Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
 |
 |
The Avatar of Zeus.
|
|
 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
The Avatar of Zeus.
A King sat high on his ivory seat,
Girt with his sages and priests—each one;
Wrapped in his purple and gold he shone,
As the great sun shines when the day has begun.
His crown was crested with seven stars,
His sceptre blazed like a rod of fire,
In a flood of snow his grey beard fell:
“'T is Zeus,” they cried, “the round world's sire.”
Girt with his sages and priests—each one;
Wrapped in his purple and gold he shone,
As the great sun shines when the day has begun.
His crown was crested with seven stars,
His sceptre blazed like a rod of fire,
In a flood of snow his grey beard fell:
“'T is Zeus,” they cried, “the round world's sire.”
That moment, through the jostling crowd
Of kneeling suitors, a god-like man
Strode,—where he moved he clove a way,
“A shipwrecked stranger!” the murmur ran.
He kissed the cheek of the beggar child;
He halved his fruit with the leper brood;
He spurned the parasite's ready knee;
He frowned on the bad, and he smiled on the good.
Of kneeling suitors, a god-like man
Strode,—where he moved he clove a way,
“A shipwrecked stranger!” the murmur ran.
He kissed the cheek of the beggar child;
He halved his fruit with the leper brood;
He spurned the parasite's ready knee;
He frowned on the bad, and he smiled on the good.
Careless he passed through the royal gate,
Where the flute-players played their Lydian hymns.
He waited not where the Scythian slaves
Were oiling their scarred huge brawny limbs.
But he sought the green turf altar raised
To the Gods, in the pious days of old,
And he threw a garland upon the stone,
And knelt, with an offering of gold.
Where the flute-players played their Lydian hymns.
He waited not where the Scythian slaves
Were oiling their scarred huge brawny limbs.
But he sought the green turf altar raised
To the Gods, in the pious days of old,
And he threw a garland upon the stone,
And knelt, with an offering of gold.
Then the king arose in his rage and wrath,
And tore his robe, and stamped, and cried,
“Ho! spearmen! seize this wandering man;
Is our royal throne to be thus defied?—
Shall all Greece kneel to the Basileus,
And not this poor barbarian slave?—
Ho! there, bring cords and rods to chide
This impious rogue, this cheat, this knave!”
And tore his robe, and stamped, and cried,
“Ho! spearmen! seize this wandering man;
Is our royal throne to be thus defied?—
Shall all Greece kneel to the Basileus,
And not this poor barbarian slave?—
Ho! there, bring cords and rods to chide
This impious rogue, this cheat, this knave!”
That moment shuddering thunders broke
From out the old Rhodopian Hills:
Blood-colour turned th' eclipsing sun,
With blood flowed down the mountain rills.
Dread voices came from earth and sea,
The strong oaks groaned from east to west.
All knelt but one;—there shone a light!
“The God! the God!” he stood confessed.
From out the old Rhodopian Hills:
Blood-colour turned th' eclipsing sun,
With blood flowed down the mountain rills.
Dread voices came from earth and sea,
The strong oaks groaned from east to west.
All knelt but one;—there shone a light!
“The God! the God!” he stood confessed.
110
Then the king arose and broke his staff,
Threw his gold crown on the gateway sand,
Tore fierce his purple, rent in twain
His royal robe, and raised his hand.
“Behold!” he cried, “great Zeus hath come!
Lead him, ye slaves, to my ivory throne;
Dropped from the clouds, or cast by the wave,
He hath come but to claim what is his own.”
Threw his gold crown on the gateway sand,
Tore fierce his purple, rent in twain
His royal robe, and raised his hand.
“Behold!” he cried, “great Zeus hath come!
Lead him, ye slaves, to my ivory throne;
Dropped from the clouds, or cast by the wave,
He hath come but to claim what is his own.”
But the God had passed: they sought him not,
For the crowd soon turned to its foolish mirth.
They said that it was but a dream—a trick—
A vision-witch sent to vex the earth,—
So that the king's pride grew to still greater pitch,
And his crimes increased, till a stripling lad
Smote him one day as he sat on his throne;
Then Thrace was freed, and Greece was glad.
For the crowd soon turned to its foolish mirth.
They said that it was but a dream—a trick—
A vision-witch sent to vex the earth,—
So that the king's pride grew to still greater pitch,
And his crimes increased, till a stripling lad
Smote him one day as he sat on his throne;
Then Thrace was freed, and Greece was glad.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |