 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
1
MEMORIALS OF TRAVELS IN GREECE
THE ELD.
Oh! blessèd, blessèd be the Eld,
Its echoes and its shades,—
The tones that from all time outswelled,
The light that never fades;—
The silver-pinion'd memories,
The symbol and the tale,—
The soul-enchasèd melodies
Of merriment or bale.
Its echoes and its shades,—
The tones that from all time outswelled,
The light that never fades;—
The silver-pinion'd memories,
The symbol and the tale,—
The soul-enchasèd melodies
Of merriment or bale.
Oh, glory! that we wrestle
So valiantly with Time,
And do not alway nestle
In listlessness or crime:
We do not live and die
Irrevocably blind,
But raise our hands and sigh
For' the might we left behind.
So valiantly with Time,
And do not alway nestle
In listlessness or crime:
We do not live and die
Irrevocably blind,
But raise our hands and sigh
For' the might we left behind.
2
Each goodly sign and mystic letter,
That angel-haunted books unfold,—
We cherish more,—we know them better,
When we remember they are old;
And friends, though fresh, and hale, and cheerly,
And young, as annals hold,
Yet, if we prize them very dearly,
We love to call them old.
That angel-haunted books unfold,—
We cherish more,—we know them better,
When we remember they are old;
And friends, though fresh, and hale, and cheerly,
And young, as annals hold,
Yet, if we prize them very dearly,
We love to call them old.
Yon scented shrub,—I passed it by,
The youngling of the breeze;
I sat me, sad and soberly,
Beneath those ancient trees,
Whose branches, dight in summer pall,
Their gloom in moaning wore;
For' they told me of the Eld and all
The mystery of yore.
The youngling of the breeze;
I sat me, sad and soberly,
Beneath those ancient trees,
Whose branches, dight in summer pall,
Their gloom in moaning wore;
For' they told me of the Eld and all
The mystery of yore.
And in the gusts, I thought they pitied
The falling of the young,—
The fair, the subtle-witted,
Fine limb, and honeyed tongue;—
As man, from birth to funeral,
Were but a tragic mime,—
And, they the kinsman lineal
Of the good and olden prime.
The falling of the young,—
The fair, the subtle-witted,
Fine limb, and honeyed tongue;—
As man, from birth to funeral,
Were but a tragic mime,—
And, they the kinsman lineal
Of the good and olden prime.
3
I saw the hoary bulk of ocean
A' couching on the shore,
With a ripple for its motion,
And a murmur for its roar;
I gazed, but not as on the dead,
But as if Death were held
In awe, by a thing that slumberèd
In the deep and silent Eld.
A' couching on the shore,
With a ripple for its motion,
And a murmur for its roar;
I gazed, but not as on the dead,
But as if Death were held
In awe, by a thing that slumberèd
In the deep and silent Eld.
The golden school of Eld is rife
With many a God-sent ray,
And jewel-gleams of perfect life,
Hereditary day!
Alas! we cannot quite awake,—
But when we feel we dream,
That hour, our heart is strong to shake
The falsities that seem.
With many a God-sent ray,
And jewel-gleams of perfect life,
Hereditary day!
Alas! we cannot quite awake,—
But when we feel we dream,
That hour, our heart is strong to shake
The falsities that seem.
For our bark is on the angle
Of a wide and bending stream,
Whose bosky banks entangle
The eye's divergent beam;—
The ridgy steeps hide in the way,
Whither the stream is quest,
As on a lake, the mirror'd day
Repeats its waveless rest.
Of a wide and bending stream,
Whose bosky banks entangle
The eye's divergent beam;—
The ridgy steeps hide in the way,
Whither the stream is quest,
As on a lake, the mirror'd day
Repeats its waveless rest.
4
How know we, when so clearly still,
Where its nether fountains be?
That it welleth in a viewless hill,
And passeth to the sea?
The tide beneath us,—where it welled
Dull sense regardeth not,—
But it was once the tide of Eld,
And we have not all forgot.
Where its nether fountains be?
That it welleth in a viewless hill,
And passeth to the sea?
The tide beneath us,—where it welled
Dull sense regardeth not,—
But it was once the tide of Eld,
And we have not all forgot.
Great Art hath bound a diadem,
Upon his front serene,
Whose every pure and charmèd gem
Bedews him with its sheen;
And thus,—nor deem it wildly new,
Nor slur of idle tongue,—
But true, as God's own words are true,
The Eld is alway young;—
Upon his front serene,
Whose every pure and charmèd gem
Bedews him with its sheen;
And thus,—nor deem it wildly new,
Nor slur of idle tongue,—
But true, as God's own words are true,
The Eld is alway young;—
Young as the flush of all-blue light,
Or eve's imperial eyes,
And he who worshippeth aright,
Shall aye be young and wise,
And gentle as the virgin dove
That primal chaos quelled,
With Nature for his ladie-love,
The daughter of the Eld.
Or eve's imperial eyes,
And he who worshippeth aright,
Shall aye be young and wise,
And gentle as the virgin dove
That primal chaos quelled,
With Nature for his ladie-love,
The daughter of the Eld.
Sept. 20th, 1832.
5
CORFU.
1832
“It is an isle under Ionian skies,
Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise.”
Shelley
Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise.”
Shelley
Thou pleasant Island, whose rich garden-shores
Have had a long-lived fame of loveliness,
Recorded in the historic song, that framed
The unknown Poet of an unknown time,
Illustrating his native Ithaca,
And all her bright society of isles,—
Most pleasant land! To us, who journeying come
From the far west, and fall upon thy charms,
Our earliest welcome to Ionian seas,
Thou art a wonder and a deep delight,
Thy usual habitants can never know.
Thou art a portal, whence the Orient,
The long-desired, long-dreamt-of, Orient,
Opens upon us, with its stranger forms,
Outlines immense and gleaming distances,
And all the circumstance of faery-land.
Not only with a present happiness,
But taking from anticipated joys
An added sense of actual bliss, we stand
Upon thy cliffs, or tread the slopes that leave
No interval of shingle, rock, or sand,
Between their verdure and the Ocean's brow,—
Whose olive-groves (unlike the darkling growth,
That earns on western shores the traveller's scorn)
Can wear the grey that on their foliage lies,
As but the natural hoar of lengthened days,—
Making, with their thick-bossed and fissured trunks,
Bases far-spread and branches serpentine,
Sylvan cathedrals, such as in old times
Gave the first life to Gothic art, and led
Imagination so sublime a way.
Have had a long-lived fame of loveliness,
Recorded in the historic song, that framed
The unknown Poet of an unknown time,
Illustrating his native Ithaca,
And all her bright society of isles,—
Most pleasant land! To us, who journeying come
From the far west, and fall upon thy charms,
Our earliest welcome to Ionian seas,
Thou art a wonder and a deep delight,
6
Thou art a portal, whence the Orient,
The long-desired, long-dreamt-of, Orient,
Opens upon us, with its stranger forms,
Outlines immense and gleaming distances,
And all the circumstance of faery-land.
Not only with a present happiness,
But taking from anticipated joys
An added sense of actual bliss, we stand
Upon thy cliffs, or tread the slopes that leave
No interval of shingle, rock, or sand,
Between their verdure and the Ocean's brow,—
Whose olive-groves (unlike the darkling growth,
That earns on western shores the traveller's scorn)
Can wear the grey that on their foliage lies,
As but the natural hoar of lengthened days,—
Making, with their thick-bossed and fissured trunks,
Bases far-spread and branches serpentine,
Sylvan cathedrals, such as in old times
Gave the first life to Gothic art, and led
Imagination so sublime a way.
Then forth advancing, to our novice eyes
How beautiful appears the concourse clad
In that which, of all garbs, may best befit
The grace and dignity of manly form:
The bright-red open vest, falling upon
The white thick-folded kirtle, and low cap
Above the high-shorn brow.
How beautiful appears the concourse clad
In that which, of all garbs, may best befit
The grace and dignity of manly form:
The bright-red open vest, falling upon
The white thick-folded kirtle, and low cap
7
Nor less than these,
With earnest joy, and not injurious pride,
We recognise of Britain and her force
The wonted ensigns and far-known array;
And feel how now the everlasting Sea,
Leaving his old and once imperious Spouse,
To faint, in all the beauty of her tears,
On the dank footsteps of a mouldering throne,
Has taken to himself another mate,
Whom his uxorious passion has endowed,
Not only with her antique properties,
But with all other gifts and privilege,
Within the circle of his regal hand.
With earnest joy, and not injurious pride,
We recognise of Britain and her force
The wonted ensigns and far-known array;
And feel how now the everlasting Sea,
Leaving his old and once imperious Spouse,
To faint, in all the beauty of her tears,
On the dank footsteps of a mouldering throne,
Has taken to himself another mate,
Whom his uxorious passion has endowed,
Not only with her antique properties,
But with all other gifts and privilege,
Within the circle of his regal hand.
Now forward,—forward on a beaming path,
But be each step as fair as hope has feigned it,
For me, the memory of the little while,
That here I rested happily, within
The close-drawn pale of English sympathies,
Will bear the fruit of many an after-thought,
Bright in the dubious track of after-years.
But be each step as fair as hope has feigned it,
For me, the memory of the little while,
That here I rested happily, within
The close-drawn pale of English sympathies,
Will bear the fruit of many an after-thought,
Bright in the dubious track of after-years.
It will be seen by its date that this was written before the abandonment of the British Protectorate.
8
A DREAM OF SAPPHO.
The mariners were all asleep,
Save one half-dreaming at the stern,
Who gently bade me upward turn
My eyes, long gazing on the deep.
The wind had stol'n away,—our skiff
Rested, as if its sails were furled,
Upon the tide which softly curled
Around a triple-breasted cliff,
Whose steeps, in mistiest day-time bright,
Were almost above nature white,
Bare-fronted to the westering moon,
For the autumn night had past its noon.
Save one half-dreaming at the stern,
Who gently bade me upward turn
My eyes, long gazing on the deep.
The wind had stol'n away,—our skiff
Rested, as if its sails were furled,
Upon the tide which softly curled
Around a triple-breasted cliff,
Whose steeps, in mistiest day-time bright,
Were almost above nature white,
Bare-fronted to the westering moon,
For the autumn night had past its noon.
I prayed that not a soul might wake,—
To be left utterly alone,—
That not the faintest human tone,
The silence of that time might break;
When,—as of old the alien maids,
Who sanctified Dodona's shades,
Drew out the tale of human fate,
From sounds of things inanimate,
Wont with inclinèd ear to listen,
Where branches rock or fountains rise,
Till high intelligences glisten
In their intense Egyptian eyes,—
So I began, in that light breeze,
Glancing along those noted seas,
To trace a harmony distinct,
A meaning in each change of tone,
And sound to sound more strangely linkt,
Than in my awe I dared to own:—
But when in clearer unison
That marvellous concord still went on,
And, gently as a blossom grows,
A frame of syllables uprose,
With a delight akin to fear
My heart beat fast and strong, to hear
Two murmurs beautifully blent,
As of a voice and instrument,—
A hand laid lightly on low chords,—
A voice that sobbed between its words.
To be left utterly alone,—
That not the faintest human tone,
The silence of that time might break;
When,—as of old the alien maids,
Who sanctified Dodona's shades,
9
From sounds of things inanimate,
Wont with inclinèd ear to listen,
Where branches rock or fountains rise,
Till high intelligences glisten
In their intense Egyptian eyes,—
So I began, in that light breeze,
Glancing along those noted seas,
To trace a harmony distinct,
A meaning in each change of tone,
And sound to sound more strangely linkt,
Than in my awe I dared to own:—
But when in clearer unison
That marvellous concord still went on,
And, gently as a blossom grows,
A frame of syllables uprose,
With a delight akin to fear
My heart beat fast and strong, to hear
Two murmurs beautifully blent,
As of a voice and instrument,—
A hand laid lightly on low chords,—
A voice that sobbed between its words.
“Stranger! the voice that trembles in your ear,
You would have placed, had you been fancy-free,
First in the chorus of the happiest sphere,
The home of deified mortality:
You would have placed, had you been fancy-free,
First in the chorus of the happiest sphere,
The home of deified mortality:
10
“Stranger, the voice that trembles here below,
While in your life, enjoyed a fame so loud,
That utmost nations listened to its flow,
And of its presence the old Earth was proud:
While in your life, enjoyed a fame so loud,
That utmost nations listened to its flow,
And of its presence the old Earth was proud:
“Stranger, the voice is Sappho's,—weep, oh! weep,
That the soft tears of sympathy may fall
Into this prison of the sunless deep,
Where I am laid in miserable thrall.
That the soft tears of sympathy may fall
Into this prison of the sunless deep,
Where I am laid in miserable thrall.
“Not of my mortal pride, my mortal woe
Would I now speak;—there is no gentle maid,
Nor youth kind-hearted, but has sighed to know,
What was my love and how it was repaid!
Would I now speak;—there is no gentle maid,
Nor youth kind-hearted, but has sighed to know,
What was my love and how it was repaid!
“I had dear friends, who wept with bitter tears,
To watch my spirit's stream, which else had run,
In fulness and delight, its course of years,
Wasted and parched by that relentless sun.
To watch my spirit's stream, which else had run,
In fulness and delight, its course of years,
Wasted and parched by that relentless sun.
“Of this far rock, and its miraculous power,
They heard, emmarvelled, and with sedulous prayer
Conjured me not to lose one precious hour,
But seek the cure of all my misery there.
They heard, emmarvelled, and with sedulous prayer
Conjured me not to lose one precious hour,
But seek the cure of all my misery there.
“‘The Gods,’ they argued in their fond esteem,
‘Love their harmonious daughter far too well,
Not to pour forth on her diseasèd dream
The benediction of that soothing spell.
‘Love their harmonious daughter far too well,
Not to pour forth on her diseasèd dream
The benediction of that soothing spell.
11
“‘When many a one, whose name will never shine
On after ages, there has found release,
How shall not she, already half divine,
Claim the same gift of spiritual peace?’
On after ages, there has found release,
How shall not she, already half divine,
Claim the same gift of spiritual peace?’
“I told them, ‘Thousands in that chilly deep
Might find relief from their weak hearts’ annoy :—
Venus herself might try the counselled leap,
And rise oblivious of her hunter-boy;
Might find relief from their weak hearts’ annoy :—
Venus herself might try the counselled leap,
And rise oblivious of her hunter-boy;
“‘The mystery of the place might moderate
Th' authentic passion of imperial Jove,
But did they hope for me that common fate,
They could know nothing of a Poet's love.’
Th' authentic passion of imperial Jove,
But did they hope for me that common fate,
They could know nothing of a Poet's love.’
“But vain my words;—the tender-cruel hand
Of blinded friendship guided me away,—
I would have died in my own Lesbian land,
Not in these regions of the waning day!
Of blinded friendship guided me away,—
I would have died in my own Lesbian land,
Not in these regions of the waning day!
“Thus here all bootless adorations paid,
I dared the height of this tremendous shore;
What were your agonies, ye hope-betrayed!
When to your bosom I came back no more?
I dared the height of this tremendous shore;
What were your agonies, ye hope-betrayed!
When to your bosom I came back no more?
“Of the mysterious pass, that leads through death,
From life to life, I must not speak to thee;
Enough that now I breathed another breath,
Beyond the portals of mortality.
From life to life, I must not speak to thee;
Enough that now I breathed another breath,
Beyond the portals of mortality.
12
“A stream received me, whose æthereal flow
Came to my senses like a perfumed sigh,
From the rich flowers that shed their light below,
And bowed their jewelled heads as I passed by.
Came to my senses like a perfumed sigh,
From the rich flowers that shed their light below,
And bowed their jewelled heads as I passed by.
“And opposite a tide of sound was driven,
That made the air all music, and from far
Glimmered bright faces through a dead-gold heaven,
As in an earthly night star follows star.
That made the air all music, and from far
Glimmered bright faces through a dead-gold heaven,
As in an earthly night star follows star.
“At last I came to a gigantic gate,
That opened to a steep-ascending lawn,
Whence rose a Temple, whose white marble state
Was fused into that gold and purple dawn.
That opened to a steep-ascending lawn,
Whence rose a Temple, whose white marble state
Was fused into that gold and purple dawn.
“Sisterly voices were around me chanting,
‘Hail! Thou whom Song has numbered with the blest,
From fear, and hope, and passion's feverish panting,
Pass to thy crown, a Muse's glorious rest.’
‘Hail! Thou whom Song has numbered with the blest,
From fear, and hope, and passion's feverish panting,
Pass to thy crown, a Muse's glorious rest.’
“Entranced I entered,—but there stood between
Me and the fane, a queenly form and stern,
Upon whose brow, in letters all of sheen,
I saw the ancient name of Themis burn.
Me and the fane, a queenly form and stern,
Upon whose brow, in letters all of sheen,
I saw the ancient name of Themis burn.
“She laid her hand on mine, it felt so cold,
She asked me, ‘Whether I, whose soul had earned
This highest Heaven, now felt serene and bold;’
Then I into my conscious self returned.
She asked me, ‘Whether I, whose soul had earned
This highest Heaven, now felt serene and bold;’
Then I into my conscious self returned.
13
“She asked me, ‘Whether all that heart-distress,
In which my yielding womanhood had erred
From this my Goddess-state with bitterness
And shame was seen;’ I answered not a word.
In which my yielding womanhood had erred
From this my Goddess-state with bitterness
And shame was seen;’ I answered not a word.
“Then, piercingly, she asked me ‘Whether He,
Before whose charms I prostrated so low
My woman's worth, my Poet's dignity,
Was clear forgot;’—I answered slowly, ‘No.’
Before whose charms I prostrated so low
My woman's worth, my Poet's dignity,
Was clear forgot;’—I answered slowly, ‘No.’
“Strange strength was in me; with consummate scorn,
I spoke of ‘That Appollo, who could deem,
That by his magic leap, the true love-lorn
Could wake to bliss, as from a troublous dream.’
I spoke of ‘That Appollo, who could deem,
That by his magic leap, the true love-lorn
Could wake to bliss, as from a troublous dream.’
“I said, ‘The promised peace, the calm divine,
The cold self-power, and royalty of will,
Or there, or elsewhere, never could be mine,
For I was Sappho,—Phaon's Sappho still.’
The cold self-power, and royalty of will,
Or there, or elsewhere, never could be mine,
For I was Sappho,—Phaon's Sappho still.’
“There was dead blackness on the golden sky,
There was dumb silence in the resonant air,
But still I cried aloud in agony,
‘Heaven was not Heaven, if Phaon was not there.’
There was dumb silence in the resonant air,
But still I cried aloud in agony,
‘Heaven was not Heaven, if Phaon was not there.’
“With arms upraised, and towering looks averse,
That fearful Being uttered,—‘Be it so,
Blessing thou wilt not, thou shalt have a curse;
High bliss thou wilt not, thou shalt have deep woe.
That fearful Being uttered,—‘Be it so,
Blessing thou wilt not, thou shalt have a curse;
High bliss thou wilt not, thou shalt have deep woe.
14
“‘Thou hast defiled the Gods' most choicest dower,
Poesy, which in chaste repose abides,
As in its atmosphere;—that placid flower
Thou hast exposed to passion's fiery tides;
Poesy, which in chaste repose abides,
As in its atmosphere;—that placid flower
Thou hast exposed to passion's fiery tides;
“‘Within the cold abyss, degraded, lone,
Beneath the rock whose power thou hast blasphemed,
From thy Parnassian, long-expectant, throne,
Lie banished, till by some new fate redeemed.’
Beneath the rock whose power thou hast blasphemed,
From thy Parnassian, long-expectant, throne,
Lie banished, till by some new fate redeemed.’
“When will that new fate be? I linger on,—
I know not what I wish; Oh! tell me, thou
That weep'st for one thou would'st have smiled upon,
Dear Stranger, tell me where is Phaon now?”
I know not what I wish; Oh! tell me, thou
That weep'st for one thou would'st have smiled upon,
Dear Stranger, tell me where is Phaon now?”
Here paused the Voice, and now, methought, I spoke,
But what I know not; for there passed a shock
Throughout my senses, like a lightning-stroke;
I started to my feet;—the tall white Rock
Walled the far waste of silent sea, the morn
Light-lined the East, on grey-white wings upborne.
But what I know not; for there passed a shock
Throughout my senses, like a lightning-stroke;
I started to my feet;—the tall white Rock
Walled the far waste of silent sea, the morn
Light-lined the East, on grey-white wings upborne.
In the legend of the Leucadian promontory, which is fresh among the people, Phaon is the King of the Island, and the Poetess a foreign Queen. He slights her passion; she wanders over the hills in agony of heart, and heedless of her steps, she falls over the precipice.
15
THE RETURN OF ULYSSES.
[_]
The identity of Ithaca and Thiáke is satisfactorily demonstrated by Sir W. Gell, and other writers. There still remains, too, in the minds of the islanders, the legendary remembrance of the wandering king and the faithful wife, who weaves and spoils her web for very sorrow and distraction. The localities are quite as recognisable as could be expected:—a Grotto was discovered a few years ago by the shepherds, just above the shore of the deep bay (λιμενος πολυβενθεος), which bears a faithful likeness to the Homeric portrait of the cave of the nymphs. It is beautifully hung with stalactites, which are evidently the “distaffs” of its divine inhabitants, and its floor is strewn with fragments of votive amphoræ and other relics of ancient worship.
In another part of the island is a Fountain, still called “Melannéron.” Now the cattle of Eumæus come to the fount of Arethusa to drink the “black water;” and as this is still the common drinking-place of all the neighbouring cattle, the name has probably come down from the Homeric times.
The Man of wisdom and endurance rare,
A sundry-coloured and strange-featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,—the oars' sweet-echoed play,
Falls on the cliffs of Ithaca's deep bay;—
The enemy, on whose impetuous breast
The hero rode undaunted, night and day,
(Such was Minerva's power, and Jove's behest)
Scorns the inglorious strife and lays his wrath to rest.
A sundry-coloured and strange-featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,—the oars' sweet-echoed play,
Falls on the cliffs of Ithaca's deep bay;—
The enemy, on whose impetuous breast
The hero rode undaunted, night and day,
(Such was Minerva's power, and Jove's behest)
Scorns the inglorious strife and lays his wrath to rest.
And how returns the tempest-tossed? his prows
Gay-garlanded, with grand triumphal song?
Leaps he upon the strand, and proudly vows
Dire vengeance unto all who did him wrong?
Not so; for him, all force and passion strong,
And fretful tumult, for a while are o'er,—
He is borne gently, placidly, along,
And laid upon his own belovèd shore.
Even as a wearied child, in quiet sleep once more!
Gay-garlanded, with grand triumphal song?
Leaps he upon the strand, and proudly vows
Dire vengeance unto all who did him wrong?
Not so; for him, all force and passion strong,
16
He is borne gently, placidly, along,
And laid upon his own belovèd shore.
Even as a wearied child, in quiet sleep once more!
There is no part of that archaic Lay,
That strikes with such resistless power on me,
As this pure artist-touch, this tender ray,
A perfect-simple light of poesy;
Not the nice wiles of chaste Penelope,—
Not the poor pining dog that died of joy,—
Not the grey smoke the wanderer yearned to see,
Whose wavings he had traced, a careless boy,
Sweet as they are, for me this preference can destroy.
That strikes with such resistless power on me,
As this pure artist-touch, this tender ray,
A perfect-simple light of poesy;
Not the nice wiles of chaste Penelope,—
Not the poor pining dog that died of joy,—
Not the grey smoke the wanderer yearned to see,
Whose wavings he had traced, a careless boy,
Sweet as they are, for me this preference can destroy.
Where the “stone distaffs” of the nymphs of old,
Still make rich tracery in the sacred Cave,—
Where peasants the dark-shadowed Fountain cold,
Hail by the name the Poet found or gave,
Where on the Eagle-height the walls out-brave
All time, and only the full-fruited vine
Trails o'er the home,—it may be o'er the grave,
Of Him for whom these memories combine,—
Rest, care-worn mortal! rest, and let his sleep be thine.
Still make rich tracery in the sacred Cave,—
Where peasants the dark-shadowed Fountain cold,
Hail by the name the Poet found or gave,
Where on the Eagle-height the walls out-brave
All time, and only the full-fruited vine
Trails o'er the home,—it may be o'er the grave,
Of Him for whom these memories combine,—
Rest, care-worn mortal! rest, and let his sleep be thine.
17
TEMPE.
We are in Tempe, Peneus glides below,—That is Olympus,—we are wondering
Where, in old history, Xerxes the great King,
Wondered. How strangely pleasant this to know!
We may have gazed on scenes of grander flow,
And on rocks cast in shapes more marvellous,
Now this delicious calm entices us,
These platain shades, to let the dull world go.
A poet's Mistress is a hallowed thing,
And all the beauties of his verse become
Her own;—so be it with the poet's Vale:
Listen those emerald waters murmuring,
Behold the cliffs, that wall the gods' old home,
And float into the Past with softly swelling sail.
The repute of Tempe as a proverb of surpassing beauty, is exclusively Roman, and possibly few who spoke or wrote of it ever saw it. Livy's description (xliv) is one of terror, and what we now call ‘sublimity.’
18
OLYMPUS.
With no sharp-sided peak or sudden cone,
Thou risest o'er the blank Thessalian plain,
But in the semblance of a rounded throne,
Meet for a monarch and his noble train
To hold high synod;—but I feel it vain,
With my heart full and passionate as now,
To frame my humble verse, as I would fain,
To calm description,—I can only bow
My head and soul, and ask again, “if that be Thou?”
Thou risest o'er the blank Thessalian plain,
But in the semblance of a rounded throne,
Meet for a monarch and his noble train
To hold high synod;—but I feel it vain,
With my heart full and passionate as now,
To frame my humble verse, as I would fain,
To calm description,—I can only bow
My head and soul, and ask again, “if that be Thou?”
I feel before thee, as of old I felt,
(With sense, as just, more vivid in degree)
When first I entered, and unconscious knelt
Within the Roman Martyr's sanctuary:
I feel that ages laid their faith on Thee,
And if to me thou art a holy hill,
Let not the pious scorn,—that Piety
Though veiled, that Truth, though shadowy, were still
All the world had to raise its heart and fallen will.
(With sense, as just, more vivid in degree)
When first I entered, and unconscious knelt
Within the Roman Martyr's sanctuary:
I feel that ages laid their faith on Thee,
And if to me thou art a holy hill,
Let not the pious scorn,—that Piety
Though veiled, that Truth, though shadowy, were still
All the world had to raise its heart and fallen will.
Thou Shrine which man, of his own natural thought,
Gave to the God of Nature, and girt round
With elemental mightiness, and brought
Splendour of form and depth of thunderous sound,
To wall about with awe the chosen ground,—
All without toil of slaves or lavished gold,
Thou wert upbuilt of memories profound,
Imaginations wonderful and old,
And the pure gems that lie in Poets' hearts untold.
Gave to the God of Nature, and girt round
19
Splendour of form and depth of thunderous sound,
To wall about with awe the chosen ground,—
All without toil of slaves or lavished gold,
Thou wert upbuilt of memories profound,
Imaginations wonderful and old,
And the pure gems that lie in Poets' hearts untold.
God was upon Thee in a thousand forms
Of Terror and of Beauty, stern and fair,
Upgathered in the majesty of storms,
Or floating in the film of summer air;
Thus wert Thou made ideal everywhere;
From Thee the odorous plumes of Love were spread,
Delight and plenty through all lands to bear,—
From Thee the never-erring bolt was sped
To curb the impious hand or blast the perjured head
Of Terror and of Beauty, stern and fair,
Upgathered in the majesty of storms,
Or floating in the film of summer air;
Thus wert Thou made ideal everywhere;
From Thee the odorous plumes of Love were spread,
Delight and plenty through all lands to bear,—
From Thee the never-erring bolt was sped
To curb the impious hand or blast the perjured head
How many a Boy, in his full noon of faith,
Leaning against the Parthenon, half-blind
With inner light, and holding in his breath,
Awed by the image of his own high mind,
Has seen the Goddess there so proudly shrined,
Leave for awhile her loved especial home,
And pass, though wingless, on the northward wind,
On to thy height, beneath the eternal dome,
Where Heaven's grand councils wait, 'till Wisdom's self shall come.
Leaning against the Parthenon, half-blind
With inner light, and holding in his breath,
Awed by the image of his own high mind,
Has seen the Goddess there so proudly shrined,
Leave for awhile her loved especial home,
And pass, though wingless, on the northward wind,
On to thy height, beneath the eternal dome,
Where Heaven's grand councils wait, 'till Wisdom's self shall come.
20
Ours is another world, and godless now
Thy ample crown; 'tis well,—yes,—be it so,
But I can weep this moment, when thy brow
Light-covered with fresh hoar of autumn snow,
Shines in white light and chillness, which bestow
New grace of reverend loveliness, as seen
With the long mass of gloomy hills below:
Blest be our open faith! too grand, I ween,
To grudge these votive tears to Beauty that has been.
Thy ample crown; 'tis well,—yes,—be it so,
But I can weep this moment, when thy brow
Light-covered with fresh hoar of autumn snow,
Shines in white light and chillness, which bestow
New grace of reverend loveliness, as seen
With the long mass of gloomy hills below:
Blest be our open faith! too grand, I ween,
To grudge these votive tears to Beauty that has been.
21
A VISION OF THE ARGONAUTS.
[_]
At Volo, a Greek peasant asked us whether it was true that the first ship that ever sailed started from this bay.
It is a privilege of great price to walk
With that old sorcerer Fable, hand in hand,
Adown the shadowy vale of History:
There is no other wand potent as his,
Out of that scene of gloomy pilgrimage,
Where prostrate splendors and unsated graves
Are ever rained upon by human tears,
To make a Paradise of noblest art,
A gallery of bright thoughts, serene ideas,
Pictorial graces, everlasting tints,
To the heart's eye delicious,—pure delight
Of Beauty and calm Joy alternating
With exercise of those high attributes,
Which make the will of man indomitable,—
Justice, and enterprise, and patriot-love.
With that old sorcerer Fable, hand in hand,
Adown the shadowy vale of History:
There is no other wand potent as his,
Out of that scene of gloomy pilgrimage,
Where prostrate splendors and unsated graves
Are ever rained upon by human tears,
To make a Paradise of noblest art,
A gallery of bright thoughts, serene ideas,
Pictorial graces, everlasting tints,
To the heart's eye delicious,—pure delight
Of Beauty and calm Joy alternating
With exercise of those high attributes,
Which make the will of man indomitable,—
Justice, and enterprise, and patriot-love.
That Peasant's simple question to my thoughts
Became a mystic thread,—a golden clue;
For when I drew it towards me, all the veil
Of the deep past shrunk up, and light profuse
Fell round me from time-clouded memories;
The full-noon-day, it seemed to me, went back,
And passed into the pearly grey of morn,
From which, in outline dim, slowly came forth
Pelion,—his lower steeps (now populous
With village voices) desolate and bare;
And the now naked range of loftier rock,
Thick-vested with a mantle of warm pine.
Along the shore, the turreted serail,
And bright-adorned kiosks, and low bazaar,
Into a city strange, of ancient form,
But to my spirit's sight faintly defined,
Was changed;—yet I could palpably discern
A crowd that stood before a portico,
And a thin smoke that from the midst arose,
As of a sacrifice; and close beside,
The waters rested in inviolate calm.
Became a mystic thread,—a golden clue;
For when I drew it towards me, all the veil
Of the deep past shrunk up, and light profuse
Fell round me from time-clouded memories;
22
And passed into the pearly grey of morn,
From which, in outline dim, slowly came forth
Pelion,—his lower steeps (now populous
With village voices) desolate and bare;
And the now naked range of loftier rock,
Thick-vested with a mantle of warm pine.
Along the shore, the turreted serail,
And bright-adorned kiosks, and low bazaar,
Into a city strange, of ancient form,
But to my spirit's sight faintly defined,
Was changed;—yet I could palpably discern
A crowd that stood before a portico,
And a thin smoke that from the midst arose,
As of a sacrifice; and close beside,
The waters rested in inviolate calm.
Upon their edge, yet clinging to the sand,
There was a shape, of other frame and kind
Than I had ever seen the wave embrace;
A burden of full-armèd men it bore,
And from its centre the aspiring stem
Of a straight oak, Dodona's holy growth,
Upsprung, with leafy coronal unshorn.
The joy of prosperous omens on the land
Awoke the silence of that solemn dawn;
And as it ceased, a clear and manly voice
Out of the shape responded musical,
And thus its meaning sunk into my soul.
“Not with the rapid foot and panting breast,
With which, be Pelion's dark-haired front
And mountain-thickets far away
Our witnesses, the eager heart was wont
To lead us to the boar's absconded rest
Unwearied, while before us lay
The hope of an illustrious prey,—
Nor, by the impulse of Pheræan steeds,
Bearing the warrior and the car
Into the central depths of war,
While he, thus, wingèd, hardly heeds
The presence of opposing spears,
More than the north wind fears
The grove whose mass he can crush down like reeds;
—Not thus the work is to be done,
Which this fleet-passing hour will see begun.
There was a shape, of other frame and kind
Than I had ever seen the wave embrace;
A burden of full-armèd men it bore,
And from its centre the aspiring stem
Of a straight oak, Dodona's holy growth,
Upsprung, with leafy coronal unshorn.
The joy of prosperous omens on the land
Awoke the silence of that solemn dawn;
And as it ceased, a clear and manly voice
23
And thus its meaning sunk into my soul.
“Not with the rapid foot and panting breast,
With which, be Pelion's dark-haired front
And mountain-thickets far away
Our witnesses, the eager heart was wont
To lead us to the boar's absconded rest
Unwearied, while before us lay
The hope of an illustrious prey,—
Nor, by the impulse of Pheræan steeds,
Bearing the warrior and the car
Into the central depths of war,
While he, thus, wingèd, hardly heeds
The presence of opposing spears,
More than the north wind fears
The grove whose mass he can crush down like reeds;
—Not thus the work is to be done,
Which this fleet-passing hour will see begun.
“For these are means, whose excellence can lead
To victory in the practised chase
Or common usage of heroic arms:—
Our thought is now to do a hardier deed;
Sublimer energy our spirit warms
Than bard has ever sung in Grecian halls;—
Where to succeed will place
Our name 'mid nations' festivals,
And where to fail itself will be
A glory for eternity.
To victory in the practised chase
Or common usage of heroic arms:—
Our thought is now to do a hardier deed;
Sublimer energy our spirit warms
24
Where to succeed will place
Our name 'mid nations' festivals,
And where to fail itself will be
A glory for eternity.
“Over a wider and more dreary plain,
Than curious mortals know,
Trackless and markless as fresh-fallen snow,—
An awful space, on which the stain
Of human foot has never lain,—
Uncrossed by cheerful bird,—
Where never sound is heard,
But the unpausing din,
Half laughter and half groan,
Of the Divinity that stirs within,
And answers all the winds that blow
In thunder-tone;—
Over this mystic plain,—
The earth-enclosing Ocean-plain,
We are about to go.
Than curious mortals know,
Trackless and markless as fresh-fallen snow,—
An awful space, on which the stain
Of human foot has never lain,—
Uncrossed by cheerful bird,—
Where never sound is heard,
But the unpausing din,
Half laughter and half groan,
Of the Divinity that stirs within,
And answers all the winds that blow
In thunder-tone;—
Over this mystic plain,—
The earth-enclosing Ocean-plain,
We are about to go.
“And let no holy fear restrain
The hearts, that know no fear beside;
For, not in impious disdain
Of the eternal rules, that bind
The destinies of human kind
Within sage limits, and wild pride,
But with the free obedience
Of a most perfect reverence,
Dare we the untamèd billow to bestride.
The hearts, that know no fear beside;
For, not in impious disdain
Of the eternal rules, that bind
The destinies of human kind
Within sage limits, and wild pride,
But with the free obedience
25
Dare we the untamèd billow to bestride.
“For had it been in truth the imperial will
Of Mother Nature, when her plastic hand
Did the vast depths with buoyant liquid fill,
To plant a barrier betwixt land and land,
And keep each portion separate,
Encircled by a special fate;
How could the Gods, the everwise,
Have urged us to our enterprise
With favouring voices and protecting eyes?
How could our rude sea-chariot be
Made instinct with applauding Deity?
Of Mother Nature, when her plastic hand
Did the vast depths with buoyant liquid fill,
To plant a barrier betwixt land and land,
And keep each portion separate,
Encircled by a special fate;
How could the Gods, the everwise,
Have urged us to our enterprise
With favouring voices and protecting eyes?
How could our rude sea-chariot be
Made instinct with applauding Deity?
“A just and noble aim,
The Gods with love regard,—
But the self-glorious, the bold
Who honour not the laws of old,
A jealous justice will reward,
With woe and bitter shame;
We have not forgot
The miserable lot
Of Tantalus, ambrosia-fed,
Tantalus, whose kingly head
Deep in deepest Hades lies,
Eminent in agonies;
Even where our journey leads,
In that Eastern distance, bound
To an ice-peak, ever bleeds
He of the unclosed heart-wound,
The unsubdued and godlike one,
Who robbed the treasury of the sun;
But he such warnings little heeds,
Whose soul is fixed upon an honest end,—
Him must the Gods befriend.
The Gods with love regard,—
But the self-glorious, the bold
Who honour not the laws of old,
A jealous justice will reward,
With woe and bitter shame;
We have not forgot
The miserable lot
Of Tantalus, ambrosia-fed,
Tantalus, whose kingly head
Deep in deepest Hades lies,
Eminent in agonies;
Even where our journey leads,
26
To an ice-peak, ever bleeds
He of the unclosed heart-wound,
The unsubdued and godlike one,
Who robbed the treasury of the sun;
But he such warnings little heeds,
Whose soul is fixed upon an honest end,—
Him must the Gods befriend.
“And is it not a virtuous aim,
Even to the earth's extremest shore,
By means no mortal force essayed before,
To bear the glory of the Grecian name?
To spoil the spoiler, wash away the stain
Of foully-slaughtered parentage, restore
To Greece the precious gift of yore,
Kind Gods to Helle and her brother gave,
Though Destiny restrained the power to save.
Even to the earth's extremest shore,
By means no mortal force essayed before,
To bear the glory of the Grecian name?
To spoil the spoiler, wash away the stain
Of foully-slaughtered parentage, restore
To Greece the precious gift of yore,
Kind Gods to Helle and her brother gave,
Though Destiny restrained the power to save.
“Thus hasting to a sacred war,
With Pæan and delighted song,
We feel our feet upon the Car,
Which the broad-wingèd Winds shall bear along;
No strength of ours their turbulence restrains,
No will of ours their vagrant course commands,
But ye who love us, fear not, for the reins
Are in almighty and benignant hands.—
And if the blindly-falling brand
Of Fate, that neither spares the wise or brave,
Far from his loved paternal land,
Should lay some Hero under the dark wave;
Yet let him not be deeply mourned,
As dead inglorious, or cast out unurned:
For the fond-pitying Nymphs below,
Will cover him with golden sand,
And sing above him songs of woe,
Sweeter than we can understand;
The grace of song shall breathe upon his name,
And his Elysian bliss be endless as his fame.”
With Pæan and delighted song,
We feel our feet upon the Car,
Which the broad-wingèd Winds shall bear along;
No strength of ours their turbulence restrains,
No will of ours their vagrant course commands,
But ye who love us, fear not, for the reins
Are in almighty and benignant hands.—
And if the blindly-falling brand
27
Far from his loved paternal land,
Should lay some Hero under the dark wave;
Yet let him not be deeply mourned,
As dead inglorious, or cast out unurned:
For the fond-pitying Nymphs below,
Will cover him with golden sand,
And sing above him songs of woe,
Sweeter than we can understand;
The grace of song shall breathe upon his name,
And his Elysian bliss be endless as his fame.”
There was a moment's pause, and then, methought,
The exuberant shout, that to the warriors' strain
Had made tumultuous prelude, came again,
But with still loftier passion; to the cause
I gave a quick attention, and beheld
Above the low Magnesian promontory,
A small and solitary flaccid cloud
Lowly suspended, by the clear round sun
(Which seemed to halt behind it as he rose)
Gorgeously glorified; to this all eyes
Were turned, and every voice a homage paid:
“The Fleece, the Golden Fleece, our Golden Fleece,”
Rose in a storm of sound, and instantly,
Though with no visible wind or ruffled tide,
But as impregnate with propelling power,
The Shape, no more dependent on the sand,
Into the open waters past, serene.
Then as the Vision fainted, self-dispersed
In the full-flaring light, a melody,
Whose sense I could not justly apprehend,
But that it was of blessing and delight,
Emitted from th' oracular central tree,
Caught up my heart, and bore it swift along
With that strange shape, into mysterious depths
Of placid darkness and undreaming sleep.
The exuberant shout, that to the warriors' strain
Had made tumultuous prelude, came again,
But with still loftier passion; to the cause
I gave a quick attention, and beheld
Above the low Magnesian promontory,
A small and solitary flaccid cloud
Lowly suspended, by the clear round sun
(Which seemed to halt behind it as he rose)
Gorgeously glorified; to this all eyes
Were turned, and every voice a homage paid:
“The Fleece, the Golden Fleece, our Golden Fleece,”
Rose in a storm of sound, and instantly,
Though with no visible wind or ruffled tide,
28
The Shape, no more dependent on the sand,
Into the open waters past, serene.
Then as the Vision fainted, self-dispersed
In the full-flaring light, a melody,
Whose sense I could not justly apprehend,
But that it was of blessing and delight,
Emitted from th' oracular central tree,
Caught up my heart, and bore it swift along
With that strange shape, into mysterious depths
Of placid darkness and undreaming sleep.
Vide Iliad, ii. 763, for the excel'ence of the horses of the hero, the eponymus of the house which gave its name to the place. Pheræ, now Vclestino, is near the Bœbèan marsh (ii. 711), a few miles to the N.W. of Volo. Pagasæ was its port. There are walls and the site of a temple on the hill above it.
29
THE SPARTANS AT THERMOPYLÆ.
“Stranger! go tell the Spartans—we obeyed
All that they told us,
and below are laid,”
Their laws and customs.
All that they told us,
and below are laid,”
Their laws and customs.
No parleying with themselves, no pausing thought
Of worse or better consequence, was there,
Their business was to do what Spartans ought,
Sparta's chaste honour was their only care.
Of worse or better consequence, was there,
Their business was to do what Spartans ought,
Sparta's chaste honour was their only care.
First in the outlet of that narrowest pass,
Between the tall straight cliffs and sullen tide,
Before his Faithful, stood Leonidas,—
Before the Few who could not leave his side.
Between the tall straight cliffs and sullen tide,
Before his Faithful, stood Leonidas,—
Before the Few who could not leave his side.
Never the hope of such a precious meed,
Upon his most ambitious dreams had shone,
Through Him the Gods for Sparta had decreed
More fame than Athens earned at Marathon.
Upon his most ambitious dreams had shone,
Through Him the Gods for Sparta had decreed
More fame than Athens earned at Marathon.
And more than this, he knew in that proud hour,
How high a price his single Life could claim,
That in its sacrifice there lay the power,
Alone to save his father-land from shame.
How high a price his single Life could claim,
That in its sacrifice there lay the power,
Alone to save his father-land from shame.
30
Yet was he loth to meet that sacred fate,
As he there stood, cramped in by rocks and sea,
He would confront the Persian myriad's weight,
And die an unbound Victim, fighting free.
As he there stood, cramped in by rocks and sea,
He would confront the Persian myriad's weight,
And die an unbound Victim, fighting free.
One more fair field,—one last unshackled blow
Strong with concentrate vengeance, this was all
That still remained to fill to overflow
The measure of the glory of his fall.
Strong with concentrate vengeance, this was all
That still remained to fill to overflow
The measure of the glory of his fall.
How He, and They who followed him in love,
Went forth and perished, is a tale to tell,
Such as old Bards to Epic music wove,
And so felt he who wrote their Chronicle.
Went forth and perished, is a tale to tell,
Such as old Bards to Epic music wove,
And so felt he who wrote their Chronicle.
The symbol Lion, that once stood in stone
Over the Lion-hearted, is no more;
Where sat the Last, on their sepulchral throne,
Is now a thing of antiquarian lore.
Over the Lion-hearted, is no more;
Where sat the Last, on their sepulchral throne,
Is now a thing of antiquarian lore.
Nor mourn for this,—all other truth is vain.
But this, to know at heart, that They are there,
There in the giant cliffs, and perilous plain,
Paths, fountains, forest, ocean, every where.
But this, to know at heart, that They are there,
There in the giant cliffs, and perilous plain,
Paths, fountains, forest, ocean, every where.
31
Now let all Thought be Memory,—calmly wait,
Till clear defined, before thy Spirit's eyes,
Heroic Dignity, impersonate
In awful phantoms, silently arise.
Till clear defined, before thy Spirit's eyes,
Heroic Dignity, impersonate
In awful phantoms, silently arise.
Between the Men who noble deeds have done,
And every Poet to the end of time,
There is a brotherly communion,
One Father-God has made them both sublime:
And every Poet to the end of time,
There is a brotherly communion,
One Father-God has made them both sublime:
And thus, to Thee, there can be nothing dead
Of great things past, they live in thine own will,
Thou givest them form,—they, on thy favoured head,
Virtues of earth and Heavenly Love distil.
Of great things past, they live in thine own will,
Thou givest them form,—they, on thy favoured head,
Virtues of earth and Heavenly Love distil.
32
GREEK RELIGION
Could we, though but for an hour, burst through those gates adamantine,
Which, as the children of man pass onward in swift generation,
Time's dark cavern along, are heavily closing behind them!
Could we but breathe the delight of the time when, fresh in his boyhood,
Out of his own exuberant life, Man gave unto Nature,
And new senses awoke, through every nerve of creation!
Waves of the old Ægean!—I listen your musical ebbing;
Smile to my eye, as you will, with smiles clear-crystal as ever,
Bind, in your silvery net, fair capes and embowerèd islands,
But ye can bear no more on your breast that vision of glory,
When in the cool moon-dew went forth the imperial revel,
Dolphins and pearl-shell cars, of the Queen and the People of Ocean;
Whose sweet-undulant murmur the homeless mariner hearkened,
Over the undulant sapphire, and trembled in glad adoration.
Which, as the children of man pass onward in swift generation,
Time's dark cavern along, are heavily closing behind them!
Could we but breathe the delight of the time when, fresh in his boyhood,
Out of his own exuberant life, Man gave unto Nature,
And new senses awoke, through every nerve of creation!
Waves of the old Ægean!—I listen your musical ebbing;
Smile to my eye, as you will, with smiles clear-crystal as ever,
Bind, in your silvery net, fair capes and embowerèd islands,
But ye can bear no more on your breast that vision of glory,
When in the cool moon-dew went forth the imperial revel,
Dolphins and pearl-shell cars, of the Queen and the People of Ocean;
33
Over the undulant sapphire, and trembled in glad adoration.
How were ye voiced, ye Stars!—how cheerily Castor and Pollux
Spoke to the quivering seaman, amid th' outpouring of tempest!
With what a firm-set gaze on the belt triple-gemmed of Orion
Looked the serene Greek child, as he thought of the suffering giant,
Panting with sightless orbs for the dawn's miraculous healing!
With what a sigh did he pass from the six proud deified sisters,
On to the fate of the fallen, and mourned for the love that dethroned her!
Not by elaborate charts did he read that book of the Heavens,
But to his heart's fine ear it was taught by a heavenly master.
Spoke to the quivering seaman, amid th' outpouring of tempest!
With what a firm-set gaze on the belt triple-gemmed of Orion
Looked the serene Greek child, as he thought of the suffering giant,
Panting with sightless orbs for the dawn's miraculous healing!
With what a sigh did he pass from the six proud deified sisters,
On to the fate of the fallen, and mourned for the love that dethroned her!
Not by elaborate charts did he read that book of the Heavens,
But to his heart's fine ear it was taught by a heavenly master.
Now from her window perchance may the maiden of desolate Hellas,
When with the woes of her love and her land her spirit is heavy,
Yearn to the white-bright moon, which over the curvèd horizon,
Climbing the air still flushed with the flames of the opposite sunset,
Seems with affectionate eye to regard her, and weep to her weeping;
But it is now not as when, having pined for Endymion's kindness,
She with the mourners of love held personal sympathy ever,
When in the sky's void chasms a wanderer, she to pilgrim,
Over the world's sick plain, was a dear companion in sorrow.
Down through the blue-grey thyme, which roofs their courses with odour,
Rivulets, gentle as words from the lips of Beauty, are flowing;
Still, in the dusky ravine, they deepen and freshen their waters,
Still, in the thick-arched coves, they slumber and dimple delighted,
Catching the full-swell'd fig, and the deep-stained arbutus ruby,—
Still, to the sea's sand-brim, by royally gay oleanders,
And oriental array of reeds, they are ever attended;
But they are all dumb forms, unimpregnate with vital emotion,
Now from the pure fount-head, no Nymph, her bosom expanding,
Dazzles the way-worn wretch with the smile of her bland benediction,
Giving the welcomed draught mysterious virtue and savour;—
Now no curious hind in the noon-tide's magical ardour,
Peeps through the blossomy trellice, that over the pool's dark crystal
Guards the immaculate forms of the awful Olympian bathers;
Now at the wide stream-mouth never one, one amorous Triton
Breathes to the surge and the tall marsh-blooms euphonious passion.
When with the woes of her love and her land her spirit is heavy,
34
Climbing the air still flushed with the flames of the opposite sunset,
Seems with affectionate eye to regard her, and weep to her weeping;
But it is now not as when, having pined for Endymion's kindness,
She with the mourners of love held personal sympathy ever,
When in the sky's void chasms a wanderer, she to pilgrim,
Over the world's sick plain, was a dear companion in sorrow.
Down through the blue-grey thyme, which roofs their courses with odour,
Rivulets, gentle as words from the lips of Beauty, are flowing;
Still, in the dusky ravine, they deepen and freshen their waters,
Still, in the thick-arched coves, they slumber and dimple delighted,
Catching the full-swell'd fig, and the deep-stained arbutus ruby,—
Still, to the sea's sand-brim, by royally gay oleanders,
35
But they are all dumb forms, unimpregnate with vital emotion,
Now from the pure fount-head, no Nymph, her bosom expanding,
Dazzles the way-worn wretch with the smile of her bland benediction,
Giving the welcomed draught mysterious virtue and savour;—
Now no curious hind in the noon-tide's magical ardour,
Peeps through the blossomy trellice, that over the pool's dark crystal
Guards the immaculate forms of the awful Olympian bathers;
Now at the wide stream-mouth never one, one amorous Triton
Breathes to the surge and the tall marsh-blooms euphonious passion.
These high Temples around, the religious shade of the olive
Falls on the grass close-wove;—in the redolent valley beneath us,
Stems of the loftiest platain their crowns large-leavèd are spreading,
While the most motley of herds is adorning the calm of their umbrage;—
Yet ye are gone, ye are vanished for ever, ye guardian Beings!
Who in the time-gnarled trunks, broad branches, and summer enchantment
Held an essentiäl life and a power, as over your members,—
Soothing the rage of the storm by your piteous moans of entreaty,
Staying the impious axe in the paralysed hand of the woodman.
Daphne, tremulous nymph, has fled the benignant asylum
Which, in the shape of the laurel, she found from the heat of Apollo;—
Wan Narcissus has languished away from the languishing flower;—
Hyacinth dwells no more in his brilliant abode, and the stranger
Reads the memorial signs he has left, with a curious pleasure.
Falls on the grass close-wove;—in the redolent valley beneath us,
Stems of the loftiest platain their crowns large-leavèd are spreading,
36
Yet ye are gone, ye are vanished for ever, ye guardian Beings!
Who in the time-gnarled trunks, broad branches, and summer enchantment
Held an essentiäl life and a power, as over your members,—
Soothing the rage of the storm by your piteous moans of entreaty,
Staying the impious axe in the paralysed hand of the woodman.
Daphne, tremulous nymph, has fled the benignant asylum
Which, in the shape of the laurel, she found from the heat of Apollo;—
Wan Narcissus has languished away from the languishing flower;—
Hyacinth dwells no more in his brilliant abode, and the stranger
Reads the memorial signs he has left, with a curious pleasure.
Thou art become, oh Echo! a voice, an inanimate image;
Where is the palest of maids, dark-tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half-opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
Quickly repeated the words that burst on her lonely recesses,
Low in a love-lorn tone, too deep-distracted to answer?
Where is the palest of maids, dark-tressed, darkwreathèd with ivy,
Who with her lips half-opened, and gazes of beautiful wonder,
37
Low in a love-lorn tone, too deep-distracted to answer?
What must have been thy Nature, oh Greece! when marvellous-lovely
As it is now, it is only the tomb of an ancient existence?
As it is now, it is only the tomb of an ancient existence?
The contemporaneity of a transparent moonlight with the roseate æther and gold and orange tracts of sunset is one of the most impressive phenomena of these regions.
On the mystical power of noon in the appearance of supernatural beings, vide Theocritus, i. 15; Lucan, iii. 422; Philostratus, Heroic. i. art 4; Porphyrius de Antro Nymph. c. xxvi. and xxvii.
MARATHON.
I could believe that under such a sky,Thus grave, thus streaked with thunderlight, of yore,
The small Athenian troop rushed onward, more
As Bacchanals, than men about to die.
How weak that massive motley enemy
Seemed to those hearts, full-fed on that high lore,
Which, for their use, in his melodious store,
Old Homer had laid up immortally!
Thus Marathon was Troy,—thus here again,
They were at issue with the barb'rous East,
And favo'ring Gods spoke out, and walked the plain;
And every man was an anointed priest
Of Nemesis, empowerèd to chastise
The rampant insolence that would not be made wise.
38
THE CONCENTRATION OF ATHENS.
[_]
The Poet Keats, to whom the old Greek mind seemed instinctively
familiar, in an unpublished fragment, speaks of the Greek Poets as
“Bards who died content on pleasant sward,
Leaving great verse unto a little clan.” and continues with a prayer that he too may attain their old vigour, and sing
“Unheard,
Save of the quiet primrose and the span
Of Heaven and tew ears.”
Leaving great verse unto a little clan.” and continues with a prayer that he too may attain their old vigour, and sing
“Unheard,
Save of the quiet primrose and the span
Of Heaven and tew ears.”
Of Earth so much of human strength upgrew,
When thus were woven bonds that tighter drew
Round the Athenian heart than faith or race?
Thus patriotism could each soul imbue
With personal affections, face to face,
And home was felt in every public place,
And brotherhood was never rare or new.
Thus Wisdom, from the neighbouring Parthenon,
Down on the Areopagus could fix
A watchful gaze: thus from the rising Pnyx
The Orator's inspiring voice could reach
Half o'er the City, and his solemn speech
Was as a father's counsel to his son.
39
PELASGIAN AND CYCLOPEAN WALLS.
Ye cliffs of masonry, enormous piles,
Which no rude censure of familiar Time
Nor record of our puny race defiles,
In dateless mystery ye stand sublime,
Memorials of an age of which we see
Only the types in things that once were Ye.
Which no rude censure of familiar Time
Nor record of our puny race defiles,
In dateless mystery ye stand sublime,
Memorials of an age of which we see
Only the types in things that once were Ye.
Whether ye rest upon some bosky knoll,
Your feet by ancient myrtles beautified,
Or seem, like fabled dragons, to unroll
Your swarthy grandeurs down a bleak hill-side,
Still on your savage features is a spell
That makes ye half divine, ineffable.
Your feet by ancient myrtles beautified,
Or seem, like fabled dragons, to unroll
Your swarthy grandeurs down a bleak hill-side,
Still on your savage features is a spell
That makes ye half divine, ineffable.
With joy, upon your height I stand alone,
As on a precipice, or lie within
Your shadow wide, or leap from stone to stone,
Pointing my steps with careful discipline,
And think of those grand limbs whose nerve could bear
These masses to their places in mid-air;
As on a precipice, or lie within
Your shadow wide, or leap from stone to stone,
Pointing my steps with careful discipline,
And think of those grand limbs whose nerve could bear
These masses to their places in mid-air;
Of Anakim, and Titans, and of days
Saturnian, when the spirit of man was knit
So close to Nature, that his best essays
At Art were but in all to follow it,
In all,—dimension, dignity, degree;
And thus these mighty things were made to be.
Saturnian, when the spirit of man was knit
40
At Art were but in all to follow it,
In all,—dimension, dignity, degree;
And thus these mighty things were made to be.
WRITTEN AT MYCENÆ.
I saw a weird procession glide alongThe vestibule before the
Lion's gate;
A Man of godlike limb and warrior state,
Who never looked behind him, led the throng;
Next a pale Girl, singing sweet sorrow, met
My eyes, who ever pointed to a fleck
Of ingrained crimson on her marble neck;
Her a fierce Woman, armed with knife and net,
Close followed, whom a Youth pursued with smile,
Once mild, now bitter-mad, himself the while
Pursued by three foul Shapes, gory and grey:
Dread family! . . . I saw another day
The phantom of that Youth, sitting alone,
Quiet, thought-bound, a stone upon a stone.
This piece of Archaic sculpture is very spirited; I think the Lions could not have had their heads as Clarke describes; they must have been thrown more back, like the Lions rampant in our heraldic bearings.
41
GRECIAN SUNSET.
[_]
The modern Greek phrase for the setting of the sun is “Βασιλευει ο ηλιος,” “the sun reigns,” or “the sun is a king.” One interpretation of this expression was given me, viz., that in the vesper anthem beginning with the words, “‘Ο Κυριος Βασιλευει,” “the Lord reigns,” the action was transferred to the sun itself, in the same feeling as the “Ave Maria” is the synonym of the close of an Italian day. Another explanation I have formed into the following lines.
At morn, as one who girds himself for speed,
A Hero prompt to do a mighty deed,
And not to rest until the deed be done,
He rose:—at noon he wore the guise of one,
Who feels the purpose that his will decreed
Half-perfect, and goes onward to his meed,
Stronger than were his labour just begun;
And now his aim attained, his triumph known,
In conscious dignity he mounts his throne
Of golden air, and ere the eve can spread
Her pale-rose veil above his royal head,
No courtier clouds around him, to the bed
Of a victorious rest, he passes all alone.
42
A GRECIAN THUNDER-STORM.
The Thunder came not with one awful pulse,When the wide Heaven seems quaking to its heart,
But in a current of tumultuous noise,
Crash upon crash,—a multitudinous clang
Of cymbals beating in the low-hung clouds,—
And every shortest interspace filled up
With echoes vivid as their parent sounds.
The lightning came not in one flash of light,
Soon yielding to the darkness, (which ere long
Is routed by another wingèd blaze,)
But with no pause, and swaying to and fro,
As if the common air was turned to flame.
So mused I, from this hot and furious scene
Drawing a timely lesson of calm Truth,
So,—when great nations are awake at heart,
And rise embattled, from an ancient sleep
Sudden aroused by some consummate deed
Of reckless tyranny, or glad to stand
For heir-loom rights, familiar liberties,
Through pain and loss and terror, unto death,—
Should be the expression of their energies,—
Earnest, intense, impassioned as you will,
But with no pause; the fruit is Victory.
43
CORINTH,
ON LEAVING GREECE.
I stood upon that great Acropolis,The turret-gate of Nature's citadel,
Where once again, from slavery's thick abyss
Strangely delivered, Grecian warriors dwell.
I watched the bosom of Parnassus swell,
I traced Eleusis, Athens, Salamis,
And that rude fane below, which lives to tell
Where reigned the City of luxurious bliss.
Within the maze of great Antiquity
My spirit wandered tremblingly along;—
As one who with rapt ears to a wild song
Hearkens some while,—then knows not whether he
Has comprehended all its melody,
So in that parting hour was it with Greece and me.
It is very curious that some awkward ill-proportioned ruins should be the only memorials of that Corinth, whose exquisite refinement in all that could charm and embellish life was a proverb with the world, and who extended her existence so far into the later domains of Roman time. It may be that there was some sanctity attached to this temple, from its very age and ungainliness, which preserved it amid the annihilation of other more sumptuous and polished edifices.
44
MODERN GREECE.
As, in the legend which our childhood loved,
The destined prince was guided to the bed,
Where, many a silent year, the charmèd Maid
Lay still, as though she were not; nor could wake,
Till the first touch of his appointed hand
With the deep fountains of her subtle being
Made sympathy, and in her virgin bosom
The pulse of breath, that so long had beat on
Its regular measure, trembled and grew fast,
And the long fringes parted on her eyes,—
And she to her old world of light and sense
Was born again; so the Invisible Power,
Whose awful presence is upon our earth
Above all dominations, came at last
To Greece, and laid the magic of his hand
Upon her sleep, and she obedient rose.
The destined prince was guided to the bed,
Where, many a silent year, the charmèd Maid
Lay still, as though she were not; nor could wake,
Till the first touch of his appointed hand
With the deep fountains of her subtle being
Made sympathy, and in her virgin bosom
The pulse of breath, that so long had beat on
Its regular measure, trembled and grew fast,
And the long fringes parted on her eyes,—
And she to her old world of light and sense
Was born again; so the Invisible Power,
Whose awful presence is upon our earth
Above all dominations, came at last
To Greece, and laid the magic of his hand
Upon her sleep, and she obedient rose.
She rose, but not as that enchanted ladie,
To whose unsullied beauty sleep had been
But as a veil, to guard off impure Time
From breathing on it, and had left no trace
Of its existence, but the long gold hair,
That, like a vestment, folded round her form;
Nor, even as they, who on this vulgar orb
Rise from their night's brief slumbers, hale and fresh,
With all the toil of yesterday behind them;—
No, Nations sleep not thus,—their sleep and rest
Has more of death about it,—in its hours
Silent corruption works, and slow decay;
And when some special grace bids them awake,
Half-blinded, with worn hearts, and sense confused,
They rush in fury from their couch of shame,
Proclaim themselves new-born, and free, and young,
Nothing of youth about them, but its passions,
Its vigorous lusts, and recklessness of ends.—
To whose unsullied beauty sleep had been
But as a veil, to guard off impure Time
From breathing on it, and had left no trace
Of its existence, but the long gold hair,
45
Nor, even as they, who on this vulgar orb
Rise from their night's brief slumbers, hale and fresh,
With all the toil of yesterday behind them;—
No, Nations sleep not thus,—their sleep and rest
Has more of death about it,—in its hours
Silent corruption works, and slow decay;
And when some special grace bids them awake,
Half-blinded, with worn hearts, and sense confused,
They rush in fury from their couch of shame,
Proclaim themselves new-born, and free, and young,
Nothing of youth about them, but its passions,
Its vigorous lusts, and recklessness of ends.—
Oh! would'st Thou, from thy hot delirious dream,
Look out upon the calm of long-past time,
Thine own bright natural youth, willing to learn;
Would only Greece remember what she was,
And then what made her so;—would she remember
That distant History records a time,
Though in the splendour of the after-light
Nearly obliterate, when she was as bare
Of every element of social being,
Of every use of moral energies,
Of all that can transform humanity
From the wild warrior-savage, instinct-led,
Into the thinking, acting citizen,
As now, or more so; but her infant soul,
Soon from that rude and miserable state,
Into a youth of healthy-springing thoughts,
Gay simple fancies, aspirations high,
Expanded under tutelary care
Of two wise nurses, delegates of God,
The Love of Beauty and Self-sacrifice:
And when, in the full time, came slowly on
Life's manly mood, and consciousness mature,
She, the fair faith and natural impulses
That waited on her morning, taking up
Into the accomplished glory of her noon,
Never forgot, through all the growth of wealth,
And martial action, and scholastic pride,
Her first affections,—and possessed at once,
A Mind informed by sage experience,
And a Heart fresh as it had come from heaven.
Look out upon the calm of long-past time,
Thine own bright natural youth, willing to learn;
Would only Greece remember what she was,
And then what made her so;—would she remember
That distant History records a time,
Though in the splendour of the after-light
Nearly obliterate, when she was as bare
Of every element of social being,
Of every use of moral energies,
Of all that can transform humanity
From the wild warrior-savage, instinct-led,
Into the thinking, acting citizen,
46
Soon from that rude and miserable state,
Into a youth of healthy-springing thoughts,
Gay simple fancies, aspirations high,
Expanded under tutelary care
Of two wise nurses, delegates of God,
The Love of Beauty and Self-sacrifice:
And when, in the full time, came slowly on
Life's manly mood, and consciousness mature,
She, the fair faith and natural impulses
That waited on her morning, taking up
Into the accomplished glory of her noon,
Never forgot, through all the growth of wealth,
And martial action, and scholastic pride,
Her first affections,—and possessed at once,
A Mind informed by sage experience,
And a Heart fresh as it had come from heaven.
What, though the curse of this unresting world,
The influence that will let no greatness be,
Merged in the blackness of barbaric night,
This model of the perfect equipoise,
And just appliance of all human powers;
Yet still for You, born of a second dawn,
The children of another germ of life,
It has a voice of loud authority;
By the same laws it bids you train your minds,
To the same tutelage submit your hearts,
And to the sum of wisdom there laid up,
Adding the priceless gems of Christian truth,
Be owners of a treasury of such wealth,
As all the spirit of nations has not known.
The influence that will let no greatness be,
Merged in the blackness of barbaric night,
This model of the perfect equipoise,
And just appliance of all human powers;
Yet still for You, born of a second dawn,
The children of another germ of life,
It has a voice of loud authority;
By the same laws it bids you train your minds,
47
And to the sum of wisdom there laid up,
Adding the priceless gems of Christian truth,
Be owners of a treasury of such wealth,
As all the spirit of nations has not known.
ON RETURNING TO GREECE IN 1842.
Ten years ago I deemed that if once moreI trod on Grecian soil, 'twould be to find
The presence of a great informing mind
That should the glorious past somewise restore;
And now I cry, with disappointment sore,
“Is it for this that Greece has striven and pined,—
These her rich vales with scarce a labouring hind,
These silent havens on this faded shore?”
Still patience—patience with the toils of Time;
The air of freedom is not always health,
Yet vain without it every hope sublime:
Better a nation's growth, however slow,
That is its own, than any strength or wealth
Conferred or cultured by a friend or foe.
48
DELPHI.
AN ELEGY.
Beneath the vintage moon's uncertain light,
And some faint stars that pierced the film of cloud,
Stood those Parnassian peaks before my sight,
Whose fame throughout the ancient world was loud.
And some faint stars that pierced the film of cloud,
Stood those Parnassian peaks before my sight,
Whose fame throughout the ancient world was loud.
Still could I dimly trace the terraced lines
Diverging from the cliffs on either side;
A theatre whose steps were filled with shrines
And rich devices of Hellenic pride;
Diverging from the cliffs on either side;
A theatre whose steps were filled with shrines
And rich devices of Hellenic pride;
Though brightest daylight would have lit in vain
The place whence gods and worshippers had fled;
Only, and they too tenantless, remain
The hallowed chambers of the pious dead.
The place whence gods and worshippers had fled;
Only, and they too tenantless, remain
The hallowed chambers of the pious dead.
Yet those wise architects an ample part
To Nature gave in their religious shows,
And thus, amid the sepultures of Art,
Still rise the Rocks and still the Fountain flows.
To Nature gave in their religious shows,
And thus, amid the sepultures of Art,
Still rise the Rocks and still the Fountain flows.
49
Desolate Delphi! pure Castalian spring!
Hear me avow that I am not as they—
Who deem that all about you ministering
Were base impostors, and mankind their prey:
Hear me avow that I am not as they—
Who deem that all about you ministering
Were base impostors, and mankind their prey:
That the high names they seemed to love and laud
Were but the tools their paltry trade to ply;
This pomp of Faith a mere gigantic fraud,
The apparatus of a mighty lie!
Were but the tools their paltry trade to ply;
This pomp of Faith a mere gigantic fraud,
The apparatus of a mighty lie!
Let those that will believe it; I, for one,
Cannot thus read the history of my kind;
Remembering all this little Greece has done
To raise the universal human mind:
Cannot thus read the history of my kind;
Remembering all this little Greece has done
To raise the universal human mind:
I know that hierarchs of that wondrous race,
By their own faith alone, could keep alive
Mysterious rites and sanctity of place,—
Believing in whate'er they might contrive.
By their own faith alone, could keep alive
Mysterious rites and sanctity of place,—
Believing in whate'er they might contrive.
It may be, that these influences, combined
With such rare nature as the priestess bore,
Brought to the surface of her stormy mind
Distracted fragments of prophetic lore:
With such rare nature as the priestess bore,
Brought to the surface of her stormy mind
Distracted fragments of prophetic lore:
For, howsoe'er to mortals' probing view
Creation is revealed, yet must we pause,
Weak to dissect the futile from the true,
Where'er imagination spreads her laws.
Creation is revealed, yet must we pause,
Weak to dissect the futile from the true,
Where'er imagination spreads her laws.
50
So now that dimmer grows the watery light,
And things each moment more fantastic seem,
I fain would seek if still the Gods have might
Over the undissembling world of dream:
And things each moment more fantastic seem,
I fain would seek if still the Gods have might
Over the undissembling world of dream:
I ask not that for me aside be cast
The solemn veil that hides what is decreed;
I crave the resurrection of the past,
That I may know what Delphi was indeed!
The solemn veil that hides what is decreed;
I crave the resurrection of the past,
That I may know what Delphi was indeed!
Oct. 8th, 1842.
51
THE TOMB OF LAIUS.
Where Delphi's consecrated pass
Bœotia's misty region faces,
Rises a tomb-like stony mass
Amid the bosky mountain-bases;
It seems no work of human care,
But many rocks split off from one:
Laius, the Theban king, lies there,—
His murderer Œdipus, his son.
Bœotia's misty region faces,
Rises a tomb-like stony mass
Amid the bosky mountain-bases;
It seems no work of human care,
But many rocks split off from one:
Laius, the Theban king, lies there,—
His murderer Œdipus, his son.
No pilgrim to the Pythian shrine
But marked the spot with decent awe,
In presence of a power divine,
O'erruling human will and law:
And to some thoughtful hearts that scene—
Those paths, that mound, those browsing herds,
Were more than e'er that tale had been,
Arrayed in Sophoclean words.
But marked the spot with decent awe,
In presence of a power divine,
O'erruling human will and law:
And to some thoughtful hearts that scene—
Those paths, that mound, those browsing herds,
Were more than e'er that tale had been,
Arrayed in Sophoclean words.
52
So is it yet,—no time or space
That ancient anguish can assuage,
For sorrow is of every race,
And suffering due from every age;
That awful legend falls to us
With all the weight that Greece could feel,
And every man is Œdipus,
Whose wounds no mortal skill can heal.
That ancient anguish can assuage,
For sorrow is of every race,
And suffering due from every age;
That awful legend falls to us
With all the weight that Greece could feel,
And every man is Œdipus,
Whose wounds no mortal skill can heal.
Oh! call it Providence or fate,
The Sphynx propounds the riddle still,
That Man must bear and expiate
Loads of involuntary ill:
So shall Endurance ever hold
The foremost rank 'mid human needs,
Not without faith, that God can mould
To good the dross of evil deeds.
The Sphynx propounds the riddle still,
That Man must bear and expiate
Loads of involuntary ill:
So shall Endurance ever hold
The foremost rank 'mid human needs,
Not without faith, that God can mould
To good the dross of evil deeds.
53
THE FLOWERS OF HELICON.
The solitudes of Helicon
Are rife with gay and scented flowers,
Shining the marble rocks upon,
Or 'mid the valley's oaken bowers;
And ever since young Fancy placed
The Hieron of the Muses here,
Have ceaseless generations graced
This airy Temple year by year.
Are rife with gay and scented flowers,
Shining the marble rocks upon,
Or 'mid the valley's oaken bowers;
And ever since young Fancy placed
The Hieron of the Muses here,
Have ceaseless generations graced
This airy Temple year by year.
But those more bright, more precious, flowers
With which old Greece the Muses woo'd,
The Art whose varied forms and powers
Charmed the poetic multitude,
The Thought that from each deep recess
And fissure of the teeming mind
Sent up its odorous fruitfulness—
What have those glories left behind?
With which old Greece the Muses woo'd,
The Art whose varied forms and powers
Charmed the poetic multitude,
The Thought that from each deep recess
And fissure of the teeming mind
Sent up its odorous fruitfulness—
What have those glories left behind?
54
For from those generous calices
The vegetative virtue shed,
Flew over distant lands and seas,
Waking wide nations from the dead;
And e'er the parent plants o'erthrown
Gave place to rank and noisome weed,
The giant Roman world was sown
Throughout with that ennobling seed.
The vegetative virtue shed,
Flew over distant lands and seas,
Waking wide nations from the dead;
And e'er the parent plants o'erthrown
Gave place to rank and noisome weed,
The giant Roman world was sown
Throughout with that ennobling seed.
And downward thence to latest days
The heritage of Beauty fell,
And Grecian forms and Grecian lays
Prolonged their humanising spell,
Till, when new worlds for man to win
The Atlantic's riven waves disclose,
The wildernesses there begin
To blossom with the Grecian rose.
The heritage of Beauty fell,
And Grecian forms and Grecian lays
Prolonged their humanising spell,
Till, when new worlds for man to win
The Atlantic's riven waves disclose,
The wildernesses there begin
To blossom with the Grecian rose.
And all this while in barren shame
Their native land remote reclines,
A mocked and miserable name
Round which some withered ivy twines:
Where, wandering 'mid the broken tombs,
The remnant of the race forget
That ever with such royal blooms
This Garden of the Soul was set.
Their native land remote reclines,
A mocked and miserable name
Round which some withered ivy twines:
Where, wandering 'mid the broken tombs,
The remnant of the race forget
That ever with such royal blooms
This Garden of the Soul was set.
55
O breezes of the wealthy West!
Why bear ye not on grateful wings
The seeds of all your life has blest
Back to their being's early springs?
Why fill ye not these plains with hopes
To bear the treasures once they bore,
And to these Heliconian slopes
Transport civility and lore?
Why bear ye not on grateful wings
The seeds of all your life has blest
Back to their being's early springs?
Why fill ye not these plains with hopes
To bear the treasures once they bore,
And to these Heliconian slopes
Transport civility and lore?
For now, at least, the soil is free,
Now that one strong reviving breath
Has chased that Eastern tyranny
Which to the Greek was ever death:
Now that, though weak with age and wrongs,
And bent beneath the recent chain
This motherland of Greece belongs
To her own western world again.
Now that one strong reviving breath
Has chased that Eastern tyranny
Which to the Greek was ever death:
Now that, though weak with age and wrongs,
And bent beneath the recent chain
This motherland of Greece belongs
To her own western world again.
It is of importance to remind the traveller from Delphi to Attica, to take the mountain road from Lebadea over the plateau of Helicon, and not the new one along the plain: the latter is the carriage-road of Greece, but has no other recommendation.
56
MODERN ATHENS.
If Fate, though jealous of the second birthOf names in history raised to high degree,
Permits that Athens yet once more shall be,
Let her be placed as suits the thought and worth
Of those, who, during long oppression's dearth,
Went out from Hydra and Ipsara free,
Making their homestead of the chainless sea,
And hardly touching their enslavèd earth.
So on the shore, in sight of Salamis,
On the Piræan and Phalerian bays,
With no harsh contrast of what was and is,
Let Athens rise; while in the distance stands,
Like something hardly raised by human hands,
The awful skeleton of ancient days!
57
DELOS.
Though Syra's rock was passed at morn,
The wind so faintly arched the sail,
That ere to Delos we were borne,
The autumn day began to fail,
And only in Diana's smiles
We reached the bay between the isles.
The wind so faintly arched the sail,
That ere to Delos we were borne,
The autumn day began to fail,
And only in Diana's smiles
We reached the bay between the isles.
In sweet serenity of force
She ruled the Heavens without a star—
A sacred image that the course
Of time and thought can hardly mar,—
As dear and nearly as divine
As ever in Ephesian shrine.
She ruled the Heavens without a star—
A sacred image that the course
Of time and thought can hardly mar,—
As dear and nearly as divine
As ever in Ephesian shrine.
I knew that on the spot I trod
Her glorious twins Latona bore,
That for her sake the pitying God
Had fixed the isle afloat before;
And, fearful of his just disdain,
I almost felt it move again.
Her glorious twins Latona bore,
That for her sake the pitying God
Had fixed the isle afloat before;
And, fearful of his just disdain,
I almost felt it move again.
58
For the delicious light that threw
Such clear transparence on the wave,
From the black mastick-bushes drew
Column, and frieze, and architrave,
Like rocks, which, native to the place,
Had something of mysterious grace.
Such clear transparence on the wave,
From the black mastick-bushes drew
Column, and frieze, and architrave,
Like rocks, which, native to the place,
Had something of mysterious grace.
“Strong was the power of Art to bid
Arise such beauty out of stone,
Yet Paros might as well have hid
Its wealth within its breast unknown,
As for brute Nature to regain
The fragments of the fallen fane.
Arise such beauty out of stone,
Yet Paros might as well have hid
Its wealth within its breast unknown,
As for brute Nature to regain
The fragments of the fallen fane.
“Who can rebuild these colonnades
Where met the ancient festal host,
The peasant from Arcadia's glades,
The merchant from Ionia's coast,
Gladdening their Grecian blood to stand
On one religious Fatherland?”
Where met the ancient festal host,
The peasant from Arcadia's glades,
The merchant from Ionia's coast,
Gladdening their Grecian blood to stand
On one religious Fatherland?”
So in my angry discontent
I cried, but calmer thoughts came on,
And gratitude with sorrow blent,
And murmur turned to orison:
I thanked the Gods for what had been,
And Nature for the present scene.
I cried, but calmer thoughts came on,
And gratitude with sorrow blent,
And murmur turned to orison:
I thanked the Gods for what had been,
And Nature for the present scene.
59
I felt that while in Greece remained
Signs of that old heroic show,
Hope, Memory's sister, so sustained,
Would sink not altogether low,
And Grecian hearts once more might be
Combined in powerful amity.
Signs of that old heroic show,
Hope, Memory's sister, so sustained,
Would sink not altogether low,
And Grecian hearts once more might be
Combined in powerful amity.
... Long ere the sun's most curious ray
Had touched the morning's zone of pearl,
I and my boat were far away,
Raised on the water's freshening curl;
And barely 'twixt the rose and blue
The island's rim was still in view.
Had touched the morning's zone of pearl,
I and my boat were far away,
Raised on the water's freshening curl;
And barely 'twixt the rose and blue
The island's rim was still in view.
So Delos rests upon my mind,
A perfect Vision of the night,
A picture by moon-rays designed,
And shaded into black and bright,—
A true Idea borne away,
Untroubled by the dreamless day.
A perfect Vision of the night,
A picture by moon-rays designed,
And shaded into black and bright,—
A true Idea borne away,
Untroubled by the dreamless day.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |