The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
Then Jason fell a-trembling, and to him
The tall green stems grew wavering, faint, and dim;
And when a fresh gust of the morning breeze
Came murmuring along the forest trees,
And woke him as from dreaming, all alone
He stood, and with no farewell she was gone,
Leaving no traces of her dainty feet.
The tall green stems grew wavering, faint, and dim;
And when a fresh gust of the morning breeze
Came murmuring along the forest trees,
And woke him as from dreaming, all alone
He stood, and with no farewell she was gone,
Leaving no traces of her dainty feet.
But through the leaves ambrosial odours sweet
Yet floated as he turned to leave the place,
And with slow steps, and thinking on his case,
Went back to Chiron, whom at rest he found,
Half sleeping on the sunny thyme-strewn ground,
To whom he told the things that he had heard,
With flushed and eager face, for they had stirred
New thoughts within him of the days to come;
So that he longed to leave his woodland home.
Yet floated as he turned to leave the place,
And with slow steps, and thinking on his case,
Went back to Chiron, whom at rest he found,
Half sleeping on the sunny thyme-strewn ground,
To whom he told the things that he had heard,
With flushed and eager face, for they had stirred
New thoughts within him of the days to come;
So that he longed to leave his woodland home.
Then Chiron said:“O fair son, thou shalt go,
Since now, at last, the Gods will have it so:
And know that till thou comest to the end
Of thy loved life, shall Juno be thy friend,
Because the lovely huntress thou didst see.
Late in the greenwood certainly was she
Who sits in heaven beside Almighty Jove,
And noble things they do that have her love.
Since now, at last, the Gods will have it so:
And know that till thou comest to the end
12
Because the lovely huntress thou didst see.
Late in the greenwood certainly was she
Who sits in heaven beside Almighty Jove,
And noble things they do that have her love.
“Now, son, to-day I rede thee not to go,
Nor yet to-morrow, for clouds great and slow
Are gathering round the hill-tops, and I think
The thirsty fields full many a draught will drink;
Therefore to-day our cups shall not be dry,
But we will sit together, thou and I,
And tales of thy forefathers shalt thou hear,
And many another, till the heavens are clear.”
Nor yet to-morrow, for clouds great and slow
Are gathering round the hill-tops, and I think
The thirsty fields full many a draught will drink;
Therefore to-day our cups shall not be dry,
But we will sit together, thou and I,
And tales of thy forefathers shalt thou hear,
And many another, till the heavens are clear.”
So was it as the Centaur said; for soon
The woods grew dark, as though they knew no noon;
The thunder growled about the high brown hills,
And the thin, wasted, shining summer rills
Grew joyful with the coming of the rain,
And doubtfully was shifting every vane
On the town spires, with changing gusts of wind;
Till came the storm-blast, sudden, cold, and blind,
'Twixt gorges of the mountains, and drove back
The light sea breeze; then waxed the heavens coal-black,
Until the lightning leapt from cloud to cloud,
With clattering thunder, and the piled-up crowd
Began to turn from steely blue to grey,
And toward the sea the thunder drew away,
Leaving the north-wind blowing steadily
The rain clouds from Olympus; while the sea
Seemed mingled with the low clouds and the rain;
And one might think that never now again
The sunny grass could make a pleasant bed
For the spent limbs and dreamy, languid head
Of sandalled nymph, forewearied with the chase.
The woods grew dark, as though they knew no noon;
The thunder growled about the high brown hills,
And the thin, wasted, shining summer rills
Grew joyful with the coming of the rain,
And doubtfully was shifting every vane
On the town spires, with changing gusts of wind;
Till came the storm-blast, sudden, cold, and blind,
'Twixt gorges of the mountains, and drove back
The light sea breeze; then waxed the heavens coal-black,
Until the lightning leapt from cloud to cloud,
With clattering thunder, and the piled-up crowd
Began to turn from steely blue to grey,
And toward the sea the thunder drew away,
Leaving the north-wind blowing steadily
The rain clouds from Olympus; while the sea
Seemed mingled with the low clouds and the rain;
And one might think that never now again
The sunny grass could make a pleasant bed
For the spent limbs and dreamy, languid head
Of sandalled nymph, forewearied with the chase.
Meanwhile, within a pleasant lighted place,
Stretched upon warm skins, did the Centaur lie,
And nigh him Jason, listening eagerly
The tales he told him, asking, now and then,
Strange questions of the race of vanished men:
Nor were the wine-cups idle; till at last
Desire of sleep over their bodies passed,
And in their dreamless rest the wind in vain
Howled round about, with washing of the rain.
Stretched upon warm skins, did the Centaur lie,
And nigh him Jason, listening eagerly
13
Strange questions of the race of vanished men:
Nor were the wine-cups idle; till at last
Desire of sleep over their bodies passed,
And in their dreamless rest the wind in vain
Howled round about, with washing of the rain.
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |