 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
Ulysses—Pyrrhus—Ægle—Philoctetes—Phimachus
PHILOCTETES
And, you kings,
Behold I come late warrior to the war,
Wounded I come since ye would have it so;
And a strange voice has spoken on your side
That this world owns not. Ready am I and tame,
Great kings, to do your bidding; and this maid
Will lead me to your ships and go with me,
And Phimachus, old comrade, aids our way.
Ye make it nothing that I tamely go?
Nay, by the light and by this maiden here,
My vengeance was as sweet as life to a boy.
And now I throw it down and cast it by,
Wherefore? Nay, not ye heavens for anything
That this ignoble fool can understand
In his false rhetoric. If to such a man
I seem the crazy and uncertain jest
Of dream and vision; if to such a soul
To love the memory of a comrade dead
Seem but a girl's perfection, a sick whim
To let my anger go when one I loved,
Speaking behind the cloud and veil of time
So bids me—Why it must be always so;
The lesser nature never yet conceived
Nobility above it, nay but held
As folly what it could not understand
With its mole eyes, ignoble; ay, but thou,
Pyrrhus, I see this in thy glittering eyes,
Canst understand me somewhat. Nay then, boy,
This womanly dew is braver on thy lids
Than this man's easy dog-like laughter sits
Sneering his soul down—Ay, and Ægle too
With thy sweet eyes new flooded into rain;
Why this is an old tale to thee, my child,
A most sad old one. You have wept by me.
When there was no one else would come or care.
And you have crept and given your little palm
To nest in mine, when your voice broke, as all
The comfort you could give me. Ah, dear head,
Have I so wrongly put mine anger by?
Doth thy sweet bosom scorn me for this thing
Refusing vengeance? Soft as light in cloud
Thou givest answer with a rainy smile.
Sneer on, Ulysses, now if thou canst sneer;
Being so more wretched tho' a painless man
Than I in any sorrow, tho' a king
Of woes with mortals; since some love me still:
But thee, poor worm, no fellow-creature loves,
Altho' they use thy cunning in their wars.
Sneer on, poor instrument of venom, I think
That I can bear such sneering, ay, and more.
But, ere I leave these precincts of my pain,
I will speak something to these Lemnians here;
A simple word, my kings, and easily said,
No wordy toil of Ithacensian lips.
Hear, O ye Lemnians, hear a full brief word
Before I go, for surely from this day
My voice shall be a silence on your rocks,
My face a dimness with a few old men
Remembered hardly. As day fathers day
'Tis meet my memory pass; ay, meet that all
Change and be changed. So roll the stars along
And the great world is crown'd with silent lights
Watching her changes, and no thing endures.
Wherefore ye fosterers of the broken man,
Whom ye denied not strangered when his own
Despised the sharing with him light and air,—
Prosper, ye kindly fishing folk, and thrive
Always of Zeus; knowing your simple ways
Are more than royal hatreds. Eat sweet bread
Because ye love no fellow-creature's scathe.
And I, this farewell spoken, speak no more,
This only—He is noble and utterly great,
Noble and great he only, who can say,
Whatever plague the strong great gods impose,
“Be it done but I am free. My spirit knows
Its freedom tho' ye crush me quite away.
My last dim thought upon the very edge
Of silence shall breathe ‘freedom.’ For no hand
Of god or demon can abolish this.”
CHORUS
Man, let them have their way.
Let them, O man, prevail:
Mighty and more than thou,
How should their anger fail?
Why settest thou thy baby palms
To wrestle down the thews that may not tire?
Why wilt thou vex thyself to be as they,
Weakling of sorrow and sleep?
Why wilt thou thrust about the world for peace?
God is at peace alone.
Take from their careless hands
The morsels of their pity as they fall:
Take from their scornful brows
The curse, and call them just.
Nay, thou art foolish to have any pride:
They use thee as they choose.
Count every happy dream
As stolen from the envy of their power.
Turn at the last to slumber, if no great woe
Hath taken thee, secure,
That under the warm earth to vex thy sleep
Their hands can never come.
PHILOCTETES
And, you kings,
Behold I come late warrior to the war,
Wounded I come since ye would have it so;
And a strange voice has spoken on your side
That this world owns not. Ready am I and tame,
Great kings, to do your bidding; and this maid
Will lead me to your ships and go with me,
And Phimachus, old comrade, aids our way.
Ye make it nothing that I tamely go?
Nay, by the light and by this maiden here,
My vengeance was as sweet as life to a boy.
And now I throw it down and cast it by,
Wherefore? Nay, not ye heavens for anything
198
In his false rhetoric. If to such a man
I seem the crazy and uncertain jest
Of dream and vision; if to such a soul
To love the memory of a comrade dead
Seem but a girl's perfection, a sick whim
To let my anger go when one I loved,
Speaking behind the cloud and veil of time
So bids me—Why it must be always so;
The lesser nature never yet conceived
Nobility above it, nay but held
As folly what it could not understand
With its mole eyes, ignoble; ay, but thou,
Pyrrhus, I see this in thy glittering eyes,
Canst understand me somewhat. Nay then, boy,
This womanly dew is braver on thy lids
Than this man's easy dog-like laughter sits
Sneering his soul down—Ay, and Ægle too
With thy sweet eyes new flooded into rain;
Why this is an old tale to thee, my child,
A most sad old one. You have wept by me.
When there was no one else would come or care.
And you have crept and given your little palm
To nest in mine, when your voice broke, as all
The comfort you could give me. Ah, dear head,
Have I so wrongly put mine anger by?
Doth thy sweet bosom scorn me for this thing
Refusing vengeance? Soft as light in cloud
Thou givest answer with a rainy smile.
Sneer on, Ulysses, now if thou canst sneer;
Being so more wretched tho' a painless man
Than I in any sorrow, tho' a king
Of woes with mortals; since some love me still:
But thee, poor worm, no fellow-creature loves,
Altho' they use thy cunning in their wars.
Sneer on, poor instrument of venom, I think
That I can bear such sneering, ay, and more.
But, ere I leave these precincts of my pain,
I will speak something to these Lemnians here;
A simple word, my kings, and easily said,
No wordy toil of Ithacensian lips.
Hear, O ye Lemnians, hear a full brief word
Before I go, for surely from this day
My voice shall be a silence on your rocks,
My face a dimness with a few old men
Remembered hardly. As day fathers day
199
Change and be changed. So roll the stars along
And the great world is crown'd with silent lights
Watching her changes, and no thing endures.
Wherefore ye fosterers of the broken man,
Whom ye denied not strangered when his own
Despised the sharing with him light and air,—
Prosper, ye kindly fishing folk, and thrive
Always of Zeus; knowing your simple ways
Are more than royal hatreds. Eat sweet bread
Because ye love no fellow-creature's scathe.
And I, this farewell spoken, speak no more,
This only—He is noble and utterly great,
Noble and great he only, who can say,
Whatever plague the strong great gods impose,
“Be it done but I am free. My spirit knows
Its freedom tho' ye crush me quite away.
My last dim thought upon the very edge
Of silence shall breathe ‘freedom.’ For no hand
Of god or demon can abolish this.”
CHORUS
Man, let them have their way.
Let them, O man, prevail:
Mighty and more than thou,
How should their anger fail?
Why settest thou thy baby palms
To wrestle down the thews that may not tire?
Why wilt thou vex thyself to be as they,
Weakling of sorrow and sleep?
Why wilt thou thrust about the world for peace?
God is at peace alone.
Take from their careless hands
The morsels of their pity as they fall:
Take from their scornful brows
The curse, and call them just.
Nay, thou art foolish to have any pride:
They use thee as they choose.
Count every happy dream
As stolen from the envy of their power.
Turn at the last to slumber, if no great woe
Hath taken thee, secure,
That under the warm earth to vex thy sleep
Their hands can never come.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |