I.The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eyeOn the great man of Athens, whom for foeHe knew, than on the sycophantic fryThat broke as waters round a galley's flow,Bubbles at prow and foam along the wake.Solidity the Thunderer could not shake,Beneath an adverse wind still stripping bare,His kinsman, of the light-in-cavern look,From thought drew, and a countenance could wearNot less at peace than fields in Attic airShorn, and shown fruitful by the reaper's hook.II.Most enviable so; yet much insaneTo deem of minds of men they grow! these sheep,By fits wild horses, need the crook and rein;Hot bulls by fits, pure wisdom hold they cheap,My Lawgiver, when fiery is the mood.For ones and twos and threes thy words are good;For thine own government are pillars: mineStand acts to fit the herd; which has quick thirst,Rejecting elegiacs, though they shineOn polished brass, and, worthy of the Nine,In showering columns from their fountain burst.III.Thus museful rode the Tyrant, princely plumed,To his high seat upon the sacred rock:And Solon, blank beside his rule, resumedThe meditation which that passing mockHad buffeted awhile to sallowness.He little loved the man, his office less,Yet owned him for a flower of his kind.Therefore the heavier curse on Athens he!The people grew not in themselves, but blind,Accepted sight from him, to him resignedTheir hopes of stature, rootless as at sea.IV.As under sea lay Solon's work, or seemedBy turbid shore-waves beaten day by day;Defaced, half formless, like an image dreamed,Or child that fashioned in another clayAppears, by strangers' hands to home returned.But shall the Present tyrannize us? earnedIt was in some way, justly says the sage.One sees not how, while husbanding regrets;While tossing scorn abroad from righteous rage,High vision is obscured; for this is ageWhen robbed—more infant than the babe it frets.V.Yet see Athenians treading the black pathLaid by a prince's shadow! well contentTo wait his pleasure, shivering at his wrath:They bow to their accepted OrientWith offer of the all that renders bright:Forgetful of the growth of men to light,As creatures reared on Persian milk they bow.Unripe! unripe! The times are overcast.But still may they who sowed behind the ploughTrue seed fix in the mind an unborn NowTo make the plagues afflicting us things past.
I.The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eyeOn the great man of Athens, whom for foeHe knew, than on the sycophantic fryThat broke as waters round a galley's flow,Bubbles at prow and foam along the wake.Solidity the Thunderer could not shake,Beneath an adverse wind still stripping bare,His kinsman, of the light-in-cavern look,From thought drew, and a countenance could wearNot less at peace than fields in Attic airShorn, and shown fruitful by the reaper's hook.II.Most enviable so; yet much insaneTo deem of minds of men they grow! these sheep,By fits wild horses, need the crook and rein;Hot bulls by fits, pure wisdom hold they cheap,My Lawgiver, when fiery is the mood.For ones and twos and threes thy words are good;For thine own government are pillars: mineStand acts to fit the herd; which has quick thirst,Rejecting elegiacs, though they shineOn polished brass, and, worthy of the Nine,In showering columns from their fountain burst.III.Thus museful rode the Tyrant, princely plumed,To his high seat upon the sacred rock:And Solon, blank beside his rule, resumedThe meditation which that passing mockHad buffeted awhile to sallowness.He little loved the man, his office less,Yet owned him for a flower of his kind.Therefore the heavier curse on Athens he!The people grew not in themselves, but blind,Accepted sight from him, to him resignedTheir hopes of stature, rootless as at sea.IV.As under sea lay Solon's work, or seemedBy turbid shore-waves beaten day by day;Defaced, half formless, like an image dreamed,Or child that fashioned in another clayAppears, by strangers' hands to home returned.But shall the Present tyrannize us? earnedIt was in some way, justly says the sage.One sees not how, while husbanding regrets;While tossing scorn abroad from righteous rage,High vision is obscured; for this is ageWhen robbed—more infant than the babe it frets.V.Yet see Athenians treading the black pathLaid by a prince's shadow! well contentTo wait his pleasure, shivering at his wrath:They bow to their accepted OrientWith offer of the all that renders bright:Forgetful of the growth of men to light,As creatures reared on Persian milk they bow.Unripe! unripe! The times are overcast.But still may they who sowed behind the ploughTrue seed fix in the mind an unborn NowTo make the plagues afflicting us things past.
I.
I.
The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eyeOn the great man of Athens, whom for foeHe knew, than on the sycophantic fryThat broke as waters round a galley's flow,Bubbles at prow and foam along the wake.Solidity the Thunderer could not shake,Beneath an adverse wind still stripping bare,His kinsman, of the light-in-cavern look,From thought drew, and a countenance could wearNot less at peace than fields in Attic airShorn, and shown fruitful by the reaper's hook.
The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eye
On the great man of Athens, whom for foe
He knew, than on the sycophantic fry
That broke as waters round a galley's flow,
Bubbles at prow and foam along the wake.
Solidity the Thunderer could not shake,
Beneath an adverse wind still stripping bare,
His kinsman, of the light-in-cavern look,
From thought drew, and a countenance could wear
Not less at peace than fields in Attic air
Shorn, and shown fruitful by the reaper's hook.
II.
II.
Most enviable so; yet much insaneTo deem of minds of men they grow! these sheep,By fits wild horses, need the crook and rein;Hot bulls by fits, pure wisdom hold they cheap,My Lawgiver, when fiery is the mood.For ones and twos and threes thy words are good;For thine own government are pillars: mineStand acts to fit the herd; which has quick thirst,Rejecting elegiacs, though they shineOn polished brass, and, worthy of the Nine,In showering columns from their fountain burst.
Most enviable so; yet much insane
To deem of minds of men they grow! these sheep,
By fits wild horses, need the crook and rein;
Hot bulls by fits, pure wisdom hold they cheap,
My Lawgiver, when fiery is the mood.
For ones and twos and threes thy words are good;
For thine own government are pillars: mine
Stand acts to fit the herd; which has quick thirst,
Rejecting elegiacs, though they shine
On polished brass, and, worthy of the Nine,
In showering columns from their fountain burst.
III.
III.
Thus museful rode the Tyrant, princely plumed,To his high seat upon the sacred rock:And Solon, blank beside his rule, resumedThe meditation which that passing mockHad buffeted awhile to sallowness.He little loved the man, his office less,Yet owned him for a flower of his kind.Therefore the heavier curse on Athens he!The people grew not in themselves, but blind,Accepted sight from him, to him resignedTheir hopes of stature, rootless as at sea.
Thus museful rode the Tyrant, princely plumed,
To his high seat upon the sacred rock:
And Solon, blank beside his rule, resumed
The meditation which that passing mock
Had buffeted awhile to sallowness.
He little loved the man, his office less,
Yet owned him for a flower of his kind.
Therefore the heavier curse on Athens he!
The people grew not in themselves, but blind,
Accepted sight from him, to him resigned
Their hopes of stature, rootless as at sea.
IV.
IV.
As under sea lay Solon's work, or seemedBy turbid shore-waves beaten day by day;Defaced, half formless, like an image dreamed,Or child that fashioned in another clayAppears, by strangers' hands to home returned.But shall the Present tyrannize us? earnedIt was in some way, justly says the sage.One sees not how, while husbanding regrets;While tossing scorn abroad from righteous rage,High vision is obscured; for this is ageWhen robbed—more infant than the babe it frets.
As under sea lay Solon's work, or seemed
By turbid shore-waves beaten day by day;
Defaced, half formless, like an image dreamed,
Or child that fashioned in another clay
Appears, by strangers' hands to home returned.
But shall the Present tyrannize us? earned
It was in some way, justly says the sage.
One sees not how, while husbanding regrets;
While tossing scorn abroad from righteous rage,
High vision is obscured; for this is age
When robbed—more infant than the babe it frets.
V.
V.
Yet see Athenians treading the black pathLaid by a prince's shadow! well contentTo wait his pleasure, shivering at his wrath:They bow to their accepted OrientWith offer of the all that renders bright:Forgetful of the growth of men to light,As creatures reared on Persian milk they bow.Unripe! unripe! The times are overcast.But still may they who sowed behind the ploughTrue seed fix in the mind an unborn NowTo make the plagues afflicting us things past.
Yet see Athenians treading the black path
Laid by a prince's shadow! well content
To wait his pleasure, shivering at his wrath:
They bow to their accepted Orient
With offer of the all that renders bright:
Forgetful of the growth of men to light,
As creatures reared on Persian milk they bow.
Unripe! unripe! The times are overcast.
But still may they who sowed behind the plough
True seed fix in the mind an unborn Now
To make the plagues afflicting us things past.
I.Maimed, beggared, grey; seeking an alms; with nodOf palsy doing task of thanks for bread;Upon the stature of a God,He whom the Gods have struck bends low his head.II.Weak words he has, that slip the nerveless tongueDeformed, like his great frame: a broken arc:Once radiant as the javelin flungRight at the centre breastplate of his mark.III.Oft pausing on his white-eyed inward look,Some undermountain narrative he tells,As gapped by Lykian heat the brookCut from the source that in the upland swells.IV.The cottagers who dole him fruit and crust,With patient inattention hear him prate:And comes the snow, and comes the dust,Comes the old wanderer, more bent of late.V.A crazy beggar grateful for a mealHas ever of himself a world to say.For them he is an ancient wheelSpinning a knotted thread the livelong day.VI.He cannot, nor do they, the tale connect;For never singer in the land had beenWho him for theme did not reject:Spurned of the hoof that sprang the Hippocrene.VII.Albeit a theme of flame to bring them straightThe snorting white-winged brother of the wave,They hear him as a thing by fateCursed in unholy babble to his grave.VIII.As men that spied the wings, that heard the snort,Their sires have told; and of a martial princeBestriding him; and old reportSpeaks of a monster slain by one long since.IX.There is that story of the golden bitBy Goddess given to tame the lightning steed:A mortal who could mount, and sitFlying, and up Olympus midway speed.X.He rose like the loosed fountain's utmost leap;He played the star at span of heaven right o'erMen's heads: they saw the snowy steep,Saw the winged shoulders: him they saw not more.XI.He fell: and says the shattered man, I fell:And sweeps an arm the height an eagle wins;And in his breast a mouthless wellHeaves the worn patches of his coat of skins.XII.Lo, this is he in whom the surgent springsOf recollections richer than our skiesTo feed the flow of tuneful strings,Show but a pool of scum for shooting flies.
I.Maimed, beggared, grey; seeking an alms; with nodOf palsy doing task of thanks for bread;Upon the stature of a God,He whom the Gods have struck bends low his head.II.Weak words he has, that slip the nerveless tongueDeformed, like his great frame: a broken arc:Once radiant as the javelin flungRight at the centre breastplate of his mark.III.Oft pausing on his white-eyed inward look,Some undermountain narrative he tells,As gapped by Lykian heat the brookCut from the source that in the upland swells.IV.The cottagers who dole him fruit and crust,With patient inattention hear him prate:And comes the snow, and comes the dust,Comes the old wanderer, more bent of late.V.A crazy beggar grateful for a mealHas ever of himself a world to say.For them he is an ancient wheelSpinning a knotted thread the livelong day.VI.He cannot, nor do they, the tale connect;For never singer in the land had beenWho him for theme did not reject:Spurned of the hoof that sprang the Hippocrene.VII.Albeit a theme of flame to bring them straightThe snorting white-winged brother of the wave,They hear him as a thing by fateCursed in unholy babble to his grave.VIII.As men that spied the wings, that heard the snort,Their sires have told; and of a martial princeBestriding him; and old reportSpeaks of a monster slain by one long since.IX.There is that story of the golden bitBy Goddess given to tame the lightning steed:A mortal who could mount, and sitFlying, and up Olympus midway speed.X.He rose like the loosed fountain's utmost leap;He played the star at span of heaven right o'erMen's heads: they saw the snowy steep,Saw the winged shoulders: him they saw not more.XI.He fell: and says the shattered man, I fell:And sweeps an arm the height an eagle wins;And in his breast a mouthless wellHeaves the worn patches of his coat of skins.XII.Lo, this is he in whom the surgent springsOf recollections richer than our skiesTo feed the flow of tuneful strings,Show but a pool of scum for shooting flies.
I.
I.
Maimed, beggared, grey; seeking an alms; with nodOf palsy doing task of thanks for bread;Upon the stature of a God,He whom the Gods have struck bends low his head.
Maimed, beggared, grey; seeking an alms; with nod
Of palsy doing task of thanks for bread;
Upon the stature of a God,
He whom the Gods have struck bends low his head.
II.
II.
Weak words he has, that slip the nerveless tongueDeformed, like his great frame: a broken arc:Once radiant as the javelin flungRight at the centre breastplate of his mark.
Weak words he has, that slip the nerveless tongue
Deformed, like his great frame: a broken arc:
Once radiant as the javelin flung
Right at the centre breastplate of his mark.
III.
III.
Oft pausing on his white-eyed inward look,Some undermountain narrative he tells,As gapped by Lykian heat the brookCut from the source that in the upland swells.
Oft pausing on his white-eyed inward look,
Some undermountain narrative he tells,
As gapped by Lykian heat the brook
Cut from the source that in the upland swells.
IV.
IV.
The cottagers who dole him fruit and crust,With patient inattention hear him prate:And comes the snow, and comes the dust,Comes the old wanderer, more bent of late.
The cottagers who dole him fruit and crust,
With patient inattention hear him prate:
And comes the snow, and comes the dust,
Comes the old wanderer, more bent of late.
V.
V.
A crazy beggar grateful for a mealHas ever of himself a world to say.For them he is an ancient wheelSpinning a knotted thread the livelong day.
A crazy beggar grateful for a meal
Has ever of himself a world to say.
For them he is an ancient wheel
Spinning a knotted thread the livelong day.
VI.
VI.
He cannot, nor do they, the tale connect;For never singer in the land had beenWho him for theme did not reject:Spurned of the hoof that sprang the Hippocrene.
He cannot, nor do they, the tale connect;
For never singer in the land had been
Who him for theme did not reject:
Spurned of the hoof that sprang the Hippocrene.
VII.
VII.
Albeit a theme of flame to bring them straightThe snorting white-winged brother of the wave,They hear him as a thing by fateCursed in unholy babble to his grave.
Albeit a theme of flame to bring them straight
The snorting white-winged brother of the wave,
They hear him as a thing by fate
Cursed in unholy babble to his grave.
VIII.
VIII.
As men that spied the wings, that heard the snort,Their sires have told; and of a martial princeBestriding him; and old reportSpeaks of a monster slain by one long since.
As men that spied the wings, that heard the snort,
Their sires have told; and of a martial prince
Bestriding him; and old report
Speaks of a monster slain by one long since.
IX.
IX.
There is that story of the golden bitBy Goddess given to tame the lightning steed:A mortal who could mount, and sitFlying, and up Olympus midway speed.
There is that story of the golden bit
By Goddess given to tame the lightning steed:
A mortal who could mount, and sit
Flying, and up Olympus midway speed.
X.
X.
He rose like the loosed fountain's utmost leap;He played the star at span of heaven right o'erMen's heads: they saw the snowy steep,Saw the winged shoulders: him they saw not more.
He rose like the loosed fountain's utmost leap;
He played the star at span of heaven right o'er
Men's heads: they saw the snowy steep,
Saw the winged shoulders: him they saw not more.
XI.
XI.
He fell: and says the shattered man, I fell:And sweeps an arm the height an eagle wins;And in his breast a mouthless wellHeaves the worn patches of his coat of skins.
He fell: and says the shattered man, I fell:
And sweeps an arm the height an eagle wins;
And in his breast a mouthless well
Heaves the worn patches of his coat of skins.
XII.
XII.
Lo, this is he in whom the surgent springsOf recollections richer than our skiesTo feed the flow of tuneful strings,Show but a pool of scum for shooting flies.
Lo, this is he in whom the surgent springs
Of recollections richer than our skies
To feed the flow of tuneful strings,
Show but a pool of scum for shooting flies.
ATTEMPTED IN THE GALLIAMBIC MEASURE
At the coming up of Phoebus the all-luminous charioteer,Double-visaged stand the mountains in imperial multitudes,And with shadows dappled men sing to him, Hail, O Beneficent!For they shudder chill, the earth-vales, at his clouding, shudder to black;In the light of him there is music thro' the poplar and river-sedge,Renovation, chirp of brooks, hum of the forest—an ocean-song.Never pearl from ocean-bottoms by the diver exultingly,In his breathlessness, above thrust, is as earth to Helios.Who usurps his place there, rashest? Aphrodite's loved one it is!To his son the flaming Sun-God, to the tender youth, Phaethon,Rule of day this day surrenders as a thing hereditary,Having sworn by Styx tremendous, for the proof of his parentage,He would grant his son's petition, whatsoever the sign thereof.Then, rejoiced, the stripling answered: 'Rule of day give me; give it me,'Give me place that men may see me how I blaze, and transcendingly,'I, divine, proclaim my birthright.' Darkened Helios, his utteranceChoked prophetic: 'O half mortal!' he exclaimed in an agony,'O lost son of mine! lost son! No! put a prayer for another thing:'Not for this: insane to wish it, and to crave the gift impious!'Cannot other gifts my godhead shed upon thee? miraculous'Mighty gifts to prove a blessing, that to earth thou shalt be a joy?'Gifts of healing, wherewith men walk as the Gods beneficently;'As a God to sway to concord hearts of men, reconciling them;'Gifts of verse, the lyre, the laurel, therewithal that thine origin'Shall be known even as whenIstrike on the string'd shell with melody,'And the golden notes, like medicine, darting straight to the cavities,'Fill them up, till hearts of men bound as the billows, the ships thereon.'Thus intently urged the Sun-God; but the force of his eloquenceWas the pressing on of sea-waves scattered broad from the rocks away.What shall move a soul from madness? Lost, lost in delirium,Rock-fast, the adolescent to his father, irreverent,'By the oath! the oath! thine oath!' cried. The effulgent foreseër then,Quivering in his loins parental, on the boy's beaming countenanceLooked and moaned, and urged him for love's sake, for sweet life's sake, to yield the claim,To abandon his mad hunger, and avert the calamity.But he, vehement, passionate, called out: 'Let me show I am what I say,'That the taunts I hear be silenced: I am stung with their whispering.'Only, Thou, my Father, Thou tell how aloft the revolving wheels,'How aloft the cleaving horse-crests I may guide peremptorily,'Till I drink the shadows, fire-hot, like a flower celestial,'And my fellows see me curbing the fierce steeds, the dear dew-drinkers:'Yea, for this I gaze on life's light; throw for this any sacrifice.'All the end foreseeing, Phoebus, to his oath irrevocable,Bowed obedient, deploring the insanity pitiless.Then the flame-outsnorting horses were led forth: it was so decreed.They were yoked before the glad youth by his sister-ancillaries.Swift the ripple ripples follow'd, as of aureate Helicon,Down their flanks, while they impatient pawed desire of the distances,And the bit with fury champed. Oh! unimaginable glories!Unimagined speed and splendour in the circle of upper air!Higher, higher than the mountains, than the eagle fleeing arrows!Glory grander than the armed host upon earth singing victory!Chafed the youth with their spirit surcharged, as when blossom is shaken by winds,Marked that labour by his sister Phaethontiades finished, quickOn the slope of the car his forefoot set assured: and the morning rose:Seeing whom, and what a day dawned, stood the God, as in harvest fields,When the reaper grasps the full sheaf and the sickle that severs it:Hugged the withered head with one hand, with the other, to indicate(If this woe might be averted, this immeasurable evil),Laid the kindling course in view, told how the reins to manipulate:Named the horses fondly, fearful, caution'd urgently betweenwhiles:Their diverging tempers dwelt on, and their wantonness, wickedness,That the voice of Gods alone held in restraint; but the voice of Gods;None but Gods can curb. He spake: vain were the words: scarcely listening,Mounted Phaethon, swinging reins loose, and, 'Behold me, companions,'It is I here, I!' he shouted, glancing down with supremacy;'Not to any of you was this gift granted ever in annals of men;'I alone what only Gods can, I alone am governing day!'Short the triumph, brief his rapture: see a hurricane suddenlyBeat the lifting billow crestless, roll it broken this way and that;—At the leap on yielding ether, in despite of his reprimand,Swayed tumultuous the fire-steeds, plunging reckless hither and yon;Unto men a great amazement, all agaze at the Orient:—Pitifully for mastery striving in ascension, the charioteer,Reminiscent, drifts of counsel caught confused in his arid wits;The reins stiff ahind his shoulder madly pulled for the mastery,Till a thunder off the tense chords thro' his ears dinned horrible.Panic seized him: fled his vision of inviolability;Fled the dream that he of mortals rode mischances predominant;And he cried, 'Had I petitioned for a cup of chill aconite,'My descent to awful Hades had been soft, for now must I go'With the curse by father Zeus cast on ambition immoderate.'Oh, my sisters! Thou, my Goddess, in whose love I was enviable,'From whose arms I rushed befrenzied, what a wreck will this body be,'That admired of thee stood rose-warm in the courts where thy mysteries'Celebration had from me, me the most splendidly privileged!'Never more shall I thy temple fill with incenses bewildering;'Not again hear thy half-murmurs—I am lost!—never, never more.'I am wrecked on seas of air, hurled to my death in a vessel of flame!'Hither, sisters! Father, save me! Hither, succour me, Cypria!'Now a wail of men to Zeus rang: from Olympus the ThundererSaw the rage of the havoc wide-mouthed, the bright car superimpendingOver Asia, Africa, low down; ruin flaming over the vales;Light disastrous rising savage out of smoke inveterately;Beast-black, the conflagration like a menacing shadow moveWith voracious roaring southward, where aslant, insufferable,The bright steeds careered their parched way down an arc of the firmament.For the day grew like to thick night, and the orb was its beacon-fire,And from hill to hill of darkness burst the day's apparition forth.Lo, a wrestler, not a God, stood in the chariot ever lowering:Lo, the shape of one who raced there to outstrip the legitimate hours:Lo, the ravish'd beams of Phoebus dragg'd in shame at the chariot-wheels:Light of days of happy pipings by the mead-singing rivulets!Lo, lo, increasing lustre, torrid breath to the nostrils; lo,Torrid brilliancies thro' the vapours lighten swifter, penetrate them,Fasten merciless, ruminant, hueless, on earth's frame crackling busily.He aloft, the frenzied driver, in the glow of the universe,Like the paling of the dawn-star withers visibly, he aloft:Bitter fury in his aspect, bitter death in the heart of him.Crouch the herds, contract the reptiles, crouch the lions under their paws.White as metal in the furnace are the faces of humankind:Inarticulate creatures of earth, dumb all await the ultimate shock.To the bolt he launched, 'Strike dead, thou,' uttered Zeus, very terrible;'Perish folly, else 'tis man's fate;' and the bolt flew unerringly.Then the kindler stooped; from the torch-car down the measureless altitudesLeaned his rayless head, relinquished rein and footing, raised not a cry.Like the flower on the river's surface when expanding it vanishes,Gave his limbs to right and left, quenched: and so fell he precipitate,Seen of men as a glad rain-fall, sending coolness yet ere it comes:So he showered above them, shadowed o'er the blue archipelagoes,O'er the silken-shining pastures of the continents and the isles;So descending brought revival to the greenery of our earth.Lither, noisy in the breezes now his sisters shivering weep,By the river flowing smooth out to the vexed sea of Adria,Where he fell, and where they suffered sudden change to the tremulousEver-wailful trees bemoaning him, a bruised purple cyclamen.
At the coming up of Phoebus the all-luminous charioteer,Double-visaged stand the mountains in imperial multitudes,And with shadows dappled men sing to him, Hail, O Beneficent!For they shudder chill, the earth-vales, at his clouding, shudder to black;In the light of him there is music thro' the poplar and river-sedge,Renovation, chirp of brooks, hum of the forest—an ocean-song.Never pearl from ocean-bottoms by the diver exultingly,In his breathlessness, above thrust, is as earth to Helios.Who usurps his place there, rashest? Aphrodite's loved one it is!To his son the flaming Sun-God, to the tender youth, Phaethon,Rule of day this day surrenders as a thing hereditary,Having sworn by Styx tremendous, for the proof of his parentage,He would grant his son's petition, whatsoever the sign thereof.Then, rejoiced, the stripling answered: 'Rule of day give me; give it me,'Give me place that men may see me how I blaze, and transcendingly,'I, divine, proclaim my birthright.' Darkened Helios, his utteranceChoked prophetic: 'O half mortal!' he exclaimed in an agony,'O lost son of mine! lost son! No! put a prayer for another thing:'Not for this: insane to wish it, and to crave the gift impious!'Cannot other gifts my godhead shed upon thee? miraculous'Mighty gifts to prove a blessing, that to earth thou shalt be a joy?'Gifts of healing, wherewith men walk as the Gods beneficently;'As a God to sway to concord hearts of men, reconciling them;'Gifts of verse, the lyre, the laurel, therewithal that thine origin'Shall be known even as whenIstrike on the string'd shell with melody,'And the golden notes, like medicine, darting straight to the cavities,'Fill them up, till hearts of men bound as the billows, the ships thereon.'Thus intently urged the Sun-God; but the force of his eloquenceWas the pressing on of sea-waves scattered broad from the rocks away.What shall move a soul from madness? Lost, lost in delirium,Rock-fast, the adolescent to his father, irreverent,'By the oath! the oath! thine oath!' cried. The effulgent foreseër then,Quivering in his loins parental, on the boy's beaming countenanceLooked and moaned, and urged him for love's sake, for sweet life's sake, to yield the claim,To abandon his mad hunger, and avert the calamity.But he, vehement, passionate, called out: 'Let me show I am what I say,'That the taunts I hear be silenced: I am stung with their whispering.'Only, Thou, my Father, Thou tell how aloft the revolving wheels,'How aloft the cleaving horse-crests I may guide peremptorily,'Till I drink the shadows, fire-hot, like a flower celestial,'And my fellows see me curbing the fierce steeds, the dear dew-drinkers:'Yea, for this I gaze on life's light; throw for this any sacrifice.'All the end foreseeing, Phoebus, to his oath irrevocable,Bowed obedient, deploring the insanity pitiless.Then the flame-outsnorting horses were led forth: it was so decreed.They were yoked before the glad youth by his sister-ancillaries.Swift the ripple ripples follow'd, as of aureate Helicon,Down their flanks, while they impatient pawed desire of the distances,And the bit with fury champed. Oh! unimaginable glories!Unimagined speed and splendour in the circle of upper air!Higher, higher than the mountains, than the eagle fleeing arrows!Glory grander than the armed host upon earth singing victory!Chafed the youth with their spirit surcharged, as when blossom is shaken by winds,Marked that labour by his sister Phaethontiades finished, quickOn the slope of the car his forefoot set assured: and the morning rose:Seeing whom, and what a day dawned, stood the God, as in harvest fields,When the reaper grasps the full sheaf and the sickle that severs it:Hugged the withered head with one hand, with the other, to indicate(If this woe might be averted, this immeasurable evil),Laid the kindling course in view, told how the reins to manipulate:Named the horses fondly, fearful, caution'd urgently betweenwhiles:Their diverging tempers dwelt on, and their wantonness, wickedness,That the voice of Gods alone held in restraint; but the voice of Gods;None but Gods can curb. He spake: vain were the words: scarcely listening,Mounted Phaethon, swinging reins loose, and, 'Behold me, companions,'It is I here, I!' he shouted, glancing down with supremacy;'Not to any of you was this gift granted ever in annals of men;'I alone what only Gods can, I alone am governing day!'Short the triumph, brief his rapture: see a hurricane suddenlyBeat the lifting billow crestless, roll it broken this way and that;—At the leap on yielding ether, in despite of his reprimand,Swayed tumultuous the fire-steeds, plunging reckless hither and yon;Unto men a great amazement, all agaze at the Orient:—Pitifully for mastery striving in ascension, the charioteer,Reminiscent, drifts of counsel caught confused in his arid wits;The reins stiff ahind his shoulder madly pulled for the mastery,Till a thunder off the tense chords thro' his ears dinned horrible.Panic seized him: fled his vision of inviolability;Fled the dream that he of mortals rode mischances predominant;And he cried, 'Had I petitioned for a cup of chill aconite,'My descent to awful Hades had been soft, for now must I go'With the curse by father Zeus cast on ambition immoderate.'Oh, my sisters! Thou, my Goddess, in whose love I was enviable,'From whose arms I rushed befrenzied, what a wreck will this body be,'That admired of thee stood rose-warm in the courts where thy mysteries'Celebration had from me, me the most splendidly privileged!'Never more shall I thy temple fill with incenses bewildering;'Not again hear thy half-murmurs—I am lost!—never, never more.'I am wrecked on seas of air, hurled to my death in a vessel of flame!'Hither, sisters! Father, save me! Hither, succour me, Cypria!'Now a wail of men to Zeus rang: from Olympus the ThundererSaw the rage of the havoc wide-mouthed, the bright car superimpendingOver Asia, Africa, low down; ruin flaming over the vales;Light disastrous rising savage out of smoke inveterately;Beast-black, the conflagration like a menacing shadow moveWith voracious roaring southward, where aslant, insufferable,The bright steeds careered their parched way down an arc of the firmament.For the day grew like to thick night, and the orb was its beacon-fire,And from hill to hill of darkness burst the day's apparition forth.Lo, a wrestler, not a God, stood in the chariot ever lowering:Lo, the shape of one who raced there to outstrip the legitimate hours:Lo, the ravish'd beams of Phoebus dragg'd in shame at the chariot-wheels:Light of days of happy pipings by the mead-singing rivulets!Lo, lo, increasing lustre, torrid breath to the nostrils; lo,Torrid brilliancies thro' the vapours lighten swifter, penetrate them,Fasten merciless, ruminant, hueless, on earth's frame crackling busily.He aloft, the frenzied driver, in the glow of the universe,Like the paling of the dawn-star withers visibly, he aloft:Bitter fury in his aspect, bitter death in the heart of him.Crouch the herds, contract the reptiles, crouch the lions under their paws.White as metal in the furnace are the faces of humankind:Inarticulate creatures of earth, dumb all await the ultimate shock.To the bolt he launched, 'Strike dead, thou,' uttered Zeus, very terrible;'Perish folly, else 'tis man's fate;' and the bolt flew unerringly.Then the kindler stooped; from the torch-car down the measureless altitudesLeaned his rayless head, relinquished rein and footing, raised not a cry.Like the flower on the river's surface when expanding it vanishes,Gave his limbs to right and left, quenched: and so fell he precipitate,Seen of men as a glad rain-fall, sending coolness yet ere it comes:So he showered above them, shadowed o'er the blue archipelagoes,O'er the silken-shining pastures of the continents and the isles;So descending brought revival to the greenery of our earth.Lither, noisy in the breezes now his sisters shivering weep,By the river flowing smooth out to the vexed sea of Adria,Where he fell, and where they suffered sudden change to the tremulousEver-wailful trees bemoaning him, a bruised purple cyclamen.
At the coming up of Phoebus the all-luminous charioteer,Double-visaged stand the mountains in imperial multitudes,And with shadows dappled men sing to him, Hail, O Beneficent!For they shudder chill, the earth-vales, at his clouding, shudder to black;In the light of him there is music thro' the poplar and river-sedge,Renovation, chirp of brooks, hum of the forest—an ocean-song.Never pearl from ocean-bottoms by the diver exultingly,In his breathlessness, above thrust, is as earth to Helios.
At the coming up of Phoebus the all-luminous charioteer,
Double-visaged stand the mountains in imperial multitudes,
And with shadows dappled men sing to him, Hail, O Beneficent!
For they shudder chill, the earth-vales, at his clouding, shudder to black;
In the light of him there is music thro' the poplar and river-sedge,
Renovation, chirp of brooks, hum of the forest—an ocean-song.
Never pearl from ocean-bottoms by the diver exultingly,
In his breathlessness, above thrust, is as earth to Helios.
Who usurps his place there, rashest? Aphrodite's loved one it is!To his son the flaming Sun-God, to the tender youth, Phaethon,Rule of day this day surrenders as a thing hereditary,Having sworn by Styx tremendous, for the proof of his parentage,He would grant his son's petition, whatsoever the sign thereof.Then, rejoiced, the stripling answered: 'Rule of day give me; give it me,'Give me place that men may see me how I blaze, and transcendingly,'I, divine, proclaim my birthright.' Darkened Helios, his utteranceChoked prophetic: 'O half mortal!' he exclaimed in an agony,'O lost son of mine! lost son! No! put a prayer for another thing:'Not for this: insane to wish it, and to crave the gift impious!'Cannot other gifts my godhead shed upon thee? miraculous'Mighty gifts to prove a blessing, that to earth thou shalt be a joy?'Gifts of healing, wherewith men walk as the Gods beneficently;'As a God to sway to concord hearts of men, reconciling them;'Gifts of verse, the lyre, the laurel, therewithal that thine origin'Shall be known even as whenIstrike on the string'd shell with melody,'And the golden notes, like medicine, darting straight to the cavities,'Fill them up, till hearts of men bound as the billows, the ships thereon.'Thus intently urged the Sun-God; but the force of his eloquenceWas the pressing on of sea-waves scattered broad from the rocks away.What shall move a soul from madness? Lost, lost in delirium,Rock-fast, the adolescent to his father, irreverent,'By the oath! the oath! thine oath!' cried. The effulgent foreseër then,Quivering in his loins parental, on the boy's beaming countenanceLooked and moaned, and urged him for love's sake, for sweet life's sake, to yield the claim,To abandon his mad hunger, and avert the calamity.But he, vehement, passionate, called out: 'Let me show I am what I say,'That the taunts I hear be silenced: I am stung with their whispering.'Only, Thou, my Father, Thou tell how aloft the revolving wheels,'How aloft the cleaving horse-crests I may guide peremptorily,'Till I drink the shadows, fire-hot, like a flower celestial,'And my fellows see me curbing the fierce steeds, the dear dew-drinkers:'Yea, for this I gaze on life's light; throw for this any sacrifice.'
Who usurps his place there, rashest? Aphrodite's loved one it is!
To his son the flaming Sun-God, to the tender youth, Phaethon,
Rule of day this day surrenders as a thing hereditary,
Having sworn by Styx tremendous, for the proof of his parentage,
He would grant his son's petition, whatsoever the sign thereof.
Then, rejoiced, the stripling answered: 'Rule of day give me; give it me,
'Give me place that men may see me how I blaze, and transcendingly,
'I, divine, proclaim my birthright.' Darkened Helios, his utterance
Choked prophetic: 'O half mortal!' he exclaimed in an agony,
'O lost son of mine! lost son! No! put a prayer for another thing:
'Not for this: insane to wish it, and to crave the gift impious!
'Cannot other gifts my godhead shed upon thee? miraculous
'Mighty gifts to prove a blessing, that to earth thou shalt be a joy?
'Gifts of healing, wherewith men walk as the Gods beneficently;
'As a God to sway to concord hearts of men, reconciling them;
'Gifts of verse, the lyre, the laurel, therewithal that thine origin
'Shall be known even as whenIstrike on the string'd shell with melody,
'And the golden notes, like medicine, darting straight to the cavities,
'Fill them up, till hearts of men bound as the billows, the ships thereon.'
Thus intently urged the Sun-God; but the force of his eloquence
Was the pressing on of sea-waves scattered broad from the rocks away.
What shall move a soul from madness? Lost, lost in delirium,
Rock-fast, the adolescent to his father, irreverent,
'By the oath! the oath! thine oath!' cried. The effulgent foreseër then,
Quivering in his loins parental, on the boy's beaming countenance
Looked and moaned, and urged him for love's sake, for sweet life's sake, to yield the claim,
To abandon his mad hunger, and avert the calamity.
But he, vehement, passionate, called out: 'Let me show I am what I say,
'That the taunts I hear be silenced: I am stung with their whispering.
'Only, Thou, my Father, Thou tell how aloft the revolving wheels,
'How aloft the cleaving horse-crests I may guide peremptorily,
'Till I drink the shadows, fire-hot, like a flower celestial,
'And my fellows see me curbing the fierce steeds, the dear dew-drinkers:
'Yea, for this I gaze on life's light; throw for this any sacrifice.'
All the end foreseeing, Phoebus, to his oath irrevocable,Bowed obedient, deploring the insanity pitiless.Then the flame-outsnorting horses were led forth: it was so decreed.They were yoked before the glad youth by his sister-ancillaries.Swift the ripple ripples follow'd, as of aureate Helicon,Down their flanks, while they impatient pawed desire of the distances,And the bit with fury champed. Oh! unimaginable glories!Unimagined speed and splendour in the circle of upper air!Higher, higher than the mountains, than the eagle fleeing arrows!Glory grander than the armed host upon earth singing victory!Chafed the youth with their spirit surcharged, as when blossom is shaken by winds,Marked that labour by his sister Phaethontiades finished, quickOn the slope of the car his forefoot set assured: and the morning rose:Seeing whom, and what a day dawned, stood the God, as in harvest fields,When the reaper grasps the full sheaf and the sickle that severs it:Hugged the withered head with one hand, with the other, to indicate(If this woe might be averted, this immeasurable evil),Laid the kindling course in view, told how the reins to manipulate:Named the horses fondly, fearful, caution'd urgently betweenwhiles:Their diverging tempers dwelt on, and their wantonness, wickedness,That the voice of Gods alone held in restraint; but the voice of Gods;None but Gods can curb. He spake: vain were the words: scarcely listening,Mounted Phaethon, swinging reins loose, and, 'Behold me, companions,'It is I here, I!' he shouted, glancing down with supremacy;'Not to any of you was this gift granted ever in annals of men;'I alone what only Gods can, I alone am governing day!'Short the triumph, brief his rapture: see a hurricane suddenlyBeat the lifting billow crestless, roll it broken this way and that;—At the leap on yielding ether, in despite of his reprimand,Swayed tumultuous the fire-steeds, plunging reckless hither and yon;Unto men a great amazement, all agaze at the Orient:—Pitifully for mastery striving in ascension, the charioteer,Reminiscent, drifts of counsel caught confused in his arid wits;The reins stiff ahind his shoulder madly pulled for the mastery,Till a thunder off the tense chords thro' his ears dinned horrible.Panic seized him: fled his vision of inviolability;Fled the dream that he of mortals rode mischances predominant;And he cried, 'Had I petitioned for a cup of chill aconite,'My descent to awful Hades had been soft, for now must I go'With the curse by father Zeus cast on ambition immoderate.'Oh, my sisters! Thou, my Goddess, in whose love I was enviable,'From whose arms I rushed befrenzied, what a wreck will this body be,'That admired of thee stood rose-warm in the courts where thy mysteries'Celebration had from me, me the most splendidly privileged!'Never more shall I thy temple fill with incenses bewildering;'Not again hear thy half-murmurs—I am lost!—never, never more.'I am wrecked on seas of air, hurled to my death in a vessel of flame!'Hither, sisters! Father, save me! Hither, succour me, Cypria!'
All the end foreseeing, Phoebus, to his oath irrevocable,
Bowed obedient, deploring the insanity pitiless.
Then the flame-outsnorting horses were led forth: it was so decreed.
They were yoked before the glad youth by his sister-ancillaries.
Swift the ripple ripples follow'd, as of aureate Helicon,
Down their flanks, while they impatient pawed desire of the distances,
And the bit with fury champed. Oh! unimaginable glories!
Unimagined speed and splendour in the circle of upper air!
Higher, higher than the mountains, than the eagle fleeing arrows!
Glory grander than the armed host upon earth singing victory!
Chafed the youth with their spirit surcharged, as when blossom is shaken by winds,
Marked that labour by his sister Phaethontiades finished, quick
On the slope of the car his forefoot set assured: and the morning rose:
Seeing whom, and what a day dawned, stood the God, as in harvest fields,
When the reaper grasps the full sheaf and the sickle that severs it:
Hugged the withered head with one hand, with the other, to indicate
(If this woe might be averted, this immeasurable evil),
Laid the kindling course in view, told how the reins to manipulate:
Named the horses fondly, fearful, caution'd urgently betweenwhiles:
Their diverging tempers dwelt on, and their wantonness, wickedness,
That the voice of Gods alone held in restraint; but the voice of Gods;
None but Gods can curb. He spake: vain were the words: scarcely listening,
Mounted Phaethon, swinging reins loose, and, 'Behold me, companions,
'It is I here, I!' he shouted, glancing down with supremacy;
'Not to any of you was this gift granted ever in annals of men;
'I alone what only Gods can, I alone am governing day!'
Short the triumph, brief his rapture: see a hurricane suddenly
Beat the lifting billow crestless, roll it broken this way and that;—
At the leap on yielding ether, in despite of his reprimand,
Swayed tumultuous the fire-steeds, plunging reckless hither and yon;
Unto men a great amazement, all agaze at the Orient:—
Pitifully for mastery striving in ascension, the charioteer,
Reminiscent, drifts of counsel caught confused in his arid wits;
The reins stiff ahind his shoulder madly pulled for the mastery,
Till a thunder off the tense chords thro' his ears dinned horrible.
Panic seized him: fled his vision of inviolability;
Fled the dream that he of mortals rode mischances predominant;
And he cried, 'Had I petitioned for a cup of chill aconite,
'My descent to awful Hades had been soft, for now must I go
'With the curse by father Zeus cast on ambition immoderate.
'Oh, my sisters! Thou, my Goddess, in whose love I was enviable,
'From whose arms I rushed befrenzied, what a wreck will this body be,
'That admired of thee stood rose-warm in the courts where thy mysteries
'Celebration had from me, me the most splendidly privileged!
'Never more shall I thy temple fill with incenses bewildering;
'Not again hear thy half-murmurs—I am lost!—never, never more.
'I am wrecked on seas of air, hurled to my death in a vessel of flame!
'Hither, sisters! Father, save me! Hither, succour me, Cypria!'
Now a wail of men to Zeus rang: from Olympus the ThundererSaw the rage of the havoc wide-mouthed, the bright car superimpendingOver Asia, Africa, low down; ruin flaming over the vales;Light disastrous rising savage out of smoke inveterately;Beast-black, the conflagration like a menacing shadow moveWith voracious roaring southward, where aslant, insufferable,The bright steeds careered their parched way down an arc of the firmament.For the day grew like to thick night, and the orb was its beacon-fire,And from hill to hill of darkness burst the day's apparition forth.Lo, a wrestler, not a God, stood in the chariot ever lowering:Lo, the shape of one who raced there to outstrip the legitimate hours:Lo, the ravish'd beams of Phoebus dragg'd in shame at the chariot-wheels:Light of days of happy pipings by the mead-singing rivulets!Lo, lo, increasing lustre, torrid breath to the nostrils; lo,Torrid brilliancies thro' the vapours lighten swifter, penetrate them,Fasten merciless, ruminant, hueless, on earth's frame crackling busily.He aloft, the frenzied driver, in the glow of the universe,Like the paling of the dawn-star withers visibly, he aloft:Bitter fury in his aspect, bitter death in the heart of him.Crouch the herds, contract the reptiles, crouch the lions under their paws.White as metal in the furnace are the faces of humankind:Inarticulate creatures of earth, dumb all await the ultimate shock.
Now a wail of men to Zeus rang: from Olympus the Thunderer
Saw the rage of the havoc wide-mouthed, the bright car superimpending
Over Asia, Africa, low down; ruin flaming over the vales;
Light disastrous rising savage out of smoke inveterately;
Beast-black, the conflagration like a menacing shadow move
With voracious roaring southward, where aslant, insufferable,
The bright steeds careered their parched way down an arc of the firmament.
For the day grew like to thick night, and the orb was its beacon-fire,
And from hill to hill of darkness burst the day's apparition forth.
Lo, a wrestler, not a God, stood in the chariot ever lowering:
Lo, the shape of one who raced there to outstrip the legitimate hours:
Lo, the ravish'd beams of Phoebus dragg'd in shame at the chariot-wheels:
Light of days of happy pipings by the mead-singing rivulets!
Lo, lo, increasing lustre, torrid breath to the nostrils; lo,
Torrid brilliancies thro' the vapours lighten swifter, penetrate them,
Fasten merciless, ruminant, hueless, on earth's frame crackling busily.
He aloft, the frenzied driver, in the glow of the universe,
Like the paling of the dawn-star withers visibly, he aloft:
Bitter fury in his aspect, bitter death in the heart of him.
Crouch the herds, contract the reptiles, crouch the lions under their paws.
White as metal in the furnace are the faces of humankind:
Inarticulate creatures of earth, dumb all await the ultimate shock.
To the bolt he launched, 'Strike dead, thou,' uttered Zeus, very terrible;'Perish folly, else 'tis man's fate;' and the bolt flew unerringly.Then the kindler stooped; from the torch-car down the measureless altitudesLeaned his rayless head, relinquished rein and footing, raised not a cry.Like the flower on the river's surface when expanding it vanishes,Gave his limbs to right and left, quenched: and so fell he precipitate,Seen of men as a glad rain-fall, sending coolness yet ere it comes:So he showered above them, shadowed o'er the blue archipelagoes,O'er the silken-shining pastures of the continents and the isles;So descending brought revival to the greenery of our earth.
To the bolt he launched, 'Strike dead, thou,' uttered Zeus, very terrible;
'Perish folly, else 'tis man's fate;' and the bolt flew unerringly.
Then the kindler stooped; from the torch-car down the measureless altitudes
Leaned his rayless head, relinquished rein and footing, raised not a cry.
Like the flower on the river's surface when expanding it vanishes,
Gave his limbs to right and left, quenched: and so fell he precipitate,
Seen of men as a glad rain-fall, sending coolness yet ere it comes:
So he showered above them, shadowed o'er the blue archipelagoes,
O'er the silken-shining pastures of the continents and the isles;
So descending brought revival to the greenery of our earth.
Lither, noisy in the breezes now his sisters shivering weep,By the river flowing smooth out to the vexed sea of Adria,Where he fell, and where they suffered sudden change to the tremulousEver-wailful trees bemoaning him, a bruised purple cyclamen.
Lither, noisy in the breezes now his sisters shivering weep,
By the river flowing smooth out to the vexed sea of Adria,
Where he fell, and where they suffered sudden change to the tremulous
Ever-wailful trees bemoaning him, a bruised purple cyclamen.
The legend of the Iron Crown of Lombardy, formed of a nail of the true Cross by order of the devout Queen Theodolinda, is well known. In the above dramatic song she is seen passing through one of the higher temptations of the believing Christian.
The Galliambic Measure.
Hermann (Elementa Doctrinae Metricae), after citing lines from the Tragic poet Phrynichus and from the Comic, observes:
Dixi supra, Phrynichorum versus videri puros Ionicos esse. Id si verum est, Galliambi non alia re ab his differunt, quam quod anaclasin, contractionesque et solutiones recipiunt. Itaque versus Galliambicus ex duobus versibus Anacreonteis constat, quorum secundus catalecticus est, hac forma:
Dixi supra, Phrynichorum versus videri puros Ionicos esse. Id si verum est, Galliambi non alia re ab his differunt, quam quod anaclasin, contractionesque et solutiones recipiunt. Itaque versus Galliambicus ex duobus versibus Anacreonteis constat, quorum secundus catalecticus est, hac forma:
metrical form
The wonderfulAtysof Catullus is the one classic example. A few lines have been gathered elsewhere. The Laureate'sBoadicearidesover many difficulties and is a noble poem. Catullus makes general use of the variant second of the above metrical forms:
Mihi januae frequentes, mihi limina tepida:
Mihi januae frequentes, mihi limina tepida:
Mihi januae frequentes, mihi limina tepida:
Mihi januae frequentes, mihi limina tepida:
With stress on the emotion:
Jam, jam dolet quod egi, jam jamque poenitet.
Jam, jam dolet quod egi, jam jamque poenitet.
Jam, jam dolet quod egi, jam jamque poenitet.
Jam, jam dolet quod egi, jam jamque poenitet.
A perfect conquest of the measure is not possible in our tongue. For the sake of an occasional success in the velocity, sweep, volume of the line, it seems worth an effort; and, if to some degree serviceable for narrative verse, it is one of the exercises of a writer which readers may be invited to share.
THE END
Printed byR. & R. Clark,Edinburgh
Transcriber's NotesMinor punctuation and printer errors repaired.Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies.
Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies.