 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
XIX. THE SWAN-SONG OF APOLLO.
1
O Lyre! O Lyre!Strung with celestial fire!
Thou living soul of sound that answereth
These fingers that have troubled thee so long,
With passion, and with music, and with breath
Of melancholy song,—
Answer, answer, answer me,
With thy withering melody!
For the earth is old and strange
Mysteries are working change,
And the Dead who slumber'd deep
Startle troubled from their sleep,
And the ancient gods divine,
Pale and haggard o'er their wine,
Fade in their ghastly banquet-halls, with large eyes fixed on mine!
2
Ah me! ah me!The earth and air and sea
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The roseate mists around them roll away:—
Lo! Hebe listens in the act to fill,
And groweth wan and gray;
On the banquet-table spread,
Fruits and flowers grow sick and dead,
Nectar cold in every cup
Gleams to blood and withers up;
Aphrodité breathes a charm,
Gripping Pallas' bronzëd arm;
Zeus the Father clenches teeth,
While his cloud-throne shakes beneath;
The passion-flower in Heré's hair melts in a snowy wreath!
3
Ah, woe! ah, woe!One climbeth from below,—
A mortal shape with pallid smile divine,
Bearing a heavy Cross and crown'd with thorn,—
His brow is moist with blood, his strange sweet eyne
Look piteous and forlorn:
Hark, O hark! his cold foot-fall
Breaks upon the banquet-hall!
God and goddess start to hear,
Earth, air, ocean, moan in fear;
Shadows of the Cross and Him
Dark the banquet-table dim,
Silent sit the gods divine,
Old and haggard over wine,
And slowly to thy song they fade, with large eyes fixed on mine!
4
O Lyre! O Lyre!Thy strings of golden fire
Fade to their fading, and the hand is chill
That touches thee; the great bright brow grows gray—
I faint, I wither, while that conclave still
Dies wearily away!
Ah, the prophecy of old
Sung by us to smilers cold!—
God and goddess droop and die,
Chilly cold against the sky,
There is change and all is done,
Strange look moon and stars and sun!
God and goddess fade, and see!
All their large eyes look at me!
While woe! ah, woe! in dying song, I fade, I fade, with thee!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |