Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams By Walter Savage Landor: Edited with notes by Charles G. Crump |
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| FROM THE HELLENICS. |
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 | Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams |  |
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FROM THE HELLENICS.
[Come back, ye wandering Muses, come back home]
Come back, ye wandering Muses, come back home,
Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies:
Come, let us walk upon the silent sands
Of Simois, where deep foot-marks show long strides;
Thence we may mount, perhaps, to higher ground,
Where Aphroditè from Athenè won
The golden apple, and from Herè too,
And happy Ares shouted far below.
Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies:
Come, let us walk upon the silent sands
Of Simois, where deep foot-marks show long strides;
Thence we may mount, perhaps, to higher ground,
Where Aphroditè from Athenè won
The golden apple, and from Herè too,
And happy Ares shouted far below.
Or would ye rather choose the grassy vale
Where flow Anapos thro' anemones,
Hyacinths, and narcissuses, that bend
To show their rival beauty in the stream?
Where flow Anapos thro' anemones,
Hyacinths, and narcissuses, that bend
To show their rival beauty in the stream?
Bring with you each her lyre, and each in turn
Temper a graver with a lighter song.
Temper a graver with a lighter song.
THRASYMEDES AND EUNÖE.
Who will away to Athens with me? who
Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers,
Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
I promise ye, as many as are here,
Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste
From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine
Of a low vineyard or a plant ill-pruned,
But such as anciently the Ægean isles
Pour'd in libation at their solemn feasts:
And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embost
With no vile figures of loose languid boors,
But such as Gods have lived with and have led.
Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers,
Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
I promise ye, as many as are here,
Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste
From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine
Of a low vineyard or a plant ill-pruned,
But such as anciently the Ægean isles
Pour'd in libation at their solemn feasts:
And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embost
With no vile figures of loose languid boors,
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The sea smiles bright before us. What white sail
Plays yonder? what pursues it? Like two hawks
Away they fly. Let us away in time
To overtake them. Are they menaces
We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak,
Enraged at her defender? Hippias!
Art thou the man? 'Twas Hippias. He had found
His sister borne from the Cecropian port
By Thrasymedes. And reluctantly?
Ask, ask the maiden; I have no reply.
Plays yonder? what pursues it? Like two hawks
Away they fly. Let us away in time
To overtake them. Are they menaces
We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak,
Enraged at her defender? Hippias!
Art thou the man? 'Twas Hippias. He had found
His sister borne from the Cecropian port
By Thrasymedes. And reluctantly?
Ask, ask the maiden; I have no reply.
“Brother! O brother Hippias! O, if love,
If pity, ever toucht thy breast, forbear!
Strike not the brave, the gentle, the beloved,
My Thrasymedes, with his cloak alone
Protecting his own head and mine from harm.”
“Didst thou not once before,” cried Hippias,
Regardless of his sister, hoarse with wrath
At Thrasymedes, “didst not thou, dog-eyed,
Dare, as she walkt up to the Parthenon,
On the most holy of all holy days,
In sight of all the city, dare to kiss
Her maiden cheek?”
If pity, ever toucht thy breast, forbear!
Strike not the brave, the gentle, the beloved,
My Thrasymedes, with his cloak alone
Protecting his own head and mine from harm.”
“Didst thou not once before,” cried Hippias,
Regardless of his sister, hoarse with wrath
At Thrasymedes, “didst not thou, dog-eyed,
Dare, as she walkt up to the Parthenon,
On the most holy of all holy days,
In sight of all the city, dare to kiss
Her maiden cheek?”
“Ay, before all the Gods,
Ay, before Pallas, before Artemis,
Ay, before Aphrodite, before Heré,
I dared; and dare again. Arise, my spouse!
Arise! and let my lips quaff purity
From thy fair open brow.”
Ay, before Pallas, before Artemis,
Ay, before Aphrodite, before Heré,
I dared; and dare again. Arise, my spouse!
Arise! and let my lips quaff purity
From thy fair open brow.”
The sword was up,
And yet he kist her twice. Some God withheld
The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seeth'd slower
And smote his breast less angrily; he laid
His hand on the white shoulder, and spake thus:
“Ye must return with me. A second time
Offended, will our sire Pisistratos
Pardon the affront? Thou shouldst have askt thyself
This question ere the sail first flapt the mast.”
“Already thou hast taken life from me;
Put up thy sword,” said the sad youth, his eyes
Sparkling; but whether love or rage or grief
They sparkled with, the Gods alone could see.
Piræeus they re-entered, and their ship
Drove up the little waves against the quay,
Whence was thrown out a rope from one above,
And Hippias caught it. From the virgin's waist
Her lover dropt his arm, and blusht to think
He had retain'd it there in sight of rude
Irreverent men: he led her forth, nor spake.
Hippias walkt silent too, until they reacht
The mansion of Pisistratos her sire.
Serenely in his sternness did the prince
Look on them both awhile: they saw not him,
For both had cast their eyes upon the ground
“Are these the pirates thou hast taken, son?”
Said he. “Worse, father! worse than pirates they,
Who thus abuse thy patience, thus abuse
Thy pardon, thus abuse the holy rites
Twice over.”
And yet he kist her twice. Some God withheld
The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seeth'd slower
And smote his breast less angrily; he laid
His hand on the white shoulder, and spake thus:
“Ye must return with me. A second time
Offended, will our sire Pisistratos
Pardon the affront? Thou shouldst have askt thyself
This question ere the sail first flapt the mast.”
“Already thou hast taken life from me;
284
Sparkling; but whether love or rage or grief
They sparkled with, the Gods alone could see.
Piræeus they re-entered, and their ship
Drove up the little waves against the quay,
Whence was thrown out a rope from one above,
And Hippias caught it. From the virgin's waist
Her lover dropt his arm, and blusht to think
He had retain'd it there in sight of rude
Irreverent men: he led her forth, nor spake.
Hippias walkt silent too, until they reacht
The mansion of Pisistratos her sire.
Serenely in his sternness did the prince
Look on them both awhile: they saw not him,
For both had cast their eyes upon the ground
“Are these the pirates thou hast taken, son?”
Said he. “Worse, father! worse than pirates they,
Who thus abuse thy patience, thus abuse
Thy pardon, thus abuse the holy rites
Twice over.”
“Well hast thou performed thy duty,”
Firmly and gravely said Pisistratos.
“Nothing then, rash young man! could turn thy heart
From Eunöe, my daughter?”
Firmly and gravely said Pisistratos.
“Nothing then, rash young man! could turn thy heart
From Eunöe, my daughter?”
“Nothing, sir,
Shall ever turn it. I can die but once
And love but once. O Eunöe! farewell!”
“Nay, she shall see what thou canst bear for her.”
“O father! shut me in my chamber, shut me
In my poor mother's tomb, dead or alive,
But never let me see what he can bear;
I know how much that is, when borne for me.”
“Not yet: come on. And lag not thou behind,
Pirate of virgin and of princely hearts!
Before the people and before the Goddess
Thou hadst evinced the madness of thy passion,
And now wouldst bear from home and plenteousness
To poverty and exile this my child.”
Then shuddered Thrasymedes, and exclaim'd,
“I see my crime; I saw it not before.
The daughter of Pisistratos was born
Neither for exile nor for poverty,
Ah! nor for me!” He would have wept, but one
Might see him, and weep worse. The prince unmoved
Strode on, and said, “To-morrow shall the people,
All who beheld thy trespasses, behold
The justice of Pisistratos, the love
He bears his daughter, and the reverence
In which he holds the highest law of God.”
Shall ever turn it. I can die but once
And love but once. O Eunöe! farewell!”
“Nay, she shall see what thou canst bear for her.”
“O father! shut me in my chamber, shut me
In my poor mother's tomb, dead or alive,
But never let me see what he can bear;
I know how much that is, when borne for me.”
“Not yet: come on. And lag not thou behind,
Pirate of virgin and of princely hearts!
Before the people and before the Goddess
Thou hadst evinced the madness of thy passion,
And now wouldst bear from home and plenteousness
To poverty and exile this my child.”
Then shuddered Thrasymedes, and exclaim'd,
285
The daughter of Pisistratos was born
Neither for exile nor for poverty,
Ah! nor for me!” He would have wept, but one
Might see him, and weep worse. The prince unmoved
Strode on, and said, “To-morrow shall the people,
All who beheld thy trespasses, behold
The justice of Pisistratos, the love
He bears his daughter, and the reverence
In which he holds the highest law of God.”
He spake; and on the morrow they were one.
ICARIOS AND ERIGONÈ.
Improvident were once the Attic youths,
As (if we may believe the credulous
And testy) various youths have been elsewhere.
But truly such was their improvidence,
Ere Pallas in compassion was their guide,
They never stowed away the fruits of earth
For winter use; nor knew they how to press
Olive or grape: yet hospitality
Sate at the hearth, and there was mirth and song.
Wealthy and generous in the Attic land,
Icarios! wert thou; and Erigonè,
Thy daughter, gave with hearty glee the milk,
Buzzing in froth beneath unsteady goat,
To many who stopt near her; some for thirst,
And some to see upon its back that hand
So white and small and taper, and await
Until she should arise and show her face.
The father wisht her not to leave his house,
Nor she to leave her father; yet there sued
From all the country round both brave and rich;
Some, nor the wealthier of her wooers, drove
Full fifty slant-brow'd kingly-hearted swine,
Reluctant ever to be led aright,
Race autocratical, autochthon race,
Lords of the woods, fed by the tree of Jove.
Some had three ploughs; some had eight oxen; some
Had vines, on oak, on maple, and on elm,
In long and strait and gleamy avenues,
Which would have tired you had you reacht the end
Without the unshapen steps that led beyond
Up the steep hill to where they lean'd on poles.
Yet kind the father was, and kind the maid.
And now when winter blew the chaff about,
And hens pursued the grain into the house,
Quarrelsome and indignant at repulse,
And rushing back again with ruffled neck,
They and their brood; and kids blinkt at the brand,
And bee-nosed oxen, with damp nostrils lowered
Against the threshold, stampt the dogs away;
Icarios, viewing these with thoughtful mind,
Said to Erigonè, “Not scantily
The Gods have given us these birds, and these
Short-bleating kids, and these loose-hided steers.
The Gods have given: to them will we devote
A portion of their benefits, and bid
The youths who love and honour us partake:
So shall their hearts, and so shall ours, rejoice.”
The youths were bidden to the feast: the flesh
Of kid and crested bird was plentiful:
The steam hung on the rafters, where were nail'd
Bushes of savory herbs, and figs and dates;
And yellow-pointed pears sent down long stalks
Through nets wide-mesht, work of Erigonè
When night was long and lamp yet unsupplied.
Choice grapes Icarios had; and these, alone
Of all men in the country, he preserved
For festive days; nor better day than this
To bring them from beneath his reed-thatcht roof.
He mounted the twelve stairs with hearty pride,
And soon was heard he, breathing hard: he now
Descended, holding in both arms a cask,
Fictile, capacious, bulging: cork-tree bark
Secured the treasure; wax above the mouth,
And pitch above the wax. The pitch he brake,
The wax he scraped away, and laid them by,
Wrenching up carefully the cork-tree bark.
A hum was heard. “What! are there bees within?”
Euphorbas cried. “They came then with the grapes,”
Replied the elder, and pour'd out clear juice
Fragrant as flowers, and wrinkled husks anon.
“The ghosts of grapes?” cried Phanor, fond of jokes
Within the house, but ever abstinent
Of such as that in woodland and alone,
Where any sylvan God might overhear.
No few were saddened at the ill-omen'd word,
But sniffing the sweet odour, bent their heads,
Tasted, sipt, drank, ingurgitated: fear
Flew from them all, joy rusht to every breast,
Friendship grew warmer, hands were join'd, vows sworn.
From cups of every size, from cups two-ear'd,
From ivy-twisted and from smooth alike,
They dash the water; they pour in the wine;
(For wine it was) until that hour unseen.
They emptied the whole cask; and they alone;
For both the father and the daughter sate
Enjoying their delight. But when they saw
Flusht faces, and when angry words arose
As one more fondly glanced against the cheek
Of the fair maiden on her seat apart,
And she lookt down, or lookt another way
Where other eyes caught hers and did the like,
Sadly the sire, the daughter fearfully,
Upon each other fixt wide-open eyes.
This did the men remark, and, bearing signs
Different, as were their tempers, of the wine,
But feeling each the floor reel under him,
Each raging with more thirst at every draught,
Acastor first (sidelong his step) arose,
Then Phanor, then Antyllos:
As (if we may believe the credulous
And testy) various youths have been elsewhere.
But truly such was their improvidence,
Ere Pallas in compassion was their guide,
They never stowed away the fruits of earth
For winter use; nor knew they how to press
Olive or grape: yet hospitality
Sate at the hearth, and there was mirth and song.
Wealthy and generous in the Attic land,
Icarios! wert thou; and Erigonè,
Thy daughter, gave with hearty glee the milk,
Buzzing in froth beneath unsteady goat,
To many who stopt near her; some for thirst,
And some to see upon its back that hand
So white and small and taper, and await
Until she should arise and show her face.
The father wisht her not to leave his house,
Nor she to leave her father; yet there sued
From all the country round both brave and rich;
Some, nor the wealthier of her wooers, drove
Full fifty slant-brow'd kingly-hearted swine,
286
Race autocratical, autochthon race,
Lords of the woods, fed by the tree of Jove.
Some had three ploughs; some had eight oxen; some
Had vines, on oak, on maple, and on elm,
In long and strait and gleamy avenues,
Which would have tired you had you reacht the end
Without the unshapen steps that led beyond
Up the steep hill to where they lean'd on poles.
Yet kind the father was, and kind the maid.
And now when winter blew the chaff about,
And hens pursued the grain into the house,
Quarrelsome and indignant at repulse,
And rushing back again with ruffled neck,
They and their brood; and kids blinkt at the brand,
And bee-nosed oxen, with damp nostrils lowered
Against the threshold, stampt the dogs away;
Icarios, viewing these with thoughtful mind,
Said to Erigonè, “Not scantily
The Gods have given us these birds, and these
Short-bleating kids, and these loose-hided steers.
The Gods have given: to them will we devote
A portion of their benefits, and bid
The youths who love and honour us partake:
So shall their hearts, and so shall ours, rejoice.”
The youths were bidden to the feast: the flesh
Of kid and crested bird was plentiful:
The steam hung on the rafters, where were nail'd
Bushes of savory herbs, and figs and dates;
And yellow-pointed pears sent down long stalks
Through nets wide-mesht, work of Erigonè
When night was long and lamp yet unsupplied.
Choice grapes Icarios had; and these, alone
Of all men in the country, he preserved
For festive days; nor better day than this
To bring them from beneath his reed-thatcht roof.
He mounted the twelve stairs with hearty pride,
And soon was heard he, breathing hard: he now
Descended, holding in both arms a cask,
287
Secured the treasure; wax above the mouth,
And pitch above the wax. The pitch he brake,
The wax he scraped away, and laid them by,
Wrenching up carefully the cork-tree bark.
A hum was heard. “What! are there bees within?”
Euphorbas cried. “They came then with the grapes,”
Replied the elder, and pour'd out clear juice
Fragrant as flowers, and wrinkled husks anon.
“The ghosts of grapes?” cried Phanor, fond of jokes
Within the house, but ever abstinent
Of such as that in woodland and alone,
Where any sylvan God might overhear.
No few were saddened at the ill-omen'd word,
But sniffing the sweet odour, bent their heads,
Tasted, sipt, drank, ingurgitated: fear
Flew from them all, joy rusht to every breast,
Friendship grew warmer, hands were join'd, vows sworn.
From cups of every size, from cups two-ear'd,
From ivy-twisted and from smooth alike,
They dash the water; they pour in the wine;
(For wine it was) until that hour unseen.
They emptied the whole cask; and they alone;
For both the father and the daughter sate
Enjoying their delight. But when they saw
Flusht faces, and when angry words arose
As one more fondly glanced against the cheek
Of the fair maiden on her seat apart,
And she lookt down, or lookt another way
Where other eyes caught hers and did the like,
Sadly the sire, the daughter fearfully,
Upon each other fixt wide-open eyes.
This did the men remark, and, bearing signs
Different, as were their tempers, of the wine,
But feeling each the floor reel under him,
Each raging with more thirst at every draught,
Acastor first (sidelong his step) arose,
Then Phanor, then Antyllos:
“Zeus above
Confound thee, cursed wretch!” aloud they cried,
“Is this thy hospitality? must all
Who loved thy daughter perish at a blow?
Not at a blow, but like the flies and wasps.”
Madness had seiz'd them all. Erigonè
Ran out for help; what help? Before her sprang
Mœra, and howl'd and barkt, and then return'd
Presaging. They had dragg'd the old man out
And murdered him. Again flew Mœra forth,
Faithful, compassionate, and seiz'd her vest,
And drew her where the body lay, unclosed
The eyes, and rais'd toward the stars of heaven.
288
“Is this thy hospitality? must all
Who loved thy daughter perish at a blow?
Not at a blow, but like the flies and wasps.”
Madness had seiz'd them all. Erigonè
Ran out for help; what help? Before her sprang
Mœra, and howl'd and barkt, and then return'd
Presaging. They had dragg'd the old man out
And murdered him. Again flew Mœra forth,
Faithful, compassionate, and seiz'd her vest,
And drew her where the body lay, unclosed
The eyes, and rais'd toward the stars of heaven.
Thou who hast listened, and still ponderest,
Raise thine, for thou hast heard enough, raise thine
And view Böotes bright among those stars,
Brighter the Virgin: Mœra too shines there.
But where were the Eumenides? Repress
Thy anger. If the clear calm stars above
Appease it not, and blood must flow for blood,
Harken, and hear the sequel of the tale.
Wide-seeing Zeus lookt down; as mortals knew
By the woods bending under his dark eye,
And huge towers shuddering on the mountain-tops,
And stillness in the valley, in the wold,
And over the deep waters all round earth.
He lifted up his arm, but struck them not
In their abasement: by each other's blow
They fell; some suddenly; but more beneath
The desperate gasp of long-enduring wounds.
Raise thine, for thou hast heard enough, raise thine
And view Böotes bright among those stars,
Brighter the Virgin: Mœra too shines there.
But where were the Eumenides? Repress
Thy anger. If the clear calm stars above
Appease it not, and blood must flow for blood,
Harken, and hear the sequel of the tale.
Wide-seeing Zeus lookt down; as mortals knew
By the woods bending under his dark eye,
And huge towers shuddering on the mountain-tops,
And stillness in the valley, in the wold,
And over the deep waters all round earth.
He lifted up his arm, but struck them not
In their abasement: by each other's blow
They fell; some suddenly; but more beneath
The desperate gasp of long-enduring wounds.
THE CHILDREN OF VENUS.
Twain are the sons of Venus: one beholds
Our globe in gladness, while his brother's eye
Casts graver glances down, nor cares for woods
Or song, unworthy of the name of Love.
Nothing is sweet to him, as pure and cold
As rain and Eurus.
Our globe in gladness, while his brother's eye
Casts graver glances down, nor cares for woods
Or song, unworthy of the name of Love.
Nothing is sweet to him, as pure and cold
As rain and Eurus.
289
What dissension thus
Severed the beauteous pair? Ambition did.
With heavy heart the elder bore that he
Whom often with an arrow in his hand
He saw, and whetstone under it, and knew
To spend the day entire in weaving flowers
Or drawing nets, as might be, over birds,
That he should have men's incense, he have shrines,
While only empty honour, silent prayer,
Was offered to himself.
Severed the beauteous pair? Ambition did.
With heavy heart the elder bore that he
Whom often with an arrow in his hand
He saw, and whetstone under it, and knew
To spend the day entire in weaving flowers
Or drawing nets, as might be, over birds,
That he should have men's incense, he have shrines,
While only empty honour, silent prayer,
Was offered to himself.
On this he goes
And makes Silenus arbiter. The eld
With gentle speech would fain assuage his wrath;
It rises but the higher: he bids him call
The Idalian to his presence, then decide.
And makes Silenus arbiter. The eld
With gentle speech would fain assuage his wrath;
It rises but the higher: he bids him call
The Idalian to his presence, then decide.
With downcast eye, and drooping wing, and cheek
Suffused with shame, the little one advanced,
And “Brother! did you call me? Then at last
The poor Idalian is not quite despised?”
The kindly arbiter in vain attempts
To bring together two such potent hands.
Suffused with shame, the little one advanced,
And “Brother! did you call me? Then at last
The poor Idalian is not quite despised?”
The kindly arbiter in vain attempts
To bring together two such potent hands.
“No,” said the taller; “I am here for this,
This only, that he learn, and by defeat,
What is my power.”
This only, that he learn, and by defeat,
What is my power.”
Hereon Silenus, “Go!
Kiss first: then both (but with no enemy)
In power and honour safely may contend.”
Kiss first: then both (but with no enemy)
In power and honour safely may contend.”
The younger leaps upon the elder's neck
And kisses it and kisses it again:
The austerer could not, tho' he would, resist
Those rapid lips; one kiss he did return,
Whether the influence of the God prevail'd,
Or whether 'tis impossible to stand
Repelling constantly a kindly heart.
But neither his proud words did he remit
Nor resolution: he began to boast
How with his radiant fire he had reduced
The ancient Chaos; how from heaven he drove
The darkness that surrounded it, and drew
Into their places the reluctant stars,
And made some stand before him, others go
Beyond illimitable space; then curb'd
The raging sea and chain'd with rocks around.
And kisses it and kisses it again:
The austerer could not, tho' he would, resist
Those rapid lips; one kiss he did return,
Whether the influence of the God prevail'd,
Or whether 'tis impossible to stand
Repelling constantly a kindly heart.
But neither his proud words did he remit
Nor resolution: he began to boast
How with his radiant fire he had reduced
The ancient Chaos; how from heaven he drove
The darkness that surrounded it, and drew
290
And made some stand before him, others go
Beyond illimitable space; then curb'd
The raging sea and chain'd with rocks around.
“Is not all this enough for you?” exclaimed
The brother; “must my little realm be stript
Of every glory? You will make me proud
In speech, refusing what is justly due.
Upon my birth the golden ether smiled.
What Chaos was I know not, I confess;
I would let every star fly where it list,
Nor try to turn it: her who rules them all
I drew behind the Latmian cliffs; she prayed,
She promist ever to perform my will
Would I but once be friendly. 'Twas her first,
'Twas her last vow . . and it was made to me.
Now you alike inhabit the same heaven,
And she must know you, yet none other Love
Acknowledges save him whom you despise.
To me what matter are the raging seas,
Curb'd or uncurb'd, in chains or out of chains?
I penetrate the uttermost retreat
Of Nereus; I command, and from the deep
Dolphins rise up and give their pliant backs
For harps to grate against and songmen ride;
And, when I will'd it, they have fondly wept
For human creatures human tears, and laid
Their weary lives down on the dry sea-sand.
Desert thou some one, and he knows it not;
Let me desert him, let me but recede
One footstep, and funereal fire consumes
His inmost heart.
The brother; “must my little realm be stript
Of every glory? You will make me proud
In speech, refusing what is justly due.
Upon my birth the golden ether smiled.
What Chaos was I know not, I confess;
I would let every star fly where it list,
Nor try to turn it: her who rules them all
I drew behind the Latmian cliffs; she prayed,
She promist ever to perform my will
Would I but once be friendly. 'Twas her first,
'Twas her last vow . . and it was made to me.
Now you alike inhabit the same heaven,
And she must know you, yet none other Love
Acknowledges save him whom you despise.
To me what matter are the raging seas,
Curb'd or uncurb'd, in chains or out of chains?
I penetrate the uttermost retreat
Of Nereus; I command, and from the deep
Dolphins rise up and give their pliant backs
For harps to grate against and songmen ride;
And, when I will'd it, they have fondly wept
For human creatures human tears, and laid
Their weary lives down on the dry sea-sand.
Desert thou some one, and he knows it not;
Let me desert him, let me but recede
One footstep, and funereal fire consumes
His inmost heart.
“The latest guest above
With basket overturn'd and broken thread
Lay lithe as new-mown grass before the gate
Of Omphale: a fondled whelp tug'd off
The lion-skin, and left athwart his breast.
Vast things and wonderful are those you boast.
I would say nothing of the higher Powers,
Lest it might chafe you. How the world turns round
I know not, or who tempers the extremes
Of heat and cold and regulates the tides.
I leave them all to you: give me instead
Dances and crowns and garlands; give the lyre,
And softer music of the river-side
Where the stream laps the sallow-leaves, and breaks
The quiet converse of the whispering reeds:
Give me, for I delight in them, the clefts
Of bank o'ergrown by moss's soft deceit.
I wish but to be happy: others say
That I am powerful: whether so or not
Let facts bear witness: in the sun, the shade,
Beneath the setting and the rising stars
Let these speak out; I keep them not in mind.”
With basket overturn'd and broken thread
Lay lithe as new-mown grass before the gate
Of Omphale: a fondled whelp tug'd off
The lion-skin, and left athwart his breast.
Vast things and wonderful are those you boast.
I would say nothing of the higher Powers,
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I know not, or who tempers the extremes
Of heat and cold and regulates the tides.
I leave them all to you: give me instead
Dances and crowns and garlands; give the lyre,
And softer music of the river-side
Where the stream laps the sallow-leaves, and breaks
The quiet converse of the whispering reeds:
Give me, for I delight in them, the clefts
Of bank o'ergrown by moss's soft deceit.
I wish but to be happy: others say
That I am powerful: whether so or not
Let facts bear witness: in the sun, the shade,
Beneath the setting and the rising stars
Let these speak out; I keep them not in mind.”
“Scarce less thy promises,” the other cried.
He smiled and own'd it.
He smiled and own'd it.
“You will soon educe
Bolder assertion of important deeds
Who things terrestial haughtily despise.
Decline your presence at the blissful couch,
And boast you never make those promises
Which make so many happy, but with eye
Averted from them gaze into the deep,
Yet tell me, tell me, solemn one, that swearest
By that dark river only, who compel'd
Pluto to burn amid the deepest shades,
Amid the windings of the Stygian stream
And panting Phlegethon? while barkt the dog
Three-throated, so that all his realm resounds.
And who (here lies the potency) who made
The griesly Pluto please the captive bride?
Mere sport! If graver, better, things you want,
This is the hand, and this the torch it held
(You might have heard each drop the Danäid
Let fall, Ixion's wheel you might have heard
Creak, as now first without his groans it roll'd)
When the fond husband claspt Eurydice,
And the fond wife the earliest slain at Troy.”
Bolder assertion of important deeds
Who things terrestial haughtily despise.
Decline your presence at the blissful couch,
And boast you never make those promises
Which make so many happy, but with eye
Averted from them gaze into the deep,
Yet tell me, tell me, solemn one, that swearest
By that dark river only, who compel'd
Pluto to burn amid the deepest shades,
Amid the windings of the Stygian stream
And panting Phlegethon? while barkt the dog
Three-throated, so that all his realm resounds.
And who (here lies the potency) who made
The griesly Pluto please the captive bride?
Mere sport! If graver, better, things you want,
This is the hand, and this the torch it held
(You might have heard each drop the Danäid
Let fall, Ixion's wheel you might have heard
Creak, as now first without his groans it roll'd)
When the fond husband claspt Eurydice,
And the fond wife the earliest slain at Troy.”
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The arbiter embraced him: more composed
He turn'd toward the other and pronounced
This sentence.
He turn'd toward the other and pronounced
This sentence.
“O most worthy of thy sire
The Thunderer! to thy guidance I commit
The stars (if he approve of it) and storms
And seas, and rocks coercing their uproar,
If Amphitrite smile, if Neptune bend.
But, O thou smaller one of lighter wing,
Source of the genial laugh and dulcet smile,
Who makest every sun shed softer rays,
And one sole night outvalue all that shine,
Who holdest back (what Jove could never do)
The flying Hours! thou askest nought beyond;
And this do I award thee. I bestow
On thee alone the gentle hand hand-linkt . .
Thy truest bond . . on thee the flowers, the lyre,
The river's whispers which the reeds increase,
The spring to weave thy trophies, the whole year
To warm and fill it with the balm of spring.
Only do thou” . . he whispered in the ear
Of Love, and blusht in whispering it . . “incline
Ianthe . . touch her gently . . just the point . .
Nor let that other know where thou hast aim'd.”
The Thunderer! to thy guidance I commit
The stars (if he approve of it) and storms
And seas, and rocks coercing their uproar,
If Amphitrite smile, if Neptune bend.
But, O thou smaller one of lighter wing,
Source of the genial laugh and dulcet smile,
Who makest every sun shed softer rays,
And one sole night outvalue all that shine,
Who holdest back (what Jove could never do)
The flying Hours! thou askest nought beyond;
And this do I award thee. I bestow
On thee alone the gentle hand hand-linkt . .
Thy truest bond . . on thee the flowers, the lyre,
The river's whispers which the reeds increase,
The spring to weave thy trophies, the whole year
To warm and fill it with the balm of spring.
Only do thou” . . he whispered in the ear
Of Love, and blusht in whispering it . . “incline
Ianthe . . touch her gently . . just the point . .
Nor let that other know where thou hast aim'd.”
THE HAMADRYAD.
Rhaicos was born amid the hills wherefrom
Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd,
And small are the white-crested that play near,
And smaller onward are the purple waves.
Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd
With rose and myrtle if they were inborn;
If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast
Where stern Athenè raised her citadel,
Then olive was intwined with violets
Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large.
For various men wore various coronals;
But one was their devotion: 'twas to her
Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws
The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,
And whom in his chill caves the mutable
Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,
And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath pray'd
To turn in pity the averted cheek
Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx itself,
To give her daily more and sweeter flowers
Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell.
Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd,
And small are the white-crested that play near,
And smaller onward are the purple waves.
Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd
With rose and myrtle if they were inborn;
If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast
Where stern Athenè raised her citadel,
Then olive was intwined with violets
Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large.
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But one was their devotion: 'twas to her
Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws
The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,
And whom in his chill caves the mutable
Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,
And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath pray'd
To turn in pity the averted cheek
Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx itself,
To give her daily more and sweeter flowers
Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell.
Rhaicos was looking from his father's door
At the long trains that hastened to the town
From all the valleys, like bright rivulets
Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave,
And thought it hard he might not also go
And offer up one prayer, and press one hand,
He knew not whose. The father call'd him in,
And said, “Son Rhaicos! those are idle games;
Long enough I have lived to find them so.”
And ere he ended, sighed; as old men do
Always, to think how idle such games are.
“I have not yet,” thought Rhaicos in his heart,
And wanted proof.
At the long trains that hastened to the town
From all the valleys, like bright rivulets
Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave,
And thought it hard he might not also go
And offer up one prayer, and press one hand,
He knew not whose. The father call'd him in,
And said, “Son Rhaicos! those are idle games;
Long enough I have lived to find them so.”
And ere he ended, sighed; as old men do
Always, to think how idle such games are.
“I have not yet,” thought Rhaicos in his heart,
And wanted proof.
“Suppose thou go and help
Echeion at the hill, to bark yon oak
And lop its branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe:
This we may do in winter.”
Echeion at the hill, to bark yon oak
And lop its branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe:
This we may do in winter.”
Rhaicos went;
For thence he could see farther, and see more
Of those who hurried to the city-gate.
Echeion he found there, with naked arm
Swart-hair'd, strong-sinew'd, and his eyes intent
Upon the place where first the axe should fall:
He held it upright. “There are bees about,
Or wasps, or hornets,” said the cautious eld,
“Look sharp, O son of Thallinos!” The youth
Inclined his ear, afar, and warily,
And cavern'd in his hand. He heard a buzz
At first, and then the sound grew soft and clear,
And then divided into what seem'd tune,
And there were words upon it, plaintive words.
He turn'd, and said, “Echeion! do not strike
That tree: it must be hollow; for some God
Speaks from within. Come thyself near.” Again
Both turn'd toward it: and behold! there sat
Upon the moss below, with her two palms
Pressing it on each side, a maid in form.
Downcast were her long eyelashes, and pale
Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd
Berries of colour like her lips so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering, like the face beneath.
For thence he could see farther, and see more
Of those who hurried to the city-gate.
Echeion he found there, with naked arm
Swart-hair'd, strong-sinew'd, and his eyes intent
Upon the place where first the axe should fall:
He held it upright. “There are bees about,
Or wasps, or hornets,” said the cautious eld,
“Look sharp, O son of Thallinos!” The youth
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And cavern'd in his hand. He heard a buzz
At first, and then the sound grew soft and clear,
And then divided into what seem'd tune,
And there were words upon it, plaintive words.
He turn'd, and said, “Echeion! do not strike
That tree: it must be hollow; for some God
Speaks from within. Come thyself near.” Again
Both turn'd toward it: and behold! there sat
Upon the moss below, with her two palms
Pressing it on each side, a maid in form.
Downcast were her long eyelashes, and pale
Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd
Berries of colour like her lips so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering, like the face beneath.
“What dost thou here?” Echeion, half-afraid,
Half-angry, cried. She lifted up her eyes,
But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step
Backward, for fear came likewise over him,
But not such fear: he panted, gaspt, drew in
His breath, and would have turn'd it into words,
But could not into one.
Half-angry, cried. She lifted up her eyes,
But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step
Backward, for fear came likewise over him,
But not such fear: he panted, gaspt, drew in
His breath, and would have turn'd it into words,
But could not into one.
“O send away
That sad old man!” said she. The old man went
Without a warning from his master's son,
Glad to escape, for sorely he now fear'd,
And the axe shone behind him in their eyes.
Hamadryad.
That sad old man!” said she. The old man went
Without a warning from his master's son,
Glad to escape, for sorely he now fear'd,
And the axe shone behind him in their eyes.
And wouldst thou too shed the most innocent
Of blood? no vow demands it; no God wills
The oak to bleed.
Rhaicos.
Who art thou? whence? why here?
And whither wouldst thou go? Among the robed
In white or saffron, or the hue that most
Resembles dawn or the clear sky, is none
Array'd as thou art. What so beautiful
As that gray robe which clings about thee close,
Like moss to stones adhering, leaves to trees,
Yet lets thy bosom rise and fall in turn,
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Of graceful platane by the river-side.
Hamadryad.
Lovest thou well thy father's house?
Rhaicos.
Indeed
I love it, well I love it, yet would leave
For thine, where'er it be, my father's house,
With all the marks upon the door, that show
My growth at every birth-day since the third,
And all the charms, o'erpowering evil eyes,
My mother nail'd for me against my bed,
And the Cydonian bow (which thou shalt see)
Won in my race last spring from Eutychos.
Hamadryad.
Bethink thee what it is to leave a home
Thou never yet hast left, one night, one day.
Rhaicos.
No, 'tis not hard to leave it; 'tis not hard
To leave, O maiden, that paternal home,
If there be one on earth whom we may love
First, last, for ever; one who says that she
Will love for ever too. To say which word,
Only to say it, surely is enough . .
It shows such kindness . . if 'twere possible
We at the moment think she would indeed.
Hamadryad.
Who taught thee all this folly at thy age?
Rhaicos.
I have seen lovers and have learnt to love.
Hamadryad.
But wilt thou spare the tree?
Rhaicos.
My father wants
The bark; the tree may hold its place awhile.
Hamadryad.
Awhile! thy father numbers then my days?
Rhaicos.
Are there no others where the moss beneath
Is quite as tufty? Who would send thee forth
Or ask thee why thou tarriest? Is thy flock
Anywhere near?
Hamadryad.
I have no flock: I kill
Nothing that breathes, that stirs, that feels the air,
The sun, the dew. Why should the beautiful
(And thou art beautiful) disturb the source
Whence springs all beauty? Hast thou never heard
Of Hamadryads?
Rhaicos.
Heard of them I have:
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Beside thy feet? Art thou not tired? The herbs
Are very soft; I will not come too nigh;
Do but sit there, nor tremble so, nor doubt.
Stay, stay an instant: let me first explore
If any acorn of last year be left
Within it; thy thin robe too ill protects
Thy dainty limbs against the harm one small
Acorn may do. Here's none. Another day
Trust me; till then let me sit opposite.
Hamadryad.
I seat me; be thou seated, and content.
Rhaicos.
O sight for gods! Ye men below! adore
The Aphroditè. Is she there below?
Or sits she here before me? as she sate
Before the shepherd on those highths that shade
The Hellespont, and brought his kindred woe.
Hamadryad.
Reverence the higher Powers; nor deem amiss
Of her who pleads to thee, and would repay . .
Ask not how much . . but very much. Rise not:
No, Rhaicos, no! Without the nuptial vow
Love is unholy. Swear to me that none
Of mortal maids shall ever taste thy kiss,
Then take thou mine; then take it, not before.
Rhaicos.
Hearken, all gods above! O Aphroditè!
O Herè! let my vow be ratified!
But wilt thou come into my father's house?
Hamadryad.
Nay: and of mine I can not give thee part.
Rhaicos.
Where is it?
Hamadryad.
In this oak.
Rhaicos.
Ay; now begins
The tale of Hamadryad: tell it through.
Hamadryad.
Pray of thy father never to cut down
My tree; and promise him, as well thou mayst,
That every year he shall receive from me
More honey than will buy him nine fat sheep,
More wax than he will burn to all the gods.
Why fallest thou upon thy face? Some thorn
May scratch it, rash young man! Rise up; for shame!
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For shame I can not rise. O pity me!
I dare not sue for love . . but do not hate!
Let me once more behold thee . . not once more,
But many days: let me love on . . unloved!
I aimed too high: on my head the bolt
Falls back, and pierces to the very brain.
Hamadryad.
Go . . rather go, than make me say I love.
Rhaicos.
If happiness is immortality,
(And whence enjoy it else the gods above?)
I am immortal too: my vow is heard:
Hark! on the left . . Nay, turn not from me now,
I claim my kiss.
Hamadryad.
Do men take first, then claim?
Do thus the seasons run their course with them?
. . Her lips were seal'd, her head sank on his breast.
'Tis said that laughs were heard within the wood:
But who should hear them? . . and whose laughs? and why?
'Tis said that laughs were heard within the wood:
But who should hear them? . . and whose laughs? and why?
Savoury was the smell, and long past noon,
Thallinos! in thy house; for marjoram,
Basil and mint, and thyme and rosemary,
Were sprinkled on the kid's well roasted length,
Awaiting Rhaicos. Home he came at last,
Not hungry, but pretending hunger keen,
With head and eyes just o'er the maple plate.
“Thou seest but badly, coming from the sun,
Boy Rhaicos!” said the father. “That oak's bark
Must have been tough, with little sap between;
It ought to run; but it and I are old.”
Rhaicos, although each morsel of the bread
Increast by chewing, and the meat grew cold
And tasteless to his palate, took a draught
Of gold-bright wine, which, thirsty as he was,
He thought not of until his father fill'd
The cup, averring water was amiss,
But wine had been at all times pour'd on kid,
It was religion.
Thallinos! in thy house; for marjoram,
Basil and mint, and thyme and rosemary,
Were sprinkled on the kid's well roasted length,
Awaiting Rhaicos. Home he came at last,
Not hungry, but pretending hunger keen,
With head and eyes just o'er the maple plate.
“Thou seest but badly, coming from the sun,
Boy Rhaicos!” said the father. “That oak's bark
Must have been tough, with little sap between;
It ought to run; but it and I are old.”
Rhaicos, although each morsel of the bread
Increast by chewing, and the meat grew cold
And tasteless to his palate, took a draught
Of gold-bright wine, which, thirsty as he was,
He thought not of until his father fill'd
The cup, averring water was amiss,
But wine had been at all times pour'd on kid,
It was religion.
He thus fortified
Said, not quite boldly, and not quite abasht,
“Father, that oak is Zeusis own; that oak
Year after year will bring thee wealth from wax
And honey. There is one who fears the gods
And the gods love . . that one”
Said, not quite boldly, and not quite abasht,
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Year after year will bring thee wealth from wax
And honey. There is one who fears the gods
And the gods love . . that one”
(He blusht, nor said
What one)
What one)
“Hath promist this, and may do more.
We have not many moons to wait until
The bees have done their best: if then there come
Nor wax nor honey, let the trees be hewn.”
We have not many moons to wait until
The bees have done their best: if then there come
Nor wax nor honey, let the trees be hewn.”
“Zeus hath bestow'd on thee a prudent mind,”
Said the glad sire: “but look thou often there,
And gather all the honey thou canst find
In every crevice, over and above
What hath been promist; would they reckon that?”
Said the glad sire: “but look thou often there,
And gather all the honey thou canst find
In every crevice, over and above
What hath been promist; would they reckon that?”
Rhaicos went daily; but the nymph as oft
Invisible. To play at love, she knew,
Stopping its breathings when it breathes most soft,
Is sweeter than to play on any pipe.
She play'd on his: she fed upon his sighs;
They pleas'd her when they gently waved her hair,
Cooling the pulses of her purple veins,
And when her absence brought them out they pleas'd.
Even among the fondest of them all,
What mortal or immortal maid is more
Content with giving happiness than pain?
One day he was returning from the wood
Despondently. She pitied him, and said
“Come back!” and twined her fingers in the hem
Above his shoulder. Then she led his steps
To a cool rill that ran o'er level sand
Through lentisk and through oleander, there
Bathed she his feet, lifting them on her lap
When bathed, and drying them in both her hands.
He dared complain; for those who most are loved
Most dare it; but not harsh was his complaint.
“O thou inconstant!” said he, “if stern law
Bind thee, or will, stronger than sternest law,
O, let me know henceforward when to hope
The fruit of love that grows for me but here.”
He spake; and pluckt it from its pliant stem.
“Impatient Rhaicos! why thus intercept
The answer I would give? There is a bee
Whom I have fed, a bee who knows my thoughts
And executes my wishes: I will send
That messenger. If ever thou art false,
Drawn by another, own it not, but drive
My bee away: then shall I know my fate,
And, . . for thou must be wretched, . . weep at thine.
But often as my heart persuades to lay
Its cares on thine and throb itself to rest,
Expect her with thee, whether it be morn,
Or eve, at any time when woods are safe.”
Invisible. To play at love, she knew,
Stopping its breathings when it breathes most soft,
Is sweeter than to play on any pipe.
She play'd on his: she fed upon his sighs;
They pleas'd her when they gently waved her hair,
Cooling the pulses of her purple veins,
And when her absence brought them out they pleas'd.
Even among the fondest of them all,
What mortal or immortal maid is more
Content with giving happiness than pain?
One day he was returning from the wood
Despondently. She pitied him, and said
“Come back!” and twined her fingers in the hem
Above his shoulder. Then she led his steps
To a cool rill that ran o'er level sand
Through lentisk and through oleander, there
Bathed she his feet, lifting them on her lap
When bathed, and drying them in both her hands.
He dared complain; for those who most are loved
Most dare it; but not harsh was his complaint.
“O thou inconstant!” said he, “if stern law
Bind thee, or will, stronger than sternest law,
O, let me know henceforward when to hope
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He spake; and pluckt it from its pliant stem.
“Impatient Rhaicos! why thus intercept
The answer I would give? There is a bee
Whom I have fed, a bee who knows my thoughts
And executes my wishes: I will send
That messenger. If ever thou art false,
Drawn by another, own it not, but drive
My bee away: then shall I know my fate,
And, . . for thou must be wretched, . . weep at thine.
But often as my heart persuades to lay
Its cares on thine and throb itself to rest,
Expect her with thee, whether it be morn,
Or eve, at any time when woods are safe.”
Day after day the Hours beheld them blest,
And season after season: years had past,
Blest were they still. He who asserts that Love
Ever is sated of sweet things, the same
Sweet things he fretted for in earlier days,
Never, by Zeus! loved he a Hamadryad.
And season after season: years had past,
Blest were they still. He who asserts that Love
Ever is sated of sweet things, the same
Sweet things he fretted for in earlier days,
Never, by Zeus! loved he a Hamadryad.
The nights had now grown longer, and perhaps
The Hamadryads find them lone and dull
Among their woods; one did, alas! She called
Her faithful bee: 'twas when all bees should sleep,
And all did sleep but hers. She was sent forth
To bring that light which never wintry blast
Blows out, nor rain nor snow extinguishes,
The light that shines from loving eyes upon
Eyes that love back, till they can see no more.
The Hamadryads find them lone and dull
Among their woods; one did, alas! She called
Her faithful bee: 'twas when all bees should sleep,
And all did sleep but hers. She was sent forth
To bring that light which never wintry blast
Blows out, nor rain nor snow extinguishes,
The light that shines from loving eyes upon
Eyes that love back, till they can see no more.
Rhaicos was sitting at his father's hearth:
Between them stood the table, not o'erspread
With fruits which autumn now profusely bore,
Nor anise cakes, nor odorous wine; but there
The draft-board was expanded; at which game
Triumphant sat old Thallinos; the son
Was puzzled, vext, discomfited, distraught.
A buzz was at his ear: up went his hand,
And it was heard no longer. The poor bee
Return'd (but not until the morn shone bright)
And found the Hamadryad with her head
Upon her aching wrist, and showed one wing
Half-broken off, the other's meshes marr'd,
And there were bruises which no eye could see
Saving a Hamadryad's.
Between them stood the table, not o'erspread
With fruits which autumn now profusely bore,
Nor anise cakes, nor odorous wine; but there
The draft-board was expanded; at which game
Triumphant sat old Thallinos; the son
Was puzzled, vext, discomfited, distraught.
A buzz was at his ear: up went his hand,
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Return'd (but not until the morn shone bright)
And found the Hamadryad with her head
Upon her aching wrist, and showed one wing
Half-broken off, the other's meshes marr'd,
And there were bruises which no eye could see
Saving a Hamadryad's.
At this sight
Down fell the languid brow, both hands fell down,
A shriek was carried to the ancient hall
Of Thallinos: he heard it not: his son
Heard it, and ran forthwith into the wood.
No bark was on the tree, no leaf was green,
The trunk was riven through. From that day forth
Nor word nor whisper sooth'd his ear, nor sound
Even of insect wing: but loud laments
The woodmen and the shepherds one long year
Heard day and night; for Rhaicos would not quit
The solitary place, but moan'd and died.
Hence milk and honey wonder not, O guest,
Down fell the languid brow, both hands fell down,
A shriek was carried to the ancient hall
Of Thallinos: he heard it not: his son
Heard it, and ran forthwith into the wood.
No bark was on the tree, no leaf was green,
The trunk was riven through. From that day forth
Nor word nor whisper sooth'd his ear, nor sound
Even of insect wing: but loud laments
The woodmen and the shepherds one long year
Heard day and night; for Rhaicos would not quit
The solitary place, but moan'd and died.
To find set duly on the hollow stone.
ACON AND RHODOPE; OR, INCONSTANCY.
The Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by,
Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve,
Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'd
For festival, some reckless of attire.
The snow had left the mountain-top; fresh flowers
Had withered in the meadow; fig and prune
Hung—wrinkling; the last apple glow'd amid
Its freckled leaves; and weary oxen blinkt
Between the trodden corn and twisted vine,
Under whose bunches stood the empty crate,
To creak ere long beneath them carried home.
This was the season when twelve months before,
O gentle Hamadryad, true to love!
Thy mansion, thy dim mansion in the wood
Was blasted and laid desolate: but none
Dared violate its precincts, none dared pluck
The moss beneath it, which alone remain'd
Of what was thine.
Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve,
Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'd
For festival, some reckless of attire.
The snow had left the mountain-top; fresh flowers
Had withered in the meadow; fig and prune
Hung—wrinkling; the last apple glow'd amid
Its freckled leaves; and weary oxen blinkt
Between the trodden corn and twisted vine,
Under whose bunches stood the empty crate,
To creak ere long beneath them carried home.
This was the season when twelve months before,
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Thy mansion, thy dim mansion in the wood
Was blasted and laid desolate: but none
Dared violate its precincts, none dared pluck
The moss beneath it, which alone remain'd
Of what was thine.
Old Thallinos sat mute
In solitary sadness. The strange tale
(Not until Rhaicos died, but then the whole)
Echeion had related, whom no force
Could ever make look back upon the oaks.
The father said “Echeion! thou must weigh,
Carefully, and with steady hand, enough
(Although no longer comes the store as once!)
Of wax to burn all day and night upon
That hollow stone where milk and honey lie:
So may the Gods, so may the dead, be pleas'd!”
Thallinos bore it thither in the morn,
And lighted it and left it.
In solitary sadness. The strange tale
(Not until Rhaicos died, but then the whole)
Echeion had related, whom no force
Could ever make look back upon the oaks.
The father said “Echeion! thou must weigh,
Carefully, and with steady hand, enough
(Although no longer comes the store as once!)
Of wax to burn all day and night upon
That hollow stone where milk and honey lie:
So may the Gods, so may the dead, be pleas'd!”
Thallinos bore it thither in the morn,
And lighted it and left it.
First of those
Who visited upon this solemn day
The Hamadryad's oak, were Rhodope
And Acon; of one age, one hope, one trust.
Graceful was she as was the nymph whose fate
She sorrowed for: he slender, pale, and first
Lapt by the flame of love: his father's lands
Were fertile, herds lowed over them afar.
Now stood the two aside the hollow stone
And lookt with stedfast eyes towards the oak
Shivered and black and bare.
Who visited upon this solemn day
The Hamadryad's oak, were Rhodope
And Acon; of one age, one hope, one trust.
Graceful was she as was the nymph whose fate
She sorrowed for: he slender, pale, and first
Lapt by the flame of love: his father's lands
Were fertile, herds lowed over them afar.
Now stood the two aside the hollow stone
And lookt with stedfast eyes towards the oak
Shivered and black and bare.
“May never we
Love as they loved!” said Acon. She at this
Smiled, for he said not what he meant to say,
And thought not of its bliss, but of its end.
He caught the flying smile, and blusht, and vow'd
Nor time nor other power, whereto the might
Of love hath yielded and may yield again,
Should alter his.
Love as they loved!” said Acon. She at this
Smiled, for he said not what he meant to say,
And thought not of its bliss, but of its end.
He caught the flying smile, and blusht, and vow'd
Nor time nor other power, whereto the might
Of love hath yielded and may yield again,
Should alter his.
The father of the youth
Wanted not beauty for him, wanted not
Song, that could lift earth's weight from off his heart,
Discretion, that could guide him thro' the world,
Innocence, that could clear his way to heaven;
Silver and gold and land, not green before
The ancestral gate, but purple under skies
Bending far off, he wanted for his heir.
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Song, that could lift earth's weight from off his heart,
Discretion, that could guide him thro' the world,
Innocence, that could clear his way to heaven;
Silver and gold and land, not green before
The ancestral gate, but purple under skies
Bending far off, he wanted for his heir.
Fathers have given life, but virgin heart
They never gave; and dare they then control
Or check it harshly? dare they break a bond
Girt round it by the holiest Power on high?
They never gave; and dare they then control
Or check it harshly? dare they break a bond
Girt round it by the holiest Power on high?
Acon was grieved, he said, grieved bitterly,
But Acon had complied . . 'twas dutiful!
Crush thy own heart, Man! Man! but fear to wound
The gentler, that relies on thee alone,
By thee created, weak or strong by thee;
Touch it not but for worship; watch before
Its sanctuary; nor leave it till are closed
The temple-doors and the last lamp is spent.
But Acon had complied . . 'twas dutiful!
Crush thy own heart, Man! Man! but fear to wound
The gentler, that relies on thee alone,
By thee created, weak or strong by thee;
Touch it not but for worship; watch before
Its sanctuary; nor leave it till are closed
The temple-doors and the last lamp is spent.
Rhodope, in her soul's waste solitude,
Sate mournful by the dull-resounding sea,
Often not hearing it, and many tears
Had the cold breezes hardened on her cheek.
Meanwhile he sauntered in the wood of oaks,
Nor shun'd to look upon the hollow stone
That held the milk and honey, nor to lay
His plighted hand where recently 'twas laid
Opposite hers, when finger playfully
Advanced and pusht back finger, on each side.
He did not think of this, as she would do
If she were there alone.
Sate mournful by the dull-resounding sea,
Often not hearing it, and many tears
Had the cold breezes hardened on her cheek.
Meanwhile he sauntered in the wood of oaks,
Nor shun'd to look upon the hollow stone
That held the milk and honey, nor to lay
His plighted hand where recently 'twas laid
Opposite hers, when finger playfully
Advanced and pusht back finger, on each side.
He did not think of this, as she would do
If she were there alone.
The day was hot;
The moss invited him; it cool'd his cheek,
It cool'd his hands; he thrust them into it
And sank to slumber. Never was there dream
Divine as his. He saw the Hamadryad.
She took him by the arm and led him on
Along a valley, where profusely grew
The smaller lilies with their pendent bells,
And, hiding under mint, chill drosera,
The violet shy of butting cyclamen,
The feathery fern, and, browser of moist banks,
Her offspring round her, the soft strawberry;
The quivering spray of ruddy tamarisk,
The oleander's light-hair'd progeny
Breathing bright freshness in each other's face,
And graceful rose, bending her brow, with cup
Of fragrance and of beauty, boon for Gods.
The fragrance fill'd his breast with such delight
His senses were bewildered, and he thought
He saw again the face he most had loved.
He stopt: the Hamadryad at his side
Now stood between; then drew him farther off:
He went, compliant as before: but soon
Verdure had ceast: altho' the ground was smooth,
Nothing was there delightful. At this change
He would have spoken, but his guide represt
All questioning, and said,
The moss invited him; it cool'd his cheek,
It cool'd his hands; he thrust them into it
And sank to slumber. Never was there dream
Divine as his. He saw the Hamadryad.
She took him by the arm and led him on
Along a valley, where profusely grew
The smaller lilies with their pendent bells,
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The violet shy of butting cyclamen,
The feathery fern, and, browser of moist banks,
Her offspring round her, the soft strawberry;
The quivering spray of ruddy tamarisk,
The oleander's light-hair'd progeny
Breathing bright freshness in each other's face,
And graceful rose, bending her brow, with cup
Of fragrance and of beauty, boon for Gods.
The fragrance fill'd his breast with such delight
His senses were bewildered, and he thought
He saw again the face he most had loved.
He stopt: the Hamadryad at his side
Now stood between; then drew him farther off:
He went, compliant as before: but soon
Verdure had ceast: altho' the ground was smooth,
Nothing was there delightful. At this change
He would have spoken, but his guide represt
All questioning, and said,
“Weak youth! what brought
Thy footstep to this wood, my native haunt,
My life-long residence? this bank, where first
I sate with him . . the faithful (now I know,
Too late!) the faithful Rhaicos. Haste thee home;
Be happy, if thou canst; but come no more
Where those whom death alone could sever, died.”
Thy footstep to this wood, my native haunt,
My life-long residence? this bank, where first
I sate with him . . the faithful (now I know,
Too late!) the faithful Rhaicos. Haste thee home;
Be happy, if thou canst; but come no more
Where those whom death alone could sever, died.”
He started up: the moss whereon he slept
Was dried and withered: deadlier paleness spread
Over his cheek; he sickened: and the sire
Had land enough; it held his only son.
Was dried and withered: deadlier paleness spread
Over his cheek; he sickened: and the sire
Had land enough; it held his only son.
CATILLUS AND SALIA.
Catillus left his spear upon the steps
Of that old temple which from Ciminus
Looks o'er the lake and the dark ilexes.
Often his horse, standing alone before
The columns, starts at sights obscurely seen;
Sometimes at roar of raging beast, sometimes
At bark that bursts and crackles from the cork,
Or at the rapid whirl of withered leaves
Wafted and rattling on his bridle-bit.
Of that old temple which from Ciminus
Looks o'er the lake and the dark ilexes.
Often his horse, standing alone before
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Sometimes at roar of raging beast, sometimes
At bark that bursts and crackles from the cork,
Or at the rapid whirl of withered leaves
Wafted and rattling on his bridle-bit.
“Voltumna!” pray'd the youth, “reject not thou
My vows! for Salia is my heart consumed;
Nor does the sire or maiden disapprove;
But there are ancient oracles that hold
The torch of Hymen back. Thou knowest well,
O Goddess! (for from thy own fane proceed
These oracles) what menaces impend.
So great an evil be it mine to ward
From both! Yet how? He who could all foresee,
Amphiaräus, he might have advised;
But earth before him opened, and with flames
Enveloping his chariot, drank it in.
Where in far regions, famed Ismenos flows
He left his children and the light of day.
My vows! for Salia is my heart consumed;
Nor does the sire or maiden disapprove;
But there are ancient oracles that hold
The torch of Hymen back. Thou knowest well,
O Goddess! (for from thy own fane proceed
These oracles) what menaces impend.
So great an evil be it mine to ward
From both! Yet how? He who could all foresee,
Amphiaräus, he might have advised;
But earth before him opened, and with flames
Enveloping his chariot, drank it in.
Where in far regions, famed Ismenos flows
He left his children and the light of day.
“The Tuscan shore a race of fugitives
Alights on. O that they had come in guise
Of enemies! not (as they say) of friends:
Because old seers have seen, old prophets sung
That under this the royal house should fall
And royal bride be wedded, to her sire's
And people's ruin. Clearly I discern
What Fate before had hidden; nor retreat;
Nor arms, wherever they may lead, refuse;
Nor absence . . long, for ever; nor the gulph
Of Styx, which all must pass; nor, what is worse,
In other lands to wander; be but thou
Mine for one day, O Salia! no one's else
And least of any one an exile's bride!”
Alights on. O that they had come in guise
Of enemies! not (as they say) of friends:
Because old seers have seen, old prophets sung
That under this the royal house should fall
And royal bride be wedded, to her sire's
And people's ruin. Clearly I discern
What Fate before had hidden; nor retreat;
Nor arms, wherever they may lead, refuse;
Nor absence . . long, for ever; nor the gulph
Of Styx, which all must pass; nor, what is worse,
In other lands to wander; be but thou
Mine for one day, O Salia! no one's else
And least of any one an exile's bride!”
A hollow murmur shakes the beech-tree-tops;
A voice is heard;
A voice is heard;
“Of wretched father, child
More wretched! how wouldst thou have fled before,
If thou hadst ever known the curse to come!”
It ceases: loudly, as the portal closed,
Resounded in their depths the woods profound.
More wretched! how wouldst thou have fled before,
If thou hadst ever known the curse to come!”
It ceases: loudly, as the portal closed,
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The youth is sunk in prayer, and all again
Is silent, in the sky, the grove, the fane,
Nor could he see above him any bird
Whose flight should comfort him; for right and left
Rose the huge branches, and after the swans
Shone out serenely on the lake serene,
Soothing the under-wing with neck reverst.
He wishes not for fields of waving vine,
He wishes not for olive-boundary,
Planted when first the blindfold boy had drawn
The lot of each Pelasgian from the win,
But he does wish for Salia, he does wish
To see Volsinii, blessed land, again.
Then of the king he thinks, and then revolves
Commands which both had given (and one with tears),
Unless Voltumna look with placid smile
Toward the couch of Hymen.
Is silent, in the sky, the grove, the fane,
Nor could he see above him any bird
Whose flight should comfort him; for right and left
Rose the huge branches, and after the swans
Shone out serenely on the lake serene,
Soothing the under-wing with neck reverst.
He wishes not for fields of waving vine,
He wishes not for olive-boundary,
Planted when first the blindfold boy had drawn
The lot of each Pelasgian from the win,
But he does wish for Salia, he does wish
To see Volsinii, blessed land, again.
Then of the king he thinks, and then revolves
Commands which both had given (and one with tears),
Unless Voltumna look with placid smile
Toward the couch of Hymen.
Evening came:
He threw him on the ground; he sought for dreams,
If haply sleep should calm his weariness,
Dreams that from sire and daughter may remove
The unknown peril that o'ershadows both.
He threw him on the ground; he sought for dreams,
If haply sleep should calm his weariness,
Dreams that from sire and daughter may remove
The unknown peril that o'ershadows both.
Sharp was the splendour of the stars; all heaven
Seem'd moving as it never yet had moved;
To mortal power insuperable, fate
Bent easily before him; every word
Of oracles had now grown plain enough;
And he resolv'd to save at once the king
And the king's daughter, do they what they would
And fear'd they all that ever could be fear'd.
Seem'd moving as it never yet had moved;
To mortal power insuperable, fate
Bent easily before him; every word
Of oracles had now grown plain enough;
And he resolv'd to save at once the king
And the king's daughter, do they what they would
And fear'd they all that ever could be fear'd.
Amid these thoughts his yielding senses sleep
Impresses: in his dream he hears the arms
Of guest and ravisher: he sees (can sight
Deceive him?) Salia. With her own consent
Is she borne off? and, when her father calls
Pursuing her, disdains she to return?
He starts, he raves, strikes with his brow the ground,
Springs up, and, seizing on the bridle, leaps
Into the saddle, and before 'tis dawn
Reaches the city's outskirt.
Impresses: in his dream he hears the arms
Of guest and ravisher: he sees (can sight
Deceive him?) Salia. With her own consent
Is she borne off? and, when her father calls
Pursuing her, disdains she to return?
He starts, he raves, strikes with his brow the ground,
Springs up, and, seizing on the bridle, leaps
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Reaches the city's outskirt.
Long the land
In peace had rested; scanty was its watch;
All knew the cordial youth who, strong of limb,
Joyous of countenance and prompt of speech
And large of liberality, and first
On foot or horseback, hurl'd the Argive spear;
Straight went he onward where the palace stood,
And stationed under its first turret found
The friendly Periphas.
In peace had rested; scanty was its watch;
All knew the cordial youth who, strong of limb,
Joyous of countenance and prompt of speech
And large of liberality, and first
On foot or horseback, hurl'd the Argive spear;
Straight went he onward where the palace stood,
And stationed under its first turret found
The friendly Periphas.
“I haste,” he cried,
“I haste to Salia. Help me. That is nigh,
That which she fears, her father more than she,
And never may perhaps by arms avert:
Voltumna threatens it. Her father's love
May blind his eyes, but my love opens mine.
I bring the Goddess's own words, and these
The dreams she breath'd into my breast confirm.”
“I haste to Salia. Help me. That is nigh,
That which she fears, her father more than she,
And never may perhaps by arms avert:
Voltumna threatens it. Her father's love
May blind his eyes, but my love opens mine.
I bring the Goddess's own words, and these
The dreams she breath'd into my breast confirm.”
Ever to Dian at the break of day
Did Salia bear her sacrifice: the gate
Was this thro' which she past into her grove
And little chapel.
Did Salia bear her sacrifice: the gate
Was this thro' which she past into her grove
And little chapel.
Thickly sound the hoofs
Of fretting horse beneath the turret's arch,
And the last light of lamp that hangs therefrom,
Crackling, now hides now shows the whiten'd iron.
When casts the hind, with broken sleep morose,
The wooden collar round his ox's neck
And rope athwart the horns, when one red line
Borders the dull horizon, and the fields
Under the drowsy skies lie indistinct,
There stands the royal maiden.
Of fretting horse beneath the turret's arch,
And the last light of lamp that hangs therefrom,
Crackling, now hides now shows the whiten'd iron.
When casts the hind, with broken sleep morose,
The wooden collar round his ox's neck
And rope athwart the horns, when one red line
Borders the dull horizon, and the fields
Under the drowsy skies lie indistinct,
There stands the royal maiden.
“Hence! fly hence!
O Salia!” cries Catillus, “and believe
The Gods are now propitious.”
O Salia!” cries Catillus, “and believe
The Gods are now propitious.”
At the word
On his high steed he lifts her, with a leap
Mounts, and redoubles with a rapid spur
His courser's speed.
On his high steed he lifts her, with a leap
Mounts, and redoubles with a rapid spur
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“Tremble not,” cried the youth:
“A time there was indeed for fear, when flight
Was none, and hope uncertain. From her shrine
Dian inclining to thy prayers and vows
Would, if she ever uttered oracle,
Have bidden what Voltumna hath ordain'd.
The horse is quiet: see! he frets no more:
And none are following. Is my arm too tight?
Bends it unwelcome round thee? Fearest thou?
Wouldst thou prohibit, wouldst thou chide, my fears?
I loosen it. Why weep and sigh? why doubt?
In Tibur who should envy us a life
Of country peace? To what ferocious man
Canst thou be there a prey? what war molest
Thy father? For no realm we fight; we hold
The only realm we want. I leave behind
The Sabines and their ruler to enjoy
Untroubled peace. Instead of fields in dower,
Fields which suspicion everywhere surrounds
With the uncertain faith of hireling arms,
Be there for us the deep repose of woods,
Walls that have never heard the name of Mars,
Tibur, and those green pastures on the banks
Thro' which Pareusius winds his silvery stream.
Look back; how widely spreads the space behind
Volsinii how remote! the citadel
How reddening lower and lower with larger light
“A time there was indeed for fear, when flight
Was none, and hope uncertain. From her shrine
Dian inclining to thy prayers and vows
Would, if she ever uttered oracle,
Have bidden what Voltumna hath ordain'd.
The horse is quiet: see! he frets no more:
And none are following. Is my arm too tight?
Bends it unwelcome round thee? Fearest thou?
Wouldst thou prohibit, wouldst thou chide, my fears?
I loosen it. Why weep and sigh? why doubt?
In Tibur who should envy us a life
Of country peace? To what ferocious man
Canst thou be there a prey? what war molest
Thy father? For no realm we fight; we hold
The only realm we want. I leave behind
The Sabines and their ruler to enjoy
Untroubled peace. Instead of fields in dower,
Fields which suspicion everywhere surrounds
With the uncertain faith of hireling arms,
Be there for us the deep repose of woods,
Walls that have never heard the name of Mars,
Tibur, and those green pastures on the banks
Thro' which Pareusius winds his silvery stream.
Look back; how widely spreads the space behind
Volsinii how remote! the citadel
How reddening lower and lower with larger light
At this she raises up her eyes, not quite
Up to his eyes who speaks to her; then looks
Back on her father's city; then they fill
With gushing tears.
Up to his eyes who speaks to her; then looks
Back on her father's city; then they fill
With gushing tears.
“Live, father! live in peace
Voltumna claims me; can then piety
Forbid, or any care obstruct my course?
Follow I must the Goddess's command.
The desert, the dense darkness of the woods,
The lake, with all their gloom and all its own,
I would thro' life inhabit, nor repine,
Let but the Fates grant tranquil days to thee!”
Voltumna claims me; can then piety
Forbid, or any care obstruct my course?
Follow I must the Goddess's command.
The desert, the dense darkness of the woods,
The lake, with all their gloom and all its own,
I would thro' life inhabit, nor repine,
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Moved at her tenderness, Catillus said,
“Behold them granted! and shall she whose prayers
Have won them for her parent, not rejoice?
Voltumna well might choose thee for her own,
But she was silent; nay, she gave commands
Right opposite; she bade thee leave thy home,
Thy father's house: thou wisely hast obey'd,
And child so duteous she from far will hear.
Meanwhile an aged priestess keeps the fane,
One only: such its holiness, no time
Will ever move it. Thou shalt see the dells
Of Tibur, the Albunean lake, its shades
And floating islands, and (what oft thy wish
Shuddering at all the terrors of the tale
Urged thee to see) the fissured rock, the rush
Of angry waters, and, where these subside,
Glens where is heard the song of Nymphs below.
There be our country, there our house, and there
Our early days and later! All thy life
Must thou be happy in a father saved
And faith saved too: and no less happy he,
Obedient to the dictate of the Fates,
In that he gave not (tho' he wisht to give)
Salia to him who holds her to his heart.”
“Behold them granted! and shall she whose prayers
Have won them for her parent, not rejoice?
Voltumna well might choose thee for her own,
But she was silent; nay, she gave commands
Right opposite; she bade thee leave thy home,
Thy father's house: thou wisely hast obey'd,
And child so duteous she from far will hear.
Meanwhile an aged priestess keeps the fane,
One only: such its holiness, no time
Will ever move it. Thou shalt see the dells
Of Tibur, the Albunean lake, its shades
And floating islands, and (what oft thy wish
Shuddering at all the terrors of the tale
Urged thee to see) the fissured rock, the rush
Of angry waters, and, where these subside,
Glens where is heard the song of Nymphs below.
There be our country, there our house, and there
Our early days and later! All thy life
Must thou be happy in a father saved
And faith saved too: and no less happy he,
Obedient to the dictate of the Fates,
In that he gave not (tho' he wisht to give)
Salia to him who holds her to his heart.”
Salia now calmer, bids him to repeat
All that Voltumna said. The Goddess's
Behest she thinks obscure, the danger clear;
She sighs; but piety distrusts not love.
Scarce the first hour of flight had past away
Before the father knew it. Idle time
He lost not in complaint, nor idle threats
Threw at the fugitive: he gave command
Forthwith that chosen youths surround the woods
And moorlands of Capenus, occupy
Every hill-top, keep equal distances
At certain stations, and from each, right, left,
The subject land, wood, river, lake, survey.
He himself hastened onward, and before
Noontide he saw, not distant, to the east,
Eretus, its wide woodland overgrown
With speckled arbutus, and, farther on
And higher up, an ancient temple, white
In the sun's splendour, on its mound apart:
Beyond it the Nomentan hills retired.
And now, inclosed by mountains, he approacht
The steep red banks and turbid stream profound
Of Tiber. Never had that stream been crost
By bridge of stone convex, or mountain pine,
Nor level boats in surging series linkt
Made plain the way for horseman and for horse.
He bends, and raises in his hollow hand
The sacred water, and thus prays the God.
All that Voltumna said. The Goddess's
Behest she thinks obscure, the danger clear;
She sighs; but piety distrusts not love.
Scarce the first hour of flight had past away
Before the father knew it. Idle time
He lost not in complaint, nor idle threats
Threw at the fugitive: he gave command
Forthwith that chosen youths surround the woods
And moorlands of Capenus, occupy
Every hill-top, keep equal distances
At certain stations, and from each, right, left,
The subject land, wood, river, lake, survey.
He himself hastened onward, and before
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Eretus, its wide woodland overgrown
With speckled arbutus, and, farther on
And higher up, an ancient temple, white
In the sun's splendour, on its mound apart:
Beyond it the Nomentan hills retired.
And now, inclosed by mountains, he approacht
The steep red banks and turbid stream profound
Of Tiber. Never had that stream been crost
By bridge of stone convex, or mountain pine,
Nor level boats in surging series linkt
Made plain the way for horseman and for horse.
He bends, and raises in his hollow hand
The sacred water, and thus prays the God.
“O father Tiber! if thou hast preserv'd
Thy people quiet by religious awe;
If thou beholdest thy Apollo's hill
Soracte bound in duteous equity;
If the Faliscians, righteous race, impress
The burning ember with unflinching heel;
If, when the robber Cacus he had slain,
Alcides (which our sires have seen) washt off
That robber's blood in thy most cleansing lymph;
If stolen herds brought vengeance down on him
Whom none consorted with, no host receiv'd;
Shall I in vain implore thee for thy help
Against a wretch who robs his host of all,
Who carries off his child, his only child?
Avenge me: give me only ('tis enough)
To swim in safety o'er thy rapid stream.”
Thus praying, his huge spear he threw across;
Whereat the steed which bore him shrilly neigh'd,
Rear'd, and with hoof inverted scraped the turf,
And, call'd by name and patted and cheer'd on,
Sprang bravely down and clove the surging waves:
They bent beneath his lusty neck, they broke
At every breath his widening nostril breath'd,
And his rich trappings flasht fresh light around.
In the late hour of eve the king surveys
The highths of Tibur; to the walls he wends
Alone; to Coras, and him only, cries
That he come out.
Thy people quiet by religious awe;
If thou beholdest thy Apollo's hill
Soracte bound in duteous equity;
If the Faliscians, righteous race, impress
The burning ember with unflinching heel;
If, when the robber Cacus he had slain,
Alcides (which our sires have seen) washt off
That robber's blood in thy most cleansing lymph;
If stolen herds brought vengeance down on him
Whom none consorted with, no host receiv'd;
Shall I in vain implore thee for thy help
Against a wretch who robs his host of all,
Who carries off his child, his only child?
Avenge me: give me only ('tis enough)
To swim in safety o'er thy rapid stream.”
Thus praying, his huge spear he threw across;
Whereat the steed which bore him shrilly neigh'd,
Rear'd, and with hoof inverted scraped the turf,
And, call'd by name and patted and cheer'd on,
Sprang bravely down and clove the surging waves:
They bent beneath his lusty neck, they broke
At every breath his widening nostril breath'd,
And his rich trappings flasht fresh light around.
In the late hour of eve the king surveys
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Alone; to Coras, and him only, cries
That he come out.
But Coras, when he knew
Afar Catillus by his burnisht arms,
Ran from the rampart to embrace the king,
And said “Where is my brother?”
Afar Catillus by his burnisht arms,
Ran from the rampart to embrace the king,
And said “Where is my brother?”
Fiercelier burns
His rage at this, and
His rage at this, and
“Like a slave he fled;
Nor shall it now avail thee to conceal
His flight; thy walls shall show him in their flames.
Now let him arm . . a father calls, a guest,
Despoil'd, dishonor'd . . let him arm before
The hospitable the avenging Jove
He thinks he may affront, deceive, despise.”
The brother stood astonisht: lifting up
Both hands to heaven,
Nor shall it now avail thee to conceal
His flight; thy walls shall show him in their flames.
Now let him arm . . a father calls, a guest,
Despoil'd, dishonor'd . . let him arm before
The hospitable the avenging Jove
He thinks he may affront, deceive, despise.”
The brother stood astonisht: lifting up
Both hands to heaven,
“No brother is with me,
I swear, and therefor lay aside thy wrath,
O king! and under happy auspices
Await in peace and patience his return.”
I swear, and therefor lay aside thy wrath,
O king! and under happy auspices
Await in peace and patience his return.”
He answered not, but rudely rusht away.
With angry looks the Argive nobles cried
With angry looks the Argive nobles cried
“What, tyrant! dost thou threaten war? say first,
Proud as thy nation is of ancient fame,
Say when on Ciminus hath ever oak
Borne trophy? while the fatten'd hiefer shakes
The flowery fillet and salt-sprinkled crown,
Do their round cheeks, well form'd for puffing horns,
Turn into waxen whiteness at the approach
Of level'd spears. If (faith of Gods and men!)
Thou darest threaten us with fire or sword,
We will not wait thee in our walls, but show
Thy city, and all cities leagued with thee,
How the proud Tuscans first cried out for peace.”
Proud as thy nation is of ancient fame,
Say when on Ciminus hath ever oak
Borne trophy? while the fatten'd hiefer shakes
The flowery fillet and salt-sprinkled crown,
Do their round cheeks, well form'd for puffing horns,
Turn into waxen whiteness at the approach
Of level'd spears. If (faith of Gods and men!)
Thou darest threaten us with fire or sword,
We will not wait thee in our walls, but show
Thy city, and all cities leagued with thee,
How the proud Tuscans first cried out for peace.”
The last late sunbeam of the summer sky
Had fallen, and with dew far superfused
The fuming meadows of Pareusius paled,
Far as the Albula and Latian plain.
When Tibur's citadel had sunk to view
The king alighted from his horse, and spent
A weary night beneath a peasant's roof.
Near to Volsinii, with a clear cold stream
There runs a rivulet and intercepts
The little rills that trickle thro' the grove,
And falls into the Tiber where it looks
Into the glades of Umbria; 'twas this course
Catillus followed thro' its whole extent.
Here, where it join'd the Tiber, pusht he forth
A narrow skiff, tied with a twisted band
Of osier to the tree. The oar's smooth palm
Divided the broad water-leaves and won
An easy way. Now, while the waves it made
With gentle plash and pattering heav'd the bark,
Thou, Salia, sattest at thy lover's side
Stiller and calmer than that shady stream.
Catillus then would hoist his little sail,
That he might lay aside the oar, and hold
The rope which turn'd it as the river turn'd
Or the wind caught it, and that he might sit
On the same bench with Salia, and protect
From the hot sun her face beneath its shade.
He fear'd to pass where hinds might see and shout,
He fear'd all voices, most of all he fear'd
The irreverent Fescennine's immodest song.
Had fallen, and with dew far superfused
The fuming meadows of Pareusius paled,
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When Tibur's citadel had sunk to view
The king alighted from his horse, and spent
A weary night beneath a peasant's roof.
Near to Volsinii, with a clear cold stream
There runs a rivulet and intercepts
The little rills that trickle thro' the grove,
And falls into the Tiber where it looks
Into the glades of Umbria; 'twas this course
Catillus followed thro' its whole extent.
Here, where it join'd the Tiber, pusht he forth
A narrow skiff, tied with a twisted band
Of osier to the tree. The oar's smooth palm
Divided the broad water-leaves and won
An easy way. Now, while the waves it made
With gentle plash and pattering heav'd the bark,
Thou, Salia, sattest at thy lover's side
Stiller and calmer than that shady stream.
Catillus then would hoist his little sail,
That he might lay aside the oar, and hold
The rope which turn'd it as the river turn'd
Or the wind caught it, and that he might sit
On the same bench with Salia, and protect
From the hot sun her face beneath its shade.
He fear'd to pass where hinds might see and shout,
He fear'd all voices, most of all he fear'd
The irreverent Fescennine's immodest song.
Volsinii's firm allies, the Sabines held
That country where amid the flowers he rears
Runs Farfar, and that barrener wherefrom
Himella shrinks when Sirius strikes his stream.
So now he took the simple guise of hind
Who had gone early forth, and must return
To hail his household Deities at eve.
Rushes and reeds conceal'd his crest and spear.
Long was the way by land, by water long,
Nor would the youth, nor could he had he will'd,
Tell Salia how much farther they must go.
Her dread of any seeing her he calm'd,
Saying,
That country where amid the flowers he rears
Runs Farfar, and that barrener wherefrom
Himella shrinks when Sirius strikes his stream.
So now he took the simple guise of hind
Who had gone early forth, and must return
To hail his household Deities at eve.
Rushes and reeds conceal'd his crest and spear.
Long was the way by land, by water long,
Nor would the youth, nor could he had he will'd,
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Her dread of any seeing her he calm'd,
Saying,
“Look up! behold what scanty light
Sheds Hesper, how he swings upon the stream
Alone of all the stars, and what calm gloom
Propitious sits upon the brow of heaven.”
They both weave sleepless dreams. In days to come
What will their pleasure be, if touch of hand
Kindles such fires; if at one word, one glance,
Disperst is every doubt and every fear.
Sheds Hesper, how he swings upon the stream
Alone of all the stars, and what calm gloom
Propitious sits upon the brow of heaven.”
They both weave sleepless dreams. In days to come
What will their pleasure be, if touch of hand
Kindles such fires; if at one word, one glance,
Disperst is every doubt and every fear.
Ah! be not wise, ye young! but from bright days
Look into brighter: evermore believe:
Be this your wisdom. At the close of life,
We know too much; we know we are deceiv'd.
Look into brighter: evermore believe:
Be this your wisdom. At the close of life,
We know too much; we know we are deceiv'd.
Needless the story were in what converse
Hour followed hour; what cultur'd lands, what wilds
Delighted them; how many were the spots
In whose retirement they could spend their lives:
Needless to mention how, amid the pause,
A bough impending o'er the stream sometimes
Swept, ere they were aware, the vessel's side,
Startling and reddening her with girlish fright.
The youth too had his fears, but held them in.
He fear'd if any silent matron stole
Down to the river-side, in quest of him
Her children cried for ere they went to bed:
He fear'd if suddenly a lamp-light burst
With long effulgence from some cot unseen
Across the water, or a fisherman
Had crown'd his net with flame, and, dipt in pitch,
The feathery cane its finny prey allured.
Onward they sail all night: when morn appears,
Seeing that friendly Tibur was behind,
He leaves (in view, though distant) on his right
Seven far-famed hills, where stood the residence
Of King Evander, sprung from Arcady;
Janus on one had rear'd a muniment,
And Saturn on another: he admired
How such vast works had ever been destroy'd.
Wonder may seize, but can not long detain,
And least the young and ardent. Rowing back,
Catillus rises on the oar and glides
Into his native land.
Hour followed hour; what cultur'd lands, what wilds
Delighted them; how many were the spots
In whose retirement they could spend their lives:
Needless to mention how, amid the pause,
A bough impending o'er the stream sometimes
Swept, ere they were aware, the vessel's side,
Startling and reddening her with girlish fright.
The youth too had his fears, but held them in.
He fear'd if any silent matron stole
Down to the river-side, in quest of him
Her children cried for ere they went to bed:
He fear'd if suddenly a lamp-light burst
With long effulgence from some cot unseen
Across the water, or a fisherman
Had crown'd his net with flame, and, dipt in pitch,
The feathery cane its finny prey allured.
Onward they sail all night: when morn appears,
Seeing that friendly Tibur was behind,
He leaves (in view, though distant) on his right
Seven far-famed hills, where stood the residence
Of King Evander, sprung from Arcady;
Janus on one had rear'd a muniment,
And Saturn on another: he admired
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Wonder may seize, but can not long detain,
And least the young and ardent. Rowing back,
Catillus rises on the oar and glides
Into his native land.
“O mine!” he cries,
“Mine surely now! come, Salia, come, enjoy
In safety and by right our freedom here:
No Gods oppose us: we are here at home.”
And as he speaks, swifter he plies the oar.
Soon helmets blaze above the copse; men arm'd
And unarm'd welcome him; stout hinds belay
The laboring bark, tugging it where the wind
Baffles the sail; then, smoking from afield,
Laborious oxen and stout-hearted steeds.
But, tho' they aided, slower seem'd the hour
Than yesterday, when lay the oar athwart
And the loose sail flapt idly round the mast.
“Mine surely now! come, Salia, come, enjoy
In safety and by right our freedom here:
No Gods oppose us: we are here at home.”
And as he speaks, swifter he plies the oar.
Soon helmets blaze above the copse; men arm'd
And unarm'd welcome him; stout hinds belay
The laboring bark, tugging it where the wind
Baffles the sail; then, smoking from afield,
Laborious oxen and stout-hearted steeds.
But, tho' they aided, slower seem'd the hour
Than yesterday, when lay the oar athwart
And the loose sail flapt idly round the mast.
Both wisht to be alone again; nor long
Abstain'd Catillus (when the cliff began
To chafe the water and impede the way)
From ordering to haul the skiff ashore.
Alone then were they. He ascends the path,
The well-known path of the old wood; he stops,
Here, lest the stones should hurt her; here, because
The grass is softer than all grass beside;
Here, because sunny hazels most invite;
And here, because no serpent ever coils
Beneath the ashen shade. Such leisure-hour
Fatigue and sense of safety make more sweet.
Abstain'd Catillus (when the cliff began
To chafe the water and impede the way)
From ordering to haul the skiff ashore.
Alone then were they. He ascends the path,
The well-known path of the old wood; he stops,
Here, lest the stones should hurt her; here, because
The grass is softer than all grass beside;
Here, because sunny hazels most invite;
And here, because no serpent ever coils
Beneath the ashen shade. Such leisure-hour
Fatigue and sense of safety make more sweet.
“Up! Salia! one more hill we must ascend,
Whence Tibur, now thy own, thou mayst descry.”
Whence Tibur, now thy own, thou mayst descry.”
They reach the summit. What, across yon chasm,
Fixes the maid her eyes upon? A breeze
Whitens the waving willows as they bend,
And ancient elms cast shadows long and dark,
And the lithe tendril of the vine unpruned
Pats and springs up and pats again the stream.
What sees she from the summit there? why gaze?
Why tremble? why turn pale?
Fixes the maid her eyes upon? A breeze
Whitens the waving willows as they bend,
And ancient elms cast shadows long and dark,
And the lithe tendril of the vine unpruned
Pats and springs up and pats again the stream.
What sees she from the summit there? why gaze?
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Behold! there stands
Her father!
Her father!
You might have believ'd her knees
Had turn'd to marble.
Had turn'd to marble.
“Wretched girl!” he cried,
“Whom dost thou fly from?”
“Whom dost thou fly from?”
At that voice she starts.
Swifter and swifter hurried she along
And thought each step was slower than the last.
Ambiguous was it from the fields or town
Whether she tore the youth away (her hand
Holding his spear through terror at the wrath
Of sire and prophet) or his arm made firm
Her step precipitous: but she was first
Where the road narrowed, fit for one alone,
And he where, leaning down for her, his spear
Protruded helpt her up the rock abrupt.
Swifter and swifter hurried she along
And thought each step was slower than the last.
Ambiguous was it from the fields or town
Whether she tore the youth away (her hand
Holding his spear through terror at the wrath
Of sire and prophet) or his arm made firm
Her step precipitous: but she was first
Where the road narrowed, fit for one alone,
And he where, leaning down for her, his spear
Protruded helpt her up the rock abrupt.
Indignant Anius saw them from below
Receiv'd into the city's double gate
With loud acclaim and trumpet's louder clang;
And from the aërial citadel the girls
One to another show'd him, and with taunts
Bade him begone.
Receiv'd into the city's double gate
With loud acclaim and trumpet's louder clang;
And from the aërial citadel the girls
One to another show'd him, and with taunts
Bade him begone.
He rushes to the wood
Resounding o'er the river: but not clash
Of cataract hears he, nor wild shout, nor dash
Roaring above, redoubled underneath,
And far away thro' cavern'd rocks prolong'd:
Nor rage impels him now nor tears dissolve,
He only presses with both hands his brow.
Resounding o'er the river: but not clash
Of cataract hears he, nor wild shout, nor dash
Roaring above, redoubled underneath,
And far away thro' cavern'd rocks prolong'd:
Nor rage impels him now nor tears dissolve,
He only presses with both hands his brow.
Ah! from what bitter source must flow the grief
Such scenes assuage not! There he stood, nor saw
Pareusius whirl his torrent deep below,
Whence watery dust eternal intercepts
The light of heaven. Dark ilex, bright-hair'd beech,
And, vainly fostering ever-fruitless vine,
The loftier elm, mass above mass, arise.
Among the branches thousands birds appear
To raise their little throats, but every song
Fast as it flows the roaring torrent drowns.
Some, by assiduous helpmate undetain'd,
Fly from the eternal thunder of the waves;
These . . leave them only sheltering bough, and moss
To soften for their young the nest they knit . .
Nor rains can chill nor thunders shake their love.
By rocks inclosed, sore fretting, and resolv'd
No force shall quell it, rushes the array
Of water, now united, scattered now,
Again to rally: pale is overhead
The mountain, pale and trembling; to its sides
The splasht herbs cling the closer: many a reed
Is there which never shall sigh forth the plaint
Of the lone shepherd, many a flower is there
On virgin bosom never to recline.
But numberless bright intermingled rays
Spring up, whence Jove and Phœbus raise an arch
Lofty and wide, and Iris dwells within.
Such scenes assuage not! There he stood, nor saw
Pareusius whirl his torrent deep below,
Whence watery dust eternal intercepts
The light of heaven. Dark ilex, bright-hair'd beech,
And, vainly fostering ever-fruitless vine,
The loftier elm, mass above mass, arise.
Among the branches thousands birds appear
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Fast as it flows the roaring torrent drowns.
Some, by assiduous helpmate undetain'd,
Fly from the eternal thunder of the waves;
These . . leave them only sheltering bough, and moss
To soften for their young the nest they knit . .
Nor rains can chill nor thunders shake their love.
By rocks inclosed, sore fretting, and resolv'd
No force shall quell it, rushes the array
Of water, now united, scattered now,
Again to rally: pale is overhead
The mountain, pale and trembling; to its sides
The splasht herbs cling the closer: many a reed
Is there which never shall sigh forth the plaint
Of the lone shepherd, many a flower is there
On virgin bosom never to recline.
But numberless bright intermingled rays
Spring up, whence Jove and Phœbus raise an arch
Lofty and wide, and Iris dwells within.
Wrong, upon earth imperious, may o'erpower
And crush the mortal; Virtue may stand back
Nor help him; even the clemency of Heaven
May fail; the urn, the ashes laid within,
Violence may scatter; but on those who die
Thro' wretchedness, and undeservedly,
Compassionate and faithful verse attends
And drives oblivion from the wasted tomb.
And crush the mortal; Virtue may stand back
Nor help him; even the clemency of Heaven
May fail; the urn, the ashes laid within,
Violence may scatter; but on those who die
Thro' wretchedness, and undeservedly,
Compassionate and faithful verse attends
And drives oblivion from the wasted tomb.
O why, ye Gods! why, in such lands as these,
Fairest of earth, and where ye chose to dwell,
Should burst forth anguish from a father's breast?
Why from the guiltless Anius? Who brought gifts
More gladly to your altars? who more pure?
In part he uttered this, in part supprest;
Then added,
Fairest of earth, and where ye chose to dwell,
Should burst forth anguish from a father's breast?
Why from the guiltless Anius? Who brought gifts
More gladly to your altars? who more pure?
In part he uttered this, in part supprest;
Then added,
“Here is piety! and thus
Doth she requite her father! Duteous, chaste,
Benevolent, all thought her; and to all,
Excepting me, she was so; I alone
Less than a stranger merited her love.
Now know I what (Oh! lesson hard to learn
At all times! how much harder for the old!)
A daughter owes a father.
Doth she requite her father! Duteous, chaste,
Benevolent, all thought her; and to all,
Excepting me, she was so; I alone
Less than a stranger merited her love.
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At all times! how much harder for the old!)
A daughter owes a father.
“O my wife!
If Libitina had allow'd thy stay,
To see me so far left behind in love
(Our fond contention) thou hadst surely griev'd.
I took the mother's place. When any pain,
However slight, she suffered, could I rest?
Or could I leave her couch?
If Libitina had allow'd thy stay,
To see me so far left behind in love
(Our fond contention) thou hadst surely griev'd.
I took the mother's place. When any pain,
However slight, she suffered, could I rest?
Or could I leave her couch?
“Go, snatch the torch
Of Hymen, run, mingle thy song with theirs,
From tranquil brow draw down the saffron veil,
And be thy children, if they can, like thee.
If every other rite thou hast disdain'd,
If scorn'd the dower a royal bride should bring,
If thro' three nations, shameless, thou hast fled,
Blame, blame thy parent for it. He provides
At least a victim for so blest a day.”
Of Hymen, run, mingle thy song with theirs,
From tranquil brow draw down the saffron veil,
And be thy children, if they can, like thee.
If every other rite thou hast disdain'd,
If scorn'd the dower a royal bride should bring,
If thro' three nations, shameless, thou hast fled,
Blame, blame thy parent for it. He provides
At least a victim for so blest a day.”
He spake; and from the woody mountain-top,
Where by the eternal battery of the waves
A way is cloven, cast himself. From rock
To rock he fell; and all the dew that rose
Around was dimly reddened with his blood.
The fact is well recorded: while the name
Of old Pereusius few remember, thine
O Anius, sounds for ever on that stream.
Where by the eternal battery of the waves
A way is cloven, cast himself. From rock
To rock he fell; and all the dew that rose
Around was dimly reddened with his blood.
The fact is well recorded: while the name
Of old Pereusius few remember, thine
O Anius, sounds for ever on that stream.
ENALLOS AND CYMODAMEIA.
A vision came o'er three young men at once,
A vision of Apollo: each had heard
The same command; each followed it; all three
Assembled on one day before the God
In Lycia, where he gave his oracle.
Bright shone the morning; and the birds that build
Their nests beneath the column-heads of fanes
And eaves of humbler habitations, dropt
From under them and wheel'd athwart the sky,
When, silently and reverently, the youths
Marcht side by side up the long steps that led
Toward the awful God who dwelt within.
Of those three youths fame hath held fast the name
Of one alone; nor would that name survive
Unless love had sustain'd it, and blown off
With his impatient breath the mists of time.
“Ye come,” the God said mildly, “of one will
To people what is desert in the isle
Of Lemnos: but strong men possess its shores;
Nor shall you execute the brave emprize
Unless, on the third day from going forth,
To him who rules the waters ye devote
A virgin, cast into the sea alive.”
They heard, and lookt in one another's face,
And then bent piously before the shrine
With prayer and praises and thanksgiving hymn,
And, after a short silence, went away,
Taking each other's hand and swearing truth,
Then to the ship in which they came, return'd.
Two of the youths were joyous, one was sad;
Sad was Enallos; yet those two by none
Were loved; Enallos had already won
Cymodameia, and the torch was near.
By night, by day, in company, alone,
The image of the maiden fill'd his breast
To the heart's brim. Ah! therefore did that heart
So sink within him.
A vision of Apollo: each had heard
The same command; each followed it; all three
Assembled on one day before the God
In Lycia, where he gave his oracle.
Bright shone the morning; and the birds that build
317
And eaves of humbler habitations, dropt
From under them and wheel'd athwart the sky,
When, silently and reverently, the youths
Marcht side by side up the long steps that led
Toward the awful God who dwelt within.
Of those three youths fame hath held fast the name
Of one alone; nor would that name survive
Unless love had sustain'd it, and blown off
With his impatient breath the mists of time.
“Ye come,” the God said mildly, “of one will
To people what is desert in the isle
Of Lemnos: but strong men possess its shores;
Nor shall you execute the brave emprize
Unless, on the third day from going forth,
To him who rules the waters ye devote
A virgin, cast into the sea alive.”
They heard, and lookt in one another's face,
And then bent piously before the shrine
With prayer and praises and thanksgiving hymn,
And, after a short silence, went away,
Taking each other's hand and swearing truth,
Then to the ship in which they came, return'd.
Two of the youths were joyous, one was sad;
Sad was Enallos; yet those two by none
Were loved; Enallos had already won
Cymodameia, and the torch was near.
By night, by day, in company, alone,
The image of the maiden fill'd his breast
To the heart's brim. Ah! therefore did that heart
So sink within him.
They have sail'd; they reach
Their home again. Sires, matrons, maidens, throng
The plashing port, to watch the gather'd sail,
And who springs first and farthest upon shore.
Enallos came the latest from the deck,
Swift ran the rumour what the God had said,
And fearful were the maidens, who before
Had urged the sailing of the youths they loved,
That they might give their hands, and have their homes,
And nurse their children; and more thoughts perhaps
Led up to these, and even ran before.
But they persuaded easily their wooers
To sail without them, and return again
When they had seiz'd the virgin on the way.
Cymodameia dreamt three nights, the three
Before their fresh departure, that her own
Enallos had been cast into the deep,
And she had saved him. She alone embarkt
Of all the maidens, and unseen by all,
And hid herself before the break of day
Among the cloaks and fruits piled high aboard.
But when the noon was come, and the repast
Was call'd for, there they found her; and they call'd
Enallos: when Enallos lookt upon her,
Forebodings shook him: hopes rais'd her, and love
Warm'd the clear cheek while she wiped off the spray.
Kindly were all to her and dutiful;
And she slept soundly mid the leaves of fig
And vine, and far as far could be apart.
Now the third morn had risen, and the day
Was dark, and gusts of wind and hail and fogs
Perplext them: land they saw not yet, nor knew
Where land was lying. Sudden lightnings blazed,
Thunder-claps rattled round them. The pale crew
Howl'd for the victim. “Seize her, or we sink.”
Their home again. Sires, matrons, maidens, throng
The plashing port, to watch the gather'd sail,
And who springs first and farthest upon shore.
Enallos came the latest from the deck,
Swift ran the rumour what the God had said,
And fearful were the maidens, who before
Had urged the sailing of the youths they loved,
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And nurse their children; and more thoughts perhaps
Led up to these, and even ran before.
But they persuaded easily their wooers
To sail without them, and return again
When they had seiz'd the virgin on the way.
Cymodameia dreamt three nights, the three
Before their fresh departure, that her own
Enallos had been cast into the deep,
And she had saved him. She alone embarkt
Of all the maidens, and unseen by all,
And hid herself before the break of day
Among the cloaks and fruits piled high aboard.
But when the noon was come, and the repast
Was call'd for, there they found her; and they call'd
Enallos: when Enallos lookt upon her,
Forebodings shook him: hopes rais'd her, and love
Warm'd the clear cheek while she wiped off the spray.
Kindly were all to her and dutiful;
And she slept soundly mid the leaves of fig
And vine, and far as far could be apart.
Now the third morn had risen, and the day
Was dark, and gusts of wind and hail and fogs
Perplext them: land they saw not yet, nor knew
Where land was lying. Sudden lightnings blazed,
Thunder-claps rattled round them. The pale crew
Howl'd for the victim. “Seize her, or we sink.”
O maid of Pindus! I would linger here
To lave my eyelids at the nearest rill,
For thou hast made me weep, as oft thou hast,
Where thou and I, apart from living men,
And two or three crags higher, sate and sang.
Ah! must I, seeing ill my way, proceed?
And thy voice too, Cymodameia! thine
Comes back upon me, helpless as thyself
In this extremity. Sad words! sad words!
“O save me! save! Let me not die so young
Loving thee so! let me not cease to see thee!”
Thus prayed Cymodameia.
To lave my eyelids at the nearest rill,
For thou hast made me weep, as oft thou hast,
Where thou and I, apart from living men,
And two or three crags higher, sate and sang.
Ah! must I, seeing ill my way, proceed?
And thy voice too, Cymodameia! thine
Comes back upon me, helpless as thyself
In this extremity. Sad words! sad words!
“O save me! save! Let me not die so young
Loving thee so! let me not cease to see thee!”
Thus prayed Cymodameia.
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Thus prayed he.
“O God! who givest light to all the world,
Take not from me what makes that light most blessed!
Grant me, if 'tis forbidden me to save
This hapless helpless sea-devoted maid,
To share with her (and bring no curses up
From outraged Neptune) her appointed fate!”
They wrung her from his knee; they hurl'd her down
(Clinging in vain at the hard slippery pich)
Into the whitening wave. But her long hair
Scarcely had risen up again before
Another plunge was heard, another form
Clove the straight line of bubbling foam, direct
As ringdove after ringdove. Groans from all
Burst, for the roaring sea ingulpht them both.
Onward the vessel flew; the skies again
Shone bright, and thunder roll'd along, not wroth,
But gently murmuring to the white-wing'd sails.
Lemnos at close of evening was in sight.
The shore was won; the fields markt out; and roofs
Collected the dun wings that seek house-fare;
And presently the ruddy-bosom'd guest
Of winter, knew the doors: then infant cries
Were heard within; and lastly tottering steps
Pattered along the image-stationed hall.
Ay, three full years had come and gone again,
And often, when the flame on windy nights
Suddenly flicker'd from the mountain-ash
Piled high, men pusht almost from under them
The bench on which they talkt about the dead.
Meanwhile beneficent Apollo saw
With his bright eyes into the sea's calm depth,
And there he saw Enallos, there he saw
Cymodameia. Gravely-gladsome light
Environed them with its eternal green,
And many nymphs sate round; one blew aloud
The spiral shell; one drew bright chords across
Shell more expansive; tenderly a third
With cowering lip hung o'er the flute, and stopt
At will its dulcet sob, or waked to joy;
A fourth took up the lyre and pincht the strings,
Invisible by trembling: many rais'd
Clear voices. Thus they spent their happy hours.
I know them all; but all with eyes downcast,
Conscious of loving, have entreated me
I would not utter now their names above.
Behold, among these natives of the sea
There stands but one young man: how fair! how fond!
Ah! were he fond to them! It may not be!
Yet did they tend him morn and eve; by night
They also watcht his slumbers: then they heard
His sighs, nor his alone; for there were two
To whom the watch was hateful. In despair
Upward he raised his arms, and thus he prayed,
“O Phœbus! on the higher world alone
Showerest thou all thy blessings? Great indeed
Hath been thy favour to me, great to her;
But she pines inly, and calls beautiful
More than herself the Nymphs she sees around,
And asks me ‘Are they not more beautiful?’
Be all more beautiful, be all more blest,
But not with me! Release her from the sight;
Restore her to a happier home, and dry
With thy pure beams, above, her bitter tears!”
“O God! who givest light to all the world,
Take not from me what makes that light most blessed!
Grant me, if 'tis forbidden me to save
This hapless helpless sea-devoted maid,
To share with her (and bring no curses up
From outraged Neptune) her appointed fate!”
They wrung her from his knee; they hurl'd her down
(Clinging in vain at the hard slippery pich)
Into the whitening wave. But her long hair
Scarcely had risen up again before
Another plunge was heard, another form
Clove the straight line of bubbling foam, direct
As ringdove after ringdove. Groans from all
Burst, for the roaring sea ingulpht them both.
Onward the vessel flew; the skies again
Shone bright, and thunder roll'd along, not wroth,
But gently murmuring to the white-wing'd sails.
Lemnos at close of evening was in sight.
The shore was won; the fields markt out; and roofs
Collected the dun wings that seek house-fare;
And presently the ruddy-bosom'd guest
Of winter, knew the doors: then infant cries
Were heard within; and lastly tottering steps
Pattered along the image-stationed hall.
Ay, three full years had come and gone again,
And often, when the flame on windy nights
Suddenly flicker'd from the mountain-ash
Piled high, men pusht almost from under them
The bench on which they talkt about the dead.
Meanwhile beneficent Apollo saw
With his bright eyes into the sea's calm depth,
And there he saw Enallos, there he saw
Cymodameia. Gravely-gladsome light
Environed them with its eternal green,
And many nymphs sate round; one blew aloud
The spiral shell; one drew bright chords across
Shell more expansive; tenderly a third
With cowering lip hung o'er the flute, and stopt
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A fourth took up the lyre and pincht the strings,
Invisible by trembling: many rais'd
Clear voices. Thus they spent their happy hours.
I know them all; but all with eyes downcast,
Conscious of loving, have entreated me
I would not utter now their names above.
Behold, among these natives of the sea
There stands but one young man: how fair! how fond!
Ah! were he fond to them! It may not be!
Yet did they tend him morn and eve; by night
They also watcht his slumbers: then they heard
His sighs, nor his alone; for there were two
To whom the watch was hateful. In despair
Upward he raised his arms, and thus he prayed,
“O Phœbus! on the higher world alone
Showerest thou all thy blessings? Great indeed
Hath been thy favour to me, great to her;
But she pines inly, and calls beautiful
More than herself the Nymphs she sees around,
And asks me ‘Are they not more beautiful?’
Be all more beautiful, be all more blest,
But not with me! Release her from the sight;
Restore her to a happier home, and dry
With thy pure beams, above, her bitter tears!”
She saw him in the action of his prayer,
Troubled, and ran to soothe him. From the ground,
Ere she had claspt his neck, her feet were borne.
He caught her robe; and its white radiance rose
Rapidly, all day long, through the green sea.
Enallos loost not from that robe his grasp,
But spann'd one ancle too. The swift ascent
Had stunn'd them into slumber, sweet, serene,
Invigorating her, nor letting loose
The lover's arm below; albeit at last
It closed those eyes intensely fixt thereon,
And still as fixt in dreaming. Both were cast
Upon an island till'd by peaceful men
And few (no port nor road accessible)
Fruitful and green as the abode they left,
And warm with summer, warm with love and song.
'Tis said that some whom most Apollo loves
Have seen that island, guided by his light;
And others have gone near it, but a fog
Rose up between them and the lofty rocks;
Yet they relate they saw it quite as well,
And shepherd-boys and pious hinds believe.
Troubled, and ran to soothe him. From the ground,
Ere she had claspt his neck, her feet were borne.
He caught her robe; and its white radiance rose
Rapidly, all day long, through the green sea.
Enallos loost not from that robe his grasp,
But spann'd one ancle too. The swift ascent
Had stunn'd them into slumber, sweet, serene,
Invigorating her, nor letting loose
The lover's arm below; albeit at last
It closed those eyes intensely fixt thereon,
And still as fixt in dreaming. Both were cast
Upon an island till'd by peaceful men
And few (no port nor road accessible)
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And warm with summer, warm with love and song.
'Tis said that some whom most Apollo loves
Have seen that island, guided by his light;
And others have gone near it, but a fog
Rose up between them and the lofty rocks;
Yet they relate they saw it quite as well,
And shepherd-boys and pious hinds believe.
PAN AND PITYS.
Cease to complain of what the Gods decree,
Whether by death or (harder!) by the hand
Of one prefer'd thy loves be torn away,
For even against the bourn of Arcady
Beats the sad Styx, heaving its wave of tears,
And nought on earth so high but Care flies higher.
Whether by death or (harder!) by the hand
Of one prefer'd thy loves be torn away,
For even against the bourn of Arcady
Beats the sad Styx, heaving its wave of tears,
And nought on earth so high but Care flies higher.
A maid was wooed by Boreas and by Pan,
Pitys her name, her haunt the wood and wild;
Boreas she fled from; with more placid eye
Lookt she on Pan; yet chided him, and said . .
Pitys her name, her haunt the wood and wild;
Boreas she fled from; with more placid eye
Lookt she on Pan; yet chided him, and said . .
“Ah, why should men or clearer-sighted Gods
Propose to link our hands eternally?
That which o'er raging seas is wildly sought
Perishes and is trampled on in port;
And they where all things are immutable
Beside, even they, the very Gods, are borne
Unsteadily wherever love impels;
Even he whol rules Olympus, he himself
Is lighter than the cloud beneath his feet.
Lovers are ever an uncertain race,
And they the most so who most loudly sing
Of truth and ardour, anguish and despair,
But thou above them all. Now tell me, Pan,
How thou deceivedst the chaste maid of night,
Cynthia, thou keeper of the snow-white flock!
Thy reed had crackled with thy flames, and split
With torture after torture; thy lament
Had fill'd the hollow rocks; but when it came
To touch the sheep-fold, there it paus'd and cool'd.
Wonderest thou whence the story reacht my ear?
Why open those eyes wider? why assume
The ignorant, the innocent? prepared
For refutation, ready to conceal
The fountain of Selinos, waving here
On the low water its long even grass,
And there (thou better may'st remember this)
Paved with smooth stones, as temples are. The sheep
Who led the rest, struggled ere yet half-shorn,
And dragged thee slithering after it: thy knee
Bore long the leaves of ivy twined around
To hide the scar, and still the scar is white.
Dost thou deny the giving half thy flock
To Cynthia? hiding tho' the better half,
Then all begrimed producing it, while stood
Well-washt and fair in puffy woolliness
The baser breed, and caught the unpracticed eye.”
Propose to link our hands eternally?
That which o'er raging seas is wildly sought
Perishes and is trampled on in port;
And they where all things are immutable
Beside, even they, the very Gods, are borne
Unsteadily wherever love impels;
Even he whol rules Olympus, he himself
Is lighter than the cloud beneath his feet.
Lovers are ever an uncertain race,
And they the most so who most loudly sing
Of truth and ardour, anguish and despair,
But thou above them all. Now tell me, Pan,
How thou deceivedst the chaste maid of night,
Cynthia, thou keeper of the snow-white flock!
Thy reed had crackled with thy flames, and split
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Had fill'd the hollow rocks; but when it came
To touch the sheep-fold, there it paus'd and cool'd.
Wonderest thou whence the story reacht my ear?
Why open those eyes wider? why assume
The ignorant, the innocent? prepared
For refutation, ready to conceal
The fountain of Selinos, waving here
On the low water its long even grass,
And there (thou better may'st remember this)
Paved with smooth stones, as temples are. The sheep
Who led the rest, struggled ere yet half-shorn,
And dragged thee slithering after it: thy knee
Bore long the leaves of ivy twined around
To hide the scar, and still the scar is white.
Dost thou deny the giving half thy flock
To Cynthia? hiding tho' the better half,
Then all begrimed producing it, while stood
Well-washt and fair in puffy woolliness
The baser breed, and caught the unpracticed eye.”
Pan blusht, and thus retorted.
“Who hath told
That idle fable of an age long past?
More just, perhaps more happy, hadst thou been,
Shunning the false and flighty. Heard I have
Boreas and his rude song, and seen the goats
Stamp on the rock and lick the affrighted eyes
Of their young kids; and thee too, then averse,
I also saw, O Pitys! Is thy heart,
To what was thy aversion, now inclined?
Believest thou my foe? the foe of all
I hold most dear. Had Cynthia been prefer'd
She would not thus have taunted me: unlike
Thee, Pitys, she looks down with gentle glance
On them who suffer; whether they abide
In the low cottage or the lofty tower
She tends them, and with silent step alike
And watchful eye their aching vigil soothes.
I sought not Cynthia; Cynthia lean'd to me.
Not pleased too easily, unlovely things
She shuns, by lovely (and none else) detain'd.
Sweet, far above all birds, is philomel
To her; above all scenes the Padan glades
And their soft-whispering poplars; sweet to her
The yellow light of box-tree in full bloom
Nodding upon Cytoros. She delights
To wander thro' the twinkling olive-grove,
And where in clusters on Lycæan knolls
Redden the berries of the mountain-ash;
In glassy fountain, and grey temple-top,
And smooth sea-wave, when Hesperus hath left
The hall of Tethys, and when liquid sounds
(Uncertain whence) are wafted to the shore . .
Never in Boreas.”
That idle fable of an age long past?
More just, perhaps more happy, hadst thou been,
Shunning the false and flighty. Heard I have
Boreas and his rude song, and seen the goats
Stamp on the rock and lick the affrighted eyes
Of their young kids; and thee too, then averse,
I also saw, O Pitys! Is thy heart,
To what was thy aversion, now inclined?
Believest thou my foe? the foe of all
I hold most dear. Had Cynthia been prefer'd
She would not thus have taunted me: unlike
Thee, Pitys, she looks down with gentle glance
On them who suffer; whether they abide
In the low cottage or the lofty tower
She tends them, and with silent step alike
And watchful eye their aching vigil soothes.
I sought not Cynthia; Cynthia lean'd to me.
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She shuns, by lovely (and none else) detain'd.
Sweet, far above all birds, is philomel
To her; above all scenes the Padan glades
And their soft-whispering poplars; sweet to her
The yellow light of box-tree in full bloom
Nodding upon Cytoros. She delights
To wander thro' the twinkling olive-grove,
And where in clusters on Lycæan knolls
Redden the berries of the mountain-ash;
In glassy fountain, and grey temple-top,
And smooth sea-wave, when Hesperus hath left
The hall of Tethys, and when liquid sounds
(Uncertain whence) are wafted to the shore . .
Never in Boreas.”
“What a voice is thine!”
She said, and smiled. “More roughly not himself
Could sound with all his fury his own name.
But come, thou cunning creature! tell me how
Thou couldst inveigle Goddesses without
Thinning thy sheepfold.”
She said, and smiled. “More roughly not himself
Could sound with all his fury his own name.
But come, thou cunning creature! tell me how
Thou couldst inveigle Goddesses without
Thinning thy sheepfold.”
“What! again,” cried he,
“Such tart and cool twitting? She received,
Not as belov'd, but loving me, my gift.
I gave her what she askt, and more had given,
But half the flock was all that she required;
Need therefor was it to divide in twain
The different breeds, that she might make her choice.
One, ever meagre, with broad bony front,
Shone white enough, but harder than goat's hair
The wool about it; and loud bleatings fill'd
The plains it battened on . . for only plains
It trod; and smelt . . as all such coarse ones smell.
Avarice urged the Goddess: she sprang forth
And took, which many more have done, the worse.
“Such tart and cool twitting? She received,
Not as belov'd, but loving me, my gift.
I gave her what she askt, and more had given,
But half the flock was all that she required;
Need therefor was it to divide in twain
The different breeds, that she might make her choice.
One, ever meagre, with broad bony front,
Shone white enough, but harder than goat's hair
The wool about it; and loud bleatings fill'd
The plains it battened on . . for only plains
It trod; and smelt . . as all such coarse ones smell.
Avarice urged the Goddess: she sprang forth
And took, which many more have done, the worse.
“Why shake thy head? incredulous! Ah why,
When none believe the truth, should I confess?
Why, one who hates and scorns the lover, love?
Once thou reposedest on the words I spake,
And, when I ceast to speak, thou didst not cease
To ponder them, but with thy cool plump palm
Unconsciously didst stroke that lynx-skin down
Which Bacchus gave me, toucht with virgin shame
If any part slipt off and bared my skin.
I then could please thee, could discourse, could pause,
Could look away from that sweet face, could hide
All consciousness that any hand of mine
Had crept where lifted knee would soon unbend.
Ah then how pleasant was it to look up
(If thou didst too) from the green glebe supine,
And drink the breath of all sweet herbs, and watch
The last rays run along the level clouds,
Until they kindle into living forms
And sweep with golden net the western sky.
Meanwhile thou notedst the dense troop of crows
Returning on one track and at one hour
In the same darkened intervals of heaven.
Then mutual faith was manifest, but glad
Of fresh avowal; then securely lay
Pleasure, reposing on the crop she reapt.
When none believe the truth, should I confess?
Why, one who hates and scorns the lover, love?
Once thou reposedest on the words I spake,
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To ponder them, but with thy cool plump palm
Unconsciously didst stroke that lynx-skin down
Which Bacchus gave me, toucht with virgin shame
If any part slipt off and bared my skin.
I then could please thee, could discourse, could pause,
Could look away from that sweet face, could hide
All consciousness that any hand of mine
Had crept where lifted knee would soon unbend.
Ah then how pleasant was it to look up
(If thou didst too) from the green glebe supine,
And drink the breath of all sweet herbs, and watch
The last rays run along the level clouds,
Until they kindle into living forms
And sweep with golden net the western sky.
Meanwhile thou notedst the dense troop of crows
Returning on one track and at one hour
In the same darkened intervals of heaven.
Then mutual faith was manifest, but glad
Of fresh avowal; then securely lay
Pleasure, reposing on the crop she reapt.
“The oleaster of the cliff; the vine
Of leaf pellucid, clusterless, untamed;
The tufts of cytisus that half-conceal'd
The craggy cavern, narrow, black, profound;
The scantier broom below it, that betray'd
Those two white fawns to us . . what now are they?
How the pine's whispers, how the simpering brook's,
How the bright vapour trembling o'er the grass
Could I enjoy, unless my Pitys took
My hand and show'd me them; unless she blew
My pipe when it was hoarse; and, when my voice
Fail'd me, took up, and so inspired, my song.”
Of leaf pellucid, clusterless, untamed;
The tufts of cytisus that half-conceal'd
The craggy cavern, narrow, black, profound;
The scantier broom below it, that betray'd
Those two white fawns to us . . what now are they?
How the pine's whispers, how the simpering brook's,
How the bright vapour trembling o'er the grass
Could I enjoy, unless my Pitys took
My hand and show'd me them; unless she blew
My pipe when it was hoarse; and, when my voice
Fail'd me, took up, and so inspired, my song.”
Thus he, embracing with brown brawny arm
Her soft white neck, not far from his declined,
And with sharp finger parting her smooth hair.
He paus'd.
Her soft white neck, not far from his declined,
And with sharp finger parting her smooth hair.
He paus'd.
“Take now that pipe,” said she, “and since
Thou findest joyance in things past, run o'er
The race-course of our pleasures: first will I
The loves . . of Boreas I abhor . . relate.
He his high spirit, his uprooted oaks,
And heaven confused with hailstones, may sing on:
How into thine own realms his breath has blown
The wasting flames, until the woods bow'd low
Their heads with heavy groans, while he alert
Shook his broad pinions and scream'd loud with joy.
He may sing on, of shattered sails, of ships
Sunk in the depths of ocean, and the sign
Of that wide empire from Jove's brother torn;
And how beneath the rocks of Ismaros
Deluded he with cruel sport the dream
That brought the lost one back again, and heard
The Manes clap their hands at her return.
Always his pastime was it, not to shake
Light dreams away, but change them into forms
Horrific; churl, from peace and truth averse.
What in such rival ever couldst thou fear?”
Thou findest joyance in things past, run o'er
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The loves . . of Boreas I abhor . . relate.
He his high spirit, his uprooted oaks,
And heaven confused with hailstones, may sing on:
How into thine own realms his breath has blown
The wasting flames, until the woods bow'd low
Their heads with heavy groans, while he alert
Shook his broad pinions and scream'd loud with joy.
He may sing on, of shattered sails, of ships
Sunk in the depths of ocean, and the sign
Of that wide empire from Jove's brother torn;
And how beneath the rocks of Ismaros
Deluded he with cruel sport the dream
That brought the lost one back again, and heard
The Manes clap their hands at her return.
Always his pastime was it, not to shake
Light dreams away, but change them into forms
Horrific; churl, from peace and truth averse.
What in such rival ever couldst thou fear?”
Boreas heard all she spoke, amid the brake
Conceal'd: rage seiz'd him: the whole mountain shook.
“Contemn'd!” said he, and as he said it, split
A rock, and from the summit with his foot
Spurn'd it on Pitys. Ever since, beneath
That rock sits Pan: her name he calls; he waits
Listening, to hear the rock repeat it; wipes
The frequent tear from his hoarse reed, and wears
Henceforth the pine, her pine, upon his brow.
Conceal'd: rage seiz'd him: the whole mountain shook.
“Contemn'd!” said he, and as he said it, split
A rock, and from the summit with his foot
Spurn'd it on Pitys. Ever since, beneath
That rock sits Pan: her name he calls; he waits
Listening, to hear the rock repeat it; wipes
The frequent tear from his hoarse reed, and wears
Henceforth the pine, her pine, upon his brow.
LEONTION, ON TERNISSA'S DEATH (EPICUROS ALSO DEPARTED).
Behold, behold me, whether thou
Art dwelling with the Shades below
Or with the Gods above:
With thee were even the Gods more blest . .
I wish I could but share thy rest
As once I shared thy love.
Art dwelling with the Shades below
Or with the Gods above:
With thee were even the Gods more blest . .
I wish I could but share thy rest
As once I shared thy love.
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'Twas in this garden where I lean
Against thy tombstone, once the scene
Of more than mortal bliss,
That loiter'd our Ternissa; sure
She left me that her love was pure;
It gave not kiss for kiss.
Against thy tombstone, once the scene
Of more than mortal bliss,
That loiter'd our Ternissa; sure
She left me that her love was pure;
It gave not kiss for kiss.
Faint was the blush that overspread
Thro' loosen'd hair her dying head;
One name she utter'd, one
She sigh'd and wept at; so wilt thou,
If any sorrows reach thee now . .
'Twas not Leontion.
Thro' loosen'd hair her dying head;
One name she utter'd, one
She sigh'd and wept at; so wilt thou,
If any sorrows reach thee now . .
'Twas not Leontion.
Wert thou on earth thou wouldst not chide
The gush of tears I could not hide
Who ne'er hid aught from thee.
Willing thou wentest on the way
She went . . and am I doom'd to stay?
No; we soon meet, all three.
The gush of tears I could not hide
Who ne'er hid aught from thee.
Willing thou wentest on the way
She went . . and am I doom'd to stay?
No; we soon meet, all three.
The flowers she cherisht I will tend,
Nor gather, but above them bend
And think they breathe her breath.
Ah, happy flowers! ye little know
Your youthful nurse lies close below,
Close as in life in death.
Nor gather, but above them bend
And think they breathe her breath.
Ah, happy flowers! ye little know
Your youthful nurse lies close below,
Close as in life in death.
CORYTHOS.
Œnone had been weeping, but the blast
Bitterly cold had dried her tears, for high
Upon the mountain stood she, where the grass
Was short and dry, and where the fir-tree cones
Roll'd as the whirlwind rusht along the down.
Thence she beheld the walls and temples doom'd
So soon to fall, and view'd her husband's roof,
(Hers he was once, altho' another's now)
And call'd their Corythos from out the wood.
Bitterly cold had dried her tears, for high
Upon the mountain stood she, where the grass
Was short and dry, and where the fir-tree cones
Roll'd as the whirlwind rusht along the down.
Thence she beheld the walls and temples doom'd
So soon to fall, and view'd her husband's roof,
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And call'd their Corythos from out the wood.
“Go,” said she, “go, my child! there is at Troy
One who, without thy mother, may love thee.
Thy father lives . . alas! lives unaware
How few before him lie his destined days:
For now from Lemnos Philoctetes comes
And brings with him the deadly shafts bequeath'd
By Hercules, wherewith, the Fates have sung,
Paris must perish and the city fall.
Hated thou wilt not be by her he loves,
Altho' no child she ever bore to him
And thou art mine, if thou canst but delay
The hour foredoom'd: he may remember days
Of other times, and how serene they were,
Days when the poplar on its bark retain'd
Two names inscribed by him, and when invoked
Was Xanthos to bear witness to his vow.
When his lost son hath saved him, and he knows
He may not be ungrateful, but become
The kinder father for unkindness past.”
One who, without thy mother, may love thee.
Thy father lives . . alas! lives unaware
How few before him lie his destined days:
For now from Lemnos Philoctetes comes
And brings with him the deadly shafts bequeath'd
By Hercules, wherewith, the Fates have sung,
Paris must perish and the city fall.
Hated thou wilt not be by her he loves,
Altho' no child she ever bore to him
And thou art mine, if thou canst but delay
The hour foredoom'd: he may remember days
Of other times, and how serene they were,
Days when the poplar on its bark retain'd
Two names inscribed by him, and when invoked
Was Xanthos to bear witness to his vow.
When his lost son hath saved him, and he knows
He may not be ungrateful, but become
The kinder father for unkindness past.”
She mingled kisses with o'erflowing tears,
Embraced him, then consigned him . . not at once . .
To Agelaos: he was oft recall'd,
And urged with admonitions fresh and fresh
To keep as distant as was possible
From wave sail-whitened and insidious shore,
And every spot where Argive rampires rose.
Embraced him, then consigned him . . not at once . .
To Agelaos: he was oft recall'd,
And urged with admonitions fresh and fresh
To keep as distant as was possible
From wave sail-whitened and insidious shore,
And every spot where Argive rampires rose.
Downward, thro' crags and briars they wend their way.
Fixt to the place, she heard not long the shout
Of Corythos, nor outcry of shrill birds
He pelted, whooping; then she turn'd around
Toward her mountain home, and thus exclaim'd . .
Fixt to the place, she heard not long the shout
Of Corythos, nor outcry of shrill birds
He pelted, whooping; then she turn'd around
Toward her mountain home, and thus exclaim'd . .
“Mountains and woods, the birthplace of my child,
I see ye yet! he, dearer to my eyes,
Is lost to them! Paris, once gone, return'd
No more to me! alas! nor love remains
Nor pledge of love! not only have I lost
Him who might bring again to me past hours
By countenance, by mien, by sound of laugh,
By words persuasive, when presaging fear
Darkened my brow, that cause was none for grief,
I have lost here . . how little if success
Follow the loss! . . all solace, all support!
All things beside are just the same around.
Xanthos and Simöis tremble at the touch
Of early morning; then approaches me
Tenedos, one unbroken mass distinct,
And sidelong surges overleap the cliffs.
I am changed nothing; nothing can I change:
Such is the life of Nymphs; it must not cease,
Nor must the comeliness of youth decay.
I see ye yet! he, dearer to my eyes,
Is lost to them! Paris, once gone, return'd
No more to me! alas! nor love remains
Nor pledge of love! not only have I lost
Him who might bring again to me past hours
328
By words persuasive, when presaging fear
Darkened my brow, that cause was none for grief,
I have lost here . . how little if success
Follow the loss! . . all solace, all support!
All things beside are just the same around.
Xanthos and Simöis tremble at the touch
Of early morning; then approaches me
Tenedos, one unbroken mass distinct,
And sidelong surges overleap the cliffs.
I am changed nothing; nothing can I change:
Such is the life of Nymphs; it must not cease,
Nor must the comeliness of youth decay.
Wretched! what look I back on? that frail gift
And fugitive, which others grasp, I mourn.
And fugitive, which others grasp, I mourn.
Œnone! O Œnone! beauteous once
He thought thee; he whom thou wilt ever hold
Beauteous and dear, now sees thee like the snow
That lost its colour in a southern gale.
He thought thee; he whom thou wilt ever hold
Beauteous and dear, now sees thee like the snow
That lost its colour in a southern gale.
How easy is it to snap off the bud
Of tender life, and sow upon a breast
Laid open ineradicable cares!
How soon droops youth when faith, that propt it, fails!
How often in her anguish would the maid
Recall irrevocable hours, and grieve
Most for the man whose future grief she sees!
Of tender life, and sow upon a breast
Laid open ineradicable cares!
How soon droops youth when faith, that propt it, fails!
How often in her anguish would the maid
Recall irrevocable hours, and grieve
Most for the man whose future grief she sees!
Asteropè, my sister! happy thou
In him who loves but one! canst thou believe
That Æsacos and Paris are cognate?
But him the mild Arisbè bore; and him,
Born of a furious River, Hecuba.
In him who loves but one! canst thou believe
That Æsacos and Paris are cognate?
But him the mild Arisbè bore; and him,
Born of a furious River, Hecuba.
I envy not alone the happier wed,
But even the wretched who avoid the light,
The unmarried, too, whose parents turn'd aside
Their nuptial torch, and widows o'er whose beds
Black wreaths are drooping; for the pang that death
Inflicts, time may, tho' time alone, assuage.
But even the wretched who avoid the light,
The unmarried, too, whose parents turn'd aside
Their nuptial torch, and widows o'er whose beds
Black wreaths are drooping; for the pang that death
Inflicts, time may, tho' time alone, assuage.
Where Nile besprinkles from his lotus-cup
The nuptial floor; where sacred Ganges rolls
Alike inscrutable his vaster stream,
If Memnon's mother sheds ambrosial tears
Before the sun arises; if, ye maids
Of ocean, in the refuge of your caves
Ye daily hear your Thetis wail her loss,
Shunning wise Glaucos, deaf to Triton's shell,
To Doris, and the Nymphs that wait around;
If maids and matrons wail'd o'er Hector's corse,
Mangled, and stretcht upon a tardy bier,
Hector was still Andromache's, as when
He drave before him the Achaian host,
As when he tost his infant to his crest
And laught that Hector's child could ever fear.
The nuptial floor; where sacred Ganges rolls
329
If Memnon's mother sheds ambrosial tears
Before the sun arises; if, ye maids
Of ocean, in the refuge of your caves
Ye daily hear your Thetis wail her loss,
Shunning wise Glaucos, deaf to Triton's shell,
To Doris, and the Nymphs that wait around;
If maids and matrons wail'd o'er Hector's corse,
Mangled, and stretcht upon a tardy bier,
Hector was still Andromache's, as when
He drave before him the Achaian host,
As when he tost his infant to his crest
And laught that Hector's child could ever fear.
What fault ye Gods was mine, unless to love
And be deserted, and to pass my nights
Among the haunts of beasts, where wolves and bears
Break my first slumber, and my last, with howls,
And the winds roar incessant from above?
Perhaps the Gods hereafter may look down
With gentler eyes, nor deem my fault so great.
Howe'er it be, may Corythos be blest
With other days, with better than pursuit
Of stag, or net thrown over birds when driven
By cold and hunger to scant oats unhous'd . .
O may they grant him happier, and forbid
That children suffer when their sires transgress.”
And be deserted, and to pass my nights
Among the haunts of beasts, where wolves and bears
Break my first slumber, and my last, with howls,
And the winds roar incessant from above?
Perhaps the Gods hereafter may look down
With gentler eyes, nor deem my fault so great.
Howe'er it be, may Corythos be blest
With other days, with better than pursuit
Of stag, or net thrown over birds when driven
By cold and hunger to scant oats unhous'd . .
O may they grant him happier, and forbid
That children suffer when their sires transgress.”
Meanwhile the youth was stopping near the walls,
And stood there wondering that e'en those, so vast,
So lofty, had resisted such a host
Under so many tents on all sides round.
“But where is that old fig-tree? where the scene
Of Hector and Achilles face to face?
Where that of Venus when she drew the cloud
Around my father to preserve his life?”
And stood there wondering that e'en those, so vast,
So lofty, had resisted such a host
Under so many tents on all sides round.
“But where is that old fig-tree? where the scene
Of Hector and Achilles face to face?
Where that of Venus when she drew the cloud
Around my father to preserve his life?”
Such were his questions, seizing the guide's hand,
Hurrying him onward, and entreating him
Forthwith to lead him into Troy itself,
Even into Priam's house. Thus Agelaos
Represses him.
Hurrying him onward, and entreating him
Forthwith to lead him into Troy itself,
Even into Priam's house. Thus Agelaos
Represses him.
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“Thy mother's sole command
Was Onward! straight to Helena's abode.”
Was Onward! straight to Helena's abode.”
An aged man, who heard the two converse,
Stopt them.
Stopt them.
“O Dardan,” cried the impatient boy,
“Say where dwells Helena?”
“Say where dwells Helena?”
“With sterner voice
“Go,” said the Dardan, “the destroyer's court
To all is open . . there it lies: pass on.”
The youth threw instantly both arms around
The old man's neck, and, “Blessed,” he exclaim'd,
“Blessed, to whom my mother's injuries
Are hateful! It is virtue so to hate
The wicked Spartan. Here none other house
Than Priam's will I enter, where with his
Abides my father, where Andromachè
Prostrate on earth bemoans her husband slain,
While that bold wanton, fearing neither Pan
Nor Zeus, with busy needle works, I ween,
For other temples golden tapestries,
Or twitches the shrill harp with nail of Sphynx.”
“Go,” said the Dardan, “the destroyer's court
To all is open . . there it lies: pass on.”
The youth threw instantly both arms around
The old man's neck, and, “Blessed,” he exclaim'd,
“Blessed, to whom my mother's injuries
Are hateful! It is virtue so to hate
The wicked Spartan. Here none other house
Than Priam's will I enter, where with his
Abides my father, where Andromachè
Prostrate on earth bemoans her husband slain,
While that bold wanton, fearing neither Pan
Nor Zeus, with busy needle works, I ween,
For other temples golden tapestries,
Or twitches the shrill harp with nail of Sphynx.”
Many, as they were speaking, past them by.
One woman, pausing, askt them if the ships
Could be discern'd from Ida whence they came,
And whether favourable were the winds
For their departure: to the eld she spake,
But gazed upon the youth: he saw her cheeks
Redden and pale; his guide too, not unmoved,
Thought, if in Ilion be such beauty, who
Would turn a glance elsewhere, tho' all the Gods
And all the Goddesses might promise more?
Now saw the youth, nor had he seen till now,
The maidens following her; their vests succinct,
Their hair close-braided; faultless all in form,
All modest in demeanour. Not so fast
The motion of his heart when rusht the boar
Into his toils, and knotty cornel spear
Whiz'd as it struck the bristles, and the tusks
Rattled with gnashing rage thro' boiling blood.
One woman, pausing, askt them if the ships
Could be discern'd from Ida whence they came,
And whether favourable were the winds
For their departure: to the eld she spake,
But gazed upon the youth: he saw her cheeks
Redden and pale; his guide too, not unmoved,
Thought, if in Ilion be such beauty, who
Would turn a glance elsewhere, tho' all the Gods
And all the Goddesses might promise more?
Now saw the youth, nor had he seen till now,
The maidens following her; their vests succinct,
Their hair close-braided; faultless all in form,
All modest in demeanour. Not so fast
The motion of his heart when rusht the boar
Into his toils, and knotty cornel spear
Whiz'd as it struck the bristles, and the tusks
Rattled with gnashing rage thro' boiling blood.
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Whither were going they, she gently askt.
“To where Assaracos and Ilos dwelt,”
Replied the elder, “where dwells Paris now.”
Then she, “The way is safer shown by us,
And sooner will ye find him when he leaves
The citadel. At early dawn he heard
A clamour from the coast; and soon a skiff
Was seen: an old man landed; one alone
Came with him; 'twas Odysseus; more behind.
Soon roam'd the sailors, culling on the coast
Bay and verbena; soon was every prow
Glimmering with these unhoped-for signs of peace.”
“To where Assaracos and Ilos dwelt,”
Replied the elder, “where dwells Paris now.”
Then she, “The way is safer shown by us,
And sooner will ye find him when he leaves
The citadel. At early dawn he heard
A clamour from the coast; and soon a skiff
Was seen: an old man landed; one alone
Came with him; 'twas Odysseus; more behind.
Soon roam'd the sailors, culling on the coast
Bay and verbena; soon was every prow
Glimmering with these unhoped-for signs of peace.”
Shaking his head, the Idæan answered thus.
“'Twas surely Philoctetes who arrived.
The arms he bears were those of Hercales,
And now the bow of Nessos and the shafts
Infected by the Hydra, come against
The falling city of Laomedon.”
“'Twas surely Philoctetes who arrived.
The arms he bears were those of Hercales,
And now the bow of Nessos and the shafts
Infected by the Hydra, come against
The falling city of Laomedon.”
Struck by the words she heard, the more she wisht
To hear, the quicker went she on, and bade
Her damsels hasten too: she did look back,
Yet hasten'd. The Idæan strangers moved
Tardily now thro' crowds who stood before
The house of Hector: there they stood; there came
Widows and maids and matrons, carrying
Honey (the outraged Manes to appease)
And children on their shoulders, who lookt up,
Stretching their eyes, stretching their bodies out
To see their equal-aged Astyanax.
The older and the younger wept alike
At the morn silence: all things were laid waste
Around the roof-tree of their hero's house.
To hear, the quicker went she on, and bade
Her damsels hasten too: she did look back,
Yet hasten'd. The Idæan strangers moved
Tardily now thro' crowds who stood before
The house of Hector: there they stood; there came
Widows and maids and matrons, carrying
Honey (the outraged Manes to appease)
And children on their shoulders, who lookt up,
Stretching their eyes, stretching their bodies out
To see their equal-aged Astyanax.
The older and the younger wept alike
At the morn silence: all things were laid waste
Around the roof-tree of their hero's house.
The palace now they reach where Paris dwelt;
They wonder at the wide and lofty dome,
The polisht columns and the brazen forms
Of heroes and of Gods, and marble steps,
And valves resounding at the gates unbarr'd.
They enter them. What ivory! and what gold!
What breathing images depicted there!
Dædalos had enricht the Cretan king
With divers; and his daughter when she fled
With Theseus, who had slain the Minotaur,
Brought part away within his hollow ship;
And these were Helena's: a scient hand
Drew her, the fairest, foremost into light
Among the girls she danced with, while the Gods
Of heaven and ocean gazed on her alone.
Above them sate the Sire of all, and nigh
She who on Cypros landed from her shell;
Curl'd conchs less bright the round-eyed Tritons blew.
They wonder at the wide and lofty dome,
The polisht columns and the brazen forms
Of heroes and of Gods, and marble steps,
And valves resounding at the gates unbarr'd.
They enter them. What ivory! and what gold!
What breathing images depicted there!
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With divers; and his daughter when she fled
With Theseus, who had slain the Minotaur,
Brought part away within his hollow ship;
And these were Helena's: a scient hand
Drew her, the fairest, foremost into light
Among the girls she danced with, while the Gods
Of heaven and ocean gazed on her alone.
Above them sate the Sire of all, and nigh
She who on Cypros landed from her shell;
Curl'd conchs less bright the round-eyed Tritons blew.
Helena sent for Paris: what had said
The shepherd she related, but one fact
Repressing . . who the mother of the boy,
And whom the boy resembled. Such was once
Paris, the guest of Sparta; but ten years
Had cull'd and carried off the flower of youth.
The shepherd she related, but one fact
Repressing . . who the mother of the boy,
And whom the boy resembled. Such was once
Paris, the guest of Sparta; but ten years
Had cull'd and carried off the flower of youth.
She thought not in these moments of his flight
Inglorious from the spear of Diomed,
Of nearer peril thought she; he, reclined
Upon his purple couch, her fear controll'd.
Inglorious from the spear of Diomed,
Of nearer peril thought she; he, reclined
Upon his purple couch, her fear controll'd.
“No Philoctetes is arrived, afar
Sits he, alone upon the Lesbian rock,
Heavy with mortal wound; a wing drives off
The beasts from worrying their expected prey,
Often he waves it o'er his weary head
Lest vulture settle on it, often sees
The brazen breast of eagle close above,
Too weak his voice to scare it off, too weak
His groans, tho' louder. Thinkest he who bore
All this from faithless friend, who sits athirst,
Ahungered, on the beach, who bends his ear
Down to the earth and hears the pulse of oars
Fainter and fainter, and the seaman's song
Lively as ever, and while he bemoans
His wasting and immedicable wound . .
What can Lernæan arrow do against us?
Grant, if that far-famed bowman limp across
The heavy sands crisp with Achaian gore,
Year after year, in flakes not washt away,
Where lies our danger? He but comes to find
Broken the chariot that had drag'd along
Hector, the blackened pyre where Ajax lies,
The corslet of Patroclos. Lo, O Troy!
Those mighty hands that threaten now thy fall!
Now is the time for us to turn our backs,
To leave our heritage, to leave the fane
Of Pallas, fane inviolate till now,
The roofs that Neptune helpt her to erect,
And over which Apollo, shining forth
And shouting and exhorting, bent his bow.
An old man bears an older on his back,
Odysseus Philoctetes. Aye, 'tis time,
My Helena, our footsteps to retrace
Toward Mycænai: let us bear away
Our household Gods, by former wars unmoved . .
Carry thou the Palladion in thy breast
That trembles so with pious fear, and bring
Gifts to Diana on Taÿgetos!
The rampire of the Achaians is o'erthrown;
The Myrmidons are scattered; every tent
Lies open . . that is little . . for, behold!
A lame man wins the race and grasps the prize!
While dark invidious Heré exercised
Her hatred on her judge, and arm'd the son
Of Tydeus, and while Ajax rear'd his shield
Covered with seven bull-hides, and Nereid-born
The proud Æmonian shook Aetion's towers,
Thy fears, even then, I might, in jest, rebuke.
On me no prowess have the Gods bestow'd?
No Venus, no Apollo, favoured me!”
Sits he, alone upon the Lesbian rock,
Heavy with mortal wound; a wing drives off
The beasts from worrying their expected prey,
Often he waves it o'er his weary head
Lest vulture settle on it, often sees
The brazen breast of eagle close above,
Too weak his voice to scare it off, too weak
His groans, tho' louder. Thinkest he who bore
All this from faithless friend, who sits athirst,
Ahungered, on the beach, who bends his ear
Down to the earth and hears the pulse of oars
Fainter and fainter, and the seaman's song
Lively as ever, and while he bemoans
His wasting and immedicable wound . .
What can Lernæan arrow do against us?
Grant, if that far-famed bowman limp across
The heavy sands crisp with Achaian gore,
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Where lies our danger? He but comes to find
Broken the chariot that had drag'd along
Hector, the blackened pyre where Ajax lies,
The corslet of Patroclos. Lo, O Troy!
Those mighty hands that threaten now thy fall!
Now is the time for us to turn our backs,
To leave our heritage, to leave the fane
Of Pallas, fane inviolate till now,
The roofs that Neptune helpt her to erect,
And over which Apollo, shining forth
And shouting and exhorting, bent his bow.
An old man bears an older on his back,
Odysseus Philoctetes. Aye, 'tis time,
My Helena, our footsteps to retrace
Toward Mycænai: let us bear away
Our household Gods, by former wars unmoved . .
Carry thou the Palladion in thy breast
That trembles so with pious fear, and bring
Gifts to Diana on Taÿgetos!
The rampire of the Achaians is o'erthrown;
The Myrmidons are scattered; every tent
Lies open . . that is little . . for, behold!
A lame man wins the race and grasps the prize!
While dark invidious Heré exercised
Her hatred on her judge, and arm'd the son
Of Tydeus, and while Ajax rear'd his shield
Covered with seven bull-hides, and Nereid-born
The proud Æmonian shook Aetion's towers,
Thy fears, even then, I might, in jest, rebuke.
On me no prowess have the Gods bestow'd?
No Venus, no Apollo, favoured me!”
Her failing spirits with derisive glee
And fondness he refresht: her anxious thoughts
Followed, and upon Corythos they dwelt.
Often he met her eyes, nor shun'd they his,
For, royal as she was and born of Zeus,
She was compassionate, and bow'd her head
To share her smiles and griefs with those below.
All in her sight were level, for she stood
High above all within the seagirt world.
At last she questioned Corythos what brought
His early footsteps thro' such dangerous ways,
And from abode so peaceable and safe.
At once he told her why he came: she held
Her hand to Corythos: he stood ashamed
Not to have hated her: he lookt, he sigh'd,
He hung upon her words . . what gentle words!
How chaste her countenance.
And fondness he refresht: her anxious thoughts
Followed, and upon Corythos they dwelt.
Often he met her eyes, nor shun'd they his,
For, royal as she was and born of Zeus,
She was compassionate, and bow'd her head
To share her smiles and griefs with those below.
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High above all within the seagirt world.
At last she questioned Corythos what brought
His early footsteps thro' such dangerous ways,
And from abode so peaceable and safe.
At once he told her why he came: she held
Her hand to Corythos: he stood ashamed
Not to have hated her: he lookt, he sigh'd,
He hung upon her words . . what gentle words!
How chaste her countenance.
“What open brows
The brave and beauteous ever have!” thought she,
“But even the hardiest, when above their heads
Death is impending, shudder at the sight
Of barrows on the sands and bones exposed
And whitening in the wind, and cypresses
From Ida waiting for dissever'd friends.”
The brave and beauteous ever have!” thought she,
“But even the hardiest, when above their heads
Death is impending, shudder at the sight
Of barrows on the sands and bones exposed
And whitening in the wind, and cypresses
From Ida waiting for dissever'd friends.”
CORYTHOS.
(SECOND PART.)
Helena long had pondered, at what hour
To charm her Paris with the novel sight
Of such a son, so like him.
To charm her Paris with the novel sight
Of such a son, so like him.
Seldom bears
A beauteous mother beauteous progeny,
Nor fathers often see such semblances
As Corythos to his. To mortal man
Rarely the Gods grant the same blessing twice;
They smile at incense, nor give ear to prayer.
With this regretful thought her mind recurs
To one so infantine, one left behind
At morning, from the breast she just had warm'd.
“Will no one ever tell me what thou art,
Hermionè! how grows thy destined spouse
Orestes.”
A beauteous mother beauteous progeny,
Nor fathers often see such semblances
As Corythos to his. To mortal man
Rarely the Gods grant the same blessing twice;
They smile at incense, nor give ear to prayer.
With this regretful thought her mind recurs
To one so infantine, one left behind
At morning, from the breast she just had warm'd.
“Will no one ever tell me what thou art,
335
Orestes.”
Now invade her other cares
How to retain her Paris . . oft she wisht
She had a boy like Corythos . . at least
Hers she would make him by all tenderness,
Atoning, if atonement there could be,
For what his mother by her crime sustain'd . .
But was it not decreed so from above?
She argued . . and remorse was thus appeas'd.
How to retain her Paris . . oft she wisht
She had a boy like Corythos . . at least
Hers she would make him by all tenderness,
Atoning, if atonement there could be,
For what his mother by her crime sustain'd . .
But was it not decreed so from above?
She argued . . and remorse was thus appeas'd.
Then Agelaos call'd she, and besought.
“Perform, O Agelaos, my request.
“Perform, O Agelaos, my request.
Two youths have been entrusted to thy care,
Paris and Corythos: one care is mine.
Already hast thou seen the torch extinct
That threatened Troy, and strong as be thy wish
Again to press thy earlier pupil's hand,
Be not thou overhasty: let a son
Receive a father's blessing quite alone.”
Then he. “Not different were the wise commands
His mother gave me. Should I see the man
I left a child, he might not recognize
Old Agelaos in these wrinkled cheeks,
These temples sprinkled now with hoary hair,
These limbs now slow, this voice and spirit weak;
Nor haply would the prince be overjoyed
To know his servant had outrun his lord
In virtue's path: my help the royal heir
Wants not; but Corythos may want it, him
Never until death parts us will I leave.”
Paris and Corythos: one care is mine.
Already hast thou seen the torch extinct
That threatened Troy, and strong as be thy wish
Again to press thy earlier pupil's hand,
Be not thou overhasty: let a son
Receive a father's blessing quite alone.”
Then he. “Not different were the wise commands
His mother gave me. Should I see the man
I left a child, he might not recognize
Old Agelaos in these wrinkled cheeks,
These temples sprinkled now with hoary hair,
These limbs now slow, this voice and spirit weak;
Nor haply would the prince be overjoyed
To know his servant had outrun his lord
In virtue's path: my help the royal heir
Wants not; but Corythos may want it, him
Never until death parts us will I leave.”
Revolving in her mind a thousand schemes,
She now decided that her guest should come
Before his father when the harp and wine
Open the breast, and the first lamps were lit
To show the dauntless, unsuspicious youth;
She oftentimes had thought of it before,
And now the day was come.
She now decided that her guest should come
Before his father when the harp and wine
Open the breast, and the first lamps were lit
To show the dauntless, unsuspicious youth;
She oftentimes had thought of it before,
And now the day was come.
The Trojans turn'd
Again to strains of intermitted glee,
Not unafraid, however, of reproof
Tho' mild; the times had so debased the lyre,
And for heroic deeds of better men,
It tinkled now, in city and in camp,
With little else than weak lasciviousness,
Until its strings were stifled with applause.
Helena heard not such complacently;
Adultress as she was, she had not lost
The early bloom of Spartan modesty.
Again to strains of intermitted glee,
336
Tho' mild; the times had so debased the lyre,
And for heroic deeds of better men,
It tinkled now, in city and in camp,
With little else than weak lasciviousness,
Until its strings were stifled with applause.
Helena heard not such complacently;
Adultress as she was, she had not lost
The early bloom of Spartan modesty.
Around the chamber shone the images
Of boys and maidens robed in vest succinct,
And holding burnisht lamps, whence incense wreath'd
Its heavy cloud whitened with cedar oil,
And under them the purple seats gleam'd forth,
And over was the residence of Gods,
And nectar-bearing youth, in light serene.
Of boys and maidens robed in vest succinct,
And holding burnisht lamps, whence incense wreath'd
Its heavy cloud whitened with cedar oil,
And under them the purple seats gleam'd forth,
And over was the residence of Gods,
And nectar-bearing youth, in light serene.
Helena, now impatient of delay,
Looks often out the portal's tissued folds
Heavy with fringe of interwoven gold,
And often stops when even Paris speaks,
Listening, but not to Paris as before,
And, once or twice, half springing from her seat.
Looks often out the portal's tissued folds
Heavy with fringe of interwoven gold,
And often stops when even Paris speaks,
Listening, but not to Paris as before,
And, once or twice, half springing from her seat.
Now enters Corythos: the splendours round
Amaze him, and one image strikes him dumb,
His lofty sire's: he would advance, but awe
Withholds him: he can only fix his gaze
On Helena.
Amaze him, and one image strikes him dumb,
His lofty sire's: he would advance, but awe
Withholds him: he can only fix his gaze
On Helena.
When Paris first perceives
A stranger, of fresh age and ardent mien,
Advance, then hesitate, and then retreat
Disturb'd and trembling, voiceless, motionless,
Nameless, and without call or office there,
And when he sees the purple robe he wears,
Woven by Helena in former days,
Perhaps too for the man she since had loved,
A thousand furies rush into his breast,
He tears it off, he hurls it on the ground,
He strikes with rapid sword, the face, the neck,
The bosom, of his child, and with his heel
Stamps on the hands in vain to heaven uprais'd,
And hears, infuriate wretch! but bubbling blood,
And one loud female shriek . . Thy child! thy child!
A stranger, of fresh age and ardent mien,
Advance, then hesitate, and then retreat
Disturb'd and trembling, voiceless, motionless,
Nameless, and without call or office there,
And when he sees the purple robe he wears,
Woven by Helena in former days,
Perhaps too for the man she since had loved,
A thousand furies rush into his breast,
He tears it off, he hurls it on the ground,
He strikes with rapid sword, the face, the neck,
The bosom, of his child, and with his heel
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And hears, infuriate wretch! but bubbling blood,
And one loud female shriek . . Thy child! thy child!
PELEUS AND THETIS.
Thetis.O Peleus! whom the Gods have given me
For all my happiness on earth, a bliss
I thought too great . .
Peleus.
Why sighest thou? why shed
Those tears? why sudden silence? our last tears
Should then have fallen when the Fates divided us,
Saying, earth is not thine; that he who rules
The waters call'd thee. Bitter those that flow
Between the loved and loving when they part,
And ought to be; woe to the inhuman wretch
Who wishes they were not: but such as fall
At the returning light of blessed feet
Should be refreshing and divine as morn.
Thetis.
Support me, O support me in thy arms
Once more, once only. Lower not thy cheek
In sadness; let me look into thine eyes;
Tho' the heavens frown on us, they, now serene,
Threaten us no fresh sorrow . . us? ah me!
The word of Zeus is spoken: our Achilles
Discovered, borne away in the Argive ships
To Aulis, froward youth! his fearless heart
Had bounded faster than those ships to Troy.
Ah! surely there are some among the Gods
Or Goddesses who might have, knowing all,
Forewarn'd thee.
Once more, once only. Lower not thy cheek
In sadness; let me look into thine eyes;
Tho' the heavens frown on us, they, now serene,
Threaten us no fresh sorrow . . us? ah me!
The word of Zeus is spoken: our Achilles
Discovered, borne away in the Argive ships
To Aulis, froward youth! his fearless heart
Had bounded faster than those ships to Troy.
Ah! surely there are some among the Gods
Or Goddesses who might have, knowing all,
Forewarn'd thee.
Were there neither auguries
Nor dreams to shake off thy security,
No priest to prophesy, no soothsayer?
And yet what pastures are more plentiful
Than round Larissa? victims where more stately?
Come, touch the altar with me.
Nor dreams to shake off thy security,
No priest to prophesy, no soothsayer?
And yet what pastures are more plentiful
Than round Larissa? victims where more stately?
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Pious man,
Doth not thy finger even now impress
The embers of an incense often burnt
For him, for thee?
Doth not thy finger even now impress
The embers of an incense often burnt
For him, for thee?
The lowing of the herds
Are audible, whose leaders lead them forth
For sacrifice from where Apidanos
Rises, to where Enipeus widens, lost
In the sea-beach: and these may yet avail.
Are audible, whose leaders lead them forth
For sacrifice from where Apidanos
Rises, to where Enipeus widens, lost
In the sea-beach: and these may yet avail.
Peleus.
Alas! alas! priests may foretell calamity
But not avert it: all that they can give
Are threats and promises and hopes and fears.
Despond not, long-lost Thetis! hath no God
Now sent thee back to me? why not believe
He will preserve our son? which of them all
Hath he offended?
Thetis.
Yet uncertainties,
Worse than uncertainties, oppress my heart,
And overwhelm me.
Peleus.
Thetis! in the midst
Of all uncertainties some comfort lies,
Save those which even perplex the Gods on high
And which confound men the most godlike . . love,
Despond not so. Long may Achilles live
Past our old-age . . ours? had I then forgot,
Dazed by thy beauty, thy divinity?
Thetis.
Immortal is thy love, immutable.
Peleus.
Time without grief might not have greatly changed me.
Thetis.
There is a loveliness which wants not youth,
And which the Gods may want, and sometimes do.
The soft voice of compassion is unheard
Above; no shell of ocean is attuned
To that voice there; no tear hath ever dropt
Upon Olympos.
And which the Gods may want, and sometimes do.
The soft voice of compassion is unheard
Above; no shell of ocean is attuned
To that voice there; no tear hath ever dropt
Upon Olympos.
Fondly now as ever
Thou lookest, but more pensively; hath grief
Done this, and grief alone? tell me at once,
Say have no freshly fond anxieties . .
Thou lookest, but more pensively; hath grief
Done this, and grief alone? tell me at once,
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Peleus.
Smile thus, smile thus anew. Ages shall fly
Over my tomb while thou art flourishing
In youth eternal, the desire of Gods,
The light of Ocean to its lowest deep,
The inspirer and sustainer here on earth
Of ever-flowing song.
Thetis.
I bless thy words
And in my heart will hold them; Gods who see
Within it may desire me, but they know
I have loved Peleus. When we were so happy
They parted us, and, more unmerciful,
Again unite us in eternal woe.
Peleus.
Powerfuller than the elements their will,
And swifter than the light, they may relent,
For they are mutable, and thou mayest see
Achilles every day and every hour.
Thetis.
Alas! how few! . . I see him in the dust,
In agony, in death, I see his blood
Along the flints, his yellow hair I see
Darken'd, and flapping a red stream, his hand
Unable to remove it from the eyes.
I hear his voice . . his voice that calls on me.
I could not save him; and he would have left
The grots of Nereus, would have left the groves
And meadows of Elysium, bent on war.
Peleus.
Yet Mars may spare him. Troy hath once been won.
Thetis.
Perish he must, perish at Troy, and now.
Peleus.
The now of Gods is more than life's duration;
Other Gods, other worlds, are form'd within it.
If he indeed must perish, and at Troy,
His ashes will lie softly upon hers,
Thus fall our beauteous boy, thus fall Achilles.
Songs such as Keiron's harp could never reach
Shall sound his praises, and his spear shall shine
Over far lands, when even our Gods are mute.
Thetis.
Over his head nine years had not yet past
When in the halls of Tethys these were words
Reiterated oftenest . . O thou brave
Golden-hair'd son of Peleus! What a heap
Of shells were broken by impatient Nymphs
Because of hoarseness rendering them unfit
For their high symphonies! and what reproofs
Against some Tritons from their brotherhood
For breaking by too loud a blast the slumber
Of those who, thinking of him, never slept.
To me appear'd the first light of his eyes,
The dayspring of the world; such eyes were thine
At our first meeting on the warm sea-shore.
When in the halls of Tethys these were words
340
Golden-hair'd son of Peleus! What a heap
Of shells were broken by impatient Nymphs
Because of hoarseness rendering them unfit
For their high symphonies! and what reproofs
Against some Tritons from their brotherhood
For breaking by too loud a blast the slumber
Of those who, thinking of him, never slept.
To me appear'd the first light of his eyes,
The dayspring of the world; such eyes were thine
At our first meeting on the warm sea-shore.
Why should youth linger with me? why not come
Age, and then death? The beast of Kalydon
Made his impetuous rush against this arm
No longer fit for war nor for defence
Of thy own people; is the day come too
When it no longer can sustain thy Thetis?
Protend it not toward the skies, invoke not,
Name not, a Deity; I dread them all.
No; lift me not above thy head, in vain
Reproving them with such an awful look,
A look of beauty which they will not pity,
And of reproaches which they may not brook.
Age, and then death? The beast of Kalydon
Made his impetuous rush against this arm
No longer fit for war nor for defence
Of thy own people; is the day come too
When it no longer can sustain thy Thetis?
Protend it not toward the skies, invoke not,
Name not, a Deity; I dread them all.
No; lift me not above thy head, in vain
Reproving them with such an awful look,
A look of beauty which they will not pity,
And of reproaches which they may not brook.
Peleus.
Doth not my hand now, Thetis, clasp that foot
Which seen the Powers of ocean cease to rage,
Indignant when the brood of Æolos
Disturbs their rest? If that refreshing breath
Which now comes over my unquiet head
Be not the breath of immortality,
If Zeus hath any thunderbolt for it,
Let this, beloved Thetis, be the hour!
THE ESPOUSALS OF POLYXENA.
“Thy blood, O pious maiden! shall remain
In thy own city; and thou shalt survive
Its foe who now espouses thee.”
In thy own city; and thou shalt survive
Its foe who now espouses thee.”
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The song
Of the three Sisters in three voices sang
These words, so comforting a mother's heart
To her Polyxena; and from the shrine
Of Thymbra, from Apollo's mouth the same
When she had led her thither.
Of the three Sisters in three voices sang
These words, so comforting a mother's heart
To her Polyxena; and from the shrine
Of Thymbra, from Apollo's mouth the same
When she had led her thither.
“Future days
Of peace and happiness,” said she, “expand
Before thee, and thou seest them not, O child!
Pious, yet even by that God's voice unmoved.
Behold! how bright the sky! how sweet the air
Breathes round about us! sweet when we came forth,
But how much balmier now! the flowers arise
Under the spring's first dust, as if no foot
Of foe had trampled them, and sip the dew
Joyous as if they felt thy wedding-day.
Continuous heaps extend along the plain,
Heaps where one briar binds more than one below,
Foes lately, now united evermore.”
Of peace and happiness,” said she, “expand
Before thee, and thou seest them not, O child!
Pious, yet even by that God's voice unmoved.
Behold! how bright the sky! how sweet the air
Breathes round about us! sweet when we came forth,
But how much balmier now! the flowers arise
Under the spring's first dust, as if no foot
Of foe had trampled them, and sip the dew
Joyous as if they felt thy wedding-day.
Continuous heaps extend along the plain,
Heaps where one briar binds more than one below,
Foes lately, now united evermore.”
“I see the flowers, I see the sepultures,”
Polyxena said sighing, “and I feel
The breeze, no balmier than it breath'd before:
That tepid moisture which the plants inhale
Was theirs; and ah! those flowers were Trojan blood.
Not other now shines forth thy light, O sun,
Than when the Achaian anchors graspt our strand
Amid the clamour of the host, amid
Cars rattling on the stony beach, and shields
Struck in defiance. Ah! nor otherwise
When every God left Hector.”
Polyxena said sighing, “and I feel
The breeze, no balmier than it breath'd before:
That tepid moisture which the plants inhale
Was theirs; and ah! those flowers were Trojan blood.
Not other now shines forth thy light, O sun,
Than when the Achaian anchors graspt our strand
Amid the clamour of the host, amid
Cars rattling on the stony beach, and shields
Struck in defiance. Ah! nor otherwise
When every God left Hector.”
Here she wept,
Here wept the mother too.
Here wept the mother too.
“But why thus break
Silence, if only to make way for grief?
I had ceast almost so deeply to bemoan
My children when Achilles was defence,
Not terror, to us all. Canst thou refuse
To see the Gods now with him, friends to Troy?
King above kings, rich with ancestral stores,
And now about to bring all Asia bound
Into Mycenai, and, despite of Mars,
Polyxena, thee now doth he prefer
To all these glories: ere they yet were won,
Iphigeneia never had declined
His proffer'd hand while yet his shield was white,
Nor had the Nereid, she from whom he sprang,
Brought the Vulcanian armour he now bears.
Him born of Gods and worthy to beget
Their semblances, rejectest thou? She shed
Her blood upon the altar that thy hand
Might rescue Troy. Thou fearest the wild wail
Of our Cassandra; if there must be fear,
Is not Achilles what thou mightest dread?”
Silence, if only to make way for grief?
I had ceast almost so deeply to bemoan
My children when Achilles was defence,
Not terror, to us all. Canst thou refuse
To see the Gods now with him, friends to Troy?
King above kings, rich with ancestral stores,
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Into Mycenai, and, despite of Mars,
Polyxena, thee now doth he prefer
To all these glories: ere they yet were won,
Iphigeneia never had declined
His proffer'd hand while yet his shield was white,
Nor had the Nereid, she from whom he sprang,
Brought the Vulcanian armour he now bears.
Him born of Gods and worthy to beget
Their semblances, rejectest thou? She shed
Her blood upon the altar that thy hand
Might rescue Troy. Thou fearest the wild wail
Of our Cassandra; if there must be fear,
Is not Achilles what thou mightest dread?”
Briefly the yielding daughter thus replied.
“Whether the Gods command me, as they do,
To wed, or whether to be bound a slave,
I follow the behest: where no disgrace
No hardship is . . but let me weep awhile.
I will, O mother! yes, I will obey
A parent . . for this also they command,
Hoping they may recall or may remit
This one decree. Must I be given up
To him behind whose wheels my brother's corse
Was drag'd along, drag'd while his breast yet heaved
And plowed and fill'd the furrow with his blood.
Oh! on this very ground our feet now press
Plighted are nuptial vows! are Gods invoked!
Thanksgivings offered them! Oh! pardon grief
That nothing can abate: what can the Gods
Do now to lighten it?
“Whether the Gods command me, as they do,
To wed, or whether to be bound a slave,
I follow the behest: where no disgrace
No hardship is . . but let me weep awhile.
I will, O mother! yes, I will obey
A parent . . for this also they command,
Hoping they may recall or may remit
This one decree. Must I be given up
To him behind whose wheels my brother's corse
Was drag'd along, drag'd while his breast yet heaved
And plowed and fill'd the furrow with his blood.
Oh! on this very ground our feet now press
Plighted are nuptial vows! are Gods invoked!
Thanksgivings offered them! Oh! pardon grief
That nothing can abate: what can the Gods
Do now to lighten it?
Ye mouldering heaps
Which friendly hands heapt up and covered o'er
With turf, not solid yet; where cypresses,
Green lately, drop their hard and withered leaves;
And ye that cover corses numberless
In happier union, ye but separate
The resting soul from soul that knows not rest.
I gave my promise; thus Apollo will'd;
Let then his oracles, by me observ'd,
Bring (to me never!) to my country peace.”
Which friendly hands heapt up and covered o'er
With turf, not solid yet; where cypresses,
Green lately, drop their hard and withered leaves;
And ye that cover corses numberless
In happier union, ye but separate
The resting soul from soul that knows not rest.
I gave my promise; thus Apollo will'd;
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Bring (to me never!) to my country peace.”
Hecuba gaspt for breath, tears gushing down,
“O my last child! my only hope in life!”
Cried she, “unmerited unhoped-for weal
Restorest thou: not what thy terror feigns
Wilt thou soon find him: his stern heart relents
At Priam's sad reverses; he beholds
A house the Gods have visited and deign'd
To share its hospitality; he looks
With pity and with fondness on thy youth
And beauty; else he never would hold out
His hand in amity, nor blandly take
What he could tear away: beside, he fears
That thou, beyond the reach of his revenge
(Unlike Brisëis whom his sword reclaim'd)
Shouldst be by equal lot another's prey.
For long ago he saw our certain fate,
Deriding the Palladion, nor afraid
Of any Gods, when Gods saw Hector fall.”
Another, not a happier, morn arose.
“O my last child! my only hope in life!”
Cried she, “unmerited unhoped-for weal
Restorest thou: not what thy terror feigns
Wilt thou soon find him: his stern heart relents
At Priam's sad reverses; he beholds
A house the Gods have visited and deign'd
To share its hospitality; he looks
With pity and with fondness on thy youth
And beauty; else he never would hold out
His hand in amity, nor blandly take
What he could tear away: beside, he fears
That thou, beyond the reach of his revenge
(Unlike Brisëis whom his sword reclaim'd)
Shouldst be by equal lot another's prey.
For long ago he saw our certain fate,
Deriding the Palladion, nor afraid
Of any Gods, when Gods saw Hector fall.”
Another, not a happier, morn arose.
Under the walls of Dardanos a plain
Lies open: it was covered now with crowds
Even to the root of Ida, past the banks
Of those two stony rivers, since alike
Rendered immortal by immortal song.
Unwearied, tho' grown hoary under arms,
And from the omen fondly hoping peace,
Commingled with the Trojans, in the fane
Of their Apollo, the Achaians held
Stern silence, or in whispers a discourse
That varied. Some regretted the delay
Of the doom'd city; some dared blame the king,
And some Peleides; others muttered words
On treachery, then on bribes, and knew the tent
That covered them stow'd carefully from sight.
Lies open: it was covered now with crowds
Even to the root of Ida, past the banks
Of those two stony rivers, since alike
Rendered immortal by immortal song.
Unwearied, tho' grown hoary under arms,
And from the omen fondly hoping peace,
Commingled with the Trojans, in the fane
Of their Apollo, the Achaians held
Stern silence, or in whispers a discourse
That varied. Some regretted the delay
Of the doom'd city; some dared blame the king,
And some Peleides; others muttered words
On treachery, then on bribes, and knew the tent
That covered them stow'd carefully from sight.
Hither came Priam; slower came behind
His aged consort, and her sons, not few;
Prodigal had the rest been of their blood.
The wives of the survivors hither came,
All deeply veil'd and all with brow abased.
Hither they once had come led joyfully
Mid hymenæal song, by hands now cold:
Alone at home remain'd, and tried to wear
Away with restless spindle the sad hour,
Andromache, oft chided by her child.
His aged consort, and her sons, not few;
Prodigal had the rest been of their blood.
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All deeply veil'd and all with brow abased.
Hither they once had come led joyfully
Mid hymenæal song, by hands now cold:
Alone at home remain'd, and tried to wear
Away with restless spindle the sad hour,
Andromache, oft chided by her child.
In every street of the wide city, throngs
Rusht forth impatiently to see the shields
So long opposed to them, and helmets caught
Before by glimpses only thro' the dust.
Rusht forth impatiently to see the shields
So long opposed to them, and helmets caught
Before by glimpses only thro' the dust.
Close to the altar of the placid God
Polyxena held tightly by the arm
Achilles, and scarce knew it; beautiful
Above her sister, beautiful almost
As Helena herself; so white that brow,
So pure the lustre of those gentle eyes.
Polyxena held tightly by the arm
Achilles, and scarce knew it; beautiful
Above her sister, beautiful almost
As Helena herself; so white that brow,
So pure the lustre of those gentle eyes.
Cassandra suddenly with horrid scream
Rushes beyond the congregated host . .
All tremble, all are stricken mute, as when
Enters some Deity. She speaks, alone,
And not her words speaks she, but words compell'd.
“Sister, believest thou the Destinies
Are friendly to thee? Sister! turn thine eyes
Back from this temple, turn them on the walls
Poseidon aided by Apollo rais'd.
In vain hath Pallas dwelt within . . I see
Prodigies, I see arms and flames o'er-ride
The ancient towers; Xanthos and Simoeis
I see run swifter now with streams of blood,
And heroes rising heavily from wounds,
And ruin following when the battles cease.
O flower! upon what altar art thou laid,
Cull'd by Thessalian hand! why, ere the torch
Be lighted, flames so the Sigæan shore
And Tenedos the level ray prolongs?
Fly! let us fly! Citheron calls aloud;
Sound the Chaonian towers, resound the horns
Of Achelöos, and, high up above,
The thunder-rent Keraunian rocks reply.
Hearest thou not the marble manger crack
Under the monster's jaw? it scales our walls
And human voices issue from its bulk?
Why then delay? why idle words? Arise
My parents! . . turn, ah! turn away the sight
From those Bistonian, those betraying realms.
Why, Polydoros, callest thou? why waves
A barren cornel o'er a recent tomb
While the loose pebbles tinkle down the base?
Me neither tears nor madness are vouchsafed;
Do thou, devoted sister! now thy chains
Are taken off that thy pure blood may flow
More readily, step back one little step
From where thou sittest on the fagot; come
And give me, all I hope, one last embrace.
Rushes beyond the congregated host . .
All tremble, all are stricken mute, as when
Enters some Deity. She speaks, alone,
And not her words speaks she, but words compell'd.
“Sister, believest thou the Destinies
Are friendly to thee? Sister! turn thine eyes
Back from this temple, turn them on the walls
Poseidon aided by Apollo rais'd.
In vain hath Pallas dwelt within . . I see
Prodigies, I see arms and flames o'er-ride
The ancient towers; Xanthos and Simoeis
I see run swifter now with streams of blood,
And heroes rising heavily from wounds,
And ruin following when the battles cease.
O flower! upon what altar art thou laid,
Cull'd by Thessalian hand! why, ere the torch
Be lighted, flames so the Sigæan shore
And Tenedos the level ray prolongs?
Fly! let us fly! Citheron calls aloud;
Sound the Chaonian towers, resound the horns
Of Achelöos, and, high up above,
345
Hearest thou not the marble manger crack
Under the monster's jaw? it scales our walls
And human voices issue from its bulk?
Why then delay? why idle words? Arise
My parents! . . turn, ah! turn away the sight
From those Bistonian, those betraying realms.
Why, Polydoros, callest thou? why waves
A barren cornel o'er a recent tomb
While the loose pebbles tinkle down the base?
Me neither tears nor madness are vouchsafed;
Do thou, devoted sister! now thy chains
Are taken off that thy pure blood may flow
More readily, step back one little step
From where thou sittest on the fagot; come
And give me, all I hope, one last embrace.
Oh spare her thou! And thee too I implore,
Pyrrhos! Oh, by the manes of thy sire!
Haste forward. She deserves it not, no crime
Is hers. This only my last breath implores.”
Pyrrhos! Oh, by the manes of thy sire!
Haste forward. She deserves it not, no crime
Is hers. This only my last breath implores.”
Uttering such words her maidens drew her home.
Another noise was heard within the fane.
Silent and dark an arrow from across
Amid the tumult struck the hero's heel,
And, passing thro' and thro', the brazen point
Rang on the marble floor. The chiefs around
Wonder to see the weapon and small bead
Of blood: they seize their spears, and tear away
The olive and verbena from their crests
And stamp them underfoot: not Priam's voice
Was heard, who gathering dust with desperate grasp
Strew'd with it his grey hairs; nor was the bride
Heeded, tho' sinking as if into death.
Achilles neither helpt her nor required
Help for himself; aware the day was come,
Foretold him: he with failing voice represt
The wrath of his compeers, yet strong enough
Thus to command.
Another noise was heard within the fane.
Silent and dark an arrow from across
Amid the tumult struck the hero's heel,
And, passing thro' and thro', the brazen point
Rang on the marble floor. The chiefs around
Wonder to see the weapon and small bead
Of blood: they seize their spears, and tear away
The olive and verbena from their crests
And stamp them underfoot: not Priam's voice
Was heard, who gathering dust with desperate grasp
Strew'd with it his grey hairs; nor was the bride
Heeded, tho' sinking as if into death.
Achilles neither helpt her nor required
Help for himself; aware the day was come,
Foretold him: he with failing voice represt
The wrath of his compeers, yet strong enough
Thus to command.
“Lay ye your arms aside;
Let not none avenge Achilles but his son.
Alkimos and Automedon! detain
Within our tent the Myrmidons: my voice
They might no longer mind who see me now,
Fallen ignobly . . Ajax! Diomed!
Leave here a corse not worth a beast alive,
Or hide it where no Trojan may rejoice.
Ah! must his herds then graze upon my grave!
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Alkimos and Automedon! detain
Within our tent the Myrmidons: my voice
They might no longer mind who see me now,
Fallen ignobly . . Ajax! Diomed!
Leave here a corse not worth a beast alive,
Or hide it where no Trojan may rejoice.
Ah! must his herds then graze upon my grave!
Let not thy tears drop over me, who e'er
Thou art upon my left! my eyes of iron
See none, see nothing . . take those friendly arms
From off my shoulder . . they now weary me
And weary you with their too vain support.
Not that Larissa in a quiet tomb
Holds my brave ancestors grieve I, O Death,
Not that my mother will lament my loss,
Lone in the bower of Tethys, for a while;
I grieve that Troy should ever thus exult
Without more slaughter of her faithless race.
Open the turf, remove the blackened boughs,
And let the urn of Menætiades
Take my bones too.
Thou art upon my left! my eyes of iron
See none, see nothing . . take those friendly arms
From off my shoulder . . they now weary me
And weary you with their too vain support.
Not that Larissa in a quiet tomb
Holds my brave ancestors grieve I, O Death,
Not that my mother will lament my loss,
Lone in the bower of Tethys, for a while;
I grieve that Troy should ever thus exult
Without more slaughter of her faithless race.
Open the turf, remove the blackened boughs,
And let the urn of Menætiades
Take my bones too.
Launch from this hateful strand
The bark that bore us hither.
The bark that bore us hither.
With the leave
Of your Atreides . . send for . . now at play
In Phthia, and expecting the return
Of playmate . . my own Pyrrhos, my brave boy . .
To bring destruction with the Pelian spear.
Of your Atreides . . send for . . now at play
In Phthia, and expecting the return
Of playmate . . my own Pyrrhos, my brave boy . .
To bring destruction with the Pelian spear.
Hear ye my voice? or with its pants and gasps
Expires it, and deceives me?
Expires it, and deceives me?
I forget . .
Such is the mist of mind that hangs on me . .
What are the orders I have given, and what
My wishes yet unspoken: be not ye
Forgetful of me as I am of these;
Sure, although Orcos drags my wounded limbs
Beneath, the Shades shall know and fear me there.
Such is the mist of mind that hangs on me . .
What are the orders I have given, and what
My wishes yet unspoken: be not ye
Forgetful of me as I am of these;
Sure, although Orcos drags my wounded limbs
Beneath, the Shades shall know and fear me there.
Pyrrhos! my child, my far-off child, farewell!
Whose care shall train thy youth? What Cheiron stoop
To teach thee wisdom? what parental hands
Be loud in the applauses thou shalt win
For lyre, for javelin, for Thessalian car
Seen above others in the foremost dust.”
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To teach thee wisdom? what parental hands
Be loud in the applauses thou shalt win
For lyre, for javelin, for Thessalian car
Seen above others in the foremost dust.”
DEATH OF PARIS AND ŒNONE.
Closed had the darkened day of Corythos.
When Agelaos heard the first report,
Curses he uttered on the stepmother,
Fewer on Paris by her spells enthrall'd,
For in the man he now but saw the child,
Ingenuous, unsuspicious. He resolved
To hasten back to Ida, praying death
To come and intercept him on the way.
What tale to tell Œnone! and what thanks
From parent at a prosperous son's return,
Anxiously hoped for after many years,
Last gift of wife deserted, now deprived
Of him whose voice, whose gesture, day and night
Brought the beloved betrayer back again
Into her closing and unclosing eyes,
And sometimes with her child upon the knee
Of her who knew him not, nor cared to know.
Grief and indignant virtue wrung her breast
When she repeated to the fond old man
Such intermingled and such transient joys;
But when she met him on his sad return
Ida was hateful in her eyes, for there
Love bore such bitter and such deadly fruit.
Curses he uttered on the stepmother,
Fewer on Paris by her spells enthrall'd,
For in the man he now but saw the child,
Ingenuous, unsuspicious. He resolved
To hasten back to Ida, praying death
To come and intercept him on the way.
What tale to tell Œnone! and what thanks
From parent at a prosperous son's return,
Anxiously hoped for after many years,
Last gift of wife deserted, now deprived
Of him whose voice, whose gesture, day and night
Brought the beloved betrayer back again
Into her closing and unclosing eyes,
And sometimes with her child upon the knee
Of her who knew him not, nor cared to know.
Grief and indignant virtue wrung her breast
When she repeated to the fond old man
Such intermingled and such transient joys;
But when she met him on his sad return
Ida was hateful in her eyes, for there
Love bore such bitter and such deadly fruit.
When Paris knew the truth, on cheek supine
And cold a thousand kisses he imprest,
Weeping and wailing; he would expiate
(If expiation there might ever be)
The murderous deed: he built up high a pyre
Of fragrant cedar, and in broken voice
Call'd on the name, a name he knew so late.
“O Corythos! my son! my son!” he cried,
And smote his breast and turn'd his eyes away;
Grief wrencht him back, grief that impell'd him on,
But soon return'd he, resolute to catch
The fleeting ashes and o'ertake the winds;
So from the brittle brands he swept away
The whiter ashes, placed them in their urn,
And went back slowly, often went alone
In the still night beneath the stars that shed
Light on a turf not solid yet, above
The priceless treasure there deposited.
Achaians, wandering on the shore, observ'd
His movements thither, Laertiades,
Epeos, and that hero last arrived,
Pæantios, catching the cool air with gasps.
There rose the foss before them: they advanced
From the Sigæan side thro' copse and brake
Along the winding dell of darker shade,
Awaiting Paris.
And cold a thousand kisses he imprest,
Weeping and wailing; he would expiate
(If expiation there might ever be)
The murderous deed: he built up high a pyre
Of fragrant cedar, and in broken voice
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“O Corythos! my son! my son!” he cried,
And smote his breast and turn'd his eyes away;
Grief wrencht him back, grief that impell'd him on,
But soon return'd he, resolute to catch
The fleeting ashes and o'ertake the winds;
So from the brittle brands he swept away
The whiter ashes, placed them in their urn,
And went back slowly, often went alone
In the still night beneath the stars that shed
Light on a turf not solid yet, above
The priceless treasure there deposited.
Achaians, wandering on the shore, observ'd
His movements thither, Laertiades,
Epeos, and that hero last arrived,
Pæantios, catching the cool air with gasps.
There rose the foss before them: they advanced
From the Sigæan side thro' copse and brake
Along the winding dell of darker shade,
Awaiting Paris.
Under a loose string
Rattles a quiver; and invisibly
Hath flown an arrow, and a shout succeeds:
No voices answer it. One listens, groans,
Calls for his foe; but calls not any God's
Or any mortal's aid; he raves, and rests
Upon his elbow. Back thro' the soft sands
They from their ambush hasten, for no shield,
No helmet had they taken, no defence.
Below his knee the arrow has transfixt
The pulp, and hindered all pursuit; in vain
Strove he to tear it out; his vigorous arm
Could only break the arrow; blood flow'd hot
Where he would wrench it.
Rattles a quiver; and invisibly
Hath flown an arrow, and a shout succeeds:
No voices answer it. One listens, groans,
Calls for his foe; but calls not any God's
Or any mortal's aid; he raves, and rests
Upon his elbow. Back thro' the soft sands
They from their ambush hasten, for no shield,
No helmet had they taken, no defence.
Below his knee the arrow has transfixt
The pulp, and hindered all pursuit; in vain
Strove he to tear it out; his vigorous arm
Could only break the arrow; blood flow'd hot
Where he would wrench it.
All night thro', he roll'd
His heavy eyes; he saw the lamps succeed
Each other in the city far below,
He saw them in succession dim and die.
In the fresh morn, when iron light awakes
The gentle cattle from their brief repose,
His menials issue thro' the nearer fields
And groves adjacent to explore their lord,
And lastly (where perchance he might be found)
Nearer the pointed barrow of his son.
Thither ran forward that true-hearted race
Which cheers the early morn, and shakes the frost
From stiffened herbs, which lies before the gate
Alike of rich and poor, but faithful most
To the forsaken and afflicted, came
And howl'd and croucht and lickt their master's face,
And now unchided mixt their breath with his.
His heavy eyes; he saw the lamps succeed
Each other in the city far below,
He saw them in succession dim and die.
In the fresh morn, when iron light awakes
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His menials issue thro' the nearer fields
And groves adjacent to explore their lord,
And lastly (where perchance he might be found)
Nearer the pointed barrow of his son.
Thither ran forward that true-hearted race
Which cheers the early morn, and shakes the frost
From stiffened herbs, which lies before the gate
Alike of rich and poor, but faithful most
To the forsaken and afflicted, came
And howl'd and croucht and lickt their master's face,
And now unchided mixt their breath with his.
When man's last day is come, how clear are all
The former ones! Now appear manifest
Neglected Gods, now Sparta's Furies rise,
Now flames the fatal torch of Hecuba
Portended at his birth, but deem'd extinct
Until that arrow sped across the tombs
Of heroes, by a hand unseen, involves
In flame and smoke the loftiest tower of Troy.
Such were the thoughts that vanisht like a mist,
And thee, Œnone, thee alone he sees,
He sees thee under where the grot was strown
With the last winter leaves, a couch for each,
Sees thee betrotht, deserted, desolate,
Childless . . how lately not so! what avail
The promises of Gods? false! false as mine!
The former ones! Now appear manifest
Neglected Gods, now Sparta's Furies rise,
Now flames the fatal torch of Hecuba
Portended at his birth, but deem'd extinct
Until that arrow sped across the tombs
Of heroes, by a hand unseen, involves
In flame and smoke the loftiest tower of Troy.
Such were the thoughts that vanisht like a mist,
And thee, Œnone, thee alone he sees,
He sees thee under where the grot was strown
With the last winter leaves, a couch for each,
Sees thee betrotht, deserted, desolate,
Childless . . how lately not so! what avail
The promises of Gods? false! false as mine!
“Seek out, ye trusty men, seek out,” said he,
“The Nymph Œnone: tell her that I lie
Wounded to death: tell her that I implore
Her pardon not her aid.”
“The Nymph Œnone: tell her that I lie
Wounded to death: tell her that I implore
Her pardon not her aid.”
They, when they reacht
High up the hill the woodland's last recess,
And saw her habitation, saw the door
Closed, and advancing heard deep groans, which brought
Even to the sill her favourite doe and stag
Springing before them with defiant breasts,
They paus'd; they entered; few and slow the words
They brought with them, the last they heard him speak.
Briefly she answered with her face aside.
High up the hill the woodland's last recess,
And saw her habitation, saw the door
Closed, and advancing heard deep groans, which brought
Even to the sill her favourite doe and stag
Springing before them with defiant breasts,
They paus'd; they entered; few and slow the words
They brought with them, the last they heard him speak.
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“I could not save my child; one who could save
Would not.”
Would not.”
Thick sobs succeeded.
'Twas not long
Ere down the narrow and steep path are heard
The pebbles rattling under peasants' feet,
Whose faces the dense shrubs at every side
Smite as they carry on his bier the man
Who thinks his journey long; 'twas long to him
Wounded so grievously, to him about
To close his waning day, before his eyes
Might rest on hers and mix with hers his tears.
How shall he meet her?
Ere down the narrow and steep path are heard
The pebbles rattling under peasants' feet,
Whose faces the dense shrubs at every side
Smite as they carry on his bier the man
Who thinks his journey long; 'twas long to him
Wounded so grievously, to him about
To close his waning day, before his eyes
Might rest on hers and mix with hers his tears.
How shall he meet her?
Where the rocks were clear
Of ivy, more than once the trace is seen
Of name or verse, the hunter's idle score
Indifferent to pursue the chase; and where
There was a leveler and wider track
He might remember, if indeed he cared
For such remembrances, the scene of games
At quoit or cestus closed by dance and feast.
He drew both hands before his face, and wept,
And those who carried him, and found him faint
And weary, placed their burden on the ground,
And with averted faces they wept too.
Of ivy, more than once the trace is seen
Of name or verse, the hunter's idle score
Indifferent to pursue the chase; and where
There was a leveler and wider track
He might remember, if indeed he cared
For such remembrances, the scene of games
At quoit or cestus closed by dance and feast.
He drew both hands before his face, and wept,
And those who carried him, and found him faint
And weary, placed their burden on the ground,
And with averted faces they wept too.
Œnone came not out; her feet were fixt
Upon the threshold at the opened door,
Her head turn'd inward that her tears might fall
Unseen by stranger; but not long unseen
By Paris: he was in his youth's domains,
He view'd his earliest home, his earliest loves,
And heard again his earliest sighs, and hers.
Upon the threshold at the opened door,
Her head turn'd inward that her tears might fall
Unseen by stranger; but not long unseen
By Paris: he was in his youth's domains,
He view'd his earliest home, his earliest loves,
And heard again his earliest sighs, and hers.
“After how many and what years!” he cried,
“Return I, O Œnone! thus to thee!”
“Return I, O Œnone! thus to thee!”
She answered not; no anger, no reproach;
For, hours before, she prayed the Eumenides
That they would, as befits the just, avenge
The murder of her Corythos; she prayed
That she might never have the power to help
The cruel father in the hour of need.
A voice now tells her from her inmost heart,
Voice never, to the listener, indistinct,
It is not granted to so wild a prayer.
Weary of light and life, again she prayed.
For, hours before, she prayed the Eumenides
That they would, as befits the just, avenge
The murder of her Corythos; she prayed
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The cruel father in the hour of need.
A voice now tells her from her inmost heart,
Voice never, to the listener, indistinct,
It is not granted to so wild a prayer.
Weary of light and life, again she prayed.
“Grant me, O Zeus! what thou alone canst grant.
Is death too great a boon? too much for me,
A wretched Nymph, to ask? bestow it now.”
Is death too great a boon? too much for me,
A wretched Nymph, to ask? bestow it now.”
When she had spoken, on the left was heard
Thunder, and there shone flame from sky serene;
Now on her child and father of her child
Equally sad and tender were her thoughts;
She saw them both in one, and wept the more.
Heedless and heartless wretch she call'd herself,
But her whole life, now most, those words belied.
Thunder, and there shone flame from sky serene;
Now on her child and father of her child
Equally sad and tender were her thoughts;
She saw them both in one, and wept the more.
Heedless and heartless wretch she call'd herself,
But her whole life, now most, those words belied.
Paris had heard the words. “Those words were mine
Could I have uttered them: wounds make men weak,
Shame makes them weaker: neither knowest thou,
Pure soul! one fit for immortality!
Let us, Œnone, shouldst thou ever die,
Be here united, here is room for both . .
Both did I say? and not for one beside?
Oh! will his ashes ever rest near mine?”
To these few words he added these few more.
“Restrain, Œnone, those heartrending sobs!”
His he could not restrain, nor deeper groans,
Yet struggled to console her. “Are not these
Our true espousals? Many may have loved
But few have died together!” Then she shriekt
“Let me die first, O husband! Hear my prayer
Tho' the Gods have not heard it! one embrace!
Paris is mine at last; eternally
Paris is mine.
Could I have uttered them: wounds make men weak,
Shame makes them weaker: neither knowest thou,
Pure soul! one fit for immortality!
Let us, Œnone, shouldst thou ever die,
Be here united, here is room for both . .
Both did I say? and not for one beside?
Oh! will his ashes ever rest near mine?”
To these few words he added these few more.
“Restrain, Œnone, those heartrending sobs!”
His he could not restrain, nor deeper groans,
Yet struggled to console her. “Are not these
Our true espousals? Many may have loved
But few have died together!” Then she shriekt
“Let me die first, O husband! Hear my prayer
Tho' the Gods have not heard it! one embrace!
Paris is mine at last; eternally
Paris is mine.
Oh do not thou, my child,
Shun or disdain amid the shades below
Those who now die, and would have died for thee!
Shun or disdain amid the shades below
Those who now die, and would have died for thee!
The gift of Venus I have often mourn'd,
With this one consolation, that my grief
Could not increase: such consolation lasts
No longer: punishment far less severe
Could Heré or could Pallas have decreed
Than Venus on this Ida, where she won
A prize so fatal, and to more than me.”
With this one consolation, that my grief
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No longer: punishment far less severe
Could Heré or could Pallas have decreed
Than Venus on this Ida, where she won
A prize so fatal, and to more than me.”
The maidens of the mountain came and rais'd
Her drooping head, and drew from tepid springs
The water of her grot, and, from above,
Cedar and pine of tender spray, and call'd
Her father Cebren: he came forth, and fill'd
After due sacrifice the larger space
That was remaining of the recent urn.
Her drooping head, and drew from tepid springs
The water of her grot, and, from above,
Cedar and pine of tender spray, and call'd
Her father Cebren: he came forth, and fill'd
After due sacrifice the larger space
That was remaining of the recent urn.
Paris had given his faithful friends command,
Whether the Fates might call him soon or late,
That, if were found some ashes on his breast,
Those to the bones they covered be restored.
Whether the Fates might call him soon or late,
That, if were found some ashes on his breast,
Those to the bones they covered be restored.
HOMER, LAERTES, AGATHA.
FIRST DAY.
Homer.Is this Laertes who embraces me
Ere a word spoken? his the hand I grasp?
Laertes.
Zeus help thee, and restore to thee thy sight,
My guest of old! I am of years as many,
And of calamities, as thou thyself,
I, wretched man! who have outlived my son
Odysseus, him thou knewest in this house,
A stripling fond of quoits and archery,
Thence to be call'd for counsel mid the chiefs
Who storm'd that city past the farther sea,
Built by two Gods, by more than two defended.
Homer.
He rests, and to the many toils endur'd
There was not added the worse weight of age.
Laertes.
He would be growing old had he remain'd
Until this day, tho' scarcely three-score years
Had he completed; old I seem'd to him
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Stout, a full twenty summers after him:
But one of the three sisters snapt that thread
Which was the shortest, and my boy went down
When no light shines upon the dreary way.
Homer.
Hither I came to visit thee, and sing
His wanderings and his wisdom, tho' my voice
Be not the voice it was; yet thoughts come up,
And words to thoughts, which others may recite
When I am mute, and deaf as in my grave,
If any grave in any land be mine.
Laertes.
Men will contend for it in after times,
And cities claim it as the ground whereon
A temple stood, and worshippers yet stand.
Long hast thou travell'd since we met, and far.
Homer.
I have seen many cities, and the best
And wisest of the men who dwelt therein,
The children and their children now adult,
Nor childless they. Some have I chided, some
Would soothe, who, mounted on the higher sod,
Wept as the pebbles tinkled, dropping o'er
A form outstretcht below; they would not hear
Story of mine, which told them there were fields
Fresher, and brighter skies, but slapping me,
Cried worse, and ran away.
Laertes.
Here sits aside thee
A child grey-headed who will hear thee out.
Here shalt thou arm my son again, in mail
No enemy, no time, can strip from him,
But first I counsel thee to try the strength
Of my old prisoner in the cave below:
The wine will sparkle at the sight of thee,
If there be any virtue left in it.
Bread there is, fitter for young teeth than ours,
But wine can soften its obduracy.
At hand is honey in the honeycomb,
And melon, and those blushing pouting buds
That fain would hide them under crisped leaves.
Soon the blue dove and particolor'd hen
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And goat shall miss her suckling in the morn;
Supper will want them ere the day decline.
Homer.
So be it: I sing best when hearty cheer
Refreshes me, and hearty friend beside.
Laertes.
Voyagers, who have heard thee, carried home
Strange stories; whether all be thy device
I know not: surely thou hadst been afraid
Some God or Goddess would have twicht thine ear.
Homer.
They often came about me while I slept,
And brought me dreams, and never lookt morose.
They loved thy son and for his sake loved me.
Laertes.
Apollo, I well know, was much thy friend.
Homer.
He never harried me as Marsyas
Was harried by him; lest he should, I sang
His praise in my best hymn: the Gods love praise.
Laertes.
I should have thought the Gods would more approve
Good works than glossy words, for well they know
All we can tell them of themselves or us.
Have they enricht thee? for I see thy cloak
Is ragged.
Homer.
Ragged cloak is songster's garb.
Laertes.
I have two better; one of them for thee.
Penelope, who died five years ago,
Spun it; her husband wore it only once,
And 'twas upon the anniversary
Of their espousal.
Homer.
Wear it I will not,
But I will hang it on the brightest nail
Of the first temple where Apollo sits,
Golden hair'd, in his glory.
Laertes.
So thou shalt
If so it please thee: yet we first will quaff
The gifts of Bakkos, for methinks his gifts
Are quite as welcome to the sons of song
And cheer them oftener.
[Agatha enters with a cup of wine.]
If so it please thee: yet we first will quaff
The gifts of Bakkos, for methinks his gifts
Are quite as welcome to the sons of song
And cheer them oftener.
Maiden! come thou nigh,
And seat thee there, and thou shalt hear him sing,
After a while, what Gods might listen to:
But place that cup upon the board, and wait
Until the stranger hath assuaged his thirst,
For songmen, grasshoppers, and nightingales
Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist.
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After a while, what Gods might listen to:
But place that cup upon the board, and wait
Until the stranger hath assuaged his thirst,
For songmen, grasshoppers, and nightingales
Sing cheerily but when the throat is moist.
Homer.
I sang to maidens in my prime; again,
But not before the morrow, will I sing;
Let me repose this noontide, since in sooth
Wine, a sweet solacer of weariness,
Helps to unload the burden.
Laertes.
Lie then down
Along yon mat bestrown with rosemary,
Basil, and mint, and thyme.
Along yon mat bestrown with rosemary,
Basil, and mint, and thyme.
She knows them all
And has her names for them, some strange enough.
Sound and refreshing then be thy repose!
Well may weak mortal seek the balm of sleep
When even the Gods require it, when the stars
Droop in their courses, and the Sun himself
Sinks on the swelling bosom of the sea.
And has her names for them, some strange enough.
Sound and refreshing then be thy repose!
Well may weak mortal seek the balm of sleep
When even the Gods require it, when the stars
Droop in their courses, and the Sun himself
Sinks on the swelling bosom of the sea.
Take heed there be no knot on any sprig;
After, bring store of rushes and long leaves
Of cane sweet-smelling from the inland bank
Of yon wide-wandering river over-sea
Famed for its swans; then open and take out
From the black chest the linen, never used
These many years, which thou (or one before)
Spreadst for the sun to bleach it; and be sure,
Be sure, thou smoothen with both hands his couch
Who has the power to make both young and old
Live throughout ages.
After, bring store of rushes and long leaves
Of cane sweet-smelling from the inland bank
Of yon wide-wandering river over-sea
Famed for its swans; then open and take out
From the black chest the linen, never used
These many years, which thou (or one before)
Spreadst for the sun to bleach it; and be sure,
Be sure, thou smoothen with both hands his couch
Who has the power to make both young and old
Live throughout ages.
Agatha.
And look well through all?
Laertes.
Aye, and look better than they lookt before.
Agatha.
I wish he could make me so, and without
My going for it anywhere below.
I am content to stay in Ithaca,
Where the dogs know me, and the ferryman
Asks nothing from me, and the rills are full
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And bees grudge not their honey, and the grape
Grows within reach, and figs, blue, yellow, green,
Without my climbing; boys, too, come at call;
And, if they hide the ripest, I know where
To find it, twist and struggle as they may;
Impudent boys! to make me bring it out,
Saying I shall not have it if I don't!
Laertes.
How the child babbles! pardon her! behold
Her strength and stature have outgrown her wits!
In fourteen years thou thyself wast not wise.
Homer.
My heart is freshen'd by a fount so pure
At its springhead; let it run on in light.
Most girls are wing'd with wishes, and can ill
Keep on their feet against the early gale
That blows impetuous on unguarded breast;
But this young maiden, I can prophesy,
Will be thy staff when other staff hath fail'd.
Agatha.
May the Gods grant it! but not grant it yet!
Blessings upon thy head!
Homer.
May they bestow
Their choicest upon thine! may they preserve
Thy comeliness of virtue many years
For him whose hand thy master joins to thine!
Agatha.
O might I smoothen that mild wrinkled brow
With but one kiss!
Laertes.
Take it. Now leave us, child,
And bid our good Metampos to prepare
That brazen bath wherein my rampant boy
Each morning lay full-length, struggling at first,
Then laughing as he splasht the water up
Against his mother's face bent over him.
Is this the Odysseus first at quoit and bar?
Is this the Odysseus call'd to counsel kings,
He whose name sounds beyond our narrow sea?
Agatha.
O how I always love to hear that name!
Laertes.
But linger not; pursue the task at hand:
Bethink thee 'tis for one who has the power
To give thee many days beyond old-age.
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O! tell him not to do it if he can:
He cannot make youth stay: the swallows come
And go, youth goes, but never comes again.
Laertes.
He can make heroes greater than they were.
Agatha.
By making them lay by the wicked sword?
How I shall love him when he has done that!
Laertes.
No, but he gives them strength by magic song.
Agatha.
The strength of constancy to love but one?
As did Odysseus while he lived on earth,
And when he waited for her in the shades.
Laertes.
The little jay! go, chatterer.
Agatha.
(to Homer).
Do not think,
O stranger, he is wroth; he never is
With Agatha, albeit he stamps and frowns
And shakes three fingers at her, and forbears
To do the like to any one beside.
Hark! the brass sounds, the bath is now prepared.
Laertes.
More than the water shall her hand assuage
Thy weary feet, and lead thee back, now late.
SECOND DAY.
In the Morning.Homer.
Whose is the soft and pulpy hand that lies
Athwart the ridges of my craggy one
Out of the bed? can it be Agatha's?
Agatha.
I come to bring thee, while yet warm and frothy,
A draught of milk. Rise now, rise just half-up,
And drink it. Hark! the birds, two at a time,
Are singing in the terebinth. Our king
Hath taken down his staff and gone afield
To see the men begin their daily work.
Homer.
Go thou to thine: I will arise. How sweet
Was that goat's milk!
Agatha.
We have eleven below,
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Homer.
Rather when thou hast laid on the left-hand
My sandals within reach; bring colder lymph
To freshen more the frame-work of mine eyes,
For eyes there are, altho' their orbs be dark.
Agatha.
'Tis here; let me apply it.
Homer.
Bravely done!
Why standest thou so still and taciturn?
Agatha.
The king my master hath forbidden me
Ever to ask a question: if I might,
And were not disobedience such a sin,
I would ask thee, so gentle and so wise,
Whether the story of that bad Calypso
Can be all true, for it would grieve me sorely
To think thou wouldst repeat it were it false,
And some ill-natured God (such Gods there are)
Would punish thee, already too afflicted.
Homer.
My child! the Muses sang the tale I told,
And they know more about that wanton Nymph
Than they have uttered into mortal ear.
I do rejoice to find thee fond of truth.
Agatha.
I was not always truthful. I have smarted
For falsehood, under Queen Penelope,
When I was little. I should hate to hear
More of that wicked creature who detain'd
Her lord from her, and tried to win his love.
I know 'twas very wrong in me to listen.
Homer.
A pardonable fault: we wish for listeners
Whether we speak or sing, the young and old
Alike are weak in this, unwise and wise,
Cheerful and sorrowful.
Agatha.
O! look up yonder!
Why dost thou smile? everything makes thee smile
At silly Agatha, but why just now?
Homer.
What was the sight?
Agatha.
O inconsiderate!
O worse than inconsiderate! cruel! cruel!
Homer.
Tell me, what was it? I can see thro' speech.
Agatha.
A tawny bird above; he prowls for hours,
Sailing on wilful wings that never flag
Until they drop headlong to seize the prey.
The hinds shout after him and make him soar
Eastward: our little birds are safe from kites
And idler boys.
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Until they drop headlong to seize the prey.
The hinds shout after him and make him soar
Eastward: our little birds are safe from kites
And idler boys.
'Tis said (can it be true?)
In other parts men catch the nightingale
To make it food.
In other parts men catch the nightingale
To make it food.
Homer.
Nay, men eat men.
Agatha.
Ye Gods!
But men hurt one another, nightingales
Console the weary with unwearied song,
Until soft slumber on the couch descends.
The king my master and Penelope
Forbade the slaughter or captivity
Of the poor innocents who trusted them,
Nor robbed them even of the tiniest grain.
Homer.
Generous and tender is thy master's heart,
Warm as the summer, open as the sky.
Agatha.
How true! how I do love thee for these words!
Stranger, didst thou not hear him wail aloud,
Groan after groan, broken, but ill supprest,
When thou recitedst in that plaintive tone
How Anticleia met her son again
Amid the shades below?
Stranger, didst thou not hear him wail aloud,
Groan after groan, broken, but ill supprest,
When thou recitedst in that plaintive tone
How Anticleia met her son again
Amid the shades below?
Thou shouldst have stopt
Before that tale was told by thee; that one
At least was true, if none were true before.
In vain, O how in vain, I smote my breast
To keep more quiet what would beat within!
Never were words so sweet, so sad, as those.
I sobb'd apart, I could not check my tears:
Laertes too, tho' stronger, could not his,
They glistened in their channels and would run,
Nor could he stop them with both hands: he heard
My sobs, and call'd me little fool for them;
Then did he catch and hold me to his bosom,
And bid me never do the like again.
Before that tale was told by thee; that one
At least was true, if none were true before.
In vain, O how in vain, I smote my breast
To keep more quiet what would beat within!
Never were words so sweet, so sad, as those.
I sobb'd apart, I could not check my tears:
Laertes too, tho' stronger, could not his,
They glistened in their channels and would run,
Nor could he stop them with both hands: he heard
My sobs, and call'd me little fool for them;
Then did he catch and hold me to his bosom,
And bid me never do the like again.
Homer.
The rains in their due season will descend,
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To soften, not to hurt it. The best men
Have most to weep for, whether foreign lands
Receive them (or still worse!) a home estranged.
Agatha.
Listen. I hear the merry yelp of dogs,
And now the ferul'd staff drops in the hall,
And now the master's short and hurried step
Advances: here he is: turn round, turn round.
Laertes.
Hast thou slept well, Mæonides?
Homer.
I slept
Three hours ere sunrise, 'tis my wont, at night
I lie awake for nearly twice as long.
Laertes.
Ay; singing birds wake early, shake their plumes,
And carol ere they feed. Sound was thy sleep?
Homer.
I felt again, but felt it undisturb'd,
The pelting of the little curly waves,
The slow and heavy stretch of rising billows,
And the rapidity of their descent.
I thought I heard a Triton's shell, a song
Of sylvian Nymph, and laughter from behind
Trees not too close for voices to come thro',
Or beauty, if Nymph will'd it, to be seen;
And then a graver and a grander sound
Came from the sky, and last a long applause.
Laertes.
Marvellous things are dreams! methinks we live
An age in one of them, we traverse lands
A lifetime could not reach, bring from the grave
Inhabitants who never met before,
And vow we will not leave an absent friend
We long have left, and who leaves us ere morn.
Homer.
Dreams are among the blessings Heaven bestows
On weary mortals; nor are they least
Altho' they disappoint us and are gone
When we awake! 'Tis pleasant to have caught
The clap of hands below us from the many,
Amid the kisses of the envious few.
There is a pride thou knowest not, Laertes,
In carrying the best strung and loudest harp.
Laertes.
Apollo, who deprived thee of thy light
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Bestowed on thee gifts never dim with age,
And rarely granted to impatient youth.
The crown thou wearest reddens not the brow
Of him who wears it worthily; but some
Are snatcht by violence, some purloin'd by fraud,
Some dripping blood, not by the Gods unseen.
To thee, O wise Mæonides, to thee
Worthless is all that glitters and attracts
The buzzing insects of a summer hour.
The Gods have given thee what themselves enjoy,
And they alone, glory through endless days.
The Lydian king Sarpedon never swayed
Such sceptre, nor did Glaucos his compeer,
Nor Priam. Priam was about my age,
He had more sorrows than I ever had;
I lost one son, some fifty Priam lost;
This is a comfort, I may rub my palms
Thinking of this, and bless the Powers above.
Homer.
One wicked son brought down their vengeance on him,
And his wide realms invited numerous foes.
Laertes.
Alas! alas! are there not cares enow
In ruling nearly those five thousand heads,
Men, women, children; arbitrating right
And wrong, and hearing maids and mothers wail;
For flax blown off the cliff when almost bleacht,
And curlew tamed in vain and fled away,
Albeit one wing was shortened; then approach
To royal ear the whisper that the bird
Might peradventure have alighted nigh,
And hist upon the charcoal, skinn'd and split.
Bounteous as are the Gods, where is the wealth
To stop these lamentations with a gift
Adequate to such losses? words are light,
And words come opposite, with heavy groans.
Homer.
The pastor of the people may keep watch,
Yet cares as wakeful creep into the fold.
Laertes.
Beside these city griefs, what mortal knows
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Some bleating for lost offspring, some for food,
Scanty in winter, scantier in the drought
Of Sirius; then again the shrubs in spring,
Cropt close, ere barely budded, by the goats.
Methinks these animals are over-nice
About their food, else might they pick sea-weeds,
But these forsooth they trample on, nor deign
To taste even samphire, which their betters cull.
There also are some less solicitudes
About those rocks, when plunderers from abroad
Would pilfer eggs and nestlings; my own folk
Are abstinent, without their king's decree.
Homer.
To help thee in such troubles, and in worse,
Where is thy brave Telemakos?
Laertes.
That youth
Is gone to rule Dulikion, where the soil
Tho' fitter than our Ithaca for tilth,
Bears only turbulence and idleness.
He with his gentle voice and his strong arm,
Will bring into due train the restive race.
Homer.
Few will contend with gentleness and youth,
Even of those who strive against the Laws,
But some subvert them who could best defend,
And in whose hands the Gods have placed the sword.
On the mainland there are, unless report
Belie them, princes who, possessing realms
Wider than sight from mountain-head can reach,
Would yet invade a neighbour's stony croft,
Pretending danger to their citadels
From fishermen ashore, and shepherd boys
Who work for daily and but scanty bread,
And wax the reeds to pipe at festivals,
Where the dogs snarl at them above the bones.
Laertes.
What! would the cloth'd in purple, as are some,
Rip off the selvage from a ragged coat?
Accursed be the wretch, and whosoe'er
Upholds him, or connives at his misdeeds.
Away with thoughts that sadden even this hour!
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I would indeed away with 'em, but wrath
Rings on the lyre and swells above the song.
It shall be heard by those who stand on high,
But shall not rouse the lowlier, long opprest,
Who might be madden'd at his broken sleep,
And wrenching out the timbers of his gate
Batter the prince's down.
Laertes.
Ye Gods forbid!
Thou makest the skin creep upon my flesh,
Albeit the danger lies from me afar.
Now surely this is but a songman's tale,
Yet songman never here discourst like thee,
Or whispered in low voice what thou hast sung,
Striking the lyre so that the strings all trembled.
Are people anywhere grown thus unruly?
Homer.
More are they who would rule than would be ruled,
Yet one must govern, else all run astray.
The strongest are the calm and equitable,
And kings at best are men, nor always that.
Laertes.
I have known many who have call'd me friend,
Yet would not warn me tho' they saw ten skiffs
Grating the strand with three score thieves in each.
Yet would not warn me tho' they saw ten skiffs
Grating the strand with three score thieves in each.
Curse on that chief across the narrow sea,
Who drives whole herds and flocks innumerable,
And whose huge presses groan with oil and wine
Year after year, yet fain would carry off
The crying kid, and strangle it for crying.
Alas, Mæonides, the weakest find
Strength enough to inflict deep injuries.
Much I have borne, but 'twas from those below;
Thou knowest not the gross indignities
From goat-herd and from swine-herd I endur'd
When my Odysseus had gone far away;
How they consumed my substance, how the proud
Divided my fat kine in this my house,
And wooed before mine eyes Penelope,
Reluctant and absconding till return'd
Her lawful lord, true, chaste, as she herself.
Who drives whole herds and flocks innumerable,
And whose huge presses groan with oil and wine
Year after year, yet fain would carry off
The crying kid, and strangle it for crying.
Alas, Mæonides, the weakest find
Strength enough to inflict deep injuries.
Much I have borne, but 'twas from those below;
Thou knowest not the gross indignities
From goat-herd and from swine-herd I endur'd
When my Odysseus had gone far away;
How they consumed my substance, how the proud
Divided my fat kine in this my house,
And wooed before mine eyes Penelope,
Reluctant and absconding till return'd
Her lawful lord, true, chaste, as she herself.
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I know it, and remotest men shall know.
If we must suffer wrong, 'tis from the vile
The least intolerable.
Laertes.
True, my son
Avenged me: more than one God aided him,
But one above the rest; the Deity
Of wisdom, stronger even than him of war,
Guided the wanderer back, and gave the arms
And will and prowess to subdue our foes,
And their own dogs lapt up the lustful blood
Of the proud suitors. Sweet, sweet is revenge;
Her very shadow, running on before,
Quickens our pace until we hold her fast.
Homer.
Rather would I sit quiet than pursue.
Laertes.
Now art thou not, from such long talk, athirst?
Split this pomegranate then, and stoop the jar.
Hold! I can stoop it: take this cup . . 'tis fill'd.
Homer.
Zeus! God of hospitality! vouchsafe
To hear my prayer, as thou hast often done,
That, when thy lightnings spring athwart the sea,
And when thy thunders shake from brow to base
The Acrokerauneans, thy right hand protect
This Ithaca, this people, and this king!
THIRD DAY.
Homer.
And now, Mæonides, the sun hath risen
These many spans above the awaken'd earth,
Sing me that hymn, which thou hast call'd thy best,
In glory to the God who gives it light.
These many spans above the awaken'd earth,
Sing me that hymn, which thou hast call'd thy best,
In glory to the God who gives it light.
First I will call the child to hear thee sing,
For girls remember well and soon repeat
What they have heard of sacred more or less.
I must forbear to join in it, although
That blessed God hath helpt to rear my grain
High as my knee, and made it green and strong.
Alas! I cackle when I aim to sing,
Which I have sometimes done at festivals,
But, ere a word were out, methought I felt
A beard of barley sticking in my throat.
[Agatha enters.
For girls remember well and soon repeat
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I must forbear to join in it, although
That blessed God hath helpt to rear my grain
High as my knee, and made it green and strong.
Alas! I cackle when I aim to sing,
Which I have sometimes done at festivals,
But, ere a word were out, methought I felt
A beard of barley sticking in my throat.
Now, with a trail of honey down the cup
(Agatha, drop it in), commence thy chaunt.
(About the 500th verse Laertes falls asleep: awakening he
finds Agatha in the same state, and chides her.)
(Agatha, drop it in), commence thy chaunt.
Hast thou no reverence for a song inspired?
Agatha
(in a whisper).
Hush! O my king and lord, or he may hear.
You were asleep the first: I kept my eyes
Wide open, opener than they ever were,
While I do think I could have counted more
Than half a thousand of those words divine,
Had both my hands not dropt upon my lap.
Laertes.
Another time beware of drowsiness
When reverend men discourse about the Gods.
Now lead him forth into the cooler porch,
Entreating him that he will soon renew
His praises of Apollo.
Agatha.
I will bear
Your words to him; he might care less for mine,
And, sooth to say, I would much rather hear
Some other story, where more men than Gods
Shine on the field.
Laertes.
Of men thou know'st enough.
Agatha.
Too much: then why show Gods almost as bad?
They can not be . . least of all Artemis;
'Twas she directed and preserved Odysseus.
Laertes.
Blessings upon thee! While thou wast a babe
He fondled thee, nor saw when thou couldst walk.
Few love so early or so long: We say
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We love, to those unseen we may be grateful.
Agatha.
But when they are no more before our eyes . . .
Laertes.
That never is, altho' earth come between.
Perplex not thou thy simple little head
With what the wise were wiser to let be.
Agatha.
I go, and will not be again perplext.
[Aside.
He has been dozing while we have converst.
Mæonides! rise and take this arm
To lead thee where is freshness in the porch.
My master tells me thou another time
Wilt finish that grand hymn about Apollo.
Hast thou no shorter one for Artemis?
To lead thee where is freshness in the porch.
My master tells me thou another time
Wilt finish that grand hymn about Apollo.
Hast thou no shorter one for Artemis?
Homer.
Such thou shalt have for her, but not to-day.
Agatha.
O, I can wait, so (I am sure) can she.
Homer.
Faint are the breezes here, less faint above;
Gladly then would I mount that central peak
Which overlooks the whole of Ithaca,
That peak I well remember I once clomb
(What few could do) without the help of beast.
Agatha.
Here are sure-footed ones, who weed our thistles,
And give us milk, grey dappled as the dawn:
Their large and placid eyes well know that path,
And they will bring us safely to the top
And back again, treading more warily
Than up the ascent.
And give us milk, grey dappled as the dawn:
Their large and placid eyes well know that path,
And they will bring us safely to the top
And back again, treading more warily
Than up the ascent.
I will call forth two boys
To lead them, without switches in the fist.
These two can lift thee up; I at thy side
Require no help, and can whisk off the flies.
To lead them, without switches in the fist.
These two can lift thee up; I at thy side
Require no help, and can whisk off the flies.
Homer.
I know not what impels me to retrace
Scenes I can see no more: but so it is
Thro' life.
Scenes I can see no more: but so it is
Thro' life.
If thou art able, lead me forth,
And let none follow; we are best alone.
And let none follow; we are best alone.
Agatha.
Come forward ye.
Now lift up carefully
The noblest guest that ever king received
And the Gods favour most.
The noblest guest that ever king received
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Well done! now rest,
Nor sing nor whistle till we all return,
And reach the chesnut and enjoy the shade.
Nor sing nor whistle till we all return,
And reach the chesnut and enjoy the shade.
Homer.
(at the summit).
I think we must be near the highest point,
For now the creatures stop, who struggled hard,
And the boys neither cheer 'em, nor upbraid.
'Tis somewhat to have mounted up so high,
Profitless as it is, nor without toil.
Agatha.
Dost thou feel weary?
Homer.
Short as was the way
It shook my aged bones at every step;
My shoulders ache, my head whirls round and round.
Agatha.
Lean on my shoulder, place thy head on mine,
'Tis low enough.
'Tis low enough.
What were those words? . . I heard
Imperfectly . . . shame on me! Dost thou smile?
Imperfectly . . . shame on me! Dost thou smile?
Homer.
Child! hast thou ever seen an old man die?
Agatha.
The Gods defend me from so sad a sight!
Homer.
Sad if he die in agony, but blest
If friend be nigh him, only one true friend.
Agatha.
Tho' most of thine be absent, one remains;
Is not Laertes worthy of the name?
Homer.
And Agatha, who tends me to the last.
Agatha.
I will, I will indeed, when comes that hour.
Homer.
That hour is come.
Let me lay down my head
On the cool turf; there I am sure to rest.
On the cool turf; there I am sure to rest.
Agatha
(after a pause).
How softly old men sigh! Sleep, gentle soul!
He turns his face to me. Ah how composed!
Surely he sleeps already . . . hand and cheek
Are colder than such feeble breeze could make 'em.
Mæonides! hearest thou Agatha?
He hears me not . . . Can it . . . can it be . . . death?
Impossible . . . 'tis death . . . 'tis death indeed . . .
Then, O ye Gods of heaven! who would not die,
If thus to rest eternal, he descend?
He turns his face to me. Ah how composed!
Surely he sleeps already . . . hand and cheek
Are colder than such feeble breeze could make 'em.
Mæonides! hearest thou Agatha?
He hears me not . . . Can it . . . can it be . . . death?
Impossible . . . 'tis death . . . 'tis death indeed . . .
Then, O ye Gods of heaven! who would not die,
If thus to rest eternal, he descend?
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O, my dear lord! how shall I comfort thee?
How look into thy face and tell my tale,
And kneeling clasp thy knee? to be repulst
Were hard, but harder to behold thy grief.
How look into thy face and tell my tale,
And kneeling clasp thy knee? to be repulst
Were hard, but harder to behold thy grief.
| Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams | |