A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." By Douglas B. W. Sladen |
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THE SONG OF THE LOVE-SICK NAUSICAA. |
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 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
THE SONG OF THE LOVE-SICK NAUSICAA.
Doomed back again to the dull island life,
To be at best the oft-neglected wife
Of some sea-roving, rude Phaeacian.
Nor shall I hear the breakers plash, nor scan
One ship bound outwards in the twilight dim,
Without a pang of longing after him.
To be at best the oft-neglected wife
Of some sea-roving, rude Phaeacian.
Nor shall I hear the breakers plash, nor scan
One ship bound outwards in the twilight dim,
Without a pang of longing after him.
The island chiefs are seamen skilled and bold;
But when their feats in sea-craft have been told,
Their store of plundered wealth, their deeds of blood,
And some strange ventures on the Libyan flood,
There is not much made up unto their wives
For the unending sameness of their lives.
But when their feats in sea-craft have been told,
Their store of plundered wealth, their deeds of blood,
And some strange ventures on the Libyan flood,
There is not much made up unto their wives
For the unending sameness of their lives.
Had he but stayed, and had he not been wived,
How happy in his wedlock had I lived,
Watching him 'mid the heroes in the ring
Foremost in every art that fits a king,
And, when night drave us into the high hall,
Hearing fair words from out his wise lips fall,
How happy in his wedlock had I lived,
Watching him 'mid the heroes in the ring
Foremost in every art that fits a king,
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Hearing fair words from out his wise lips fall,
Of how, beside their ships in front of Troy,
The common round of gain and strife and joy
For nine long years busied the Argive chiefs,
Varied with skirmishes and some few griefs,
As when a prince ventured in foraying
Too far, and fell to Paris's bowstring:
The common round of gain and strife and joy
For nine long years busied the Argive chiefs,
Varied with skirmishes and some few griefs,
As when a prince ventured in foraying
Too far, and fell to Paris's bowstring:
Then he would tell of that last crowning year
When all things boded that the end drew near,
Of Hector's death and Paris' poisoned wound,
And how the kindly Menelaus found
And took his fair wife to himself again;
And lastly of his own hap on the main,—
When all things boded that the end drew near,
Of Hector's death and Paris' poisoned wound,
And how the kindly Menelaus found
And took his fair wife to himself again;
And lastly of his own hap on the main,—
Of his escape from sunborn Circe's isle,
And from divine Calypso's love and guile,
Of Polyphemus and the Laestrygons,
And of the Sirens and the whitening bones—
His shipwreck, his stern struggle with the sea,
And how that he looked lovingly on me
And from divine Calypso's love and guile,
Of Polyphemus and the Laestrygons,
And of the Sirens and the whitening bones—
His shipwreck, his stern struggle with the sea,
And how that he looked lovingly on me
From the first sight! How happy had I been
If fate had given me to be his queen,
To cherish him whose prudent counsels won
The overthrow of godlike Ilion,
Who hath been in his very miseries
The love of nymphs and care of goddesses!
If fate had given me to be his queen,
To cherish him whose prudent counsels won
The overthrow of godlike Ilion,
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The love of nymphs and care of goddesses!
But he hath passed away into the night,
Lost to our vision like the goodly light.
The light may come again on isle and sea,
But never the same perfect light to me,
In that my heart is darkened, and mine eyes
Will all things through his image see, veil-wise.
Lost to our vision like the goodly light.
The light may come again on isle and sea,
But never the same perfect light to me,
In that my heart is darkened, and mine eyes
Will all things through his image see, veil-wise.
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |