Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!With it, the Cyane [31] blue intertwineRapture must render each glance bright and clear,For the great queen is approaching her shrine,—She who compels lawless passions to cease,Who to link man with his fellow has come,And into firm habitations of peaceChanged the rude tents' ever-wandering home.
Shyly in the mountain-cleftWas the Troglodyte concealed;And the roving Nomad left,Desert lying, each broad field.With the javelin, with the bow,Strode the hunter through the land;To the hapless stranger woe,Billow-cast on that wild strand!
When, in her sad wanderings lost,Seeking traces of her child,Ceres hailed the dreary coast,Ah, no verdant plain then smiled!That she here with trust may stay,None vouchsafes a sheltering roof;Not a temple's columns gayGive of godlike worship proof.
Fruit of no propitious earBids her to the pure feast fly;On the ghastly altars hereHuman bones alone e'er dry.Far as she might onward rove,Misery found she still in all,And within her soul of love,Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall.
"Is it thus I find the manTo whom we our image lend,Whose fair limbs of noble spanUpward towards the heavens ascend?Laid we not before his feetEarth's unbounded godlike womb?Yet upon his kingly seatWanders he without a home?"
"Does no god compassion feel?Will none of the blissful race,With an arm of miracle,Raise him from his deep disgrace?In the heights where rapture reignsPangs of others ne'er can move;Yet man's anguish and man's painsMy tormented heart must prove."
"So that a man a man may be,Let him make an endless bondWith the kind earth trustingly,Who is ever good and fondTo revere the law of time,And the moon's melodious songWho, with silent step sublime,Move their sacred course along."
And she softly parts the cloudThat conceals her from the sight;Sudden, in the savage crowd,Stands she, as a goddess bright.There she finds the concourse rudeIn their glad feast revelling,And the chalice filled with bloodAs a sacrifice they bring.
But she turns her face away,Horror-struck, and speaks the while"Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er mayOf a god the lips defile,He needs victims free from stain,Fruits matured by autumn's sun;With the pure gifts of the plainHonored is the Holy One!"
And she takes the heavy shaftFrom the hunter's cruel hand;With the murderous weapon's haftFurrowing the light-strown sand,—Takes from out her garland's crown,Filled with life, one single grain,Sinks it in the furrow down,And the germ soon swells amain.
And the green stalks gracefullyShoot, ere long, the ground above,And, as far as eye can see,Waves it like a golden grove.With her smile the earth she cheers,Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,As her hearth the landmark rears,—And the goddess breathes this prayer:
"Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er allThat in ether's mansions dwell,Let a sign from thee now fallThat thou lov'st this offering well!And from the unhappy crowdThat, as yet, has ne'er known thee,Take away the eye's dark cloud,Showing them their deity!"
Zeus, upon his lofty throne,Harkens to his sister's prayer;From the blue heights thundering down,Hurls his forked lightning there,Crackling, it begins to blaze,From the altar whirling bounds,—And his swift-winged eagle playsHigh above in circling rounds.
Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng;Into humanity's earliest feelingMelt their rude spirits, untutored and strong.Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,And from the mouth of the queen they receive,Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.
All the deities advanceDownward from their heavenly seats;Themis' self 'tis leads the dance,And, with staff of justice, metesUnto every one his rights,—Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix;And in witness she invitesAll the hidden powers of Styx.
And the forge-god, too, is there,The inventive son of Zeus;Fashioner of vessels fairSkilled in clay and brass's use.'Tis from him the art man knowsTongs and bellows how to wield;'Neath his hammer's heavy blowsWas the ploughshare first revealed.
With projecting, weighty spear,Front of all, Minerva stands,Lifts her voice so strong and clear,And the godlike host commands.Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found,Shield and screen for every one,That the scattered world aroundBind in loving unison.
The immortals' steps she guidesO'er the trackless plains so vast,And where'er her foot abidesIs the boundary god held fast;And her measuring chain is ledRound the mountain's border green,—E'en the raging torrent's bedIn the holy ring is seen.
All the Nymphs and Oreads tooWho, the mountain pathways o'er,Swift-foot Artemis pursue,All to swell the concourse, pour,Brandishing the hunting-spear,—Set to work,—glad shouts uprise,—'Neath their axes' blows so clearCrashing down the pine-wood flies.
E'en the sedge-crowned God ascendsFrom his verdant spring to light,And his raft's direction bendsAt the goddess' word of might,—While the hours, all gently bound,Nimbly to their duty fly;Rugged trunks are fashioned roundBy her skilled hand gracefully.
E'en the sea-god thither fares;—Sudden, with his trident's blow,He the granite columns tearsFrom earth's entrails far below;—In his mighty hands, on high,Waves he them, like some light ball,And with nimble Hermes by,Raises up the rampart-wall.
But from out the golden stringsLures Apollo harmony,Measured time's sweet murmurings,And the might of melody.The Camoenae swell the strainWith their song of ninefold tone:Captive bound in music's chain,Softly stone unites to stone.
Cybele, with skilful hand,Open throws the wide-winged door;Locks and bolts by her are planned,Sure to last forevermore.Soon complete the wondrous hallsBy the gods' own hands are made,And the temple's glowing wallsStand in festal pomp arrayed.
With a crown of myrtle twined,Now the goddess queen comes there,And she leads the fairest hindTo the shepherdess most fair.Venus, with her beauteous boy,That first pair herself attires;All the gods bring gifts of joy,Blessing their love's sacred fires.
Guided by the deities,Soon the new-born townsmen pour,Ushered in with harmonies,Through the friendly open door.Holding now the rites divine,Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,—Blessing those around the shrine,Thus she speaks, with folded hands:—
"Freedom's love the beast inflames,And the god rules free in air,While the law of Nature tamesEach wild lust that lingers there.Yet, when thus together thrown,Man with man must fain unite;And by his own worth aloneCan he freedom gain, and might."
Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!With it, the Cyane blue intertwine!Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,For the great queen is approaching her shrine,—She who our homesteads so blissful has given,She who has man to his fellow-man bound:Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven,Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!
Upon his battlements he stood,And downward gazed in joyous mood,On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway,"All this is subject to my yoke;"To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,—"That I am truly blest, then, say!"
"The immortals' favor thou hast known!Thy sceptre's might has overthrownAll those who once were like to thee.Yet to avenge them one lives still;I cannot call thee blest, untilThat dreaded foe has ceased to be."
While to these words the king gave vent,A herald from Miletus sent,Appeared before the tyrant there:"Lord, let thy incense rise to-day,And with the laurel branches gayThou well may'st crown thy festive hair!"
"Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,—I'm sent to bear the glad news here,By thy true marshal Polydore"—Then from a basin black he takes—The fearful sight their terror wakes—A well-known head, besmeared with gore.
The king with horror stepped aside,And then with anxious look replied:"Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit.On faithless waves, bethink thee howThy fleet with doubtful fate swims now—How soon the storm may scatter it!"
But ere he yet had spoke the word,A shout of jubilee is heardResounding from the distant strand.With foreign treasures teeming o'er,The vessels' mast-rich wood once moreReturns home to its native land.
The guest then speaks with startled mind:"Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind;But thou her fickleness shouldst fear:The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms,Now threaten thee with war's alarms;E'en now they are approaching here."
And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips,A stir is seen amongst the ships,And thousand voices "Victory!" cry:"We are delivered from our foe,The storm has laid the Cretan low,The war is ended, is gone by!"
The shout with horror hears the guest:"In truth, I must esteem thee blest!Yet dread I the decrees of heaven.The envy of the gods I fear;To taste of unmixed rapture hereIs never to a mortal given."
"With me, too, everything succeeds;In all my sovereign acts and deedsThe grace of Heaven is ever by;And yet I had a well-loved heir—I paid my debt to fortune there—God took him hence—I saw him die."
"Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free.Pray to each unseen Deity,For thy well-being, grief to send;The man on whom the Gods bestowTheir gifts with hands that overflow,Comes never to a happy end."
"And if the Gods thy prayer resist,Then to a friend's instruction list,—Invoke thyself adversity;And what, of all thy treasures bright,Gives to thy heart the most delight—That take and cast thou in the sea!"
Then speaks the other, moved by fear:"This ring to me is far most dearOf all this isle within it knows—I to the furies pledge it now,If they will happiness allow"—And in the flood the gem he throws.
And with the morrow's earliest light,Appeared before the monarch's sightA fisherman, all joyously;"Lord, I this fish just now have caught,No net before e'er held the sort;And as a gift I bring it thee."
The fish was opened by the cook,Who suddenly, with wondering look,Runs up, and utters these glad sounds:"Within the fish's maw, behold,I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold!Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!"
The guest with terror turned away:"I cannot here, then, longer stay,—My friend thou canst no longer be!The gods have willed that thou shouldst die:Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"—He spoke,—and sailed thence hastily.
Once to the song and chariot-fight,Where all the tribes of Greece uniteOn Corinth's isthmus joyously,The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh.On him Apollo had bestowedThe gift of song and strains inspired;So, with light staff, he took his roadFrom Rhegium, by the godhead fired.
Acrocorinth, on mountain high,Now burns upon the wanderer's eye,And he begins, with pious dread,Poseidon's grove of firs to tread.Naught moves around him, save a swarmOf cranes, who guide him on his way;Who from far southern regions warmHave hither come in squadron gray.
"Thou friendly band, all hail to thee!Who led'st me safely o'er the sea!I deem thee as a favoring sign,—My destiny resembles thine.Both come from a far distant coast,Both pray for some kind sheltering place;—Propitious toward us be the hostWho from the stranger wards disgrace!"
And on he hastes, in joyous wood,And reaches soon the middle woodWhen, on a narrow bridge, by forceTwo murderers sudden bar his course.He must prepare him for the fray,But soon his wearied hand sinks low;Inured the gentle lyre to play,It ne'er has strung the deadly bow.
On gods and men for aid he cries,—No savior to his prayer replies;However far his voice he sends,Naught living to his cry attends."And must I in a foreign land,Unwept, deserted, perish here,Falling beneath a murderous hand,Where no avenger can appear?"
Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last,When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past.He hears,—though he no more can see,—Their voices screaming fearfully."By you, ye cranes, that soar on high,If not another voice is heard,Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!"He speaks, and dies, too, with the word.
The naked corpse, ere long, is found,And, though defaced by many a wound,His host in Corinth soon could tellThe features that he loved so well."And is it thus I find thee now,Who hoped the pine's victorious crownTo place upon the singer's brow,Illumined by his bright renown?"
The news is heard with grief by allMet at Poseidon's festival;All Greece is conscious of the smart,He leaves a void in every heart;And to the Prytanis [33] swift hieThe people, and they urge him onThe dead man's manes to pacifyAnd with the murderer's blood atone.
But where's the trace that from the throngThe people's streaming crowds among,Allured there by the sports so bright,Can bring the villain back to light?By craven robbers was he slain?Or by some envious hidden foe?That Helios only can explain,Whose rays illume all things below.
Perchance, with shameless step and proud,He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd—Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit,Gloats over his transgression's fruit.The very gods perchance he bravesUpon the threshold of their fane,—Joins boldly in the human wavesThat haste yon theatre to gain.
For there the Grecian tribes appear,Fast pouring in from far and near;On close-packed benches sit they there,—The stage the weight can scarcely bear.Like ocean-billows' hollow roar,The teaming crowds of living manToward the cerulean heavens upsoar,In bow of ever-widening span.
Who knows the nation, who the name,Of all who there together came?From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strandFrom Phocis, from the Spartan land,From Asia's distant coast, they wend,From every island of the sea,And from the stage they hear ascendThe chorus's dread melody.
Who, sad and solemn, as of old,With footsteps measured and controlled,Advancing from the far background,Circle the theatre's wide round.Thus, mortal women never move!No mortal home to them gave birth!Their giant-bodies tower above,High o'er the puny sons of earth.
With loins in mantle black concealed,Within their fleshless bands they wieldThe torch, that with a dull red glows,—While in their cheek no life-blood flows;And where the hair is floating wideAnd loving, round a mortal brow,Here snakes and adders are descried,Whose bellies swell with poison now.
And, standing in a fearful ring,The dread and solemn chant they sing,That through the bosom thrilling goes,And round the sinner fetters throws.Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power,The furies' strains resound through airThe listener's marrow they devour,—The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er.
"Happy the man who, blemish-free,Preserves a soul of purity!Near him we ne'er avenging come,He freely o'er life's path may roam.But woe to him who, hid from view,Hath done the deed of murder base!Upon his heels we close pursue,—We, who belong to night's dark race!"
"And if he thinks to 'scape by flight,Winged we appear, our snare of mightAround his flying feet to cast,So that he needs must fall at last.Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,—Our wrath repentance cannot quell,—On to the shadows, and e'en thereWe leave him not in peace to dwell!"
Thus singing, they the dance resume,And silence, like that of the tomb,O'er the whole house lies heavily,As if the deity were nigh.And staid and solemn, as of old,Circling the theatre's wide round,With footsteps measured and controlled,They vanish in the far background.
Between deceit and truth each breast.Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed,And homage pays to that dread might,That judges what is hid from sight,—That, fathomless, inscrutable,The gloomy skein of fate entwines,That reads the bosom's depths full well,Yet flies away where sunlight shines.
When sudden, from the tier most high,A voice is heard by all to cry:"See there, see there, Timotheus!Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"The heavens become as black as night,And o'er the theatre they see,Far over-head, a dusky flightOf cranes, approaching hastily.
"Of Ibycus!"—That name so blestWith new-born sorrow fills each breast.As waves on waves in ocean rise,From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies:"Of Ibycus, whom we lament?Who fell beneath the murderer's hand?What mean those words that from him went?What means this cranes' advancing band?"
And louder still become the cries,And soon this thought foreboding fliesThrough every heart, with speed of light—"Observe in this the furies' might!The poets manes are now appeasedThe murderer seeks his own arrest!Let him who spoke the word be seized,And him to whom it was addressed!"
That word he had no sooner spoke,Than he its sound would fain invoke;In vain! his mouth, with terror pale,Tells of his guilt the fearful tale.Before the judge they drag them nowThe scene becomes the tribunal;Their crimes the villains both avow,When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall.
Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isleThe error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile;Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave,Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave.Play, loveliest innocence!—Thee yet Arcadia circles round,A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground;Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend,Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end.Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey.Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away!
See you the towers, that, gray and old,Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold,Steep sternly fronting steep?The Hellespont beneath them swells,And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles,The rock-gates of the deep!Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave,From Asia, Europe clove in thunder?That sea which rent a world, cannotRend love from love asunder!
In Hero's, in Leander's heart,Thrills the sweet anguish of the dartWhose feather flies from love.All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek—And his the hunter's steps that seekDelight, the hills above!Between their sires the rival feudForbids their plighted hearts to meet;Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf,By danger made more sweet.
Alone on Sestos' rocky tower,Where upward sent in stormy shower,The whirling waters foam,—Alone the maiden sits, and eyesThe cliffs of fair Abydos riseAfar—her lover's home.Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand,No bridge can love to love convey;No boatman shoots from yonder shore,Yet Love has found the way.—
That love, which could the labyrinth pierce—Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce,And wings with wit the dull;—That love which o'er the furrowed landBowed—tame beneath young Jason's hand—The fiery-snorting bull!Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows,Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er,And back to daylight borne the bride,From Pluto's dreary shore!
What marvel then that wind and wave,Leander doth but burn to brave,When love, that goads him, guides!Still when the day, with fainter glimmer,Wanes pale—he leaps, the daring swimmer,Amid the darkening tides;With lusty arms he cleaves the waves,And strikes for that dear strand afar;Where high from Hero's lonely towerLone streams the beacon-star.
In vain his blood the wave may chill,These tender arms can warm it still—And, weary if the way,By many a sweet embrace, aboveAll earthly boons—can liberal loveThe lover's toil repay,Until Aurora breaks the dream,And warns the loiterer to depart—Back to the ocean's icy bed,Scared from that loving heart.
So thirty suns have sped their flight—Still in that theft of sweet delightExult the happy pair;Caress will never pall caress,And joys that gods might envy, blessThe single bride-night there.Ah! never he has rapture known,Who has not, where the waves are drivenUpon the fearful shores of hell,Plucked fruits that taste of heaven!
Now changing in their season are,The morning and the Hesper star;—Nor see those happy eyesThe leaves that withering droop and fall,Nor hear, when, from its northern hall,The neighboring winter sighs;Or, if they see, the shortening daysBut seem to them to close in kindness;For longer joys, in lengthening nights,They thank the heaven in blindness.
It is the time, when night and day,In equal scales contend for sway [35]—Lone, on her rocky steep,Lingers the girl with wistful eyesThat watch the sun-steeds down the skies,Careering towards the deep.Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea,A mirror in translucent calm,The breeze, along that crystal realm,Unmurmuring, died in balm.
In wanton swarms and blithe array,The merry dolphins glide and playAmid the silver waves.In gray and dusky troops are seen,The hosts that serve the ocean-queen,Upborne from coral caves:They—only they—have witnessed loveTo rapture steal its secret way:And Hecate [36] seals the only lipsThat could the tale betray!
She marks in joy the lulled water,And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter,Soft-flattering, woos the sea!"Fair god—and canst thou then betray?No! falsehood dwells with them that sayThat falsehood dwells with thee!Ah! faithless is the race of man,And harsh a father's heart can prove;But thee, the gentle and the mild,The grief of love can move!"
"Within these hated walls of stone,Should I, repining, mourn alone,And fade in ceaseless care,But thou, though o'er thy giant tide,Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide,Dost safe my lover bear.And darksome is thy solemn deep,And fearful is thy roaring wave;But wave and deep are won by love—Thou smilest on the brave!"
"Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea,Did Eros send his shafts to theeWhat time the rain of gold,Bright Helle, with her brother bore,How stirred the waves she wandered o'er,How stirred thy deeps of old!Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued,Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves,And in thy mighty arms, she sankInto thy bridal caves."
"A goddess with a god, to keepIn endless youth, beneath the deep,Her solemn ocean-court!And still she smooths thine angry tides,Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guidesThe sailor to the port!Beautiful Helle, bright one, hearThy lone adoring suppliant pray!And guide, O goddess—guide my loveAlong the wonted way!"
Now twilight dims the waters' flow,And from the tower, the beacon's glowWaves flickering o'er the main.Ah, where athwart the dismal stream,Shall shine the beacon's faithful beamThe lover's eyes shall strain!Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar—From heaven the blessed stars are gone—More darkly swells the rising seaThe tempest labors on!
Along the ocean's boundless plainsLies night—in torrents rush the rainsFrom the dark-bosomed cloud—Red lightning skirs the panting air,And, loosed from out their rocky lair,Sweep all the storms abroad.Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er,The yawning gulf is rent asunder,And shows, as through an opening pall,Grim earth—the ocean under!
Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow—"Have mercy, Jove—be gracious, thou!Dread prayer was mine before!"What if the gods have heard—and he,Lone victim of the stormy sea,Now struggles to the shore!There's not a sea-bird on the wave—Their hurrying wings the shelter seek;The stoutest ship the storms have proved,Takes refuge in the creek.
"Ah, still that heart, which oft has bravedThe danger where the daring saved,Love lureth o'er the sea;—For many a vow at parting morn,That naught but death should bar return,Breathed those dear lips to me;And whirled around, the while I weep,Amid the storm that rides the wave,The giant gulf is grasping downThe rash one to the grave!
"False Pontus! and the calm I hailed,The awaiting murder darkly veiled—The lulled pellucid flow,The smiles in which thou wert arrayed,Were but the snares that love betrayedTo thy false realm below!Now in the midway of the main,Return relentlessly forbidden,Thou loosenest on the path beyondThe horrors thou hadst hidden."
Loud and more loud the tempest ravesIn thunder break the mountain waves,White-foaming on the rock—No ship that ever swept the deepIts ribs of gnarled oak could keepUnshattered by the shock.Dies in the blast the guiding torchTo light the struggler to the strand;'Tis death to battle with the wave,And death no less to land!
On Venus, daughter of the seas,She calls the tempest to appease—To each wild-shrieking windAlong the ocean-desert borne,She vows a steer with golden horn—Vain vow—relentless wind!On every goddess of the deep,On all the gods in heaven that be,She calls—to soothe in calm, awhileThe tempest-laden sea!
"Hearken the anguish of my cries!From thy green halls, arise—arise,Leucothoe the divine!Who, in the barren main afar,Oft on the storm-beat marinerDost gently-saving shine.Oh,—reach to him thy mystic veil,To which the drowning clasp may cling,And safely from that roaring grave,To shore my lover bring!"
And now the savage winds are hushing.And o'er the arched horizon, blushing,Day's chariot gleams on high!Back to their wonted channels rolled,In crystal calm the waves beholdOne smile on sea and sky!All softly breaks the rippling tide,Low-murmuring on the rocky land,And playful wavelets gently floatA corpse upon the strand!
'Tis he!—who even in death would stillNot fail the sweet vow to fulfil;She looks—sees—knows him there!From her pale lips no sorrow speaks,No tears glide down her hueless cheeks;Cold-numbed in her despair—She looked along the silent deep,She looked upon the brightening heaven,Till to the marble face the soulIts light sublime had given!
"Ye solemn powers men shrink to name,Your might is here, your rights ye claim—Yet think not I repineSoon closed my course; yet I can blessThe life that brought me happiness—The fairest lot was mine!Living have I thy temple served,Thy consecrated priestess been—My last glad offering now receiveVenus, thou mightiest queen!"
Flashed the white robe along the air,And from the tower that beetled thereShe sprang into the wave;Roused from his throne beneath the waste,Those holy forms the god embraced—A god himself their grave!Pleased with his prey, he glides along—More blithe the murmured music seems,A gush from unexhausted urnsHis everlasting streams!
Mirth the halls of Troy was filling,Ere its lofty ramparts fell;From the golden lute so thrillingHymns of joy were heard to swell.From the sad and tearful slaughterAll had laid their arms aside,For Pelides Priam's daughterClaimed then as his own fair bride.
Laurel branches with them bearing,Troop on troop in bright arrayTo the temples were repairing,Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway.Through the streets, with frantic measure,Danced the bacchanal mad round,And, amid the radiant pleasure,Only one sad breast was found.
Joyless in the midst of gladness,None to heed her, none to love,Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness,To Apollo's laurel grove.To its dark and deep recessesSwift the sorrowing priestess hied,And from off her flowing tressesTore the sacred band, and cried:
"All around with joy is beaming,Ev'ry heart is happy now,And my sire is fondly dreaming,Wreathed with flowers my sister's browI alone am doomed to wailing,That sweet vision flies from me;In my mind, these walls assailing,Fierce destruction I can see."
"Though a torch I see all-glowing,Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand;Smoke across the skies is blowing,Yet 'tis from no votive brand.Yonder see I feasts entrancing,But in my prophetic soul,Hear I now the God advancing,Who will steep in tears the bowl!"
"And they blame my lamentation,And they laugh my grief to scorn;To the haunts of desolationI must bear my woes forlorn.All who happy are, now shun me,And my tears with laughter see;Heavy lies thy hand upon me,Cruel Pythian deity!"
"Thy divine decrees foretelling,Wherefore hast thou thrown me here,Where the ever-blind are dwelling,With a mind, alas, too clear?Wherefore hast thou power thus given,What must needs occur to know?Wrought must be the will of Heaven—Onward come the hour of woe!"
"When impending fate strikes terror,Why remove the covering?Life we have alone in error,Knowledge with it death must bring.Take away this prescience tearful,Take this sight of woe from me;Of thy truths, alas! how fearful'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!"
"Veil my mind once more in slumbersLet me heedlessly rejoice;Never have I sung glad numbersSince I've been thy chosen voice.Knowledge of the future giving,Thou hast stolen the present day,Stolen the moment's joyous living,—Take thy false gift, then, away!"
"Ne'er with bridal train around me,Have I wreathed my radiant brow,Since to serve thy fane I bound me—Bound me with a solemn vow.Evermore in grief I languish—All my youth in tears was spent;And with thoughts of bitter anguishMy too-feeling heart is rent."
"Joyously my friends are playing,All around are blest and glad,In the paths of pleasure straying,—My poor heart alone is sad.Spring in vain unfolds each treasure,Filling all the earth with bliss;Who in life can e'er take pleasure,When is seen its dark abyss?"
"With her heart in vision burning,Truly blest is Polyxene,As a bride to clasp him yearning.Him, the noblest, best Hellene!And her breast with rapture swelling,All its bliss can scarcely know;E'en the Gods in heavenly dwellingEnvying not, when dreaming so."
"He to whom my heart is plightedStood before my ravished eye,And his look, by passion lighted,Toward me turned imploringly.With the loved one, oh, how gladlyHomeward would I take my flightBut a Stygian shadow sadlySteps between us every night."
"Cruel Proserpine is sendingAll her spectres pale to me;Ever on my steps attendingThose dread shadowy forms I see.Though I seek, in mirth and laughterRefuge from that ghastly train,Still I see them hastening after,—Ne'er shall I know joy again."
"And I see the death-steel glancing,And the eye of murder glare;On, with hasty strides advancing,Terror haunts me everywhere.Vain I seek alleviation;—Knowing, seeing, suffering all,I must wait the consummation,In a foreign land must fall."
While her solemn words are ringing,Hark! a dull and wailing toneFrom the temple's gate upspringing,—Dead lies Thetis' mighty son!Eris shakes her snake-locks hated,Swiftly flies each deity,And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fatedThunder-clouds loom heavily!
The tyrant Dionys to seek,Stern Moerus with his poniard crept;The watchful guard upon him swept;The grim king marked his changeless cheek:"What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!""The city from the tyrant free!""The death-cross shall thy guerdon be."
"I am prepared for death, nor pray,"Replied that haughty man, "I to live;Enough, if thou one grace wilt giveFor three brief suns the death delayTo wed my sister—leagues away;I boast one friend whose life for mine,If I should fail the cross, is thine."
The tyrant mused,—and smiled,—and saidWith gloomy craft, "So let it be;Three days I will vouchsafe to thee.But mark—if, when the time be sped,Thou fail'st—thy surety dies instead.His life shall buy thine own release;Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease."
He sought his friend—"The king's decreeOrdains my life the cross uponShall pay the deed I would have done;Yet grants three days' delay to me,My sister's marriage-rites to see;If thou, the hostage, wilt remainTill I—set free—return again!"
His friend embraced—No word he said,But silent to the tyrant strode—The other went upon his road.Ere the third sun in heaven was red,The rite was o'er, the sister wed;And back, with anxious heart unquailing,He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing.
Down the great rains unending bore,Down from the hills the torrents rushed,In one broad stream the brooklets gushed.The wanderer halts beside the shore,The bridge was swept the tides before—The shattered arches o'er and underWent the tumultuous waves in thunder.
Dismayed he takes his idle stand—Dismayed, he strays and shouts around;His voice awakes no answering sound.No boat will leave the sheltering strand,To bear him to the wished-for land;No boatman will Death's pilot be;The wild stream gathers to a sea!
Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps,Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried,"Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide;Midway behold the swift sun sweeps,And, ere he sinks adown the deeps,If I should fail, his beams will seeMy friend's last anguish—slain for me!"
More fierce it runs, more broad it flows,And wave on wave succeeds and diesAnd hour on hour remorseless flies;Despair at last to daring grows—Amidst the flood his form he throws;With vigorous arms the roaring wavesCleaves—and a God that pities, saves.
He wins the bank—he scours the strand,He thanks the God in breathless prayer;When from the forest's gloomy lair,With ragged club in ruthless hand,And breathing murder—rushed the bandThat find, in woods, their savage den,And savage prey in wandering men.
"What," cried he, pale with generous fear;"What think to gain ye by the strife?All I bear with me is my life—I take it to the king!"—and hereHe snatched the club from him most near:And thrice he smote, and thrice his blowsDealt death—before him fly the foes!
The sun is glowing as a brand;And faint before the parching heat,The strength forsakes the feeble feet:"Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand,Through wild floods given the blessed land;And shall the weak limbs fail me now?And he!—Divine one, nerve me, thou!"
Hark! like some gracious murmur by,Babbles low music, silver-clear—The wanderer holds his breath to hear;And from the rock, before his eye,Laughs forth the spring delightedly;Now the sweet waves he bends him o'er,And the sweet waves his strength restore.
Through the green boughs the sun gleams dying,O'er fields that drink the rosy beam,The trees' huge shadows giant seem.Two strangers on the road are hieing;And as they fleet beside him flying,These muttered words his ear dismay:"Now—now the cross has claimed its prey!"
Despair his winged path pursues,The anxious terrors hound him on—There, reddening in the evening sun,From far, the domes of Syracuse!—When towards him comes Philostratus(His leal and trusty herdsman he),And to the master bends his knee.
"Back—thou canst aid thy friend no more,The niggard time already flown—His life is forfeit—save thine own!Hour after hour in hope he bore,Nor might his soul its faith give o'er;Nor could the tyrant's scorn deriding,Steal from that faith one thought confiding!"
"Too late! what horror hast thou spoken!Vain life, since it cannot requite him!But death with me can yet unite him;No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make—How friend to friend can faith forsake.But from the double death shall know,That truth and love yet live below!"
The sun sinks down—the gate's in view,The cross looms dismal on the ground—The eager crowd gape murmuring round.His friend is bound the cross unto. . . .Crowd—guards—all bursts he breathless through:"Me! Doomsman, me!" he shouts, "alone!His life is rescued—lo, mine own!"
Amazement seized the circling ring!Linked in each other's arms the pair—Weeping for joy—yet anguish there!Moist every eye that gazed;—they bringThe wondrous tidings to the king—His breast man's heart at last hath known,And the friends stand before his throne.
Long silent, he, and wondering long,Gazed on the pair—"In peace depart,Victors, ye have subdued my heart!Truth is no dream!—its power is strong.Give grace to him who owns his wrong!'Tis mine your suppliant now to be,Ah, let the band of love—be three!" [37]
Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed,When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out.Greekism,—what did it mean?—'Twas harmony, reason, and clearness!Patience,—good gentlemen, pray, ere ye of Greekism speak!'Tis for an excellent cause ye are fighting, and all that I ask forIs that with reason it ne'er may be a laughing-stock made.
"What knight or what vassal will be so boldAs to plunge in the gulf below?See! I hurl in its depths a goblet of gold,Already the waters over it flow.The man who can bring back the goblet to me,May keep it henceforward,—his own it shall be."
Thus speaks the king, and he hurls from the heightOf the cliffs that, rugged and steep,Hang over the boundless sea, with strong might,The goblet afar, in the bellowing deep."And who'll be so daring,—I ask it once more,—As to plunge in these billows that wildly roar?"
And the vassals and knights of high degreeHear his words, but silent remain.They cast their eyes on the raging sea,And none will attempt the goblet to gain.And a third time the question is asked by the king:"Is there none that will dare in the gulf now to spring?"
Yet all as before in silence stand,When a page, with a modest pride,Steps out of the timorous squirely band,And his girdle and mantle soon throws aside,And all the knights, and the ladies too,The noble stripling with wonderment view.
And when he draws nigh to the rocky brow,And looks in the gulf so black,The waters that she had swallowed but now,The howling Charybdis is giving back;And, with the distant thunder's dull sound.From her gloomy womb they all-foaming rebound.
And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,As when water and fire first blend;To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,And wave presses hard upon wave without end.And the ocean will never exhausted be,As if striving to bring forth another sea.
But at length the wild tumult seems pacified,And blackly amid the white swellA gaping chasm its jaws opens wide,As if leading down to the depths of hell:And the howling billows are seen by each eyeDown the whirling funnel all madly to fly.
Then quickly, before the breakers rebound,The stripling commends him to Heaven,And—a scream of horror is heard around,—And now by the whirlpool away he is driven,And secretly over the swimmer braveClose the jaws, and he vanishes 'neath the dark wave.
O'er the watery gulf dread silence now lies,But the deep sends up a dull yell,And from mouth to mouth thus trembling it flies:"Courageous stripling, oh, fare thee well!"And duller and duller the howls recommence,While they pause in anxious and fearful suspense.
"If even thy crown in the gulf thou shouldst fling,And shouldst say, 'He who brings it to meShall wear it henceforward, and be the king,'Thou couldst tempt me not e'en with that precious foe;What under the howling deep is concealedTo no happy living soul is revealed!"
Full many a ship, by the whirlpool held fast,Shoots straightway beneath the mad wave,And, dashed to pieces, the hull and the mastEmerge from the all-devouring grave,—And the roaring approaches still nearer and nearer,Like the howl of the tempest, still clearer and clearer.
And it boils and it roars, and it hisses and seethes,As when water and fire first blend;To the sky spurts the foam in steam-laden wreaths,And wave passes hard upon wave without end.And, with the distant thunder's dull sound,From the ocean-womb they all-bellowing bound.
And lo! from the darkly flowing tideComes a vision white as a swan,And an arm and a glistening neck are descried,With might and with active zeal steering on;And 'tis he, and behold! his left hand on highWaves the goblet, while beaming with joy is his eye.
Then breathes he deeply, then breathes he long,And blesses the light of the day;While gladly exclaim to each other the throng:"He lives! he is here! he is not the sea's prey!From the tomb, from the eddying waters' control,The brave one has rescued his living soul!"
And he comes, and they joyously round him stand;At the feet of the monarch he falls,—The goblet he, kneeling, puts in his hand,And the king to his beauteous daughter calls,Who fills it with sparkling wine to the brim;The youth turns to the monarch, and speaks thus to him:
"Long life to the king! Let all those be gladWho breathe in the light of the sky!For below all is fearful, of moment sad;Let not man to tempt the immortals e'er try,Let him never desire the thing to seeThat with terror and night they veil graciously."
"I was torn below with the speed of light,When out of a cavern of rockRushed towards me a spring with furious might;I was seized by the twofold torrent's wild shock,And like a top, with a whirl and a bound,Despite all resistance, was whirled around."
"Then God pointed out,—for to Him I criedIn that terrible moment of need,—A craggy reef in the gulf's dark side;I seized it in haste, and from death was then freed.And there, on sharp corals, was hanging the cup,—The fathomless pit had else swallowed it up."
"For under me lay it, still mountain-deep,In a darkness of purple-tinged dye,And though to the ear all might seem then asleepWith shuddering awe 'twas seen by the eyeHow the salamanders' and dragons' dread formsFilled those terrible jaws of hell with their swarms."
"There crowded, in union fearful and black,In a horrible mass entwined,The rock-fish, the ray with the thorny back,And the hammer-fish's misshapen kind,And the shark, the hyena dread of the sea,With his angry teeth, grinned fiercely on me."
"There hung I, by fulness of terror possessed,Where all human aid was unknown,Amongst phantoms, the only sensitive breast,In that fearful solitude all alone,Where the voice of mankind could not reach to mine ear,'Mid the monsters foul of that wilderness drear."
"Thus shuddering methought—when a something crawled near,And a hundred limbs it out-flung,And at me it snapped;—in my mortal fear,I left hold of the coral to which I had clung;Then the whirlpool seized on me with maddened roar,Yet 'twas well, for it brought me to light once more."
The story in wonderment hears the king,And he says, "The cup is thine own,And I purpose also to give thee this ring,Adorned with a costly, a priceless stone,If thou'lt try once again, and bring word to meWhat thou saw'st in the nethermost depths of the sea."
His daughter hears this with emotions soft,And with flattering accent prays she:"That fearful sport, father, attempt not too oft!What none other would dare, he hath ventured for thee;If thy heart's wild longings thou canst not tame,Let the knights, if they can, put the squire to shame."
The king then seizes the goblet in haste,In the gulf he hurls it with might:"When the goblet once more in my hands thou hast placed,Thou shalt rank at my court as the noblest knight,And her as a bride thou shalt clasp e'en to-day,Who for thee with tender compassion doth pray."
Then a force, as from Heaven, descends on him there,And lightning gleams in his eye,And blushes he sees on her features so fair,And he sees her turn pale, and swooning lie;Then eager the precious guerdon to win,For life or for death, lo! he plunges him in!
The breakers they hear, and the breakers return,Proclaimed by a thundering sound;They bend o'er the gulf with glances that yearn,And the waters are pouring in fast around;Though upwards and downwards they rush and they rave,The youth is brought back by no kindly wave.
"I Can love thee well, believe me,As a sister true;Other love, Sir Knight, would grieve me,Sore my heart would rue.Calmly would I see thee going,Calmly, too, appear;For those tears in silence flowingFind no answer here."
Thus she speaks,—he hears her sadly,—How his heartstrings bleed!In his arms he clasps her madly,Then he mounts his steed.From the Switzer land collects heAll his warriors brave;—Cross on breast, their course directs heTo the Holy Grave.
In triumphant march advancing,Onward moves the host,While their morion plumes are dancingWhere the foes are most.Mortal terror strikes the PaynimAt the chieftain's name;But the knight's sad thoughts enchain him—Grief consumes his frame.
Twelve long months, with courage daring,Peace he strives to find;Then, at last, of rest despairing,Leaves the host behind;Sees a ship, whose sails are swelling,Lie on Joppa's strand;Ships him homeward for her dwelling,In his own loved land.
Now behold the pilgrim wearyAt her castle gate!But alas! these accents drearySeal his mournful fate:—"She thou seek'st her troth hath plightedTo all-gracious heaven;To her God she was unitedYesterday at even!"
To his father's home foreverBids he now adieu;Sees no more his arms and beaver,Nor his steed so true.Then descends he, sadly, slowly,—None suspect the sight,—For a garb of penance lowlyWears the noble knight.
Soon he now, the tempest braving,Builds an humble shed,Where o'er the lime-trees darkly waving,Peeps the convent's head.From the orb of day's first gleaming,Till his race has run,Hope in every feature beaming,There he sits alone.
Toward the convent straining everHis unwearied eyes,—From her casement looking neverTill it open flies,Till the loved one, soft advancing,Shows her gentle face,O'er the vale her sweet eye glancing,Full of angel-grace.
Then he seeks his bed of rushes,Stilled all grief and pain,Slumbering calm, till morning's blushesWaken life again.Days and years fleet on, yet neverBreathes he plaint or sighs,On her casement gazing everTill it open flies.
Till the loved one, soft advancing,Shows her gentle face,O'er the vale her sweet eyes glancing,Full of angel-grace.But at length, the morn returningFinds him dead and chill;—Pale and wan, his gaze, with yearning,Seeks her casement still.