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Ranolf and Amohia

A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised
Domett, Alfred (1811-1887)

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RANOLF AND AMOHIA:
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VOLUME I.
  
PRELUDE.
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BOOK THE FIRST. THE SAILOR-STUDENT.
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Canto the First. The Sea-boy.
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VIII.
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IX.
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Canto the Second. Will-o'-wisp-chasing.
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Canto the Third. From Wisp to Morass.
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VIII.
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Canto the Fourth. Terra Firma.
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Canto the Fifth. Cloud-blowing.
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XIII.
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XIV.
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Canto the Sixth. Land-Life or Sea-Life?
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Canto the Seventh. The Shipwreck.
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BOOK THE SECOND. THE SOUTH-SEA VILLAGERS.
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Canto the First. The Rescue.
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Canto the Second. The ‘Sounding Sea.’
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Canto the Third. The Magician.
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Canto the Fourth. A Woodland Jaunt.
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Canto the Fifth. The Legend of Tawhaki.
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Canto the Sixth. Mythical Cosmogonies.
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Canto the Seventh. The Captive.
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BOOK THE THIRD. ALL IN A SUMMER NIGHT.
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Canto the First. Miroa's Tidings.
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Canto the Second. The Song-cheered Swimming.
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Canto the Third. The Star-lit Swimming.
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Canto the Fourth. Legends of the Spirit-Land.
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Canto the Fifth. Amohia at the Fountain.
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Canto the Sixth. Silence and Moonlight.
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Canto the Seventh. The Meeting.
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VOLUME II.
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BOOK THE FOURTH. A LATTER-DAY EDEN.
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Canto the First. Flight of the Lovers.
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Canto the Second. Miroa's Story.
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Canto the Third. Love and Nature luxuriant.
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Canto the Fourth. Trees and the Tree-God.
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Canto the Fifth. The Fountain-Terraces.
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Canto the Sixth. A Geyser Yoked.
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Canto the Seventh. English Maidens.
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BOOK THE FIFTH. STILL IN EDEN.
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Canto the First. The Haunted Mountain.
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Canto the Second. Sports on the Lake.
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Canto the Third. The Cicada.
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Canto the Fourth. A loving Questioner.
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Canto the Fifth. A cheery Theorist.
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Canto the Sixth. Love beats Logic.
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Canto the Seventh. An airy Nest.
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BOOK THE SIXTH WAR.
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Canto the First. The Beleaguered Fortress.
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Canto the Second. War needs Idealizing.
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Canto the Third. The grand Assault.
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Canto the Fourth. Fight between ‘Sounding Sea’ and ‘Angry Star.’
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Canto the Fifth. Love fed by War.
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Canto the Sixth. An old wrong avenged.
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VIII.
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Canto the Seventh. Death of the ‘Sounding Sea.’
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BOOK THE SEVENTH. SELF-SACRIFICE.
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Canto the First. Weariness.
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Canto the Second. A sad Resolve.
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Canto the Third. Death of the Magician.
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Canto the Fourth. Where is Comfort?
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Canto the Fifth. A Vision.
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Canto the Sixth. The Departure.
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Canto the Seventh. After-Experiences.
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V.

And Ranolf loved—could not but prize
That tiny classic Cymbalist,
So graced with old Greek memories;
The rapture-brimmed, rich-burnished one—
His bright green corselet streaked with jet,
His brow with ruby brilliants set—
That, undisturbed, would ne'er desist
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From clicking, clattering in the sun
His strident plates—at every trill
Jerking with stiffly quivering thrill
His glassy-roofing wings; as gay
As his precursor could have been
Two thousand faded years ago!—
See! through thin morning vapour gray,—
With snowy marble-gleams between
Blue-shadowy clefts of fragrant gloom
Melodious ever and alive
With immemorial bees that hive
In honied thickets, lilac-green
With sage and thyme in deathless bloom,—
Bare old Hymettus looks serene
O'er silvery glimpses far below
Of pure Ilyssus in swift flow
Through plains—one revel of renown!
And there, along the myrtle path,
As fond of sunshine, full of joy,
Fresh-glistening from gymnasium-bath,
The hyacinth-curled bronzed Attic Boy
Would steal—O trust his artless tale—
Just for one luscious blossom-crown,
Their pride and pet delight who hail
For home that marvel-minded Town—
To some hot mead where violets hid
Blue round the well's white timeworn trunk
Of hollow marble slightly sunk
In grass about the spring that slid
Slow-creeping crystal all the year:
And there would find one violet
More fragrant-hearted, richer yet,
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A lovelier-lowly dearer pride
Than any that the well beside
As gently shrink, as shyly peer:
For see! in crocus-coloured vest
And silver girdle—all her best—
Worn—to beguile that Boy-love?—Nay,
'Tis Queen Athene's festal-day!
With vase two-handled on her head
(Pale yellow spiral-striped with red)—
That slim slip of a Greek-limbed girl—
Who looks so sweetly grave upon
Sad news about their neighbour's son
Killed—since they met, at . . . Marathon!
—And there the Boy, as with a curl
Slipped from the shining coil he played,
In loitering chat beneath the shade
By glittering gray-leaved olives made,—
When War's mishaps had all been heard
Around that dear one's home incurred,
Vines—fruit-trees broken—fields untilled—
Pet-kids and lambs for forage killed,—
Would faltering tell—small need! how well
That bright procession-dress became
The radiant face! how sweet its smell
Of rosy apples redolent
Oft dropped inside its chest for scent;
And how she bore, in look and pace,
With what a proudly-pretty grace,
That vase—though brought with childish aim
To save her tripping there from blame!
And then would pause a little space,
Just in the act of sipping down
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The fig she gives him, bursting-ripe,
Plump, melting-skinned, and purple-brown,
To mark their little gay compeer,
As hand-in-hand they draw too near,
Abruptly stilling its sweet shrilling,
And edging round its olive-branch,
Backing and sidling out of sight
Of eyes that sparkle hazel-bright,
As one fond wish the Boy expresses,
That chirper were but turned to gold
To stick in Myrrhin's golden tresses!
While not his wildest dream had told
The lad, how many an age to come,
In what far regions all unknown,
His race's merry earthborn type
Would still be singing blithe and stanch,
After its own grand Muse was dumb,
Its noisy greeds and glories gone!
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