BELLEROPHON.

A CLASSICAL BALLAD.“Ὄς τᾶς ὀφίωδεος υιὸν ποτε Γόργονοςἦ πολλ ἀμφὶ κρουνοῖςΠάγασον ζευξαι ποθέων ἔπαθενΠρίν γέ οἱ χρυσάμπυκα κοῦρα χαλινὸνΠαλλὰς ἤνεγκε.”—Pindar.“Αλλ ὅτε δῆ καὶ κεῖνος ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσινἤτοι ὁ κὰπ πεδίον τὸ Αλήιον οἶος ἀλᾶτοὅν θυμὸν κατέδων πἀτον ἀνθρώπων ἀλεείνων.”—Homer.

A CLASSICAL BALLAD.

“Ὄς τᾶς ὀφίωδεος υιὸν ποτε Γόργονοςἦ πολλ ἀμφὶ κρουνοῖςΠάγασον ζευξαι ποθέων ἔπαθενΠρίν γέ οἱ χρυσάμπυκα κοῦρα χαλινὸνΠαλλὰς ἤνεγκε.”—Pindar.

“Ὄς τᾶς ὀφίωδεος υιὸν ποτε Γόργονος

ἦ πολλ ἀμφὶ κρουνοῖς

Πάγασον ζευξαι ποθέων ἔπαθεν

Πρίν γέ οἱ χρυσάμπυκα κοῦρα χαλινὸν

Παλλὰς ἤνεγκε.”—Pindar.

“Αλλ ὅτε δῆ καὶ κεῖνος ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσινἤτοι ὁ κὰπ πεδίον τὸ Αλήιον οἶος ἀλᾶτοὅν θυμὸν κατέδων πἀτον ἀνθρώπων ἀλεείνων.”—Homer.

“Αλλ ὅτε δῆ καὶ κεῖνος ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσιν

ἤτοι ὁ κὰπ πεδίον τὸ Αλήιον οἶος ἀλᾶτο

ὅν θυμὸν κατέδων πἀτον ἀνθρώπων ἀλεείνων.”—Homer.

[The beautiful Corinthian legend of Bellerophon is narrated by Homer in the well-known episode of Glaucus and Diomede, in the sixth book of theIliad. In that episode the strong-lunged son of Tydeus meets in the fight a face that was new to him, and before engaging in battle desires to know the name of his noble adversary. The courteous request is courteously complied with; and it appears that Glaucus—for such is the champion’s name, though now serving in Priam’s army as a Lycian auxiliary—was by descent a Grecian, the grandson of the famous Bellerophon of Corinth, between whose family and that of Diomede a sacred bond of hospitality had existed. This discovery leads to an interchange of friendly tokens between the intending combatants; the weapons of war are sheathed, and a bright gleam of human kindness is thrown across the dark tempestuous cloud of international conflict.

The story of Bellerophon, as told in this passage of the most ancient Greek poet, is a remarkable instance of how popular legend, proceeding from the germ of some famous and striking fact, is gradually worked up into a form where the actual is altogether subordinated to the miraculous. In Homer there is not a single word said of the winged horse, which is the constant companion of Bellerophon’s exploits, in the current form of the legend afterwards revived, and which appears regularly on the coins of Corinth. The reason, also, of the hero’s fall, from the loftiest prosperity to the saddest humiliation, is only dimly indicated by the poet, when he says that Bellerophon, towards the close of his life, “was hated by all the gods,” and, “avoiding the path of men, ate his own heart” (ὅν θυμὸν κατέδων); but whether it was that Homer, knowing the sin of Bellerophon, with a delicate sense of propriety, refused to set it forth distinctly in the mouth of his grandson, or whether the simplicity of the oldest form of the legend knew nothing more than what Homer tells, certain it is that the ever-active Greek imagination could not content itself with the obscurity of the Homeric indication, and the moral that “pride must have a fall” was distinctly brought out in the later form of the myth. For the rest, the writer has taken the topographical notices in the following verses, not from his own conceit, but from the authority of Pausanias in his Corinthian antiquities.

It needs scarcely be added that the legend of Bellerophon—in ancient times equally the property of Corinth in Europe, and Lycia in Asia—has now become in a peculiar manner the possession of Great Britain by the labours of Sir Charles Fellowes, and the Xanthian Chamber of the British Museum.]

I.The sun shines bright on Ephyré’s height,[2]And right and left with billowy mightPoseidon rules the sea;But not the sun that rules above,Nor strong Poseidon, nor great Jove,Can look with looks of favouring love,Bellerophon, on thee.There’s blood upon thy hands; the houndsOf hell pursue thy path;Nor they within rich Corinth’s boundsShall slack their vengeful wrath.Black broods the sky above thy head,The Earth breeds serpents at thy tread,The Furies’ foot hath found thee;A baleful pest their presence brings,A curse to peasants and to kings;The horrid shadow of their wingsTurns day to darkness round thee.Flee o’er the Argive hills, and there,With suppliant branch and pious prayer,Thou shalt not crave in vainSome prince whose hands not worthless holdThe sceptre of Phoroneus old,To wash thee clean, and make thee boldTo look on men again.II.Darkly the Nemean forests frown,Where Apesantian JoveFrom his broad altar-seat looks downOn the Ogygian grove.[3]Fierce roars the lion from his denIn Tretus’ long and narrow glen;And many a lawless manHere by the stony water-bedLists the lone traveller’s errant tread,And wakes the plundering clan.Here be thy flight, Bellerophon,But danger fear thou none;For she, the warlike and the wise,Jove’s blue-eyed daughter from surpriseSecure shall lead thee on.He flees: and where the priestess bearsTo Hera on the hill[4]The sacred keys, he pours his prayers,And drinks the scanty rill.He flees: and now before his eye,With wall and gate and bulwark high,And many a tower that fronts the sky,And many a covered way,Strong Tiryns stands, whose massy blocksWere torn by Cyclops from the rocks,And piled in vast array.[5]Here Prœtus reigns; and here at lengthThe suppliant throws his jaded strengthBefore a friendly door;And now from hot pursuit secure,And from blood-guiltiness made pure,His heart shall fear no more.III.The princely Prœtus opes his gate,And on the fugitive’s dark fateSmiles gracious; him from fear,And terror of the scourge divine,He purifies with blood of swineAnd sprinkled water clear.O blessed was the calm that nowLulled his racked brain, and smoothed his brow!Nor wildly now did rollHis sleepless eyes; from gracious JoveCame down the gentle dew of loveThat soothed his wounded soul.And grateful was blithe face of manTo heart now free from Furies’ ban,And sweet the festive lyre.Fair was each sight that gorgeous day,Spread forth in beautiful arrayTo move the heart’s desire.Each manly sport and social gameThrilled with new joy his re-strung frame,And waked the living fire.Antéa saw him poise the dart,In the fleet race the foremost start,And lawless Venus smote her heart—She loved her lord no more:As no chaste woman sues she sued,Her guest the partial hostess wooed,And lavished beauty’s storeOf looks and smiles, and pleading tears,And silvery words; but he reveresThe rights of hospitable Jove,Chastely repels her perilous love,Nor hears her parley more.IV.Who slights a woman’s love cuts deep,And wakes a brood of snakes that sleepBeneath a bed of roses.The lustful wife of Prœtus nowTo earthly Venus vows a vow,And in her heart proposesA fiendish thing. She, with the pinThat bound her peplos, pierced the skinOf her smooth-rounded arm;And when the crimson stream beganTo trickle down, she instant ran,And with a feigned alarmRoused all her maids, and in the earOf the fond Prœtus, quick to hear,She poured the piteous lie,That the false guest had sought to moveHer loyal-mated heart with love,And with rude hands had dared assailHer virtue, cased in surer mailThan Dian’s panoply:Then, more to stir his wrathful mood,She bared her arm that streamed with blood,And scared his jealous eye.Hot boiled his Argive heart; his eyesFlash vengeance; but himself deniesThe reins to his own spleen.His public face in smiles is dressed,He joins the banquet with the rest,And tells the tale, and plies the jestWith easy social mien;And to his high Corinthian guestLets not a thought be seen.“Take here,” quoth he, “thou high-souled knight,To Iobates the Lycian wight,The brother of my queen,These tablets; he will honour theeEven more than I; and thou shalt seeA famous and a fruitful land,With all Apollo’s beauty bland,And various verdure green.”Uprose the knight with willing feet,His heart was light, his pace was fleet;Girt for the road and venture boldHe left the strong Tirynhian hold,And gaily wends his wayO’er steep Arachne’s ridge, till hePassed Æsculapius’ sacred fane,That sendeth health, and healeth pain,And reached, with foot untired, the seaThat beats with billows bounding freeThe Epidaurian bay.V.Thoughtful a moment here he stoodAnd watched the never-sleeping flood,The ever-changing wave;He knew no danger, feared no foes,But from his heart a prayer uproseTo her that guards the brave.Wise prayer; for scarce the words are goneFrom thy free mouth, Bellerophon,When, struck with holy awe,Even at thy side in light arrayed,Serene with placid power displayed,The chaste Athenian Jove-born maidThy wondering vision saw;And in her hand—O strangest sight!—A wingèd steed she led,That bent the knee before the knightAnd bowed its lofty head.“Fear not, thou son of Æolus’ race,Dear to the gods art thou;This steed, by strong Poseidon’s maceThat leapt to life, through airy spaceShall safely waft thee now.”Thus spake the goddess, wise as fair;And with the word, dissolved in air,Was seen no more. The knightBrushed from his eyes the dazzling glare,And scarce believed his sight.But when he saw the steed was there,He winged to Heaven a rapid prayer,And for the airy flightBuckled his purpose. Mounted nowWith rapid wheel he soars,O’er creek and crag, and rocky brow,And swift-receding shores.A lovely sight was there, I trow,Where high on wingèd oarsHe clove the pathless air. The sea,With various-twinkling brilliancy,Immense before him lay,With many a coast far-stretching seen,And many a high-cliffed isle between,And many a winding bay.High o’er Œnone’s isle he sails,[6]Where Æacus’ justest law prevails,And masted armies ride;O’er famous Sunium’s rocky steep,Where Pallas guards the Attic deep,He swept with airy pride.Ceos and Syros wondering sawHis meteor-steed with humble awe;And sacred Delos deemedApollo’s self, the fervid godHis own ethereal regions trod,And with such brightness gleamed.Swift o’er the Bacchic isle he glides,[7]Where music mingles with the tidesFrom many a Mænad throat.And nigh to Caria’s craggy shore,Cos with her blushing winy storeHis sweeping view can note.Anon, sublime he soars aboveThy temple, Atabyrian Jove,The lord of cloudless Rhodes,[8]Where Telchins wise, with busy clamour,Who shape the steel beneath the hammer,Possess their famed abodes:And swiftly then he swoops, I ween,Down on the steeps of Cragus greenInto the pleasant plain,Where Xanthus rolls his yellow stream,And Phœbus lights with glorious gleamThe Patarean plain.Here he alights. His heavenly steed,With instant eye out-stripping speedScorning the earthly loam,Wheels eastward far with vans sonorous,And o’er the rosy peaks of TaurusSails to his starry home.VI.The Xanthian gate is wide and free;[9]The Xanthian towers are high;The Xanthian streets are fair to see;The knight, with wondering eye,Beholds and enters. To the kingA ready troop the stranger bring,And scan him o’er and o’er;Carious that one so spruce and trim,And with such light unwearied limb,Had reached the Lycian shore.With kindly heart the Xanthian lordOpes his high hall and spreads his board,And pours the Coan wine;Nor question asked (for Jove gives freeTo all a questless courtesy)Till days were numbered nine.His tablets then the knight presents;The monarch scans their dire contents,For here ’twas written plainly,“If thou dost hate who works amissLet not his hand that beareth thisHave sinned against me vainly;Thy Prœtus.” Sore vexed was the kingThat he must do a bloody thingAgainst so brave a guest;But vows were strong, and family bonds;Therefore, composed, he thus responds—“Brave knight, a fearful pestAfflicts this land: a monster dire,With, terror armed, and breathing fire,In Cragus holds her den,Chimera named: with savage jawShe bites, and with voracious mawConsumes both beasts and men.This hideous form its birth did takeFrom hoar Echidna, virgin-snake;She to that fiery blaster,Typhon, Cilicia’s curse of yoreA triform goatish portent bore,With serpent’s sting and lion’s roar,This Lycian land’s disaster.Harmless at first, for sport ’twas bredBy Caria’s thoughtless king,And by his innocent children ledObedient to a string.Anon its hellish blood grew hot;It breathed a breath of fire,And tainted every household spotWith gouts of poison dire.Full grown at length, and fierce and bold,She ranges freely through each fold,And licks the fleecy slaughter;And, when her humour waxes wild,No flesh she spares of man or child,Echidna’s gory daughter.Now hear me, noble Glaucus’ son,Most valiant knight, Bellerophon;Thou hast a face that seems to courtA dangerous business as a sport—This thing I ask thee then;Wilt thou go forth, and dare to tameThis murtherous monster breathing flame,And win thyself a deathless nameAmong the Xanthian men?”VII.Thus he—(for in his heart he thoughtSuch venture must with life be bought).But brave BellerophonGuileless received the guileful plan,And, as an eager-purposed man,Buckled his armour on.Alone he went: of such empriseWith this bold-breasted strangerNo one shall share, a herald cries,The glory or the danger.By Xanthus’ stream he wends him then,And leftward up the hollow glenWhere Pandarus’ city, like a tower,Rises begirt with rocky power;Then upward, still he goes,Where black-browed mountains round him lower,And ‘neath chill winter’s grisly bowerThe sunless water flows.Upon a steep rock hoar with eldA yawning cave his eye beheld,High-perched; and to that cave no traceOf road upon the mountain’s face,But, like an eagle’s nest,Sublime it hung. He looked again,And from the cave a tawny maneShook o’er the rocky crest;And now a lion’s head forth came,And now, O Heaven! long tongues of flameRan wreathing round the hill.No fear the son of Glaucus knew,But pricked his forward willThe rock-perched monster to pursue:On right, on left, he sought a clueTo thread that steep-faced hill;But though the day had much ado,When night came down with sable hueIt found him searching still.Hid in the tangled brakes aroundNext morn a rugged chasm he found,That oped into an archway wideRight through the hollow mountain-side;Here plunged the knight; and thenWith eager foot emerging speedsAlong a rocky ledge that leadsTo dire Chimera’s den.The monster hears his coming tread,And with a hideous roarTrails forth its length, and shows its headAnd mouth all daubed with gore.The brave knight drew his sword, and flewLike lightning on the foe,And on its hide of horny prideDealt ringing blow on blow.In vain; that hide, Bellerophon,Dipt in the flood of Acheron,Is proof at every pore;And where thy steel doth vainly hack,A goat’s head rising on its backWith living fire streams o’er;And from behind, a serpent’s tail,With many mouths that hisses,Rears round about thee like a flail,To give thee poisoned kisses.The flame, the smoke, the sulphurous breathDoth choke thy mortal life;Spare that dear life, for only deathCan grow from such a strife.Backward the flame-scorched hero sped,And as he went, upon his treadThe roaring Terror came.Along the ridge, so sharp and jaggy,Huge-limb’d it strode, horrid and shaggy,And swathed with sevenfold flame.Down through the archway opening wide,Far through the hollow mountain-side,It drove him wrathful on;Then through the black jaws of the rockIt hurled him with a furious shock,And with a huge-heaved stoneBlocked up the rift. There in the vale,Scarcely with life, all scorched and pale,Was left Bellerophon.VIII.The evening dew was clear and cold:Upon the harsh ungrateful mouldAll stiffly lay the hero boldThorough the dreamless night;But when the face of peering dayShot o’er the cliff its crimson ray,All stiff and aching as he lay,Sleep seized the weary knight—A blissful sleep; for when the senseWas bound with blindness most intense,With sharp-eyed soul he saw,Ev’n at his side, in light arrayed,Serene with placid power displayed,The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid,And worshipped her with awe;And in her hand—a well-known sight—The wingèd steed she led,That bent the knee before the knight,And bowed its lofty head.Raptured he woke; with sense now clearHe saw the heavenly maid,And in her hand a massive spear,Firm-planted, she displayed;And thus she spake: “Ephyrian knight,Dear to the gods art thou,Not vainly did thy prayer inviteMy aid to wing thy airy flightTo Cragus’ rocky brow.A friendly god is thy provider;If thou hast wisely planned,Fear not; the steed doth wait the rider,The spear doth claim the hand.That snake-born monster’s horny hide,That was not made to feel,May never yield life’s crimson tideTo sharpest Rhodian steel;But with this spear from Vulcan’s forge,Right through the mouth in the deep gorgeIf thou shalt pierce it, thenThis dire Chimera, breathing flame,Thou with a hero’s hand shalt tame,And win thyself a glorious nameAmong the Xanthian men.”Upstood the knight, with hope elate,And felt the aching pain abateFrom all his sore-bruised limbs;The wingèd steed he straight bestrode,And to Chimera’s black abodeThrough liquid air he swims.The deep-mouthed Terror ’gan to bray,The forky fire-tongues ’gan to play,The fretful serpents hissed dismayRound all the rocky wall;But with direct and eager speedThe rider and the heavenly steedRushed to achieve the fearless deedAt glorious danger’s call.The knight, with curious eye, did noteThe centre of the roaring throat,And while it gaped with gory jawsTo thunder fear around,Forward he rode—nor any pause,But right into Chimera’s gorgeHe drove the spear from Vulcan’s forge,And fixed it in the ground.Up from the back the fell goat’s headRose rough with swelling ire,And right and left long tongues were spreadOf forky-flaming fire;But with immortal strength the steedFlaps his huge vans around,And straight the eager spires recede,And harmless lick the ground.Cowed lie the snakes, and with quick eyeA tender place the knight did spyWhere the neck joined the back;There with a fatal swoop he came,And through the fount of living flameHe cuts with fierce attack.Down dropt the goat’s head in its gore,And with a sharp and brazen roarThe writhing lion dies.The palsied snakes, with stiffened fang,Like lifeless leaves unconscious hang,And lose all strength to rise;And belching rivers of black goreUpon the clotted rocky floorThe smoking carcass lies.IX.A famous man was Glaucus’ sonThen when Chimera died;In Lycian land like him was noneIn glory and in pride.At public feast beside the kingHe sate; him did the minstrel singWith various-woven lays;And old men in the halls were gay,And maidens smiled, and mothers grey,And eager boys would cease their playTo sound the hero’s praise.The Xanthian burghers, wealthy men,Chose the best acres in the glenBeside the fattening river—Acres where best or corn would grow,Or vines with clustered purple glow,These, free from burden, they bestowOn Glaucus’ son for ever.The Xanthian king, to Prœtus bound,For other dangers looks around,And finds, but finds in vain.’Gainst the stout Solymi to fight[10]He set the brave Ephyrian knight,And hoped he might be slain;But from the stiff embrace of MarsHe soon returned, and showed his scars,To glad the Xanthian plain.A Lycian army then he ledAgainst the maids unhusbanded,Where surly Pontus roars.Before his spear the Amazon yields;The breastless host, with moonèd shields,Far o’er Thermodon’s famous fieldsHe drove to Colchian shores.The Xanthian king despairs the strife—“Let Prœtus fight for Prœtus’ wife;I will not tempt the charmèd lifeOf valiant Glaucus’ son!”Nor more against the gods he strives,But with his hand his daughter givesTo brave Bellerophon.X.A prosperous man was Glaucus’ sonThen when the queenly maid he won,The pride of Lycian land:The Lycian lords obey his nod,The people hail him as a god,And own his high command.Fearless he lived without annoy,Plucking the bloom of every joy;For still, to help his need,Jove’s blue-eyed daughter, when he prayed,Was present with her heavenly aid,And lent the wingèd steed.His heart with pride was lifted high;Beyond the bounds of earth to flyImpious he weened, and scale the sky,And sit with Jove sublime.Upward and northward far he sails,O’er Carian crags and Phrygian vales,And blest Mæonia’s clime.The orient breezes round him blowingHe feels; with light the ether glowing;And from the planets in their goingHe lists the sphery chime.Bursts far Olympus on his viewSnowy, with gleams of rosy hue;And round the heavenly halls,All radiant with immortal blue,The golden battlements he knew,And adamantine walls.And on the walls, with dizzy awe,Full many a shapely form he sawOf stately grace divine:The furious Mars with terror crested,Poseidon’s power the mighty-breasted,That rules the billowy brine;And, linked with golden Aphrodite,The heavenly smith, in labour mighty,Grace matched with skill he sees;And one that in his airy handDisplayed a serpent-twisted wand,And floated on the breeze,Both capped and shod with wings; and oneThat lay in sumptuous easeOn pillowed clouds, fair Semele’s son,And quaffed the nectar’d bowl;And one from whom the locks unshornFlowed like ripe fields of April corn,And beaming brightness, like the morn,Shower’d radiance on the pole;And matron Juno’s awful face;And Dian, mistress of the chase;And Pallas, that with eye of blueNow sternly meets the hero’s view,Whom erst she met with love;And, like a star of purer ray,Apart, whom all the gods obey,The thunder-launching Jove.The ravishment of such fair sightThrilled sense and soul with quick delightTo bold Bellerophon;Entranced he looked; his wingèd steed,Struck with the brightness, checked its speed,Nor more would venture on.Deaf to the eager rider’s call,Who spurred to mount the Olympian wall,It stood like lifeless stoneA moment—then, with sudden wheel,Earthward its flight it ’gan to reel;For awful now were heard to pealSharp thunders from the pole,And lightnings flashed, and darkly spreadO’er that rash rider’s impious headThe sulphurous clouds did roll.With eager gust the fiery stormResistless whirled his quaking formDown through the choking air.Loud and more loud the thunders swell—Him with blind speed the winds impel;Three times three days and nights he fellDown through the choking air.At length, in mazy terror lost,Him the celestial courser tossedWith fiercely-fretted mane;And, by the close-involving blastImpetuous hurried, he was castOn the Aleian[11]plain.XI.Senseless, but lifeless not, he lay.The gods had mercy shownIf they had slain, on that black day,The blasted Glaucus’ son;But all the gods conspired to hateThe man, with impious pride elate,Who dared to scale the sky.Year after year, from that black day,He pined his meagre life away,Weak as a cloud or vapour grey,And vainly wished to die.On a wide waste, without a tree,The unfrequent traveller there might seeThe once great Glaucus’ son.Far from the haunts and from the treadOf men, a joyless life he led;On folly’s fruitage there he fed,Dejected and alone;Even as a witless boy at school,Would sit and gaze into a poolThe blank Bellerophon;Or to bring forth the blindworm redThat, creeping, loves a lightless bed,Would turn the old grey stone.And thus he lived, and thus he died,And ended to the brute allied,Who like a god began;And he hath gained a painful fame,And marred immortal praise with blame,And taught to whoso names his name,Pride was not made for man!J. S. B.

The sun shines bright on Ephyré’s height,[2]And right and left with billowy mightPoseidon rules the sea;But not the sun that rules above,Nor strong Poseidon, nor great Jove,Can look with looks of favouring love,Bellerophon, on thee.There’s blood upon thy hands; the houndsOf hell pursue thy path;Nor they within rich Corinth’s boundsShall slack their vengeful wrath.Black broods the sky above thy head,The Earth breeds serpents at thy tread,The Furies’ foot hath found thee;A baleful pest their presence brings,A curse to peasants and to kings;The horrid shadow of their wingsTurns day to darkness round thee.Flee o’er the Argive hills, and there,With suppliant branch and pious prayer,Thou shalt not crave in vainSome prince whose hands not worthless holdThe sceptre of Phoroneus old,To wash thee clean, and make thee boldTo look on men again.

The sun shines bright on Ephyré’s height,[2]

And right and left with billowy might

Poseidon rules the sea;

But not the sun that rules above,

Nor strong Poseidon, nor great Jove,

Can look with looks of favouring love,

Bellerophon, on thee.

There’s blood upon thy hands; the hounds

Of hell pursue thy path;

Nor they within rich Corinth’s bounds

Shall slack their vengeful wrath.

Black broods the sky above thy head,

The Earth breeds serpents at thy tread,

The Furies’ foot hath found thee;

A baleful pest their presence brings,

A curse to peasants and to kings;

The horrid shadow of their wings

Turns day to darkness round thee.

Flee o’er the Argive hills, and there,

With suppliant branch and pious prayer,

Thou shalt not crave in vain

Some prince whose hands not worthless hold

The sceptre of Phoroneus old,

To wash thee clean, and make thee bold

To look on men again.

II.

Darkly the Nemean forests frown,Where Apesantian JoveFrom his broad altar-seat looks downOn the Ogygian grove.[3]Fierce roars the lion from his denIn Tretus’ long and narrow glen;And many a lawless manHere by the stony water-bedLists the lone traveller’s errant tread,And wakes the plundering clan.Here be thy flight, Bellerophon,But danger fear thou none;For she, the warlike and the wise,Jove’s blue-eyed daughter from surpriseSecure shall lead thee on.He flees: and where the priestess bearsTo Hera on the hill[4]The sacred keys, he pours his prayers,And drinks the scanty rill.He flees: and now before his eye,With wall and gate and bulwark high,And many a tower that fronts the sky,And many a covered way,Strong Tiryns stands, whose massy blocksWere torn by Cyclops from the rocks,And piled in vast array.[5]Here Prœtus reigns; and here at lengthThe suppliant throws his jaded strengthBefore a friendly door;And now from hot pursuit secure,And from blood-guiltiness made pure,His heart shall fear no more.

Darkly the Nemean forests frown,

Where Apesantian Jove

From his broad altar-seat looks down

On the Ogygian grove.[3]

Fierce roars the lion from his den

In Tretus’ long and narrow glen;

And many a lawless man

Here by the stony water-bed

Lists the lone traveller’s errant tread,

And wakes the plundering clan.

Here be thy flight, Bellerophon,

But danger fear thou none;

For she, the warlike and the wise,

Jove’s blue-eyed daughter from surprise

Secure shall lead thee on.

He flees: and where the priestess bears

To Hera on the hill[4]

The sacred keys, he pours his prayers,

And drinks the scanty rill.

He flees: and now before his eye,

With wall and gate and bulwark high,

And many a tower that fronts the sky,

And many a covered way,

Strong Tiryns stands, whose massy blocks

Were torn by Cyclops from the rocks,

And piled in vast array.[5]

Here Prœtus reigns; and here at length

The suppliant throws his jaded strength

Before a friendly door;

And now from hot pursuit secure,

And from blood-guiltiness made pure,

His heart shall fear no more.

III.

The princely Prœtus opes his gate,And on the fugitive’s dark fateSmiles gracious; him from fear,And terror of the scourge divine,He purifies with blood of swineAnd sprinkled water clear.O blessed was the calm that nowLulled his racked brain, and smoothed his brow!Nor wildly now did rollHis sleepless eyes; from gracious JoveCame down the gentle dew of loveThat soothed his wounded soul.And grateful was blithe face of manTo heart now free from Furies’ ban,And sweet the festive lyre.Fair was each sight that gorgeous day,Spread forth in beautiful arrayTo move the heart’s desire.Each manly sport and social gameThrilled with new joy his re-strung frame,And waked the living fire.Antéa saw him poise the dart,In the fleet race the foremost start,And lawless Venus smote her heart—She loved her lord no more:As no chaste woman sues she sued,Her guest the partial hostess wooed,And lavished beauty’s storeOf looks and smiles, and pleading tears,And silvery words; but he reveresThe rights of hospitable Jove,Chastely repels her perilous love,Nor hears her parley more.

The princely Prœtus opes his gate,

And on the fugitive’s dark fate

Smiles gracious; him from fear,

And terror of the scourge divine,

He purifies with blood of swine

And sprinkled water clear.

O blessed was the calm that now

Lulled his racked brain, and smoothed his brow!

Nor wildly now did roll

His sleepless eyes; from gracious Jove

Came down the gentle dew of love

That soothed his wounded soul.

And grateful was blithe face of man

To heart now free from Furies’ ban,

And sweet the festive lyre.

Fair was each sight that gorgeous day,

Spread forth in beautiful array

To move the heart’s desire.

Each manly sport and social game

Thrilled with new joy his re-strung frame,

And waked the living fire.

Antéa saw him poise the dart,

In the fleet race the foremost start,

And lawless Venus smote her heart—

She loved her lord no more:

As no chaste woman sues she sued,

Her guest the partial hostess wooed,

And lavished beauty’s store

Of looks and smiles, and pleading tears,

And silvery words; but he reveres

The rights of hospitable Jove,

Chastely repels her perilous love,

Nor hears her parley more.

IV.

Who slights a woman’s love cuts deep,And wakes a brood of snakes that sleepBeneath a bed of roses.The lustful wife of Prœtus nowTo earthly Venus vows a vow,And in her heart proposesA fiendish thing. She, with the pinThat bound her peplos, pierced the skinOf her smooth-rounded arm;And when the crimson stream beganTo trickle down, she instant ran,And with a feigned alarmRoused all her maids, and in the earOf the fond Prœtus, quick to hear,She poured the piteous lie,That the false guest had sought to moveHer loyal-mated heart with love,And with rude hands had dared assailHer virtue, cased in surer mailThan Dian’s panoply:Then, more to stir his wrathful mood,She bared her arm that streamed with blood,And scared his jealous eye.Hot boiled his Argive heart; his eyesFlash vengeance; but himself deniesThe reins to his own spleen.His public face in smiles is dressed,He joins the banquet with the rest,And tells the tale, and plies the jestWith easy social mien;And to his high Corinthian guestLets not a thought be seen.“Take here,” quoth he, “thou high-souled knight,To Iobates the Lycian wight,The brother of my queen,These tablets; he will honour theeEven more than I; and thou shalt seeA famous and a fruitful land,With all Apollo’s beauty bland,And various verdure green.”Uprose the knight with willing feet,His heart was light, his pace was fleet;Girt for the road and venture boldHe left the strong Tirynhian hold,And gaily wends his wayO’er steep Arachne’s ridge, till hePassed Æsculapius’ sacred fane,That sendeth health, and healeth pain,And reached, with foot untired, the seaThat beats with billows bounding freeThe Epidaurian bay.

Who slights a woman’s love cuts deep,

And wakes a brood of snakes that sleep

Beneath a bed of roses.

The lustful wife of Prœtus now

To earthly Venus vows a vow,

And in her heart proposes

A fiendish thing. She, with the pin

That bound her peplos, pierced the skin

Of her smooth-rounded arm;

And when the crimson stream began

To trickle down, she instant ran,

And with a feigned alarm

Roused all her maids, and in the ear

Of the fond Prœtus, quick to hear,

She poured the piteous lie,

That the false guest had sought to move

Her loyal-mated heart with love,

And with rude hands had dared assail

Her virtue, cased in surer mail

Than Dian’s panoply:

Then, more to stir his wrathful mood,

She bared her arm that streamed with blood,

And scared his jealous eye.

Hot boiled his Argive heart; his eyes

Flash vengeance; but himself denies

The reins to his own spleen.

His public face in smiles is dressed,

He joins the banquet with the rest,

And tells the tale, and plies the jest

With easy social mien;

And to his high Corinthian guest

Lets not a thought be seen.

“Take here,” quoth he, “thou high-souled knight,

To Iobates the Lycian wight,

The brother of my queen,

These tablets; he will honour thee

Even more than I; and thou shalt see

A famous and a fruitful land,

With all Apollo’s beauty bland,

And various verdure green.”

Uprose the knight with willing feet,

His heart was light, his pace was fleet;

Girt for the road and venture bold

He left the strong Tirynhian hold,

And gaily wends his way

O’er steep Arachne’s ridge, till he

Passed Æsculapius’ sacred fane,

That sendeth health, and healeth pain,

And reached, with foot untired, the sea

That beats with billows bounding free

The Epidaurian bay.

Thoughtful a moment here he stoodAnd watched the never-sleeping flood,The ever-changing wave;He knew no danger, feared no foes,But from his heart a prayer uproseTo her that guards the brave.Wise prayer; for scarce the words are goneFrom thy free mouth, Bellerophon,When, struck with holy awe,Even at thy side in light arrayed,Serene with placid power displayed,The chaste Athenian Jove-born maidThy wondering vision saw;And in her hand—O strangest sight!—A wingèd steed she led,That bent the knee before the knightAnd bowed its lofty head.“Fear not, thou son of Æolus’ race,Dear to the gods art thou;This steed, by strong Poseidon’s maceThat leapt to life, through airy spaceShall safely waft thee now.”Thus spake the goddess, wise as fair;And with the word, dissolved in air,Was seen no more. The knightBrushed from his eyes the dazzling glare,And scarce believed his sight.But when he saw the steed was there,He winged to Heaven a rapid prayer,And for the airy flightBuckled his purpose. Mounted nowWith rapid wheel he soars,O’er creek and crag, and rocky brow,And swift-receding shores.A lovely sight was there, I trow,Where high on wingèd oarsHe clove the pathless air. The sea,With various-twinkling brilliancy,Immense before him lay,With many a coast far-stretching seen,And many a high-cliffed isle between,And many a winding bay.High o’er Œnone’s isle he sails,[6]Where Æacus’ justest law prevails,And masted armies ride;O’er famous Sunium’s rocky steep,Where Pallas guards the Attic deep,He swept with airy pride.Ceos and Syros wondering sawHis meteor-steed with humble awe;And sacred Delos deemedApollo’s self, the fervid godHis own ethereal regions trod,And with such brightness gleamed.Swift o’er the Bacchic isle he glides,[7]Where music mingles with the tidesFrom many a Mænad throat.And nigh to Caria’s craggy shore,Cos with her blushing winy storeHis sweeping view can note.Anon, sublime he soars aboveThy temple, Atabyrian Jove,The lord of cloudless Rhodes,[8]Where Telchins wise, with busy clamour,Who shape the steel beneath the hammer,Possess their famed abodes:And swiftly then he swoops, I ween,Down on the steeps of Cragus greenInto the pleasant plain,Where Xanthus rolls his yellow stream,And Phœbus lights with glorious gleamThe Patarean plain.Here he alights. His heavenly steed,With instant eye out-stripping speedScorning the earthly loam,Wheels eastward far with vans sonorous,And o’er the rosy peaks of TaurusSails to his starry home.

Thoughtful a moment here he stood

And watched the never-sleeping flood,

The ever-changing wave;

He knew no danger, feared no foes,

But from his heart a prayer uprose

To her that guards the brave.

Wise prayer; for scarce the words are gone

From thy free mouth, Bellerophon,

When, struck with holy awe,

Even at thy side in light arrayed,

Serene with placid power displayed,

The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid

Thy wondering vision saw;

And in her hand—O strangest sight!—

A wingèd steed she led,

That bent the knee before the knight

And bowed its lofty head.

“Fear not, thou son of Æolus’ race,

Dear to the gods art thou;

This steed, by strong Poseidon’s mace

That leapt to life, through airy space

Shall safely waft thee now.”

Thus spake the goddess, wise as fair;

And with the word, dissolved in air,

Was seen no more. The knight

Brushed from his eyes the dazzling glare,

And scarce believed his sight.

But when he saw the steed was there,

He winged to Heaven a rapid prayer,

And for the airy flight

Buckled his purpose. Mounted now

With rapid wheel he soars,

O’er creek and crag, and rocky brow,

And swift-receding shores.

A lovely sight was there, I trow,

Where high on wingèd oars

He clove the pathless air. The sea,

With various-twinkling brilliancy,

Immense before him lay,

With many a coast far-stretching seen,

And many a high-cliffed isle between,

And many a winding bay.

High o’er Œnone’s isle he sails,[6]

Where Æacus’ justest law prevails,

And masted armies ride;

O’er famous Sunium’s rocky steep,

Where Pallas guards the Attic deep,

He swept with airy pride.

Ceos and Syros wondering saw

His meteor-steed with humble awe;

And sacred Delos deemed

Apollo’s self, the fervid god

His own ethereal regions trod,

And with such brightness gleamed.

Swift o’er the Bacchic isle he glides,[7]

Where music mingles with the tides

From many a Mænad throat.

And nigh to Caria’s craggy shore,

Cos with her blushing winy store

His sweeping view can note.

Anon, sublime he soars above

Thy temple, Atabyrian Jove,

The lord of cloudless Rhodes,[8]

Where Telchins wise, with busy clamour,

Who shape the steel beneath the hammer,

Possess their famed abodes:

And swiftly then he swoops, I ween,

Down on the steeps of Cragus green

Into the pleasant plain,

Where Xanthus rolls his yellow stream,

And Phœbus lights with glorious gleam

The Patarean plain.

Here he alights. His heavenly steed,

With instant eye out-stripping speed

Scorning the earthly loam,

Wheels eastward far with vans sonorous,

And o’er the rosy peaks of Taurus

Sails to his starry home.

VI.

The Xanthian gate is wide and free;[9]The Xanthian towers are high;The Xanthian streets are fair to see;The knight, with wondering eye,Beholds and enters. To the kingA ready troop the stranger bring,And scan him o’er and o’er;Carious that one so spruce and trim,And with such light unwearied limb,Had reached the Lycian shore.With kindly heart the Xanthian lordOpes his high hall and spreads his board,And pours the Coan wine;Nor question asked (for Jove gives freeTo all a questless courtesy)Till days were numbered nine.His tablets then the knight presents;The monarch scans their dire contents,For here ’twas written plainly,“If thou dost hate who works amissLet not his hand that beareth thisHave sinned against me vainly;Thy Prœtus.” Sore vexed was the kingThat he must do a bloody thingAgainst so brave a guest;But vows were strong, and family bonds;Therefore, composed, he thus responds—“Brave knight, a fearful pestAfflicts this land: a monster dire,With, terror armed, and breathing fire,In Cragus holds her den,Chimera named: with savage jawShe bites, and with voracious mawConsumes both beasts and men.This hideous form its birth did takeFrom hoar Echidna, virgin-snake;She to that fiery blaster,Typhon, Cilicia’s curse of yoreA triform goatish portent bore,With serpent’s sting and lion’s roar,This Lycian land’s disaster.Harmless at first, for sport ’twas bredBy Caria’s thoughtless king,And by his innocent children ledObedient to a string.Anon its hellish blood grew hot;It breathed a breath of fire,And tainted every household spotWith gouts of poison dire.Full grown at length, and fierce and bold,She ranges freely through each fold,And licks the fleecy slaughter;And, when her humour waxes wild,No flesh she spares of man or child,Echidna’s gory daughter.Now hear me, noble Glaucus’ son,Most valiant knight, Bellerophon;Thou hast a face that seems to courtA dangerous business as a sport—This thing I ask thee then;Wilt thou go forth, and dare to tameThis murtherous monster breathing flame,And win thyself a deathless nameAmong the Xanthian men?”

The Xanthian gate is wide and free;[9]

The Xanthian towers are high;

The Xanthian streets are fair to see;

The knight, with wondering eye,

Beholds and enters. To the king

A ready troop the stranger bring,

And scan him o’er and o’er;

Carious that one so spruce and trim,

And with such light unwearied limb,

Had reached the Lycian shore.

With kindly heart the Xanthian lord

Opes his high hall and spreads his board,

And pours the Coan wine;

Nor question asked (for Jove gives free

To all a questless courtesy)

Till days were numbered nine.

His tablets then the knight presents;

The monarch scans their dire contents,

For here ’twas written plainly,

“If thou dost hate who works amiss

Let not his hand that beareth this

Have sinned against me vainly;

Thy Prœtus.” Sore vexed was the king

That he must do a bloody thing

Against so brave a guest;

But vows were strong, and family bonds;

Therefore, composed, he thus responds—

“Brave knight, a fearful pest

Afflicts this land: a monster dire,

With, terror armed, and breathing fire,

In Cragus holds her den,

Chimera named: with savage jaw

She bites, and with voracious maw

Consumes both beasts and men.

This hideous form its birth did take

From hoar Echidna, virgin-snake;

She to that fiery blaster,

Typhon, Cilicia’s curse of yore

A triform goatish portent bore,

With serpent’s sting and lion’s roar,

This Lycian land’s disaster.

Harmless at first, for sport ’twas bred

By Caria’s thoughtless king,

And by his innocent children led

Obedient to a string.

Anon its hellish blood grew hot;

It breathed a breath of fire,

And tainted every household spot

With gouts of poison dire.

Full grown at length, and fierce and bold,

She ranges freely through each fold,

And licks the fleecy slaughter;

And, when her humour waxes wild,

No flesh she spares of man or child,

Echidna’s gory daughter.

Now hear me, noble Glaucus’ son,

Most valiant knight, Bellerophon;

Thou hast a face that seems to court

A dangerous business as a sport—

This thing I ask thee then;

Wilt thou go forth, and dare to tame

This murtherous monster breathing flame,

And win thyself a deathless name

Among the Xanthian men?”

VII.

Thus he—(for in his heart he thoughtSuch venture must with life be bought).But brave BellerophonGuileless received the guileful plan,And, as an eager-purposed man,Buckled his armour on.Alone he went: of such empriseWith this bold-breasted strangerNo one shall share, a herald cries,The glory or the danger.By Xanthus’ stream he wends him then,And leftward up the hollow glenWhere Pandarus’ city, like a tower,Rises begirt with rocky power;Then upward, still he goes,Where black-browed mountains round him lower,And ‘neath chill winter’s grisly bowerThe sunless water flows.Upon a steep rock hoar with eldA yawning cave his eye beheld,High-perched; and to that cave no traceOf road upon the mountain’s face,But, like an eagle’s nest,Sublime it hung. He looked again,And from the cave a tawny maneShook o’er the rocky crest;And now a lion’s head forth came,And now, O Heaven! long tongues of flameRan wreathing round the hill.No fear the son of Glaucus knew,But pricked his forward willThe rock-perched monster to pursue:On right, on left, he sought a clueTo thread that steep-faced hill;But though the day had much ado,When night came down with sable hueIt found him searching still.Hid in the tangled brakes aroundNext morn a rugged chasm he found,That oped into an archway wideRight through the hollow mountain-side;Here plunged the knight; and thenWith eager foot emerging speedsAlong a rocky ledge that leadsTo dire Chimera’s den.The monster hears his coming tread,And with a hideous roarTrails forth its length, and shows its headAnd mouth all daubed with gore.The brave knight drew his sword, and flewLike lightning on the foe,And on its hide of horny prideDealt ringing blow on blow.In vain; that hide, Bellerophon,Dipt in the flood of Acheron,Is proof at every pore;And where thy steel doth vainly hack,A goat’s head rising on its backWith living fire streams o’er;And from behind, a serpent’s tail,With many mouths that hisses,Rears round about thee like a flail,To give thee poisoned kisses.The flame, the smoke, the sulphurous breathDoth choke thy mortal life;Spare that dear life, for only deathCan grow from such a strife.Backward the flame-scorched hero sped,And as he went, upon his treadThe roaring Terror came.Along the ridge, so sharp and jaggy,Huge-limb’d it strode, horrid and shaggy,And swathed with sevenfold flame.Down through the archway opening wide,Far through the hollow mountain-side,It drove him wrathful on;Then through the black jaws of the rockIt hurled him with a furious shock,And with a huge-heaved stoneBlocked up the rift. There in the vale,Scarcely with life, all scorched and pale,Was left Bellerophon.

Thus he—(for in his heart he thought

Such venture must with life be bought).

But brave Bellerophon

Guileless received the guileful plan,

And, as an eager-purposed man,

Buckled his armour on.

Alone he went: of such emprise

With this bold-breasted stranger

No one shall share, a herald cries,

The glory or the danger.

By Xanthus’ stream he wends him then,

And leftward up the hollow glen

Where Pandarus’ city, like a tower,

Rises begirt with rocky power;

Then upward, still he goes,

Where black-browed mountains round him lower,

And ‘neath chill winter’s grisly bower

The sunless water flows.

Upon a steep rock hoar with eld

A yawning cave his eye beheld,

High-perched; and to that cave no trace

Of road upon the mountain’s face,

But, like an eagle’s nest,

Sublime it hung. He looked again,

And from the cave a tawny mane

Shook o’er the rocky crest;

And now a lion’s head forth came,

And now, O Heaven! long tongues of flame

Ran wreathing round the hill.

No fear the son of Glaucus knew,

But pricked his forward will

The rock-perched monster to pursue:

On right, on left, he sought a clue

To thread that steep-faced hill;

But though the day had much ado,

When night came down with sable hue

It found him searching still.

Hid in the tangled brakes around

Next morn a rugged chasm he found,

That oped into an archway wide

Right through the hollow mountain-side;

Here plunged the knight; and then

With eager foot emerging speeds

Along a rocky ledge that leads

To dire Chimera’s den.

The monster hears his coming tread,

And with a hideous roar

Trails forth its length, and shows its head

And mouth all daubed with gore.

The brave knight drew his sword, and flew

Like lightning on the foe,

And on its hide of horny pride

Dealt ringing blow on blow.

In vain; that hide, Bellerophon,

Dipt in the flood of Acheron,

Is proof at every pore;

And where thy steel doth vainly hack,

A goat’s head rising on its back

With living fire streams o’er;

And from behind, a serpent’s tail,

With many mouths that hisses,

Rears round about thee like a flail,

To give thee poisoned kisses.

The flame, the smoke, the sulphurous breath

Doth choke thy mortal life;

Spare that dear life, for only death

Can grow from such a strife.

Backward the flame-scorched hero sped,

And as he went, upon his tread

The roaring Terror came.

Along the ridge, so sharp and jaggy,

Huge-limb’d it strode, horrid and shaggy,

And swathed with sevenfold flame.

Down through the archway opening wide,

Far through the hollow mountain-side,

It drove him wrathful on;

Then through the black jaws of the rock

It hurled him with a furious shock,

And with a huge-heaved stone

Blocked up the rift. There in the vale,

Scarcely with life, all scorched and pale,

Was left Bellerophon.

VIII.

The evening dew was clear and cold:Upon the harsh ungrateful mouldAll stiffly lay the hero boldThorough the dreamless night;But when the face of peering dayShot o’er the cliff its crimson ray,All stiff and aching as he lay,Sleep seized the weary knight—A blissful sleep; for when the senseWas bound with blindness most intense,With sharp-eyed soul he saw,Ev’n at his side, in light arrayed,Serene with placid power displayed,The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid,And worshipped her with awe;And in her hand—a well-known sight—The wingèd steed she led,That bent the knee before the knight,And bowed its lofty head.Raptured he woke; with sense now clearHe saw the heavenly maid,And in her hand a massive spear,Firm-planted, she displayed;And thus she spake: “Ephyrian knight,Dear to the gods art thou,Not vainly did thy prayer inviteMy aid to wing thy airy flightTo Cragus’ rocky brow.A friendly god is thy provider;If thou hast wisely planned,Fear not; the steed doth wait the rider,The spear doth claim the hand.That snake-born monster’s horny hide,That was not made to feel,May never yield life’s crimson tideTo sharpest Rhodian steel;But with this spear from Vulcan’s forge,Right through the mouth in the deep gorgeIf thou shalt pierce it, thenThis dire Chimera, breathing flame,Thou with a hero’s hand shalt tame,And win thyself a glorious nameAmong the Xanthian men.”Upstood the knight, with hope elate,And felt the aching pain abateFrom all his sore-bruised limbs;The wingèd steed he straight bestrode,And to Chimera’s black abodeThrough liquid air he swims.The deep-mouthed Terror ’gan to bray,The forky fire-tongues ’gan to play,The fretful serpents hissed dismayRound all the rocky wall;But with direct and eager speedThe rider and the heavenly steedRushed to achieve the fearless deedAt glorious danger’s call.The knight, with curious eye, did noteThe centre of the roaring throat,And while it gaped with gory jawsTo thunder fear around,Forward he rode—nor any pause,But right into Chimera’s gorgeHe drove the spear from Vulcan’s forge,And fixed it in the ground.Up from the back the fell goat’s headRose rough with swelling ire,And right and left long tongues were spreadOf forky-flaming fire;But with immortal strength the steedFlaps his huge vans around,And straight the eager spires recede,And harmless lick the ground.Cowed lie the snakes, and with quick eyeA tender place the knight did spyWhere the neck joined the back;There with a fatal swoop he came,And through the fount of living flameHe cuts with fierce attack.Down dropt the goat’s head in its gore,And with a sharp and brazen roarThe writhing lion dies.The palsied snakes, with stiffened fang,Like lifeless leaves unconscious hang,And lose all strength to rise;And belching rivers of black goreUpon the clotted rocky floorThe smoking carcass lies.

The evening dew was clear and cold:

Upon the harsh ungrateful mould

All stiffly lay the hero bold

Thorough the dreamless night;

But when the face of peering day

Shot o’er the cliff its crimson ray,

All stiff and aching as he lay,

Sleep seized the weary knight—

A blissful sleep; for when the sense

Was bound with blindness most intense,

With sharp-eyed soul he saw,

Ev’n at his side, in light arrayed,

Serene with placid power displayed,

The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid,

And worshipped her with awe;

And in her hand—a well-known sight—

The wingèd steed she led,

That bent the knee before the knight,

And bowed its lofty head.

Raptured he woke; with sense now clear

He saw the heavenly maid,

And in her hand a massive spear,

Firm-planted, she displayed;

And thus she spake: “Ephyrian knight,

Dear to the gods art thou,

Not vainly did thy prayer invite

My aid to wing thy airy flight

To Cragus’ rocky brow.

A friendly god is thy provider;

If thou hast wisely planned,

Fear not; the steed doth wait the rider,

The spear doth claim the hand.

That snake-born monster’s horny hide,

That was not made to feel,

May never yield life’s crimson tide

To sharpest Rhodian steel;

But with this spear from Vulcan’s forge,

Right through the mouth in the deep gorge

If thou shalt pierce it, then

This dire Chimera, breathing flame,

Thou with a hero’s hand shalt tame,

And win thyself a glorious name

Among the Xanthian men.”

Upstood the knight, with hope elate,

And felt the aching pain abate

From all his sore-bruised limbs;

The wingèd steed he straight bestrode,

And to Chimera’s black abode

Through liquid air he swims.

The deep-mouthed Terror ’gan to bray,

The forky fire-tongues ’gan to play,

The fretful serpents hissed dismay

Round all the rocky wall;

But with direct and eager speed

The rider and the heavenly steed

Rushed to achieve the fearless deed

At glorious danger’s call.

The knight, with curious eye, did note

The centre of the roaring throat,

And while it gaped with gory jaws

To thunder fear around,

Forward he rode—nor any pause,

But right into Chimera’s gorge

He drove the spear from Vulcan’s forge,

And fixed it in the ground.

Up from the back the fell goat’s head

Rose rough with swelling ire,

And right and left long tongues were spread

Of forky-flaming fire;

But with immortal strength the steed

Flaps his huge vans around,

And straight the eager spires recede,

And harmless lick the ground.

Cowed lie the snakes, and with quick eye

A tender place the knight did spy

Where the neck joined the back;

There with a fatal swoop he came,

And through the fount of living flame

He cuts with fierce attack.

Down dropt the goat’s head in its gore,

And with a sharp and brazen roar

The writhing lion dies.

The palsied snakes, with stiffened fang,

Like lifeless leaves unconscious hang,

And lose all strength to rise;

And belching rivers of black gore

Upon the clotted rocky floor

The smoking carcass lies.

IX.

A famous man was Glaucus’ sonThen when Chimera died;In Lycian land like him was noneIn glory and in pride.At public feast beside the kingHe sate; him did the minstrel singWith various-woven lays;And old men in the halls were gay,And maidens smiled, and mothers grey,And eager boys would cease their playTo sound the hero’s praise.The Xanthian burghers, wealthy men,Chose the best acres in the glenBeside the fattening river—Acres where best or corn would grow,Or vines with clustered purple glow,These, free from burden, they bestowOn Glaucus’ son for ever.The Xanthian king, to Prœtus bound,For other dangers looks around,And finds, but finds in vain.’Gainst the stout Solymi to fight[10]He set the brave Ephyrian knight,And hoped he might be slain;But from the stiff embrace of MarsHe soon returned, and showed his scars,To glad the Xanthian plain.A Lycian army then he ledAgainst the maids unhusbanded,Where surly Pontus roars.Before his spear the Amazon yields;The breastless host, with moonèd shields,Far o’er Thermodon’s famous fieldsHe drove to Colchian shores.The Xanthian king despairs the strife—“Let Prœtus fight for Prœtus’ wife;I will not tempt the charmèd lifeOf valiant Glaucus’ son!”Nor more against the gods he strives,But with his hand his daughter givesTo brave Bellerophon.

A famous man was Glaucus’ son

Then when Chimera died;

In Lycian land like him was none

In glory and in pride.

At public feast beside the king

He sate; him did the minstrel sing

With various-woven lays;

And old men in the halls were gay,

And maidens smiled, and mothers grey,

And eager boys would cease their play

To sound the hero’s praise.

The Xanthian burghers, wealthy men,

Chose the best acres in the glen

Beside the fattening river—

Acres where best or corn would grow,

Or vines with clustered purple glow,

These, free from burden, they bestow

On Glaucus’ son for ever.

The Xanthian king, to Prœtus bound,

For other dangers looks around,

And finds, but finds in vain.

’Gainst the stout Solymi to fight[10]

He set the brave Ephyrian knight,

And hoped he might be slain;

But from the stiff embrace of Mars

He soon returned, and showed his scars,

To glad the Xanthian plain.

A Lycian army then he led

Against the maids unhusbanded,

Where surly Pontus roars.

Before his spear the Amazon yields;

The breastless host, with moonèd shields,

Far o’er Thermodon’s famous fields

He drove to Colchian shores.

The Xanthian king despairs the strife—

“Let Prœtus fight for Prœtus’ wife;

I will not tempt the charmèd life

Of valiant Glaucus’ son!”

Nor more against the gods he strives,

But with his hand his daughter gives

To brave Bellerophon.

A prosperous man was Glaucus’ sonThen when the queenly maid he won,The pride of Lycian land:The Lycian lords obey his nod,The people hail him as a god,And own his high command.Fearless he lived without annoy,Plucking the bloom of every joy;For still, to help his need,Jove’s blue-eyed daughter, when he prayed,Was present with her heavenly aid,And lent the wingèd steed.His heart with pride was lifted high;Beyond the bounds of earth to flyImpious he weened, and scale the sky,And sit with Jove sublime.Upward and northward far he sails,O’er Carian crags and Phrygian vales,And blest Mæonia’s clime.The orient breezes round him blowingHe feels; with light the ether glowing;And from the planets in their goingHe lists the sphery chime.Bursts far Olympus on his viewSnowy, with gleams of rosy hue;And round the heavenly halls,All radiant with immortal blue,The golden battlements he knew,And adamantine walls.And on the walls, with dizzy awe,Full many a shapely form he sawOf stately grace divine:The furious Mars with terror crested,Poseidon’s power the mighty-breasted,That rules the billowy brine;And, linked with golden Aphrodite,The heavenly smith, in labour mighty,Grace matched with skill he sees;And one that in his airy handDisplayed a serpent-twisted wand,And floated on the breeze,Both capped and shod with wings; and oneThat lay in sumptuous easeOn pillowed clouds, fair Semele’s son,And quaffed the nectar’d bowl;And one from whom the locks unshornFlowed like ripe fields of April corn,And beaming brightness, like the morn,Shower’d radiance on the pole;And matron Juno’s awful face;And Dian, mistress of the chase;And Pallas, that with eye of blueNow sternly meets the hero’s view,Whom erst she met with love;And, like a star of purer ray,Apart, whom all the gods obey,The thunder-launching Jove.The ravishment of such fair sightThrilled sense and soul with quick delightTo bold Bellerophon;Entranced he looked; his wingèd steed,Struck with the brightness, checked its speed,Nor more would venture on.Deaf to the eager rider’s call,Who spurred to mount the Olympian wall,It stood like lifeless stoneA moment—then, with sudden wheel,Earthward its flight it ’gan to reel;For awful now were heard to pealSharp thunders from the pole,And lightnings flashed, and darkly spreadO’er that rash rider’s impious headThe sulphurous clouds did roll.With eager gust the fiery stormResistless whirled his quaking formDown through the choking air.Loud and more loud the thunders swell—Him with blind speed the winds impel;Three times three days and nights he fellDown through the choking air.At length, in mazy terror lost,Him the celestial courser tossedWith fiercely-fretted mane;And, by the close-involving blastImpetuous hurried, he was castOn the Aleian[11]plain.

A prosperous man was Glaucus’ son

Then when the queenly maid he won,

The pride of Lycian land:

The Lycian lords obey his nod,

The people hail him as a god,

And own his high command.

Fearless he lived without annoy,

Plucking the bloom of every joy;

For still, to help his need,

Jove’s blue-eyed daughter, when he prayed,

Was present with her heavenly aid,

And lent the wingèd steed.

His heart with pride was lifted high;

Beyond the bounds of earth to fly

Impious he weened, and scale the sky,

And sit with Jove sublime.

Upward and northward far he sails,

O’er Carian crags and Phrygian vales,

And blest Mæonia’s clime.

The orient breezes round him blowing

He feels; with light the ether glowing;

And from the planets in their going

He lists the sphery chime.

Bursts far Olympus on his view

Snowy, with gleams of rosy hue;

And round the heavenly halls,

All radiant with immortal blue,

The golden battlements he knew,

And adamantine walls.

And on the walls, with dizzy awe,

Full many a shapely form he saw

Of stately grace divine:

The furious Mars with terror crested,

Poseidon’s power the mighty-breasted,

That rules the billowy brine;

And, linked with golden Aphrodite,

The heavenly smith, in labour mighty,

Grace matched with skill he sees;

And one that in his airy hand

Displayed a serpent-twisted wand,

And floated on the breeze,

Both capped and shod with wings; and one

That lay in sumptuous ease

On pillowed clouds, fair Semele’s son,

And quaffed the nectar’d bowl;

And one from whom the locks unshorn

Flowed like ripe fields of April corn,

And beaming brightness, like the morn,

Shower’d radiance on the pole;

And matron Juno’s awful face;

And Dian, mistress of the chase;

And Pallas, that with eye of blue

Now sternly meets the hero’s view,

Whom erst she met with love;

And, like a star of purer ray,

Apart, whom all the gods obey,

The thunder-launching Jove.

The ravishment of such fair sight

Thrilled sense and soul with quick delight

To bold Bellerophon;

Entranced he looked; his wingèd steed,

Struck with the brightness, checked its speed,

Nor more would venture on.

Deaf to the eager rider’s call,

Who spurred to mount the Olympian wall,

It stood like lifeless stone

A moment—then, with sudden wheel,

Earthward its flight it ’gan to reel;

For awful now were heard to peal

Sharp thunders from the pole,

And lightnings flashed, and darkly spread

O’er that rash rider’s impious head

The sulphurous clouds did roll.

With eager gust the fiery storm

Resistless whirled his quaking form

Down through the choking air.

Loud and more loud the thunders swell—

Him with blind speed the winds impel;

Three times three days and nights he fell

Down through the choking air.

At length, in mazy terror lost,

Him the celestial courser tossed

With fiercely-fretted mane;

And, by the close-involving blast

Impetuous hurried, he was cast

On the Aleian[11]plain.

XI.

Senseless, but lifeless not, he lay.The gods had mercy shownIf they had slain, on that black day,The blasted Glaucus’ son;But all the gods conspired to hateThe man, with impious pride elate,Who dared to scale the sky.Year after year, from that black day,He pined his meagre life away,Weak as a cloud or vapour grey,And vainly wished to die.On a wide waste, without a tree,The unfrequent traveller there might seeThe once great Glaucus’ son.Far from the haunts and from the treadOf men, a joyless life he led;On folly’s fruitage there he fed,Dejected and alone;Even as a witless boy at school,Would sit and gaze into a poolThe blank Bellerophon;Or to bring forth the blindworm redThat, creeping, loves a lightless bed,Would turn the old grey stone.And thus he lived, and thus he died,And ended to the brute allied,Who like a god began;And he hath gained a painful fame,And marred immortal praise with blame,And taught to whoso names his name,Pride was not made for man!J. S. B.

Senseless, but lifeless not, he lay.

The gods had mercy shown

If they had slain, on that black day,

The blasted Glaucus’ son;

But all the gods conspired to hate

The man, with impious pride elate,

Who dared to scale the sky.

Year after year, from that black day,

He pined his meagre life away,

Weak as a cloud or vapour grey,

And vainly wished to die.

On a wide waste, without a tree,

The unfrequent traveller there might see

The once great Glaucus’ son.

Far from the haunts and from the tread

Of men, a joyless life he led;

On folly’s fruitage there he fed,

Dejected and alone;

Even as a witless boy at school,

Would sit and gaze into a pool

The blank Bellerophon;

Or to bring forth the blindworm red

That, creeping, loves a lightless bed,

Would turn the old grey stone.

And thus he lived, and thus he died,

And ended to the brute allied,

Who like a god began;

And he hath gained a painful fame,

And marred immortal praise with blame,

And taught to whoso names his name,

Pride was not made for man!J. S. B.

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