Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
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THE PRIZE OF SONG. |
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63
THE PRIZE OF SONG.
Challenged by the haughty daughters
Of the old Emathian king,
Strove the Muses at the waters
Of that Heliconian spring—
Proved beside those hallowed fountains
Unto whom the prize of song,
Unto whom those streams and mountains
Should of truest right belong.
Of the old Emathian king,
Strove the Muses at the waters
Of that Heliconian spring—
Proved beside those hallowed fountains
Unto whom the prize of song,
Unto whom those streams and mountains
Should of truest right belong.
First those others in vexed numbers
Mourned the rebel giant brood,
Whom the earth's huge mass encumbers,
Or who writhe, the vulture's food;
Mourned for earth-born power, which faileth
Heaven to win by might and main;
Then, thrust back, for ever waileth,
Gnawing its own heart in pain.
Mourned the rebel giant brood,
Whom the earth's huge mass encumbers,
Or who writhe, the vulture's food;
Mourned for earth-born power, which faileth
Heaven to win by might and main;
Then, thrust back, for ever waileth,
Gnawing its own heart in pain.
Nature shuddered while she hearkened,
Through her veins swift horror ran:
Sun and stars, perturbed and darkened,
To forsake their orbs began.
Back the rivers fled; the ocean
Howled upon a thousand shores,
As it would with wild commotion
Burst its everlasting doors.
Through her veins swift horror ran:
Sun and stars, perturbed and darkened,
To forsake their orbs began.
Back the rivers fled; the ocean
Howled upon a thousand shores,
As it would with wild commotion
Burst its everlasting doors.
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Hushed was not that stormy riot,
Till were heard the sacred Nine,
Singing of the blissful quiet
In the happy seats divine;
Singing of those thrones immortal,
Whither struggling men attain,
Passing humbly through the portal
Of obedience, toil and pain.
Till were heard the sacred Nine,
Singing of the blissful quiet
In the happy seats divine;
Singing of those thrones immortal,
Whither struggling men attain,
Passing humbly through the portal
Of obedience, toil and pain.
At that melody symphonious
Joy to Nature's heart was sent,
And the spheres, again harmonious,
Made sweet thunder as they went:
Lightly moved, with pleasure dancing,
Little hills and mountains high,
Helicon his head advancing,
Till it almost touched the sky.
Joy to Nature's heart was sent,
And the spheres, again harmonious,
Made sweet thunder as they went:
Lightly moved, with pleasure dancing,
Little hills and mountains high,
Helicon his head advancing,
Till it almost touched the sky.
—Thou whom once those Sisters holy
On thy lonely path have met,
And, thy front thou stooping lowly,
There their sacred laurel set,
Oh be thine, their mandate owning,
Aye with them to win the prize,
Reconciling and atoning
With thy magic harmonies:
On thy lonely path have met,
And, thy front thou stooping lowly,
There their sacred laurel set,
Oh be thine, their mandate owning,
Aye with them to win the prize,
Reconciling and atoning
With thy magic harmonies:
An Arion thou, whose singing
Rouses not a furious sea,
Rather the sea-monsters bringing
Servants to its melody;
An Amphion, not with passion
To set wild the builders' mind,
But the mystic walls to fashion,
And the stones in one to bind.
Rouses not a furious sea,
Rather the sea-monsters bringing
Servants to its melody;
An Amphion, not with passion
To set wild the builders' mind,
But the mystic walls to fashion,
And the stones in one to bind.
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