Poems by the late Hon. William R. Spencer :: :: University of Virginia Library

When azure Thetis left her native waves,
By Love compell'd to feel a mortal's flame,
From Ocean's billowy realms and coral caves
To Peleus' arms the beauteous Nereid came.
The nymphs who rule the soul by music's powers,
Forsook their tuneful springs and laurel bowers,
To twine her nuptial wreath on Pthian plains,
And chant with sweetest lore her hymeneal strains.

Antistrophe I.

To triumph, joy, and hope, they tuned the lyre,
(Songs were each echo, music every breeze);
And as their light hands wanton'd o'er the wire,
What theme to charm, what number failed to please?

138

Still memory paints th' immortal minstrels near,
Still notes of other worlds entrance my ear;
Aye dumb before, bleak Pelion learns the sound,
Hark! how his desert caves, and trackless wilds resound!

Strophe II.

Lured by jocund festive measures
Lightly breathed from Lydian reeds,
Bacchus, prince of smiles and pleasures,
Flew to Pthia's flowery meads.
He, to Hymen's rites indulgent,
Bore the bowl of sparkling joys,
The bowl that laughs with wine refulgent,
Ne'er with moderation cloys.
Around their chief the Bacchanalians pour,
And with lov'd wassail hail the blissful hour;
In reeling dance they beat the echoing ground
To the shrill pipe, and clanging cymbal's sound.

Antistrophe II.

Sportive came with floating tresses,
From each fount and crystal stream,
Naiad nymphs in showery dresses,
Glist'ning to the solar beam.

139

High their beechen garlands waving.
Oread sisters join'd the throng,
'Mid the Bacchanalians raving,
Sweet was heard the Dryad song.
With thund'ring tread the Centaur brood advance,
Each with his grassy wreath and maple lance;
Their shadowy squadrons blacken all the way,
And clouds of eddying dust obscure the day.

Strophe III.

“I see, I see, empanoply'd in arms,
(Rapt with prophetic fire, sage Chiron cried),
O'er Phrygian plains wide hurling war's alarms,
Thy son, O Thetis, rise, his country's pride.
I see proud Troy bewail her slaughter'd peers,
I mark the widow's shriek, the matron's tears,
While glory leads him o'er the vanquish'd realm,
Beams from his sword and blazes on his helm.”

Antistrophe III.

For thee, unhappy maid, no muses weave
Thy nuptial chaplet with unfading flowers;
For thee, no Gods their starry mansions leave,
For thee no wood-nymphs dress ambrosial bowers.

140

Yet shall the griefs which o'er my bosom stream,
(Thy beauteous suffering innocence the theme);
Teach every echo of Eubœa's plains
To sigh thy fate in pity's softest strains.—

Epode.

See where she comes, by kindred murderers led,
And kneels submissive to her country's good;
Oh sheathe the blade, oh spare her virgin head,
Or Heav'n, who can't accept, avenge her blood!
O'er that dear breast for Love and Pity made,
Black Calchas shakes his sacrilegious blade,
O'er thy fair brows the victim's fillets wave,
Thy bridegroom, Death, thy bridal bed, the Grave.
Oh! to what God shall dying Virtue bend?
Where now shall helpless woman find a friend?
Since Heaven itself demands a virgin's doom,
And Iphigenia sinks unrescued to the tomb!

The author preferred this to the classical pronunciation, which he said he could never bear to use, as it gave a very harsh sound to a name peculiarly beautiful when pronounced as it must be in this line.