Poetical works of the late F. Sayers to which have been prefixed the connected disquisitions on the rise and progress of English poetry, and on English metres, and also some biographic particulars of the author, supplied by W. Taylor |
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ARIADNE. |
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149
ARIADNE.
The lofty pines are torn from Pelion's steep,And stately floating o'er the gleamy deep,
Bear to Ætæan shores and Phasis' strand
The Argive youth, a vigorous, dauntless band;
Braving the surge, and mocking every toil,
They nobly dare to snatch the golden spoil;
A favouring goddess sends the prosperous breeze,
And wafts them smoothly o'er the untried seas;
Soon as the swift keel trac'd its foamy way,
And bending oars dash'd high the glittering spray,
The wondering sea-gods rais'd their dewy brows,
And Nereids, trembling, from their caves arose;
Then first to human sight expos'd they stood,
Their lovely forms half-bending o'er the flood;
Peleus enraptur'd, gaz'd on Thetis' charms,
And clasp'd a yielding goddess in his arms.
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Long in my verse shall live your well-earn'd praise,
Thou, chief—Thessalia's bulwark and her pride,
To whom e'en Jove resign'd a splendid bride,
Dooming, reluctant, to thy fond embrace,
The fairest daughter of the sea-god race—
See from the east bright shoots the roseate ray,
And laughing hours lead on the nuptial day;
Nor Grecian towers, nor Tempe's shades, detain
The jocund myriads; o'er Thessalia's plain
They press, with eager joy, their chief to greet,
And pour their costly offerings at his feet;
The fields deserted give to welcome peace
The tired steer; the rattling arrows cease;
The plough-share rusts unheeded, and the oak
No longer trembles to the woodman's stroke;
Lost in delight, amid the regal domes,
The revel crowd forget their humble homes;
The gold's deep lustre, and the silvery beam
Shoot thro' the lofty halls a blended gleam;
The glistening ivory decks the throne of state;
The gorgeous table shines with massy plate;
But far above the rest, the nuptial bed
Of Tyrian dye, with splendid coverings spread:
The rich embroidery tells of heroes' deeds,
Of fierce encounters, and of virtue's meeds—
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Alone, abandon'd, on the sea-dash'd strand;
Fresh from her couch, where floating dreams of night
Had spread their painted visions to her sight,
She fondly trusts that still they mock her view,
And scarce believes her misery is true;
Mean time her lover, hastening from the shore,
Skims the green waves, and plies the dripping oar;
Fix'd to the earth, she views, with streaming eyes,
The distant sail, and deeper pangs arise;
The glittering fillet of her golden hair,
Her thin-spun veil, light dancing in the air,
The slender zone, her snowy breast that binds,
Fall at her feet, the sport of eddying winds;
Nor veil, nor zone attract her fixed sight,
Deep plung'd in grief, she marks but Theseus' flight;
With him her soul still strives the waves to ride,
Cleaves to his lips, and lingers by his side.
Thrice wretched-woman! hated be the hour
When first thy lover trod the Cretan shore!
When first, self-doom'd, he fearless rush'd to save
The youth of Athens from th' untimely grave.
In Minos' glittering courts the hero stands,
A towering god amidst his vigorous bands,
Fair Ariadne sees him, sees and loves,
O'er every charm her youthful fancy roves,
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Of giddy passion, and of warm desire.
Fair son of Venus, dear, tormenting boy,
Who light'st, 'mid human woes, the lamp of joy;
How couldst thou, cruel, plunge so deep thy dart,
And triumph fiercely o'er a virgin heart?
Soft is the lustre of her pensive eyes,
Her labouring bosom heaves with frequent sighs,
Her hurried slumbers unknown terrors break,
And livid paleness creeps across her cheek;
But most, when Theseus braves the doubtful fight,
Her sinking spirits sicken with affright,
To every aiding god, in deep despair,
She vows her gifts, and breathes the silent prayer—
Her prayer is heard—As raging storm-winds sweep
The pine uprooted, from the rocky steep,
Dash the firm oak to earth, and rapid bear
Its twisted branches in the whirling air:
Thus, with resistless force, the youth assails
The blood-stain'd monster; now no more avails
The chilling terror of his hideous form;
He bends, he flies before the impetuous storm:
In vain he flies; the hero swift pursues,
With glowing heart th' auspicious fight renews,
With sinewy arm quick ends the glorious strife,
The monster falls, and groaning, yields his life;
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And the thin clue restores him to the day—
But let us turn from scenes of brighter hue,
Nor tell how swift the golden minutes flew,
Whilst Ariadne, borne to Naxos' shore,
Liv'd but to love, till that detested hour,
When the false youth forsook his blooming bride,
And broke the sacred bonds that love had tied.
From her pale lips indignant accents burst,
Whilst her heart shudder'd at the deed accurs'd;
Now with fleet step, she climbs the mountain brow,
And wistful gazes on the deep below;
Now wildly rushes 'midst the weltering surge,
And calls on Theseus from the ocean's verge;
Dash'd by the frothy waves, forlorn and faint,
Mix'd with deep sobs, she breathes the fond complaint:
“Perfidious man! for thee I left my home,
“Faithful to follow where thy steps should roam,
“For thee forsook a tender mother's arms,
“And blushing, doom'd to thee my virgin charms;
“Could no soft ties that cruel bosom move?
“No fond endearments win thy constant love?
“Was it for this thy solemn vows were sworn?
“Vows that are now become thy jest, thy scorn?
“Fondly I hop'd, to Hymen's temple led
“By sportive trains, to share thy nuptial bed—
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“Base is thy sex, ye woo but to betray,
“Nor oaths, nor gods impede your daring way,
“Still, still ye flatter, till enjoyment cloys,
“And the false tale that won us, then destroys;
“But thou art doubly base—'t was I who spar'd
“Thy life, thy glory—what is my reward?
“For this thou leav'st me on a desert land,
“Lingering to perish, where no pious hand
“The last sad duties to my corse shall pay—
“Of wolves, of vultures I am doom'd the prey.
“Ah! did a Libyan tygress give thee birth?
“Or raging ocean cast thee upon earth?
“Whence, whence thy monster-race, that thus repays
“The gift of life? the boon of happy days?
“What if, obedient to thy sire's command,
“Thou fear'dst to lead me to thy native land,
“Thy wife confess'd; ah! why for ever leave
“Her who had follow'd as thy humblest slave?
“Her to whom every office had been dear,
“That serv'd thy wants to ease, thy life to cheer?
“But why unheeded to the wandering air
“Thus pour my woes, and breathe the fruitless prayer?
“Far o'er the swelling waves the bark is fled,
“And all around is desolate and sad;
“Denied to me the wretch's last relief,
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“Thou potent god! ah! would thy thundering hand
“Had dash'd the traitorous vessel on the strand;
“Would the deceitful youth, who veil'd by art,
“By graces veil'd the treachery of his heart,
“Had sunk unheeded in the heaving sea,
“Nor doom'd this faithful breast to misery!—
“Where shall I turn me? see, the wide-spread main
“For ever bars me from the Cretan plain,
“Or would a parent's arms receive a child,
“Lost to all shame, by kindred blood defil'd?
“No, wretch—go seek thy faithful lover's breast,
“Fall at his feet, and sue to be caress'd—
“Distracting thought!—where'er my eyes are cast,
“No hope is seen—the hour of joy is past;
“Thick o'er my heart increasing horrors roll,
“And death alone can calm my struggling soul;
“But ere these limbs shall fail in wild affright,
“Ere my dim eyes shall close in endless night,
“I hail the furies with a holy dread,
“And call down vengeance on the perjurer's head.”—
She ceas'd—in wrath th' appalling sisters rise,
Jove bows assent, and rocks the solid skies;
Earth trembles, ocean heaves, and heaven's bright flames
Quivering confirm the mandate he proclaims.
| Poetical works of the late F. Sayers | |