CYMINDIS.

CYMINDIS.

Ορνιθι λιγυρη εναλιγκιος, ην τ’ εν ορεσσιΧαλκιδα κικλησκουσι Θεοι, ανδρες δε Κυμινδιν.—Homer.

Ορνιθι λιγυρη εναλιγκιος, ην τ’ εν ορεσσιΧαλκιδα κικλησκουσι Θεοι, ανδρες δε Κυμινδιν.—Homer.

Ορνιθι λιγυρη εναλιγκιος, ην τ’ εν ορεσσιΧαλκιδα κικλησκουσι Θεοι, ανδρες δε Κυμινδιν.—Homer.

Ορνιθι λιγυρη εναλιγκιος, ην τ’ εν ορεσσι

Χαλκιδα κικλησκουσι Θεοι, ανδρες δε Κυμινδιν.—Homer.

Beside my lattice cool at dead of night,As I sat musing on unnumbered things,With startled glance I saw a figure bright,No larger than a star, on luminous wingsBorne towards me with a swift continuous flight,From some green island in the Occident.At first, methought that Hesper from his throneUpon the forehead of the firmamentHad parted, and was gliding o’er the foamOf ocean towards me; but my error soonBecame apparent—for a gorgeous bird,Apparelled in full many a splendid plumeOf green, and gold, and purple, came and stirredAn olive’s foliage with its flutterings;Where, perching on a slender flexile bough,It stayed its flight and furled its weary wings.Voiceless awhile, against a dark green sprayIt leaned its breast; then making prelude low,From its dim throat poured out a lengthened flowOf moist Memnonian melody—a layMore soft and sweet than ancient Pan could playThrough all the wild Circean realm of sound,Did range this feathered minstrel’s dulcet tongue;So that no note, or high or low is found,That by its tuneful throat was left unsung.Sometimes I heard a flute’s low silvery plaining,And then anon a shepherd’s reed was blown;And then a far-off clarion’s exclaimingAroused my spirit with its martial tone;Which died ere long into a tender moan—The wail of Indian lover, languishingBeneath a guarded princess’ lattice high.This ceased; and next a music rivallingThe spheral chime that fills the starry sky,An intervolved Æolian harmony,Stole through the porch of sound into the hallWhere my delighted spirit sat enthroned,And from their cells the loftiest thoughts, that wonedTherein, rapt into ecstasy, did call—A sudden shriek of keenest anguish brokeMy breathless rapture, and the silver chainOf that wild song, alas! Cymindis’ note(Such was that Iris-feathered warbler’s name)Was stilled forever. Him within the beakOf a relentless vulture dead I saw,That, swooping from the clouds, his descant sweetHad hushed to silence, to appease the mawOf famine in his eyrie on the steep.

Beside my lattice cool at dead of night,As I sat musing on unnumbered things,With startled glance I saw a figure bright,No larger than a star, on luminous wingsBorne towards me with a swift continuous flight,From some green island in the Occident.At first, methought that Hesper from his throneUpon the forehead of the firmamentHad parted, and was gliding o’er the foamOf ocean towards me; but my error soonBecame apparent—for a gorgeous bird,Apparelled in full many a splendid plumeOf green, and gold, and purple, came and stirredAn olive’s foliage with its flutterings;Where, perching on a slender flexile bough,It stayed its flight and furled its weary wings.Voiceless awhile, against a dark green sprayIt leaned its breast; then making prelude low,From its dim throat poured out a lengthened flowOf moist Memnonian melody—a layMore soft and sweet than ancient Pan could playThrough all the wild Circean realm of sound,Did range this feathered minstrel’s dulcet tongue;So that no note, or high or low is found,That by its tuneful throat was left unsung.Sometimes I heard a flute’s low silvery plaining,And then anon a shepherd’s reed was blown;And then a far-off clarion’s exclaimingAroused my spirit with its martial tone;Which died ere long into a tender moan—The wail of Indian lover, languishingBeneath a guarded princess’ lattice high.This ceased; and next a music rivallingThe spheral chime that fills the starry sky,An intervolved Æolian harmony,Stole through the porch of sound into the hallWhere my delighted spirit sat enthroned,And from their cells the loftiest thoughts, that wonedTherein, rapt into ecstasy, did call—A sudden shriek of keenest anguish brokeMy breathless rapture, and the silver chainOf that wild song, alas! Cymindis’ note(Such was that Iris-feathered warbler’s name)Was stilled forever. Him within the beakOf a relentless vulture dead I saw,That, swooping from the clouds, his descant sweetHad hushed to silence, to appease the mawOf famine in his eyrie on the steep.

Beside my lattice cool at dead of night,As I sat musing on unnumbered things,With startled glance I saw a figure bright,

Beside my lattice cool at dead of night,

As I sat musing on unnumbered things,

With startled glance I saw a figure bright,

No larger than a star, on luminous wingsBorne towards me with a swift continuous flight,From some green island in the Occident.

No larger than a star, on luminous wings

Borne towards me with a swift continuous flight,

From some green island in the Occident.

At first, methought that Hesper from his throneUpon the forehead of the firmamentHad parted, and was gliding o’er the foam

At first, methought that Hesper from his throne

Upon the forehead of the firmament

Had parted, and was gliding o’er the foam

Of ocean towards me; but my error soonBecame apparent—for a gorgeous bird,Apparelled in full many a splendid plume

Of ocean towards me; but my error soon

Became apparent—for a gorgeous bird,

Apparelled in full many a splendid plume

Of green, and gold, and purple, came and stirredAn olive’s foliage with its flutterings;Where, perching on a slender flexile bough,

Of green, and gold, and purple, came and stirred

An olive’s foliage with its flutterings;

Where, perching on a slender flexile bough,

It stayed its flight and furled its weary wings.Voiceless awhile, against a dark green sprayIt leaned its breast; then making prelude low,

It stayed its flight and furled its weary wings.

Voiceless awhile, against a dark green spray

It leaned its breast; then making prelude low,

From its dim throat poured out a lengthened flowOf moist Memnonian melody—a layMore soft and sweet than ancient Pan could play

From its dim throat poured out a lengthened flow

Of moist Memnonian melody—a lay

More soft and sweet than ancient Pan could play

Through all the wild Circean realm of sound,Did range this feathered minstrel’s dulcet tongue;So that no note, or high or low is found,

Through all the wild Circean realm of sound,

Did range this feathered minstrel’s dulcet tongue;

So that no note, or high or low is found,

That by its tuneful throat was left unsung.Sometimes I heard a flute’s low silvery plaining,And then anon a shepherd’s reed was blown;

That by its tuneful throat was left unsung.

Sometimes I heard a flute’s low silvery plaining,

And then anon a shepherd’s reed was blown;

And then a far-off clarion’s exclaimingAroused my spirit with its martial tone;Which died ere long into a tender moan—

And then a far-off clarion’s exclaiming

Aroused my spirit with its martial tone;

Which died ere long into a tender moan—

The wail of Indian lover, languishingBeneath a guarded princess’ lattice high.This ceased; and next a music rivalling

The wail of Indian lover, languishing

Beneath a guarded princess’ lattice high.

This ceased; and next a music rivalling

The spheral chime that fills the starry sky,An intervolved Æolian harmony,Stole through the porch of sound into the hall

The spheral chime that fills the starry sky,

An intervolved Æolian harmony,

Stole through the porch of sound into the hall

Where my delighted spirit sat enthroned,And from their cells the loftiest thoughts, that wonedTherein, rapt into ecstasy, did call—

Where my delighted spirit sat enthroned,

And from their cells the loftiest thoughts, that woned

Therein, rapt into ecstasy, did call—

A sudden shriek of keenest anguish brokeMy breathless rapture, and the silver chainOf that wild song, alas! Cymindis’ note

A sudden shriek of keenest anguish broke

My breathless rapture, and the silver chain

Of that wild song, alas! Cymindis’ note

(Such was that Iris-feathered warbler’s name)Was stilled forever. Him within the beakOf a relentless vulture dead I saw,

(Such was that Iris-feathered warbler’s name)

Was stilled forever. Him within the beak

Of a relentless vulture dead I saw,

That, swooping from the clouds, his descant sweetHad hushed to silence, to appease the mawOf famine in his eyrie on the steep.

That, swooping from the clouds, his descant sweet

Had hushed to silence, to appease the maw

Of famine in his eyrie on the steep.

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