The Tenth Muse :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Tenth Muse

And other poems: By Sir Edwin Arnold

Arnold, Edwin (1832-1904)

[dedication]

[section]

THE TENTH MUSE

THE PASSING OF MUHAMMAD

ON THE DEATH OF LORD TENNYSON

WRITTEN IN THE BIRTHDAY BOOK OF H.R.H. THE DUCHESS OF YORK

CRATHIE CHURCH

THE STORY OF THE SNAKE BEING THE DOCTRINE OF KARMA

SOHNI

MY GUESTS

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THE TENTH MUSE

COMPOSED FOR A PRESS ANNIVERSARY

I

In stately classic time
Who built the lofty rhyme—
While yet his hand wandered along the lyre,
While the loud prelude lingered,
And each quick string he fingered,
Not finding fitting outburst of his fire—
Then would he raise
First notes of prayer and praise
To those great daughters of Mnemosynë—
The high immortal Nine—
And, swift! the whispered line
Leapt to his lip,—commanding, sounding, free.

II

Yet I, to-day,
Neither to praise nor pray,
Sweet Muses! with your sacred names begin
This, my unusual song;
But if ye still live, strong,
Somewhere on heights which poet's verse can reach;
If still with mortal eyes ye may be seen
By some new Hippocrene—
Some later, nearer Aganippë's fountain—
Then listen, and with sister-arms en-ring
Her whom we bring
Up the steep slope of your celestial mountain.

III

Clio! whose tablets keep—
That Gods may laugh and weep—
Full record of men's wars and loves below;

Euterpe! with the pipe
Set to that rosebud ripe
Of thy Greek mouth, some lovely strain to blow;
Thalia! laughing as the stroller's task
Fits on the comic mask;
And sad Melpomene, with tragic eyes,
And drawn glaive's glittering blade;
Thou, too, Heav'n's pensive maid,
Star-crowned Urania! rapt in mysteries!

IV

And thou, soft Erato!
From throat of snow
Murmuring a love-verse to the chorded shell;
And grave Calliopë,
Of epic scrolls to be
Deep-meditating how the strain shall swell;
Polymnia! cheek on hand
Pillowed, while slow and grand

The storming organs thunder chant and hymn;
Terpsichorë! whose feet
Shine whiter while they beat
The white wind-flowers by Helicon's green rim.

V

With bended brow and knee
Here bring we, fair to see,
And grown to Grecian stateliness and grace,
Her whom we serve alway
By night, by day,
In diverse tongues and many a peopled place:
Not grudging among men
From toil of brain and pen,
The largest she shall ask us, nor the least,
So praise come to her name,
And power, and fame,
And North and South may hail her—West and East.

VI

High Muses! be not slow
Her rights to know
Who comes to sit on the Pierian Hill,
Turning your Nine to Ten;
For—born, albeit, of men—
She, by her high emprise, is Goddess still.
The Tenth Muse treads to-day
This lofty way,
Not less than ye of Heav'n—divine no less;
Room! ye who proudly dwell
Here on the asphodel!
Your youngest sister greet, the modern PRESS.

VII

Nay! start not, Erato!
Sweet music doth not flow
Freer for thee than her, when she bids sing;

And, Clio! look! she lacks
Neither thy stele, nor wax,
To write the tale of all things happening;
Euterpe! piping soft—
Thy chosen poets oft
Pour their melodious souls upon her page;
And, light Thalia! thou
Dimpling such mouth and brow,
Laugh'st side by side with her, on every stage.

VIII

Melpomene! to thine
Her thoughts incline
Where, o'er the boards, the tragic players pass
When, in the mimic scene,
Warrior, and knight, and queen,
And woes, and wars, and fates their image glass;
Like thee, by night—by noon—
Of stars, and sun, and moon.

The changeful march, Urania! she doth mark;
With watchful gaze like thine
Muse most divine!
Our Lady's eyes shine brightest in the dark.

IX

Calliopë! regard!
Epic and lyric bard
Take from her equal hand their laurel-crowns;
Those she delights to praise
Wear haughtily the bays,
Go famous in a thousand towers and towns.
Nor scorns our Mistress sweet
The tripping feet
Of such as worship glad Terpsichorë;
The choral song and dance,
And woven steps that glance,
And swimming limbs, her own gay business be.

X

Then—debonair, demure,
In Vestal sindon pure—
With thine, Polymnia! all her mind grows Jove's;
In temples, still and dim,
She shares the mystic hymn;
And puts by wars and crimes and shows and loves.
Oh, make good place
For our proud Lady's face
In the undying circle of your beauty;
For see, ye stately Nine!
No art, nor charge divine,
No gift, nor grace there is, but falls into her duty.

XI

Aye, Muses! more than this!
She whom your lips must kiss,
Your new-crowned Sister of this later day,

She you shall take—
For all the people's sake—
Into your high-born company; and say
“Ephemera! be free
Of heavenly airs, as we!”
This sleepless Lady whom her true scribes love—
A greater purpose holds,
A larger deed unfolds,
A mightier mandate bears from will of Jove.

XII

So, if there do remain
Some little sable stain
On this white faithful hand, these fingers slender,
As beautiful as wine
Crims'ning a wrist divine,
Rosier than rose-leaf on the snow, more tender
Than tears on silken lid
Those ink-marks deem! Nay, bid

Our pale Queen welcome! think her worthy glory
Who—watchful, night by night—
For human help and light
Sits by her whirling wheels, spinning the wide world's story.

XIII

The wide world's friend is she
With tireless eyes which see
Whatever anywhere befalls; with ears
Opened, by night, by day,
To what men do or say,
All the far echoes of all months and years.
And what she learns alone
Swiftly she maketh known
With voice majestic, world-extending, high;
So that the rolling sea
Hath not a tongue more free,
Nor more all-covering is the arching sky.

XIV

Also her heart is set
On hopes, undreamed of yet
By those who worshipped once, old bards and sages;—
The onward march of Man
From what began
His uprise, to the goal of all the Ages.
The peoples of the plain
Your Gods did once disdain
From ledge of haught Olympus, 'mid their clouds,
For them our Mistress hath
Large pity; and hot wrath
'Gainst such as scorn and slight her patient crowds.

XV

To minister to these
'Neath all the roaring seas,
Her messengers, tamed lightnings, come and go;

O'er all the busy lands
Her duteous eyes and hands
Gather up knowledge, that the people know.
From them she hath her power,
And hour by hour
To them she payeth back her debt of greatness,
Accomplishing full score
With blessings more and more,
And service wrought in silence and sedateness.

XVI

And if, indeed, her hand
Wieldeth no fiery brand
To strike oppression down, stay the wrong-doer,
Chastise the wicked law,
And guilty plunder draw
From wealthy robbers, and be swift pursuer
Of crime and guile; alway,
To seize, and smite, and slay,

Muses! this plumèd quill which she doth bear
Is keener in the strife,
Strikes closer to the life,
Than sword of Themis, or Athenë's spear.

XVII

Of this the subtle point
Pierceth each armour-joint
In rich rogues' pride, and evil men's contriving;
There stands no shame so strong
It shall, for long,
Make head against our Lady's ceaseless striving;
For, clad in living light,
'Gainst Darkness does she fight;
And girt with Knowledge, Ignorance she chases;
High Muses! welcome her—
Our World's Interpreter—
Glad and caressing to your heavenly Places.

XVII

So, in the sacred ranks,
For all men's love and thanks,
Ephemera, Tenth Muse, sits safe to-day,
Our Lady of the Lamp,
Whom we, of many a camp,
Serve daily—for her work's sake—and obey;
Not holding any grace or any gift
Too precious to uplift
In homage to her; deeming all her right;
Nor ever once ashamed
So we be named
Press-men; Slaves of the Lamp; Servants of Light.