University of Virginia Library

DAPHNE.

Daphne, the fair one, with the sea-blue eyes,
And rich gold locks upon her shoulders pure,
Ambrosial, bright, and long as Herè's own,
And cheeks in color like the Spring's first rose,
All shaded into soft and melting pink,
As velvety and smooth as is the peach,
And dimpling like the Ocean's sun-kissed waves;
With perfect-moulded limbs and slender form,—
The lovely daughter of the river-god,—
Was pierced by Cupid, that young archer bold,
Pierced through the heart with arrow thick and blunt,
And tipped with dark and heavy leaden point,
That deadened her to love's most fond caress.
Apollo, with the dazzling, sunny locks,
Waving in glorious curls above his brow,
Divinely-lit with genius of a god,
Benevolent, serene, and beautiful,—
Apollo, bender of the silver bow,
Apollo, player of the golden harp,
God of the Sun, and fairest of the gods,
Was pierced by Cupid, that young archer bold,
Pierced through the heart with arrow fine and sharp,
And tipped with bright and lightsome golden point,
That wakened him to love's sweet influence.
So thus it chanced, the Sun-god loved the maid,
Apollo loved fair Daphne, chaste and pure,
And sought her with the longings of desire;
But she repelled him with cold haughtiness,
And fled him, with the blush upon her cheek,
In emulation of proud Cynthia.
He saw her, in her beauteous maidenhood,
Standing beside the blue and limpid stream
Where dwelt the river-god, old Peneus,
And burned at once with an imperious love,
That bore him onward irresistibly,
And with one spring he darted toward the maid,
To seize her in his eager, trembling arms.
But Daphne, quivering with maiden fear,
And kindling to her locks with maiden shame,
Sprang forward, too, adown the flowering glen,—
A sun-ray o'er the mountain shadowed vale.
Swift as the wind, she darted from his grasp,
And fled from him, while he pursued her form,
And followed her adown the shadowed vale,
All through the flowering glen, as swift as light.
Forward impelled, her quick feet winged by fear,
Her tresses blown around her blushing face,
Her rosy feet scarce brushing from the grass
The filmy dew-drop that there lightly hung;
Her sea-blue eyes wet with a mist of tears,
Her mouth half-oped, like a pomegranate cleft,
Panting, with heaving breast and wearying feet,
She sprang and fled through shadow and through shine.
And quickly after her the glorious god,
His large eyes lustrous, longing-full of love,
Upon his back the glittering silver bow,
Within his hand the magic golden harp,
And round his brow the halo of sun-rays,—
Swift darted through the shadow and the shine.
So these two flee. She cries, “Oh, help me Jove!
Help me, O chaste Diana, whom I love;
Save me and help me!” While he loudly cries.
“Oh, why dost flee so swiftly, Daphne fair?
Jove is my father, and the sovereign lord
Am I of Delphos and of Tenedos,
The god of the bright sun, the god of song.
Hold! I will glorify thy days with light,
And I will woo thee with my sweetest song.”
But still she flees, nor listens to his plaint.
He nears her now, he gains upon her steps,
Love, ardent, hopeful, doth outrun Despair.
More near, more near, he touches her at last,
His breath is on her cheek and on her hair;
Her trembling limbs scarce hold her on the earth,
But that his arm supports her drooping form.
“Oh, help me, Peneus, Dian!” loud she cries.
And suddenly all rigid doth she grow;
A tender bark surrounds her heaving breast,
Her flowing hair becomes fair laurel leaves,
Her arms are branches, and her face hath gone,
And beauty, now, is all of her that 's left.
Apollo kisses oft the shrinking bark,
Caressing the fair, tender trembling leaves,
And cries, “Thou shalt be evermore my crown,
And thy green leaf shall never know decay.”
So saying, on the yielding branches fair,
He hangs his silver bow and golden harp,
And each leaf flutters as it murmurs thanks.