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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PARIS AND HELEN AT SPARTA. |
 | Glimpses of Antiquity |  |
118
PARIS AND HELEN AT SPARTA.
A CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.- Paris
- —Helen.
Come into broad moonshine,
Gaze up thro' the pine-roof,
The peaks of the valleys
Are belted with silver,
And nature lies hushed
In her longing eternal!
O, come where the soft eyes
Of first love are waiting:
O, come where the wood leaves,
The myrtles are deepest.
The rose-bloom falls soft,
And the heart of the virgin
In timid desire
Beats love thro' her innermost
Pulses, yet hardly
Can guess what it means!
Gaze up thro' the pine-roof,
The peaks of the valleys
Are belted with silver,
And nature lies hushed
In her longing eternal!
O, come where the soft eyes
Of first love are waiting:
O, come where the wood leaves,
The myrtles are deepest.
The rose-bloom falls soft,
And the heart of the virgin
In timid desire
Beats love thro' her innermost
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Can guess what it means!
In this enchantment
That thrills to my heart-core?
Music of many harps,
Trills as of summer bees:
Ecstasy, whirring wings,
Like as the starling cloud
Darkens the sun-gold.
With a rush—with a whirl,
Spirits of middle air
Hover and glancingly
Flicker and rise:
Some they have belted them
Mantles of rainbow;
Some they have taken them
Circlet or crown.
Myriad crested ones
Bending the summer air.
Myriad noiseless shapes
Threading the orient cloud.
Numberless rudder-led
Ships on the waves,
Galleons, argosies,
Freighted with jewels;
Seraphs shall helm them to haven—
Dreams of the ruddy East,
Flooded with fiercer suns,
Dreams of the exquisite
Mellowing twilights, more exquisite dawns—
Visions of mighty hoards,
Diamond, amber, pearl,
Ingots of red gold,
Piled up at the earth-roots,
And striving to burst thro'
The caves of their bondage.
That thrills to my heart-core?
Music of many harps,
Trills as of summer bees:
Ecstasy, whirring wings,
Like as the starling cloud
Darkens the sun-gold.
With a rush—with a whirl,
Spirits of middle air
Hover and glancingly
Flicker and rise:
Some they have belted them
Mantles of rainbow;
Some they have taken them
Circlet or crown.
Myriad crested ones
Bending the summer air.
Myriad noiseless shapes
Threading the orient cloud.
Numberless rudder-led
120
Galleons, argosies,
Freighted with jewels;
Seraphs shall helm them to haven—
Dreams of the ruddy East,
Flooded with fiercer suns,
Dreams of the exquisite
Mellowing twilights, more exquisite dawns—
Visions of mighty hoards,
Diamond, amber, pearl,
Ingots of red gold,
Piled up at the earth-roots,
And striving to burst thro'
The caves of their bondage.
Lo! serpents are writhing
With sapphire-set eyes,
From yonder blue forests
And round the great oak boles
They coil and they vibrate,
And, raising their lithe heads
O'er uppermost branches,
Glare over the main.
The wave-birds are floating,
And call to each other—
“The silver is restless
To-night on the sea.”
But answers a seraph
With star-burnished wings,
Hovering gaudy as
Rosy-blue butterfly
Over the violets
Blossoming faintly—
“O ocean to-night
Is as lucid and tender
As eyes of the loved one!
Ye spirits of exquisite
Vision look down;
Perchance ye shall see them
Peer up thro' the clear waves
So deep blue and tearful,
The eyes most bewitching,
Of sad Amphitritè
Awaiting Poseidon.”
[The Chorus grows faint.
With sapphire-set eyes,
From yonder blue forests
And round the great oak boles
They coil and they vibrate,
And, raising their lithe heads
O'er uppermost branches,
Glare over the main.
121
And call to each other—
“The silver is restless
To-night on the sea.”
But answers a seraph
With star-burnished wings,
Hovering gaudy as
Rosy-blue butterfly
Over the violets
Blossoming faintly—
“O ocean to-night
Is as lucid and tender
As eyes of the loved one!
Ye spirits of exquisite
Vision look down;
Perchance ye shall see them
Peer up thro' the clear waves
So deep blue and tearful,
The eyes most bewitching,
Of sad Amphitritè
Awaiting Poseidon.”
122
Methought I heard a thousand tiny harps,
Attuned by spirits, and their gauzy wings
Filled all the air with motion: in my dreams
They sang me songs of ecstasy, and beckoned
On towards some rich Elysium. Didst thou hear them?
Helen.
Dearest, the palace slumbers. All the waves
Of old Eurotas rippling speak of rest.
The flowers bend over where he runs along
Sleep-heavy, perhaps they dream his waves are bringing
Some one to love them. In yon heaven one star
Shines out above the town—a pitying spirit,
That would shed love on those who find it not—
Love! love! is all around us, the still air
We breathe, the utterance of half-stifled sighs,
The mighty sympathy of mere existence,
Hand circling hand, and heart-beat answering heart.
Hush! is that murmur from the southern sea?
It scarce would reach us on the calmest night.
123
How moans the ocean over which it past!
Paris.
Why art thou melancholy, oh, my darling?
Gleams from the morning land are shedding now,
Wave upon wave, and Phosphor's wakeful sphere
Reddens or pales, as thro' our inmost souls
Thrills on the mighty consciousness of love,
The flood or ebb of exquisite despair!
Time and ambition seem as empty fancies,
The perfect present is absorbing all.
Will not one breath, one little breath of morning,
Touch thy pale cheek, and kindle it to glow?
Gaze out into the violet vaulted dark,
Half night, and chide the coming of the day;
Ah no! The lover asks no rising sun,
Shrouded in scented darkness near his love,
Encircled closely as the atmosphere
About the radiance of his own dear star!
Helen.
O brighter than all gold of earthly mine,
Apollo rises—how the graceful hours
124
Rolls backward on the upland—mist and cloud
Linger in vain with sullen slow retreat.
Could limner's art eternalize the glory
Of yonder sunrise? Radiant, awful king,
Hyperion! Thou, god of rich morning-tide,
Steepest our souls with unimagined longings
To leave us fainting in a flood of glory.
Paris.
I revel in a garden deep with roses,
I float upon a tide of quivering silver;
I could outpierce the infinite vault of Heaven
Beyond the crested lark, or take me wings
To catch the sunrise. Nature, art, or mind
Hath nought impossible to perfect love.
My love is perfect when I gaze on thee;
Thy little arms are open, and they beckon
With tender supplication to thy breast.
Helen.
Love at its birth is thornless, like the rose;
But envious briers entrench her perfect bloom.
125
That menaced not its budding. Or shall we
Escape, I doubt not, more than other souls
Out mulct of evil days?
Paris.
Forecast them not.
Let us at least be merry till they come.
And should suspicion sullen-fronted loom,
My fleet shall steer to yonder rising day—
To snatch thee from the chill and envious grasp,
Triumphant, making unity secure,—
With sea-room for the universe besides,—
Whence we could fling defiance at the world
If Greece entire sailed after.
Helen.
Grant it gained,
I tremble, womanlike, to think this done,
Altho' my prayers desire it: for my name
Shall grow into a byword, and my story
Pass current warning to each giddy maid
Flouting advice, and brainless save conceit,
Grown restive from the mother's timely curb.
126
My former suitors, shall in great disdain
Cry shame upon me. What an army weight
Of reasons to press down high duty's beam!
And in the other balance nought, save love!
Paris.
You cheat yourself in multiplying dread
Of this imagined sequel. Public voice
Is lenient to great beauty; were the case
Not far too common for censorious tongues
To act the bellman of a husband's wrong,
While flush of prey more tainted. Very soon
The widening circles vanish into nought,
And all will be forgot; but we shall not
Forget our love, enjoying perfect days,
And in the sympathy of kindred souls
Pass calmly onwards to our after rest.
For Aphroditè pledged thee as my bride;
And think'st thou yon blest Gods would sanction wrong,
Except for some great purpose that shall make
The wrong one drop upon a sea of good?
| Glimpses of Antiquity | |