 | Sonnets |  |
17
HELLAS.
AN INVOCATION.
I.
HAIL Goddess of the heaven-reflecting eyes,
Divine Athena! thou whose sweet breath blew
The message of the Gods the wide world through,
And showed us sovereign Reason in the guise
Of all-unearthly beauty; wake, arise
With fresh revealings; where the plant first grew
The fallen seed its life may still renew,
And yield young offshoots, strange to denser skies.
Divine Athena! thou whose sweet breath blew
The message of the Gods the wide world through,
And showed us sovereign Reason in the guise
Of all-unearthly beauty; wake, arise
With fresh revealings; where the plant first grew
The fallen seed its life may still renew,
And yield young offshoots, strange to denser skies.
Fair sleeper! Long ago a lordly bard,
Errant from England, to thy wakening gave
A fiery kiss; and still thy forehead, starred,
Nay sunned, and burning with the hopes that save,
Lies low; great Goddess, hath the world debarred
Thee room to rise, and made thy bed thy grave?
Errant from England, to thy wakening gave
A fiery kiss; and still thy forehead, starred,
Nay sunned, and burning with the hopes that save,
Lies low; great Goddess, hath the world debarred
Thee room to rise, and made thy bed thy grave?
18
II.
Yes, soul of Greece, they mock who call it sleep
That holds thee; by the questing of thine eyes,
By thy heart-beatings, and thy struggling cries,
Thou wakest, and, O Gods! we see thee weep.
We see thee, we, whose boast it is to keep
Thy sacred flame alive, and we pass by
Unaiding as unmoved, or hovering nigh
Make strong the bars thy strength would overleap.
That holds thee; by the questing of thine eyes,
By thy heart-beatings, and thy struggling cries,
Thou wakest, and, O Gods! we see thee weep.
We see thee, we, whose boast it is to keep
Thy sacred flame alive, and we pass by
Unaiding as unmoved, or hovering nigh
Make strong the bars thy strength would overleap.
England! by all great memories that abide,
By kindling hopes of that which yet may be,
By the dead tongue, for thee which never died
And is not dead, be bold as thou art free,
Let not the hoof of that barbarian pride
Crush Hellas! Stretch thy hand across the sea.
By kindling hopes of that which yet may be,
By the dead tongue, for thee which never died
And is not dead, be bold as thou art free,
Let not the hoof of that barbarian pride
Crush Hellas! Stretch thy hand across the sea.
December, 1880.
| Sonnets | |