University of Virginia Library

I

Be sure it was Miletus that I sought
Before all other haunts; for there I knew
Were many friends and true; there, boy or man,
Full oft I linger'd days and weeks, and gazed
With wonder on its wealth, and gorgeous shows,
And divers pastimes. There in her own home
Dwelt Anaktoria; for her sire was dead;
And she walk'd in her palace halls alone.
'Twas so I dreamt. At even, as I stood
Beneath the portico by open doors,
I heard a sound, as of a festival,
And music wafted from within; and one
Came forward whom I question'd; and he said;—
‘Know'st thou not 'tis a bridal? That the queen
Of beauty wedded was this very morn
To one of eastern fame, a Lesbian man,
And yet a man of war, of noble race?
Know'st thou his name? 'Tis Antimenidas,
A brother of the bard whose songs are sung
Ofttimes beneath this roof:’ and, as he spoke,
I heard the very hymeneal hymn
That I had writ erewhile, long since forgot,
And hid away beneath the daily dust
Of many cares and memories of pain.
I stood awhile to listen to that song,
And sigh'd to think what other moods had ruled
My spirit when I wrote it. Then I pass'd
Swiftly beyond the vestibule, and found
Many among a goodly company,
Who hail'd, and welcomed me; and foremost she,
Link'd to the swordarm of the warrior bold,
Whose last and veriest triumph was that heart,
That had escaped from all the silken toils
Of feebler hunters, all the blandishments
Of the highborn and comely, golden showers
Of city merchants, minstrels, artists, lords
Of matter and of mind; and felt its pride
A captive to the strength that was not hers,
That ruled o'er men, as she o'er women won
A matchless victory. She laugh'd, and said;—
‘If Citharus bore off a low-voiced bride,
It was that he might lead her gently on,
Gentle himself; what had he done with me?
And yet I shall not be a rebel more
Than she (whom I remember good and true),
If she shall clothe her nature with the strength
Of will, that lay conceal'd beneath the grace
Of him her model. One who ruled himself,
Before he headed armies, shall be mine!’

II

The selfsame night, when all the guests were gone,
I bade my brother tell me of those wars
By Babylon; and how he won his prize,
That ivory-hilted scimitar, that made
All other weapons in my armoury
Playthings for children, and which he drew forth
That mournful midnight when our feast was broken,
And Myrsilus fell dead. ‘To thee,’ he said,
‘Who know'st I would not breed myself selfscorn,
By boasting of myself, I may relate
How that befell. Thou mayst remember well,
O brother, how in early days we sat,
And held long converse under boughs at noon;
Or in the moonlight, wandering by the shore
Of the great sea, and listening to its sound.
I too remember thine own words, ‘It seems
They tell a tale of other lands to us,
And to those lands they sing of ours;’ ‘Ah me!’
I said, ‘if I could wander free as they,
And look upon the cities which they lave,
And touch the shores of Afric, and look up
At the immortal marvels of that land
Of Egypt; pass beyond the utmost gates
Of the known world; or inland see the walls
Of Babylon—and well I seem to see
What I have heard from others, men who come,
And pass, and come no more—I should have won,
Methinks, a crown of memories, worth the weight
Of all thy silent fancies, tho' they be
Fresh-springing flowers, while those are but the leaves
Shed by the parted Summer.’ So since last
We met, I went forth fix'd in that resolve;
And, passing by the Troad, first beheld
The skeleton of the great capital
Cold, still, all but the many winds that blew
The dust of ages o'er its crazed towers,
And ashes of the burning. Here and there
The song of fishers, spreading in the sun
Their nets before the huts, built underneath
The vast grey walls, mix'd with the ancient cry
Of the wild fowl that hover o'er the plain,
And haunt the streams as in the days of old.
Days, weeks, and weary months I made my way
Down through Assyria; and, from men I met
Of my own language, evil things I heard,
That constant rumours, as a gathering gloom
Of thunders, spread thro' all that troubled realm;
That it would be divided, and become
A spoil of nations from the south, and now
The end was nigh. The tempest in mine ears,
I pass into the Babylonian plain,
Mesopotamia, where another cry
Made me deaf to the first; for now it was
Great Nabuchodonosor rising up
Against the Egyptian King, fullarm'd to grasp
His portion of forlorn Assyria,
And strive for it with warlike Babylon.
Since I had listen'd to that old man's tale,
The faithful warrior from the streams of Nile,
My heart was set against the Egyptian King;
And, rather than win honour under him,
Even could I foreknow that he would win,
Would choose to be defeated with his foes.
I held my way along the river plain;
And first beheld the palm imperial,
Towering above the lesser growths, as King
Nabuchodonosor o'er the world;
And marvell'd at the abundance, seldom found
Under our paler sun; the brighter fruits
And darker leafage; and the dusky brows
And swart limbs of the thronging habitants.
The cities mirror'd in so vast a stream
It seem'd a flowing sea; but, as I near'd
The famous capital, and, thro' the dust,
And o'er the heads of castled elephants—
Enormous, unimaginable shapes
Of sumless strengths, impregnable to arms—
Saw its vast spaces, and the ascending steps
Of its great temple, making all things less,
Ev'n towers and palaces; and, with the crowd
Of chariots and of horsemen, pass'd beneath
One of its gates within the massy walls
Unscaleable; methought, it was not least
Of mortal honours to be least among
The warriors of so great a king, and strive
More sure of victory under him supreme,
And the strong will that ruled from such a throne,
Than if I led without him all his men.
And, if I lifted up my eyes above
The host that flooded thro' the open gates,
I saw, far up along the shadowing walls,
Swift crowds that cross'd each other; and I heard
The noise of rolling cars, and neighing steeds
Tossing their heads into the light, and saw
The sheen of arms and banners; and there rose
A sound of shawms and sackbuts, and all kinds
Of music; for the king was passing by.
And all the multitude about me stood
Fix'd in a mute astonishment, and all
Bow'd down their heads in awe; all day, 'twas said,
The bands of the imperial army flow'd
Along the walls, and the sun smote their arms,
As when it trembles on a running stream
Dazzling the sight. There the great king sat throned
To look upon them, and behold at once
The countless warriors that upheld his power,
And the vast city spread out underneath.

III

It boots not now to weary thee with words,
That tell of weary hours pass'd in the courts
Of chiefs, and nobles; low obeisances,
To win a moment's glance of grace, forgot
As soon as given; of honey'd words that taste
Bitter in memory, forceful flatteries
That leave the pale lips writhing with a curse,
And hateful smiles that wither to a sneer.
Till one who was a man of war himself,
And cast a soldier's eye upon the form
Of one who, like himself, was tall and strong,
Earnest of prowess; and he whisper'd one,
Who bore it onward to a higher lord,
Who bore it to the king: so I took rank
Among the captains of his host. No more
I seek to weary thee with many words,
That tell of toilsome days, and wakeful nights,
Of march, and countermarch; of victory won
Over the driven foe, nights of alarm,
Encampments lifted suddenly, surprise,
Repulse, recover'd triumph; till at length
We lay in tents beside the river-stream
In front of Carchemish; the Egyptian host,
Routed, had fled the plain, and refuge sought
Behind the walls; and, while we slowly moved
Our battering engines, rain of arrows shower'd
And slew our men; oft as our warriors fell
They shouted from the battlements, and stirr'd
Our souls with scorn. At last we saw a man
Of mighty stature, head and shoulders higher
Than all the host; a starless night he seem'd,
But for the fiery eyes within his head,
A son of Afric; yet from whence he came
No man could tell. Of massy might, he seem'd
Dark Aidoneus, King of Erebus,
Come up for hate not love into the light.
With a great voice he shouted; by him stood
A herald, who interpreted his speech
In divers tongues; he laugh'd, and ‘Come,’ he cried.
‘Ye strive in vain; come nigh, if ye be men;
I challenge ye to fight, but not with arms.
Send me your lithest wrestlers, men of skill
To grasp, and grapple, and by strength of limb,
Tho' less by strength of limb than tricks of art,
To overthrow; and I will wager ye
My single life against a host of ye;
Although I make no boast of any worth,
Save that which Nature gave me, strength alone
To break through all your sleights like bands of straw;
That not a man of all your chiefs shall stand
Against me; and mark this, if he falls he dies;
And if I fail, oh! ye may take my head!’
A truce proclaim'd, seven Babylonian men
Stood forward of the craftiest, each man skill'd
To bear to earth, by nimble motions join'd
To stalwart strength, a mightier than himself
Less crafty in his art. But when I saw
The dismal giant pass into the midst,
Between the city and our host, it seem'd
As though each Babylonian held himself
Too frail to dare such conflict; and they stood
Motionless for a brief space. Then the king
Commanded that their valour should be spurr'd
By warlike music; and the sound arose
Of cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and
All kinds of music; suddenly each man,
Shamed into action by the other six
Standing beside him, hastened, and they pass'd
In single file; and then the foremost closed
With his vast adversary. Soon they found
His simple speech and feigned lack of skill
Was but a mockery, for the art disclaim'd
Was rival of his strength; and so they fell
O'ermatch'd; and, as they fell, he took the sword
That he had laid aside, and one by one
He slew them ere they rose; by that same arm
Was the huge ivory-hilted scimitar
Held o'er the throne of Myrsilus that night
Before the war with Athens. The great king,
From under his pavilion, saw that sight;
And, waxing wroth, call'd for his chiefs of war,
And held a council; and his words of scorn
Were sharper to them than the Ethiop's blade.
And then he bad a herald thro' the ranks
Proclaim, that whosoe'er of any race,
Assyrian, Babylonian, Mede, or Greek,
Could vanquish the swart giant, should possess
A chain of gold about his neck, and take
One of the fairest daughters of the land
To wife. I heard it, and a sudden thought
Tempted me to the trial; for I knew
That I had won in the palestra oft,
In days before, by a particular stroke
Known only to myself, an elbow-thrust,
That when mine adversary was inclined
Forward, in act to throw me, struck his side
With such a thrilling keenness, that his strength,
How great soe'er, grew faint, and he was fain
To writhe himself contrariwise; and so
He gave me the occasion that I sought,
And snatch'd so swiftly, that he fell at once;
And I remember'd that I never fail'd.
Ev'n then, in sight of all men, to myself
I whisper'd, ‘'Tis too much; and I have dared
A deed too bold for any sober man;
What Fury drives me to it?’ Then I pray'd,
And a new spirit whisper'd into me;—
‘What! wilt thou cast off manhood? Wilt thou fly,
And forfeit, not the honours of the king,
The chain of gold, and the fair maid,—for these
Are nought to thee, and specially the last,
And Anaktoria knows the reason why—
But all the strength that self-approval brings,
The meed of thine own soul? And, shouldst thou fly,
Will Nabuchodonosor spare the life
Of one poor Greek who thought to save it thus,
Nor rather make thee a burnt-offering
To his own Gods, as he is wont to do?’
It seem'd as tho' the helmed Pallas stood
Beside me, uttering, ‘Strive for Greece, and win,
For I will aid thee!’ Then I raised my head;
And strode straight on to death or victory,
While yet the jeers of those whose comrades fell
Were hissing in mine ears. I ran upon him,
And let the dark man clasp me in his arms,
While mine were free; but in a moment more,
So swift was the dread venture, as he stoop'd,
And sought to sway me with his bulk alone,
The fatal thrust was dealt, and he recoil'd
As though a serpent fang shot through his blood,
A swift and mortal poison; as he lay
Still binding me with unrelaxing arms,
So that my ribs bent inward to their might,
My hands were on his gorge, and all my strength
Methinks, redoubled by a power unseen.
And, as a dungeon whose foundations fail,
I felt the prison of those iron arms
Lapse slowly downward, and the life depart
That was so surely to have compass'd mine.
Then up I leapt, and seizing the great sword
In both my arms, I sever'd the dark head
Whose bloodred eyes, fierce signals of the hate
Of one, who feels himself subdued at last
By him he had disdain'd, were fix'd on me
Ev'n after death; the horror haunts me still!
And, when I lifted up the head, a shout
Rose from the Babylonians, less forsooth
In honour of the deed done by a Greek,
Than that my arm avenged them; and the king
Call'd me into his tent; and thro' the array
Of judges, captains, counsellors, I pass'd
Up to the throne. And if they look'd askance,
With evil eye on one who came from far,
When I had cast myself before the king,
He bade me rise, call'd for his treasurer,
And bade him hang the chain about my neck.
And for the damsel—‘Know,’ I said, ‘O king,
That when the war is ended, I shall haste—
With warranty thereto vouchsafed by thee—
Back to my own land, where another waits
My coming; and why should I wound her heart
By such disloyalty, made tenfold more
By showing her one born in this fair clime,
More beautiful than any maid of ours?
(And yet, in truth, I would not vex this one
By showing her the beauty of my own.)
Why make an exile of some happy girl
Whose eyes might favour some far better man?
But I will keep with thy consent, O king,
The weapon that hath slain so many men,
In token of the deed that I have done,
And memory of these wars, O king of kings!’
Said Nabuchodonosor, ‘Be it so.’
And I went out in wonder at myself
That, after such grave perils, still I lived.
But, as I went forth, a new terror drew
All eyes upon it. From the city rose
Smoke mix'd with flame, and uproar from within;
And from the walls and battlements withdrew
The Egyptian armament, and left but few
To meet our onset; the ill-guarded gates
Were forced; and thro' the doomed city ran
The Babylonians eager for the spoil.
And the swift fire, as hungry as the sword,
Took its own share, while palaces and towers,
Seen for a while above the cloud and flame,
Went down with thunder, and both friend and foe
Were lost together as the city fell.’

IV

From this fair home, after long tarrying there,
Drinking rare memories in, and fancies new,
And weaving them to song, I shipp'd at last
For the mainland of Hellas; and there on
For many a year I linger'd, and well nigh
Forgot my own Æolic tongues in theirs.
Honour and welcome from their foremost men
Awaited me, and hospitable homes
Were open to receive me; noble chiefs
And men of wealth repaid my ready songs
With lavish gold; and, wheresoe'er I went,
Fame had gone on before me, and prepared
A dwelling for me. But my restless muse,
Full oft impatient of the shadow cast
By city walls, sought sunshine, and the breath
Of vineyards, and the carol of the brooks,
That wander'd thro' lone valleys, and the voice
Of the oak forest on the mountain slope.
And more than all, when gusty Fortune veer'd,
And ragged raiment shamed me from the doors
Of prosperous men, I shunn'd the haunts of pride.
So, in the days of youth, when I was strong,
I loved to go from land to land, from isle
To isle, from seaward dale to mountainpeak,
From the great city to the hamlet wild,
With scrip and staff, and rough Molossian dog,
And nought beside; tho' many a day scant fare
Befell me, sometimes none. I blest the Gods
Who gave me mirth, and strength, and joy of heart,
And fared right onward. With my songs I smooth'd
The rough way up the steep, or by the shore;
And laid me down at sunset under shade
Of some great rock, o'er which the landwind blew,
Rustling among the heather, the wild thyme,
And furze, to be awaken'd by the bleat
Of the wild goat; or in a murmuring cave,
That open'd on the ribbed shore and shells,
And took the whispers of the waves, that rimm'd
The hot white sands with pearly bubbles clear;
Or by the ragged roots of lonely pines,
That moan'd me to my rest. But when the days
Were brown with Autumn, and the viny ways,
And hillside slopes, were ringing with the mirth
Of village vintagers, I laid me down
Amid the ancient men beside the spring;
Who gave me gladly of their flask to drink,
Their barley bannock, and fresh-gather'd fruits;
And saw afar and near the busy time
Of pleasant toils; and listen'd to the charm
Of country ditties answering one another,
From dale and upland, till the sun went down
Behind the dark hill overhead, and threw
Its gold on wood, and tower, and purple isle,
And 'twixt the cypress shadows; and I heard
From living lips the stories of their lives,
Their loves and hates, their passions and their pains,
Wrongs and revenges. Many a time and oft,
Hopes, purposes, were whisper'd in mine ear
That to a native had been secret still.
But I was but a wind that whirls the leaves
Now here, now there; they knew not whence I came,
Nor whither went; they had no fear of me;
They gave me welcome, and plain cheer, and took
For meed my wild adventures; and a weight
Was lifted from their hearts, opprest with care,
And penury, oft as I in simple song
Told them of wonders I had heard and seen.
For they were fain to hear of others' haps,
And dreamt not that I bore away their own
For the like uses, when betwixt us lay
Mountains and seas; and yet I did not play
The traitor to them for their bounty; no,
But under other names, with tricks of art,
I served them up; so that I sometimes brought
The selfsame accidents back to their ears
Who first did make them known to me, so wrought
With variation, that they scarce might know
Their own again; and they would stare and laugh,
Or weep the more to hear of that akin
To their own weal or woe. Sometimes I met
A brother wanderer like myself; and then,
Like weary pedlars laying down our packs,
We show'd our several wealth unto each other;
We made each other merry with our tales,
And borrow'd of each other, as we lay,
At noontide under shade of oak or plane,
On mountain green; or by a runnel swift
And bright, that gush'd from alpine cave hard by,
And fed the valleys from its breasts of snow,
And rush'd through arched rose, and tamarisk,
And April asphodels that lit the fields.
Ah! then my poverty and merry heart
Stood as a panoply against the shafts
Of Fortune; and she turn'd away and laugh'd
To see her random arrows blown aside,
Or given back to her with their broken points.
For sometimes, in the homeless silent wastes
Of the high mountains, armed men came forth,
And with wild words, and frowns, and threatening hands
Uplifted, bade me give them gold; and, baulk'd
Of their unlawful purpose,—for I own'd
No more of this world's treasures than the blithe
Midsummer grasshopper, that wings from shade
To shade, and sings,—they dragg'd me unresisting
Into their secret cavern, with resolve
To avenge my guilty want upon myself.
But when they saw that all I had was theirs,
My songs, and many tales, and mirthful mood,
Like lions fronted by bold innocence,
They bated their brave speech, and let me lead
Their reckless spirits as I will'd, and took
The impress of my fancy; and themselves
Shouted and laugh'd, and clapp'd their hands, and made
Deep chorus to my minstrelsy, that shook
The vaulted darkness, and roll'd back again
In monstrous echoes; while the bloodred flame
Smote on the jagged faces of the rocks,
Making them glare and grin, like giants waked
From centenary slumbers. And when wine
Had lit a fire within them, and made bold
Their thwart and crimson consciences, they told
The stories of their many evil deeds,
Their sleepless nights of lawless hopes, their days
Of broken slumbers, evx'd with noonday fears,
Swift shadows dropt from tempest-ridden clouds,
Their stealthy and hush'd onslaughts under screen
Of moonless darkness, and the alarmed cry
Of consternation, choked in blood; with flight
Of trembling women through o'erhanging fires,
Their children clinging to them, from the gleam
Of naked iron, as the spoilers strode,
Laden with wealth, across their murder'd sires.
And when their dreadful jollity had ceased,
And they sank down in slumber by the fire,
And in the cavern every sound was hush'd,
Saving at intervals a curse, or groan
Mutter'd in dream, or hissing of the pine
Piled on the coals, or bursting of its sparks,
In silence I arose, and took my way
Forth from the robbers' hold, and swiftly trod
The winding way into the plain again;
Thanking the Gods, that, if my lot was poor,
I could not envy them, altho' they pour'd
The rich man's vintage into his gold cup
Rifled when he was slain, and cushion'd them
On his Egyptian purples. Better drink
The brackish spring in singleness of heart,
Than, with the blessed Samian at your lips,
Turn round, affray'd at shadows! So I fared,
Till the kind hand of some old islander,
Friend to us both, brought me from the kind heart
Of Citharus fond words utter'd years agone,
And from his bosom drew forth a worn scroll
Pale as a sere leaf, and from laden chest
A welcome store of Lesbian gifts and gold.
One day I found myself upon the shore
Of Troas once again, and heard the waves
Mourn in the solitude, and saw the wind
Scatter the dust of Ilion; and the songs
Of old Mæonides began to sound
Within me, and a yearning seized on me
To visit the near isle where he was born.
The passion of my boyhood stirr'd again.
I wonder'd then how any lesser thoughts
Could have so dimm'd into forgetfulness
That hope so early cherish'd, ‘Ere I die
I will look on that cradle of renown.’