University of Virginia Library

I

I saw sad eve close on the strife of men
With elemental tumult; from the deep
Swoln clouds drove up, and winds that anger'd it;
While the sick moon anon with troubled face
Look'd thro' the rifts of tempest, and show'd, pale
As spectres, the gaunt headlands, and tall cliffs;
And me unto myself, bedimm'd with dust,
My hands and armour red with bloody smear.
My boatman from the shadow of a rock
With clasped hands turn'd piteously, as though
'Twere vain to seek more knowledge of those woes
My fatal aspect utter'd; but I answer'd
Faintly: “Lost! lost!” unto that dumb regard;
“But I must fly; and not from death alone,
Which now were slumber to me, but those ills
Sharper than death itself, from chains of shame!
Quick! let us clear the strait thro' cloud of night.
The darkness, though it snare us unto doom
Will save us from the scorn of Pittacus!
From shouts of the infuriate citizens,
And the barb'd arrow of my stricken pride,
Tormenting me in sight of vengeful eyes
Worse than the foeman's iron! away! away!”
“Alas!” he cried—“hast thou escaped alone?
Of all that valiant host sublime with hopes,
Who came with trumpets blowing from the hills
This morn, their crests and corselets flinging off
The sunrise, mix'd with songs?” “O man,” I cried;
“Like a broad blazon'd banner whirlwind-rent
Our host is scatter'd, each man where he best
May find a fearful shelter:” “Woe is me!”
He cried—“I hoped for other close than that
To this long day of evils; all the hours
From morn to noon, from noon to eve, I sat
Listening the tumult, as it wax'd and waned.
The clangours and the uproar of the fight
Sway'd to and fro, and even so my heart
Arose and fell. Sometimes I moved, in act
To join the fray at once, and mark the worst;
For it is better to be borne along
The flood and ebb of war, and thus forget
In acting what is dread, than burn and freeze
With our own fancies.” “Bind this arm, I pray thee;
And give me from thy flask a draught of wine,
That I may bear up till we reach the shore,
That darkles over yonder, like a grave
That shall close o'er me soon.” No sooner done
Than he unmoor'd the little bark, and raised
The sail that flapp'd amid the deepening gloom
Ev'n like an ill bird's wing. Then down I sank
In mute despair; the mountains in the dark
Frown'd nearer on us, and seem'd with threatening brows
To overshadow us, and stretch their arms
To feel for us; yet not in love, methought,
But angry hatred to pursue my shame.
And here and there the red fires from afar
Of signal torches fleeing thro' the hills
To wing the terror onward, like the eyes
Of baffled vengeance, glared on me; and soon
The wind, that still had borne us o'er the deep
And starless seas,—no light except the pale
And ghostly glimmer of the moon that show'd
The swelling flood, that clomb upon our bow,
And lighten'd on the black curve of each wave
Grinning, as tho' the yet unsated foe
Rush'd on before us, and turn'd back upon us,
Plumes waving, and a thousand swords upraised—
Changed swift as thought, and blew the drenched sheet
Back on the mast; the vessel from its course
Drifted to leeward, and sea meeting sea
Burst o'er our heads in darkness! “Ah!” I cried,
“Now shall Ambition perish, not in light
Of Day, nor in the eyes of wondering foes,
His broken brand waved o'er his head thrown back,
The crimson life-stream from his broken heart
Burning in the full sunlight, but alone
In darkness and despair! Give me thy sword,”
I cried, “that I may end with one more pang
And cheat the hungry seadogs of my life;”
But in that very moment shot the thought
Across my soul,—so wondrous are the Gods,—
Of the sweet aspect of a little child,
And its dear mother lifting him to me
For blessing ere I parted; 'twas my own
Fond parent lifting little Citharus up
To kiss me ere I ran away to school.
I turn'd back and he stretch'd his hand to me.
And since that morn I never could forget
The mute farewell, the little loving hand
That yearn'd to clasp me. And so I forgot
The peril, and the midnight; and that picture,
Framed in a rosebough, arching overhead—
Ev'n as the serpents in the Gorgon's hair
Freeze into horror—with its beauty thaw'd
Despair, and iron purpose into nought.
The moon shone out again, and show'd me all
The shadows underneath the precipices
Alive with breakers, that shot up their sides
Serpents of foam, and glanced forth angry tongues,
And fell back howling, or were dash'd to dust
On marble crags beneath. Near, nearer still,
The rudder helpless, and the canvas torn,
Shoreward we drave—a leaf before the storm—
Like my soul lash'd by furies; high o'erhead
A temple of Poseidon, vast and dark,
Arose. I cried, “O king of seas, and storms!
I pray not for myself, but them, whose lives
Are knit with mine, and dearer than my own;
Save me for them, whose souls are pure of ill.”
And, in the bursting moonlight, I beheld
The tall dark columns and the frontal huge
Move with a solemn motion, as the clouds
Roll'd up with adverse motion: “If we clear
That little cape, there is a bay beyond,
And a smooth coast; but, if we clear it not,
This night will have no other morn for us;
And great Poseidon will have answer'd us,
Ere thou hast time to pray again; and now
We must be calm, and wait for him to step
'Twixt Life and Death.” Ev'n as he spoke, a wave,
Mighty and black, bore upwards on its slope
Our little bark, as 'twere with greater fall
To fling us down upon the granite teeth
And end us with a moment; but we whirl'd
Past the great rocks, and thunders on the lee;
And, as we swept by on the swirling sea,
We heard from caves, that ran beneath the steep,
Hoarse angry voices, as the hungry cries
Of disappointed dragons, but in vain.
Our hearts beat freely as we backward gazed
On that great danger fled; for now the might
Of the wild waters, as with fury lash'd
Not to have rent us on the cruel crags,
With dying vengeance whelm'd and beat us down
Upon the shallows; in a moment more
The surf flew over the dismasted bark,
And with it we were swept into the coil
Of hissing gulphs of foam; and in mine ears
The roar of thunder drown'd my drowning cry,
As once it rose into the night, above
The winds and waves; then silence and the gloom
Of death; for, wearied with my wounded arm,
'Twere vain to strive against the beating seas,
And thought and feeling fled me as I lay.
How long I linger'd in that death-like trance
I know not; thro' my reawakening soul
Came murmurs of low voices, as they bore me
Up by a narrow way between the rocks
Slowly and softly, through a garden-gate.
And soon the flare of torches to and fro
Flicker'd across my sight; familiar sounds
Sank soothly in mine ears; the sights and sounds
Came o'er me, as half-consciously I lay,
Like the inconstant images in dream
Part sad, part sweet; and mixed with real dreams,
That fill'd the intervals 'twixt sense and sense,
Like the strange-fashion'd clouds that flew across
The moonlight. Sometimes on a mountain crest
I stood—a trumpet in my hand—and blew
A blast so loud, the echoes from beyond
The seas made answer to me; and unnumber'd,
Upturn'd eyes look'd on me from a vale
Far down, so far, I scarce could hear the glad
Acclaim of millions, tho', methought, their shouts
So stirr'd the air above, it waved my plume.
Again I rode in anger, and in fear,
Through a dark pass, whose perpendicular walls
Reach'd to the clouds; and o'er it hurried smoke
And flame with silent swiftness, while the sides
Of adamant, and adamantine floor
Throbb'd to the roof, and gave back iron answers
As we rode on with winged speed, and eyes
That pierced the darkness onward; and behind
With earthquake tread avenging giants strode
Swiftly. Before me yawn'd sheer precipice;
And the wild ocean, lit by lightnings, roar'd
Beneath me; and I leapt with helm, and arms,
And drawn sword on my madden'd horse, down, down
Into—green gardens, whose ambrosial breath
Yielded oblivious peace unto my heart,
And bliss to every sense. Methought I saw
The vaulted vineshade flutter overhead,
Shot with the morning sungold; and the stems
Of laden rosebriers wreathing with the vine
Lithe arms, and lush large clusters with the dark
Ripe bunches of the grape; and flittering sound
Of leaves innumerable in the wind
Whisper'd tranquillity and peace; and long,
Long turfwalks, where the leafy shadows soft
Gambol'd thro' distance endless to the eye,
Went right and left, and vanish'd in a haze
Of pale, gold-green. And by me summer bees
Swept with a pleasant moaning; and all birds
Of sweet pipe and gay plume around me glanced;
And with the motion of their whirring wings
Made the air sparkle, as with handfuls thrown
Of many-colour'd gems; and in mine ears
Still murmur'd the seawaters, soften'd down
To a low musical monotony,
And gave the lovely solitude a soul.
Was this the Elysian life? Once more I woke
Into half-consciousness; what did I see?
Ah! tender eyes were bending over me,
And tender hands were clasping mine; I saw
The chamber, lighted by a carven lamp
Of silver, breathing twilight, as I lay
Upon deep cushions overlaid with furs,
Whence I could see across the pillar'd hall
Into the glooms beyond; and whisper'd words
Floated from other chambers. As my sight
Grew stronger, I could pierce beneath the shades
Of green boughs, surging softly in the wind
That bluster'd thro' the garden; and I saw
The helms and corselets of some armed men
Sheening against the lamplight from within.
Some lay upon the turf, and others lean'd
Upon their shields in silence; then again
I sank into deep sleep, that sight nor sound
Could overcome for many peaceful hours.
Long, long I lay in that undreaming swoon,
Till waken'd by two voices; both I knew.
'Twas Sappho's self spoke first; and then I saw
That they had brought me to her seaward home,
Up from the rocks and breakers on the shore;
That she had tended me; and then I sigh'd,
And would have lapsed into sweet calm again,
But for that other voice that answer'd her.

II

“He sleeps the sleep of weariness,” she said,
In a low sad voice, but such as I could hear;
For certain words might waken up the drowse
Of dying men; and tho' mine eyes were closed
Mine ears could tell which was the buzzing fly
That plagued me most. And soon she spoke of that
Which rouses men to kill, or to be kill'd,
The love of those we love for other men;
And I lay there too weak to be avenged!
And yet on whom? She whisper'd to one by
In the cool shadows of a chamber near;
And well I knew that voice that answer'd her;
“I know the son of Caicus,” he said;
“His restless loves, his constant love of change;
His pride of blood, and praise of those, who place
Ambition rather in the hope to stand
By strength among the foremost, than to win
The hearts of men by hearty truth; his eye,
That looks upon the purple folds of power
More than the thing they clothe, adores the show,
As children wonder at a throbbing star
And yearn to clutch it; though he knows it not,
And would be shamed to own it to himself:
Yet wisdom he lacks not, but will to do.
I know him, and have known, and this I know.
The ruler of a state may quicker quench
A midday blaze of public wrath, than slake
The creeping fires of midnight; better bear
The reeling step of drunken rage than feel
The soundless foot of envy; a vain man,
Having well leapt into the gilded chair,
Might all as well have throned his vacant robes,
Himself no better than an empty show
In that particular seat”: he paused, then said;
“Remember how in early youth he strove
Against me and my side, when the clear voice
Of Lesbos spoke for me in her sage men
And simple livers; and when I resolved
To bend my countrymen to other aims
Than flaunting shows, and love of that vain life
That seeks to drown in revelry and wine,
And the hot whirl of everlasting change,
The sense of something calling from within,
‘Man, thou must live, and wake by day, and dream
By night; but if life be but waking dreams,
Such chances may o'ertake thee as befall
Blind eyes, and heedless hearts; some enemy
Cruel and cold, some hunter of his kind
May bind thee, and thy reawaken'd strength
May never more cast off the tyrant's hand.’
The pleasure-loving people is a slave
That woos the chain, and wears it in his soul
Ere he hath felt its links upon his arm!
Had not their old men, and the countryfolk,
Show'd me their hearts in natural sympathy?
Whose artless customs were akin to mine,
Who in my proper person taught them all
The wealth of thrift; and show'd them all the leanness
Of wasted treasure, and of squander'd strength;
How the tall pines, our young nobility,
Cast in the shapes the sculptor loves the best,
Are first to fall, and sooner than the brier;
And if the cottar wears a wrinkled front
In the same years when they are marble-smooth,
A few more summers, and the gifted one
Is feebler than the grandsire of his slave.
He and his fellows rose on me and mine,
And were discomfited; I speak of it
Not in resentment; for I pass'd it by,
Seeking no other vengeance than the sum
Of that ill venture working in his soul;
And to this day have met him without scorn,
As though I had no memory of the deed.
But he will spring, for envy never sleeps,
If others wake not; then my double right
Will be, altho' my will be loth to stir,
To bid him bid farewell to his own land
While I am ruler in it.” He ceased awhile.
I said unto myself, “Shall I not rise?
Tho' sick and faint shall I keep silence now,
And hear my enemy dishonour me
And not cry out ‘Thou liest’? Should I hear
Her words, like dews of pity on my heart,
Sear'd by the heat of hate, and not exclaim
‘Hold! they are drops of poison falling on
A memory, and a conscience void of ill?’”
Alas! that judge with his inviolate tongue,
Conscience, whose eye is clearest in the dark,
Whose voice is loudest in the silent night,
Echoed my calm accuser; and I stood
Between my judge and him, as one in chains,
My body feeble, and my soul afraid.
Again the pitiless accents came to me
Breathing another spirit: “Yet I know
There is a secret wonder-working spell
Can make the sinews of a giant weak;
Can take ambition captive as a child
Might lead a lion with its little hand;
That, as a sunbeam from a mirror cast
Blinds the eye to the image drawn thereon,
Hides self-hood from itself, and all its gauds.
It is the might of woman over man,
The power the loved one wields o'er him who loves.
Have I not seen, O Sappho, that his heart,
Inconstant as the many-featured moon,
Yet looks for ever unto thee its sun,
And when 'tis full turns the same face to thee?
Have I not seen him clothe thy slightest word
With richest meaning, though his ears were deaf
To mighty matters round him? and his tongue
Hush on a sudden but to hear thy voice?
For what is it men seek but sympathy?
And wherefore find they not? 'Tis Good alone,
Like sunshine, that is imaged from without;
Evil, like darkness, is the lack of it,
And hides itself. So, if we seek to know
For sake of pride, to rule for sake of hate,
To gather riches but as limbs of Self,
We find that all around us there is cold,
As if ice mountains were the walls of Time,
And all the glow of life goes out of us
Without return, for others' love is not.
So is not sympathy the soul of all,
Winging all thoughts and feelings to and fro?
And love exchanged is perfect sympathy;
So that a lover leads a twofold life,
The one his own, the other his in her,
And she her own life, and her life in him;
But the unloving, throned o'er others' lives,
Not living in their hearts, live not at all.
If power be woman's star as well as man's,
As thou, O Sappho, know'st full well as I,
She strives to grasp it not by strength of arm,
Or by proud words, but by her subtle wit
And steadfast will. Bethink thee what a man
Thou mightest yoke unto thee, one who bends
To evil with the weight of all his good!
If that be left to climb, like a wild vine,
That runs to fruitless waste, about his soul,
And sap his strength in thriftless purposes,
That overlap each other like the sprays
That end in nothing, he will die unknown,
With scarce the fragment left of a light song
To witness to him; one who, train'd to use
By timely counsels and by tender arts,
Like the pruned vine, would fill himself with good
As with new wine; till those who tasted it
Should bless the vineyard and the husbandman.
And your twin names should live in aftertimes;
His for great virtues reap'd by this fair isle;
Thine for those virtues sown by woman's love.”

III

Then was it but a phantom voice I heard
In my dark chamber, or the tongue of her
Whom I had loved so long, whose love I sought
More thirstily than any other boon
The Gods could give me? For she spoke these words
With a low cry; “If I were not first doom'd
To bitter knowledge, which must fall to him,
As it hath fall'n to many, and must fall,
To know that mortal love, like mortal life,
Is vain; and like the sweet breath of a flower,
Flies from us, and is caught upon the winds,
With none to drink its sweetness: so it breathes
Out of our hearts, with none to gather it;
And the heart dies while yet its youth is strong.
For men and women, born for one another,
For ever seem to wander thro' this world,
And never meet; or only, when to meet
Is vain, and worse than never meet at all—
If I were not the first to drink this cup—
If I were free, as once I was, to muse,
Of him, or him, the blackhair'd or the brown,
And wake unharm'd as from a summer dream,
I might bear all, so I might make him free,
And from his sun of passion borrow light
As a pale moon; if friendship were as sure
As the soft moonshine when the sun is not.
Knowing not aught, I might take this for all;
And, as cold waters smit by rosy light
Seem to the phantasy as golden wine,
Dream it was love because I named it such.
But what if I should prove in afterdays
All that he feels for me, but not for him,
And endless rancours should be born of us,
Or sudden fury? But 'twill not be so;
I speak vain words. Oh! I have known it all,
The phantasy, the yearning, and the pain;
All that his soul can suffer I have borne,
But not from him.” Then silence for a space;
For the two voices in the chamber ceased.
Softly I heard him rise up and pass out,
And she was left alone. After a while
She said, “How could I tell him what I felt?
Tho', when he gives me to another, thus
'Twere time to unfold my secret. Oh 'tis past,
My lonely rapture shall not be unveil'd;
But casketed like some too precious gem,
Which to be seen might tempt untoward hands
To rudely handle it. Oh all is past:
I know not, now he is no longer here;
I know not if he were a god or man,
So glorious more than others. If I spoke,
Pittacus would but wonder or deride;
Yet not deride, for he is mercy's self;
Or ply such counsel as would make me feel
For ever after lesser than myself,
And I could never meet him, or behold
In those calm eyes the thought that I am mad,
To say such words.” This was the end of all.
And tho' my tongue gave utterance to no sound,
My spirit cried within me, “Let me die!
'Tis vain to arm for vengeance against fate.
Tell me not my beloved loves the man
I thought I could have hated without cause!”
Oh! this was only wanting to awake
The smouldering embers! If I lay in hush'd
And seeming rest, 'twas but to steer my course
More calmly thro' the future; while all pride
And angry motions were asleep in sorrow,
Like winds that lull in twilight; yet my thoughts
Flew thro' the coming years, tho' my sad heart
Was faint and cold. Oh! I would fly as far
From all I loved as love had flown from me,
And never more be found. What if the sea
Should swallow me, and quench my burning pain
In its own tumults? Or in some grey cavern,
After long years of silence, I be found
Only dry bones, whose living heart and brain
Had scatter'd round them all that lives again
In others' memories? or a robber's hand
Should steal from me my hated days, and leave
My eyes, that look'd upon an inner sun,
To be plucked out by eagles, and my dust
To flee away, like the last thought of me,
Before the homeless winds? Oh! I would fly!
But first, if I but live, it shall be seen
If he, my judge, who thinks he reads my soul,
If he, who knows me, knows this, whether all
His knowledge of the weakness he upbraids
May shield him from the strength he dare not scorn!