University of Virginia Library

X. POLYPHEME'S PASSION.

SILENUS.
Ho, Cyclops!

POLYPHEME.
He mocks me! Where are you, confound you?

SILENUS.
Patience, sweet master, here I am!—

POLYPHEME.
Rise! or with my great fist I'll put an end to thee;
The dregs of my great flagon have been warming thee
Thou'rt drunk, sow-ears. I find there's no reforming thee,
Tho' six round moons I've tried to be a friend to thee.
Once more divinely warming those old veins,
Chirping like grasshoppers at every pore,
Foaming as warm as milk among thy brains,
Gushing like sunshine in thine heart's dry core,
Runs the pink nectar of my vines. It stains,
Flowing from that bald head, this grassy floor—
Too sweet for earth to drink, unmeet for thee,
Fit only to be quaffed by gods like me!

SILENUS.
Cyclops!

POLYPHEME.
Jump up, then, quickly. Nay, no more.
Follow me to this rocky eminence,
Cool-cushion'd with the yellow moss, from whence
We can at ease behold
The cloud-stain'd greenness of the ocean sleek,
Rounding its glassy waves into the creek,
Speckled with sparkling jewels manifold,
And, far away, one melting patch of gold.
Now, sit!—Nay, nearer, higher—here, above
My shoulder. Turn thy face to mine, Silenus!
Fear not:—being fill'd with the sweet milk of Venus,
Thou'rt a fit counsellor for one in love;
And, as I'm in a talking humour, why—
Suppose we chat a little at our leisure.

SILENUS.
With pleasure!
The subject?

POLYPHEME.
One alone beneath the sky,
Old man, is worthy of the conversation
And serious consideration
Of such a god as I!
Now, guess the name of that sweet thing?

SILENUS.
With ease.
Bacchus, the god to whom these aged knees
Bend gloriously impotent so often,
And in whose luscious pool
I dip hot mouth and eyes, and soak and soften
The yoke of thy strong rule.

POLYPHEME.
A thing a thousand times more beautiful!

SILENUS.
I know no thing more beautiful than he
When, dripping odours cool,
Deep-purpled, like a honey-bosom'd flower
For which the red mouth buzzes like a bee,
He bursts from thy deep caverns gushingly,
And throws his pleasure round him in a shower,
And sparkles, sparkles, like the eyes that see,
In sunshine, murmuring for very glee
And bursting beaded bubbles until sour
Lips tremble into moist anticipation
Of his rich exultation!

POLYPHEME.
Has little Bacchus, whom ye praise so, power
To unnerve these mighty limbs, make this one Eye
Rain mpotent tears, hurl this gigantic bulk
Down on its stubborn knees—nay, make me skulk
And fume and fret, and simper oaths, and sigh,
Like tiny mortal milking-maids who sulk
In dairies, frothing yellow like their cream?
Could Bacchus, once let loose to fight and fly,
Do all these things to sinewy Polypheme?

SILENUS.
Assuredly!

POLYPHEME.
By this right hand, you lie!—
I am a god, great-statured, strong, and born
Out of Poseidon's nervy loins divine!
I laugh the wrath of Zeus himself to scorn;
And when I rise erect on Aetna's horn
My shadow on the faint sea-hyaline
Falls like a cloud wherein the winds drop still
And white-wing'd ships move slowly without will.
Shall bulk so wondrous and so grand as mine
Yield to the miserable god of wine?

SILENUS.
Certainly not.

POLYPHEME.
Never!—by Pallas' spear,
At whose sharp touch the plump god leaps and flies,
While startled Revel shrieks with haggard eyes!
Never, by Hermes, whom the drunken fear,
But whose quick fingers pilfer not the wise!

SILENUS.
Whom shall we praise, O Cyclops?

POLYPHEME.
Thou shalt hear—
Tell me, didst thou ever see a,—
Ever see a, ever hear a,—
Either far away or near, a—
Nymph so sweet as Galatea?

SILENUS.
Never!

POLYPHEME.
'Tis false, old man! she is not fair;—
Those weeds that under ocean rot at ease
Into dark dreams o' the flowery earth, and there
Put purples in the sea-nymph's sunny hair
Are fairer: she is changeable as these.
She is as wanton as the perfumed fays
That dimple on the windless sea and dally,
Musically,
With the puff'd sails of ships becalm'd for days.

SILENUS.
True, Cyclops, she is fickle; and by her
Whose amorous breath blew the Greek host to Troy,
I have seen fairer!

POLYPHEME.
Dotard! Driveller!
Not her the false Idalian shepherd-boy,
With silken string, like a tame heifer, led—
Nay, not lush Aphroditè, whose blue eyne,
Pink-lidded, smiled on their unhallow'd bed—
Is half so fair, so precious, so divine,
As Galatea!

SILENUS.
Exactly what I said.

POLYPHEME.
Her voice hath gentle sweetness, borrowëd
From soft tide-lispings on the pebbly sand,
'Tis like the brooding doves in junipers;
White as a shell of ocean is her hand,
Wherein, with rosy light, the pink blood stirs!
Her hair excels the fruitage of the beech
Wherein the sun runs liquid gleam on gleam;
Her breasts are like two foaming bowls of cream,
A red straw-berry in the midst of each!
And the soft gold-down on her silken chin
Is like the under side of a ripe peach—
A dimple dipping honeyly therein!

SILENUS.
Her eyes—

POLYPHEME.
Profane them not!—For their sweet fire is
Wondrous and various as the Bow
Drawn over rainy ledges dripping low
By many-colour'd Iris—
From whose bright end, plunged the dark waters under,
Woven with the tapestries of her sea-cave,
And dying hue by hue on the green wave,
They may have drunk a portion of their wonder.
But oh, what tongue can tell
Their glory inexpressible?
You seem to see the music of the ocean
Folded within them, as within a shell,
And gently stirring with a violet motion,
Until it drops unto the lips, and there
Flutters in perfumed accents on the air;
Nor this alone. They change as the sea changes,
In hues as various as the ringdove's dyes:
Whatsoever sweet and strange is
Flashes across them with a quick surprise.
Now, in their troubled orbs rise multiform
Wild pictures of sky-tempest and sea-storm;
And her wild eyes droop brightly on her breast
Till it is troubled like a thing distrest;
But in their softest mood
You watch the pale soul tremulously brood
On those bright orbs whose fire the dark sea cools,
And there it trembles as the moonlight flows
On seas just stirr'd by their own deep repose,
And throbbing, throbbing, into silver pools!

SILENUS.
O eloquent Cyclops, pause, and breathe a space!—
Few eyes save thine, few eyes of earth, have plainly
Seen this immortal Galatea's face;
For she thou lovest is of that fair race
Whom mortal vision dreams of, but seeks vainly—
For they comb and they comb
Their yellow locks,
Under the foam,
Among weedy rocks!
And they sing unseen
In their sea-caves green,
And gaze at the white sun overhead
Whose pale ray saddens their dripping curls,
Or the moon that glimm'ring in ocean's bed
Leaves her light for ever in pools of pearls!

POLYPHEME.
Chirrup not, wine-sponge!—Am not I a god?
Cannot this eye peer to Olumpos' helm?
Does not the great sea, trembling at my nod,
Hush itself humbly around this my realm?

SILENUS.
It does, O Cyclops!

POLYPHEME.
Save, of course, when I
Hurl rocks and trees down on the shuddering ships,
And, while I loom above the waves, my lips
Roar terrible defiance at the sky.

SILENUS.
Precisely.

POLYPHEME.
Ask not, then, the when and how;
But turn thine ancient gaze
On the broad wonder of my brow,
Thence drop it, in a natural amaze,
Down the steep mountain to my sinewy feet,
Round which the lambs, as small as snowflakes, bleat;
Now, tell me—am I fair?

SILENUS.
Most fair!

POLYPHEME.
Thy fears
Lie to my strength a hollow lie, Silenus!

SILENUS.
By all the love that there exists between us,
By doves that perch on Bacchus' vine-wreath'd ears,
I swear thou art most beautiful!

POLYPHEME.
Again:
Have those blurr'd eyeballs noticed that of late
Mine air has grown more solemn, more sedate,
More bountiful to those I hold in chain
To watch my flocks, and more compassionate;
As if I struggled underneath the weight
Of some indefinite pain?
That I have learn'd to tremble and to blush,
To droop this eyelid modestly, to flush
All over at the tiniest whispering sound,
To pick small dainty steps upon the ground
As if I saw and seeing fear'd to crush
Some crawling insect or the crimson-crown'd
Small daisy-flower that, whensoe'er I pass,
Shuts up its little leaves upon the grass
And thinks the shadowy eve has stolen down!

SILENUS.
Cyclops!—These things I saw, but fear'd to question;
Nay, with a blush I own it—do not frown!—
I set thy trouble down as indigestion.
For neither dainty kids, nor lambs stall-fed,
Nor sucking-swine with pippins in their teeth,
Nor ox-thighs with green herbs engarlanded,
Nor foamy curds wherein hot apples seethe
Nay, not the parsley-flavour'd tongues of sheep,
Could tempt o' late thy dainty appetite;
But lying on the mountain out of sight
Of melancholy thou hast drunken deep;
While down among the yellow pastures moaning
With lambs new-yean'd, where thy cool streamlets run,
We saw thee loom above us, mighty one!
And heard thee, like the monstrous seas intoning,
Melodiously groaning!

POLYPHEME.
Ay me! ay me!

SILENUS.
Be calm, sweet Polypheme!
The eagle poised o'er yonder cropping lamb
Flew scared, at that big cry.

POLYPHEME.
Ay me! I am
Lost swallow'd up, absorbed into a dream!
Thro' the swift current of my frame gigantic
Eddies a frantic
Consuming fire. I am not what I seem.
For Galatea I refuse all food,
For Galatea I grow weak and wild
And petulant-featured as a sickly child;
For Galatea I, in desperate mood,
Seek out green places in this solitude,
And close my eyes, and think I am a curl
Tingling, tingling lightly
Against the snow-heap'd bosom swelling whitely!

SILENUS.
One should not break his heart for any girl.

POLYPHEME.
Ay me! I close my eyes in a sweet woe,
And dream that I am little, fair, and sweet,
For a small goddess's embraces meet,
Nor huge, nor rough. It was not always so!
Of old, Silenus, this great awful Me
Was swoll'n with glory at the contemplation
Of its enormity in yonder sea;
I revell'd in the roar and consternation,
When, grasping rocks with frantic acclamation,
Round this frowning, Ætna-crowning head I whirl'd them,
Tremendously, stupendously, and hurl'd them
On the passing fleets below;
And from under came the thunder of vessels crush'd asunder,
And the shriek, faint and weak, of the mortals in their wonder,
And the sea rolled underneath, and the winds began to blow,
And above the desolation, drunk with rage, I took my station,
With my waving arms expanded and my crimson eye aglow,
And to earth's reverberation,
Roar'd ‘Ho! ho! ho!’

SILENUS.
Cyclops! sweet Cyclops!—

POLYPHEME.

SILENUS.
That was the song she sang?

POLYPHEME.
It was. But ill
Those tender accents fill
This rocky breast, whose distant roar
Frightens those white waves seaward from the shore.
For they trembled, tinkling, twining,
For melodious combining,
While her yellow locks fell shining
To her knees,
While the Storm, with bright eyes glistening,
Thro' its cloud-veil looking at her,
Hung breathlessly and listening
On the seas:
And in the sun she sat her,
While her voice went pitter-patter,
Pitter-patter, like the clatter
Of bright rain on boughs of trees!
Then ho! with my great stride,
Down the steep mountain side,
I sprang unto her, with mine arms extended!
Her bright locks gleam'd afraid,
Like a sunbeam trapt in shade,
In my deep shadow, and the music ended:
And she rose erect to fly,
Panting, moaning, and her cry
Met the lifted cry of Ocean, and they blended!
While earth reel'd under,
Downward I bore,
With step of thunder,
On to the shore;
And in shrieking amaze,
With eyes fasten'd in fear—
Like a star's firm gaze
When a cloud draws near—
On the horror that came
With an eye of flame,
She leapt to the water,
All woebegone;
And her bright locks shone
And tript and distraught her,
But the water caught her
And push'd her on!
From billow to billow,
With wild locks streaming
And tangling oft;
From billow to billow,
Dark-green, or gleaming
Like doves' wings soft,
From billow to billow,
Panting and screaming,
With white hands beaming
And waving aloft!
Then, coming hideous
On to the tide,
I spurn'd the perfidious
Foam aside,
And follow'd her, dashing
Thro' storm sublime,
Flashing, crashing,
Splashing-splashing
On the seaweed's slippery slime!
The billows clomb up,
With flash of foam up,
My loins and thighs;
Till they gleam'd and fleam'd,
With clangor and anger,
And around me upstream'd
With their wild white eyes!
Till panting, choking,
Dripping and soaking,
With nostrils smoking,
I halted, spitting,
Spurting, chin-deep,
And saw her sitting
Where gulls were flitting
Far out on the deep;
And all around her with gentle motion
One smooth soft part of the murmurous ocean
Had gone to sleep!
Then waving her hands,
And shaking her locks,
To the ocean sands,
To the purple rocks
Under the foam,
To the sea-caves brown,
She sank to her home,
Down! down! down! down!
And the sea grew black
In her shining track,
And the waters green
Darken'd afar;
And the one thing seen
Was the steadfast star
Of my round Eye red,
Rolling immense
With a pain intense
In my rocky head,
Mid the white foam wreathing
Around wind-led,
And the great sea seething
Down to deep breathing,
Like a monster panting, on its sandy bed!

SILENUS.
Most musical Cyclops!

POLYPHEME.
Hush!—Unto the beach
I wearily strode, with great head bow'd, and dragg'd
Foot-echoes after me; and with no speech,
On yonder shore, weedy and wet and cragg'd,
I stood, and in an agony of pain
Look'd out with widening eyeball on the main.
Lo! far away a white wind glided dim
O'er the cloud-cover'd bright'ning ocean-rim,
And violet shadows here and there were trail'd
Over the waters: then behold the sun
Flasht pale across the waste, and one by one,
Like sea-gulls dripping rain, rose ships white-sail'd.
All else was silence, save monotonous moan
Of the broad-chested billows, till the warm
Light kindled all things, and I loomed alone—
The one huge cloud remaining of the storm;
And in the awfulness of that strange hour
A change came over my big throbbing breast,
And the soft picture of the calm had power
To move my mountainous bulk with vague unrest!—

SILENUS.
Weep not, O Cyclops—lest thy tears should roll
Down oceanward and brain the grazing sheep!

POLYPHEME.
Ay me, ay me, the passion in my soul!
Ay me, her glory haunts me, and I weep!—
O, I would give away the world to be
As soft, as sweet, as fleecy-limb'd as she,
As tiny and as tender and as white
As her mild loveliness!
With two soft eyes such as mere men possess,
Two pretty little dewy eyes, that might
Interpret me aright!

SILENUS.
Amazement!—Polypheme, whom vast Poseidon
Spawn'd upon Thoosa in the salted brine,
Thou who canst strangle fleets, and sit astride on
Ætna and roar thine origin divine!
Wrong not thyself, thy beauty, and thy sire!
See! where thy mighty shadow stretches wide
Down the steep mountain side,
And see! that eyeball of immortal fire!
Had wanton Helen, Paris' love-sick toy,
Beheld thee, Polypheme,
Hill-haunting Echo had not found a theme
In ruin and the ten years' war of Troy!

POLYPHEME.
And is it so?

SILENUS.
By Ganymede bright eyed,
By—by—

POLYPHEME.
Enough—let us return. I stood,
When she had flown, in meditative mood;
Then, raising up my resinous hands, I cried:
‘O thou from whose huge loins I darkling came,
King of all ocean and its wondrous races,
Return, return, the nymph to my embraces,
Or, thro' thy lips ooze-dripping, name her. name!’
And o'er the sands did a low murmur creep,
Whispering ‘Galatea;’ and, deep-pain'd,
I vaguely knew, like one who dreams in sleep,
She was a goddess of the sacred deep,
Not to be lightly woo'd or roughly gain'd.

SILENUS.
O pitiful! and you—

POLYPHEME.
In the dim birth
Of the strange love that stirs my hid blood's fountains,
As unborn earthquakes trouble springs in mountains,
I look'd abroad upon the fair green earth;
And lo, all things that lived, all things that stirr'd,
Unto the very daisy closing up
In my great shade its crimson-tippëd cup,
And the small lambs, and every little bird
Seem'd to abhor and dread, avoid and fear me;
And in an agony of hate for all,
I cried ‘How can a thing so sweet, so small,
So gentle, love me—or be happy near me?’
Whereon I sadly clomb the cliffs and made
A looking-glass of yonder ocean, where
Startled by my long shade
The silver-bellied fishes rose afraid;
But with a lover's hand I smooth'd my hair
To sleekness, parting it with care,
And husht the rugged sorrow of my brow—
Then, stooping softly o'er the dimpled mirror,
I shaped my face to a sweet smile—as now!

SILENUS.
O agony! help, help, ye gods! O terror!
Hide me!

POLYPHEME.
What ails thee? Ha!

SILENUS.
O Ocean's child—
Cyclops! My heart, with admiration rent,
Fainted and cried with its deep ravishment
Because you look'd so beauteous when you smiled!

POLYPHEME.
Thou liest!—and (ay me) you shrunk in fear
As silly younglings shrink at something hateful;
Yet tremble not:—to a lorn lover's ear,
Ev'en flattery so base as thine is grateful.
Ay me ay me—I am
A great sad mountain in whose depths doth roam
My small soul, wandering like a gentle lamb
That bleats from place to place and has no home;
But prison'd among rocks
Can just behold afar
A land where honey-flowing rivers are
And gentle shepherds with their gentle flocks:
For even so my timid soul looks round
On beauteous living things—that creep and seem,
To this vast Eye, like insects on the ground—
From whose companionship 'tis shut and bound
Within this mountain of a Polypheme!

SILENUS.
Most melancholy Cyclops, be consoled!

POLYPHEME.
[He sings.

SILENUS.
Comfort, O Cyclops, comfort! There is sure
Some remedy for such a wound as this:
Red wine, I say again: the plump God's kiss
Is sweeter far than honey, rich and pure.

POLYPHEME.
Alas, not he whose temples Artemis
Bound with weird herbs and poison-snakes that hiss
But sting not—wise Asclepios—could cure!
For evermore, Silenus, when my brain
Lies in a dream just conscious of its pain,
And my full heart throbs tenderly and rockingly,
Far out upon the bosom of the main
She flashes up, green-kirtled, and laughs mockingly.
Thrice has her smile enticed me to the chin
Thro' the great waves that round me bite and bark,
And gleam'd away and left me in the dark.
Alas, that I must woo and never win!
Alas, that I am foul while she is fair!
Alas, that this red Eye, my only one,
Like a brown lizard looking on the sun,
Turns green in her bright mist of yellow hair!

SILENUS.
Majestic Cyclops! Heir of the huge Sea!
God-like,—like those great heavens that oversheen us!
One-eyed, like the bright Day! Wilt thou by me,
Thy servant, be advised?

POLYPHEME.
Speak on, Silenus.

SILENUS.
Behold!—Beneath the many-tinctured west hid,
Fades Phoibos crimson-crested,
And the faint image of his parting light
On the deep Sea broad-breasted
Fades glassily; while down the mountain height
Behind us, slides the purple shadow'd Night.
Come in!—and from your cellar iced by springs
Drag forth the god of wine,
And listen to him as he chirps and sings
His songs delicious, dulcet, and divine:
Throned in the brain, magnificently wise,
And blowing warmly out thro' kindled eyes
All vapours vapid, vague, and vain.
Seek the god's counsel, Cyclops, I beseech thee;
'Tis he alone, if once his magic reach thee,
Can cure Love's panting heat or shivering pain.

POLYPHEME.
He cannot make me fair!

SILENUS.
Phoo!—He will teach thee
To lift thy dreamy gaze from the soft sod,
And rise erect, big-hearted, self-reliant,
On Ætna's horn—with leathern lungs defiant—
No minnow-hearted grampus of a god!
And—then in the quick flush and exultation
Of that proud inspiration,
Wine in his nostrils, Polypheme will be
In Polypheme's own estimation
A match for any girl on land or sea.
Then, furiously, gloriously rash,
Grasp Opportunity, that, passing by
On the sheet-lightning with a moment's flash,
Haunts us for ever with its meteor eye;
And—grasp the thing thou pantest for in vain,
Ay, hold her fast, and for a space entreat her—
But, if she still be deaf to thy sad pain,
Why, hearken to the mad god in thy brain,
And make a meal of trouble—that is, eat her!