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Orion

An Epic Poem in Three Books: By R. H. Horne: Ninth Edition

Horne, R. H. (1802-1884)

BOOK I.

II.

III.

II.

III.

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BOOK I.

CANTO THE FIRST.

Ye rocky heights of Chios, where the snow,
Lit by the far-off and receding moon,
Now feels the soft dawn's purpling twilight creep
Over your ridges, while the mystic dews
Swarm down, and wait to be instinct with gold
And solar fire!—ye mountains waving brown
With thick-winged woods, and blotted with deep caves
In secret places; and ye paths that stray
E'en as ye list; what odours and what sighs
Tend your sweet silence through the star-showered night,

Like memories breathing of the Goddess forms
That left your haunts, yet with the day return!

And still more distant through the grey sky floats
The faint blue fragment of the dead moon's shell;
Not dead indeed, but vacant, since 't is now
Left by its bright Divinity. The snows
On steepest heights grave tints of dawn receive,
And mountains from the misty woodland rise
More clear of outline, while thick vapours curl
From off the valley streams, and spread away,
Till one by one the brooks and pools unveil
Their cold blue mirrors. From the great repose
What echoes now float on the listening air—
Now die away—and now again ascend,
Soft ringing from the valleys, caves, and groves,
Beyond the reddening heights? 'Tis Artemis come
With all her buskined Nymphs and sylvan rout,
To scare the silence and the sacred shades,
And with dim music break their rapturous trance!

But soon the music swells, and as the gleam

Of sunrise tips the summits tremblingly,
And the dense forests on their sides exchange
Shadows opaque for warm transparent tones,
Though still of depth and grandeur, nearer grows
The revelry; and echoes multiply
Behind the rocks and uplands, with the din
Of reed-pipe, timbrel, and clear silver horns,
With cry of Wood-nymphs, Fauns, and chasing hounds.

Afar the hunt in vales below has sped,
But now behind the wooded mount ascends,
Threading its upward mazes of rough boughs,
Mossed trunks and thickets, still invisible,
Although its jocund music fills the air
With cries and laughing echoes, mellowed all
By intervening woods and the deep hills.

The scene in front two sloping mountain sides
Displayed; in shadow one, and one in light.
The loftiest on its summit now sustained
The sun-beams, raying like a mighty wheel

Half seen, which left the front-ward surface dark
In its full breadth of shade; the coming sun
Hidden as yet behind: the other mount,
Slanting opposed, swept with an eastward face,
Catching the golden light. Now, while the peal
Of the ascending chase told that the rout
Still midway rent the thickets, suddenly
Along the broad and sunny slope appeared
The shadow of a stag that fled across,
Followed by a Giant's shadow with a spear!

‘Hunter of Shadows, thou thyself a Shade,’
Be comforted in this,—that substance holds
No higher attributes; one sovran law
Alike develops both, and each shall hunt
Its proper object, each in turn commanding
The primal impulse, till gaunt Time become
A Shadow cast on Space—to fluctuate—
Waiting the breath of the Creative Power
To give new types for substance yet unknown:
So from faint nebulæ bright worlds are born;
So worlds return to vapour. Dreams design

Most solid lasting things, and from the eye
That searches life, death evermore retreats.

Substance unseen, pure mythos, or mirage,
The shadowy chase has vanished; round the swell
Of the near mountain sweeps a bounding stag—
Round whirls a god-like Giant close behind—
O'er a fallen trunk the stag with slippery hoofs
Stumbles—his sleek knees lightly touch the grass—
Upwards he springs—but in his forward leap,
The Giant's hand hath caught him fast beneath
One shoulder tuft, and, lifted high in air,
Sustains! Now Phoibos' chariot rising bursts
Over the summits with a circling blaze,
Gilding those frantic antlers, and the head
Of that so glorious Giant in his youth,
Who, as he turns, the form succinct beholds
Of Artemis,—her bow, with points drawn back,
A golden hue on her white rounded breast
Reflecting, while the arrow's ample barb
Gleams o'er her hand, and at his heart is aimed.

The Giant lowered his arm—away the stag
Breast forward plunged into a thicket near;
The Goddess paused, and dropt her arrow's point—
Raised it again—and then again relaxed
Her tension, and while slow the shaft came gliding
Over the centre of the bow, beside
Her hand, and gently drooped, so did the knee
Of that heroic shape do reverence
Before the Goddess. Their clear eyes had ceased
To flash, and gazed with earnest softening light.

His stature, though colossal, scarcely seemed
Beyond the heroic mould, such symmetry
His form displayed; and in his countenance
A noble honesty and ardour beamed,
With child-like faith, unconscious of themselves,
And of the world, its vanities and guile.
Eyes of deep blue, large waves of chestnut locks,
A forehead wide, and every feature strong,
Yet without heaviness or angry line,
Had he; and as he knelt, a trustful smile
That dreads no consequence, and quite forgets

All danger, lightly played around his mouth.
Meanwhile the Nymphs and all the sylvan troop,
Like wave on wave when coloured by the clouds,
Pell-mell come rolling round the mountain side,
And crowd about the Goddess, who commands
The hunt to pause. At once the music stops—
And all the hounds, with wistful looks, crouch down.

‘Young Giant of the woods,’ said Artemis,
‘The bow, that ne'er till now its glittering points
Bent back without recoil and whirring twang—
That sound a shaft's flight, and that flight a death—
For once to its quiescent shape returns
Unsated. Midst these woodland vales and heights
Seldom I rove, but from my train have Nymphs
Permission sought full oft the chase to lead
Among these echoes and these fleeting shades.
Thee have they seen, as now, bounding beyond
Their swiftest hounds to bear the stag away,
As thou once more hadst surely done this morn,
But for my presence. Say, then, whence thou spring'st—

Where dwell'st thou—how art called—and wherefore thus
Dar'st thou the sports of these my Wood-nymphs mar?'

‘Goddess!’ the Giant answered, ‘I am sprung
From the great Trident-bearer, who sustains
And rocks the floating earth, and from the nymph—
A huntress joying in the dreamy woods—
Euryalé. Little am I wont to speak,
Save to my kindred giants, who in caves
Amid yon forest dwell, beyond the rocks,
Or the Cyclopes; neither know what words
Best suit a Goddess' ear. I and the winds
Do better hold our colloquies, when shadows,
After long hunting, vanish from my sight
Into some field of gloom. I am called “Orion,”—
And for the sport I have so often marred,
'T was for my own I did it, but without
A thought of whose the Nymphs, or least design
Of evil. Wherefore, Artemis, pardon me;
Or if again thou 'lt bend thy bow, first let me
To great Poseidon ofer up a prayer,

That his divine waves with absorbing arms
May take my body rather than dull earth.’

With attitude relaxed from queenly pride
To yet more queenly grace, the shaft she placed
Within her burnished quiver, and the bow
A Nymph unstrung, while with averted face—
As gazing down the woodland vista slopes,
Which oft her bright orb silvered through black shades
When midnight throbbed to silence—Artemis asked,
‘And who are those thy brothers of the cave,
And why with the Cyclopes dost consort?’

‘My wood-friends all of ancestry renowned,
Claim for their sires heroes, or kings, or gods;
And two of them have seen the ways of men;’
Orion answered, while with uplifted breast,
Like a smooth wave o'ergilded by the morn,
High heaving ere it cast itself ashore,
Buoyant, elate, and massively erect,
He stood. ‘They are my kindred thus descended,
And, though not brothers, yet we recognise

A sort of brotherhood in this decree
Of fate, or Zeus,—that nature filled our frames
With larger share of bodily elements
Than others mortal born. Seven giants we,
Of different minds, and destinies, and powers,
Yet glorified alike in corporal forms.
Few are my years, O Artemis! few my needs,
Though large my fancied wants, and small my knowledge
Save of one art. Earth's deep metallic veins
Hephaistos taught me to refine and forge
To shapes that in my fancy I devised,
For use or ornament. To the lame God
Grateful I felt, nor knew what thanks to give;
But, ere a shadow-hunter I became—
A dreamer of strange dreams by day and night—
For him I built a palace underground,
Of iron, black and rough as his own hands.
Deep in the groaning disembowelled earth,
The tower-broad pillars and huge stanchions,
And slant supporting wedges I set up,
By the Cyclopes aided—at my voice

Which through the metal fabric rang and pealed
In orders echoing far, like thunder-dreams.
With arches, galleries, and domes all carved—
So that great figures started from the roof
And lofty coignes, or sat and downward gazed
On those who strode below and gazed above—
I filled it; in the centre framed a hall:
Central in that, a throne; and for the light,
Forged mighty hammers that should rise and fall
On slanted rocks of granite and of flint,
Worked by a torrent, for whose passage down
A chasm I hewed. And here the God could take,
Midst showery sparks and swathes of broad gold fire,
His lone repose, lulled by the sounds he loved;
Or, casting back the hammer-heads till they choked
The water's course, enjoy, if so he wished,
Midnight tremendous, silence, and iron sleep.’

Thus in rough phrase, and with no other grace
Than forthright truth, Orion told his tale;
Then smiling looked around upon the Nymphs
Till all their bright eyes glowed and turned aside;

And then he gazed down at the couchant hounds,
Whose eyes and ears grew interrogative,
For well the fleet-heeled robber they all knew.

Now spake an Ocean-nymph with sea-green eyes:
‘Goddess, he hath not told thee all; his skill
And strength, unaided—singing as he wrought—
Scooped out the bay of Zanklé, framed its port;
Banked up the rampire that forbids the surge
To break o'er Sicily; and a temple built
To the sea-deities.’ ‘I had forgot;’
Orion said: ‘These things, long since were done.’

‘Hunter, I pardon thee, and from my Nymphs
All memory of late offence I take,
As though they ne'er had seen thee:’ Artemis said,
With a sweet voice and look. ‘Retire awhile,
Ye sylvan troop, to yonder deep-mossed dell;
And thou, Orion, henceforth in my train
Thy station take.’ More had the Goddess said,
But o'er the whiteness of a neck that ne'er
One tanned kiss from the ardent sun received,

A soft suffusion came; and waiting not
Reply, her silver sandals glanced i' the rays,
As doth a lizard playing on a hill,
And on the spot where she that instant stood,
Nought but the bent and quivering grass was seen.

Above the isle of Chios, night by night,
The clear moon lingered ever on her course,
Covering the forest foliage, where it swept
In its unbroken breadth along the slopes,
With placid silver; edging leaf and trunk
Where gloom clung deep around; but chiefly sought
With melancholy splendour to illume
The dark-mouthed caverns where Orion lay
Dreaming among his kinsmen. Ere the breath
Of Phoibos' steeds rose from the wakening sea,
And long before the immortal wheel-spokes cast
Their hazy apparition up the sky
Behind the mountain peaks, pale Artemis left
Her fainting orb, and touched the loftiest snows
With feet as pure, and white, and crystal-cold,
In the sweet misty woodland to rejoin

Orion with her Nymphs. And he was blest
In her divine smile, and his life began
A new and higher period, nor the haunts
Of those his giant brethren sought he now,
But shunned them and their ways, and slept alone
Upon a verdant rock, while o'er him floated
The clear moon, causing music in his brain
Until the skylark rose. He felt 't was love.

END OF CANTO I.

CANTO THE SECOND.

Midst ponderous substance had Orion's life
Dawned, and his acts were massive as his form.
Those his companions of the forest owned
Like corporal forces, but their several minds
And aims were not as his. The Worker he,
The builder-up of things, and of himself:
His wood-friends were Rhexergon, of descent
Royal, heroic—breaker down of things—
A coaster, skilled in fishing and in ships;—
Hormetes, arch-backed like the forest boar,
Short-haired, harsh-voiced, of fierce and wayward will;—

Harpax, with large loose mouth, and restless hand,
Son of the God of Folly by a maid
Who cursed him—and the child, an idiot else,
Grew keen, in rapine taking huge delight;—
Forceful Biastor;—smooth Encolyon,
The son of Hermes, yet in all things slow,
With sight oblique and forehead slanting high,
The dull retarder, chainer of the wheel;—
And Akinetos—who, since first the dawn
Sat on his marble forehead, ne'er had gazed
Onward with purpose of activity,
Nor felled a tree, nor hollowed out a cave,
Nor built a roof, nor aided any work,
Nor heaved a sigh, nor cared for anything
Save contemplation of the eternal scheme—
The Great Unmoved—a giant much revered.

Forgotten by their sires in other loves,
Here had they chiefly dwelt, and in these caves,
Save two, Encolyon and the Great Unmoved,
Who came from Ithaca. The islanders
Had driven them thence; and this the idle cause.

The barren stony land had ne'er produced
Enough of grain for food; but by the skill
Of their artificers in iron and brass,
And by their herds of goats and cloud-woolled sheep,
With other isles the Ithacans exchanged,
And each was well supplied. Encolyon's brain
Some goddess—and 't was Discord, as results
Made plain—one night inspired with sage alarms,
And straight the King of Ithaca he sought,
Imploring him, ‘if that he duly prized
A heaven-blest crown and subjects all content,
To drive the ships, sent from the neighbouring isles,
Forth from his port, or sink the grain they brought:
Else would his people, over-fed, grow slothful,
Rude, and importunate with new conceits,
And soon degenerating in their race,
Neglect their proper island, and their King.
But, on its own resources nobly forced,
Then would the stony Ithaca become
Great in herself by self-dependent power.’

To this the King gave ear, and on the shore

He, with Encolyon, for an omen prayed;
And soon along the horizontal line
Rising, they saw a threatening rack of clouds,
Black as the fleet from Aulis 'gainst doomed Troy,—
In after-time well known. Encolyon cried,
‘Behold propitious anger on the isle,
For its wrong doings!’ Wherefore all the grain
From friendly islands they, with scorn, sent back.
A famine soon in Ithaca spread wide,
And hungry people prowled about at night,
Then clamoured, and took arms—their war-cry, ‘Bread!’
Thus was the dormant evil of their hearts
Attested, and the King his people knew,
And bitterly their want of reverence felt.

Encolyon, in his stature tall confiding,
Though Akinetos warned him not to move,
Went gravely forth the rebel throngs to meet.
The politic giant's staid demeanour awed
The angry mass at first, and with their eyes
They seemed to listen, doubtful of their ears,

So puzzling was his speech. He to the King
And his chief heroes then discoursed apart,
Convincing them that all the wheels went well.
With head bent sideways from the light, he looked
Like to some statesman of consummate mind
Working an ancient problem; and then spake
In language critical, final, stolid, astute,
Concluding with affectionate appeal
To common sense, and all we hold most dear.
‘Keep down—put back—prevent! O Gods, prevent!’
This was his famous saying. Now the King
Led out his patriot army; but ere long
The army hungered too—the King was slain—
Encolyon fled, and hid within a ship.

Forthwith a crowd to Akinetos thronged,
Crying, ‘What say'st thou, giant, who art wise?
What shall we do?’ And Akinetos said,
‘Great hunger is a single thing—one want:
Satisfy that, and strength will be acquired
To multiply desire—wants without end!
Therefore be patient: leave all else to fate.’

The people, stubborn as their own dry rocks—
Enraged as the wild winds—to reason deaf—
And also wanting food—cursed his calm thought—
Cast stones upon him, and had surely slain
But that without resistance he bore all,
And without word; so they, being tired, relented,
And bore him to the ship, where, in the hold,
Encolyon lay at length with in-drawn breath.
To Chios sailed the ship. The Ithacans
Chose a new king, and traded with the isles.

In this companionship Orion's bent
Of nature had not merged; his working spirit
Sought from the fallen trunks and rocks to frame
Rude image of his fancies, till at length
He won Hephaistos' love, from whom he learnt
The god's own solid art. But this attained,
And proved by mastery, a restless dream
Dawned on his soul which he desired to shape,
Yet knew not how, nor saw its like around,
But vaguely felt at times, and thought he saw
In shadows. Wherefore through the forest depths,

Through vales and over hills, a hunter fleet,
He chased his unknown hopes; and when the stag,
Or goat, or ounce, he overtook and seized,
Ever he set them free, and e'en the bear
And raging boar his spear refrained to strike,
Save by its shadow, as they roaring fled.
The bodily thing became to him as nought
When gained; nor could past efforts satisfy.

Now from a Goddess did he quickly learn
The mystery of his mood, and saw how vain
His early life had been, and felt new roots
Quicken within him, branches new that sprang
Aloft, and with expanding energies
Tingled, and for immortal fruit prepared.

She met him in her beauty. Oft when dawn
With a grave red looked through the ash-pale woods,
And quick dews singing fell, while with a pulse
As quick, Orion stood beneath the trees,
And gazed upon the uncertain scene,—his heart
Forewarned his senses with a rapturous thrill.

He turned, and from the misty green afar,
In silence did the Goddess' train appear
Rounding a thicket. Slow the crowding hounds
Tript circling onward; Nymphs with quivered backs,
And clear elastic limbs of nut-brown hue,
Or like tanned wall-fruit, ripening and compact;
And short-horned Fauns down-gazing on their pipes;
And Oceanides with tresses green
Plaited in order, or by golden nets
In various device confined, each bearing
Shell-lyres and pearl-mouthed trumpets of the sea;
Dryads and Oreads decked with oak-leaf crowns
And heath-bells, dancing in the fragrant air;
And Sylvans, who, half Faun, half shepherd, lead
A grassy life, with cymbals in each hand
Pressed cross-wise on the breast, waiting the sign;—
Attendant round a pale-gold chariot moved:
By two large-antlered milk-white stags 't was drawn,
Their sleek hides 'neath the fine dews quivering,
In delicate delight. Above them rose
The fair-haired Goddess, onward softly gliding,
As though erect she stood on wafted clouds.

She smiled not; but the crescent on her brow
Gleamed with a tender light. He knew 't was love.

Giddy with happiness Orion's spirit
Now danced in air; his heart tumultuous beat,
Too high a measure and too wild to taste
The fulness that he dreamed encompassed him,
But he could not encompass, nor scarce dare
Clearly to recognise. And Artemis smiled
Upon him with a radiance silver sweet,
And o'er his forehead oft her hand she waved,
Till visions of the purity of love
Above him floated, and his being filled.

Language of Gods she taught him; and portrayed,
Far as 't was fitting, and from all gross acts
Refined, their several wondrous histories:
But chief of all, in accents grandly sad,
She told of kindness by Poseidon done,
His ocean sire, when swan-necked Leto bearing
Twins of bright destiny and heirs of heaven—
Herself and Phoibos—cruelly was driven

Through the bleak ways of earth, and found no rest,
Pursued by serpent jealousy, for Zeus
Had loved fair Leto; how Orion's sire
A floating isle that sometimes 'neath the waves
Drifted unseen, sometimes showed watery rocks,
Smote with his trident, and, majestical,
Delos arose—stood fast—and gave a home
To fainting Leto,—and a place of birth
For deities—the Sun, and his loved Orb.
The mysteries, worship, and the sacrifice
Of her Ephesian Temple, she displayed
Before his wondering thought, and oft he knelt
In solitude, when of its hundred columns,
Each reared by kingly hands, wakeful he dreamed,
And felt his Goddess love too high removed.
The ocean realm below, and all its caves
And bristling vegetation, plant and flower,
And forests in their dense petrific shade
Where the tides moan for sleep which never comes;
All this she taught him, and continually
Knowledge of human life made clear to him
Through facts and fables. He the intricate web

Of nature, gradually of himself began
To unwind, and see that gods and men were one—
Born of one element, imperfect both,
Yet aspirant, and with perfection's germ
Somewhere within. He brooded o'er these things.

One day, at noontide, when the chase was done,
Which with unresting speed since dawn had held,
The woods were all with golden fires alive,
And heavy limbs tingled with glowing heat.
Sylvans and Fauns at full length cast them down,
And cooled their flame-red faces in the grass,
Or o'er a streamlet bent, and dipped their heads
Deep as the top hair of their pointed ears;
While Nymphs and Oceanides retired
To grots and sacred groves, with loitering steps,
And bosoms swelled and throbbing, like a bird's
Held between human hands. The hounds with tongues
Crimson, and lolling hot upon the green,
And outstretched noses, flatly crouched; their skins
Clouded or spotted, like the field-bean's flower,
Or tiger-lily, painted the wide lawns.

Orion wandered deep into a vale
Alone; from all the rest his steps he bent,
Thoughtful, yet with no object in his mind;
Languid, yet restless. Near a hazel copse,
Whose ripe nuts hung in clusters twined with grapes,
He paused, down gazing, till upon his sense
A fragrance stole, as of ambrosia wafted
Through the warm shades by some divinity
Amid the woods. With gradual step he moved
Onward, and soon the poppied entrance found
Of a secluded bower. He entered straight,
Unconsciously attracted, and beheld
His Goddess love, who slept—her robe cast off,
Her sandals, bow and quiver, thrown aside,
Yet with her hair still braided, and her brow
Decked with her crescent light. Awed and alarmed
By loving reverence—which dreads offence
E'en though the wrong were never known, and feels
Its heart's religion for religion's self,
Besides its object's claim—swift he retired.

The entrance gain'd, what thoughts, what visions his!

What danger had he 'scaped, what innocent crime,
Which Artemis might yet have felt so deep!
He blest the God of Sleep who thus had held
Her senses! Yet, what loveliness had glanced
Before his mind—scarce seen! Might it not be
Illusion?—some bright shadow of a hope
First dawning? Would not sleep's God still exert
Safe influence, if he once more stole back
And gazed an instant? 'T were not well to do,
And would o'erstain with doubt the accident
Which first had led him there. He dare not risk
The chance 't were not illusion—oh, if true!
While thus he murmured hesitating, slow,
As slow and hesitating he returned
Instinctively, and on the Goddess gazed!

With adoration and delicious fear,
Lingering he stood; then pace by pace retired,
Till in the hazel copse sighing he paused,
And with most earnest face, and vacant eye,
And brow perplexed, stared at a tree. His hands
Were clenched; his burning feet pressed down the soil,

And changed their place. Suddenly he turned round,
And made his way direct into the bower.

There was a slumb'rous silence in the air,
By noon-tide's sultry murmurs from without
Made more oblivious. Not a pipe was heard
From field or wood; but the grave beetle's drone
Passed near the entrance; once the cuckoo called
O'er distant meads, and once a horn began
Melodious plaint, then died away. A sound
Of murmurous music yet was in the breeze,
For silver gnats that harp on glassy strings,
And rise and fall in sparkling clouds, sustained
Their dizzy dances o'er the seething meads.
With brain as dizzy stood Orion now
I' the quivering bower. There rapturous he beheld,
As in a trance, not conscious of himself,
The perfect sculpture of that naked form,
Whose Parian whiteness and clear outline gleamed
In its own hue, nor from the foliage took
One tint, nor from his ample frame one shade.
Her lovely hair hung drooping, half unbound,—

Fair silken braids, fawn-tinted delicately,
That on one shoulder lodged their opening coil.
Her large round arms of dazzling beauty lay
In matchless symmetry and inviolate grace,
Along the mossy floor. At length he dropped
Softly upon his knees, his clasped hands raised
Above his head, till by resistless impulse
His arms descending, were expanded wide—
Swift as a flash, erect the Goddess rose!

Her eyes shot through Orion, and he felt
Within his breast an icy dart. Confronted,
Mutely they stood, but all the bower was filled
With rising mist that chilled him to the bone,
Colder, as more obscure the space became;
And ere the last collected shape he saw
Of Artemis, dispersing fast amid
Dense vapoury clouds, the aching wintriness
Had risen to his teeth, and fixed his eyes,
Like glistening stones in the congealing air.

END OF CANTO II.

CANTO THE THIRD.

O'er plastic nature any change may come,
Save that which seeks to crush the primal germ;
And outward circumstance may breed within,
A second nature which o'ercomes the first,
But ne'er destroys, though dormant or subdued.
More toil for him whose wandering fancies teem
With too much life, and that vitality
Which eats into itself; more toil of brain
And limb, sole panacea for the change
From tyrant senses to pure intellect.
Wherefore, his work redoubled, Artemis
Directs Orion's course; not as before

With grave and all-subduing tenderness,
While with white fingers midst his chestnut locks,
In her speech pausing, gently would she hang
Violets, as white as her own hands, and sprigs
Of Cretan dittany, whose nodding spikes
Flushed deeper pink beneath the sacred touch,—
But with a penetrating influence
And front austere, as suiting best the Queen
Of maiden immortality. His soul
Strove hard to ascend and leave the earth behind;
And by the Goddess' guidance every hour
Had its fixed duties. Husbandry of fields
She taught those giant hands, and how to raise
The sweetest herbs and roots, which now his food
Became; nor taste and culture of the vine
Permitted, nor the flesh of slaughtered kine,
Nor forest boar, nor other thing that owns
An animal life. Lastly, she taught his mind
To reason on itself, far as the bounds
Of sense external furnish images
And types in attestation of each phase
Of man's internal sphere—large orbit space

For varied lights—and also showed the way
Rightly his complex knowledge to employ,
And from their shadows trace substantial things,
Things back again to shadows—thus evolving
The principle of thought, from root to air.

This done, the blossom and the fruit of all
Was her prime truth, into each element
Of his life's feelings and its acts, to instil:
'T was Love's divinest essence. In the soul,
Central its altar's flame for ever burns
Inviolate, and knowing not the change
Which time and fate o'er all else in the world
Bring speedily, or with a creeping film
That hides decay. Ever at peace it dwells
With its secure desires, which are soul-fed,
Nor on idolatrous devotion made
Dependent, nor on will and wayward moods
Of others; 't is self-centred as a star,
And in the music of the conscious nerves,
Finds bliss, which e'en the slightest touch or look
Of this magnetic passion can create,

And render perfect. Nor doth absence break
The links of ecstasy, which from a heart
By a heart are drawn, but midst the glare of day,
The depths of night, alone, or in a crowd,
Imagination of love's balmy breath
Can to the spirit fashion and expand
Love's own pure rapture and delirium.
To this fixed sublimation there belong
No conflicts of pale doubts, anxieties,
Mean jealousies, anguish of heart-crushed slaves,
And forlorn faces looking out on seas
Of coming madness, from the stony gaps
Through which departed truth and bliss have fled;
But high communion, and a rapturous sense
Of passion's element, whereof all life
Is made; and therefore life should ne'er attain
A mastery o'er its pure creative light.

Midst chequered sunbeams through the glancing woods
No more Orion hunted; from the dawn
Till eve, within some lonely grot he sat,

His thoughts reviewing, or beneath a rock
Stood, back reclined, and watching the slow clouds,
As doth a shepherd in a vacant mood.
Oft to some highest peak would he ascend,
And gaze below upon his giant friends,
Who looked like moving spots,—so dark and small;
And oft, upon some green cliff ledge reclined,
Watch with sad eye the jocund chase afar
In the green landscape, where the quivering line
Led by the stag—who drew its rout behind
Of woodland shapes, confused as were their cries,
And sparkling bodies of fleet-chasing hounds,—
Passed like a magic picture, and was gone.
His husbandry soon ceased; he hated toil
Unvaried, ending always in itself,
And to the Goddess pleaded thoughtful hours
For his excuse, and indolent self-disgust.
Small profit found his thought; his sympathies
Were driven inward, and corroded there.

Sometimes he wandered to the lowland fens,
Where the wild mares toss their sharp manes i' the blast,

And scour through washy reeds and hollows damp—
Hardened in after-ages by long droughts—
And midst the elements he sought relief
From inward tempests. Once for many hours,
In silence, only broken from afar
By the deep lowing of some straying herd,
Moveless and without speech he watched a hind
Weeding a marsh; a brutish clod, half built,
Hog-faced and hog-backed with his daily toil,
Mudded and root-stained by the steaming ooze,
As he himself were some unnatural growth;
Who yet, at times, whistled through broken fangs—
‘Happier than I, this hind,’ Orion thought.

Once tow'rds the city outskirts strayed his steps,
With a half purpose some relief to seek
Midst haunts of men, and on the way he met
A mastic-sifter with his fresh-oiled face.
‘O friend,’ Orion said, ‘why dost thou walk
With shining cheek so sadly in the sun?’
Sighing, the melancholy man replied:—

‘The lentisk-trees have ceased to shed their gums;
Their tears are changed for mine, since by that tree
Myself and children live. My toil stands still.
Hard lot for man, who something hath within
More than a tree, and higher than its top,
Or circling clouds, to live by a mere root
And its dark graspings! Clearly I see this,
And know how 't is that toil unequally
Is shared on earth: but knowledge is not power
To a poor man alone 'gainst all the world,
Who, meantime, needs to eat. Like the hot springs
That boil themselves away, and serve for nought,
Which yet must have some office, rightly used,
Man hath a secret source, for some great end,
Which by delay seems wasted. Ignorance
Chokes us, and time outwits us.’—On he passed.
‘That soul hath greater cause for grief than I,’
Orion thought—yet not the less was sad.

Away disconsolate the giant went,
Now clambering forest slopes, now hurrying down
Precipitous brakes, tearing the berried boughs

For food, scarce tasted, and oft gathering husks,
Or wind-eggs of strange birds dropt in the fens,
To toss them in some rapid brook, and watch
Their wavering flight. But now a tingling sound
Wakes his dull ear!—a distant rising drone
Upon the air, as of a wintry wind—
And dry leaves rustle like a coming rain.
The wind is here; and, following soon, descends
A tempest, which relieves its rage in tears.
Kneeling he stooped, and drank the hissing flood,
And wished the Ogygian deluge were returned;
Then sat in very wilfulness beside
The banks while they o'erflowed, till starting up,
Bounding he sought his early giant friends.

Them, in their pastoral yet half-savage haunts
Found, as of yore, he with brief speech addressed,
And bade them to an orgie on the plain,
By rocks and forests amphitheatred.
Such greeting high they with a gleeful roar
Received, and forthwith rose to follow him,
Save Akinetos, who seemed not to hear,

But looked more grave still seated on a stone,
While they betook them to the plains below.

Thither at once they sped, and on the way
Rhexergon tore down boughs, while Harpax slew
Oxen and deer, more than was need; and soon
On the green space Orion built the pile
With cross logs, underwood, dry turf and ferns,
And cast upon it fat of kine, and heaps
Of crisp dry leaves; and fired the pile, and beat
A hollow shield, and called the Bacchic train,
Who brought their skins of wine, and loaded poles
That bent with mighty clusters of black grapes
Slung midway. In the blaze Orion threw
Choice gums and oils, that with explosion bright
Of broad and lucid flame alarmed the sky,
And fragrant spice, then set the Fauns to dance,
While whirled the timbrels, and the reed-pipes blew
A full-toned melody of mad delight.
Down came the Mænads from the sun-browned hills,
Down flocked the laughing Nymphs of groves and brooks;

With whom came Opis, singing to a lyre,
And Sida, ivory-limbed and crowned with flowers.
High swelled the orgie; and the roasting bulk
Of bull and deer was scarce distinguishable
'Mid the loud-crackling boughs that sprawled in flame.
Now richest odours rose, and filled the air—
Made glittering with the cymbals spun on high
Through jets of nectar upward cast in sport,
And raging with songs and laughter and wild cries!

In the first pause for breath and deeper draughts,
A Faun who on a quiet green knoll sat—
Somewhat apart—sang a melodious ode,
Made rich by harmonies of hidden strings,
Unto bright Meropé the island's pride,
And daughter of the king; whereto a quire
Gave chorus, and her loveliness rehearsing,
Wished that Orion shared with her the throne.

The wine ran wastefully, and o'er the ears
Of the tall jars that stood too near the fire,
Bubbled and leapt, and streamed in crimsoning foam,

Hot as the hissing sap of the green logs.
But none took heed of that, nor anything.
Thus song and feast, dance, and wild revelry,
Succeeded; now in turn, now all at once
Mingling tempestuously. In a blind whirl
Around the fire Biastor dragged a rout
In osier bands and garlands; Harpax fiercely
The violet scarfs and autumn-tinted robes
From Nymph and Mænad tore; and by the hoofs
Hormetes seized a Satyr, with intent,
Despite his writhing freaks and furious face,
To dash him on a gong, but that amidst
The struggling mass Encolyon thrust a pine,
Heavy and black as Charon's ferrying pole,
O'er which they, like a bursting billow, fell.

At length, when night came folding round the scene,
And golden lights grew red and terrible,
Flashed torch and spear, while reed-pipes deeper blew
Sonorous dirgings and melodious storm,
And timbrels groaned and jangled to the tones

Of high-sustaining horns,—then round the blaze,
Their shadows brandishing afar and athwart
Over the level space and up the hills,
Six Giants held portentous dance, nor ceased
Till one by one in bare Bacchante arms,
Brim-full of nectar, helplessly they rolled
Deep down oblivion. Sleep absorbed their souls.

Region of Dreams! ye seething procreant beds
For germs of life's solidities and power;
Whether ye render up from other spheres
Our past or future beings to the ken
Of this brief state; or, wiser, are designed,
With all your fleeting images confused,
To scatter, during half our mortal hours,
The concentrating passions and the thoughts
Which else were madness; O maternal realm,
Console each troubled heart!—with opiate hand
Gently the senses charm, and lead astray
The vulture thoughts by thy blest phantasies,
Beckoning with vague yet irresistible smile!

Sleep's God the prayer well pleased received, but said,
‘Not such the meed of those who seek my courts
Through Bacchanalian orgies.’ O'er the brain
Of fallen Orion visions suitable
Came with voluptuous gorgeousness, preceded
By a dim ode; and as it nearer swelled,
In rapturous beauty Meropé swept by,
Who on him gazed in ecstasy! He strove
To rise—to speak—in vain. Yet still she gazed,
And still he strove; till a voice cried in his ear,
‘Depart from Artemis!—she loves thee not—
Thou art too full of earth!’ He started awake!
The piercing voice that cast him forth, still rang
Within his soul; the vision of delight
Still ached along each nerve; and slowly turning
A look perplexed around the spectral air,
Himself he found alone 'neath the cold sky
Of day-break—midst black ashes and ruins drear.

END OF CANTO III.