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Τοις παρα των ποιητων επει παντοδαποι τινες εισι κατα τους λογους, μη πασιν εφεξης προσεχειν τον νουν: αλλ' οταν μεν τας των αγαθων ανδρων πραξεις, η λογους υμιν διεξιωσιν, αγαπαν τε και ζηλουν, και οτι μαλιστα πειρασθαι τοιουτους ειναι: οταν δε επι μοχθηρους ανδρας ελθωσι, την μιμησιν ταυτην δει φευγειν, επιφρασσομενους τα ωτα ουχ ηττον η τον Οδυσσεα, φασιν, εκεινοι, τα των Σειρηνων μελη. B. Basil. De legend., lib. Gentilium.

115

HOMER.

“I have heard from a person of much ability in ascertaining a poet's intention, that all poetry in Homer is the praise of virtue, and that with him all things conduce to this end, except such as may be superfluous to the main design.” S. Basil, De. leg. lib. Gen. 4.

I. THE ILIAD.

Not for thy rapid action at command,
Nor persons in thy living page inwrought,
Which come forth as beneath the sculptor's hand,
Nor for thy sacred loyalty, nor aught
Of comprehensive reach, whereby thy thought
As like a secret providence lies deep
'Neath incident and character, which taught
The wisdom of philosophers, and steep
Affections in the truths which they are slow to keep.—

Living expressions start forth into song,
And in one lighted word some mirror bear;
His soul igniting as it speeds along
Kindles with light the glowing hemisphere;

116

And as he speaks life wakes and forms appear;
Pours itself forth, and like a fiery levin
Melts and moulds all in scene and character,
For ever to retain their impress given,
And scattering golden thoughts which emanate from Heaven.

How like reality the speaking page,
Or some old tale in pictur'd tapestry,
So vividly pourtray'd life's rapid stage,
While fabling verse in colours of the sky
Clothes the pervading God that walks so nigh
As with a garment! Not alone for these,—
Nor like the stars that live and speak on high,
The luminous and beauteous images,
As Nature's wild spring flowers pour'd forth with varied ease.

Now legions stir in shielded bright array,
As mountain forest blazing in the night ;
Now countless as about Cayster play
The clanging cranes in multitudinous flight,
On wing rejoicing, or on feet alight ;
Or flies on milk-pan's brim in vernal hours ;
Or like the bees' wing'd tribes in morning bright,
Now one by one the rocky hive outpours,
Now clustering here and there they fill the blooming flowers.

117

Now camps with watch-towers gleam, as calm and clear
When all the stars in the ethereal space,
And moon breaks forth; heights, cliffs, and woods appear,
The shepherd sees rejoicing . Pleased we trace
Upon thy antique scroll the very face
Of nature—earth, sea, sky; as in the stream
That makes sweet pebbled music every place
Stilly around, and living mirrors teem;
Wondering we gaze, so true to nature every theme.

Yet not for these alone on thee I dwell,
But strive to catch thy solemn undersong,
Thou who of poets art esteemed well
First, best, and wisest; while the after-throng
Is sentimental colouring, weak of tongue.
There is e'en something of a holier fear
To move within a world to which belong
Such unseen visitants, and ever near
Hear the unspoken word, and oft to sight appear.

Those fictions of the Unseen would fain pourtray
Care for mankind in Angels of the skies,
And love in Heaven for creatures of a day;
That prayer is answer'd; but a costly price
Must yet be found of offer'd Sacrifice,

118

To stand 'tween us and Heaven; that strong to save
Presence ethereal lurks beyond our eyes;
The Hero speaks beside the ocean wave,
A Goddess hears afar beneath her watery cave .

And sweet it were—if such sage fantasy
We to a higher wisdom might attune—
To muse beside the solitary sea
Of the cerulean Thetis, like the moon,
Rising from the blue waves with silver shoon:
Or when by funeral pyre in open skies
Achilles prays the Winds, and lo, full soon
To palace of those Winds wing'd Iris hies ;
They speed o'er earth and seas; trees rock, and waves arise.

Though fabled all and fabling, yet such tales
Lay nearer solemn truths than now may seem
To sensual thoughts; when man gets wing, and sails
On self-roll'd chariots drawn by clouds of steam;
The shores, rocks, valleys speak his power supreme,—
Drown thoughts of things invisible that fill
Shores, rocks, and valleys. Therefore more I deem

119

Of wisdom in those tales is breathing still,
Which speak of powers unseen that aid the human will.

Though much of evil in those gods above,—
Since serpents enter'd Eden, and have striven
By heathen shrines and oracles to move
In men such thoughts as place themselves in Heaven,—
Yet good with ill is mingled, and 'tis given
To trace some wrecks of Eden lingering still,
Whether from lore traditional, or leaven
Of mystic truth beyond the poet's skill,
Which speaks as from a shrine and moulds him to its will.

Beings unseen with our unconscious thought
Can blend, we know not how, and help afford;
Achilles, as a lion, frenzy-wrought
Arises, from its sheath just gleams the sword,
Athene, lo, stands by the warrior-lord ,
To him reveal'd;—thus Wisdom at our need
Comes in and stops rash hand or angry word,
'Tis not our own, of One in Heaven we read
Who shapes the saving thoughts which from the heart proceed.

120

In man is no success but in Heaven's might,
And oft to mortal eyes made manifest;
As Diomed amid the thickest fight
With a Divine-sent light o'er helm and crest,
Like some clear star when seen o'er Ocean's breast
In Autumn : or with its portentous blaze
The Ægis, and the golden gloom doth rest,
Covering unarm'd Achilles with its rays,
As when red beacon fires a siege-press'd isle displays

All is Divine,—if 'mid the martial throng
Fierce Rumour stirs the crowds to rapturous fight,
It is Jove's Voice that walks the camps among:
Yea, like a phantom half-reveal'd to sight,
The Jove-sent Dream glides through the ambrosial night.
Alone beside the many-roaring deep
Pelides mourns, soft as the pale moon-light
The spirit of Patroclus with his sleep
In awful sweetness blends, and human tears they weep.

All is Divine,—all Human; we descry
Each form, and e'en each voice is mark'd to sense:
Ulysses as the snow-flakes from the sky
With gradual-falling power of eloquence;

121

While Nestor's words their honied stores dispense ;
Thoughts of great Hector darker shades illume
Touch'd with a human gentleness, and thence
Infuse the love of country and of home;
Achilles towers from sight in a Diviner gloom.

As Ocean takes its hues from changing skies,
Thus human characters and Powers Divine
Blend the unseen with life's realities.
Yet strong is mark'd the interposing line
Men's actions and affections to define;
Changes and chance in super-human scale
Are measured, yet mysterious intertwine
With man's deservings; though it seem to fail,
Leaving a hope that Right shall in the end prevail.

B. ii. 455.

B. ii. 460.

B. ii. 470.

B. ii. 87.

B. viii. 556.

B. i. 358.

B. i. 538.

B. xxiii. 199.

B. i. 194.

B. v. 6.

B. xviii. 203.

B. ii. 93.

B. ii. 6.

B. xxiii. 59.

B. iii. 222.

B. i. 249.

122

II. ATE EXPELLED FROM HEAVEN.

[_]

II., b. xix. 125.

“Then Ate by the head and shining hair
Jove seiz'd, such sorrows his deep heart appal,
And this strong oath indignant did he swear;
That to Olympus and the starry hall
Ate should ne'er return, that injureth all;
He spake, and then with whirling hand he caught
And hurl'd her from Olympus' starry wall:
Quickly she came 'mong men. He mourn'd in thought
O'er the unseemly ills on his dear son she wrought ”

123

ATE AND LITÆ, OR PRAYERS.
[_]

Phœnix to Achilles. Il., b. ix. I, 492.

“Subdue thy mighty spirit; 'tis not right
For thee to be relentless; Gods above,
Greater in honour, virtue, and in might,
E'en they too will relent and pitying prove;
Them offerings, vows, and sacrifices move,
When man prays for the sin that on him lies.
Litæ are daughters of the mighty Jove;
Wrinkled, and lame, with side-distorted eyes,
They follow, full of care, wherever Ate flies.

“Revengeful Ate, trampling on mankind,
Strong, swift of foot, hastes onward,—in her rear
Her wounds to heal the Litæ move behind;
Should man these daughters of great Jove revere
As they approach, his friends they will appear
With Jove above, and all lost good renew;
If he unreconcil'd refuse to hear,
Against him they their sire Almighty sue,
And Ate on him comes exacting vengeance due.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

'Tis sweet amid the scenes of war and crime,
Which are the pictures of the world abroad,

124

To pause awhile in peaceful thoughts sublime
Meet for a Christian on his heaven-ward road,—
Thoughts such as mitigate the heavy load
Of sin and sorrow,—and not all unmeet
To be admitted to the calm abode
Of prayer, and pardoning peace, and commune sweet
With Heaven, and those who sit in Heaven at saintly feet.

Mentioned by Justin Martyr as a relie of primitive tradition, and closely corresponding with an expression in the Prophet Isaiah, probably Is. xiv. 12, “How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning.”Cohor. ad Græc., 29.

125

III. ULYSSES AND CALYPSO.

[_]

Odyssey, b. v. 203.

Cal.
“Ulysses wise, Laertes' son divine,
So thou to thy dear home and native shore
Wilt go,—to bid thee well shall yet be mine!
But didst thou know what many ills in store
Await thee, ere thy wanderings shall be o'er,
This home with me and immortality
Here wouldst thou stay and share, though evermore
Desiring all thy days thy wife to see;—
Nor sure hath she to boast superior charms to me,

“In face or form; nor can it e'er be said
That mortal with immortal can compare.

Ul.

Her wise Ulysses answer'd, ‘Goddess dread,
Be not displeased, I know that not so fair
Penelope as thou in form and air,
Immortal thou, unfading is thy bloom,
She but a mortal; yet with ceaseless care
I long through all my days, where'er I roam,
That glad return to see, and reach my long-lost home.’”

126

ON THE FOREGOING.

Age after age on his diviner choice
Approving hangs; a stern forewarning rings
Within man's heart against the flattering voice
Of promises too high for human things,
Though in immortal bowers Calypso sings,
That we “shall be as gods:” as one in quest
The soul seeks home in all its wanderings,
And yearns for its own tranquil place of rest,
And Heaven looks on and aids the long-enduring breast.

O beautiful and strange epitome
Of this our life, while through the tale we trace
Homeless Ulysses on the land and sea!
From childhood to old age it is the face
Of heaven-lost—yearning Man:—from place to place,
Whether he wander forth abroad, or knows
No change but of home—nature and of grace,
Still is he as one seeking for repose,
A man of many thoughts, a man of many woes.

Though Ithaca be rude , the rose that there
Hides in bleak rocks but waits the wintry blast,

127

Calypso in her isle blooms ever fair;—
Yet God's own presence seems upon the past,
His shadow rests where He our lot hath cast.
The sacred loyalty of a deep heart
Dreads chang'd affections, stedfast to the last,
From old associations fears to start,
Sending its roots below which upward strength impart.

And healthful Piety, though far she range,
Yet on the stem of early discipline
Links childhood, youth, and age, still dreading change.
Great tale of wisdom, may thy choice be mine!
The lesson in thee stored is half-divine;
Sweetly yet sternly, softly yet severe,
Like solemn music in some ancient shrine,
Insinuating high and holy fear,
And teaching greater things than reach the eye or ear.

Od. ix. 27.

128

IV. ULYSSES SHIPWRECKED AND NAUSICAA.

[_]

Od. vi. 186

“‘No evil man I deem thee nor unwise,
Stranger,’ Nausicaa the white-arm'd replied,
‘To all alike, as pleasing in his eyes,
Olympian Jove doth good or ill divide;
Bear then as sent from him whate'er betide:
Here thou of us shalt nothing ask in vain,
Till all a sufferer's wants shall be supplied;
This is Phæacia's city and domain,
O'er which my honour'd sire Alcinous doth reign.’

“Her fair-hair'd maidens then she bad to stand,—
‘Why fly, ye maidens, with no cause for fear?
There lives not one who on Phæacia's strand
With hostile ill intentions would appear;
For this our isle to all the Gods is dear;
No mortals e'er to this our country rove,
Save some poor ship-wreck'd stranger; him revere;
The stranger and the poor are sent by Jove;
However small the gift, the giver he will love.’”

129

THE FAREWELL OF NAUSICAA.
[_]

Od. viii. 456.

“As from the bath unto the festal board
He went, Nausicaa, fair in beauty's bloom,
In beauty which the immortal Gods afford,
Stood by a pillar of the vaulted dome;
She saw with wondering eyes Ulysses come,
Address'd these wingèd words, and thus begun,
‘Stranger, farewell;—and should'st thou reach thy home
There in thy native land think thou of one
Who saved thee from the sea, and first thy safety won.’”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Still wandering on, still far away from home,
While still the mirror is before him brought
Of some calm place where he might cease to roam,
Some rest'mid Ocean-storms; all turns to nought,
It is not home, his home is ever sought,
Now in his hands, and yet now far away;—
E'en as around us and beyond our thought
The resting-place of Everlasting Day
Lies close, and touches on this falling house of clay,—

Yet seems afar. No more the Ogygian grot,
Embowering deep its sylvan solitude,
The toilsome world excluded and forgot;
Where owls and wild sea-birds skim the dark wood

130

On broad-expanded wing , or nestling brood
On sea and foam delighting;—Nature's shrine
Of grots and lawns and fountains; all imbued
With Godhead—half-terrestrial, half-divine;
Yet toward the “wine-faced sea” the wanderer's heart doth pine.

Another scene of rest, another shore,
Safe from the roar of hostile elements,
Another Fair;—of human presence more,
And less divine in all that charms the sense,
But inly dress'd with nobler innocence;
With goodly nature and sweet modesty,
In kingly roofs parental rear'd, and thence
With youthful maids disporting on the lea,
By fountain, grove, or field,—domestic, regal, free.

She seem'd the guardian spirit of the place,
In palace-halls scarce-seen, and yet the while
Her form, though absent, seems each scene to grace;
Say, cannot aught in that sweet tranquil isle
A wearied spirit into rest beguile,
With kind Alcinous in kingly hall
Of royal gentleness and friendly smile?
No—these delights the home-bent spirit pall,
And on the exile's heart the saddening shadows fall.

131

He who so late the sands of ruin trod,
Himself a naked wreck, more than restor'd
Now in the grace of Pallas walks a God.
Not ships Phæacian, honour'd as their lord,
Nor sports Phæacian, and chaste regal board,
Nor in Phæacian gardens to recline,
Nor all the scenes Phæacian arts afford,
Can soothe; but still the wanderer's heart doth pine,
Bent toward the “wine-faced sea.” That wanderer's heart be mine !

B. v. 66.

B. vi. 96.

“In nothing has Homer more shewn his virtuous design than in his representation of the Cephallenian leader when saved from shipwreck. For in the first place he has described the Princess as full of reverence for him at his first appearance, so far from being ashamed at beholding him in nakedness and alone; since Virtue had in the place of raiment clothed and adorned him with herself. And afterwards he is represented as so highly esteemed by the rest of the Phæacians, that, leaving the luxury in which they were living, all turned their eyes to him in admiration; and none among the Phæacians at that time would have prayed for any thing else than to become like unto Ulysses: and all this on his being saved from shipwreck. In such things one who interpreted to me the poet's intention, said, that Homer seemed to cry aloud, and say, Let virtue, O men, be the object of all your care, which even together with one that is shipwrecked swims safe to shore, and when he is cast forth naked on the dry land, renders him more an object of respect than the happy Phæacians.” Basil. De leg, lib. Gent.

132

V. THE LOTOPHAGI.

[_]

Od. ix. 93.

“With these Lotophagi not open harms
And seen destruction our companions greet,
But the charm'd Lotus, which the soul disarms;
Whereby they ate a strange oblivion sweet
Of home-returning with the honied meat;—
Bent of that Lotus from the enchanted ground
With those Lotophagi to stay and eat;
These with constraint we dragg'd, and weeping bound
Within the hollow ships, then cleave the deep profound.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

It seem'd a spot of rest 'mid Ocean's foam,
Of rural haunts and pastoral quietude,
Yet was no place of innocence or home;
With human face divine earthward to brood,
The Lotus-eaters, with oblivious food
Of home and country,—yea of God and Heaven!
Pleasures of sense that drown the hope of good.
These must by force be seized, compulsion-driven,
Lost is the light within to Heaven-bound spirits given.

133

Hence from the hateful shore;—uplift the sail;—
The brutalizing ease of savage land,
Whose pestilential breath clogs the sea-gale!
Away the Lotus-eaters, and the band
Half-brute, half-man; nor parley with the strand!
Such Pleasure's vile allurements come not o'er
The man of counsels nor the mastering hand,
For him far other dangers are in store;
Lift the sail to the winds! away the hateful shore!

Half brute, half human were, yet part divine,
Those fauns and old poetic fantasies,
Which haunt the classic woods and rural shrine;
Something celestial still within them lies.
Therefore a sadness in their melodies
Still seems to speak of home and rest afar,
Griefs which to hear linger'd the evening skies,
And listen'd long the solitary star;—
These Lotus-eaters—they—man's very being mar.

134

IV. THE ABODE OF CIRCE.

[_]

Od., b. x. 220.

“In portals of the Goddess now they stood,
And Circe heard, who sitting at the loom
Sung with melodious voice that fill'd the wood;
A woof she wrought of bright ambrosial bloom,
Divine the work, and graceful hues illume;
Then first Polites spoke, of men the king,
‘O friends, what sweetness charms the sylvan gloom,
That all around the very pavements ring,
Is it a mortal voice, or doth a Goddess sing?’

“Thus as he spoke they call'd, and lo, were seen
Bright portals opening, and with greeting kind,
Inviting all, advanced the enchantress Queen.
They enter'd in, heedless, secure, and blind,
Eurylochus alone remain'd behind,
Suspecting guile: she leads within, and there
Before them sets, on downy seats reclin'd,
Press'd milk, and honey fresh, and wheaten fare,
And blends the Pramnian wine;—all drugg'd with fatal care.

135

“She gave—and straightway as they drank the wine,
They drank oblivion of their native land,
Transform'd anon they put on forms of swine,
Head, voice, and bristling limbs, by her dread wand
Stricken, and pent in sties at her command.
While all within, their sorrows to confound,
The minds of men remain'd; she with her hand
Strews acorns, mast, and cornel fruits around,
While swine with swine they fed, low grovelling on the ground.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Surely, said Hope, if rest be in the world,
A home wherein the soul shall find repose,
'Tis in this sea-girt dell, where calmly curl'd
The smoke amid the trees , and welcome shews
Of peaceful hearths within,—or roofs disclose
Sweetly embosom'd haunts 'mid woodland swells,
And sounds of song come forth, and Music's close
Of ease and grateful rest and pleasure tells;
'Tis there the enchantress Queen, deluding Circe, dwells.

They who from Lotus-eaters with disdain
And loathing turn, charm'd with her voice so sweet

136

Unheedingly will join with Circe's train,
Will of her proffer'd viands sit and eat,
And eating find it death with no retreat;
Such magic hath transforming Pleasure's guise,
They once were men which throng her haunted seat,
Now lions, wolves, or inmates of the sties ,
As Pleasure feeds in each the sin that in him lies.

There is an herb which wingèd Hermes gives ,
The wise who blend in faith that sovereign flower
May of those pleasures taste, and yet may live;
Such power hath grace Divine: but if her bower
Thou enter'st, long delays and shadows lower
Upon thine after-course and Hades' gloom:
And well for him who so hath bound her power
That she may wisdom speak of things to come ,
Of dangers, shades, and shoals that hence must be his doom.

And e'en for him who with the swine hath fed
On husks in foreign lands and far from home,
For him there is a rising from the Dead ,
When his Deliverer and his Lord shall come

137

And look upon his sorrows—thence to roam
No longer, taught by suffering; and again
Lead him a weeping wanderer from the tomb,
Make him anew, and give to sit with men,
In City of our God an honour'd denizen.

Od. x. 149.

Od., b. x. 218.

Od., b. x. 302.

B. x. 504.

B. x. 395.

B. x. 398, 399.

138

VII. WARNING AGAINST THE SIRENS.

[_]

Od., b. xii. 36.

“Then Circe spake, dread Goddess, ‘These things o'er
Another coming peril shalt thou find;
Hear thou my words, the warnings given before
The God shall in their season bring to mind;—
The Sirens next waft death upon the wind;
Whoe'er unconscious shall approach their shore,
And hear their voice, for him those left behind,
His wife and children hastening to the door,
Shall gathering stand around and welcome home no more.

“‘Charming the air with their melodious strains,
The Sirens sit within a flowery mead,
With bones heap'd round of the unburied slain:
That thine own comrades may not hear nor heed,
Stop thou each ear with wax, and swift proceed;
They to the mast must bind thee foot and hand;
And if from these thou strugglest to be freed,
Bind more and more and double every band,
Till thou hast ceased to hear the fatal-pleasing strand.’”

139

SONG OF THE SIRENS.

Od., b. xii. 166, 181

“Then swiftly went toward the Sirenian Isle
The full-wing'd bark, and harmless breezes play'd,
When suddenly they sank, and scarce a smile
Ruffled the main, a God the billow stay'd;
The sea-men then arose, and furling, laid
The sails aside, themselves they sat along,
The seas all whitening with the oary blade;
Then near we drew as sounds a human tongue,
They knew of the approach, and thus began the song.

“‘Stay, stay thy course, O thou of Greece the boast,
Much-prais'd Ulysses! stay thy ship, draw near,
For never yet hath mortal pass'd our coast
But first he stops our honied voice to hear.
Hence he departs with song-delighted ear,
And heart with knowledge fraught to make him wise.
All things we know of Ilium, all that there
The brave endured by will of deities,
We know whate'er may be beneath the circling skies.’”

140

ON THE FOREGOING.

And is there then a song the wise can charm,—
The man of many counsels, school'd in woes?
Can all his better soul at length disarm,
Who rose superior o'er so many foes,
With Circe and Calypso scorns repose?
What is that strain so subtle to the soul
That he who listens, till himself he lose
Will listen, though he 'scap'd th' enchanted bowl—
Sounds that from wisdom win her hard-earn'd selfcontrol?

Surely that song is with the promise stored
Which our first parents heard in Paradise,
Whereby the wisest fell, Creation's lord,
The pride that flatters man with honied lies;
And with the fatal promise to be wise;—
“Glorious thou art and prais'd,” the Siren saith,
Then comes that curiosity that dies
In knowing good and evil, which is death:
The Faith which stops her ears alone draws vital breath.

141

VIII. SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

[_]

Od., b. xii. 201.

“Now safe from the Sirenian Isle, behold,
Smoke and a billow huge with distant roar!
Their hands let fall the oars—a bellowing roll'd
Along the deep, the ship moved on no more;—
Then I each comrade labour'd to restore,
‘O friends, in dangers we are not untried,
And may remember this like those of yore;
Be we obedient all, and I will guide,
Ply ye the stedfast oars,—and Jove may help provide.

“‘And, Pilot, hear thou well, and keep in mind,
Bear out from yonder wave and smoking spray,
Steer toward the rock, lest unawares we find
The ship within the whirl-pool borne away!’
I spake, they instantly my words obey;
Scylla I mention'd not, lest at the sound
Trembling they should be chill'd by dire dismay;
Then Circe's warning I forgot, and bound
My shining arms about and anxious look'd around;—

“Station'd upon the deck, two spears in hand,
Expecting rocky Scylla to appear

142

To seize her destin'd prey; long there I stand,
And gazing watch the gloomy rocks draw near,
But her I saw not:—then we trembling steer
The desperate strait between, and onward toil,
Scylla on this side, and Charybdis there;
Dreadful they roar and rush, and then recoil,
Till all the raving floods as in a cauldron boil.

“The white spray dash'd on loftiest crags on high;
With the engulphing tide and the rebound
Within appear'd a dreadful revelry,
With thundering roar the rock rebellow'd round,
And deep beneath was seen blue sandy ground.
Aghast were all, with terror petrified;
But while on this we gaze, with awe profound,
Six bravest champions from our vessel's side
The ravenous Scylla seiz'd, and buried in the tide.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Such is the chart whereby Philosophy
Would point her course, this is the tale she tells
To steer aright upon life's dangerous sea,
Where upon either side destruction dwells,
And with the tides of Passion ebbs and swells;

143

While Virtue 'tween two Vices has her course;
Shunning Charybdis most with foaming cells.
And there is wisdom too in his remorse
Who vainly seized his arms and met such foes with force.

It is the wise-man's lesson,—for e'en so
In rude impatience oft stirr'd to alarms
Too roughly and too rashly we forego
The gentler wisdom, and rush forth to arms,
O'erleaping caution to fraternal harms;
Then on a sudden find companions gone;
Such violence, vain braving all, hath charms
'Mid rising of rude passions; but alone
The better part of peace too late in tears we own.

And thou whose track is on the pictur'd page,
Thou Chief of many counsels, many foes,
Weaving the web of thy long pilgrimage,
Ever begun anew, still 'mid thy woes
Mock'd by the unreal phantom of repose,
Which like a cloud-built vision seems before
Upon the horizon's verge just to disclose
Ithaca's home, lost Ithaca's loved shore,
Ithaca fair at eve—all cloud and nothing more.

144

But other ills await thee, other forms
Of danger round thy homeward course are strown,
And the disquietude of coming storms;
Faith in that distant home remains alone,
E'en as a shield around thee; all are gone;—
Bear on, brave heart, still bear on to the end!
Thy comrades lost, thy ships wreck'd and o'erthrown,
Tempest-wrought ills thy soul and body rend,
Thou art by Wisdom loved, thou art of Gods the friend.

Arist. Ethics, b. ii. c. 9.

B. xii, 1. 226.

145

IX. THE RECOGNITION OF ULYSSES.

Oft as I read how great Ulysses stood
In his own kingly hall, a beggar poor,
With tatter'd garb and leathern wallet rude,
I would unravel the “good ” Poet's store,
And all the golden argument explore:
Caught in the maze of his melodious wiles
I linger, and suspend the passing oar,
E'en as that hero by those syren isles,
At whose surpassing sounds the sullen Ocean smiles.

But his no syren's soul-enfeebling song,
He lifted up the dull earth to the skies,
Then wander'd forth in healthful virtue strong,
Seeing all earth as with an angel's eyes,
Thick-peopled with immortal Deities;
It is no more the haunt where wrongs prevail,
But in each act of life the Godhead lies,
From sight withdrawn awhile; while ne'er to fail
Stern Retribution holds, but half conceals, the scale.

In nature's stores, and in “the gift” of sleep,
In viands of slain beeves, in cheering wine,
In wafting gales, that o'er the Ocean sweep,
In birds of heaven, or in the surging brine,

146

In darts that pass or miss the destin'd line,
In every thought which human conduct guides,
In morn, in eve, earth, sea, and air divine,
The ever-varying God his presence hides,
And sways of mortal things the deeply rolling tides;—

Wrapping mankind around, serene and still;
And oft the good to see him are allow'd,
While 'mid the revellers all bent on ill
Good Theoclymenus beholds the cloud
Peopled with Stygian shapes, a blackening shroud,
And heads all ghastly with portentous sign,
Going before destruction; from the crowd
He springs aloof, discerning wrath Divine,
While they heed not nor hear, in surfeit lost and wine.

Or as he thence the royal arms conveys,
Telemachus, beside that beggar old,
Beholds the playing of th' unharming blaze
O'er all the inner house, rays which enfold
Pillar and tier and arch in flaming gold,
And far within celestial Power confest;
His Sire discerns the God, and bids him hold
On his high errand, and th' unearthly guest
Honour with speechless awe around made manifest.

147

Now little deeming of that warrior Lord,
Th' insatiate spoilers, ruthless, gay, and proud,
Sure indications of their worth afford;
Antinous in wassails fierce and loud,
Taunter of holy eld; and haughty-brow'd
Eurymachus; the son of Nisus, brave,
Lover of Gods and men, whom from the crowd
Of revellers the Hero fain would save,
But he who shares the feast, must share th' untimely grave.

And thou, divine Eumæus , swineherd poor,
Like the rude stakes that fence thy woodland nest ,
All heart of oak. By his own royal door
The Beggar notes each menial and each guest,
The hospitable word, th' unkindly jest,
The temper good and loyal, him that heeds
Father and King, and age with woes opprest,
And poverty, in whose uncomely weeds
Oft Gods go forth on earth to watch men's words and deeds .

Then arm'd with battle and with glorious might,
As erst at Ilium in the famèd field,

148

Grasping the old Laconian bow, to light
Godlike Ulysses springs, not with the shield
And helmet, but o'erwhelming death reveal'd;
The arrow wing'd with their impending doom
Hangs eager on the string, yet still they wield
The thoughtless flagons through the festive room,
While Justice hath e'en now delved deep their righteous tomb.

There falls a light on this illumin'd page,
And as I ponder with delightèd eyes
Upon the holier lore of earlier age,
Something I read of higher mysteries,
Of One who hath descended from the skies,
And wanders here in His own kingly hall,
A stranger,—and in prison often lies ,
And on His brethren's charities doth call,
Yet weighs and watches each, the God and Judge of all.

“Bonus Homerus.”—Hor.

It may be observed, that Homer generally speaks of him, the Διος υφορβος, and of him only, in the vocative case.

B. xiv. l. 12.

B. xvii. l. 485.

St. Matt. xxv. 35, 36.

149

HESIOD.

I. WORKS AND DAYS .

O sage Ascræan, sire of song,
To what great wealth hath turn'd thy wrong?
Of patrimonial lands bereft,
Thy transient sense of wrong is left
Enshrin'd in precepts grave and high,
Which Wisdom's self shall not let die.
Thus passing evils did enhance
A glorious great inheritance,—
A shadow of the eternal name
Of those who suffer without blame;
Enduring good for short-lived ill,
Which shall a better hope fulfil.

“A lawsuit with his brother, in consequence of which he remained deprived of part of his patrimony, has given occasion to much of his Poem entitled Of Works and Days.” Mitford's Greece. vol i. ch 11. s. 11.

150

II. THE IRON AGE.

[_]

Works and Days, b. i. 1. 172.

“Then the fifth age succeeds, whose course I mourn,
“Would I were dead before, or later born!
“An iron race with toil and care oppress'd,
“Who pause not night or day from their unrest,
“Corrupting; on them woes the Gods shall send,
“Yet even now with good the evil blend.
“For Jove upon them brings a speedy doom,
“And hoary-headed soon they reach the tomb.
“Sons are not like their fathers as of yore;
“The host and guest, the friend and friend no more,
“The brother is no more to brother dear;
“Nor parents soon grown old will sons revere;
“With bitter words they taunt them and complain.
“Wretches, whom not e'en fears of God restrain!
“E'en those who nurtured them they without awe
“Cast off—their own right-hand their only law.
“Each other's cities will they overthrow,
“For one who keeps his oath no reverence know,
“Nor for the just and holy: rather hold
“In honour the ill-doer and the bold .

151

“Justice and Shame their right hand cannot stay,
“But the bad make the better man their prey,
“And add to guileful words dread perjuries.
“Envy, with lurid visage and foul eyes,
“With miserable mortals will resort,
“In ill rejoicing, scattering ill report.
“Soon o'er the spacious earth, from mortal sight,
“Covering their beauteous forms with robes of white,
“Reverence and Right shall quit mankind, and rise
“To the immortal mansions of the skies;—
“Nothing but woes remaining with mankind,
“No remedy of evil left behind.”

Such were the symbols erst which walk'd the earth,
And companied in Greece the elder birth
Of glorious Liberty,
Sprung from its parent's head, all-arm'd and free;
Itself baptizing in unhallowed blood
Of kings, of parents, and of brotherhood.
Paternal, priestly, and the kingly rod,
And in and over all the reign of God,
And all of God's vicegerence set at nought;
And Self enthroned;—on wings of eager thought
Casting all self-restraint unto the wind,
And worshipping each God which Self may find.

152

Such signs again go forth before its rise
In the great “Lawless one,” and mark the skies;
Evil is found no more, for it is good,
Canonized by the full-voiced multitude.
On tiptoe loud Anticipation stands
Waiting th' opening door, and through all lands
The putting forth the head, and far and wide
Golden opinions, glorious hopes, astride
On Expectation: thence on every side
Partition-walls broke down, scatter'd all bands,
Christian and Jew together shaking hands.
Each his own priest and king and his own God
Which none shall interfere with; for their nod
Is as the many waters: wars must cease,
For mammon is enthron'd as king of peace
Throughout all lands: in the new world all-gold
The casting off of dusty trammels old;
And the great Bishop of all Christendom
Hastens to come down from imperial Rome,
Blessing and shaking hands with anarchy.
We see what is, we see not what shall be.

Conf. 2 Tim. iii. 2—4.

153

III. THE WATCHERS.

[_]

Works and Days, b. i. 1. 246.

“Consider, O ye kings, of judgment well;—
“For ever near among mankind there dwell
“Immortals, looking on with keenest eyes;
“Beholding when, regardless of the skies,
“With crooked judgments men each other rend.
“For thrice ten-thousand watchers ever tend,
“Guardians of Jove, on those of mortal birth;—
“With darkness clad they walk the peopled earth,
“Immortal spirits, through all place and time
“Noting the judgments and the deeds of crime.
“For Justice is the virgin-child of Jove,
“Glorious and reverenced by the Gods above.
“When one against her by ill ways hath striven,
“Anon she sits a suppliant in Heaven
“To her Saturnian sire; of deeds of ill
“And unjust men complaining loud, until
“A people for their Prince's crime atone,
“Perverting justice on the judgment-throne.”

154

IV. THE PATH OF VIRTUE.

[_]

Works and Days, b. i. lin. 285.

“Know well that evil we have power to seize
“In cumulative fulness and with ease;
“For short the way, she dwelleth ever nigh;
“But before Virtue have the Gods on high
“Sweat of the brow ordain'd, much toil precedes,
“And long and steep the path that to her leads;
“Arduous at first—until it reach the height,
“Easy thenceforth the way, and fair the sight.”

[_]

ST. BASIL ON THE ABOVE PASSAGE.

“What else can we suppose was the intention of Hesiod in composing those verses which are in the mouths of all, but that of exhorting young men to virtue? It appears to me that in such a description he is but exhorting us all to be good, and not to be so disheartened by the toils as to fall away from the end. And in truth if there is any one else who hath written strains like these in the praise of virtue, we may well receive his sayings as tending to the same end as ourselves.”

Basil. De leg. lib. Gen.

155

V. THE RIGHTEOUS KING.

[_]

Theogon. l. 79.

“Calliope, the noblest of the Nine,
“For she on kings revered attendant goes,—
“Whoe'er he be of kings divinely-rear'd,
“On whom as soon as born they deign to look,
“Daughters of mighty Jove:—upon his tongue
“They shed mellifluous sounds, and his sweet words
“Drop eloquence; his people with one face
“All gaze on him deciding righteous laws.
“While with safe-counsel, and in wisdom skill'd,
“Quickly a great contention hath he staunch'd.
“For thus wise-counselling kings, with subjects bent
“On deeds injurious, work mutation strange,
“With ease persuasive and soft-soothing words.
“Him going through the city as a God
“They tend with kind obeisance; while around
“They gather, he o'er all stands Chief Supreme.
“Such is to men the Muses' sacred gift;
“From Muses and Apollo darting-far
“Poets and minstrels go forth on the earth,
“But kings from Jove himself.”

156

ÆSCHYLUS.

I. THE PROMETHEUS.

Where didst thou glean that strange mysterious tale,
Thou solemn bard, or seer, or sage divine,
Or priest of Heathen Wisdom? In what vale
Of shadowy death or subterranean mine
Chaldee or Ind, or in Egyptian shrine
'Neath some dark pyramid,—or on the shore
Of dim Oblivion left in its decline,
Some fragment old of Babylonian lore;—
Where didst thou gain that tale of days that went before?

As in some tree or flower's deep hidden lines,
Or many-colour'd pebble on the beach,
Christ crucified we trace in mystic signs,
Whom stones within their secret bosom preach;—
Or when the skies of blue majestic reach
In starry characters the Cross disclose,
The same beneath our feet may waters teach
In dark reflection,—thus, whence'er it rose,
Beneath this legend strange shadows of truth repose.

157

For who is this amid the mountain peaks
In adamantine fetters on the rock,
Whose very name itself of wisdom speaks?
Two monsters, Strength and Force, huge rivets lock,
Alien to pity, and his sorrows mock,
But Nature through her realms doth sympathize,
And Earth unto its centre feels the shock.
See Ocean on his griffin car arise,
And all his daughter-nymphs too fair for human eyes,—

Full of diviner communings;—from far
Ascending from their azure palaces
And coral caves, upborne on airy car
'Tween earth and Heaven, and sitting on the breeze
With wisdom hold their virgin colloquies;
Poising the scales of virtue; while hard by
Laughing with dimples numberless the Seas,
Ether Divine, swift-wing'd Airs, Earth and Sky
Around him mingling breathe intensest sympathy.

Of what mysterious fate art thou the prey,
Deep-counselling son of Themis , wise of mind,
Or Son of Earth and Heaven , as some would say;
Thus suffering for thy love of lost mankind,

158

Who were to Hades going , weak and blind,
Like shadows in a dream to ruin given,
Despair before and wrath itself behind,
When thou didst give them Hope and Fire from Heaven,
For which thou art thyself to bonds and exile driven.

And who this Jove imperious, new to power,
Throned majesty of evil, given to reign
A dynasty of ill one destin'd hour,
Yet trembling at a captive he would chain?
Men “seeing saw not, hearing heard in vain .”
But who is this with melancholy moan,
That like a death-doom'd victim doth complain,
And comes to thee with supplicating groan,
Whom that dread evil power hath touch'd and made his own?

The horned maid of Inachus, 'neath ban
Of conscience, expiating Jove-wrought sin,
Like some strange symbol of guilt-laden man,
Whom the live stings without and pangs within
From Argus hundred-eyed no respite win,

159

Whom e'en in death earth hides not —but her grief,
Like phantom of the crime that hems her in,
Brings her this way to thee on mountain reef,
For one that's born of her shall bring the world relief.

But, lo, the Earth to its foundation shakes,
'Mid mountain fastnesses the Thunders bound,
And Echo from her rocky caves awakes,
And Lightnings shake their forked hair around,
Wild dusty Whirlwinds ride the storm. 'Mid sound
Of bursting thunders with a mightier chime,
From him upon the adamantine rock fast-bound
Is heard the righteous voice lifted sublime,
Making his loud appeal to furthest shores of time.

I would not force such legends of old lore
To square with truths divine, nor bring from high
Transcendent Love, to blend with tales of yore
Found in the dreams of heathen vanity;—
As when in fiery embers as they lie
We trace out fancied shapes, or in the cloud

160

That rolls and melts upon the azure sky,—
Give shape and mould to falsehood—nor have bowed
To look for beauty's face within a funeral shroud.

But whether deep in man's divining heart
(Like shadow of the Heavens in some dark well)
Such wisdom hath been found; or whether part
Of some primeval lore unsearchable,
Much changed, much fraught with error, which thus fell
Like some stray scatter'd fragments on the strand;—
Methinks if we could all the meaning tell
It bears the mark of some unearthly hand,
On which with awe we gaze, yet cannot understand.

They who the Cross would mark in things of sense,
Earth, sea, or sky, live form, or human face,
Yet lose it soon in other lineaments,
Alien and intricate; enough to trace
Though rude and shapeless;—or in realms of grace
With complications manifold may blend
The Cross of Christ, yet find therein no place
In full distinctness, though through all it tend;
Enough if 'mid dark clouds we. Heavenward still ascend.

Line 18.

Line 218.

Line 244.

Line 458.

Line 258, 260.

Line 456

Line 700.

161

II. KNOWLEDGE OF GOD BY SUFFERING.

[_]

Agamem., 1. 160 to 184. paraphrased.

1

“O Thou surpassing mortal sight,
Wonderful is Thy Name!
How shall I think of Thee aright,
And speak Thee without blame?
Of Thee I fain would sing,
But every thought I to the balance bring
To speak Thy praise is impotent and vain,
And feeble is the strain.

2

“I see below some mighty one
Arises, mantling o'er
With proud defiance; he anon
Is past, and heard no more:
Another for a space,
And lo, a third is towering in his place;
But he who sings of Thine all-conquering Power,
Hath Wisdom for his dower.

162

3

“Thou pointest out the toilsome stair
Which leads to Wisdom's palace fair,
And hast to man Thy law made plain,
That Pain is Gain .
Gentle as dew such knowledge of Thy laws,
And e'en from sleep the soul instruction draws;
But little thanks the lesson own,
For in unwilling hearts such grace is sown,
By them who sit on Heaven's dread throne.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Thus well he deem'd that God who hides from sight
Must Ever-lasting be and Infinite,
To knowledge of Himself that lies so deep
Still training us by suffering, e'en in sleep
Conversing with our spirit; night and day,
So wonderfully near, so far away.

Scil. τον Παθει Μαθος.

163

III. SACRILEGE.

[_]

Line 367, Διος πλαγαν, to line 396.

“The hand of Heaven is on them, see
Their own madness they deem wise!
O footsteps and mute auguries
Of Him whose will is destiny!
“Tush,” said one, “doth God perceive,
Or for trampled altars grieve?”
Thus they whet themselves to rage
Of abhorrèd Sacrilege.
Sprung are such from them of old
Breathing forth rebellion bold,
Nurs'd to impious hardihood
From full houses flowing o'er
With an over-plenteous store,
Beyond the golden mean of good.
Far aloof from such be mine,
With content in humble cell,
Unharming and unharm'd to dwell,
Hard by holy Wisdom's shrine!
For what shall towers of wealth avail
To them who kick at Judgment's shrine,

164

To save them from th' o'erwhelming jail,
Th' inextricable net of Penalty divine?

“When they the strength of Right let go,
Th' infatuating Judgment's course
Urges them on, and gathers force,
Dread Counsellor for children's woe.
Therefore lowers the heavenly roof,
And all Healing stands aloof.
Now no more the guilt conceal'd,
Horribly it stands reveal'd—
Awfully resplendent light:
It has pass'd for current long,
Through the hands of thousands strong,
And their handling made it bright.
Black forgery is in these lines,
See the adulterous metal shines,
With a curse upon its brow!
Look at it, and sound it now!
It seem'd but sport at morning mild,
And they pursuing, like a child
With feather'd prey his grasp inviting,
Ever before his steps alighting;
But in sad Destruction pale
The City shall such sport bewail!

165

Yea, though ye pray, and cry aloud,
God turns from the abhorred land,
And draws around Him the dark cloud
From sacrilegious heart and gold-defilèd hand.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Such is, alas! that evil School
Which in our Christian land bears rule,
The only lore it with it brings
Hate of God's Church and hate of kings,
Contempt of Christ in His own poor.

And yet they prosper as of yore,
Grow in possessions more and more;
But o'er them hangs from age to age
Blindness of eyes their heritage,
A heavier judgment to endure .

“Then grieve not at their high and palmy state,
Those proud bad men, whose unrelenting sway
Has shatter'd holiest things, and led astray
Christ's little ones.”

Lyr. Apost.

166

IV. THE BESETTING SIN.

[_]

Ibid., line 716 to line 735.

“There once was one
Who rear'd a Lion from the breast,
And took him for his household guest.
Harmless he play'd in mimic strife
In feats that presaged after-life,
The children's sport—and well I ween
Old age could smile upon the scene,
When one would take him, like a child,
Into his arms; or crouching wild
The hand caressing he put by,
With suppliant tail and glistening eye.

“But lo, anon
He shews the hidden dam within,
And all the house is blood and din.
His foster friends he now repays,
Stays an unbidden guest, and preys
On flock and fold; a torment sore,
The cherish'd inmate now no more.
Rapine and Slaughter on him wait
Where'er he goes; found not too late,

167

Th' exactor he of wrath Divine,
A slaughtering Priest at Ate's shrine.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

Wild beasts which nature fill with awe
But typify the inward law
Of Passion, whether love or hate,
Fawning at first, but waxing great
It preys upon the soul within,
And stands reveal'd “the man of sin.”

168

V. ATE.

[_]

Line 750, Παλαιφατος, to line 781. παν δ' επι τερμα νωμα.

“'Twas said of yore, when Wealth doth rise,
She never childless dies,
But in her fulness doth disclose
A multiplying brood of woes.
But Truth, if I may hold thy hand,
Apart from all with thee I stand;
Some sacrilegious Deed of fear
Hath offspring, which their parent's impress bear,
But houses built with Right have children bright and fair.

2

“The Crime of old, which seem'd long dead,
Lifts up again its head,
Again its destin'd moon it fills,
And giveth birth to mortal ills,
As aye advancing it grows worse
In the black chambers of the Curse,
It bears a nameless progeny,
Hating the light—not yet their form we see,
But doubtless all too like their godless ancestry.

169

3

“In smoky huts Justice shines bright,
Revering holy Right,
But her averted eyes doth hold
From hands defiled with sacred gold;
And towering walks unto the side
Where deeds of Holiness abide,
Nor honours Power which wealth may raise,
Though falsely it be stamp'd with passing Praise,
But unto the Great End she ordereth all her ways.”

ON THE FOREGOING.

“Ate” that word of early time
Deep Wisdom speaks as from a shrine,
Of long-descending Curse and Crime
Which marks the steps of Wrath divine.

When Judgment like a fiery guest
Enters a house and there remains;
On age to age its shadows rest,
Unless Repentance cleanse the stains .

Zech. v. 4.

See Hom. Il. ix. at page 122 and 123

170

VI. THE FURIES OVERTAKING ORESTES.

[_]

Eumen. 1 264.... and 299.

“Justice must overtake thee, thy red blood
Drink we, and thou alive shalt be our food,
To waste thee and drag down below
With the vengeance and the woe
Of the matricide;—
Meet warning-sign for him who sets aside
The God, the stranger, or his parents dear,
That retribution each shall bear.
Hades, great Judge, all mortal things shall right,
Who sitteth out of sight,
With watchful mind as with an iron pen
Noting down the deeds of men.”

ORESTES AT THE SHRINE.

“Neither Apollo nor Minerva's shrine
Shall save thee that thou perish not and pine;—
Nor know a place of joy within thy mind;
The bloodless prey of spirits, shadow blind.

171

Yet me thou answer'st not, but turn'st away,
Fed and devoted all for me, my prey,
My living victim, not on altars slain;
Then hear the charm which shall thy soul enchain.—

SONG OF THE FURIES.

“Let us come and join the dance
Which his spirit shall entrance.
Men's destinies are in our hand,
The disposal of our band;
Stern exactors we of right;
Vengeance is our stern delight.
He his hands who keepeth clean—
Him our anger toucheth not,—
He shall have an unharm'd lot.
But where deed of crime hath been,
And the guilty sinner hides
Blood that on his hands abides,
Witnesses true to the dead
Close upon his heels we tread,
Blood-avengers we draw near,
With him to the end appear.

“Mother Night, who gav'st me birth
For the punishment and dread
Of the living and the dead,
Whether on or 'neath the earth;

172

See how this Latona's son
Takes from me the trembling one;—
Though his hands be fresh-imbrued
With a mother's blood.
O'er our victim not in vain
Sing we this our strain,
Soul-destroying, working-sadness,
And self-despairing madness,
The Furies' ban,
The spirit's chain,
Lyre-less, joy-less, withering man.

“This our office from of old
Fate hath given us firm to hold;—
When deeds of crime on mortal lie
To attend him till he die;
Nor I ken
Shall he be more free e'en then.
O'er our victim not in vain
Sing we this our strain,
Soul-destroying, working sadness,
And self-despairing madness,
The Furies' ban,
The spirit's chain,
Lyre-less, joy-less, withering man.

“Such the offices on earth
Were assign'd us at our birth;—

173

Ne'er to come nigh the Immortals,
Nor approach within their portals;
None of them with us carouses;
For no part, no lot have we
With the white-robed company.
Ours the ruin is of houses;
Should a home-rear'd Mars appear,
Slaying one that should be dear;
Him pursue we;—be he strong
We shall waste him down ere long.

“By our care and by our zeal
Is One set free,
And Gods enjoy immunity
From the criminal appeal.
But Jove with converse ne'er will grace
Our hate-doom'd and blood-reeking race
Therefore wandering far I go,
And down my heavy foot-fall bring
With a spring
And intolerable woe,
When upon him we prevail
As his slippery footsteps fail.

“Glories that once reach'd the sky, in high renown,
All faded and dishonour'd dwindle down

174

On our black-robed advances and the footfalls of our tread.
But he that falls this knoweth not, for guilt hath made him blind,
With such a cloud it falls upon the crime-polluted mind.
But others deeply groan, and speak of what a gloom
There hangs upon the house with a heavy weight of doom.

“Yea, I ween, and it shall stand,
For all ways are in our hand,
All we perfect in its time,
Stern remembrancers of crime.
Prayers with us no access find;
Unaveng'd, unhonour'd crew;
Far from Gods our lot assign'd
While we pursue
With a sunless lamp behind,—
Preciptous dark ways shall flee,
Both the blind and those that see.

“What mortal ear
Heareth these things without fear,
Of our ordinance severe?

175

Given of Gods, by fate made sure,
To the end it shall endure.
While I bear this rite from of old
None shall me dishonour'd hold,
Though 'neath the earth invisible
In the sunless cloud I dwell.”

[_]

SONG OF THE FURIES EXPLAINED.

“When one has been recollecting the proper proofs of a future state of rewards and punishments, nothing methinks can give one so sensible an apprehension of the latter,... as observing that... after the chief bad consequences, temporal consequences, have been delayed for a great while; at length they break in irresistibly, like an armed force: repentance is too late to relieve, and can serve only to aggravate, their distress: the effects of their own doings, overwhelm them, beyond possibility of remedy or escape. This is an account of what is in fact the general constitution of nature.”

Bp. Butler's Analogy, b. l. ch. ll.

“Let their way be dark and slippery; and let the angel of the Lord persecute them.”—Ps. xxxv. 6.

176

VII. DIVINE POWER.

[_]

Supp., lin. 86. Διος ιμερος.

“The will of Jove no one can trace,
All things to him are bright
E'en in dark night,
What seems black chance to mortal race.
Safe it falls out and sure will stand
Whate'er his will shall once command.
His counsels are a secret maze,
Like intricate dark woodland ways,
And difficult to know.
From lofty towers on high he looks, and thence
He hurls men in destruction low,
Yet arms him with no violence;—
All without effort is with Gods.
Seated on high, I know not how, His thought
Hath instantaneously fulfilment wrought
E'en from His pure abodes .”

“Yea, what things Thou didst determine were ready at hand, and said, Lo, we are here.”Judith. ix. 6.

177

SIMONIDES.

What rapture, could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unrol
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides!
Wordsworth.

I.

All the world is varied madness,
With a healthful cheerful sadness,
Better than light-hearted gladness,
With a sorrow that doth please
Cleanse the heart, Simonides!

Better than the worldling's treasure,
And the lightly-flowing measure,
Or deceitfulness of pleasure,
There must be an undersound,
And a sadness more profound.

Deeper the foundation lieth
Than the worldly heart that sigheth;
In a soul that inly crieth,
Hopeful from a deep despair,
Is the life that is a prayer.

178

II. ELEGIAC FRAGMENT.

“Nought hath on earth abiding stay,
For mortal men like leaves decay;
So said the Chian bard of yore,
All hear, but few in heart will store.
For e'en from youth at each man's side,
Hope will with pleasing tale abide.
While lovely flowers of youth remain
Many designs man hath in vain;
Ne'er thinks he shall grow old and die;
Nor when in health he sick shall lie.
O fools, thus minded still are ye,
Nor know how short man's time must be?
Take this to heart, and to life's end
Of thine own soul be thou the friend.”

179

III. ON THE LIFE OF MAN.

“Deep-thundering Jove each end fulfils,
Disposing all things as he wills;
'Tis not man's wisdom ought to sway,
He lives the being of a day,
God brings fulfilment as He may.
On beauties still feeds Hope divine,
And stirs the impossible design.
While some await a coming day,
Others a year that's far away.
No one but thinks to live a year,
Enjoying wealth and blessings dear.
Old-age unenvied thus on some
Steals, ere the final close is come.
On some Diseases bring their ends,
While others war to Hades sends.
Some on the Ocean tempest-tost
'Mid angry floods their lives have lost.
While others by self-slaughter fall,
And die a death most sad of all.
Thus ills unnumber'd men surround,
And woes on every side abound.
Thyself then fret not, nor complain,
Nor grieve as one in love with pain.”

180

IV. MUTABILITY.

“Say not what yet may happen, being man;
Nor what may be another's mortal span:
For rapid is the change which on us lies,
E'en as the insect spreads its wing and dies.”

ANOTHER TRANSLATION OF THE SAME.

“Say not, mortal, what shall be,
Nor of one whom thou may'st see
When his lot to die:
For the change of human things
Is more swift than glancing wings
Of the summer fly.”

181

V. DANAE AND HER CHILD.

“Loud o'er the chest the night-winds roar'd,
The waves around tempestuous pour'd,
A mother's heart then quail'd with fear,
And on her cheek there was a tear;
O'er little Perseus, as he slept,
She laid her loving arm, and wept;—
‘What do I suffer, O my child,
While thou upon a night so wild,
With baby heart thus breathing deep,
Art in thy joyless house asleep,—
This brass-bound chest, 'mid Ocean gloom
Which nothing but the stars illume.

Thou markest not the wave that rocks
Above thy deep and flowing locks,
Nor wind's harsh voice; so calm doth glow,
In purple wrapt, thy beauteous brow.
If thou with me couldst feel and fear,
Then wouldst thou lend thy little ear.
Sleep on, my infant, smiling fair,
Sleep Ocean, and sleep thou, my care!

O Father Jove, there yet may be
From thee some change for mine and me,
But if a word too bold I speak,
Forgive, I pray, for my child's sake.’”

182

ANACREON.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER.

“Grasshopper, that springest
On the high tree-tops,
Like a king thou singest,
Drinking dewy drops.

“Hail to thee, blithe being,
Thine are all the fields,
All thou thence art seeing,
All the woodland yields.

“Thou the ploughman cheerest
Harmless round his feet;
Welcome guest appearest,
Summer's prophet sweet.

“Loved of all the Muses,
And Apollo's choice,
Who in thee infuses
A melodious voice.

“Free from age and sorrow,
Full of song and mirth,
Careless of the morrow,
Like the Gods on earth.”

183

ON THE SAME.

Happy for thy spirit,
Bard of love and wine,
Could it but inherit
Such a life divine.

That glad insect creature,
Singing on the tree,
True to its own nature
Carols joyously.

As we die to-morrow
Let us eat and drink,
Cast away all sorrow
Even to the brink!

Yes, hadst thou not given,
In thine heart to dwell,
Something form'd for Heaven,
Something fit for Hell.

Thou hast not, blithe singer,
Aught that is within,
Which uplifts the finger,
And reproves of sin.

184

As like thee we perish
So might sing and shine,
Did we only cherish
Innocence like thine.

185

PINDAR.

I.

The feat—the champion—and the prize—
And arts of glorious enterprize—
The glittering steed—the golden car—
The victor's coming, like a star,
When one is in the ethereal tent,
Or one o'er all pre-eminent.
The hopes of years, and every sense
Bent on one moment of suspense,
And every year of after-life
Hung on the turn of one great strife;
Then circled by ten thousand eyes
One thrilling point of glad surprise:
'Mid every tribe of Grecian tongue
Assembled in one massive throng.
Then the triumphant festival,
And heard amid the echoing hall,
While heroes old seem'd listening nigh,
The solemn hymn of victory.

His City bids her bulwark-wall
Before his coming prostrate fall,
The City needs a wall no more
Which owns the Olympian conqueror.

186

The Isles re-echoed to their mirth,
While on his own domestic hearth
The centre of his glory burn'd.
Thence he in all himself discern'd,
While every thing that met his eye
Mirror'd to him that victory.
Years by him crown'd with flowery feet
His course advancing came to meet,
That he forgat he had to die,
Wreathed with such immortality;
When all the world rung loud his worth
He seem'd a God upon the earth.

What was it in those Grecian games
Which like a fount of living flames
Kindled the Theban poet's breast,
And all his labouring soul impress'd,
Till every pulse of rapture high
Beat in full glow of minstrelsy?

Deeply within our nature lies
The source of awe and mysteries,—
The knowledge which, like thoughts in sleep,
Unconsciously our souls will steep;
That this our life and mortal stir
Itself is but a theatre;—
A little point in endless space,—
A strife—a battle—and a race;
And therefore such epitome
Of things beyond our sense which lie,

187

Touches with power the secret soul,
Intensely wraps our being whole;
Which thus as darkly in a glass
Beholds itself in shadow pass.
Hence was it that the Olympic hill
With all its sympathetic thrill,
Through heart and head like lightning flew,
For causes deeper than he knew,
And bathed with fire so through and through.

For thus in our own later day
When Spenser caught the kindling ray,
Till all the minstrel buried lies
In feats of by-gone chivalries,
We see what Heaven-ward Instinct meant
In battle—prize—and tournament:
For he 'neath knightly feats in-wrought
Sublimities of moral thought;
With the romance that fill'd his sail,
The knights and ladies of his tale—
With images that please the eye,
Blended the great reality—
The battle-scene of mortal life,
Which is with unseen beings rife;
Each virtue in its tangled course
Winning its way by thought or force;—
Making the philosophic page
Descriptive of man's pilgrimage,

188

Beneath the woof of chivalry
Weaving the wisdom from on high.

Yea, doubtless, though he knew not why,
Such was the secret mystery
That made the Theban's soul all fire,
With sparks that kindle from his lyre,
Upon the strife his soul and eye
Bent in deep-stirring sympathy.

His thoughts like bubbles children blow
Catch thousand colours as they go,
Though in themselves but mist and air,
As mere poetic fancies are,
In Christian suns they rise and shine,
And gain a radiance more Divine—
Lustres serene, aerial dews,
Fair floating robes of rainbow hues,
Moulded to Christian faith unrol
Thoughts worthy of the immortal soul.

189

II. THE BIRTH OF HERCULES.

[_]

Nem. Od. i. lin. 57.

1

“The Babe now swathed in saffron sheen
Scaped not the golden-thronèd Queen;
In jealous wrath unquenchable
Instant she sent two serpents fell.
Then through the portals opening wide
To the broad chamber's haunt they hied,
Eager to slime their ravenous maw
Over the babe;—the infant saw,
Lifting his eager head upright,
And first essayed the coming fight.

2

“Then with both hands in iron grasp
Both their huge necks he firm did clasp,
And held them struggling fast, until
Their monstrous limbs in death were still.
Then what amazement did astound
The matrons that were gather'd round
Alcmena's bed! and them among,
Lo, she herself that instant sprung
Upon her feet, all disarray,
Those portentous beasts to fray.

190

3

“Then in brazen panoply
Rush'd the Theban chiefs to see;
And, heart-pierced, the warrior Lord,
Brandishing his naked sword,
Came the sire Amphitryon.
Home-felt grief holds every one,
But the cheek is sooner dry
In another's sympathy.”

THE CONTRAST.

Such were the heathen auguries,
Portending feats of high emprize,
Which in his royal cradle gave
A hero-god who came to save;
Shadows that wait the infant born,
Beneath the eye-lids of the Morn,
And in his chamber come to dwell.
Such is the picture—mark it well—
When man would pourtray power of Heaven.
Now look on this which God hath given:—
No cradle in a kingly hall,
A star without, within a stall,
And where three strangers prostrate fall,
The little hands as if to bless
Uplifted in meek lowliness.

191

Or look again,—beneath the night
A helpless pair in hurried flight—
Where nought but stars on either hand
Keep watch o'er the Arabian strand.

Look on each picture, note it well,
And more of wisdom shall it tell
Than kindled heathen poet's theme,
Or walk'd the groves of Academe.

192

III. TRIAL AND REWARD.

[_]

Olym., Od. ii. lin. 101.

“Wealth is like a radiant star,
He who hath it shines afar;
But well he knows what is to be,
That lawless spirits when they die
Must suffer penalty.
That sins in this the realm of Jove
One below doth judge and prove,
And o'er them sentence pass with stern necessity.
“But with sun whose wondrous light
Burns alike by day and night,
Freed from toil the good shall live,
Nor vex the watery wave nor land
With importuning hand,
In life which true peace cannot give;
But 'mid the honour'd of the Gods above,
By them who faithful oaths shall love,
A tearless age is won;
While bad men woes sustain no eye can look upon.
“But the threefold way along,
They who keep their heart from wrong,

193

To old Saturn's tower of strength,
To where the Ocean gales abound
The blessed Isles around,
Their course assign'd fulfil at length.
Where on the ground, or on the glittering trees,
Or on the waters in the breeze
Bright golden flowers are borne,
Whose wreaths upon their brows and on their hands are worn.”

REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE.

So deep within our soul there lies
The shadow of lost Paradise,
Where darkness enters not, nor toil,
Nor tears, nor sorrow,—nought to soil
The mirror which reflects the eye
Of omnipresent deity:—
And in that undisturb'd repose
That none can enter but the good;
So yearns the heart that nothing knows
But her intensest solitude:
So deeply on the soul doth press
The sense of its own lowliness:
Philosophy's most noble thought,
Best image of the poet wrought.

In every heart beneath the skies
That glorious wreck of Eden lies;

194

As 'neath the sea some palace seen
Looks beauteous through the blue serene,
Though now the haunt of things unclean.

And blessed they who labour still
To keep that mirror pure from ill.
We blend that vision with our sin,
And then the serpent enters in;
It is an Eden then no more,
But we again the loss deplore.

195

IV. BEGINNING WELL.

“Ναυσιφορητοις
Δ' ανδρασι πρωτα χαρις
Ες πλοον, αρχομενοις πομ-
παιον ελθειν ουρον: εοικοτα γαρ
Καν τελευτα φερτερου νο-
στου τυχειν.
Pyth. Od. i. 64.

'Tis said the pearl is form'd of dew
And sky's ethereal hue,
Conceiv'd within the opening shell,
When the bright lightning fell.
If in dim noon or fading even
'Neath the obscurer heaven;
That pearl a dusky shade retains,
Which in its hue remains.
But if beneath the lucid morn
The goodly pearl is born,
Clear with the sky's pure virgin white,
The centre of fair light,
Meet for a kingly diadem
Is that transcendent gem.
Such is the child whose early love
Is planted from above,

196

Who stores the Heaven-descended ray
In life's first opening day.
Such of his treasures in the skies
The Merchant most doth prize.

197

V. THE FOUNDLING ON EARTH.

[_]

Olymp. Od. vi. 66.

“A silver pitcher laid aloof,
And a zone of purple woof,
'Neath a darkling hawthorn shade
The child of god-like soul was laid;—
inent=1Sent by the God of golden hair
Soft-counselling Eleutho there,
And the sister Fates stood near.

“Iamus thus saw light of birth,
Deserted left on lap of earth,
When by the counsels of the skies
Two dragons came with azure eyes,
And nurtur'd him beneath the trees
With the honey of the bees.
From rocky Pytho then with speed
Came the king on panting steed,
Of the household to enquire
For the child Evadne bore,
Destin'd amid those of yore
To rise a glorious bard, for Phœbus was his sire.

“Five days born he now had been,
Yet they ne'er had heard nor seen:
He within the pathless glade
'Mid the bulrushes was laid,

198

O'er his body, pearly-wet,
Many a glistening violet,
Hanging with the morning dews
In multiplicity of hues.
Therefore his mother gave his name
From violets for endless fame.”

THE FOUNDLING IN HEAVEN.
[_]

On the above.

From man's cradle for his tomb
May we thus a garland borrow,
With its hues of vernal bloom
In these regions of our sorrow,
Lightening up the morning gloom
In that world of the great morrow?

In that morn of Paradise
When the infant soul reposes,
Shrouded 'neath the glittering eyes
Of the violets and roses,
Angel-tended in surprise
Which eternity discloses.

In the shadow of the tomb
When our Mother Earth is leaving,
Shall not angel wings illume
With new lights our fears relieving,
O'er our slumbers in that gloom
Flowery canopies o'er-weaving?

199

In the silence of that morn
Hid from foes, of friends forsaken,
When the infant 'neath the thorn
To its destinies shall waken,
Terrors of the newly born
With divinest love o'ertaken.

When the soul all infant-wise
In that slumberous land rejoices,
And like birds in morning skies
Hears around angelic voices,
Brighter dreams in her arise
Conscious of celestial choices.

He Who watches infants sweet,
All their wants afar descrying,
Shall He not the soul then meet
In that sleep on Him relying,
While with honey at its feet
Serpents, harmless now, are lying?

Gently rest then, child of morning,
'Neath the mystic violets sleeping—
Crystal drops their heads adorning;
Or are these thy mother's weeping?
In that other wondrous dawning
Angels o'er thee watch are keeping.

200

VI. ASPIRATIONS OF EARTH.

[_]

Olym. Od. vi. the same continued.

“Now when o'er him in its bloom
Golden-wreathèd Youth had come,
By 'mid Alpheus stream descending
He called on his great ancestor,
Neptune of far-spreading power;
And his sire, his bow for ever bending,
The watcher God,
Who makes divine-built Delos his abode;
'Neath the night in open skies.
When lo, responding at his side
The paternal Voice replied—
While he the speaker sought to find;
‘My son, arise,
Seek we where assembled Elis lies;—
Follow thou my Voice behind.’”

ASPIRATIONS OF HEAVEN.
[_]

On the above.

Such a Voice the poet hears
Haply in his own heart sounding,
While it seems to meet his ears
With ethereal speech surrounding,

201

In the dark, where nought appears,
Witnesses unseen abounding.

Like the rainbow in the skies
Drinking with majestic potion;
Cradled in the immensities
Of the sun and of the ocean;
Such a spirit in them lies,
Light and life and space and motion.

'Neath the night's ambrosial halls,
'Neath the sky-encircled hollow,
Thus around the poet calls
Sea and Light—Neptune, Apollo:
And a Voice his heart appals,
‘Rise, my son, my guidance follow.’

Ere it with the many blend
Thus must man's immortal spirit
Through the universe ascend,
Nobler blessings to inherit,
Passing onward to its end,
Nobler destinies to merit.

202

SOPHOCLES.

I. GRECIAN TRAGEDY.

The mighty Witness through all time
At varied interval and clime
His utterance shapes in varied mode,
Nor quits with man His sure abode.
By Patriarchs and by Prophets old,
And shepherds of His own true fold,
In full distinctness is He heard,
Before—around the Living Word.
So 'mid the nations, though less clear
Yet unto those that lend an ear,
His voice mysterious deigns to dwell,
And moulds the awful parable.

By Bards in field, or street, or hall,
Solemn, sublime, and musical,
Orpheus, and Linus, Ascra's sage,
And Homer on blind pilgrimage;—
They pass along from age to age,

203

Teachers of God, like streams that bless
The dried and sultry wilderness,
Where all things else would droop and die
Beneath the anger of the sky.

When rocks of Helicon were mute,
Then, sweeter than Apollo's lute,
Unto Philosophy was given
To speak deep things of God and Heaven.

Then entering pass'd the Tragic Queen,
With graceful and majestic mien
Attended by the virgin choir,
On the Athenian theatre.
Her chasten'd and melodious note
She gave upon the gale to float,
In Attic phrase and Classic line
Veiling the moral thought divine,
Such as the Grecian ear might win
And cleanse the avenues of sin.
The better wisdom of the skies
To point in life's realities.

Ah, would such Attic Muse again
From looser thought and words that stain
Would rise the Christian stage to sweep—
At which the blessed Angels weep!

204

II. THE TRAGIC CHORUS AND THE MORAL LAW.

[_]

Œd. Tyr, lin. 863—996.

“May Providence with me concur
Sustaining reverend purity
Of words and actions all,
For which are stedfast Laws that walk the sky,
Laws born and rear'd in the ethereal heaven,
Of which Olympus is alone the sire;
To which no race of mortal man gave birth,
Nor ever shall oblivion lay asleep;
Mighty in these things is the God,
Nor ever groweth old.

“Tis Pride gives birth to tyranny,
Pride puff'd and pamper'd with vain things,
Untimely and unmeet:
And bearing up to height precipitous,
Then hurls all headlong down into the strait
Where extricating foot can nought avail.
A noble struggle for the city's cause
I pray the God may never-more forego:
To God as my defender true
Ne'er will I cease to cling.

205

“If there be one in hand or word
Who goeth haughtily,
Not fearing Justice, nor
Revering seats divine,
May evil fate him seize
For the requital of his ill-starr'd pride;
If what he gains, he gain not righteously,
Nor holdeth back the sacrilegious hand
From things that are not meet for mortal touch.
What man in courses such as these
Shall ward the shafts of conscience from his soul?
If things like these are honour'd among men
What need for me the sacred choir to lead?

206

III. SIGHT OF ATHENS.

[_]

Œd. Col., line 668.

Stroph.—

“Stranger of this equestrian land,
On noblest seats of earth dost thou stand,
Colonus, marble-white;
Where most oft the nightingale
Warbles most musical
In verdant glade
Out of sight;—
In the wine-faced Ivy shade,
And hallowed grove with fruits of thousand kind,
Where no foot hath descended,
Where sun and wind no entrance find,
Haunts ever trod by Bacchanalian god,
By train of nymphs divine his way attended.

Antist.—

“'Neath heavenly dews is blooming there
Narcissus day by day with clusters fair,
The chaplet worn of old
By the mighty goddesses;
And in silken tresses
Crocus shining bright
With its gold.
Sleepless-flowing day and night
Cease not the founts that in Cephisus pour,

207

Through all the day still wending
With fertile shower the meadows o'er;
Nor tuneful Nine this favour'd land decline;
Nor Venus to her golden harness bending.

Stroph.—

“Here too is a plant which never
Groweth such on Asia's land, I hear,
Nor on Pelops' Dorian Isle doth appear
Blooming ever;—
Self-sown plant no hand may touch,
Terror of the hostile spear,
The child-sustaining Olive, ever green,
Here of all place most fertile seen;
And no one, be he old or young, on such
The mark of a destroying hand hath laid.
On it the Eye that never sleeps
Of Morian Jove its vigil keeps,
And Athena, blue-eyed maid.

Antist.—

“Other theme I have of praises,
Mighty gift of mighty Deity,
Which this maternal city of the free
Ever raises,
For her ships as for her steeds
Famed by land and famed by sea.
O Son of Saturn, thou, Neptunian King,
Dost unto her this glory bring:

208

The steed-reproving charm from thee proceeds,
The bridle first beheld in this our street;
And from thy port the bark with wings
Companion of the Nereids springs,
With her countless, oary feet.”

SIGHT OF OXFORD.
[_]

On the above.

What inspirations hail the view
Of Athens' sacred seat,
And all the poet's soul renew
His own loved haunts to greet!

The nightingale—the ivy green—
The hallow'd shade most dread,
The awful presence of the Unseen
Stills thought and voice and tread.

Minerva there her watch doth keep
On her green olive bower,
The Eye of God which cannot sleep,
The nation's secret power.

But all these words my bosom move
With thoughts more holy still,
Of Oxford seen from neighb'ring grove,
And woodland verdant hill.

209

The nightingale most frequent there
Sings in her covert glades,
While calm religion's gloom severe
Watches the holy shades.

Thus chasten'd awe with gentle love
Are in those haunts combined,
All looser fancies to reprove,
And still the vagrant mind.

The memories of that peaceful place
Fill up our after life,
The prayers and quiet ways of grace,
And yet more holy strife.

The solitudes of summer even,
And thoughts in stillness found,
Like walks with Angel-guests from Heaven,
Which haunt that sacred ground.

May all the lighter joys of youth
Be still'd in that repose,
And the more solemn shade of truth
Subdue its keener woes!

210

The air itself is full of sound
From bells and sacred calls,
And ancient Faith hath cast around
Its shadow on her walls.

What poets spake of haunted grove
Here dwells in bowers and shrines,—
Severity with awful love
Which better hope divines.

There should be here no room for vice,
Nor the luxurious board,
Nor cares of filthy avarice,
And secret-gathering hoard.

Here should be heard no plaint or call
For this world's liberty,
But fear of God be All in All,
Which only maketh free.

Our Church's life here hath its birth,
Her very heart that beats,
The pulse is felt throughout the earth
Which stirs in her retreats.

211

May God, I pray, that holy place
For our own children keep,
When we ourselves behold His face,
And 'neath His shadow sleep.

212

EURIPIDES.

I. ALCESTIS RETURNING FROM THE GRAVE.

“How strange are things divinely wrought!
The Gods have means beyond our thought;
Expected ills they turn aside,
Beyond all hope a way provide.”
Termination of the Alcestis.

As often in the visions of our sleep
Semblances blend of life's realities,
And images of truth therein are found,
Confus'd and intertwin'd with dreamy thoughts
And empty shadows; and oft-times therein
Spirits of good and ill contending seem
More vividly than in our waking life;
That meditative wisdom oft may find
Broken reflections and stray shapes of truth
Set forth at random beneath fancy's garb.

And oft we listen when the dream is o'er,
As one who some sweet music would recall,

213

Labouring the scattered fragments to retain,
If it might give forth aught of prophecy;
For while it blended with the things of sense
It seem'd to hold a commerce with the Unseen,
And Nature spake therein more than she knew,
While Faith is her divine interpreter.

Thus in poetic legends of old time
All strangely intermingling may be seen
Dreamlike similitudes of truth divine;
Wherein man, waken'd in the Christian morn,
May 'neath the tangled web of true and false
Unravelling find broken celestial forms,
Though interrupted oft and lost in clouds,
Yet phantoms and resemblances indeed,
Vision-like and unreal, and yet true,
As shadows in a mirror, though themselves
But airy nothing and an empty shade.

Before our eyes in this our living world
Hath Christ set forth on earth the scatter'd signs
Of Resurrection, when His Voice and Hand
Brought from the silent regions of the dead
Those who this life had left,—the youthful child
Of Jairus, coldly laid on bed of death,—
Or from his bier before the Nain gate
The widow's son, who heard His voice and lived;—
Or Lazarus from the darkness of the grave.
Such preludes of the Resurrection's power

214

Stand forth as pillars of the Truth of God
Till the last Resurrection of the Just.
Compared with these realities divine
Those mythic fables old and Paynim tales
Are but as mirrors seen upon the clouds,
Aerial phantoms of a coming form;
Or shadowy dreams compared with things of life.

Yet sweet is Resurrection's power pourtrayed
In that fair story of Admetus' bride,
Brought by Alcides in the veil of death
From the dark regions of the place of souls;—
Alcides—that mysterious hero-god,
Himself encountering and o'ercoming death;
And who that dreaded serpent slew of old.

Mantled she stands, and waiting the third day
When after her lustrations she may speak;
Fair as the veilèd form of coming Spring,
At whose approach Nature breaks forth in song
And gratulation, with instinctive joy
Unconsciously divining deep within
Of something better than a fading spring,—
A new Creation which shall not see death.

Alcestis, noblest woman, worthy found
In dying resurrection to attain,
Who for another dared herself to die;—
Admetus too, that good Thessalian king,
Albeit not unmeet for such a boon;

215

Who even now his deeply-rankling grief
Had cover'd with a show of courtesy
To entertain a stranger, and thereby
Had unawares receiv'd a saving God.

And I would in my heart engrave his words,
In this unlook'd-for blessing from the grave,
Beyond all thought to life and light restor'd.—

Adm.—

“Now we will set in order and remould
“Our lives, far better than they yet have been,
“For great I own is this my happiness .”

Alcest. lin. 1176.

216

II. THE GARLAND OF HIPPOLYTUS.

[_]

Hip., lin. 72—86

Thou Maid of maids, Diana, the goddess whom he fears,
Unto thee Hippolytus this flowery chaplet bears;—
“From meadows where no shepherd his flock a-field e'er drove,
From where no woodman's hatchet hath woke the echoing grove,
Where o'er the unshorn meadow the wild bee passes free,
Where by her river-haunts dwells virgin Modesty;
Where he who knoweth nothing the wisdom of the schools
Beareth in a virgin heart the fairest of all rules;
To him 'tis given all freely to cull those self-sown flowers,
But evil men must touch not pure Nature's sacred bowers.
This to his virgin mistress a virgin hand doth bear,
A wreath of unsoil'd flowers to deck her golden hair;
For such alone of mortals can unto her draw nigh,
And with that guardian Goddess hold solemn converse high.

217

He ever hears the voice of his own virgin Queen,
He hears what others hear not, and sees her though unseen;
He holds his virgin purpose in freedom unbeguiled,
To age and death advancing in innocence a child.”

Chaste Hippolytus thus spake upon the Attic stage,
And worthy were the story of Christian pilgrimage,
Though hated by the many the tale is half divine,
And his death not all unmeet 'mong martyrdoms to shine.
'Mid Nature's hid recesses, 'mid unshorn meads and woods,
Where broods an unseen Presence o'er sacred solitudes;
Where stars are wildly silent in watches of the night,
And the virgin moon comes forth all like a vestal white;
When awful hangs the stillness upon the earth and sky,
Man's spirit longs to mingle with purer things on high.

218

When wean'd from earthly longings it hears the voice of God,
Who in that solemn evening in Eden's garden trod.
It is an awful converse, it is a holy time,
When the soul awakes to wisdom majestic and sublime,
Like an effluence divine that rests on virgin youth,
Ere tainted breath hath passed on the mirror of its truth.

And well the tragic bard hath blended that high tale
With the Venus and her loves and Phædra waxing pale,
Incestuous passion mad upon her like a spell,
The scorpion that awakens with foretaste of its hell;
Things noblest thus shine forth by contrast base and vile,
The star for clouds seems fairer in its cærulean Isle.
Is this that gentle love-god of which the poets speak,
Which sheds light upon the eyes and bloom upon the cheek?
Is this that love of woman that like the evening star
Fills up the skies around us with tender thoughts from far?

219

Or is that fabled Venus upon her car of gold
But form'd of painted splendours which earth-born mists enfold?
What seems so fair to glisten is but a thundercloud,
And leaves a tale of vengeance that speaketh clear and loud.

What wish could parent cherish for most beloved child,
But to walk before his God a virgin undefiled?
While others train their children to graceful arts and dress,
And all the worldly ways that wait on loveliness;
That they in nuptial brightness might walk like ladies fair,
And in their hands bear garlands, and garlands in their hair,
To wed with wealth and station, and walk in high degree,
With Christ's own virgin poor lest they should number'd be;
Their first thoughts thus to marry or be in marriage given,
Their second for God's Church and for the things of Heaven.

220

Far other thoughts and training, my dearest child, be thine,
Rear'd in that low simplicity which nurtures faith divine;
A virgin through thy life, angel-like spirit blest,
The more to love thy Saviour and on His love to rest.

Not as the untaught Heathen the tragic buskin bore,
Conversing with the Goddess in woodland, grove, or shore:
But with those saintly spirits that wean'd their hopes from earth
That they might have in Heaven a yet more glorious birth:
With Daniel, man of loves, who saw beyond the tomb;
And John in trance beholding the Judgment yet to come;
And with good Ken, the Witness of this our later day,
From whom his Church hath learned her morn and evening lay.
There's found in life no sweetness like the awakening soul
Which to God's love in childhood devotes the being whole.

221

The bloom it has upon it is of eternal youth,
Though with the thorns encompass'd which shelter heavenly truth.
The spring it hath no fragrance which doth such freshness bear,
No sight or sound hath nature which can with it compare.
When Satan and the world our course aside have driven,
To that bright spot turns Memory as to a gleam of Heaven.

οισθ' ουν βροτοισιν ος καθεστηκεν νομος,
μισειν το σεμνον, και το μη πασιν φιλον.

lin. 92.

222

BION.

THE EVENING STAR.

[_]

Idyll. vii. imitated.

“Thou star of Eve with golden light,
The sacred gem of dark-blue night,
Fairest of all the stars that shine,
And only than the moon less bright,
Hail, friendly star of Love divine!

“To me more friendly than the moon,—
She new to-day hath set too soon;—
For no ill deed I speed along,
Thou art thyself love's benison,
And sing'st with me love's vesper song.”

223

MOSCHUS.

[“When the calm wind upon the dark-blue sea]

[_]

Idyll. v. translated.

“When the calm wind upon the dark-blue sea
“Softly reclines, kissing it tremblingly,
“It lures my timid mind to quit the shore,
“And all the varied landscapes please no more.
“But when the deeps white-foaming heave profound,
“Crest the curved billow, and the waves resound;
“Then from the sea I fly to haunts I love;
“The land is welcome and the shady grove;
“Where gently comes the ruffle on the trees,
“And the tall pine is singing to the breeze.

“How hard the Fisher's life who night and day
“Toils on the seas for an uncertain prey,
“His home with winds and waves upon the deep,
“While'neath the broad-leaved plane I sweetly sleep,
“Or listen to the rill that murmurs near,
“Which soothes without alarm the vacant ear.”

THE CONTRAST.

Not so the Christian—he must fear and flee
The pleasant scene and calm tranquillity

224

On sea or shore, the inner soul to brace
With sorrow, and look hardship in the face.
Such halcyon days, and calms Elysian
Before the time, the Heaven-ward soul unman.
She dreads false pleasures and alike hath striven
With shine or storm as they to her are given.
His is the patient Fisherman's hard life
With wind and wave and seasons all at strife.
And when his bark is on the nightly sea
Cover'd with waves and all in jeopardy,
The Tempest will disclose his Saviour's Form,
Walking upon the waves amid the storm;
Then He will enter and appease the roar,
And bring them near unto the stable shore.

225

CALLIMACHUS.

I. FROM THE HYMN TO APOLLO.

“Lo, how the laurel of Apollo shakes!
How the whole temple to its centre quakes!
Far, far aloof, thou sinner! 'tis the God,
With beauteous foot who on his threshold trod.
See how the Delian palm nods suddenly,
And sweet the swan is singing in the sky.
Open yourselves, ye portals! wide expand,
Ye glittering bars, it is the God at hand!
Ye youths, attune your songs, the dance enfold,
None, but the good, Apollo can behold.
On him that sees thee not a curse doth rest,
Great he that sees thee; O be manifest
To us, far-darting God, and we are blest.”

ON THE SAME.

Was it from Siloa's stream and hallowed well,
Or Grecian Scriptures in Egyptian cell,
That, bard of Alexandria, thou hast caught
The fragmentary records of high thought—

226

From Prophet and from Psalmist,—that each word
More in the heart than on the ear is heard;
And tones of Inspiration there enshrined
Speak higher things than were within thy mind?

When on His threshold treads the Christian's Lord,
The Sun of life and light, the eternal Word,
Shall be invisibly, where'er it stands,
The shaking of His Temple through all lands.
His coming on Mount Sinai shook the earth,
In premonition of that second birth,
Which by its coming shakes the earth and Heaven,
With all the universe asunder riven.
Then shall there be your lifting up on high,
Ye everlasting portals of the sky;
And all spontaneous from its burning shores
The rolling back of the eternal doors.

Of that His presence in majestic power,
For which Creation waits the destined hour,
Gentile and Jew some shadowy gleams discern'd,
Faces of all were to its coming turn'd;
To good and ill shall it be manifest,—
Seen of all eyes, by every tongue confess'd.

There is another Coming, silence-shod,
Wherein none but the holy see their God;
Who lowly stooping down to meet our needs
The threshold of His shrine in meekness treads.
In His humiliations thus brought near
To none but to His own doth He appear.

227

II. EPITAPH.

“His sacred sleep Acanthian Saon lies
“Here slumbering; say not that the good man dies.”

ON THE SAME.

Like golden hues, when tempests flee,
Which may an evening sky illume;
Like moon-beams on a stormy sea;
Or lamp that burns within a tomb;—

Such was this truth at random thrown
Which shed its light upon a grave;
Yet 'twas enough if rightly known
To cheer in life, in death to save.

University of Virginia Library

GREEK POETS.

HOMER.

I. THE ILIAD.

II. ATE EXPELLED FROM HEAVEN.

ATE AND LITÆ, OR PRAYERS. [_] Phœnix to Achilles. Il., b. ix. I, 492.

ON THE FOREGOING.

III. ULYSSES AND CALYPSO.

ON THE FOREGOING.

IV. ULYSSES SHIPWRECKED AND NAUSICAA.

THE FAREWELL OF NAUSICAA. [_] Od. viii. 456.

ON THE FOREGOING.

V. THE LOTOPHAGI.

ON THE FOREGOING.

IV. THE ABODE OF CIRCE.

ON THE FOREGOING.

VII. WARNING AGAINST THE SIRENS.

SONG OF THE SIRENS.

ON THE FOREGOING.

VIII. SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

ON THE FOREGOING.

IX. THE RECOGNITION OF ULYSSES.

HESIOD.

I. WORKS AND DAYS .

II. THE IRON AGE.

III. THE WATCHERS.

IV. THE PATH OF VIRTUE.

V. THE RIGHTEOUS KING.

ÆSCHYLUS.

I. THE PROMETHEUS.

II. KNOWLEDGE OF GOD BY SUFFERING.

1

2

3

ON THE FOREGOING.

III. SACRILEGE.

ON THE FOREGOING.

IV. THE BESETTING SIN.

ON THE FOREGOING.

V. ATE.

2

3

ON THE FOREGOING.

VI. THE FURIES OVERTAKING ORESTES.

ORESTES AT THE SHRINE.

SONG OF THE FURIES.

VII. DIVINE POWER.

SIMONIDES.

I.

II. ELEGIAC FRAGMENT.

III. ON THE LIFE OF MAN.

IV. MUTABILITY.

ANOTHER TRANSLATION OF THE SAME.

V. DANAE AND HER CHILD.

ANACREON.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER.

ON THE SAME.

PINDAR.

I.

II. THE BIRTH OF HERCULES.

1

2

3

THE CONTRAST.

III. TRIAL AND REWARD.

REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE.

IV. BEGINNING WELL.

V. THE FOUNDLING ON EARTH.

THE FOUNDLING IN HEAVEN. [_] On the above.

VI. ASPIRATIONS OF EARTH.

ASPIRATIONS OF HEAVEN. [_] On the above.

SOPHOCLES.

I. GRECIAN TRAGEDY.

II. THE TRAGIC CHORUS AND THE MORAL LAW.

III. SIGHT OF ATHENS.

Stroph.—

Antist.—

Stroph.—

Antist.—

SIGHT OF OXFORD. [_] On the above.

ATE AND LITÆ, OR PRAYERS.
[_]

Phœnix to Achilles. Il., b. ix. I, 492.

THE FAREWELL OF NAUSICAA.
[_]

Od. viii. 456.

THE FOUNDLING IN HEAVEN.
[_]

On the above.

ASPIRATIONS OF HEAVEN.
[_]

On the above.

SIGHT OF OXFORD.
[_]

On the above.