DEMETER

O Hades! O false gods! false to yourselves!O Hades, 'twas thy brother gave her theeWithout a mother's sanction or her knowledge!Thou bor'st her to the dreadful gulfs below,And made her queen, a shadowy queen of shades,Queen of the fiery flood and iron realms,Eternal torture and eternal pain.On blossomed plains in Far TrinacriaA maiden,—the dark cascade of whose hairWas deep as midnight circled and crowned with stars,—Hair dark as rays that brighten with the moon,—Went gathering flowers with the Oceanids,Lily and rose and pale Narcissus,—whoWas Echo's passion once, a flower nowThat stares forever in the lake's still glass,Whose ripple breaks its image, flickering seen,—As once with tears it broke beneath his eyes,—With the fast-falling dew that fills its heart:When suddenly there rose with iron wain,With iron wain and steeds, a shape like death,'Mid sallow smoke and sulphur and pale fires,Its countenance ghastly, and its hair and eyesLike the blue flame of sulphur: in its arms,Its sooty arms, where like to supple steelThe mighty muscles lay, unto its breast,Such as its arms, it drew her fragile formAs bosomed bulks of tempest in their joyWith arms of winds drag to their black embraceA fairy mist that flecks with white the summer,With wings of shadeless white, and 'tis no moreHeaved on the rapture of the thunder's heart.The snowy flowers shuddered and grew still;With withered heads they bowed, and on the stream—Where all the day it was their wont to standIn silence gazing at their loveliness—Laid their fair faces limp and shriveled white.Flames whipped the air like fiery scorpions,Blasting and burning all the fragrant mythsThat haunt the dew and lair in bloom and breeze.O foam-fair daughters of Oceanus!In vain you seek your mate and chide the flowersFor hiding her beneath their palms of snow:Ask of that shell, that conch of twisted pearl,Which, like a spirit of the singing sea,Moans at your pallid feet made wet with spray:Then, sitting by the tumbling blue of waves,Mourn to the waters and the ribbéd sands,The falseness of the god who grasps the storm.

O Hades! O false gods! false to yourselves!

O Hades, 'twas thy brother gave her thee

Without a mother's sanction or her knowledge!

Thou bor'st her to the dreadful gulfs below,

And made her queen, a shadowy queen of shades,

Queen of the fiery flood and iron realms,

Eternal torture and eternal pain.

On blossomed plains in Far TrinacriaA maiden,—the dark cascade of whose hairWas deep as midnight circled and crowned with stars,—Hair dark as rays that brighten with the moon,—Went gathering flowers with the Oceanids,Lily and rose and pale Narcissus,—whoWas Echo's passion once, a flower nowThat stares forever in the lake's still glass,Whose ripple breaks its image, flickering seen,—As once with tears it broke beneath his eyes,—With the fast-falling dew that fills its heart:When suddenly there rose with iron wain,With iron wain and steeds, a shape like death,'Mid sallow smoke and sulphur and pale fires,Its countenance ghastly, and its hair and eyesLike the blue flame of sulphur: in its arms,Its sooty arms, where like to supple steelThe mighty muscles lay, unto its breast,Such as its arms, it drew her fragile formAs bosomed bulks of tempest in their joyWith arms of winds drag to their black embraceA fairy mist that flecks with white the summer,With wings of shadeless white, and 'tis no moreHeaved on the rapture of the thunder's heart.

On blossomed plains in Far Trinacria

A maiden,—the dark cascade of whose hair

Was deep as midnight circled and crowned with stars,—

Hair dark as rays that brighten with the moon,—

Went gathering flowers with the Oceanids,

Lily and rose and pale Narcissus,—who

Was Echo's passion once, a flower now

That stares forever in the lake's still glass,

Whose ripple breaks its image, flickering seen,—

As once with tears it broke beneath his eyes,—

With the fast-falling dew that fills its heart:

When suddenly there rose with iron wain,

With iron wain and steeds, a shape like death,

'Mid sallow smoke and sulphur and pale fires,

Its countenance ghastly, and its hair and eyes

Like the blue flame of sulphur: in its arms,

Its sooty arms, where like to supple steel

The mighty muscles lay, unto its breast,

Such as its arms, it drew her fragile form

As bosomed bulks of tempest in their joy

With arms of winds drag to their black embrace

A fairy mist that flecks with white the summer,

With wings of shadeless white, and 'tis no more

Heaved on the rapture of the thunder's heart.

The snowy flowers shuddered and grew still;With withered heads they bowed, and on the stream—Where all the day it was their wont to standIn silence gazing at their loveliness—Laid their fair faces limp and shriveled white.Flames whipped the air like fiery scorpions,Blasting and burning all the fragrant mythsThat haunt the dew and lair in bloom and breeze.

The snowy flowers shuddered and grew still;

With withered heads they bowed, and on the stream—

Where all the day it was their wont to stand

In silence gazing at their loveliness—

Laid their fair faces limp and shriveled white.

Flames whipped the air like fiery scorpions,

Blasting and burning all the fragrant myths

That haunt the dew and lair in bloom and breeze.

O foam-fair daughters of Oceanus!In vain you seek your mate and chide the flowersFor hiding her beneath their palms of snow:Ask of that shell, that conch of twisted pearl,Which, like a spirit of the singing sea,Moans at your pallid feet made wet with spray:Then, sitting by the tumbling blue of waves,Mourn to the waters and the ribbéd sands,The falseness of the god who grasps the storm.

O foam-fair daughters of Oceanus!

In vain you seek your mate and chide the flowers

For hiding her beneath their palms of snow:

Ask of that shell, that conch of twisted pearl,

Which, like a spirit of the singing sea,

Moans at your pallid feet made wet with spray:

Then, sitting by the tumbling blue of waves,

Mourn to the waters and the ribbéd sands,

The falseness of the god who grasps the storm.

Eternal pouring in her lonely pathThe wells of sorrow lay. I see her now,—Methinks I see her now,—an awful shapeGuiding her dragon-team in frenzied searchFrom Argive lands unto the jeweled shoresOf the remotest Ind where Usha's handSoothed her grief-shadowed brow with kindly touch,And Savitar breathed sympathy from the skiesO'er uttermost regions of the faneless Brahm.In melancholy search I see her roamThe Himalayas,—world-dividing,—pale'Mid ice and snow, through mists and night and storm;Then back again with that wild mother woeFueling the anguished fire of her eyes,—Back where old Atlas groans beneath the world,And the Cimmerian twilight weighs the soul.Deep was her sleep in Persia's haunted vales,Where many a languid Philomela moanedHer heart to rest with heartbreak melody.I see her near Ionia's swelling seasCull from the sands a labyrinthine shell,Hollowing its spiral murmur to her ear,—A pearly mouth against an ear of pearl,—In hope some message of PersephoneIt might impart; then finding all in vain,In anguish and despair, cast it afar,To watch the salt-spray flash, like some soft plumeDropped from the wings of Eros, where it fell.I see her take a flute of coral fromA listening Triton; and on Ithakan rocksHigh seated at the starry close of day,—When sad the moon rose from her salty couch,Gazing with sorrow on her face of sorrow,—Pipe pensive airs,—plaintive as Sirens singIn streaming caves beneath the ocean wall,—Till hoar Poseidon cleared his wrinkled frontAnd stilled his surgy clamors to a sigh.This do I see, and more: Behold, with fear!I see her 'mid the lonely groves of Crete,Frighten the dun deer from th' o'ervaulted greenOf thickest boscage, searching every covertWith terror of her torches and her wail,"Persephone! Persephone!" till the pinesOf mist-swathed Dicte shuddered through their miles,The panther roared down in the stream-mad gorge,And Echo shrieked from chasm to answering chasm,"Persephone!" bewildered with her woe:As wild as when she echoed the despair,Dishevel-haired, of maidens, wailing borne,—Athenian tribute,—to that King of Crete,Great Minos, when the Minotaur they sawGrim, crouching in his labyrinth of stone.

Eternal pouring in her lonely path

The wells of sorrow lay. I see her now,—

Methinks I see her now,—an awful shape

Guiding her dragon-team in frenzied search

From Argive lands unto the jeweled shores

Of the remotest Ind where Usha's hand

Soothed her grief-shadowed brow with kindly touch,

And Savitar breathed sympathy from the skies

O'er uttermost regions of the faneless Brahm.

In melancholy search I see her roamThe Himalayas,—world-dividing,—pale'Mid ice and snow, through mists and night and storm;Then back again with that wild mother woeFueling the anguished fire of her eyes,—Back where old Atlas groans beneath the world,And the Cimmerian twilight weighs the soul.Deep was her sleep in Persia's haunted vales,Where many a languid Philomela moanedHer heart to rest with heartbreak melody.I see her near Ionia's swelling seasCull from the sands a labyrinthine shell,Hollowing its spiral murmur to her ear,—A pearly mouth against an ear of pearl,—In hope some message of PersephoneIt might impart; then finding all in vain,In anguish and despair, cast it afar,To watch the salt-spray flash, like some soft plumeDropped from the wings of Eros, where it fell.I see her take a flute of coral fromA listening Triton; and on Ithakan rocksHigh seated at the starry close of day,—When sad the moon rose from her salty couch,Gazing with sorrow on her face of sorrow,—Pipe pensive airs,—plaintive as Sirens singIn streaming caves beneath the ocean wall,—Till hoar Poseidon cleared his wrinkled frontAnd stilled his surgy clamors to a sigh.

In melancholy search I see her roam

The Himalayas,—world-dividing,—pale

'Mid ice and snow, through mists and night and storm;

Then back again with that wild mother woe

Fueling the anguished fire of her eyes,—

Back where old Atlas groans beneath the world,

And the Cimmerian twilight weighs the soul.

Deep was her sleep in Persia's haunted vales,

Where many a languid Philomela moaned

Her heart to rest with heartbreak melody.

I see her near Ionia's swelling seas

Cull from the sands a labyrinthine shell,

Hollowing its spiral murmur to her ear,—

A pearly mouth against an ear of pearl,—

In hope some message of Persephone

It might impart; then finding all in vain,

In anguish and despair, cast it afar,

To watch the salt-spray flash, like some soft plume

Dropped from the wings of Eros, where it fell.

I see her take a flute of coral from

A listening Triton; and on Ithakan rocks

High seated at the starry close of day,—

When sad the moon rose from her salty couch,

Gazing with sorrow on her face of sorrow,—

Pipe pensive airs,—plaintive as Sirens sing

In streaming caves beneath the ocean wall,—

Till hoar Poseidon cleared his wrinkled front

And stilled his surgy clamors to a sigh.

This do I see, and more: Behold, with fear!I see her 'mid the lonely groves of Crete,Frighten the dun deer from th' o'ervaulted greenOf thickest boscage, searching every covertWith terror of her torches and her wail,"Persephone! Persephone!" till the pinesOf mist-swathed Dicte shuddered through their miles,The panther roared down in the stream-mad gorge,And Echo shrieked from chasm to answering chasm,"Persephone!" bewildered with her woe:As wild as when she echoed the despair,Dishevel-haired, of maidens, wailing borne,—Athenian tribute,—to that King of Crete,Great Minos, when the Minotaur they sawGrim, crouching in his labyrinth of stone.

This do I see, and more: Behold, with fear!

I see her 'mid the lonely groves of Crete,

Frighten the dun deer from th' o'ervaulted green

Of thickest boscage, searching every covert

With terror of her torches and her wail,

"Persephone! Persephone!" till the pines

Of mist-swathed Dicte shuddered through their miles,

The panther roared down in the stream-mad gorge,

And Echo shrieked from chasm to answering chasm,

"Persephone!" bewildered with her woe:

As wild as when she echoed the despair,

Dishevel-haired, of maidens, wailing borne,—

Athenian tribute,—to that King of Crete,

Great Minos, when the Minotaur they saw

Grim, crouching in his labyrinth of stone.

"Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!O Dionysos! Dionysos! ivy-crowned!O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!"I slept; and dreamed a Mænad came to me:A harp of hollow agate strung with goldWailed 'neath her waxen fingers, and her heartUnder its gauze, through which the moonlight shone,Kept time with its wild throbbings to her song."Ægeus sleeps, O Dionysos! sleepsBeneath the restless waves that sigh his nameEternally at my dew-glistening feet.Here 'twas he died, O Dionysos! hereThe great king died for whom is named this sea.—O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!"With the shrill syrinx and the kissing clangOf silver cymbals, and the sound of flutes,O pard-drawn youth, thou dist awake the worldTo joy and pleasure with thy sunny wine!Mad'st India bow and the dun, flooding NileGrow purple with the murex of the wineCast from the fullness of Silenus' cup,While yet the heavens of heat saw sarabandsWhirl 'mid the redness of the Libyan sands,That drank the spilth of Bacchus, sparkling-spunFrom the Bacchante bowl, a beaded redO'er the slant edge, that twinkled in the sun,The tiger sun fierce-glaring overhead."What made gold Horus smile with golden lips?Anubis dire forget his ghosts to leadTo Hell's profoundness?—He, who stayed to sipOne winking bubble from the wine-god's cup,And, captive ever after, joined thy train?—What made Osiris, 'mid the palms of Nile,Leave Isis dreaming, and the frolic Pan'sWild trebles follow as a roaring bull,Far as the fanes of Indra; he who longWas mourned in Memphis by his tawny priests?—Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!The brimming purple of thy hollow goldThey tasted and, 'though gods, they worship'd too!"Sad Echo sat once in a spiral cave;She, from its sea-dyed labyrinth of rock,Saw the long pageant dancing on the strand,Where Nereus slept upon an isle of crags,And o'er the slope of his far-foaming headThe strangeness of the orgies wildly cried,Till the gray god awoke, at first in rage;Serened his face then; stretched a welcoming handWith civil utterance for the Bacchus horn.But Echo followed not; instead, she sitsAmong her crags remembering that wild cry,That nomad sound still haunting all her dreams,Confusing all her speech, that naught can saySave warring words bewildering her earsLike waves reverberant in a deep sea-cave."Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!See, the white stars, O Dionysos! see,Have spilled their glittering globules, one by one,—Like bubbles winking in the cup of night,—Down the dark west behind the mountain chain.Ægeus sleeps, lulled by my murmuring harp;And I have sung thy triumph. Let me die!"

"Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!O Dionysos! Dionysos! ivy-crowned!O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!"

"Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!

O Dionysos! Dionysos! ivy-crowned!

O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!"

I slept; and dreamed a Mænad came to me:A harp of hollow agate strung with goldWailed 'neath her waxen fingers, and her heartUnder its gauze, through which the moonlight shone,Kept time with its wild throbbings to her song.

I slept; and dreamed a Mænad came to me:

A harp of hollow agate strung with gold

Wailed 'neath her waxen fingers, and her heart

Under its gauze, through which the moonlight shone,

Kept time with its wild throbbings to her song.

"Ægeus sleeps, O Dionysos! sleepsBeneath the restless waves that sigh his nameEternally at my dew-glistening feet.Here 'twas he died, O Dionysos! hereThe great king died for whom is named this sea.—O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!

"Ægeus sleeps, O Dionysos! sleeps

Beneath the restless waves that sigh his name

Eternally at my dew-glistening feet.

Here 'twas he died, O Dionysos! here

The great king died for whom is named this sea.—

O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!

"With the shrill syrinx and the kissing clangOf silver cymbals, and the sound of flutes,O pard-drawn youth, thou dist awake the worldTo joy and pleasure with thy sunny wine!Mad'st India bow and the dun, flooding NileGrow purple with the murex of the wineCast from the fullness of Silenus' cup,While yet the heavens of heat saw sarabandsWhirl 'mid the redness of the Libyan sands,That drank the spilth of Bacchus, sparkling-spunFrom the Bacchante bowl, a beaded redO'er the slant edge, that twinkled in the sun,The tiger sun fierce-glaring overhead.

"With the shrill syrinx and the kissing clang

Of silver cymbals, and the sound of flutes,

O pard-drawn youth, thou dist awake the world

To joy and pleasure with thy sunny wine!

Mad'st India bow and the dun, flooding Nile

Grow purple with the murex of the wine

Cast from the fullness of Silenus' cup,

While yet the heavens of heat saw sarabands

Whirl 'mid the redness of the Libyan sands,

That drank the spilth of Bacchus, sparkling-spun

From the Bacchante bowl, a beaded red

O'er the slant edge, that twinkled in the sun,

The tiger sun fierce-glaring overhead.

"What made gold Horus smile with golden lips?Anubis dire forget his ghosts to leadTo Hell's profoundness?—He, who stayed to sipOne winking bubble from the wine-god's cup,And, captive ever after, joined thy train?—What made Osiris, 'mid the palms of Nile,Leave Isis dreaming, and the frolic Pan'sWild trebles follow as a roaring bull,Far as the fanes of Indra; he who longWas mourned in Memphis by his tawny priests?—Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!The brimming purple of thy hollow goldThey tasted and, 'though gods, they worship'd too!

"What made gold Horus smile with golden lips?

Anubis dire forget his ghosts to lead

To Hell's profoundness?—He, who stayed to sip

One winking bubble from the wine-god's cup,

And, captive ever after, joined thy train?—

What made Osiris, 'mid the palms of Nile,

Leave Isis dreaming, and the frolic Pan's

Wild trebles follow as a roaring bull,

Far as the fanes of Indra; he who long

Was mourned in Memphis by his tawny priests?—

Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!

The brimming purple of thy hollow gold

They tasted and, 'though gods, they worship'd too!

"Sad Echo sat once in a spiral cave;She, from its sea-dyed labyrinth of rock,Saw the long pageant dancing on the strand,Where Nereus slept upon an isle of crags,And o'er the slope of his far-foaming headThe strangeness of the orgies wildly cried,Till the gray god awoke, at first in rage;Serened his face then; stretched a welcoming handWith civil utterance for the Bacchus horn.But Echo followed not; instead, she sitsAmong her crags remembering that wild cry,That nomad sound still haunting all her dreams,Confusing all her speech, that naught can saySave warring words bewildering her earsLike waves reverberant in a deep sea-cave.

"Sad Echo sat once in a spiral cave;

She, from its sea-dyed labyrinth of rock,

Saw the long pageant dancing on the strand,

Where Nereus slept upon an isle of crags,

And o'er the slope of his far-foaming head

The strangeness of the orgies wildly cried,

Till the gray god awoke, at first in rage;

Serened his face then; stretched a welcoming hand

With civil utterance for the Bacchus horn.

But Echo followed not; instead, she sits

Among her crags remembering that wild cry,

That nomad sound still haunting all her dreams,

Confusing all her speech, that naught can say

Save warring words bewildering her ears

Like waves reverberant in a deep sea-cave.

"Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!See, the white stars, O Dionysos! see,Have spilled their glittering globules, one by one,—Like bubbles winking in the cup of night,—Down the dark west behind the mountain chain.Ægeus sleeps, lulled by my murmuring harp;And I have sung thy triumph. Let me die!"

"Io! Bacchus! Bacchus! Io! Io!

See, the white stars, O Dionysos! see,

Have spilled their glittering globules, one by one,—

Like bubbles winking in the cup of night,—

Down the dark west behind the mountain chain.

Ægeus sleeps, lulled by my murmuring harp;

And I have sung thy triumph. Let me die!"

With anxious eyes and dry, expectant lips,Within the sculptured stoa by the sea,All day she waited while, like ghostly ships,Long clouds rolled over Paphos: the wild beeHung in the sultry poppy, half asleep,Beside the shepherd and his drowsy sheep.White-robed she waited day by day; aloneWith the white temple's shrined concupiscence,The Paphian goddess on her obscene throne,Binding all chastity to violence,All innocent to lust that feels no shame—Venus Mylitta born of filth and flame.So must they haunt her marble portico,The devotees of passion, passion-paleAs moonlight streaming through the stormy snow;Dark eyes desirous of the stranger sail,—The gods shall bring across the Cyprian Sea,And him elected to their mastery.A priestess of the temple came, when eveBlazed, like a satrap's triumph, in the west;And watched her listening to the ocean's heave,Dusk's golden glory on her face and breast,And in her hair the rosy wind's caress,—Pitying her dedicated tenderness.When out of darkness night persuades the stars,A dream shall bend above her saying, "SoonA barque shall come with purple sails and spars,Sailing from Tarsus 'neath a low white moon;And thou shalt see one in a robe of TyreFacing toward thee like the god Desire."Rise then! as, clad in starlight, riseth night—Thy nakedness clad on with loveliness!So shalt thou see him, like the god Delight,Breast through the foam and climb the cliff to pressHot lips to thine and lead thee in beforeLove's awful presence where ye shall adore."Thus at her heart the vision entered in,With lips of lust the lips of song had kissed,And eyes of passion laughing with sweet sin,A starry splendor robed in amethyst,Seen like that star set in the glittering gloam—Venus Mylitta born of fire and foam.So shall she dream until, near middle night,—When on the blackness of the ocean's rimThe moon, like some war-galleon all alightWith blazing battle, from the sea shall swim,—A shadow, with inviolate lips and eyes,Shall rise before her speaking in this wise:"So hast thou heard the promises of one,—Of her, with whom the God of gods is wroth,—For whom was prophesied at BabylonThe second death—Chaldæan Mylidoth!Whose feet take hold on darkness and despair,Hissing destruction in her heart and hair!"Wouldst thou behold the vessel she would bring?—A wreck! ten hundred years have smeared with slime:A hulk! where all abominations cling,The spawn and vermin of the seas of time:Wild waves have rotted it, fierce suns have scorched,Mad winds have tossed and stormy stars have torched."Can lust give birth to love! The vile and foulBe mother to beauty? Lo! can this thing be?—A monster like a man shall rise and howlUpon the wreck across the crawling sea,Then plunge; and swim unto thee; like an ape,A beast all belly.—Thou canst not escape!"Gone was the shadow with the suffering brow;And in the temple's porch she lay and wept,Alone with night, the ocean, and her vow.Then up the east the moon's full splendor swept,And, dark between it—wreck or argosy?—A sudden vessel far away at sea.

With anxious eyes and dry, expectant lips,

Within the sculptured stoa by the sea,

All day she waited while, like ghostly ships,

Long clouds rolled over Paphos: the wild bee

Hung in the sultry poppy, half asleep,

Beside the shepherd and his drowsy sheep.

White-robed she waited day by day; aloneWith the white temple's shrined concupiscence,The Paphian goddess on her obscene throne,Binding all chastity to violence,All innocent to lust that feels no shame—Venus Mylitta born of filth and flame.

White-robed she waited day by day; alone

With the white temple's shrined concupiscence,

The Paphian goddess on her obscene throne,

Binding all chastity to violence,

All innocent to lust that feels no shame—

Venus Mylitta born of filth and flame.

So must they haunt her marble portico,The devotees of passion, passion-paleAs moonlight streaming through the stormy snow;Dark eyes desirous of the stranger sail,—The gods shall bring across the Cyprian Sea,And him elected to their mastery.

So must they haunt her marble portico,

The devotees of passion, passion-pale

As moonlight streaming through the stormy snow;

Dark eyes desirous of the stranger sail,—

The gods shall bring across the Cyprian Sea,

And him elected to their mastery.

A priestess of the temple came, when eveBlazed, like a satrap's triumph, in the west;And watched her listening to the ocean's heave,Dusk's golden glory on her face and breast,And in her hair the rosy wind's caress,—Pitying her dedicated tenderness.

A priestess of the temple came, when eve

Blazed, like a satrap's triumph, in the west;

And watched her listening to the ocean's heave,

Dusk's golden glory on her face and breast,

And in her hair the rosy wind's caress,—

Pitying her dedicated tenderness.

When out of darkness night persuades the stars,A dream shall bend above her saying, "SoonA barque shall come with purple sails and spars,Sailing from Tarsus 'neath a low white moon;And thou shalt see one in a robe of TyreFacing toward thee like the god Desire.

When out of darkness night persuades the stars,

A dream shall bend above her saying, "Soon

A barque shall come with purple sails and spars,

Sailing from Tarsus 'neath a low white moon;

And thou shalt see one in a robe of Tyre

Facing toward thee like the god Desire.

"Rise then! as, clad in starlight, riseth night—Thy nakedness clad on with loveliness!So shalt thou see him, like the god Delight,Breast through the foam and climb the cliff to pressHot lips to thine and lead thee in beforeLove's awful presence where ye shall adore."

"Rise then! as, clad in starlight, riseth night—

Thy nakedness clad on with loveliness!

So shalt thou see him, like the god Delight,

Breast through the foam and climb the cliff to press

Hot lips to thine and lead thee in before

Love's awful presence where ye shall adore."

Thus at her heart the vision entered in,With lips of lust the lips of song had kissed,And eyes of passion laughing with sweet sin,A starry splendor robed in amethyst,Seen like that star set in the glittering gloam—Venus Mylitta born of fire and foam.

Thus at her heart the vision entered in,

With lips of lust the lips of song had kissed,

And eyes of passion laughing with sweet sin,

A starry splendor robed in amethyst,

Seen like that star set in the glittering gloam—

Venus Mylitta born of fire and foam.

So shall she dream until, near middle night,—When on the blackness of the ocean's rimThe moon, like some war-galleon all alightWith blazing battle, from the sea shall swim,—A shadow, with inviolate lips and eyes,Shall rise before her speaking in this wise:

So shall she dream until, near middle night,—

When on the blackness of the ocean's rim

The moon, like some war-galleon all alight

With blazing battle, from the sea shall swim,—

A shadow, with inviolate lips and eyes,

Shall rise before her speaking in this wise:

"So hast thou heard the promises of one,—Of her, with whom the God of gods is wroth,—For whom was prophesied at BabylonThe second death—Chaldæan Mylidoth!Whose feet take hold on darkness and despair,Hissing destruction in her heart and hair!

"So hast thou heard the promises of one,—

Of her, with whom the God of gods is wroth,—

For whom was prophesied at Babylon

The second death—Chaldæan Mylidoth!

Whose feet take hold on darkness and despair,

Hissing destruction in her heart and hair!

"Wouldst thou behold the vessel she would bring?—A wreck! ten hundred years have smeared with slime:A hulk! where all abominations cling,The spawn and vermin of the seas of time:Wild waves have rotted it, fierce suns have scorched,Mad winds have tossed and stormy stars have torched.

"Wouldst thou behold the vessel she would bring?—

A wreck! ten hundred years have smeared with slime:

A hulk! where all abominations cling,

The spawn and vermin of the seas of time:

Wild waves have rotted it, fierce suns have scorched,

Mad winds have tossed and stormy stars have torched.

"Can lust give birth to love! The vile and foulBe mother to beauty? Lo! can this thing be?—A monster like a man shall rise and howlUpon the wreck across the crawling sea,Then plunge; and swim unto thee; like an ape,A beast all belly.—Thou canst not escape!"

"Can lust give birth to love! The vile and foul

Be mother to beauty? Lo! can this thing be?—

A monster like a man shall rise and howl

Upon the wreck across the crawling sea,

Then plunge; and swim unto thee; like an ape,

A beast all belly.—Thou canst not escape!"

Gone was the shadow with the suffering brow;And in the temple's porch she lay and wept,Alone with night, the ocean, and her vow.Then up the east the moon's full splendor swept,And, dark between it—wreck or argosy?—A sudden vessel far away at sea.

Gone was the shadow with the suffering brow;

And in the temple's porch she lay and wept,

Alone with night, the ocean, and her vow.

Then up the east the moon's full splendor swept,

And, dark between it—wreck or argosy?—

A sudden vessel far away at sea.

"Succinctæ sacra Dianæ."—Ovid.

IThere the ragged sunlight layTawny on thick ferns and grayOn dark waters: dimmer,Lone and deep, the cypress groveBowered mystery and woveBraided lights, like those that loveOn the pearl plumes of a doveFaint to gleam and glimmer.IIThere centennial pine and oakInto stormy utterance broke:Hollow rocks gloomed, slanting,Echoing in dim arcade,Looming with long moss, that madeTwilight streaks in tatters laid:Where the wild hart, hunt-affrayed,Plunged the water, panting.IIIPoppies of a sleepy goldMooned the gray-green darkness rolledDown its vistas, makingWisp-like blurs of flame. And paleStole the dim deer down the vale:And the haunting nightingaleSang unseen—the olden taleAll its hurt heart breaking.IVThere the hazy serpolet,Dewy cistus, blooming wet,Blushed on bank and boulder:There the cyclamen, as wanAs faint footsteps of the Dawn,Carpeted the spotted lawn:Where the nude nymph, dripping drawn,Sloped a flower-white shoulder.VIn the citrine shadow thereWhat tall presences and fair,Godlike, lingered!—graciousAs the rock-rose there that grew:—Delicate and dim as dewStepped from out the oaks, and drewFaun-like forms to follow, whoFilled the forest spacious!VIGuarded that BœotianValley so no foot of manSoiled its silence holyWith profaning tread—save one,The Hyantian: Actæon,Who beheld but was undoneBy Diana's wrath, that none—'Though with magic moly,—VIIMight escape.—That valley sleepsLost to us: enchantment keepsSacred still its banishedBowers that no man may see,Fountains that her deityHaunts, and every rock and treeWhere her hunt goes swinging freeAs in ages vanished.

There the ragged sunlight layTawny on thick ferns and grayOn dark waters: dimmer,Lone and deep, the cypress groveBowered mystery and woveBraided lights, like those that loveOn the pearl plumes of a doveFaint to gleam and glimmer.

There the ragged sunlight lay

Tawny on thick ferns and gray

On dark waters: dimmer,

Lone and deep, the cypress grove

Bowered mystery and wove

Braided lights, like those that love

On the pearl plumes of a dove

Faint to gleam and glimmer.

There centennial pine and oakInto stormy utterance broke:Hollow rocks gloomed, slanting,Echoing in dim arcade,Looming with long moss, that madeTwilight streaks in tatters laid:Where the wild hart, hunt-affrayed,Plunged the water, panting.

There centennial pine and oak

Into stormy utterance broke:

Hollow rocks gloomed, slanting,

Echoing in dim arcade,

Looming with long moss, that made

Twilight streaks in tatters laid:

Where the wild hart, hunt-affrayed,

Plunged the water, panting.

III

Poppies of a sleepy goldMooned the gray-green darkness rolledDown its vistas, makingWisp-like blurs of flame. And paleStole the dim deer down the vale:And the haunting nightingaleSang unseen—the olden taleAll its hurt heart breaking.

Poppies of a sleepy gold

Mooned the gray-green darkness rolled

Down its vistas, making

Wisp-like blurs of flame. And pale

Stole the dim deer down the vale:

And the haunting nightingale

Sang unseen—the olden tale

All its hurt heart breaking.

There the hazy serpolet,Dewy cistus, blooming wet,Blushed on bank and boulder:There the cyclamen, as wanAs faint footsteps of the Dawn,Carpeted the spotted lawn:Where the nude nymph, dripping drawn,Sloped a flower-white shoulder.

There the hazy serpolet,

Dewy cistus, blooming wet,

Blushed on bank and boulder:

There the cyclamen, as wan

As faint footsteps of the Dawn,

Carpeted the spotted lawn:

Where the nude nymph, dripping drawn,

Sloped a flower-white shoulder.

In the citrine shadow thereWhat tall presences and fair,Godlike, lingered!—graciousAs the rock-rose there that grew:—Delicate and dim as dewStepped from out the oaks, and drewFaun-like forms to follow, whoFilled the forest spacious!

In the citrine shadow there

What tall presences and fair,

Godlike, lingered!—gracious

As the rock-rose there that grew:—

Delicate and dim as dew

Stepped from out the oaks, and drew

Faun-like forms to follow, who

Filled the forest spacious!

Guarded that BœotianValley so no foot of manSoiled its silence holyWith profaning tread—save one,The Hyantian: Actæon,Who beheld but was undoneBy Diana's wrath, that none—'Though with magic moly,—

Guarded that Bœotian

Valley so no foot of man

Soiled its silence holy

With profaning tread—save one,

The Hyantian: Actæon,

Who beheld but was undone

By Diana's wrath, that none—

'Though with magic moly,—

VII

Might escape.—That valley sleepsLost to us: enchantment keepsSacred still its banishedBowers that no man may see,Fountains that her deityHaunts, and every rock and treeWhere her hunt goes swinging freeAs in ages vanished.

Might escape.—That valley sleeps

Lost to us: enchantment keeps

Sacred still its banished

Bowers that no man may see,

Fountains that her deity

Haunts, and every rock and tree

Where her hunt goes swinging free

As in ages vanished.

The joys that touched thee once, be mine!The sympathies of sky and sea,The friendship of each rock and pine,That made thy lonely life, ah me!In Tempe or in Gargaphie.Such joy as thou didst feel when first,On some wild crag, thou stood'st aloneAnd watched the mountain tempest burst,With streaming thunder, lightning sown,On Latmos or on Pelion.Thy awe! when crowned with vastness, NightAnd Silence ruled the deep's abyss;And through dark leaves thou saw'st the whiteBreasts of the starry maids who kissPale feet of moony Artemis.Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weedsOf Arethusa, thou didst hearThe music of the wind-swept reeds;And down dim forest-ways drew nearShy herds of slim Arcadian deer.Thy wisdom! that knew naught but loveAnd beauty, with which love is fraught;The wisdom of the heart—whereofAll noblest passions spring—that thoughtAs Nature thinks, "All else is naught."Thy hope! wherein To-morrow setNo shadow; hope that, lacking careAnd retrospect, held no regret,But bloomed in rainbows everywhereFilling with gladness all the air.These were thine all: in all life's moodsEmbracing all of happiness:And when within thy long-loved woodsDidst lay thee down to die, no lessThy happiness stood by to bless.

The joys that touched thee once, be mine!The sympathies of sky and sea,The friendship of each rock and pine,That made thy lonely life, ah me!In Tempe or in Gargaphie.

The joys that touched thee once, be mine!

The sympathies of sky and sea,

The friendship of each rock and pine,

That made thy lonely life, ah me!

In Tempe or in Gargaphie.

Such joy as thou didst feel when first,On some wild crag, thou stood'st aloneAnd watched the mountain tempest burst,With streaming thunder, lightning sown,On Latmos or on Pelion.

Such joy as thou didst feel when first,

On some wild crag, thou stood'st alone

And watched the mountain tempest burst,

With streaming thunder, lightning sown,

On Latmos or on Pelion.

Thy awe! when crowned with vastness, NightAnd Silence ruled the deep's abyss;And through dark leaves thou saw'st the whiteBreasts of the starry maids who kissPale feet of moony Artemis.

Thy awe! when crowned with vastness, Night

And Silence ruled the deep's abyss;

And through dark leaves thou saw'st the white

Breasts of the starry maids who kiss

Pale feet of moony Artemis.

Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weedsOf Arethusa, thou didst hearThe music of the wind-swept reeds;And down dim forest-ways drew nearShy herds of slim Arcadian deer.

Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weeds

Of Arethusa, thou didst hear

The music of the wind-swept reeds;

And down dim forest-ways drew near

Shy herds of slim Arcadian deer.

Thy wisdom! that knew naught but loveAnd beauty, with which love is fraught;The wisdom of the heart—whereofAll noblest passions spring—that thoughtAs Nature thinks, "All else is naught."

Thy wisdom! that knew naught but love

And beauty, with which love is fraught;

The wisdom of the heart—whereof

All noblest passions spring—that thought

As Nature thinks, "All else is naught."

Thy hope! wherein To-morrow setNo shadow; hope that, lacking careAnd retrospect, held no regret,But bloomed in rainbows everywhereFilling with gladness all the air.

Thy hope! wherein To-morrow set

No shadow; hope that, lacking care

And retrospect, held no regret,

But bloomed in rainbows everywhere

Filling with gladness all the air.

These were thine all: in all life's moodsEmbracing all of happiness:And when within thy long-loved woodsDidst lay thee down to die, no lessThy happiness stood by to bless.

These were thine all: in all life's moods

Embracing all of happiness:

And when within thy long-loved woods

Didst lay thee down to die, no less

Thy happiness stood by to bless.

IAll the Lydian notes revealing,Son of Leto, oh, come stealingAs the wind Thessalian riversWhisper of! the wind that shiversEvery ripple into stars,In the sunlight's golden bars.Touch thy harp, that haunts the oaks,With the mastery that invokesNaiad music of the fount,Oread music of the mount;And such satyr song as keepsRevel on Lycæan steeps,When night nods, a Mænad shape,Purple with dusk's staining grape.Wake such chords as dewy groundsEcho when no mortal houndsBell the hunt, whose spear-point shinesThrough Arcadia's tangled vines,When the half-awakened Dawn,Dreaming on a mountain lawn,Lets her golden sandals lieAnd walks barefooted through the sky;And by Arethusa's bank,Swift upon the red hart's flank,Drives Diana's buskined bandDown the cistus-blossomed strand.Then Love's minors, swooning o'erThe mountain hush, the ocean roar,As Selene, stealing, sailsOver Lemnos' lakes to valesWhere Endymion dreams and feelsLove her stolen kiss reveals.IIThou hast sung of Helicon:How the sister Muses wonFrom the nine PieridesEmpire o'er the harmonies.Thou hast sung of Tempe's maid,And the sudden laurel's aid.Thou hast sung of many lovesOf the gods that haunt the grovesWhere the marble altar standsRose-heaped by the balmy handsOf Romance and Beauty; where,High upon the temple stair,Priest-like, bay-crowned, white of hair,Old Tradition, looking up,Pours libation from his cup.Thou hast sung, all sweet of tongue,As once wild Amphion sung,Songs,—Parnassian rocks,—that swungEach in its lyric niche, and massedSuch mural heights of song and vast,Melodious walls of poesy,That Time himself shall not outlast,Enduring as eternity.IIIOurs shall be no island song,Suited to a maiden throng,Dancing with their wreaths of rosesTo the double-flute's soft closes!—But a Nation's! whose large eyesWith life's liberty are wise,And consenting sympathiesOf all arts and sciences.She! who stands above the stormsWith truth's thunder in her arms,And the star-serenityOf her hope bound burninglyRound her brow; and at her kneeThe Spirit of Progress who is shodWith ethereal fire of God....Yea! thy last shall still be first—Some wild epopee to burstWith such organ notes as rangWhen the stars of morning sang,And the Sons of Heaven sentShoutings through the firmament;As our years have justifiedAnd the stars have prophesied.

All the Lydian notes revealing,Son of Leto, oh, come stealingAs the wind Thessalian riversWhisper of! the wind that shiversEvery ripple into stars,In the sunlight's golden bars.Touch thy harp, that haunts the oaks,With the mastery that invokesNaiad music of the fount,Oread music of the mount;And such satyr song as keepsRevel on Lycæan steeps,When night nods, a Mænad shape,Purple with dusk's staining grape.Wake such chords as dewy groundsEcho when no mortal houndsBell the hunt, whose spear-point shinesThrough Arcadia's tangled vines,When the half-awakened Dawn,Dreaming on a mountain lawn,Lets her golden sandals lieAnd walks barefooted through the sky;And by Arethusa's bank,Swift upon the red hart's flank,Drives Diana's buskined bandDown the cistus-blossomed strand.Then Love's minors, swooning o'erThe mountain hush, the ocean roar,As Selene, stealing, sailsOver Lemnos' lakes to valesWhere Endymion dreams and feelsLove her stolen kiss reveals.

All the Lydian notes revealing,

Son of Leto, oh, come stealing

As the wind Thessalian rivers

Whisper of! the wind that shivers

Every ripple into stars,

In the sunlight's golden bars.

Touch thy harp, that haunts the oaks,

With the mastery that invokes

Naiad music of the fount,

Oread music of the mount;

And such satyr song as keeps

Revel on Lycæan steeps,

When night nods, a Mænad shape,

Purple with dusk's staining grape.

Wake such chords as dewy grounds

Echo when no mortal hounds

Bell the hunt, whose spear-point shines

Through Arcadia's tangled vines,

When the half-awakened Dawn,

Dreaming on a mountain lawn,

Lets her golden sandals lie

And walks barefooted through the sky;

And by Arethusa's bank,

Swift upon the red hart's flank,

Drives Diana's buskined band

Down the cistus-blossomed strand.

Then Love's minors, swooning o'er

The mountain hush, the ocean roar,

As Selene, stealing, sails

Over Lemnos' lakes to vales

Where Endymion dreams and feels

Love her stolen kiss reveals.

Thou hast sung of Helicon:How the sister Muses wonFrom the nine PieridesEmpire o'er the harmonies.Thou hast sung of Tempe's maid,And the sudden laurel's aid.Thou hast sung of many lovesOf the gods that haunt the grovesWhere the marble altar standsRose-heaped by the balmy handsOf Romance and Beauty; where,High upon the temple stair,Priest-like, bay-crowned, white of hair,Old Tradition, looking up,Pours libation from his cup.Thou hast sung, all sweet of tongue,As once wild Amphion sung,Songs,—Parnassian rocks,—that swungEach in its lyric niche, and massedSuch mural heights of song and vast,Melodious walls of poesy,That Time himself shall not outlast,Enduring as eternity.

Thou hast sung of Helicon:

How the sister Muses won

From the nine Pierides

Empire o'er the harmonies.

Thou hast sung of Tempe's maid,

And the sudden laurel's aid.

Thou hast sung of many loves

Of the gods that haunt the groves

Where the marble altar stands

Rose-heaped by the balmy hands

Of Romance and Beauty; where,

High upon the temple stair,

Priest-like, bay-crowned, white of hair,

Old Tradition, looking up,

Pours libation from his cup.

Thou hast sung, all sweet of tongue,

As once wild Amphion sung,

Songs,—Parnassian rocks,—that swung

Each in its lyric niche, and massed

Such mural heights of song and vast,

Melodious walls of poesy,

That Time himself shall not outlast,

Enduring as eternity.

III

Ours shall be no island song,Suited to a maiden throng,Dancing with their wreaths of rosesTo the double-flute's soft closes!—But a Nation's! whose large eyesWith life's liberty are wise,And consenting sympathiesOf all arts and sciences.She! who stands above the stormsWith truth's thunder in her arms,And the star-serenityOf her hope bound burninglyRound her brow; and at her kneeThe Spirit of Progress who is shodWith ethereal fire of God....Yea! thy last shall still be first—Some wild epopee to burstWith such organ notes as rangWhen the stars of morning sang,And the Sons of Heaven sentShoutings through the firmament;As our years have justifiedAnd the stars have prophesied.

Ours shall be no island song,

Suited to a maiden throng,

Dancing with their wreaths of roses

To the double-flute's soft closes!—

But a Nation's! whose large eyes

With life's liberty are wise,

And consenting sympathies

Of all arts and sciences.

She! who stands above the storms

With truth's thunder in her arms,

And the star-serenity

Of her hope bound burningly

Round her brow; and at her knee

The Spirit of Progress who is shod

With ethereal fire of God....

Yea! thy last shall still be first—

Some wild epopee to burst

With such organ notes as rang

When the stars of morning sang,

And the Sons of Heaven sent

Shoutings through the firmament;

As our years have justified

And the stars have prophesied.

1886.

IBeyond the Northern Lights, in regions hauntedOf twilight, where the world is glacier planted,And pale as Loké in his cavern whenThe serpent's slaver burns him to the bones,I saw the phantasms of gigantic men,The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones;Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn'sAnd evening's colors,—wild prismatic tonesOf boreal beauty.—Like the three gray Norns,Silence and solitude and terror loomedAround them where they labored. Walls arose,Vast as the Andes when creation boomedInsurgent fire; and through the rushing snowsEnormous battlements of tremendous ice,Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise.IIBut who can sing the workmanship giganticThat reared within its coruscating domeThe roaring fountain, hurling an AtlanticOf liquid ice that flashed with flame and foam?An opal spirit, various and many formed,—In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,—Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls,And deep diaphanous walls,And corridors of whiteness,Auroral colors swarmed,As rosy-flickering stains,Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmedThe pulsing crystal of the spirit's veinsWith ever-changing brightness.And through the Arctic night there went a voice,As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice!""My heart is full of lightness!"IIIHere well might Thor, the god of war,Harness the whirlwinds to his car,While, mailed in storm, his iron armHeaves high his hammer's lava-form,And red and black his beard streams back,Like some fierce torrent scoriac,Whose earthquake light glares through the nightAround some dark volcanic height;And through the skies Valkyrian criesTrumpet, as battleward he flies,Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes.IVStill in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing;Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing;Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowingWith hues, Aurora-kissed;And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going,Vast shapes of snow and mist,—Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,—That trail dark banners by,Cloudlike, underneath the skyOf the caverned dome on high,Carbuncle and amethyst.—Still I hear the ululationOf their stormy exultation,Multitudinous, and blendingIn hoarse echoes, far, unending;And, through halls of fog and frost,Howling back, like madness lostIn the moonless mansion ofDeath and demon-haunted love.VStill in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing;The mermaid music at its portal ringing;The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door,And, whispering evermore,Hushed the ponderous hurl and roarAnd vast æolian thunderOf the chained tempests underThe frozen cataracts that were its floor.—And, blinding beautiful, I still beholdThe mermaid there, combing her locks of gold,While at her feet, green as the Northern Seas,Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses;While, like a drift, her dog,—a Polar bear,—Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair.VIO wondrous house, built by supernal handsIn vague and ultimate lands!Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud,That, laboring loud,Mountained thy world foundations and upliftedThy skyey bastions driftedOf piled eternities of ice and snow;Where storms, like ploughmen, go,Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane;Where, spouting icy rain,The huge whale wallows; and through furious hailTh' explorer's tattered sailDrives like the wing of some terrific bird,Where wreck and famine herd.—VIIHome of the red Auroras and the gods!He who profanes thy perilous threshold,—whereThe ancient centuries lair,And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,—Let him beware!Lest coming on that hoary presence there,Whose pitiless hand,Above that hungry land,An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crownThe North Star is, set in a band of frost,He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown,And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost.

Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions hauntedOf twilight, where the world is glacier planted,And pale as Loké in his cavern whenThe serpent's slaver burns him to the bones,I saw the phantasms of gigantic men,The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones;Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn'sAnd evening's colors,—wild prismatic tonesOf boreal beauty.—Like the three gray Norns,Silence and solitude and terror loomedAround them where they labored. Walls arose,Vast as the Andes when creation boomedInsurgent fire; and through the rushing snowsEnormous battlements of tremendous ice,Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise.

Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions haunted

Of twilight, where the world is glacier planted,

And pale as Loké in his cavern when

The serpent's slaver burns him to the bones,

I saw the phantasms of gigantic men,

The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones;

Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn's

And evening's colors,—wild prismatic tones

Of boreal beauty.—Like the three gray Norns,

Silence and solitude and terror loomed

Around them where they labored. Walls arose,

Vast as the Andes when creation boomed

Insurgent fire; and through the rushing snows

Enormous battlements of tremendous ice,

Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise.

But who can sing the workmanship giganticThat reared within its coruscating domeThe roaring fountain, hurling an AtlanticOf liquid ice that flashed with flame and foam?An opal spirit, various and many formed,—In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,—Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls,And deep diaphanous walls,And corridors of whiteness,Auroral colors swarmed,As rosy-flickering stains,Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmedThe pulsing crystal of the spirit's veinsWith ever-changing brightness.And through the Arctic night there went a voice,As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice!""My heart is full of lightness!"

But who can sing the workmanship gigantic

That reared within its coruscating dome

The roaring fountain, hurling an Atlantic

Of liquid ice that flashed with flame and foam?

An opal spirit, various and many formed,—

In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,—

Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls,

And deep diaphanous walls,

And corridors of whiteness,

Auroral colors swarmed,

As rosy-flickering stains,

Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmed

The pulsing crystal of the spirit's veins

With ever-changing brightness.

And through the Arctic night there went a voice,

As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice!"

"My heart is full of lightness!"

III

Here well might Thor, the god of war,Harness the whirlwinds to his car,While, mailed in storm, his iron armHeaves high his hammer's lava-form,And red and black his beard streams back,Like some fierce torrent scoriac,Whose earthquake light glares through the nightAround some dark volcanic height;And through the skies Valkyrian criesTrumpet, as battleward he flies,Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes.

Here well might Thor, the god of war,

Harness the whirlwinds to his car,

While, mailed in storm, his iron arm

Heaves high his hammer's lava-form,

And red and black his beard streams back,

Like some fierce torrent scoriac,

Whose earthquake light glares through the night

Around some dark volcanic height;

And through the skies Valkyrian cries

Trumpet, as battleward he flies,

Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes.

Still in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing;Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing;Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowingWith hues, Aurora-kissed;And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going,Vast shapes of snow and mist,—Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,—That trail dark banners by,Cloudlike, underneath the skyOf the caverned dome on high,Carbuncle and amethyst.—Still I hear the ululationOf their stormy exultation,Multitudinous, and blendingIn hoarse echoes, far, unending;And, through halls of fog and frost,Howling back, like madness lostIn the moonless mansion ofDeath and demon-haunted love.

Still in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing;

Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing;

Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowing

With hues, Aurora-kissed;

And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going,

Vast shapes of snow and mist,—

Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,—

That trail dark banners by,

Cloudlike, underneath the sky

Of the caverned dome on high,

Carbuncle and amethyst.—

Still I hear the ululation

Of their stormy exultation,

Multitudinous, and blending

In hoarse echoes, far, unending;

And, through halls of fog and frost,

Howling back, like madness lost

In the moonless mansion of

Death and demon-haunted love.

Still in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing;The mermaid music at its portal ringing;The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door,And, whispering evermore,Hushed the ponderous hurl and roarAnd vast æolian thunderOf the chained tempests underThe frozen cataracts that were its floor.—And, blinding beautiful, I still beholdThe mermaid there, combing her locks of gold,While at her feet, green as the Northern Seas,Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses;While, like a drift, her dog,—a Polar bear,—Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair.

Still in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing;

The mermaid music at its portal ringing;

The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door,

And, whispering evermore,

Hushed the ponderous hurl and roar

And vast æolian thunder

Of the chained tempests under

The frozen cataracts that were its floor.—

And, blinding beautiful, I still behold

The mermaid there, combing her locks of gold,

While at her feet, green as the Northern Seas,

Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses;

While, like a drift, her dog,—a Polar bear,—

Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair.

O wondrous house, built by supernal handsIn vague and ultimate lands!Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud,That, laboring loud,Mountained thy world foundations and upliftedThy skyey bastions driftedOf piled eternities of ice and snow;Where storms, like ploughmen, go,Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane;Where, spouting icy rain,The huge whale wallows; and through furious hailTh' explorer's tattered sailDrives like the wing of some terrific bird,Where wreck and famine herd.—

O wondrous house, built by supernal hands

In vague and ultimate lands!

Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud,

That, laboring loud,

Mountained thy world foundations and uplifted

Thy skyey bastions drifted

Of piled eternities of ice and snow;

Where storms, like ploughmen, go,

Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane;

Where, spouting icy rain,

The huge whale wallows; and through furious hail

Th' explorer's tattered sail

Drives like the wing of some terrific bird,

Where wreck and famine herd.—

VII

Home of the red Auroras and the gods!He who profanes thy perilous threshold,—whereThe ancient centuries lair,And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,—Let him beware!Lest coming on that hoary presence there,Whose pitiless hand,Above that hungry land,An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crownThe North Star is, set in a band of frost,He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown,And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost.

Home of the red Auroras and the gods!

He who profanes thy perilous threshold,—where

The ancient centuries lair,

And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,—

Let him beware!

Lest coming on that hoary presence there,

Whose pitiless hand,

Above that hungry land,

An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crown

The North Star is, set in a band of frost,

He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown,

And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost.

The day is dead; and in the westThe slender crescent of the moon—Diana's crystal-kindled crest—Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon.What is the murmur in the dell?The stealthy whisper and the drip?A Dryad with her leaf-light trip?A Naiad o'er her fountain well?—Who, with white fingers for her comb,Sleeks her blue hair, and from its curlsShowers slim minnows and pale pearls,And hollow music of the foam.What is it in the vistaed waysThat leans and springs, and stoops and sways?—The naked limbs of one who flees?An Oread who hesitatesBefore the Satyr form that waits,Crouching to leap, that there she sees?Or under boughs, reclining cool,A Hamadryad, like a poolOf moonlight, palely beautiful?Or Limnad, with her lilied face,More lovely than the misty laceThat haunts a star in a firefly place?Or is it some LeimoniadIn wildwood flowers dimly clad?Oblong blossoms white as froth,Or mottled like the tiger-moth;Or brindled as the brows of death,Wild of hue and wild of breath:Here ethereal flame and milkBlent with velvet and with silk;Here an iridescent glowMixed with satin and with snow:Pansy, poppy and the paleSerpolet and galingale;Mandrake and anemone,Honey-reservoirs o' the bee;Cistus and the cyclamen,—Cheeked like blushing Hebe this,And the other white as isBubbled milk of Venus whenCupid's baby mouth is pressed,Rosy, to her rosy breast.And, besides, all flowers that mateWith aroma, and in hueStars and rainbows duplicateHere on earth for me and you.Yea! at last mine eyes can see!'Tis no shadow of the treeSwaying softly there, but she!—Mænad, Bassarid, Bacchant,What you will, who doth enchantNight with sensuous nudity.Lo! again I hear her pantBreasting through the dewy glooms—Through the glow-worm gleams and glowersOf the starlight; wood-perfumesSwoon around her and frail showersOf the leaflet-tilted rain.Lo! like love, she comes againThrough the pale voluptuous dusk,Sweet of limb with breasts of musk.With her lips, like blossoms, breathingHoneyed pungence of her kiss,And her auburn tresses wreathingLike umbrageous helichrys,There she stands, like flame and snow,In the moon's ambrosial glow,Both her shapely loins low-loopedWith the balmy blossoms, drooped,Of the deep amaracus.Spiritual, yet sensual,Lo, she ever greets me thusIn my vision; white and tall,Her delicious body there,—Raimented with amorous air,—To my mind expresses allThe allurements of the world.And once more I seem to feelOn my soul, like frenzy, hurledAll the passionate past.—I reel,Greek again in ancient Greece,In the Pyrrhic revelries;In the mad and Mænad dance;Onward dragged with violence:Pan and old Silenus andFaunus and a Bacchant bandRound me. Wild my wine-stained handO'er tumultuous hair is lifted;While the flushed and Phallic orgiesWhirl around me; and the margesOf the wood are torn and riftedWith lascivious laugh and shout.And barbarian there again,—Shameless with the shameless rout,Bacchus lusting in each vein,—With her pagan lips on mine,Like a god made drunk with wine,On I reel; and in the revelsHer loose hair, the dance dishevels,Blows, and 'thwart my vision swimsAll the splendor of her limbs....So it seems. Yet woods are lonely.And when I again awake,I shall find their faces onlyMoonbeams in the boughs that shake;And their revels—but the rushOf night-winds through bough and brush.But my dreaming?—is it moreThan mere dreaming? Is a doorOpened in my soul? a curtainRaised? to let me see for certainI have lived that life before?

The day is dead; and in the west

The slender crescent of the moon—

Diana's crystal-kindled crest—

Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon.

What is the murmur in the dell?

The stealthy whisper and the drip?

A Dryad with her leaf-light trip?

A Naiad o'er her fountain well?—

Who, with white fingers for her comb,

Sleeks her blue hair, and from its curls

Showers slim minnows and pale pearls,

And hollow music of the foam.

What is it in the vistaed ways

That leans and springs, and stoops and sways?—

The naked limbs of one who flees?

An Oread who hesitates

Before the Satyr form that waits,

Crouching to leap, that there she sees?

Or under boughs, reclining cool,

A Hamadryad, like a pool

Of moonlight, palely beautiful?

Or Limnad, with her lilied face,

More lovely than the misty lace

That haunts a star in a firefly place?

Or is it some Leimoniad

In wildwood flowers dimly clad?

Oblong blossoms white as froth,

Or mottled like the tiger-moth;

Or brindled as the brows of death,

Wild of hue and wild of breath:

Here ethereal flame and milk

Blent with velvet and with silk;

Here an iridescent glow

Mixed with satin and with snow:

Pansy, poppy and the pale

Serpolet and galingale;

Mandrake and anemone,

Honey-reservoirs o' the bee;

Cistus and the cyclamen,—

Cheeked like blushing Hebe this,

And the other white as is

Bubbled milk of Venus when

Cupid's baby mouth is pressed,

Rosy, to her rosy breast.

And, besides, all flowers that mate

With aroma, and in hue

Stars and rainbows duplicate

Here on earth for me and you.

Yea! at last mine eyes can see!

'Tis no shadow of the tree

Swaying softly there, but she!—

Mænad, Bassarid, Bacchant,

What you will, who doth enchant

Night with sensuous nudity.

Lo! again I hear her pant

Breasting through the dewy glooms—

Through the glow-worm gleams and glowers

Of the starlight; wood-perfumes

Swoon around her and frail showers

Of the leaflet-tilted rain.

Lo! like love, she comes again

Through the pale voluptuous dusk,

Sweet of limb with breasts of musk.

With her lips, like blossoms, breathing

Honeyed pungence of her kiss,

And her auburn tresses wreathing

Like umbrageous helichrys,

There she stands, like flame and snow,

In the moon's ambrosial glow,

Both her shapely loins low-looped

With the balmy blossoms, drooped,

Of the deep amaracus.

Spiritual, yet sensual,

Lo, she ever greets me thus

In my vision; white and tall,

Her delicious body there,—

Raimented with amorous air,—

To my mind expresses all

The allurements of the world.

And once more I seem to feel

On my soul, like frenzy, hurled

All the passionate past.—I reel,

Greek again in ancient Greece,

In the Pyrrhic revelries;

In the mad and Mænad dance;

Onward dragged with violence:

Pan and old Silenus and

Faunus and a Bacchant band

Round me. Wild my wine-stained hand

O'er tumultuous hair is lifted;

While the flushed and Phallic orgies

Whirl around me; and the marges

Of the wood are torn and rifted

With lascivious laugh and shout.

And barbarian there again,—

Shameless with the shameless rout,

Bacchus lusting in each vein,—

With her pagan lips on mine,

Like a god made drunk with wine,

On I reel; and in the revels

Her loose hair, the dance dishevels,

Blows, and 'thwart my vision swims

All the splendor of her limbs....

So it seems. Yet woods are lonely.

And when I again awake,

I shall find their faces only

Moonbeams in the boughs that shake;

And their revels—but the rush

Of night-winds through bough and brush.

But my dreaming?—is it more

Than mere dreaming? Is a door

Opened in my soul? a curtain

Raised? to let me see for certain

I have lived that life before?

IHere where a tree and its wild liana,Leaning over the streamlet, grow,Once a nymph, like the moon'd Diana,Sat in the ages long ago,Sat with a mortal with whom she had mated,Sat and smiled with a mortal youth,Ere he of the forest, the god who hated,Changed the two into forms uncouth....IIOnce in the woods she had heard a shepherd,Heard a reed in a golden glade;Followed, and clad in the skin of a leopard,Found him fluting within the shade.Found him sitting with bare brown shoulder,Lithe and young as a sapling oak,And leaning over a mossy boulder,Love in her dryad heart awoke.IIIWhite she was as a dogwood flower,Rosy white as a wild-crab bloom,Fragrant white as a haw-tree bowerFull of sap and the May's perfume.He who saw her above him burning,Beautiful, naked, in dawn arrayed,Deemed her Diana, and from her turning,Leapt to his feet and fled afraid.IVFar she followed and called and pleaded,Ever he fled with never a look;Fled, till he came to this spot, deep-reeded,Came to the bank of this forest brook.Here for a moment he stopped and listened,Heard in her voice her heart's despair,Saw in her eyes the love that glistened,Sank on her bosom and rested there.VClose to her beauty she strained and pressed him,Held and bound him with kiss on kiss;Soft with her hands and her lips caressed him,Sweeter of touch than a blossom is.Spoke to his heart, and with sweet persuasionMastered his soul till its fear was flown;Smiled on his soul till its mortal evasionVanished, and body and soul were her own.VIMany a day had they met and mated,Many a day by this wildwood brook,When he of the forest, the god who hated,Came on their love and changed with a look.There on the shore, while they joyed and jested,He in the shadows, unseen, espiedHer, like the goddess Diana breasted,Him, like Endymion by her side.VIILo! at a word, at a sign, their foldedLimbs and bodies assumed new form,Hers to the shape of a tree were molded,His to a vine with surrounding arm....So they stand with their limbs enlacing,Nymph and mortal, upon this shore,He forever a vine embracingHer, a silvery sycamore.

Here where a tree and its wild liana,Leaning over the streamlet, grow,Once a nymph, like the moon'd Diana,Sat in the ages long ago,Sat with a mortal with whom she had mated,Sat and smiled with a mortal youth,Ere he of the forest, the god who hated,Changed the two into forms uncouth....

Here where a tree and its wild liana,

Leaning over the streamlet, grow,

Once a nymph, like the moon'd Diana,

Sat in the ages long ago,

Sat with a mortal with whom she had mated,

Sat and smiled with a mortal youth,

Ere he of the forest, the god who hated,

Changed the two into forms uncouth....

Once in the woods she had heard a shepherd,Heard a reed in a golden glade;Followed, and clad in the skin of a leopard,Found him fluting within the shade.Found him sitting with bare brown shoulder,Lithe and young as a sapling oak,And leaning over a mossy boulder,Love in her dryad heart awoke.

Once in the woods she had heard a shepherd,

Heard a reed in a golden glade;

Followed, and clad in the skin of a leopard,

Found him fluting within the shade.

Found him sitting with bare brown shoulder,

Lithe and young as a sapling oak,

And leaning over a mossy boulder,

Love in her dryad heart awoke.

III

White she was as a dogwood flower,Rosy white as a wild-crab bloom,Fragrant white as a haw-tree bowerFull of sap and the May's perfume.He who saw her above him burning,Beautiful, naked, in dawn arrayed,Deemed her Diana, and from her turning,Leapt to his feet and fled afraid.

White she was as a dogwood flower,

Rosy white as a wild-crab bloom,

Fragrant white as a haw-tree bower

Full of sap and the May's perfume.

He who saw her above him burning,

Beautiful, naked, in dawn arrayed,

Deemed her Diana, and from her turning,

Leapt to his feet and fled afraid.

Far she followed and called and pleaded,Ever he fled with never a look;Fled, till he came to this spot, deep-reeded,Came to the bank of this forest brook.Here for a moment he stopped and listened,Heard in her voice her heart's despair,Saw in her eyes the love that glistened,Sank on her bosom and rested there.

Far she followed and called and pleaded,

Ever he fled with never a look;

Fled, till he came to this spot, deep-reeded,

Came to the bank of this forest brook.

Here for a moment he stopped and listened,

Heard in her voice her heart's despair,

Saw in her eyes the love that glistened,

Sank on her bosom and rested there.

Close to her beauty she strained and pressed him,Held and bound him with kiss on kiss;Soft with her hands and her lips caressed him,Sweeter of touch than a blossom is.Spoke to his heart, and with sweet persuasionMastered his soul till its fear was flown;Smiled on his soul till its mortal evasionVanished, and body and soul were her own.

Close to her beauty she strained and pressed him,

Held and bound him with kiss on kiss;

Soft with her hands and her lips caressed him,

Sweeter of touch than a blossom is.

Spoke to his heart, and with sweet persuasion

Mastered his soul till its fear was flown;

Smiled on his soul till its mortal evasion

Vanished, and body and soul were her own.

Many a day had they met and mated,Many a day by this wildwood brook,When he of the forest, the god who hated,Came on their love and changed with a look.There on the shore, while they joyed and jested,He in the shadows, unseen, espiedHer, like the goddess Diana breasted,Him, like Endymion by her side.

Many a day had they met and mated,

Many a day by this wildwood brook,

When he of the forest, the god who hated,

Came on their love and changed with a look.

There on the shore, while they joyed and jested,

He in the shadows, unseen, espied

Her, like the goddess Diana breasted,

Him, like Endymion by her side.

VII

Lo! at a word, at a sign, their foldedLimbs and bodies assumed new form,Hers to the shape of a tree were molded,His to a vine with surrounding arm....So they stand with their limbs enlacing,Nymph and mortal, upon this shore,He forever a vine embracingHer, a silvery sycamore.

Lo! at a word, at a sign, their folded

Limbs and bodies assumed new form,

Hers to the shape of a tree were molded,

His to a vine with surrounding arm....

So they stand with their limbs enlacing,

Nymph and mortal, upon this shore,

He forever a vine embracing

Her, a silvery sycamore.

IWhat wood-god, on this water's mossy curb,Lost in reflections of Earth's loveliness,Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb?I who haphazard, wandering at a guess,Came on this spot, wherein with gold and flameOf buds and blooms the Season writes its name.—Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarmOf my approach aroused him from his calm!As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap,Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warmAs a wood-rose, and filled the air with balmOf his wild breath as with ethereal sap.IIDoes not the moss retain some slight impress,Green-dented down, of where he lay or trod?Do not the flowers, so reticent, confessWith conscious looks the contact of a god?Does not the very water garrulouslyBoast the indulgence of a deity?And hark!—in burly beech and sycamoreHow all the birds proclaim it! and the leavesRejoice with clappings of their myriad hands!And shall not I believe, too, and adore,With such wide proof?—Yea, though my soul perceivesNo evident presence, still it understands.IIIAnd for a while it moves me to lie downHere on the spot his god-head sanctified:Mayhap some dream he dreamed may linger, brownAnd young as joy, around the forest side:Some dream within whose heart lives no disdainFor such as I whose love is sweet and sane;That may repeat, so none but I may hear—As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary—Some epic that the leaves have learned to croon,Some lyric whispered in the wildflower's ear,Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee,And all the insects of the night and noon.IVFor, all around me, upon field and hill,Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes;As if the music of a god's good-willHad taken on material attributesIn blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam,That runs its silvery scales on every stream;In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly,A golden note, vibrates then flutters on—Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan,That have assumed a visible entity,And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun,Behold, I seem, and am no more a man.

What wood-god, on this water's mossy curb,Lost in reflections of Earth's loveliness,Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb?I who haphazard, wandering at a guess,Came on this spot, wherein with gold and flameOf buds and blooms the Season writes its name.—Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarmOf my approach aroused him from his calm!As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap,Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warmAs a wood-rose, and filled the air with balmOf his wild breath as with ethereal sap.

What wood-god, on this water's mossy curb,

Lost in reflections of Earth's loveliness,

Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb?

I who haphazard, wandering at a guess,

Came on this spot, wherein with gold and flame

Of buds and blooms the Season writes its name.—

Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarm

Of my approach aroused him from his calm!

As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap,

Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warm

As a wood-rose, and filled the air with balm

Of his wild breath as with ethereal sap.

Does not the moss retain some slight impress,Green-dented down, of where he lay or trod?Do not the flowers, so reticent, confessWith conscious looks the contact of a god?Does not the very water garrulouslyBoast the indulgence of a deity?And hark!—in burly beech and sycamoreHow all the birds proclaim it! and the leavesRejoice with clappings of their myriad hands!And shall not I believe, too, and adore,With such wide proof?—Yea, though my soul perceivesNo evident presence, still it understands.

Does not the moss retain some slight impress,

Green-dented down, of where he lay or trod?

Do not the flowers, so reticent, confess

With conscious looks the contact of a god?

Does not the very water garrulously

Boast the indulgence of a deity?

And hark!—in burly beech and sycamore

How all the birds proclaim it! and the leaves

Rejoice with clappings of their myriad hands!

And shall not I believe, too, and adore,

With such wide proof?—Yea, though my soul perceives

No evident presence, still it understands.

III

And for a while it moves me to lie downHere on the spot his god-head sanctified:Mayhap some dream he dreamed may linger, brownAnd young as joy, around the forest side:Some dream within whose heart lives no disdainFor such as I whose love is sweet and sane;That may repeat, so none but I may hear—As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary—Some epic that the leaves have learned to croon,Some lyric whispered in the wildflower's ear,Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee,And all the insects of the night and noon.

And for a while it moves me to lie down

Here on the spot his god-head sanctified:

Mayhap some dream he dreamed may linger, brown

And young as joy, around the forest side:

Some dream within whose heart lives no disdain

For such as I whose love is sweet and sane;

That may repeat, so none but I may hear—

As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary—

Some epic that the leaves have learned to croon,

Some lyric whispered in the wildflower's ear,

Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee,

And all the insects of the night and noon.

For, all around me, upon field and hill,Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes;As if the music of a god's good-willHad taken on material attributesIn blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam,That runs its silvery scales on every stream;In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly,A golden note, vibrates then flutters on—Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan,That have assumed a visible entity,And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun,Behold, I seem, and am no more a man.

For, all around me, upon field and hill,

Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes;

As if the music of a god's good-will

Had taken on material attributes

In blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam,

That runs its silvery scales on every stream;

In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly,

A golden note, vibrates then flutters on—

Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan,

That have assumed a visible entity,

And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun,

Behold, I seem, and am no more a man.

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