 | The Isles of Greece |  |
IV
And now, behold a wonder; for the men,The armed ones who stood as adversaries,
While we were trembling for the dread to come,
Threw down theirarms; and stretch'd their hands to meet
Each other over the fall'n bulk of him,
Whom they had call'd their master; and all eyes
Were turn'd on Pittacus, whose voice was heard
In gentle accents, like a summer wind,
That in its fury hath blown down a tower,
And now breathes softly through its crannied walls.
The man who from the first had never fail'd
In head or heart, bow'd o'er himself, and laid
His hands upon his eyes, and wept at last
A few hot tears like stormdrops; when again
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The aged man, the father of the girl,
Bending above the pale face of the dead.
But he was tearless; only now he mourn'd
That he was left behind; the wither'd heart
Bore neither hopeful flower, nor bitter fruit;
It lived, but now the sapless roots were dry.
“Tell me,” said Pittacus, “why didst thou say
That she was dead, thy daughter? Even I
Heard the same rumour from the country folk;”
“And if I said my widow'd girl was dead,
'Twas that I thought so, as I saw her lie
With closed eyes, and with bloodless lips; 'tis true
She lived again, she lived until this hour.
But liefer now I see her pass away
For ever, than remain a death in life,
Life without thought; better no life at all.
And so, as I myself had spread the tale
'Tis certain Myrsilus believed her dead.”
“In this thou mayst behold a wondrous thing,
Old man,” said Pittacus; “the murderer
Dreaming she was no more, did straightway fear
He saw her spirit come to take his life,
Who had ta'en hers; Oh sure the Gods are wise!
Perchance his mind's eye may have conjured up
The ghost of her dead lover, till it grew
Visible to his sense; and then he saw
Him walking by her side; the world will say
The wrong that hath been done hath been avenged
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And wrought the selfsame end by other means;
The fear of that which might be brought about
The thing itself in its reality!”
| The Isles of Greece | |