley, castles, towers,
Wonderful turrets of fantastic rock,
She thought of, and her plastic element
Took of her thought the image—ah, and woods
Forlorn for secret love, steps to a bower,
Her sorrow and desire both clear in art
Created through that mirroring house of doom
The love-path to the shadowy gaol . . . and fishes
Swam over her still form; and at its brink
Her river guarded her with martial reeds—
Their spears and brazen sabres motionless.
“Oh, what a mirror is here!—
A wonderful land with a stream
Lower, more shining, more sweet and clear
Than this that it fills as a dream.
Take me as well, O stream.
Let me but tread the landing-stone
To the steps and the sweet wood shown!”
A wonderful land with a stream
Lower, more shining, more sweet and clear
Than this that it fills as a dream.
Take me as well, O stream.
Let me but tread the landing-stone
To the steps and the sweet wood shown!”
Adventure as of night when visions thrill
And bow the spirit to a courage blind
And exquisite has made the gazer stoop
For that delight athwart the solid glass
He only needs must break by his own death
To gain as fairy spoil . . The harbour-shelf,
The steps, the covert leaves! In the boy's heart
A longing, and a startled tenderness,
A want that strikes his lips dumb and acquaints
His body with strange cries, have conquered sun
And earth and easy boyhood . . .
And bow the spirit to a courage blind
And exquisite has made the gazer stoop
For that delight athwart the solid glass
He only needs must break by his own death
106
The steps, the covert leaves! In the boy's heart
A longing, and a startled tenderness,
A want that strikes his lips dumb and acquaints
His body with strange cries, have conquered sun
And earth and easy boyhood . . .
From its frame
The mirror cracks, attempted.
A long kiss
Receives young struggling lips, a purple shade
Lies over all, while, their drawn sabres bare,
The reeds unchanged, unchallenged, keep their guard.
The mirror cracks, attempted.
A long kiss
Receives young struggling lips, a purple shade
Lies over all, while, their drawn sabres bare,
The reeds unchanged, unchallenged, keep their guard.
107
THE MASK
HOW bold the country where we danced . . .
Great uplands, headed dark
With trees, as if night's sombre mark
Had sealed the vivid pasture hers,
With seal of convocated firs—
A noble country by her sign enhanced.
Great uplands, headed dark
With trees, as if night's sombre mark
Had sealed the vivid pasture hers,
With seal of convocated firs—
A noble country by her sign enhanced.
How wide the air and silence too,
A single bird's wing heard,
Save for the voices 'neath the bird
Of masqueraders on bright grass.
“Whose is this form I cannot pass?
Who is she?” And they breathed a name I knew.
A single bird's wing heard,
Save for the voices 'neath the bird
Of masqueraders on bright grass.
“Whose is this form I cannot pass?
Who is she?” And they breathed a name I knew.
She passed me in black velvet mask,
Black as the fir-knolls, black
As they upon the fields. Alack!
Why must I see her as once seen,
With tender pearl of face, a sheen
Of childhood in her face? What would I ask?
Black as the fir-knolls, black
As they upon the fields. Alack!
Why must I see her as once seen,
With tender pearl of face, a sheen
Of childhood in her face? What would I ask?
She came as comes a wind that treads
Round hill-brows in the night;
We stood together: “Oh, for sight
Of thee, my lost of many years!
I have forgotten, in my fears,
The way the hair about thy forehead spreads.”
Round hill-brows in the night;
We stood together: “Oh, for sight
Of thee, my lost of many years!
I have forgotten, in my fears,
The way the hair about thy forehead spreads.”
108
Powerless the Masker stood: I laid
The velvet softness by.
The curving mask . . . Oh, I should die
To speak the bare face underneath;
It were the last moan of my death . . .
In cottage-smoke of age it will not fade.
The velvet softness by.
The curving mask . . . Oh, I should die
To speak the bare face underneath;
It were the last moan of my death . . .
In cottage-smoke of age it will not fade.
I shrieked and fled—how slow my feet,
And wild as they were chained!
She fled . . . but where she stood remained
The empty sable mask. Alas,
That I had cast it on the grass—
O silent pastures and the bird's wing-beat!
And wild as they were chained!
She fled . . . but where she stood remained
The empty sable mask. Alas,
That I had cast it on the grass—
O silent pastures and the bird's wing-beat!
109
THE GOAD
EROS, why should one or two small notes
Of thrilled birds in Spring—
Why should one or two gay motes
Tangled round the beams on wing—
Why should delicate, first flowers,
Have such powers
That all music sweeps me wild,
That all light of June is piled
In my eyes, and gardens flow
All the colour to me they shall grow?
Of thrilled birds in Spring—
Why should one or two gay motes
Tangled round the beams on wing—
Why should delicate, first flowers,
Have such powers
That all music sweeps me wild,
That all light of June is piled
In my eyes, and gardens flow
All the colour to me they shall grow?
By thy eloquence, O God or Love,
We are made alive . . .
Thou with art all arts above
Dost against our slumber drive
Little shudderings of voice,
Clear and choice;
Stroke of slender rays to wake
Our desire that summer break
On us in meridian heat,
Primroses by roses made effete.
We are made alive . . .
Thou with art all arts above
Dost against our slumber drive
Little shudderings of voice,
Clear and choice;
Stroke of slender rays to wake
Our desire that summer break
On us in meridian heat,
Primroses by roses made effete.
110
DRY IS THE VOICE OF MYSTERY
DRY is the voice of Mystery:
O Sphinx, it comes as out of sand,
With shards and grit of worlds upon the air;
It comes in arid murmurs from the land;
It comes across wide deserts everywhere;
Thirsty from thirsty throat it comes to thee.
O Sphinx, it comes as out of sand,
With shards and grit of worlds upon the air;
It comes in arid murmurs from the land;
It comes across wide deserts everywhere;
Thirsty from thirsty throat it comes to thee.
From fir-woods loosening dust in grains,
That aromatic swim the wind,
Then whistle round thy head-dress in thine ear:
Even from the sea a dry voice is divined,
Deep from its hidden heart where sounds are drear,
A voice that rushes toward thee and attains.
That aromatic swim the wind,
Then whistle round thy head-dress in thine ear:
Even from the sea a dry voice is divined,
Deep from its hidden heart where sounds are drear,
A voice that rushes toward thee and attains.
The fields of wheat resound thy speech,
Their eager flood of sand makes hum,
Loosening its yellow syllables as though
It would into thy noon, a-wandering, come,
And, in its shifted circles wandering so,
Announce thy wealth across the Nubian beach.
Their eager flood of sand makes hum,
Loosening its yellow syllables as though
It would into thy noon, a-wandering, come,
And, in its shifted circles wandering so,
Announce thy wealth across the Nubian beach.
With voice distinct, barren of tears,
Across thy terrible blue air,
O music-loving mask, my voice I lift,
From memory clean, unmuffled by despair,
And while before thy face the dust-clouds shift,
My song haunts whispering where thy Presence rears!
Across thy terrible blue air,
O music-loving mask, my voice I lift,
From memory clean, unmuffled by despair,
And while before thy face the dust-clouds shift,
My song haunts whispering where thy Presence rears!
111
IN AZNAC
“THEY murdered him, my father's son, beloved,
And all the flood of life in me is moved.
Weltering, furrowed, the enormous flood,
And full of means to fructify—the mud
Of Nile is in the motions of my pulse;
Sources from mystic, ancient hills convulse
My powers, distracting, while their purpose grows,
And inundation from their centre flows.
Even in their shallows, where their dalliance smiles,
The things they play with are jagged crocodiles. . . .
And there are lotuses, with sceptred stems,
And cushioned on their leaves their diadems.
Compelled to wax and welter through my soul,
The dark and spiral tides diffusive roll:
They shall be poured out from their patience soon;
For hours ago To-day passed by its noon.”
And all the flood of life in me is moved.
Weltering, furrowed, the enormous flood,
And full of means to fructify—the mud
Of Nile is in the motions of my pulse;
Sources from mystic, ancient hills convulse
My powers, distracting, while their purpose grows,
And inundation from their centre flows.
Even in their shallows, where their dalliance smiles,
The things they play with are jagged crocodiles. . . .
And there are lotuses, with sceptred stems,
And cushioned on their leaves their diadems.
Compelled to wax and welter through my soul,
The dark and spiral tides diffusive roll:
They shall be poured out from their patience soon;
For hours ago To-day passed by its noon.”
And all the afternoon
Had Queen Nitocris smoothed the myrtle oil
Round her fair cheeks of roses famed.
And all the afternoon
She had wound Egypt's double serpent's coil
Till doubling on her brow it flamed.
And all the afternoon
She had been choosing necklaces and chose
One of winged scarabs rare.
Had Queen Nitocris smoothed the myrtle oil
Round her fair cheeks of roses famed.
And all the afternoon
She had wound Egypt's double serpent's coil
Till doubling on her brow it flamed.
And all the afternoon
She had been choosing necklaces and chose
One of winged scarabs rare.
112
And all the afternoon
She watched upon her emerald dress the glose
Of moonstone lotuses embroidered there.
And all the afternoon
She spoke impassively to vassals black,
And the chief Eunuch came and went:
For all the afternoon,
High to her mirror or when falling back,
She planned some craft of merriment.
She watched upon her emerald dress the glose
Of moonstone lotuses embroidered there.
And all the afternoon
She spoke impassively to vassals black,
And the chief Eunuch came and went:
For all the afternoon,
High to her mirror or when falling back,
She planned some craft of merriment.
How the sun set in blaze of red,
The rapine of its flambeaux spread
Across the land, across the stream! . . .
Night ruled as though no day had been.
The rapine of its flambeaux spread
Across the land, across the stream! . . .
Night ruled as though no day had been.
The palace by the water cast
Gleams upward from its bases vast,
As from a dancer's feet shoot out
Bright rays that in ascension flout
The radiance from the neck and face:
Athwart the river-current's race
So glows the palace from below
With festival, as fishers know
Who seek their catch upon the Nile.
“The great Room will be used” they smile;
“And we should be down there to see
And join the pampered revelry.”
Gleams upward from its bases vast,
As from a dancer's feet shoot out
Bright rays that in ascension flout
The radiance from the neck and face:
Athwart the river-current's race
So glows the palace from below
With festival, as fishers know
Who seek their catch upon the Nile.
“The great Room will be used” they smile;
“And we should be down there to see
And join the pampered revelry.”
In the deep hall below the stream
Torchlit the golden vessels gleam,
And ruby bowls of lucid glass;
And flowers there are in sating mass,
As a whole land were stripped of flowers.
While fruit is offered under bowers
Of urgent blossoms that would draw
Want out of surfeit: on the floor
Perfumes no man should breathe—but die,
And breathe of them immortally.
Torchlit the golden vessels gleam,
113
And flowers there are in sating mass,
As a whole land were stripped of flowers.
While fruit is offered under bowers
Of urgent blossoms that would draw
Want out of surfeit: on the floor
Perfumes no man should breathe—but die,
And breathe of them immortally.
Surely, the bidden guests are prized!
For Queen Nitocris, tranquillized
From all her woe, is with the troop.
See, how she rises; see, how stoop
The double snake-heads in her hair,
And how she smiles to be so fair,
And bid such eager eyes adieu—
But it is meet that she withdrew
And gave the feasters unzoned mirth.
She rises, as a goddess leaves the earth;
And surging in her loveliness of pride,
Her panoply—as peacock-feathers glide,
Eyeing observers of the peacock's show—
Surges, and follows round her, to and fro,
And sweeps, exultantly aware, the gaze,
With lengths of emerald tissue and its glaze
Of moonlight and its blues of hollow night:
While all her scarabs clatter, like a flight
Of night-birds. And the Queen, the Fair One, gone,
'Mid shouts, there is none else to look upon.
For Queen Nitocris, tranquillized
From all her woe, is with the troop.
See, how she rises; see, how stoop
The double snake-heads in her hair,
And how she smiles to be so fair,
And bid such eager eyes adieu—
But it is meet that she withdrew
And gave the feasters unzoned mirth.
She rises, as a goddess leaves the earth;
And surging in her loveliness of pride,
Her panoply—as peacock-feathers glide,
Eyeing observers of the peacock's show—
Surges, and follows round her, to and fro,
And sweeps, exultantly aware, the gaze,
With lengths of emerald tissue and its glaze
Of moonlight and its blues of hollow night:
While all her scarabs clatter, like a flight
Of night-birds. And the Queen, the Fair One, gone,
'Mid shouts, there is none else to look upon.
114
“The night is hot for feasters in my vaults,
Now that excess no longer halts,
Now it is free;
And shouts come up from far beneath the stream,
No more acclaiming, it would seem,
My power nor me.
Lo, is there change, a gurgle of the tide?
My palace drinks, beatified,
The waters black,
Bitter as sea-slime, of the weedy Nile.
Drink, Aznac, drink, my House, beguile
Your thirst nor lack;
Engorge the volume of your lust, fill deep
The entrails of your building steep!
I see no more
The dazzle in the waters from your feast;
The torches' mounting rays have ceased,
Dead to the core;
The seaweeds and the river weeds now rush
Unlit along, in tangles lush;
Yet are there cries,
Not sprung of wine; O Nilus, of thy draught,
That by the feasters must be quaffed,
As each one dies,
Who killed my brother Papi, in the swirl
Of upper waters as they hurl
Their flood below;
And in the flooded subterranean hall
The level tables shift and fall—
No cates, no glow
Of roses; but the flood and flowers and men
Are drenched and whelmed and then
Sink or expire.
Silent the sodden flowers, but the men shriek,
As Nilus and my Aznac wreak
The anger dire
That is as Nile in flood within my soul,
That is as Aznac, built and whole
Within my breast,
That must absorb, kill and obliterate,
With rich capacities of hate,
Those I detest.”
Now that excess no longer halts,
Now it is free;
And shouts come up from far beneath the stream,
No more acclaiming, it would seem,
My power nor me.
Lo, is there change, a gurgle of the tide?
My palace drinks, beatified,
The waters black,
Bitter as sea-slime, of the weedy Nile.
Drink, Aznac, drink, my House, beguile
Your thirst nor lack;
Engorge the volume of your lust, fill deep
The entrails of your building steep!
I see no more
The dazzle in the waters from your feast;
The torches' mounting rays have ceased,
Dead to the core;
The seaweeds and the river weeds now rush
Unlit along, in tangles lush;
Yet are there cries,
Not sprung of wine; O Nilus, of thy draught,
That by the feasters must be quaffed,
As each one dies,
Who killed my brother Papi, in the swirl
Of upper waters as they hurl
Their flood below;
And in the flooded subterranean hall
The level tables shift and fall—
No cates, no glow
115
Are drenched and whelmed and then
Sink or expire.
Silent the sodden flowers, but the men shriek,
As Nilus and my Aznac wreak
The anger dire
That is as Nile in flood within my soul,
That is as Aznac, built and whole
Within my breast,
That must absorb, kill and obliterate,
With rich capacities of hate,
Those I detest.”
She laid her face upon the marble ledge:
The gurgle ceased to chafe the river's edge;
And the great Palace held the bodies tight
Of those who murdered Papi in the night.
The gurgle ceased to chafe the river's edge;
And the great Palace held the bodies tight
Of those who murdered Papi in the night.
She lifted up her face, with wearied eyes,
Priestess of unavailing sacrifice.
The stars looked weary back into her eyes.
She listened . . . fain to hear from living cries.
The water hummed beside a crocodile:
And Aznac threw its shadow on the Nile.
Priestess of unavailing sacrifice.
The stars looked weary back into her eyes.
She listened . . . fain to hear from living cries.
The water hummed beside a crocodile:
And Aznac threw its shadow on the Nile.
116
LIGHT AND SHADOW
KING! . . . The King, the King! It is midnoon . . .
Our King of Antioch,
Antiochus our Epiphanes in mid-noon!
Head and body rock;
He himself all gold
Of one single fold
Rolled about him, rolled
As if a goldsmith rolled it round a form of man.
Roses of wide span,
How they are straying, drooping low in their festoon
Round his forehead, roses of white eye,
Of whitest, snow-white eye and crimson petalling!
Both his hands with swing of lullaby
Here and there and yonder, close, far off and further fling
Coin of the King.
Our King of Antioch,
Antiochus our Epiphanes in mid-noon!
Head and body rock;
He himself all gold
Of one single fold
Rolled about him, rolled
As if a goldsmith rolled it round a form of man.
Roses of wide span,
How they are straying, drooping low in their festoon
Round his forehead, roses of white eye,
Of whitest, snow-white eye and crimson petalling!
Both his hands with swing of lullaby
Here and there and yonder, close, far off and further fling
Coin of the King.
How low the summer's roses topple round his face
From high head as yellow as a hive!
Gold Antiochus in the gold market-place—
While the people on their bellies strive,
As he showers the coin athwart their backs,
And it drops to where they strive and clutch.
Stay! Was there ever one among all monarchs such—
A rose-crowned, golden statue, with his gold in sacks—
Ever such full noon of monarchy?
And he himself the god upon the drachmas—see!
He is glutted with his dreary play:
And the people scuffle fierce with greed . . .
They have never seen him pass away,
As a golden leopard in his speed;
Pass away
From that mid-day,
And enter secret shadows winding toward the bay.
I have seen,
And am following a space between.
From high head as yellow as a hive!
Gold Antiochus in the gold market-place—
While the people on their bellies strive,
As he showers the coin athwart their backs,
And it drops to where they strive and clutch.
Stay! Was there ever one among all monarchs such—
A rose-crowned, golden statue, with his gold in sacks—
117
And he himself the god upon the drachmas—see!
He is glutted with his dreary play:
And the people scuffle fierce with greed . . .
They have never seen him pass away,
As a golden leopard in his speed;
Pass away
From that mid-day,
And enter secret shadows winding toward the bay.
I have seen,
And am following a space between.
How he carries flowers where shadows lurk,
Frank and gorgeous roses to the murk
Of the mid-noon, cavernous descent
Toward the bay to which his steps are bent,
Toward the bay or some more secret aim.
Very dire his clouded roses flame,
And his robe is as a lightning-stroke,
Fire that leaps without a smoke . . .
I am leaping too,
So swift he threads me through
The black alley from the market-place.
Frank and gorgeous roses to the murk
Of the mid-noon, cavernous descent
Toward the bay to which his steps are bent,
Toward the bay or some more secret aim.
Very dire his clouded roses flame,
And his robe is as a lightning-stroke,
Fire that leaps without a smoke . . .
I am leaping too,
So swift he threads me through
The black alley from the market-place.
Stay!—his face!
Stay!—it turns!
How the great rose-chaplet burns!
But the cold face of a lizard spurns
From beneath it, with a thin, cold smile.
Still he glides awhile . . .
Out of sight! . . . But what is this?
Shards are flying, stroke and hiss,
Quick, to overwhelm my flight,
Thrown sheer backward with an athlete's might.
Torn, I bleed . . .
Hiss, hiss, hiss! . . . Then he is gone indeed.
Stay!—it turns!
How the great rose-chaplet burns!
But the cold face of a lizard spurns
118
Still he glides awhile . . .
Out of sight! . . . But what is this?
Shards are flying, stroke and hiss,
Quick, to overwhelm my flight,
Thrown sheer backward with an athlete's might.
Torn, I bleed . . .
Hiss, hiss, hiss! . . . Then he is gone indeed.
Golden treasure for the market-place,
And for those he wantonly would join:
But he guards his privacy with face
Of a traitor and with shards for coin.
And for those he wantonly would join:
But he guards his privacy with face
Of a traitor and with shards for coin.
119
VAIN STRIFE
THEY had fought a single combat fell,
In the Court of Listenese,
So the wild histories of Arthur tell.
Sudden, as the wind snaps trees,
Burst Sir Balim's sword asunder;
And it checked the strife with wonder
At that steely crack of thunder . . .
Just one moment of great awe
Turned the quarrel into peace, then broke—
For Sir Balim through an open door
Darted from King Pelam's threatened stroke.
In the Court of Listenese,
So the wild histories of Arthur tell.
Sudden, as the wind snaps trees,
Burst Sir Balim's sword asunder;
And it checked the strife with wonder
At that steely crack of thunder . . .
Just one moment of great awe
Turned the quarrel into peace, then broke—
For Sir Balim through an open door
Darted from King Pelam's threatened stroke.
Through the unknown Castle shot
In mad haste Sir Balim, seeking
Sword, that he discovered not,
For revenge he would be wreaking:
As in vain he ran and sought,
Footfall of the King he caught
Following and full of stress
'Mid the Castle's loneliness:
For King Pelam followed fast;
Through each hall and chamber passed,
Fanning like a moth or bird
All the air Sir Balim stirred,
Till a little tempest beat
Round the foemen's tireless feet . . .
Down the Castle-halls and through
All the rooms they fled into . . .
In mad haste Sir Balim, seeking
Sword, that he discovered not,
For revenge he would be wreaking:
As in vain he ran and sought,
Footfall of the King he caught
Following and full of stress
'Mid the Castle's loneliness:
For King Pelam followed fast;
Through each hall and chamber passed,
Fanning like a moth or bird
All the air Sir Balim stirred,
Till a little tempest beat
Round the foemen's tireless feet . . .
Down the Castle-halls and through
All the rooms they fled into . . .
120
And the terror of that air
Was of woe beyond compare—
Those who sought each other's death
Drew with cruel feet this breath.
Was of woe beyond compare—
Those who sought each other's death
Drew with cruel feet this breath.
Oh, a room! A hope 'mid fear . . .
Sharp on Balim's eyes appear
Spokes of gold from gold-cloth of a bed,
From the clean gold of a table spread
With a spear, a marvellous wrought spear.
Sharp on Balim's eyes appear
Spokes of gold from gold-cloth of a bed,
From the clean gold of a table spread
With a spear, a marvellous wrought spear.
Swift, amid the glow from bed and board,
Sir Balim sees the spear-ray leap . . .
Then he faces swift his foe abhorred,
Driving in his flesh the weapon deep.
Sir Balim sees the spear-ray leap . . .
Then he faces swift his foe abhorred,
Driving in his flesh the weapon deep.
Swoon upon King Pelam falls;
Terror shakes the Castle-walls—
The walls and ceiling tremble, break and fall,
Down sinks on his face Sir Balim—all
Lie sunken with the Chamber as a pall.
Terror shakes the Castle-walls—
The walls and ceiling tremble, break and fall,
Down sinks on his face Sir Balim—all
Lie sunken with the Chamber as a pall.
Only Galahad, when seeking far
The san graal, with forehead like a star,
Having found the Vessel of God's Blood,
That within the Castle-chapel stood,
May revive those sleepers from the dead:
For 'mid gold festoonings of that bed
Joseph, out of Aramathy, lay
Balmed and silent, day and night and day;
And the wondrous spear that Balim sped
Fierce against his foe, when Christ hung dead,
Had been by Longius struck with force
In the well-spring of the Holy Corse.
The san graal, with forehead like a star,
Having found the Vessel of God's Blood,
That within the Castle-chapel stood,
May revive those sleepers from the dead:
For 'mid gold festoonings of that bed
Joseph, out of Aramathy, lay
Balmed and silent, day and night and day;
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Fierce against his foe, when Christ hung dead,
Had been by Longius struck with force
In the well-spring of the Holy Corse.
123
FELLOWSHIP
I
IN the old accents I will sing, my Glory, my Delight,In the old accents, tipped with flame, before we knew the right,
True way of singing with reserve. O Love, with pagan might,
II
White in our steeds, and white too in our armour let us ride,Immortal, white, triumphing, flashing downward side by side
To where our friends, the Argonauts, are fighting with the tide.
III
Let us draw calm to them, Beloved, the souls on heavenly voyage bound,Saluting as one presence. Great disaster were it found,
If one with half-fed lambency should halt and flicker round.
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IV
O friends so fondly loving, so beloved, look up to us,In constellation breaking on your errand, prosperous,
O Argonauts!
IV
Now, faded from their sight,We cling and joy. It was thy intercession gave me right
My Fellow, to this fellowship. My Glory, my Delight!
March 1914
| Dedicated | |