Poems Lyrical and Dramatic :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ripe apple-hued, a damsel sweet,
I see thee go with jangling feet
Adown the streets of Naucratis:
The people part to let thee by,
And swart-browed youths, half bold, half shy,
Slip jewels in thy hand to buy
A soft embrace, a burning kiss.

With ruddy cheek and straight Greek nose,
With temples flushed by many a rose
That crowned thy hair in Naucratis,
A favoured guest, nor last nor least,
In raiment gold decked out for feast
Thou trippest, and the dainty priest
Takes not thy frank young smile amiss.

135

Then, with no secret cult adored,
Thou sittest queen-like at the board,
Crowned and a queen in Naucratis;
And flute-girls dance to piping sound,
And goes the wooden image round:
“Too short is life for pleasure found,”
It says; “put by no proffered bliss.”

Dost still remember, truly tell,
That monster tame who loved thee well
Ere yet thou camst to Naucratis,—
A monster with a poet's mind,
Who often kissed thy wild eyes blind,
Slaves of one lord, to him less kind,
Poor Æsop, than to thee, I wis.

And canst thou call those brows to mind,
Where laurel with the myrtle twined,
Scarce like the girls of Naucratis!
Sister of that thy master young,
Who lashed him with the noblest tongue
And lips, that ever kissed or sung,
Sappho the Lesbian poetess.

136

In mellow Greek wine trafficked he,
Which brought him gold, the gold bought thee,
As yet unknown to Naucratis,
The city where your sisters sway,
The fairest in the world, they say.
She served your queen another way,
That high imperious heart, than this.

Hadst thou not years before been dead,
Perchance, too, stretched on festal bed
Drinking rich wine in Naucratis,
Thou might'st have marked a stranger mild,
Curious-credulous as a child,
Whom the priests fed with lies, and smiled—
Perchance he would have craved a kiss.

Herodotus, I think, his name,
A travelling news-monger, the same
Who far enough from Naucratis
Behind an altar saw them piled,
Those iron spits, thine offering styled,
In days when virtue less reviled,—
The tithe of all thy properties.

137

He looked on them with genial eye,
He passed not, gaze averted, by,
Nor did the priests in Naucratis!
This tenth of all that thou didst own!
Then not sufficient this alone
To build that mountain vast of stone
Men called the harlot's pyramis.

Ah! didst thou live in these dull days,
Where would they be, the pride, the praise
That soothed thy shame in Naucratis?
Instead should be reproaches foul,
The maiden's blush, the matron's scowl,
A priest to curse, a mob to howl,
A serpent in thy heart to hiss.