Glimpses of Antiquity Being a collection of metrical sketches, in the form of ballads, lyrics, &c., with main reference to mediaeval times or classical subjects. By George F. Preston [i.e. J. B. L. Warren] |
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MEMNON. |
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 | Glimpses of Antiquity |  |
58
MEMNON.
Mother! I am pining for thy comfort:
Mother! long and dreary is thine absence.
Night the hateful lingers on in heaven.
Insupportable this treble darkness,
Tangible, and awful, horror-freighted!
Will not one smile of thy radiant coming,
Or the first flush of thy rosy presence,
Ever gladden more my wearied eyelids?
Mother! long and dreary is thine absence.
Night the hateful lingers on in heaven.
Insupportable this treble darkness,
Tangible, and awful, horror-freighted!
Will not one smile of thy radiant coming,
Or the first flush of thy rosy presence,
Ever gladden more my wearied eyelids?
Dark! how dark across the eastern desert,
Yet no tiny thread of light to cheer me,—
Red of morning none to streak the cloud-line!
Numb in crusted rock my drowsy nature,
Throbs more genial pulses at thine advent,
Rapturous expands in thrilling music!
Notes of praise melodious, love-enkindled,
Strains of thankfulness a heavenward incense,
As the lark bids greeting to the sunrise;
Or the vocal choristers of morning
Anthem out her praise in middle ether!
Wouldst thou only gleam, O lordly river,
But thy ripples move not in the moonbeam:
Day would flood with light thy silver courses;
Dawn would flicker haloes o'er thy waters,
Towards the fountains of thy folded rising,
Leagues away beyond the desert southwards;
Whence the hot breeze weeps above thy sedges,
By thy palm-rank'd, temple-clustered margin;
Where I once was king of Æthiopia,
Lord whilom supreme of swarthy nations,
Ebon-haired, and children of the marshes,
Dreadful archers, bronzed by neighbouring Phœbus.
These I led away to fated Ilium,
Fated for the wrong of graceful Paris.
There Achilles challenged forth and slew me,
For I scorned to meet the aged Nestor,
Frail avenger of his son I conquered,
Feeble to requite his darling's slaughter!
Either host looked on beside our conflict,—
All the plain was dense with crested warriors,
Morions waved, and flashed a myriad lances.
There I fell—and still I hear the clangour
Of the mighty armies round me falling,—
Hear that shout that swept across the waters,
Thunder-voiced upon a vaporous sea-shore,
Tossed athwart the bosom of the surges,
Echoed onwards till the gusty mountains—
Then a mist and darkness closed upon me,
And a blank o'ershadowed all my fancy.
Yet no tiny thread of light to cheer me,—
Red of morning none to streak the cloud-line!
Numb in crusted rock my drowsy nature,
Throbs more genial pulses at thine advent,
Rapturous expands in thrilling music!
Notes of praise melodious, love-enkindled,
Strains of thankfulness a heavenward incense,
59
Or the vocal choristers of morning
Anthem out her praise in middle ether!
Wouldst thou only gleam, O lordly river,
But thy ripples move not in the moonbeam:
Day would flood with light thy silver courses;
Dawn would flicker haloes o'er thy waters,
Towards the fountains of thy folded rising,
Leagues away beyond the desert southwards;
Whence the hot breeze weeps above thy sedges,
By thy palm-rank'd, temple-clustered margin;
Where I once was king of Æthiopia,
Lord whilom supreme of swarthy nations,
Ebon-haired, and children of the marshes,
Dreadful archers, bronzed by neighbouring Phœbus.
These I led away to fated Ilium,
Fated for the wrong of graceful Paris.
There Achilles challenged forth and slew me,
For I scorned to meet the aged Nestor,
Frail avenger of his son I conquered,
Feeble to requite his darling's slaughter!
60
All the plain was dense with crested warriors,
Morions waved, and flashed a myriad lances.
There I fell—and still I hear the clangour
Of the mighty armies round me falling,—
Hear that shout that swept across the waters,
Thunder-voiced upon a vaporous sea-shore,
Tossed athwart the bosom of the surges,
Echoed onwards till the gusty mountains—
Then a mist and darkness closed upon me,
And a blank o'ershadowed all my fancy.
Yet, dear mother, though thy tears availed not
With great Jove to render me immortal,
Thou a half existence still hast dowered me,
Still of outward nature some perception,
Better than the gloom of spectral Hades;
And though I may weary here expectant,
All these years of watching on the desert,
All these nights of solitude and darkness,—
Yet how blest a thrill when thou art near me
Stirs thy mortal son, worn down with ages,
Mother, blooming in eternal beauty!
Dear Aurora, with thine hours around thee
In thy coronal of early dewdrops,
Wafted on thy gloom-dividing chariot,
Hasten to thy child as lightnings hasten,
Scatter azure night, the cloud-enshrouded,
Press upon my brow one kiss of greeting.
With great Jove to render me immortal,
Thou a half existence still hast dowered me,
Still of outward nature some perception,
Better than the gloom of spectral Hades;
And though I may weary here expectant,
All these years of watching on the desert,
All these nights of solitude and darkness,—
Yet how blest a thrill when thou art near me
Stirs thy mortal son, worn down with ages,
61
Dear Aurora, with thine hours around thee
In thy coronal of early dewdrops,
Wafted on thy gloom-dividing chariot,
Hasten to thy child as lightnings hasten,
Scatter azure night, the cloud-enshrouded,
Press upon my brow one kiss of greeting.
| Glimpses of Antiquity | |