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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ULYSSES IN THE ISLAND OF OGYGIA. |
 | Glimpses of Antiquity |  |
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ULYSSES IN THE ISLAND OF OGYGIA.
Ulysses.A thousand cities canopied by heaven
Hive in the hopes and fears of toil-worn souls;
Yet draws man wretched breath in one to match
My sorrow, mine endurance? I have warred
Nine lagging year-rounds at Old Priam's gates;
Fate in the tenth o'erthrew them, tho' a God
Had welded their Cyclopean masonwork.
Thence to the deeps we launch'd our homeward ships
Whose thirsty keels unwonted ocean tasted;
Intricate seas we helmed, but man by man
My comrades laps'd thro' folly from the light
Mostly, yet some of heavier fate dragged down;
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Foundered when Zeus' white lightning cleft our ship,
To rift her storm-strain'd timbers in mid seas,
And splinter mast and mainyard hundredfold.
I, sole survivor, billow-washed for days
Upon a plank of chance, at length with pain
Attain this isle-beach. Thrice-loved Ithaca!
Thy thought can make me weep—thy rugged shore
Outlined in hills more beautiful to me
Than this enchanted island, whose delights
Out-parallel description. I could wail
The dawn to dark remembering thee, and those
That loved me and are perished! yearning pain,
For fatherland and homestead eats my heart,
Refusing ruth or rest, and curds to gall
My small and honest joys; the salt of life
Drops savourless, as uninvited dreams
Usurp my fancy, brooding on past days,
And by comparison this present mar.
Have Gods assigned a never-ending pain,
That I abide reluctantly enslaved
By adamant Calypso? All day long
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Watching and watching every crested wave,
Mine eyes tear-heavy, desolate my heart.
And so life wanes—time changes—years, long years
Shall roll their course, and Ithaca become
A memory in forgetfulness. I trace
Nor term nor end to these unfruitful days,
My permanence of sorrow-bounded age!
[Exit.
[Hermes alights on the island.]
Hermes.
From skimming the green shallows I am lighted,
Like to the dusk sea-dripping cormorant;
For Zeus, who balances the scales of heaven
Destiny-poised with hair-adjusted beam,
Hath urged me down the bright crags of Olympus,
Since this Ulysses multiplied in cares
Hath touch'd the seldom grieving ear of Gods,
To whom I carry first-fruits of good days!
Calypso's prisoner lover. Yet methinks
This were a pleasant bondage, if delight
Of natural sense could mitigate from pain
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Amazed this isle's deliciousness, this cave
Worthy the Goddess. Tenderly young vines
Enlarge their hornèd tendrils, to the whisper
Of lulling bees and myriad-noted birds;
Here plash the summer's crystal rivulets,
Sun-thwarted into rainbow'd waterfalls;
Or rosied fountains drift from where beyond
The violet meadows deepen. Here the air
Stores heavy freight of kindling frankincense,
And odorous cedar. In her state the owl
Above the entrance perch'd enchanterwise,
Kites on the elms, or solemn ravens brood,
A quaint assemblage. But Calypso comes
From the recesses of her inmost bower,
And hitherward her grace-abounding limbs
Advance her nimbly.
[Enter Calypso.]
Calypso.
Wherefore art thou here,
O herald Hermes of the golden rod?
For seldom on our island have thy feet
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To set before thee hospitable fare,
Ambrosia, with red nectar; afterwards
Thou shalt declare thine errand, guess'd by fear
To bode me little pleasure!
Hermes.
Awful nymph!
I may not taste thy banquets till I tell
Unerringly the word of heaven's stern king!
Thou hast by thee a widely wandered man,
Heroic, patient, versed in many toils,
Whose much-endurance after ten years' fight
Hath pillaged Priam's city. 'Tis with him
Mine errand hath relation. I am come
No zealous messenger; else who would pass
Salt breadths of will and herbless continents,
Whence no fair savour from choice hecatomb
Delights immortal nostrils? Yet constrained
I come, constrained repeat—thus Zeus commands:—
“Forthwith dismiss Ulysses, 'tis not fate
For him in dalliance to consume his age
With thine embraces; rather shall he wend
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Forgetful of return, his home unseen.”
Calypso.
Jealous and most resentful are ye, Gods!
Merciless, iron-hearted, envying me
My scanty grain of pleasure. Mortal spouse
Ye will not tolerate. Orion died
Artemis-wounded for the fatal love
Of rosy-fingered morning: thy bright locks,
Demeter, thundered down the gleaming bolt
Upon thine earthly lover, where the fields,
Deep with their sacred furrow-gilding corn,
Gave tryst to secret love, and summer winds
Crisped tenderly around you, as all fear
Melted to ecstasy; but on it came,
Zeus' lightning, arrow-wise, and white past snow,
Scorched up his quivering heart! then not thy tears,
Earth-mother, touched one corner of his soul,
The Great All-tyrant! So with me it fares.
The restless waves threw out before my cave
This mortal drenched and drowned. I drew him forth
Beyond their hungry reach—with food and raiment
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My soul with benefits—and more than this,
Immortal years, unwitting of old age,
I would have guerdoned. Now Zeus bids him go;
And I, most deep in injuries, obey!
Hermes.
Look thou dismiss him speedily, or dread
The after-vengeance of exactful Zeus!
Now wend I towards Olympus.
[Hermes ascends. Re-enter Ulysses.]
Calypso.
Lament no more, Ulysses! pitying Gods
Have compassed thee return; thy wrestling prayers
Have worn consent from their out-wearied ears;
Wearied they mark the oceans of salt tears
That day by day thy peevish eyes distil,
With childlike whine for thy much boasted country,
Some nest of barren crags. Since thou must go—
Go, and be happy. I will teach thee skill
To frame a timber-raft, while hurtless gales
Dimple thy sails behind despatched by me!
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O Goddess! I mistrust, lest some great wrong,
Contrivance-woven for my patient soul,
Result in ruin rather than return!
These seas are terrible, most hard to pass,
For equal balanced ships: what madness then
Frail raftage trust, unless thou noddest faith,
Adding thereon some formidable oath,
Thou plottest me no mischief!
Calypso.
Thou art held
Of crafty mind, yet far thou errest here;
Lip-wisdom thine no deeper than a phrase!
Witness this overblue, this under earth,
E'en to her inmost roots, and Tartarus-gloom,
And ye, pale current-streams of baleful Styx,
I purpose now no evil. Syrups none
Of witchcraft, no, nor spells of chanted song,
Could win thy silly bent from silly love,
Besotted love of Ithaca! My breast
Pulses not steel, where throbs a tender heart,
And so thou shalt depart; yet couldst thou learn,
Unwisest hero! half the bitter teen
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Thou wouldst not slight my love, but stay with me,
And love would make us happy; sweet love dreams
In amorous fancy should beguile our days,
And we scarce heed their lapsing; and old age
Should never reach thee, but thou shouldst attain
The priceless gift of immortality,—
My gift, that love thee well,—and never more
Should there be question of Penelope,
Whom thou art ever babbling for. Perchance,
My goddess form lacks lustre in compare
With her wan earthly beauty! Are her locks
More bright than mine? or do I love thee less,
Ungrateful mortal, that thou wouldst begone?
Ulysses.
O Goddess, lull thine angry soul, secure
That by thy form ambrosial my poor wife,
Whose beauty time and trouble's fret must fade,
No longer in the summer of her days,
Wanes in comparison. Eternal youth
Is thine, nor blemish any, such as taints
Earth's daughters' comeliness. Yet mortal I
More fitly mate with mortal. For thy bounty
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Thou hast outpoured on one, tho' not unworthy,
Yet still who may not comprehend the gift,
Thro' imperfection of his mortal senses,
Beyond his poor deserving doubly rich.
Thus am I still most anxious of return,
Unbated yet my zeal importunate
Once more to watch the smoke-curl from my home
Wind up among the mountains. And if fate,
Ere I behold it, purpose yet for me
Many and bitter things in the dark main,
I murmur not! for I have suffered much
By wars and waters! and let these things more
Be counted towards the fulness of my woes,
For I shall bear them, as I bore the rest!
Calypso.
O, hardly moved and stubborn, thou shalt go!
Farewell I ask thee none; no thought of mine
Shall whisper thine ingratitude. Depart!
Why should I squander passion? Thy wan'd wife
Is worthy such as thou, who canst prefer
A barren home, a span of fevered days,
To spanless years and mine immortal love.
| Glimpses of Antiquity | |