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DEMODOCOS.
τον περι Μουσ' εφιλησε, διδου δ' αγαθον τε κακον τε:
οφθαλμων μεν αμερσε, διδου δ' ηδειαν αοιδην.
“Him the Muse greatly loved, and gave to him
Both good and evil, of his eyes bereaved,
And gave him sweetest song.”
οφθαλμων μεν αμερσε, διδου δ' ηδειαν αοιδην.
“Him the Muse greatly loved, and gave to him
Both good and evil, of his eyes bereaved,
And gave him sweetest song.”
I.
Not in thy wrath, O Goddess, not in wrath,
Thy hand was on me laid,
That thus I tread my dark and lonely path,
In ever deepening shade;
Thy hand was on me laid,
That thus I tread my dark and lonely path,
In ever deepening shade;
Time was I revelled, in my youth's full glee,
In dances all the night;
And when the dawn was on the eastern sea,
Climbed up the mountain height.
In dances all the night;
And when the dawn was on the eastern sea,
Climbed up the mountain height.
The robber wolf we chased with hound and spear,
Or, on the hill-side's slope,
Caught in our toils the stately antlered deer,
Or bright-eyed antelope:
Or, on the hill-side's slope,
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Or bright-eyed antelope:
Across the bays I steered my dancing boat,
Among the purple isles,
Where far and wide the sparkling waters float
In twice ten thousand smiles;
Among the purple isles,
Where far and wide the sparkling waters float
In twice ten thousand smiles;
And when the grapes hung purple on the vine,
I joined the vintage train;
Or went with reapers, from Demêter's shrine,
To store the golden grain:
I joined the vintage train;
Or went with reapers, from Demêter's shrine,
To store the golden grain:
And, hot and panting when the work was done,
Plunged in the cool, dark stream;
And, where the plane-tree tempers summer's sun,
Lay down to doze and dream.
Plunged in the cool, dark stream;
And, where the plane-tree tempers summer's sun,
Lay down to doze and dream.
And one there was, the partner of my life,
The idol of my heart,
Who, bearing now the nobler name of wife,
Is mine till death shall part:
The idol of my heart,
Who, bearing now the nobler name of wife,
Is mine till death shall part:
With ardent gaze we read each other's eyes,
And scanned the secret deep,
Where in each soul the hidden fountain lies
Of love that cannot sleep.
And scanned the secret deep,
Where in each soul the hidden fountain lies
Of love that cannot sleep.
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And oh! my children's faces, they were dear,
The wistful eye's delight;
Or beaming gladly, or with childhood's tear,
Yet still abiding bright;—
The wistful eye's delight;
Or beaming gladly, or with childhood's tear,
Yet still abiding bright;—
All this I knew; all this is vanished now,
I see no more the day;
The Gods have done it, and I needs must bow:
They gave; They take away.
I see no more the day;
The Gods have done it, and I needs must bow:
They gave; They take away.
II.
That loss was great. I could not hide
The bitter pang it brought at first,
The strange new forms of life untried,
The fear that bad might pass to worst;
The bitter pang it brought at first,
The strange new forms of life untried,
The fear that bad might pass to worst;
To grope my way in midnight gloom,
To need the touch of guiding hand:—
I fain had rested in the tomb,
And seen the glass run out its sand.
To need the touch of guiding hand:—
I fain had rested in the tomb,
And seen the glass run out its sand.
And yet the days that came and went,
Brought airs of balm with power to heal;
And lo! I read the pure intent
That smote me, but to make me feel
Brought airs of balm with power to heal;
And lo! I read the pure intent
That smote me, but to make me feel
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How nobler far the light that streams
Within, upon the yearning soul,
Than aught I saw in brightest gleams
Of stars that circle round the pole.
Within, upon the yearning soul,
Than aught I saw in brightest gleams
Of stars that circle round the pole.
Then all the ceaseless tide of sense
Flowed on in one o'ermastering flood;
I could not search or scan, and hence
I took the evil with the good:
Flowed on in one o'ermastering flood;
I could not search or scan, and hence
I took the evil with the good:
The pulse of joy in all my veins
Ran riot, but the soul was dumb;
I counted not or loss or gains,
I let the moments go and come;
Ran riot, but the soul was dumb;
I counted not or loss or gains,
I let the moments go and come;
The bursting fulness of delight
Left room for neither words nor song,
And summer's day and winter's night,
Like one broad river, flowed along.
Left room for neither words nor song,
And summer's day and winter's night,
Like one broad river, flowed along.
I lived my life, and yet I lacked
The power to look behind the veil,
The vision of the central fact
Which lasts when all besides shall fail.
The power to look behind the veil,
The vision of the central fact
Which lasts when all besides shall fail.
Was this true life, which did not know
The meaning of its grief or joy?
Where then were all the thoughts that grow,
And make the man surpass the boy?
The meaning of its grief or joy?
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And make the man surpass the boy?
III.
But now Thy hand, dear Muse, hath swept the strings,
And drawn forth notes of wondrous melody;
And, like the bird that through the dark night sings,
My soul in darkness yields itself to Thee.
And drawn forth notes of wondrous melody;
And, like the bird that through the dark night sings,
My soul in darkness yields itself to Thee.
The visions of old days are with me still,
The golden sunsets, and the purple isles,
The clear, brown sparkling of the mountain rill,
Fair face, bright eyes, sweet flowers, and children's smiles;
The golden sunsets, and the purple isles,
The clear, brown sparkling of the mountain rill,
Fair face, bright eyes, sweet flowers, and children's smiles;
And lo! from out the story of the past,
The forms of heroes throng in dread array,
The ancient rivers sweeping strong and fast,
The tower-crowned cities that have had their day;
The forms of heroes throng in dread array,
The ancient rivers sweeping strong and fast,
The tower-crowned cities that have had their day;
Through gates of Thebes, 'mid clouds of glittering dust,
Lo! the proud chariots and the horsemen pass;
And Troy, though buried in the graves of lust,
Still rears on high her battlements of brass;
Lo! the proud chariots and the horsemen pass;
And Troy, though buried in the graves of lust,
Still rears on high her battlements of brass;
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Achilles sits upon the lonely shore,
And Hector's helmet flashes in the sun,
And Argive Helen, fairer than before,
Warms the cold hearts whose race is all but run;
And Hector's helmet flashes in the sun,
And Argive Helen, fairer than before,
Warms the cold hearts whose race is all but run;
Gray Nestor drops his honeyed words and wise,
And young Patroclos falls before his prime,
And calm Andromache, with steadfast eyes,
Loves with a love that faileth not with time:
And young Patroclos falls before his prime,
And calm Andromache, with steadfast eyes,
Loves with a love that faileth not with time:
I see them all by fair Scamandros' stream,
Fighting and feasting, toiling, taking rest;
The pageant flits before me as a dream;
And yet it makes my life. What is, is best:
Fighting and feasting, toiling, taking rest;
The pageant flits before me as a dream;
And yet it makes my life. What is, is best:
I would not change the world where now I live,
In which I dwell as Maker, Lord, and King,
For all that youth, power, beauty, sight could give,
Man's wisdom, lion's strength, or eagle's wing.
In which I dwell as Maker, Lord, and King,
For all that youth, power, beauty, sight could give,
Man's wisdom, lion's strength, or eagle's wing.
Thou, Muse, art kind, and gentle is Thy smile,
Thy music charms the wayward heart's mistrust;
I will not doubt it, but will wait awhile,
Till all is ended. Lo! the Gods are just.
Thy music charms the wayward heart's mistrust;
I will not doubt it, but will wait awhile,
Till all is ended. Lo! the Gods are just.
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IV.
Yes, I must wait. The veil
Of mist and cloud surrounds the distant land;
The poets tell their tale,
And yet the darkness lies on either hand;
Of mist and cloud surrounds the distant land;
The poets tell their tale,
And yet the darkness lies on either hand;
I fain would upward rise,
And see the Gods on each Olympian hill,
Where throned above the skies,
The glory of their presence lingereth still;
And see the Gods on each Olympian hill,
Where throned above the skies,
The glory of their presence lingereth still;
Where Zeus, the Thunderer, reigns,
And king Apollo walks, in light arrayed;
Or, darting o'er the plains,
Swift Hermes glides through many a moss-grown glade.
And king Apollo walks, in light arrayed;
Or, darting o'er the plains,
Swift Hermes glides through many a moss-grown glade.
But ah! the eyes are dim,
The feet are weak that fain would upward move;
I cannot speak of Him,
Whom yet I faintly feel, and feebly love.
The feet are weak that fain would upward move;
I cannot speak of Him,
Whom yet I faintly feel, and feebly love.
Those tales of ancient days
That charmed my youth, I sing them o'er and o'er;
Men love to hear my lays,
And so the story waxes evermore.
That charmed my youth, I sing them o'er and o'er;
Men love to hear my lays,
And so the story waxes evermore.
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But lo! from first to last,
The heart yet feels the void that nought can fill;
Through all that fabled past,
No fountain flows our burning thirst to still;
The heart yet feels the void that nought can fill;
Through all that fabled past,
No fountain flows our burning thirst to still;
The Gods in all their might
Are feebler far than heroes we have known;
No glory infinite,
Surrounds their brow, or hovers o'er their throne:
Are feebler far than heroes we have known;
No glory infinite,
Surrounds their brow, or hovers o'er their throne:
But still in hot debate,
They strive and wrangle like the sons of men;
And jealousy and hate
Turn high Olympos to a robber's den.
They strive and wrangle like the sons of men;
And jealousy and hate
Turn high Olympos to a robber's den.
I sing of Hera's ire,
And tell the tale of Aphrodite's sin,
Prometheus' stolen fire,
The Titans' struggle, thrones in Heaven to win.
And tell the tale of Aphrodite's sin,
Prometheus' stolen fire,
The Titans' struggle, thrones in Heaven to win.
They still will have it so,
These good Phæacians, when the mirth is free;
And yet too well I know
All these my songs, O God, unworthy Thee.
These good Phæacians, when the mirth is free;
And yet too well I know
All these my songs, O God, unworthy Thee.
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V.
I feel the void, and yet the days are sweet,
And sunny is the evening of my life;
The months glide on, and never voice of strife
Mars the soft music where the waters meet:
And sunny is the evening of my life;
The months glide on, and never voice of strife
Mars the soft music where the waters meet:
They lead me through each dell and flowery glade,
Where great Alcinoös spreads his garden fair;
And there I breathe the cool and balmy air,
And odorous shrubs give perfume in the shade;
Where great Alcinoös spreads his garden fair;
And there I breathe the cool and balmy air,
And odorous shrubs give perfume in the shade;
Or, when the sun falls hot upon my head,
These sightless eyeballs feel the touch of light,
A crimson dawn breaks in upon the night,
And speaks of life uprising from the dead.
These sightless eyeballs feel the touch of light,
A crimson dawn breaks in upon the night,
And speaks of life uprising from the dead.
My children's children clasp my knees, and I,
Pass lightest fingers o'er each fair, young face,
And all but see the beauty and the grace
That glows through brow, fair cheek, and beaming eye;
Pass lightest fingers o'er each fair, young face,
And all but see the beauty and the grace
That glows through brow, fair cheek, and beaming eye;
And where in groves the sculptured Goddess stands,
In cool, smooth marble in her leafy shrine,
Round each fair limb my garlands I entwine,
And own her beauty with adoring hands.
In cool, smooth marble in her leafy shrine,
Round each fair limb my garlands I entwine,
And own her beauty with adoring hands.
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And when at eve the king and princes meet,
And in his palace hold high festival,
To strike the harp that guides the dancers' feet
For me, for me, the blind old man, they call.
And in his palace hold high festival,
To strike the harp that guides the dancers' feet
For me, for me, the blind old man, they call.
They give me wine from out the cups of gold,
And through my veins the warmer pulses steal;
The Muses then their hidden might reveal,
And bring once more the scenes and days of old.
And through my veins the warmer pulses steal;
The Muses then their hidden might reveal,
And bring once more the scenes and days of old.
Admiring murmurs pass from guest to guest,
And, when I cease, burst out in loud acclaim;
They crown my brows with laurel, and my name
They rank among their noblest and their best.
And, when I cease, burst out in loud acclaim;
They crown my brows with laurel, and my name
They rank among their noblest and their best.
And once there came a stranger to our shores,
Who many seas and many lands had crossed,
And now, a wanderer, lonely, tempest-tossed,
Sat listening to the songs and deeds of yore;
Who many seas and many lands had crossed,
And now, a wanderer, lonely, tempest-tossed,
Sat listening to the songs and deeds of yore;
Though bold and strong was he, unused to weep,
Yet did my song of joys, and hopes, and fears
That once were his, move all his soul to tears;
My voice broke up the fountains of the deep:
Yet did my song of joys, and hopes, and fears
That once were his, move all his soul to tears;
My voice broke up the fountains of the deep:
For he had fought at Troy, had known them all,
Achilles, Aias, Hector, and the rest
Who wander now, in isles of amaranth blest;
His eyes beheld their greatness and their fall;
Achilles, Aias, Hector, and the rest
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His eyes beheld their greatness and their fall;
Oh! noblest height of all a minstrel's prayer,
When hearts of heroes own the mighty spell,
And through their soul the tides of passion swell,
And their lips echo each melodious air.
When hearts of heroes own the mighty spell,
And through their soul the tides of passion swell,
And their lips echo each melodious air.
He heeds not then the praise or blame of kings;
Blindness, and grief, and age are nought to him;
Though strength be feeble, and though eyes be dim,
He soars on high, before the Gods he sings.
Blindness, and grief, and age are nought to him;
Though strength be feeble, and though eyes be dim,
He soars on high, before the Gods he sings.
They hear his voice, and They approve his song,
They shed their glory on his lonely path;
No, Muse, Thou did'st not smite me in thy wrath,
Thy love has watched and guided all along.
They shed their glory on his lonely path;
No, Muse, Thou did'st not smite me in thy wrath,
Thy love has watched and guided all along.
My harp's last notes shall echo to Thy praise;
My heart's last thoughts shall be of thanks and joy;
The blind old man is happier than the boy,
And truth and mercy follow all my days.
My heart's last thoughts shall be of thanks and joy;
The blind old man is happier than the boy,
And truth and mercy follow all my days.
April 1865.
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