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 | Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas |  |
‘Thy son now, sir, is ev'n as thou hast pray'd to me restor'd.
His body lies on a bier, with dawn thou'rt free to behold him
And to depart with him home: take thought now but to refresh thee.
Nay nor was grand-tress'd Niobe disdainful of eating,
When her twelve children lay dead in her palace outstretch'd.
Six blossoming daughters had she 'and six lusty growing sons,
But her boys did Apollo in silvery archery destroy
Wrathful against her, an' all her daughters Artemis o'erthrew,
For that against Leto the goddess their great mother had she
Vaunted, “thou'st two only, but I have borne many myself.”
Then they, tho' but a pair, all her fair quantity fordid.
Nine days lay they on earth expos'd in butchery, no one
Could bury them, for men smitten in God's fury were as stones.
Then the 'high gods themselves came down & their burial made.
But Niobe took thought to renounce not food in affliction;
And somewhere ev'n now, on a mountain pasture among rocks,
On Sipylus, where, as 'tis told, all-nightly the nymphs lie,
Who by day go dancing along splendent Achelous,
There in stone the mother sits brooding upon the goddes wrong.
But come, now let us also remember, most reverend guest,
Our food. After again, at what time thou carry him home,
Thou may'st weep thy son; heavy too will that sorrowing be.’
His body lies on a bier, with dawn thou'rt free to behold him
And to depart with him home: take thought now but to refresh thee.
Nay nor was grand-tress'd Niobe disdainful of eating,
When her twelve children lay dead in her palace outstretch'd.
Six blossoming daughters had she 'and six lusty growing sons,
But her boys did Apollo in silvery archery destroy
Wrathful against her, an' all her daughters Artemis o'erthrew,
For that against Leto the goddess their great mother had she
Vaunted, “thou'st two only, but I have borne many myself.”
Then they, tho' but a pair, all her fair quantity fordid.
Nine days lay they on earth expos'd in butchery, no one
Could bury them, for men smitten in God's fury were as stones.
Then the 'high gods themselves came down & their burial made.
But Niobe took thought to renounce not food in affliction;
And somewhere ev'n now, on a mountain pasture among rocks,
On Sipylus, where, as 'tis told, all-nightly the nymphs lie,
471
There in stone the mother sits brooding upon the goddes wrong.
But come, now let us also remember, most reverend guest,
Our food. After again, at what time thou carry him home,
Thou may'st weep thy son; heavy too will that sorrowing be.’
| Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas | |