 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
THE NYMPH'S PROTEST
Why art thou fallen, sacred earthborn might,
Craft of the noblest, wherefore hast thou failed?
The earthborn Titans fell; and Nature's voice
In branch and cavern, reed and water sound,
Fell wailing in the new supremacy.
While he, the tyrant, in his glory-seat
Wiped the red death exultant from his blade,
And turned him to his golden rest again.
Craft of the noblest, wherefore hast thou failed?
The earthborn Titans fell; and Nature's voice
In branch and cavern, reed and water sound,
Fell wailing in the new supremacy.
While he, the tyrant, in his glory-seat
Wiped the red death exultant from his blade,
And turned him to his golden rest again.
But a disdainful Atè-vengeance came,
And floated like a dream about his halls
On to the amber tables and the rest
Of that Elysian feasting; as it neared,
His brother gods pushed back their goblet rims,
And shuddered by their wine with joyless eyes.
That presence with pale brows, impalpable,
Could brave them in their central citadel
Above the cloud-rack in the belted rose
And orange vapours, so that even gods
With livid lips sate loathing food divine.
And floated like a dream about his halls
On to the amber tables and the rest
Of that Elysian feasting; as it neared,
His brother gods pushed back their goblet rims,
And shuddered by their wine with joyless eyes.
That presence with pale brows, impalpable,
Could brave them in their central citadel
Above the cloud-rack in the belted rose
And orange vapours, so that even gods
With livid lips sate loathing food divine.
But she, the curse of Atè, came not on
Near those soft-bosomed meadows, where the race
Of heroes in conclusion grandly calm
Eternally repose in ageless flowers.
Near those soft-bosomed meadows, where the race
Of heroes in conclusion grandly calm
Eternally repose in ageless flowers.
O sister nymphs, our Titan sires are low.
They are smitten down beneath the tyrant's wheels.
They are chained throneless in the barren dark;
Could our love raise them, could our worship send
One, least of all these comfortable rays,
That glide about the world and cherish it,
To reach their prison places! Could they hear
So very far the voices of our love!
Uncrowned, dishonoured, out of hope, dethroned,
They are our gods or none.
They are smitten down beneath the tyrant's wheels.
They are chained throneless in the barren dark;
Could our love raise them, could our worship send
340
That glide about the world and cherish it,
To reach their prison places! Could they hear
So very far the voices of our love!
Uncrowned, dishonoured, out of hope, dethroned,
They are our gods or none.
Deck out thy heaven
With rainbow gleams, thou tyrant; build thy rest
Securely: bid the scented asphodel
Sweeten thy lands where winter slays no seed;
Make glorious all thy precinct floor with bloom.
Thou canst not be the master of that fear,
Coeval with thy reigning, which shall wound
Thy feet on thorns amid the heavenly flowers.
With rainbow gleams, thou tyrant; build thy rest
Securely: bid the scented asphodel
Sweeten thy lands where winter slays no seed;
Make glorious all thy precinct floor with bloom.
Thou canst not be the master of that fear,
Coeval with thy reigning, which shall wound
Thy feet on thorns amid the heavenly flowers.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |