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1
THE GIFTS OF THE MUSES.
Against a platan's root,
Blowing a rustic flute,
Young Daphnis lay, the careless herdsman blithe;
His nervous fingers ran
Along the tuneful span,
While languor held his well-shaped limbs and lithe;
Down on his head there rained in wayward flight
A sparkling shower of green reflected light.
Blowing a rustic flute,
Young Daphnis lay, the careless herdsman blithe;
His nervous fingers ran
Along the tuneful span,
While languor held his well-shaped limbs and lithe;
Down on his head there rained in wayward flight
A sparkling shower of green reflected light.
2
He piped an oaten strain
Of math and loaded wain,
Of harvest-triumphs drawn along the vales;
Of songs of wood and hill,
The frail cicala shrill,
And shepherds challenging the nightingales,
Of heifers straying among orchard fruits,
And wanton kids that gnaw the fig-tree shoots.
Of math and loaded wain,
Of harvest-triumphs drawn along the vales;
Of songs of wood and hill,
The frail cicala shrill,
And shepherds challenging the nightingales,
Of heifers straying among orchard fruits,
And wanton kids that gnaw the fig-tree shoots.
Thoughts of this simple kind
Held all his pastoral mind,
Unlearned in the painful lore of life,
Song and the flute's bright sound
Gilded his rustic round
Of works and ways, with nature ne'er at strife;
No waters fling their snows down mossy heights
More joyously than he his lyric flights.
Held all his pastoral mind,
Unlearned in the painful lore of life,
Song and the flute's bright sound
Gilded his rustic round
Of works and ways, with nature ne'er at strife;
No waters fling their snows down mossy heights
More joyously than he his lyric flights.
3
Beside him, in the shade,
Stood tall a rosy maid,
The sweet Lycoris of the glistering hair;
From baskets hung hard by,
She piled an altar high
With woodland rites and many an artless prayer,
Laid roses on it to the Muses nine,
And laurel to the Pythian more divine.
Stood tall a rosy maid,
The sweet Lycoris of the glistering hair;
From baskets hung hard by,
She piled an altar high
With woodland rites and many an artless prayer,
Laid roses on it to the Muses nine,
And laurel to the Pythian more divine.
Then soon, her offering done,
She rested from the sun,
Leaning her locks against a leopard's hide;
While Daphnis in a dream
Let slip away the stream
Of flute-notes, till their echo wholly died;
Brown head by golden and brown limbs by white,
Sleep folded round them both its noon-delight.
She rested from the sun,
Leaning her locks against a leopard's hide;
While Daphnis in a dream
Let slip away the stream
Of flute-notes, till their echo wholly died;
Brown head by golden and brown limbs by white,
Sleep folded round them both its noon-delight.
4
But while in sleep they lie,
The Muses wander by,
Serene and stately, with their robes of song;
The dewy flowers they found,
And rustic altar crowned
With homely gifts that did their godhead wrong,
Yet smiled and took them, turned and smiled again
To find their suppliants in a drowsy vein.
The Muses wander by,
Serene and stately, with their robes of song;
The dewy flowers they found,
And rustic altar crowned
With homely gifts that did their godhead wrong,
Yet smiled and took them, turned and smiled again
To find their suppliants in a drowsy vein.
Between them passed a sign,
And one among the Nine
Lift up the shepherd's roughly-carven flute,
And from Lycoris' breast
Turned back the saffron vest,
And, signalling her sisters to be mute,
Took thence the humble amulet that lay
Close by that virgin heart's pure swing and sway.
And one among the Nine
Lift up the shepherd's roughly-carven flute,
And from Lycoris' breast
Turned back the saffron vest,
And, signalling her sisters to be mute,
Took thence the humble amulet that lay
Close by that virgin heart's pure swing and sway.
5
And then they passed from sight,
Far up the hills of light,
Seeking their sire in many an upland lair,—
With voices hushed and low,
Lest he should come and go,—
Shivering to feel the laurel-scented air,—
Trembling lest every stir of wind and tree
Should lightly turn to music and be He.
Far up the hills of light,
Seeking their sire in many an upland lair,—
With voices hushed and low,
Lest he should come and go,—
Shivering to feel the laurel-scented air,—
Trembling lest every stir of wind and tree
Should lightly turn to music and be He.
But soon, on the cool ground,
Lycoris woke and found
An opal burning on her zoneless breast,
And sought in vain to find
The ring her mother kind
Kissed every night before she bade her rest;
New hopes sprang up, new passions dim and wild,
She rose bewildered and no more a child.
Lycoris woke and found
An opal burning on her zoneless breast,
And sought in vain to find
The ring her mother kind
Kissed every night before she bade her rest;
New hopes sprang up, new passions dim and wild,
She rose bewildered and no more a child.
6
Out of that shining glade
Slow passed the dreaming maid,
And sought a pool, still as a wingless thought,
So pensively she fared,
A drinking hart was scared,
And woodwards fled, and yet she knew it not;
Intent in her own imaged form to find
The answering echo of her wakening mind.
Slow passed the dreaming maid,
And sought a pool, still as a wingless thought,
So pensively she fared,
A drinking hart was scared,
And woodwards fled, and yet she knew it not;
Intent in her own imaged form to find
The answering echo of her wakening mind.
And, bending o'er the wave,
The mirrored shape it gave
Was taller, fairer than her memory knew;
From virgin coif to hem
The god's gift of the gem
Flashed mellow radiance, beaming through and through
Till, shrinking back a little in distress,
She blushed, oppressed with her own loveliness.
The mirrored shape it gave
Was taller, fairer than her memory knew;
From virgin coif to hem
The god's gift of the gem
Flashed mellow radiance, beaming through and through
Till, shrinking back a little in distress,
She blushed, oppressed with her own loveliness.
7
But soon her pride returned,
And o'er the pool she burned,
Glowing with pleasure at her own fair face,
And thought no more of him
Who, through the forest dim,
Was fain to vaunt her earlier simple grace;
Who now lay dreaming, while his fingers missed
The pipe he often in her praise had kissed.
And o'er the pool she burned,
Glowing with pleasure at her own fair face,
And thought no more of him
Who, through the forest dim,
Was fain to vaunt her earlier simple grace;
Who now lay dreaming, while his fingers missed
The pipe he often in her praise had kissed.
So, idly wandering,
She met a conquering king,
High-charioted and garlanded with bays;
And, from his fiery hand,
Took queenship of the land,
And sat, his consort, through her length of days,
Far-famed for peerless beauty, and the frost
Of glittering pomp when love and hope are lost.
She met a conquering king,
High-charioted and garlanded with bays;
And, from his fiery hand,
Took queenship of the land,
And sat, his consort, through her length of days,
Far-famed for peerless beauty, and the frost
Of glittering pomp when love and hope are lost.
8
But Daphnis, too, distraught,
In wakening hands had caught
No rustic flute rough-hewn of beech-wood light,
But, past his whole desire,
A massive ivory lyre,
Gold-strung and meet to hymn a king's delight;
As if a snake had made his hand its nest,
He thrust the plectrum from his throbbing breast.
In wakening hands had caught
No rustic flute rough-hewn of beech-wood light,
But, past his whole desire,
A massive ivory lyre,
Gold-strung and meet to hymn a king's delight;
As if a snake had made his hand its nest,
He thrust the plectrum from his throbbing breast.
But soon the sighing chords,
Half whispered into words,
Decoyed his fancy with their wayward charm;
Subtle the notes, and strange
With mystic interchange
Of tones that might the wildest beart disarm.
He stooped to take the lovely breathing lyre,
And, as he touched it, all his soul took fire.
Half whispered into words,
Decoyed his fancy with their wayward charm;
Subtle the notes, and strange
With mystic interchange
Of tones that might the wildest beart disarm.
He stooped to take the lovely breathing lyre,
And, as he touched it, all his soul took fire.
9
He tries a pastoral lay
Of goats that tramp in play,
And mar the treasures of the thrifty bee;
But ah! do what he can
He peals a hymn to Pan,
And wakes the woods with dulcet harmony;
Prophetic strains to none before revealed
Pour out in music from his lips unsealed.
Of goats that tramp in play,
And mar the treasures of the thrifty bee;
But ah! do what he can
He peals a hymn to Pan,
And wakes the woods with dulcet harmony;
Prophetic strains to none before revealed
Pour out in music from his lips unsealed.
Then he arose and went,
Like one on mission sent,
Through many a vine-hung village of white walls;
Singing from door to door,
As never sang before
The deftest minstrel under coronals,—
His hair unbound, a common shepherd lad,
But for a certain majesty he had.
Like one on mission sent,
Through many a vine-hung village of white walls;
Singing from door to door,
As never sang before
The deftest minstrel under coronals,—
His hair unbound, a common shepherd lad,
But for a certain majesty he had.
10
Maidens and youths began
To haunt the tuneful man,
Following his lyre and him from town to town,
And oft when noon was hot,
In some secluded spot,
The bard would turn and bid them all lie down,
And then, while in the pine-tops sighed the wind,
Some thrilling tale of passion he would find.
To haunt the tuneful man,
Following his lyre and him from town to town,
And oft when noon was hot,
In some secluded spot,
The bard would turn and bid them all lie down,
And then, while in the pine-tops sighed the wind,
Some thrilling tale of passion he would find.
His praises flew before;
Men hailed him more and more;
They loaded him with garlands and with gold;
Some prayed him to abide
Still in that country-side,
A princely office in the state to hold;
He thanked them, and with level glance severe
Passed on; and they were dumb with shame and fear.
Men hailed him more and more;
They loaded him with garlands and with gold;
Some prayed him to abide
Still in that country-side,
A princely office in the state to hold;
He thanked them, and with level glance severe
Passed on; and they were dumb with shame and fear.
11
For yet with all his fame
Some secret inward flame
Fretted his heart, and made him grave and sad;
There was no joy or rest
In that god-haunted breast;
A grand but melancholy face he had,
And women gazing as he passed them by
Drew back, lest they should meet his glance and die.
Some secret inward flame
Fretted his heart, and made him grave and sad;
There was no joy or rest
In that god-haunted breast;
A grand but melancholy face he had,
And women gazing as he passed them by
Drew back, lest they should meet his glance and die.
High up a mountain-side,
Aweing the champaign wide,
The crowning city of that land is set;
Olive and poplar meet
Along its sun-white street,
And o'er the joyous folk their branches fret.
Against the myrtles, dark above the town,
The palace of an ancient line looks down.
Aweing the champaign wide,
The crowning city of that land is set;
Olive and poplar meet
Along its sun-white street,
And o'er the joyous folk their branches fret.
Against the myrtles, dark above the town,
The palace of an ancient line looks down.
12
And Daphnis comes at last,
After long years are past,
To smite his lyre before the victor king;
The people shout and crowd,
And call his name aloud,
Great poet, first of all that chaunt and sing!
He heeds them not, nor bows his lovely head,
But steps like Orpheus through the gibbering dead.
After long years are past,
To smite his lyre before the victor king;
The people shout and crowd,
And call his name aloud,
Great poet, first of all that chaunt and sing!
He heeds them not, nor bows his lovely head,
But steps like Orpheus through the gibbering dead.
About his hair he sets
A wreath of violets,
Tears out the cooling lilies from his lyre,
Reaches the palace door,
And treads the marble floor,
And wins the inmost chamber, fairer, higher,
Where deep transparent shadows fall and meet
Around the despot on his porphyry seat.
A wreath of violets,
Tears out the cooling lilies from his lyre,
Reaches the palace door,
And treads the marble floor,
And wins the inmost chamber, fairer, higher,
Where deep transparent shadows fall and meet
Around the despot on his porphyry seat.
13
They gave him ear for song;
The courtiers, in a throng,
Applauded lightly when the feat was o'er;
The king, more apt and wise,
Vowed, by the Titan's eyes,
No loftier ode had reached his sense before,
And shouting, swore, for rapture so divine,
The queen herself should pour a meed of wine.
The courtiers, in a throng,
Applauded lightly when the feat was o'er;
The king, more apt and wise,
Vowed, by the Titan's eyes,
No loftier ode had reached his sense before,
And shouting, swore, for rapture so divine,
The queen herself should pour a meed of wine.
So, with cool fingers white,
She poured, like rosy light,
The sparkling wine that laughed to see the sun;
Gravely she gazed at him
Across the twinkling brim,
And praised the victory over music won,
Nor drooped the lids of her large eyes nor sank,
When from her hand he took the bowl and drank.
She poured, like rosy light,
The sparkling wine that laughed to see the sun;
Gravely she gazed at him
Across the twinkling brim,
And praised the victory over music won,
Nor drooped the lids of her large eyes nor sank,
When from her hand he took the bowl and drank.
14
‘O more than queen,’ he cried,
‘Ripe to be deified,
The godhead blossoms in those eyes and lips!
Each minor mortal star
Thou dost excel as far
As must this opal other gems eclipse!’
She shuddered inwardly, she knew not why,
And silence fell, and they gazed eye to eye.
‘Ripe to be deified,
The godhead blossoms in those eyes and lips!
Each minor mortal star
Thou dost excel as far
As must this opal other gems eclipse!’
She shuddered inwardly, she knew not why,
And silence fell, and they gazed eye to eye.
So memory stirred in each,
As, o'er a tideless beach,
Some wandering wind may ape the loud seawave;
Then, in a moment's space,
Faded from either face
The shade of shades that dim remembrance gave.
She was a queen, erect and fair and cold,
And he a singer to be fee'd with gold.
As, o'er a tideless beach,
Some wandering wind may ape the loud seawave;
Then, in a moment's space,
Faded from either face
The shade of shades that dim remembrance gave.
She was a queen, erect and fair and cold,
And he a singer to be fee'd with gold.
15
Forth from that house he went,
With face and shoulders bent,
Burdened with song and faint with vague desire;
Across the glaring street
He passed, on faltering feet,
Into the temple of the Delian Sire,
And while the priests around him wondered, he
Poured out strange prayer to their great deity.
With face and shoulders bent,
Burdened with song and faint with vague desire;
Across the glaring street
He passed, on faltering feet,
Into the temple of the Delian Sire,
And while the priests around him wondered, he
Poured out strange prayer to their great deity.
‘Bitter the laurel leaf;
And harsh the barley-sheat,
Dipped in the blood of Niobe for wine;
More sad than any tears
The weight of rhythmic years;
More fierce than fire the light upon the shrine;
More tense the bow, more fell the shafts by far
Than Love's light arrows, though they poisoned are.
And harsh the barley-sheat,
Dipped in the blood of Niobe for wine;
More sad than any tears
The weight of rhythmic years;
More fierce than fire the light upon the shrine;
More tense the bow, more fell the shafts by far
Than Love's light arrows, though they poisoned are.
16
‘Love hath no part in me,
And hopes before me flee,
As from Narcissus fled his own fair face;
The morning breaks in vain,
No pleasure and no pain
Its bodiless hours can on my being trace:
I am but as thy lyre! Oh! let there start
Immortal music from this hopeless heart.’
And hopes before me flee,
As from Narcissus fled his own fair face;
The morning breaks in vain,
No pleasure and no pain
Its bodiless hours can on my being trace:
I am but as thy lyre! Oh! let there start
Immortal music from this hopeless heart.’
And then, uplift anew,
He passed that priesthood through,
And sought the light, fading to eventide,
Within the broad white square
Stood, flushed with roseate air,
While folk came crowding round from far and wide,
Then made great music to their hearts' delight,
Till the stars gathered fire and it was night.
He passed that priesthood through,
And sought the light, fading to eventide,
Within the broad white square
Stood, flushed with roseate air,
While folk came crowding round from far and wide,
Then made great music to their hearts' delight,
Till the stars gathered fire and it was night.
17
And so from year to year,
Like some high upland drear,
His lofty spirit and lonely watched the skies,
While still his lips and hands
Wrung wonder from all lands,
Praise found no echo in his changeless eyes;
Like dawn-struck Memnon by Nile's lonely shore,
He poured his music and was stone once more.
Like some high upland drear,
His lofty spirit and lonely watched the skies,
While still his lips and hands
Wrung wonder from all lands,
Praise found no echo in his changeless eyes;
Like dawn-struck Memnon by Nile's lonely shore,
He poured his music and was stone once more.
But when his heart was old,
The people brought their gold,
And hewed out marble from the mountains hoar;
Under their hands arose,
Slow, as a cedar grows,
A glorious palace on the south sea-shore,
And there, with slaves and perfumes and fair weather,
He and his lyre were sorrowful together.
The people brought their gold,
And hewed out marble from the mountains hoar;
Under their hands arose,
Slow, as a cedar grows,
A glorious palace on the south sea-shore,
And there, with slaves and perfumes and fair weather,
He and his lyre were sorrowful together.
18
One night—so legends say—
The ancient poet lay,
Scaring faint sleep with many a weary thought,
When, through the pillared gold,
The curtains, fold on fold,
Blew out as though a wind for entrance sought,
And all the fragrant lamps were dimly stirred
Though no one moved and not a sound was heard.
The ancient poet lay,
Scaring faint sleep with many a weary thought,
When, through the pillared gold,
The curtains, fold on fold,
Blew out as though a wind for entrance sought,
And all the fragrant lamps were dimly stirred
Though no one moved and not a sound was heard.
Then, through the deepening night,
Clouding the lamps with light,
Into that house the radiant Pythian came;
The majesty he had
Was self-illumed, and clad
In naked beauty like a rose-red flame.
He spake and smiled; so keen, so fierce, so fair,
His voice was like a sword and cleft the air.
Clouding the lamps with light,
Into that house the radiant Pythian came;
The majesty he had
Was self-illumed, and clad
In naked beauty like a rose-red flame.
He spake and smiled; so keen, so fierce, so fair,
His voice was like a sword and cleft the air.
19
‘Ah! poet, ah! my son,
What meed hast thou not won,
Renowned for song through all my spacious realm!
Ask now thy best desire;
I swear, on lips of fire,
My bounty shall thy wishes overwhelm!
Ask what thou wilt; a god before thee stands,
With all earth's honours heaped upon his hands.’
What meed hast thou not won,
Renowned for song through all my spacious realm!
Ask now thy best desire;
I swear, on lips of fire,
My bounty shall thy wishes overwhelm!
Ask what thou wilt; a god before thee stands,
With all earth's honours heaped upon his hands.’
And Daphnis made reply:
‘See at thy feet I lie,
All fame concentres in this brilliant hour;
Honours enough, and praise
Have crowned my length of days,
Yet that was but the bud and this the flower;
Give me no more; but let me dumbly rest,
Within thy radiance intimately blest.
‘See at thy feet I lie,
All fame concentres in this brilliant hour;
Honours enough, and praise
Have crowned my length of days,
Yet that was but the bud and this the flower;
Give me no more; but let me dumbly rest,
Within thy radiance intimately blest.
20
‘Yet one request I have,
And one desire to crave,
Since thy serenest godhead holds my fate,
Give back the homely flute,
Now long disused and mute,
The sovereign Muses stole to make me great;
And oh! my master, take this lyre again,
With all its passion, all its weight of pain!’
And one desire to crave,
Since thy serenest godhead holds my fate,
Give back the homely flute,
Now long disused and mute,
The sovereign Muses stole to make me great;
And oh! my master, take this lyre again,
With all its passion, all its weight of pain!’
But when the full dawn broke,
And Daphnis stirred nor spoke,
The slaves in fear drew back the veils' eclipse;
There on the stately bed
The ancient bard lay dead,
A smile still hovering on his curvèd lips:
The lyre they found not, but his fingers tight
Were closed upon a flute of beech-wood light.
And Daphnis stirred nor spoke,
The slaves in fear drew back the veils' eclipse;
There on the stately bed
The ancient bard lay dead,
A smile still hovering on his curvèd lips:
The lyre they found not, but his fingers tight
Were closed upon a flute of beech-wood light.
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