 | Idyls of Norway and other poems |  |
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THE LOST HELLAS.
O for a breath of myrtle and of bay,
And glints of sunny skies through dark leaves flashing,
And dimpling seas beneath a golden day,
Against the strand with soft susurrus plashing!
And fair nude youths, with shouts and laughter dashing
Along the shining beach in martial play!
And rearing 'gainst the sky their snowy portals,
The temples of the glorious Immortals!
And glints of sunny skies through dark leaves flashing,
And dimpling seas beneath a golden day,
Against the strand with soft susurrus plashing!
And fair nude youths, with shouts and laughter dashing
Along the shining beach in martial play!
And rearing 'gainst the sky their snowy portals,
The temples of the glorious Immortals!
Thus oft thou risest, Hellas, from my soul—
A vision of the happy vernal ages,
When men first strove to read life's mystic scroll,
But with the torch of joy lit up its pages;
When with untroubled front the cheerful sages
Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal,
And praised the gods in dance of stately measure,
And stooped to pluck the harmless bud of pleasure.
A vision of the happy vernal ages,
When men first strove to read life's mystic scroll,
But with the torch of joy lit up its pages;
When with untroubled front the cheerful sages
Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal,
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And stooped to pluck the harmless bud of pleasure.
Out of the darkness of the primal night,
Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean,
Thy glory rose—a birthplace for the bright
Sun-god of thought. And freedom, high devotion,
And song, sprung from the fount of pure emotion,
Bloomed in the footsteps of the God of light.
And Night shrank back before the joyous pæan,
And flushed with morning rolled the blue Ægean.
Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean,
Thy glory rose—a birthplace for the bright
Sun-god of thought. And freedom, high devotion,
And song, sprung from the fount of pure emotion,
Bloomed in the footsteps of the God of light.
And Night shrank back before the joyous pæan,
And flushed with morning rolled the blue Ægean.
Then on Olympus reigned a beauteous throng:
The heavens' wide arch by wrathful Zeus was shaken;
Fair Phœbus sped his radiant path along,
The darkling earth from happy sleep to waken;
And wept when by the timorous nymph forsaken,
His passion breathing in complaining song;
And kindled in the bard the sacred fire,
And lured sweet music from the silent lyre.
The heavens' wide arch by wrathful Zeus was shaken;
Fair Phœbus sped his radiant path along,
The darkling earth from happy sleep to waken;
And wept when by the timorous nymph forsaken,
His passion breathing in complaining song;
And kindled in the bard the sacred fire,
And lured sweet music from the silent lyre.
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Then teemed the earth with creatures glad and fair;
A calm, benignant god dwelt in each river,
And through the rippling stream a naiad's bare
White limbs would upward faintly flash and quiver;
Through prisoning bark the dryad's sigh would shiver,
Expiring softly on the languorous air;
And strange low notes, that scarce the blunt sense seizes,
Were zephyr voices whispering in the breezes.
A calm, benignant god dwelt in each river,
And through the rippling stream a naiad's bare
White limbs would upward faintly flash and quiver;
Through prisoning bark the dryad's sigh would shiver,
Expiring softly on the languorous air;
And strange low notes, that scarce the blunt sense seizes,
Were zephyr voices whispering in the breezes.
Chaste Artemis, who guides the lunar car,
The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping,
Sped through the silent space from star to star;
And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping.
And Psyche, on the lonely mountain weeping,
Was clasped to Eros' heart and wandered far
To brave dread Cerberus and the Stygian water,
With that sweet, dauntless trust her love had taught her.
The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping,
Sped through the silent space from star to star;
And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping.
And Psyche, on the lonely mountain weeping,
Was clasped to Eros' heart and wandered far
To brave dread Cerberus and the Stygian water,
With that sweet, dauntless trust her love had taught her.
On Nature's ample, warmly throbbing breast,
Both god and man and beast reposed securely;
And in one large embrace she closely pressed
The sum of being, myriad-shaped but surely
The self-same life; she saw the soul rise purely
Forever upward in its groping quest
For nobler forms; and knew in all creation
The same divinely passionate pulsation.
Both god and man and beast reposed securely;
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The sum of being, myriad-shaped but surely
The self-same life; she saw the soul rise purely
Forever upward in its groping quest
For nobler forms; and knew in all creation
The same divinely passionate pulsation.
Thus rose the legends fair, which faintly light
The misty centuries with their pallid glimmer,
Of fauns who roam on Mount Cithairon's height,
Where through the leaves their sunburnt faces shimmer;
And in cool copses, where the day is dimmer,
You hear the trampling of their herded flight;
And see the tree-tops wave their progress after,
And hear their shouts of wild, immortal laughter.
The misty centuries with their pallid glimmer,
Of fauns who roam on Mount Cithairon's height,
Where through the leaves their sunburnt faces shimmer;
And in cool copses, where the day is dimmer,
You hear the trampling of their herded flight;
And see the tree-tops wave their progress after,
And hear their shouts of wild, immortal laughter.
The vast and foaming life, the fierce desire
Which pulses hotly through the veins of Nature—
Creative rapture and the breath of fire
Which in exalting blight and slay the creature;
The forces seething 'neath each placid feature
Of Nature's visage which our awe inspire—
All glow and throb with fervid hope and gladness
In Dionysus and his sacred madness.
Which pulses hotly through the veins of Nature—
Creative rapture and the breath of fire
Which in exalting blight and slay the creature;
The forces seething 'neath each placid feature
Of Nature's visage which our awe inspire—
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In Dionysus and his sacred madness.
Each year the lovely god with vine-wreathed brow
In dreamy transport roves the young earth over;
The faun that gayly swings the thyrsus bough,
The nymph chased hotly by her satyr lover,
The roguish Cupids 'mid the flowers that hover—
All join his clamorous train, and upward now
Sweep storms of voices through the heavens sonorous
With gusts of song and dithyrambic chorus.
In dreamy transport roves the young earth over;
The faun that gayly swings the thyrsus bough,
The nymph chased hotly by her satyr lover,
The roguish Cupids 'mid the flowers that hover—
All join his clamorous train, and upward now
Sweep storms of voices through the heavens sonorous
With gusts of song and dithyrambic chorus.
But where great Nature guards her secret soul,
Where viewless fountains hum in sylvan closes,
There, leaned against a rugged oak-tree's bole,
Amid the rustling sedges, Pan reposes.
And round about the slumberous sunshine dozes,
While from his pastoral pipe rise sounds of dole;
And through the stillness in the forest reigning,
One hears afar the shrill, sad notes complaining.
Where viewless fountains hum in sylvan closes,
There, leaned against a rugged oak-tree's bole,
Amid the rustling sedges, Pan reposes.
And round about the slumberous sunshine dozes,
While from his pastoral pipe rise sounds of dole;
And through the stillness in the forest reigning,
One hears afar the shrill, sad notes complaining.
Thus, in the olden time, while yet the world
A vale of joy was, and a lovely wonder,
Men plucked the bud within its calyx curled,
Revered the still, sweet life that slept thereunder;
They did not tear the delicate thing asunder
To see its beauty wantonly unfurled,—
They sat at Nature's feet with awed emotion,
Like children listening to the mighty ocean.
A vale of joy was, and a lovely wonder,
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Revered the still, sweet life that slept thereunder;
They did not tear the delicate thing asunder
To see its beauty wantonly unfurled,—
They sat at Nature's feet with awed emotion,
Like children listening to the mighty ocean.
And thus they nobly grew to perfect bloom,
With gaze unclouded, in serene endeavor.
No fever-vision from beyond the tomb
Broke o'er their bright and sunlit pathway ever.
For gently as a kiss came Death to sever
From spirit flesh, and to the realm of gloom
The pallid shades with fearless brow descended
To Hades, by the winged god attended.
With gaze unclouded, in serene endeavor.
No fever-vision from beyond the tomb
Broke o'er their bright and sunlit pathway ever.
For gently as a kiss came Death to sever
From spirit flesh, and to the realm of gloom
The pallid shades with fearless brow descended
To Hades, by the winged god attended.
Why sorrow, then,—with vain petitions seek
The lofty gods in their abodes eternal?
To live is pleasant, and to be a Greek:
To see the earth in garments fresh and vernal;
To watch the fair youths in their sports diurnal,
To feel against your own a maid's warm cheek,
To see from sculptured shrines the smoke ascending,
And with the clouds and ether vaguely blending.
The lofty gods in their abodes eternal?
To live is pleasant, and to be a Greek:
To see the earth in garments fresh and vernal;
To watch the fair youths in their sports diurnal,
To feel against your own a maid's warm cheek,
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And with the clouds and ether vaguely blending.
And sweet it is to hear the noble tongue,
Pure Attic Greek with soft precision spoken!
And ah! to hear its liquid music flung,
In rocking chords and melodies unbroken,
From Homer's stormy harp—the deathless token
That Hellas' Titan soul is strong and young—
Young as the spring that's past, whose name assuages
The gloom and sorrow of the sunless ages.
Pure Attic Greek with soft precision spoken!
And ah! to hear its liquid music flung,
In rocking chords and melodies unbroken,
From Homer's stormy harp—the deathless token
That Hellas' Titan soul is strong and young—
Young as the spring that's past, whose name assuages
The gloom and sorrow of the sunless ages.
Her fanes are shattered and her bards are dead,
But, like a flame from ruins, leaps her glory
Up from her sacred dust, its rays to shed
On alien skies of art and song and story.
Her spirit, rising from her temples hoary,
Through barren climes dispersed, has northward fled;
As, though the flower be dead, its breath may hover,
A homeless fragrance sweet, the meadows over.
But, like a flame from ruins, leaps her glory
Up from her sacred dust, its rays to shed
On alien skies of art and song and story.
Her spirit, rising from her temples hoary,
Through barren climes dispersed, has northward fled;
As, though the flower be dead, its breath may hover,
A homeless fragrance sweet, the meadows over.
| Idyls of Norway and other poems | |