One look below the Almighty gave, Where streamed the lion-flags of thy proud foe; And near and wider yawned the horrent grave. "And who," saith He, "shall lay mine England low— The stem that blooms with hero-deeds— The rock when man from wrong a refuge needs— The stronghold where the tyrant comes in vain? Who shall bid England vanish from the main? Ne'er be this only Eden freedom knew, Man's stout defence from power, to fate consigned." God the Almighty blew, And the Armada went to every wind!



THE GODS OF GREECE.

Ye in the age gone by, Who ruled the world—a world how lovely then!— And guided still the steps of happy men In the light leading-strings of careless joy! Ah, flourished then your service of delight! How different, oh, how different, in the day When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright, O Venus Amathusia!

Then, through a veil of dreams Woven by song, truth's youthful beauty glowed, And life's redundant and rejoicing streams Gave to the soulless, soul—where'r they flowed Man gifted nature with divinity To lift and link her to the breast of love; All things betrayed to the initiate eye The track of gods above!

Where lifeless—fixed afar, A flaming ball to our dull sense is given, Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car, In silent glory swept the fields of heaven! On yonder hill the Oread was adored, In yonder tree the Dryad held her home; And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured The wavelet's silver foam.

Yon bay, chaste Daphne wreathed, Yon stone was mournful Niobe's mute cell, Low through yon sedges pastoral Syrinx breathed, And through those groves wailed the sweet Philomel, The tears of Ceres swelled in yonder rill— Tears shed for Proserpine to Hades borne; And, for her lost Adonis, yonder hill Heard Cytherea mourn!—

Heaven's shapes were charmed unto The mortal race of old Deucalion; Pyrrha's fair daughter, humanly to woo, Came down, in shepherd-guise, Latona's son Between men, heroes, gods, harmonious then Love wove sweet links and sympathies divine; Blest Amathusia, heroes, gods, and men, Equals before thy shrine!

Not to that culture gay, Stern self-denial, or sharp penance wan! Well might each heart be happy in that day— For gods, the happy ones, were kin to man! The beautiful alone the holy there! No pleasure shamed the gods of that young race; So that the chaste Camoenae favoring were, And the subduing grace!

A palace every shrine; Your sports heroic;—yours the crown Of contests hallowed to a power divine, As rushed the chariots thundering to renown. Fair round the altar where the incense breathed, Moved your melodious dance inspired; and fair Above victorious brows, the garland wreathed Sweet leaves round odorous hair!

The lively Thyrsus-swinger, And the wild car the exulting panthers bore, Announced the presence of the rapture-bringer— Bounded the Satyr and blithe Faun before; And Maenads, as the frenzy stung the soul, Hymned in their maddening dance, the glorious wine— As ever beckoned to the lusty bowl The ruddy host divine!

Before the bed of death No ghastly spectre stood—but from the porch Of life, the lip—one kiss inhaled the breath, And the mute graceful genius lowered a torch. The judgment-balance of the realms below, A judge, himself of mortal lineage, held; The very furies at the Thracian's woe, Were moved and music-spelled.

In the Elysian grove The shades renewed the pleasures life held dear: The faithful spouse rejoined remembered love, And rushed along the meads the charioteer; There Linus poured the old accustomed strain; Admetus there Alcestis still could greet; his Friend there once more Orestes could regain, His arrows—Philoctetes!

More glorious than the meeds That in their strife with labor nerved the brave, To the great doer of renowned deeds The Hebe and the heaven the Thunderer gave. Before the rescued rescuer [10] of the dead, Bowed down the silent and immortal host; And the twain stars [11] their guiding lustre shed, On the bark tempest-tossed!

Art thou, fair world, no more? Return, thou virgin-bloom on Nature's face; Ah, only on the minstrel's magic shore, Can we the footstep of sweet fable trace! The meadows mourn for the old hallowing life; Vainly we search the earth of gods bereft; Where once the warm and living shapes were rife, Shadows alone are left!

Cold, from the north, has gone Over the flowers the blast that killed their May; And, to enrich the worship of the one, A universe of gods must pass away! Mourning, I search on yonder starry steeps, But thee no more, Selene, there I see! And through the woods I call, and o'er the deeps, And—Echo answers me!

Deaf to the joys she gives— Blind to the pomp of which she is possessed— Unconscious of the spiritual power that lives Around, and rules her—by our bliss unblessed— Dull to the art that colors or creates, Like the dead timepiece, godless nature creeps Her plodding round, and, by the leaden weights, The slavish motion keeps.

To-morrow to receive New life, she digs her proper grave to-day; And icy moons with weary sameness weave From their own light their fulness and decay. Home to the poet's land the gods are flown, Light use in them that later world discerns, Which, the diviner leading-strings outgrown, On its own axle turns.

Home! and with them are gone The hues they gazed on and the tones they heard; Life's beauty and life's melody:—alone Broods o'er the desolate void, the lifeless word; Yet rescued from time's deluge, still they throng Unseen the Pindus they were wont to cherish: All, that which gains immortal life in song, To mortal life must perish!



RESIGNATION.

Yes! even I was in Arcadia born, And, in mine infant ears, A vow of rapture was by Nature sworn;— Yes! even I was in Arcadia born, And yet my short spring gave me only—tears!

Once blooms, and only once, life's youthful May; For me its bloom hath gone. The silent God—O brethren, weep to-day— The silent God hath quenched my torch's ray, And the vain dream hath flown.

Upon thy darksome bridge, Eternity, I stand e'en now, dread thought! Take, then, these joy-credentials back from me! Unopened I return them now to thee, Of happiness, alas, know naught!

Before Thy throne my mournful cries I vent, Thou Judge, concealed from view! To yonder star a joyous saying went With judgment's scales to rule us thou art sent, And call'st thyself Requiter, too!

Here,—say they,—terrors on the bad alight, And joys to greet the virtuous spring. The bosom's windings thou'lt expose to sight, Riddle of Providence wilt solve aright, And reckon with the suffering!

Here to the exile be a home outspread, Here end the meek man's thorny path of strife! A godlike child, whose name was Truth, they said, Known but to few, from whom the many fled, Restrained the ardent bridle of my life.

"It shall be thine another life to live,— Thy youth to me surrender! To thee this surety only can I give"— I took the surety in that life to live; And gave to her each youthful joy so tender.

"Give me the woman precious to thy heart, Give up to me thy Laura! Beyond the grave will usury pay the smart."— I wept aloud, and from my bleeding heart With resignation tore her.

"The obligation's drawn upon the dead!" Thus laughed the world in scorn; "The lying one, in league with despots dread, For truth, a phantom palmed on thee instead, Thou'lt be no more, when once this dream has gone!"

Shamelessly scoffed the mockers' serpent-band "A dream that but prescription can admit Dost dread? Where now thy God's protecting hand, (The sick world's Saviour with such cunning planned), Borrowed by human need of human wit?"

"What future is't that graves to us reveal? What the eternity of thy discourse? Honored because dark veils its form conceal, The giant-shadows of the awe we feel, Viewed in the hollow mirror of remorse!"

"An image false of shapes of living mould, (Time's very mummy, she!) Whom only Hope's sweet balm hath power to hold Within the chambers of the grave so cold,— Thy fever calls this immortality!"

"For empty hopes,—corruption gives the lie— Didst thou exchange what thou hadst surely done? Six thousand years sped death in silence by,— His corpse from out the grave e'er mounted high, That mention made of the Requiting One?"

I saw time fly to reach thy distant shore, I saw fair Nature lie A shrivelled corpse behind him evermore,— No dead from out the grave then sought to soar Yet in that Oath divine still trusted I.

My ev'ry joy to thee I've sacrificed, I throw me now before thy judgment-throne; The many's scorn with boldness I've despised,— Only—thy gifts by me were ever prized,— I ask my wages now, Requiting One!

"With equal love I love each child of mine!" A genius hid from sight exclaimed. "Two flowers," he cried, "ye mortals, mark the sign,— Two flowers to greet the Searcher wise entwine,— Hope and Enjoyment they are named."

"Who of these flowers plucks one, let him ne'er yearn To touch the other sister's bloom. Let him enjoy, who has no faith; eterne As earth, this truth!—Abstain, who faith can learn! The world's long story is the world's own doom."

"Hope thou hast felt,—thy wages, then, are paid; Thy faith 'twas formed the rapture pledged to thee. Thou might'st have of the wise inquiry made,— The minutes thou neglectest, as they fade, Are given back by no eternity!"



THE CONFLICT.

No! I this conflict longer will not wage, The conflict duty claims—the giant task;— Thy spells, O virtue, never can assuage The heart's wild fire—this offering do not ask

True, I have sworn—a solemn vow have sworn, That I myself will curb the self within; Yet take thy wreath, no more it shall be worn— Take back thy wreath, and leave me free to sin.

Rent be the contract I with thee once made;— She loves me, loves me—forfeit be the crown! Blessed he who, lulled in rapture's dreamy shade, Glides, as I glide, the deep fall gladly down.

She sees the worm that my youth's bloom decays, She sees my spring-time wasted as it flees; And, marvelling at the rigor that gainsays The heart's sweet impulse, my reward decrees.

Distrust this angel purity, fair soul! It is to guilt thy pity armeth me; Could being lavish its unmeasured whole, It ne'er could give a gift to rival thee!

Thee—the dear guilt I ever seek to shun, O tyranny of fate, O wild desires! My virtue's only crown can but be won In that last breath—when virtue's self expires!



THE ARTISTS.

How gracefully, O man, with thy palm-bough, Upon the waning century standest thou, In proud and noble manhood's prime, With unlocked senses, with a spirit freed, Of firmness mild,—though silent, rich in deed, The ripest son of Time, Through meekness great, through precepts strong, Through treasures rich, that time had long Hid in thy bosom, and through reason free,— Master of Nature, who thy fetters loves, And who thy strength in thousand conflicts proves, And from the desert soared in pride with thee!

Flushed with the glow of victory, Never forget to prize the hand That found the weeping orphan child Deserted on life's barren strand, And left a prey to hazard wild,— That, ere thy spirit-honor saw the day, Thy youthful heart watched over silently, And from thy tender bosom turned away Each thought that might have stained its purity; That kind one ne'er forget who, as in sport, Thy youth to noble aspirations trained, And who to thee in easy riddles taught The secret how each virtue might be gained; Who, to receive him back more perfect still, E'en into strangers' arms her favorite gave— Oh, may'st thou never with degenerate will, Humble thyself to be her abject slave! In industry, the bee the palm may bear; In skill, the worm a lesson may impart; With spirits blest thy knowledge thou dost share, But thou, O man, alone hast art!

Only through beauty's morning gate Didst thou the land of knowledge find. To merit a more glorious fate, In graces trains itself the mind. What thrilled thee through with trembling blessed, When erst the Muses swept the chord, That power created in thy breast, Which to the mighty spirit soared.

When first was seen by doting reason's ken, When many a thousand years had passed away, A symbol of the fair and great e'en then, Before the childlike mind uncovered lay. Its blessed form bade us honor virtue's cause,— The honest sense 'gainst vice put forth its powers, Before a Solon had devised the laws That slowly bring to light their languid flowers. Before Eternity's vast scheme Was to the thinker's mind revealed, Was't not foreshadowed in his dream, Whose eyes explored yon starry field?

Urania,—the majestic dreaded one, Who wears a glory of Orions twined Around her brow, and who is seen by none Save purest spirits, when, in splendor shrined, She soars above the stars in pride, Ascending to her sunny throne,— Her fiery chaplet lays aside, And now, as beauty, stands alone; While, with the Graces' girdle round her cast, She seems a child, by children understood; For we shall recognize as truth at last, What here as beauty only we have viewed.

When the Creator banished from his sight Frail man to dark mortality's abode, And granted him a late return to light, Only by treading reason's arduous road,— When each immortal turned his face away, She, the compassionate, alone Took up her dwelling in that house of clay, With the deserted, banished one. With drooping wing she hovers here Around her darling, near the senses' land, And on his prison-walls so drear Elysium paints with fond deceptive hand.

While soft humanity still lay at rest, Within her tender arms extended, No flame was stirred by bigots' murderous zest, No guiltless blood on high ascended. The heart that she in gentle fetters binds, Views duty's slavish escort scornfully; Her path of light, though fairer far it winds, Sinks in the sun-track of morality. Those who in her chaste service still remain, No grovelling thought can tempt, no fate affright; The spiritual life, so free from stain, Freedom's sweet birthright, they receive again, Under the mystic sway of holy might.

The purest among millions, happy they Whom to her service she has sanctified, Whose mouths the mighty one's commands convey, Within whose breasts she deigneth to abide; Whom she ordained to feed her holy fire Upon her altar's ever-flaming pyre,— Whose eyes alone her unveiled graces meet, And whom she gathers round in union sweet In the much-honored place be glad Where noble order bade ye climb, For in the spirit-world sublime, Man's loftiest rank ye've ever had!

Ere to the world proportion ye revealed, That every being joyfully obeys,— A boundless structure, in night's veil concealed, Illumed by naught but faint and languid rays, A band of phantoms, struggling ceaselessly, Holding his mind in slavish fetters bound, Unsociable and rude as be, Assailing him on every side around,— Thus seemed to man creation in that day! United to surrounding forms alone By the blind chains the passions had put on, Whilst Nature's beauteous spirit fled away Unfelt, untasted, and unknown.

And, as it hovered o'er with parting ray, Ye seized the shades so neighborly, With silent hand, with feeling mind, And taught how they might be combined In one firm bond of harmony. The gaze, light-soaring, felt uplifted then, When first the cedar's slender trunk it viewed; And pleasingly the ocean's crystal flood Reflected back the dancing form again. Could ye mistake the look, with beauty fraught, That Nature gave to help ye on your way? The image floating on the billows taught The art the fleeting shadow to portray.

From her own being torn apart, Her phantom, beauteous as a dream, She plunged into the silvery stream, Surrendering to her spoiler's art. Creative power soon in your breast unfolded; Too noble far, not idly to conceive, The shadow's form in sand, in clay ye moulded, And made it in the sketch its being leave. The longing thirst for action then awoke,— And from your breast the first creation broke.

By contemplation captive made, Ensnared by your discerning eye, The friendly phantom's soon betrayed The talisman that roused your ecstasy. The laws of wonder-working might, The stores by beauty brought to light, Inventive reason in soft union planned To blend together 'neath your forming hand. The obelisk, the pyramid ascended, The Hermes stood, the column sprang on high, The reed poured forth the woodland melody, Immortal song on victor's deeds attended.

The fairest flowers that decked the earth, Into a nosegay, with wise choice combined, Thus the first art from Nature had its birth; Into a garland then were nosegays twined, And from the works that mortal hands had made, A second, nobler art was now displayed. The child of beauty, self-sufficient now, That issued from your hands to perfect day, Loses the chaplet that adorned its brow, Soon as reality asserts its sway. The column, yielding to proportion's chains, Must with its sisters join in friendly link, The hero in the hero-band must sink, The Muses' harp peals forth its tuneful strains.

The wondering savages soon came To view the new creation's plan "Behold!"—the joyous crowds exclaim,— "Behold, all this is done by man!" With jocund and more social aim The minstrel's lyre their awe awoke, Telling of Titans, and of giant's frays And lion-slayers, turning, as he spoke, Even into heroes those who heard his lays. For the first time the soul feels joy, By raptures blessed that calmer are, That only greet it from afar, That passions wild can ne'er destroy, And that, when tasted, do not cloy.

And now the spirit, free and fair, Awoke from out its sensual sleep; By you unchained, the slave of care Into the arms of joy could leap. Each brutish barrier soon was set at naught, Humanity first graced the cloudless brow, And the majestic, noble stranger, thought, From out the wondering brain sprang boldly now. Man in his glory stood upright, And showed the stars his kingly face; His speaking glance the sun's bright light Blessed in the realms sublime of space. Upon the cheek now bloomed the smile, The voice's soulful harmony Expanded into song the while, And feeling swam in the moist eye; And from the mouth, with spirit teeming o'er, Jest, sweetly linked with grace, began to pour.

Sunk in the instincts of the worm, By naught but sensual lust possessed, Ye recognized within his breast Love-spiritual's noble germ; And that this germ of love so blest Escaped the senses' abject load, To the first pastoral song he owed. Raised to the dignity of thought, Passions more calm to flow were taught From the bard's mouth with melody. The cheeks with dewy softness burned; The longing that, though quenched, still yearned, Proclaimed the spirit-harmony.

The wisest's wisdom, and the strongest's vigor,— The meekest's meekness, and the noblest's grace, By you were knit together in one figure, Wreathing a radiant glory round the place. Man at the Unknown's sight must tremble, Yet its refulgence needs must love; That mighty Being to resemble, Each glorious hero madly strove; The prototype of beauty's earliest strain Ye made resound through Nature's wide domain.

The passions' wild and headlong course, The ever-varying plan of fate, Duty and instinct's twofold force, With proving mind and guidance straight Ye then conducted to their ends. What Nature, as she moves along, Far from each other ever rends, Become upon the stage, in song, Members of order, firmly bound. Awed by the Furies' chorus dread, Murder draws down upon its head The doom of death from their wild sound. Long e'er the wise to give a verdict dared, An Iliad had fate's mysteries declared To early ages from afar; While Providence in silence fared Into the world from Thespis' car. Yet into that world's current so sublime Your symmetry was borne before its time, When the dark hand of destiny Failed in your sight to part by force.

What it had fashioned 'neath your eye, In darkness life made haste to die, Ere it fulfilled its beauteous course. Then ye with bold and self-sufficient might Led the arch further through the future's night: Then, too, ye plunged, without a fear, Into Avernus' ocean black, And found the vanished life so dear Beyond the urn, and brought it back. A blooming Pollux-form appeared now soon, On Castor leaning, and enshrined in light— The shadow that is seen upon the moon, Ere she has filled her silvery circle bright!

Yet higher,—higher still above the earth Inventive genius never ceased to rise: Creations from creations had their birth, And harmonies from harmonies. What here alone enchants the ravished sight, A nobler beauty yonder must obey; The graceful charms that in the nymph unite, In the divine Athene melt away; The strength with which the wrestler is endowed, In the god's beauty we no longer find: The wonder of his time—Jove's image proud— In the Olympian temple is enshrined.

The world, transformed by industry's bold hand, The human heart, by new-born instincts moved, That have in burning fights been fully proved, Your circle of creation now expand. Advancing man bears on his soaring pinions, In gratitude, art with him in his flight, And out of Nature's now-enriched dominions New worlds of beauty issue forth to light. The barriers upon knowledge are o'erthrown; The spirit that, with pleasure soon matured, Has in your easy triumphs been inured To hasten through an artist-whole of graces, Nature's more distant columns duly places. And overtakes her on her pathway lone. He weighs her now with weights that human are, Metes her with measures that she lent of old; While in her beauty's rites more practised far, She now must let his eye her form behold. With youthful and self-pleasing bliss, He lends the spheres his harmony, And, if he praise earth's edifice, 'Tis for its wondrous symmetry.

In all that now around him breathes, Proportion sweet is ever rife; And beauty's golden girdle wreathes With mildness round his path through life; Perfection blest, triumphantly, Before him in your works soars high; Wherever boisterous rapture swells, Wherever silent sorrow flees, Where pensive contemplation dwells, Where he the tears of anguish sees, Where thousand terrors on him glare, Harmonious streams are yet behind— He sees the Graces sporting there, With feeling silent and refined. Gentle as beauty's lines together linking, As the appearances that round him play, In tender outline in each other sinking, The soft breath of his life thus fleets away. His spirit melts in the harmonious sea, That, rich in rapture, round his senses flows, And the dissolving thought all silently To omnipresent Cytherea grows. Joining in lofty union with the Fates, On Graces and on Muses calm relying, With freely-offered bosom he awaits The shaft that soon against him will be flying From the soft bow necessity creates.

Favorites beloved of blissful harmony, Welcome attendants on life's dreary road, The noblest and the dearest far that she, Who gave us life, to bless that life bestowed! That unyoked man his duties bears in mind, And loves the fetters that his motions bind, That Chance with brazen sceptre rules him not,— For this eternity is now your lot, Your heart has won a bright reward for this. That round the cup where freedom flows, Merrily sport the gods of bliss,— The beauteous dream its fragrance throws, For this, receive a loving kiss!

The spirit, glorious and serene, Who round necessity the graces trains,— Who bids his ether and his starry plains Upon us wait with pleasing mien,— Who, 'mid his terrors, by his majesty gives joy, And who is beauteous e'en when seeking to destroy,— Him imitate, the artist good! As o'er the streamlet's crystal flood The banks with checkered dances hover, The flowery mead, the sunset's light,— Thus gleams, life's barren pathway over, Poesy's shadowy world so bright. In bridal dress ye led us on Before the terrible Unknown, Before the inexorable fate, As in your urns the bones are laid, With beauteous magic veil ye shade The chorus dread that cares create. Thousands of years I hastened through The boundless realm of vanished time How sad it seems when left by you— But where ye linger, how sublime!

She who, with fleeting wing, of yore From your creating hand arose in might, Within your arms was found once more, When, vanquished by Time's silent flight, Life's blossoms faded from the cheek, And from the limbs all vigor went, And mournfully, with footstep weak, Upon his staff the gray-beard leant. Then gave ye to the languishing, Life's waters from a new-born spring; Twice was the youth of time renewed, Twice, from the seeds that ye had strewed.

When chased by fierce barbarian hordes away, The last remaining votive brand ye tore From Orient's altars, now pollution's prey, And to these western lands in safety bore. The fugitive from yonder eastern shore, The youthful day, the West her dwelling made; And on Hesperia's plains sprang up once more Ionia's flowers, in pristine bloom arrayed. Over the spirit fairer Nature shed, With soft refulgence, a reflection bright, And through the graceful soul with stately tread Advanced the mighty Deity of light. Millions of chains were burst asunder then, And to the slave then human laws applied, And mildly rose the younger race of men, As brethren, gently wandering side by side, With noble inward ecstasy, The bliss imparted ye receive, And in the veil of modesty, With silent merit take your leave. If on the paths of thought, so freely given, The searcher now with daring fortune stands, And, by triumphant Paeans onward driven, Would seize upon the crown with dauntless hands— If he with grovelling hireling's pay Thinks to dismiss his glorious guide— Or, with the first slave's-place array Art near the throne his dream supplied— Forgive him!—O'er your head to-day Hovers perfection's crown in pride, With you the earliest plant Spring had, Soul-forming Nature first began; With you, the harvest-chaplet glad, Perfected Nature ends her plan.

The art creative, that all-modestly arose From clay and stone, with silent triumph throws Its arms around the spirit's vast domain. What in the land of knowledge the discoverer knows, He knows, discovers, only for your gain The treasures that the thinker has amassed, He will enjoy within your arms alone, Soon as his knowledge, beauty-ripe at last. To art ennobled shall have grown,— Soon as with you he scales a mountain-height, And there, illumined by the setting sun, The smiling valley bursts upon his sight. The richer ye reward the eager gaze The higher, fairer orders that the mind May traverse with its magic rays, Or compass with enjoyment unconfined— The wider thoughts and feelings open lie To more luxuriant floods of harmony. To beauty's richer, more majestic stream,— The fair members of the world's vast scheme, That, maimed, disgrace on his creation bring, He sees the lofty forms then perfecting—

The fairer riddles come from out the night— The richer is the world his arms enclose, The broader stream the sea with which he flows— The weaker, too, is destiny's blind might— The nobler instincts does he prove— The smaller he himself, the greater grows his love. Thus is he led, in still and hidden race, By poetry, who strews his path with flowers, Through ever-purer forms, and purer powers, Through ever higher heights, and fairer grace. At length, arrived at the ripe goal of time,— Yet one more inspiration all-sublime, Poetic outburst of man's latest youth, And—he will glide into the arms of truth!

Herself, the gentle Cypria, Illumined by her fiery crown, Then stands before her full-grown son Unveiled—as great Urania; The sooner only by him caught, The fairer he had fled away! Thus stood, in wonder rapture-fraught, Ulysses' noble son that day, When the sage mentor who his youth beguiled; Herself transfigured as Jove's glorious child!

Man's honor is confided to your hand,— There let it well protected be! It sinks with you! with you it will expand! Poesy's sacred sorcery Obeys a world-plan wise and good; In silence let it swell the flood Of mighty-rolling harmony.

By her own time viewed with disdain, Let solemn truth in song remain, And let the Muses' band defend her! In all the fullness of her splendor, Let her survive in numbers glorious, More dread, when veiled her charms appear, And vengeance take, with strains victorious, On her tormentor's ear!

The freest mother's children free, With steadfast countenance then rise To highest beauty's radiancy, And every other crown despise! The sisters who escaped you here, Within your mother's arms ye'll meet; What noble spirits may revere, Must be deserving and complete. High over your own course of time Exalt yourselves with pinion bold, And dimly let your glass sublime The coming century unfold! On thousand roads advancing fast Of ever-rich variety, With fond embraces meet at last Before the throne of harmony! As into seven mild rays we view With softness break the glimmer white, As rainbow-beams of sevenfold hue Dissolve again in that soft light, In clearness thousandfold thus throw Your magic round the ravished gaze,— Into one stream of light thus flow,— One bond of truth that ne'er decays!



THE CELEBRATED WOMAN.

AN EPISTLE BY A MARRIED MAN—TO A FELLOW-SUFFERER.

[In spite of Mr. Carlyle's assertion of Schiller's "total deficiency in humor," [12] we think that the following poem suffices to show that he possessed the gift in no ordinary degree, and that if the aims of a genius so essentially earnest had allowed him to indulge it he would have justified the opinion of the experienced Iffland as to his capacities for original comedy.]

Can I, my friend, with thee condole?— Can I conceive the woes that try men, When late repentance racks the soul Ensnared into the toils of hymen? Can I take part in such distress?— Poor martyr,—most devoutly, "Yes!" Thou weep'st because thy spouse has flown To arms preferred before thine own;— A faithless wife,—I grant the curse,— And yet, my friend, it might be worse! Just hear another's tale of sorrow, And, in comparing, comfort borrow!

What! dost thou think thyself undone, Because thy rights are shared with one! O, happy man—be more resigned, My wife belongs to all mankind! My wife—she's found abroad—at home; But cross the Alps and she's at Rome; Sail to the Baltic—there you'll find her; Lounge on the Boulevards—kind and kinder: In short, you've only just to drop Where'er they sell the last new tale, And, bound and lettered in the shop, You'll find my lady up for sale!

She must her fair proportions render To all whose praise can glory lend her;— Within the coach, on board the boat, Let every pedant "take a note;" Endure, for public approbation, Each critic's "close investigation," And brave—nay, court it as a flattery— Each spectacled Philistine's battery. Just as it suits some scurvy carcase In which she hails an Aristarchus, Ready to fly with kindred souls, O'er blooming flowers or burning coals, To fame or shame, to shrine or gallows, Let him but lead—sublimely callous! A Leipsic man—(confound the wretch!) Has made her topographic sketch, A kind of map, as of a town, Each point minutely dotted down; Scarce to myself I dare to hint What this d——d fellow wants to print! Thy wife—howe'er she slight the vows— Respects, at least, the name of spouse; But mine to regions far too high For that terrestrial name is carried; My wife's "The famous Ninon!"—I "The gentleman that Ninon married!"

It galls you that you scarce are able To stake a florin at the table— Confront the pit, or join the walk, But straight all tongues begin to talk! O that such luck could me befall, Just to be talked about at all! Behold me dwindling in my nook, Edged at her left,—and not a look! A sort of rushlight of a life, Put out by that great orb—my wife!

Scarce is the morning gray—before Postman and porter crowd the door; No premier has so dear a levee— She finds the mail-bag half its trade; My God—the parcels are so heavy! And not a parcel carriage-paid! But then—the truth must be confessed— They're all so charmingly addressed: Whate'er they cost, they well requite her— "To Madame Blank, the famous writer!" Poor thing, she sleeps so soft! and yet 'Twere worth my life to spare her slumber; "Madame—from Jena—the Gazette— The Berlin Journal—the last number!" Sudden she wakes; those eyes of blue (Sweet eyes!) fall straight—on the Review! I by her side—all undetected, While those cursed columns are inspected; Loud squall the children overhead, Still she reads on, till all is read: At last she lays that darling by, And asks—"What makes the baby cry?"

Already now the toilet's care Claims from her couch the restless fair; The toilet's care!—the glass has won Just half a glance, and all is done! A snappish—pettish word or so Warns the poor maid 'tis time to go:— Not at her toilet wait the Graces Uncombed Erynnys takes their places; So great a mind expands its scope Far from the mean details of—soap!

Now roll the coach-wheels to the muster— Now round my muse her votaries cluster; Spruce Abbe Millefleurs—Baron Herman— The English Lord, who don't know German,— But all uncommonly well read From matchless A to deathless Z! Sneaks in the corner, shy and small, A thing which men the husband call! While every fop with flattery fires her, Swears with what passion he admires her.— "'Passion!' 'admire!' and still you're dumb?" Lord bless your soul, the worst's to come:—

I'm forced to bow, as I'm a sinner,— And hope—the rogue will stay to dinner! But oh, at dinner!—there's the sting; I see my cellar on the wing! You know if Burgundy is dear?— Mine once emerged three times a year;— And now to wash these learned throttles, In dozens disappear the bottles; They well must drink who well do eat (I've sunk a capital on meat). Her immortality, I fear, a Death-blow will prove to my Madeira; It has given, alas! a mortal shock To that old friend—my Steinberg hock! [13]

If Faust had really any hand In printing, I can understand The fate which legends more than hint;— The devil take all hands that print!

And what my thanks for all?—a pout— Sour looks—deep sighs; but what about? About! O, that I well divine— That such a pearl should fall to swine— That such a literary ruby Should grace the finger of a booby!

Spring comes;—behold, sweet mead and lea Nature's green splendor tapestries o'er; Fresh blooms the flower, and buds the tree; Larks sing—the woodland wakes once more. The woodland wakes—but not for her! From Nature's self the charm has flown; No more the Spring of earth can stir The fond remembrance of our own! The sweetest bird upon the bough Has not one note of music now; And, oh! how dull the grove's soft shade, Where once—(as lovers then)—we strayed! The nightingales have got no learning— Dull creatures—how can they inspire her? The lilies are so undiscerning, They never say—"how they admire her!"

In all this jubilee of being, Some subject for a point she's seeing— Some epigram—(to be impartial, Well turned)—there may be worse in Martial!

But, hark! the goddess stoops to reason:— "The country now is quite in season, I'll go!"—"What! to our country seat?" "No!—Travelling will be such a treat; Pyrmont's extremely full, I hear; But Carlsbad's quite the rage this year!" Oh yes, she loves the rural Graces; Nature is gay—in watering-places! Those pleasant spas—our reigning passion— Where learned Dons meet folks of fashion; Where—each with each illustrious soul Familiar as in Charon's boat, All sorts of fame sit cheek-by-jowl, Pearls in that string—the table d'hote! Where dames whom man has injured—fly, To heal their wounds or to efface, them; While others, with the waters, try A course of flirting,—just to brace them!

Well, there (O man, how light thy woes Compared with mine—thou need'st must see!) My wife, undaunted, greatly goes— And leaves the orphans (seven!!!) to me!

O, wherefore art thou flown so soon, Thou first fair year—Love's honeymoon! All, dream too exquisite for life! Home's goddess—in the name of wife! Reared by each grace—yet but to be Man's household Anadyomene! With mind from which the sunbeams fall, Rejoice while pervading all; Frank in the temper pleased to please— Soft in the feeling waked with ease. So broke, as native of the skies, The heart-enthraller on my eyes; So saw I, like a morn of May, The playmate given to glad my way; With eyes that more than lips bespoke, Eyes whence—sweet words—"I love thee!" broke! So—Ah, what transports then were mine! I led the bride before the shrine! And saw the future years revealed, Glassed on my hope—one blooming field! More wide, and widening more, were given The angel-gates disclosing heaven; Round us the lovely, mirthful troop Of children came—yet still to me The loveliest—merriest of the group The happy mother seemed to be! Mine, by the bonds that bind us more Than all the oaths the priest before; Mine, by the concord of content, When heart with heart is music-blent; When, as sweet sounds in unison, Two lives harmonious melt in one! When—sudden (O the villain!)—came Upon the scene a mind profound!— A bel esprit, who whispered "Fame," And shook my card-house to the ground.

What have I now instead of all The Eden lost of hearth and hall? What comforts for the heaven bereft? What of the younger angel's left? A sort of intellectual mule, Man's stubborn mind in woman's shape, Too hard to love, too frail to rule— A sage engrafted on an ape! To what she calls the realm of mind, She leaves that throne, her sex, to crawl, The cestus and the charm resigned— A public gaping-show to all! She blots from beauty's golden book A name 'mid nature's choicest few, To gain the glory of a nook In Doctor Dunderhead's Review.



WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S ALBUM.

Sweet friend, the world, like some fair infant blessed, Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays; Yet 'tis not as depicted in thy breast— Not as within thy soul's fair glass, its rays Are mirrored. The respectful fealty That my heart's nobleness hath won for thee, The miracles thou workest everywhere, The charms thy being to this life first lent,— To it, mere charms to reckon thou'rt content, To us, they seem humanity so fair. The witchery sweet of ne'er-polluted youth, The talisman of innocence and truth— Him I would see, who these to scorn can dare! Thou revellest joyously in telling o'er The blooming flowers that round thy path are strown,— The glad, whom thou hast made so evermore,— The souls that thou hast conquered for thine own. In thy deceit so blissful be thou glad! Ne'er let a waking disenchantment sad Hurl thee despairing from thy dream's proud flight! Like the fair flowerets that thy beds perfume, Observe them, but ne'er touch them as they bloom,— Plant them, but only for the distant sight. Created only to enchant the eye, In faded beauty at thy feet they'll lie, The nearer thee, the nearer their long night!



POEMS OF THE THIRD PERIOD.

THE MEETING.

I see her still—by her fair train surrounded, The fairest of them all, she took her place; Afar I stood, by her bright charms confounded, For, oh! they dazzled with their heavenly grace. With awe my soul was filled—with bliss unbounded, While gazing on her softly radiant face; But soon, as if up-borne on wings of fire, My fingers 'gan to sweep the sounding lyre.

The thoughts that rushed across me in that hour, The words I sang, I'd fain once more invoke; Within, I felt a new-awakened power, That each emotion of my bosom spoke. My soul, long time enchained in sloth's dull bower, Through all its fetters now triumphant broke, And brought to light unknown, harmonious numbers, Which in its deepest depths, had lived in slumbers.

And when the chords had ceased their gentle sighing, And when my soul rejoined its mortal frame, I looked upon her face and saw love vieing, In every feature, with her maiden shame. And soon my ravished heart seemed heavenward flying, When her soft whisper o'er my senses came. The blissful seraphs' choral strains alone Can glad mine ear again with that sweet tone,

Of that fond heart, which, pining silently, Ne'er ventures to express its feelings lowly, The real and modest worth is known to me— 'Gainst cruel fate I'll guard its cause so holy. Most blest of all, the meek one's lot shall be— Love's flowers by love's own hand are gathered solely— The fairest prize to that fond heart is due, That feels it, and that beats responsive, too!



THE SECRET.

She sought to breathe one word, but vainly; Too many listeners were nigh; And yet my timid glance read plainly The language of her speaking eye. Thy silent glades my footstep presses, Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove! Conceal within thy green recesses From mortal eye our sacred love!

Afar with strange discordant noises, The busy day is echoing; And 'mid the hollow hum of voices, I hear the heavy hammer ring. 'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending Extorts from heaven his daily bread; Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending The gifts of fortune on his head!

Oh, let mankind discover never How true love fills with bliss our hearts They would but crush our joy forever, For joy to them no glow imparts. Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it— 'Tis never captured save as prey; Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it, E'er envy dark asserts her sway.

The hours of night and stillness loving, It comes upon us silently— Away with hasty footstep moving Soon as it sees a treacherous eye. Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving, A watery barrier cast around, And, with thy waves in anger heaving, Guard from each foe this holy ground!



THE ASSIGNATION. [14]

Hear I the creaking gate unclose? The gleaming latch uplifted? No—'twas the wind that, whirring, rose, Amidst the poplars drifted! Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof, Destined the bright one's presence to receive, For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave. And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air, Awake and sport her rosy cheek around, When their light weight the tender feet shall bear, When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground.

Hush! what amidst the copses crept— So swiftly by me now? No-'twas the startled bird that swept The light leaves of the bough! Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high, With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve, Broaden below thy web of purple dye, Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave. For love's delight, enduring listeners none, The froward witness of the light will flee; Hesper alone, the rosy silent one, Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be!

What murmur in the distance spoke, And like a whisper died? No—'twas the swan that gently broke In rings the silver tide! Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow; In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall; To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low; Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all. Tempt to the touch the grapes—the blushing fruit, [15] Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide; And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide!

Hark! through the alley hear I now A footfall? Comes the maiden? No,—'twas the fruit slid from the bough, With its own richness laden!

Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death, And pale and paler wane his jocund hues, The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath, Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews. The bright face of the moon is still and lone, Melts in vast masses the world silently; Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone; And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye.

What yonder seems to glimmer? Her white robe's glancing hues? No,—'twas the column's shimmer Athwart the darksome yews!

O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed Let the sweet airy image thee befool! The arms that would embrace her clasp the void This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool, O, waft her here, the true, the living one! Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel— The very shadow of her robe alone!— So into life the idle dream shall steal!

As glide from heaven, when least we ween, The rosy hours of bliss, All gently came the maid, unseen:— He waked beneath her kiss!



LONGING.

Could I from this valley drear, Where the mist hangs heavily, Soar to some more blissful sphere, Ah! how happy should I be! Distant hills enchant my sight, Ever young and ever fair; To those hills I'd take my flight Had I wings to scale the air.

Harmonies mine ear assail, Tunes that breathe a heavenly calm; And the gently-sighing gale Greets me with its fragrant balm. Peeping through the shady bowers, Golden fruits their charms display. And those sweetly-blooming flowers Ne'er become cold winter's prey.

In you endless sunshine bright, Oh! what bliss 'twould be to dwell! How the breeze on yonder height Must the heart with rapture swell! Yet the stream that hems my path Checks me with its angry frown, While its waves, in rising wrath, Weigh my weary spirit down.

See—a bark is drawing near, But, alas, the pilot fails! Enter boldly—wherefore fear? Inspiration fills its sails, Faith and courage make thine own,— Gods ne'er lend a helping-hand; 'Tis by magic power alone Thou canst reach the magic land!



EVENING.

(AFTER A PICTURE.)

Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining; Wearily move on thy horses— Let, then, thy chariot descend!

Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows, Lovingly nods and smiles?—Thy heart must know her! Joyously speed on thy horses,— Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods!

Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping, Into her arms he springs,—the reins takes Cupid,— Quietly stand the horses, Drinking the cooling flood.

Now from the heavens with gentle step descending, Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed; Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,— Phoebus, the loving one, rests!



THE PILGRIM.

Youth's gay springtime scarcely knowing Went I forth the world to roam— And the dance of youth, the glowing, Left I in my father's home, Of my birthright, glad-believing, Of my world-gear took I none, Careless as an infant, cleaving To my pilgrim staff alone. For I placed my mighty hope in Dim and holy words of faith, "Wander forth—the way is open, Ever on the upward path— Till thou gain the golden portal, Till its gates unclose to thee. There the earthly and the mortal, Deathless and divine shall be!" Night on morning stole, on stealeth, Never, never stand I still, And the future yet concealeth, What I seek, and what I will! Mount on mount arose before me, Torrents hemmed me every side, But I built a bridge that bore me O'er the roaring tempest-tide. Towards the east I reached a river, On its shores I did not rest; Faith from danger can deliver, And I trusted to its breast. Drifted in the whirling motion, Seas themselves around me roll— Wide and wider spreads the ocean, Far and farther flies the goal. While I live is never given Bridge or wave the goal to near— Earth will never meet the heaven, Never can the there be here!



THE IDEALS.

And wilt thou, faithless one, then, leave me, With all thy magic phantasy,— With all the thoughts that joy or grieve me, Wilt thou with all forever fly? Can naught delay thine onward motion, Thou golden time of life's young dream? In vain! eternity's wide ocean Ceaselessly drowns thy rolling stream.

The glorious suns my youth enchanting Have set in never-ending night; Those blest ideals now are wanting That swelled my heart with mad delight. The offspring of my dream hath perished, My faith in being passed away; The godlike hopes that once I cherish Are now reality's sad prey.

As once Pygmalion, fondly yearning, Embraced the statue formed by him, Till the cold marble's cheeks were burning, And life diffused through every limb, So I, with youthful passion fired, My longing arms round Nature threw, Till, clinging to my breast inspired, She 'gan to breathe, to kindle too.

And all my fiery ardor proving, Though mute, her tale she soon could tell, Returned each kiss I gave her loving, The throbbings of my heart read well. Then living seemed each tree, each flower, Then sweetly sang the waterfall, And e'en the soulless in that hour Shared in the heavenly bliss of all.

For then a circling world was bursting My bosom's narrow prison-cell, To enter into being thirsting, In deed, word, shape, and sound as well. This world, how wondrous great I deemed it, Ere yet its blossoms could unfold! When open, oh, how little seemed it! That little, oh, how mean and cold!

How happy, winged by courage daring, The youth life's mazy path first pressed— No care his manly strength impairing, And in his dream's sweet vision blest! The dimmest star in air's dominion Seemed not too distant for his flight; His young and ever-eager pinion Soared far beyond all mortal sight.

Thus joyously toward heaven ascending, Was aught for his bright hopes too far? The airy guides his steps attending, How danced they round life's radiant car! Soft love was there, her guerdon bearing, And fortune, with her crown of gold, And fame, her starry chaplet wearing, And truth, in majesty untold.

But while the goal was yet before them, The faithless guides began to stray; Impatience of their task came o'er them, Then one by one they dropped away. Light-footed Fortune first retreating, Then Wisdom's thirst remained unstilled, While heavy storms of doubt were beating Upon the path truth's radiance filled.

I saw Fame's sacred wreath adorning The brows of an unworthy crew; And, ah! how soon Love's happy morning, When spring had vanished, vanished too! More silent yet, and yet more weary, Became the desert path I trod; And even hope a glimmer dreary Scarce cast upon the gloomy road.

Of all that train, so bright with gladness, Oh, who is faithful to the end? Who now will seek to cheer my sadness, And to the grave my steps attend? Thou, Friendship, of all guides the fairest, Who gently healest every wound; Who all life's heavy burdens sharest, Thou, whom I early sought and found!

Employment too, thy loving neighbor, Who quells the bosom's rising storms; Who ne'er grows weary of her labor, And ne'er destroys, though slow she forms; Who, though but grains of sand she places To swell eternity sublime, Yet minutes, days, ay! years effaces From the dread reckoning kept by Time!



THE YOUTH BY THE BROOK. [16]

Beside the brook the boy reclined And wove his flowery wreath, And to the waves the wreath consigned— The waves that danced beneath. "So fleet mine hours," he sighed, "away Like waves that restless flow: And so my flowers of youth decay Like those that float below."

"Ask not why I, alone on earth, Am sad in life's young time; To all the rest are hope and mirth When spring renews its prime. Alas! the music Nature makes, In thousand songs of gladness— While charming all around me, wakes My heavy heart to sadness."

"Ah! vain to me the joys that break From spring, voluptuous are; For only one 't is mine to seek— The near, yet ever far! I stretch my arms, that shadow-shape In fond embrace to hold; Still doth the shade the clasp escape— The heart is unconsoled!"

"Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, And leave thy lofty hall, The fairest flowers the spring can know In thy dear lap shall fall! Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, Sweet carols fill the air; The meanest hut hath space to hold A happy loving pair!"



TO EMMA.

Far away, where darkness reigneth, All my dreams of bliss are flown; Yet with love my gaze remaineth Fixed on one fair star alone. But, alas! that star so bright Sheds no lustre save by night.

If in slumbers ending never, Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes, Thou hadst lived in memory ever— Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; But, alas! in light thou livest— To my love no answer givest!

Can the sweet hopes love once cherished Emma, can they transient prove? What has passed away and perished— Emma, say, can that be love? That bright flame of heavenly birth— Can it die like things of earth?



THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT.

Once more, then, we meet In the circles of yore; Let our song be as sweet In its wreaths as before, Who claims the first place In the tribute of song? The God to whose grace All our pleasures belong. Though Ceres may spread All her gifts on the shrine, Though the glass may be red With the blush of the vine, What boots—if the while Fall no spark on the hearth; If the heart do not smile With the instinct of mirth?— From the clouds, from God's breast Must our happiness fall, 'Mid the blessed, most blest Is the moment of all! Since creation began All that mortals have wrought, All that's godlike in man Comes—the flash of a thought! For ages the stone In the quarry may lurk, An instant alone Can suffice to the work; An impulse give birth To the child of the soul, A glance stamp the worth And the fame of the whole. [17] On the arch that she buildeth From sunbeams on high, As Iris just gildeth, And fleets from the sky, So shineth, so gloometh Each gift that is ours; The lightning illumeth— The darkness devours! [18]



THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN.

[The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.]

To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, The life and death winding dizzy between; In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; That thou wake not the wild one [20], all silently tread— Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread!

High over the marge of the horrible deep Hangs and hovers a bridge with its phantom-like span, [21] Not by man was it built, o'er the vastness to sweep; Such thought never came to the daring of man! The stream roars beneath—late and early it raves— But the bridge, which it threatens, is safe from the waves.

Black-yawning a portal, thy soul to affright, Like the gate to the kingdom, the fiend for the king— Yet beyond it there smiles but a land of delight, Where the autumn in marriage is met with the spring. From a lot which the care and the trouble assail, Could I fly to the bliss of that balm-breathing vale!

Through that field, from a fount ever hidden their birth, Four rivers in tumult rush roaringly forth; They fly to the fourfold divisions of earth— The sunrise, the sunset, the south, and the north. And, true to the mystical mother that bore, Forth they rush to their goal, and are lost evermore.

High over the races of men in the blue Of the ether, the mount in twin summits is riven; There, veiled in the gold-woven webs of the dew, Moves the dance of the clouds—the pale daughters of heaven! There, in solitude, circles their mystical maze, Where no witness can hearken, no earthborn surveys.

August on a throne which no ages can move, Sits a queen, in her beauty serene and sublime, [22] The diadem blazing with diamonds above The glory of brows, never darkened by time, His arrows of light on that form shoots the sun— And he gilds them with all, but he warms them with none!



THE ALPINE HUNTER.

Wilt thou not the lambkins guard? Oh, how soft and meek they look, Feeding on the grassy sward, Sporting round the silvery brook! "Mother, mother, let me go On yon heights to chase the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flock compel With the horn's inspiring notes? Sweet the echo of yon bell, As across the wood it floats! "Mother, mother, let me go On yon heights to hunt the roe!"

Wilt thou not the flow'rets bind, Smiling gently in their bed? For no garden thou wilt find On yon heights so wild and dread. "Leave the flow'rets,—let them blow! Mother, mother, let me go!"

And the youth then sought the chase, Onward pressed with headlong speed To the mountain's gloomiest place,— Naught his progress could impede; And before him, like the wind, Swiftly flies the trembling hind!

Up the naked precipice Clambers she, with footsteps light, O'er the chasm's dark abyss Leaps with spring of daring might; But behind, unweariedly, With his death-bow follows he.

Now upon the rugged top Stands she,—on the loftiest height, Where the cliffs abruptly stop, And the path is lost to sight. There she views the steeps below,— Close behind, her mortal foe.

She, with silent, woeful gaze, Seeks the cruel boy to move; But, alas! in vain she prays— To the string he fits the groove. When from out the clefts, behold! Steps the Mountain Genius old.

With his hand the Deity Shields the beast that trembling sighs; "Must thou, even up to me, Death and anguish send?" he cries,— Earth has room for all to dwell,— "Why pursue my loved gazelle?"



DITHYRAMB. [23]

Believe me, together The bright gods come ever, Still as of old; Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy, Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy, And Phoebus, the stately, behold!

They come near and nearer, The heavenly ones all— The gods with their presence Fill earth as their hall!

Say, how shall I welcome, Human and earthborn, Sons of the sky? Pour out to me—pour the full life that ye live! What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?

The joys can dwell only In Jupiter's palace— Brimmed bright with your nectar, Oh, reach me the chalice!

"Hebe, the chalice Fill full to the brim! Steep his eyes—steep his eyes in the bath of the dew, Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view, That the life of the gods is for him!"

It murmurs, it sparkles, The fount of delight; The bosom grows tranquil— The eye becomes bright.



THE FOUR AGES OF THE WORLD.

The goblet is sparkling with purpled-tinged wine, Bright glistens the eye of each guest, When into the hall comes the Minstrel divine, To the good he now brings what is best; For when from Elysium is absent the lyre, No joy can the banquet of nectar inspire.

He is blessed by the gods, with an intellect clear, That mirrors the world as it glides; He has seen all that ever has taken place here, And all that the future still hides. He sat in the god's secret councils of old And heard the command for each thing to unfold.

He opens in splendor, with gladness and mirth, That life which was hid from our eyes; Adorns as a temple the dwelling of earth, That the Muse has bestowed as his prize, No roof is so humble, no hut is so low, But he with divinities bids it o'erflow.

And as the inventive descendant of Zeus, On the unadorned round of the shield, With knowledge divine could, reflected, produce Earth, sea, and the star's shining field,— So he, on the moments, as onward they roll, The image can stamp of the infinite whole.

From the earliest age of the world he has come, When nations rejoiced in their prime; A wanderer glad, he has still found a home With every race through all time. Four ages of man in his lifetime have died, And the place they once held by the fifth is supplied.

Saturnus first governed, with fatherly smile, Each day then resembled the last; Then flourished the shepherds, a race without guile Their bliss by no care was o'ercast, They loved,—and no other employment they had, And earth gave her treasures with willingness glad.

Then labor came next, and the conflict began With monsters and beasts famed in song; And heroes upstarted, as rulers of man, And the weak sought the aid of the strong. And strife o'er the field of Scamander now reigned, But beauty the god of the world still remained.

At length from the conflict bright victory sprang, And gentleness blossomed from might; In heavenly chorus the Muses then sang, And figures divine saw the light;— The age that acknowledged sweet phantasy's sway Can never return, it has fleeted away.

The gods from their seats in the heavens were hurled, And their pillars of glory o'erthrown; And the Son of the Virgin appeared in the world For the sins of mankind to atone. The fugitive lusts of the sense were suppressed, And man now first grappled with thought in his breast.

Each vain and voluptuous charm vanished now, Wherein the young world took delight; The monk and the nun made of penance a vow, And the tourney was sought by the knight. Though the aspect of life was now dreary and wild, Yet love remained ever both lovely and mild.

An altar of holiness, free from all stain, The Muses in silence upreared; And all that was noble and worthy, again In woman's chaste bosom appeared; The bright flame of song was soon kindled anew By the minstrel's soft lays, and his love pure and true.

And so, in a gentle and ne'er-changing band, Let woman and minstrel unite; They weave and they fashion, with hand joined to hand, The girdle of beauty and right. When love blends with music, in unison sweet, The lustre of life's youthful days ne'er can fleet.



THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT.

The clouds fast gather, The forest-oaks roar— A maiden is sitting Beside the green shore,— The billows are breaking with might, with might, And she sighs aloud in the darkling night, Her eyelid heavy with weeping.

"My heart's dead within me, The world is a void; To the wish it gives nothing, Each hope is destroyed. I have tasted the fulness of bliss below I have lived, I have loved,—Thy child, oh take now, Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!"

"In vain is thy sorrow, In vain thy tears fall, For the dead from their slumbers They ne'er can recall; Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart, Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart, Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!"

"Though in vain is my sorrow, Though in vain my tears fall,— Though the dead from their slumbers They ne'er can recall, Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate heart, When love its soft pleasures no more can impart, As the torments that love leaves behind it!"



TO MY FRIENDS.

Yes, my friends!—that happier times have been Than the present, none can contravene; That a race once lived of nobler worth; And if ancient chronicles were dumb, Countless stones in witness forth would come From the deepest entrails of the earth. But this highly-favored race has gone, Gone forever to the realms of night. We, we live! The moments are our own, And the living judge the right.

Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excel This, the land wherein we're doomed to dwell, As the hardy travellers proclaim; But if Nature has denied us much, Art is yet responsive to our touch, And our hearts can kindle at her flame. If the laurel will not flourish here— If the myrtle is cold winter's prey, Yet the vine, to crown us, year by year, Still puts forth its foliage gay.

Of a busier life 'tis well to speak, Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek, On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream; Ships in thousands go there and depart— There are seen the costliest works of art, And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme But the sun his image only graves On the silent streamlet's level plain, Not upon the torrent's muddy waves, Swollen by the heavy rain.

Far more blessed than we, in northern states Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates, For he sees the peerless city—Rome! Beauty's glorious charms around him lie, And, a second heaven, up toward the sky Mounts St. Peter's proud and wondrous dome. But, with all the charms that splendor grants, Rome is but the tomb of ages past; Life but smiles upon the blooming plants That the seasons round her cast.

Greater actions elsewhere may be rife Than with us, in our contracted life— But beneath the sun there's naught that's new; Yet we see the great of every age Pass before us on the world's wide stage Thoughtfully and calmly in review All. in life repeats itself forever, Young for ay is phantasy alone; What has happened nowhere,—happened never,— That has never older grown!



PUNCH SONG.

Four elements, joined in Harmonious strife, Shadow the world forth, And typify life.

Into the goblet The lemon's juice pour; Acid is ever Life's innermost core.

Now, with the sugar's All-softening juice, The strength of the acid So burning reduce.

The bright sparkling water Now pour in the bowl; Water all-gently Encircles the whole.

Let drops of the spirit To join them now flow; Life to the living Naught else can bestow.

Drain it off quickly Before it exhales; Save when 'tis glowing, The draught naught avails.



NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT.

See, he sitteth on his mat Sitteth there upright, With the grace with which he sat While he saw the light.

Where is now the sturdy gripe,— Where the breath sedate, That so lately whiffed the pipe Toward the Spirit great?

Where the bright and falcon eye, That the reindeer's tread On the waving grass could spy, Thick with dewdrops spread?

Where the limbs that used to dart Swifter through the snow Than the twenty-membered hart, Than the mountain roe?

Where the arm that sturdily Bent the deadly bow? See, its life hath fleeted by,— See, it hangeth low!

Happy he!—He now has gone Where no snow is found: Where with maize the fields are sown, Self-sprung from the ground;

Where with birds each bush is filled, Where with game the wood; Where the fish, with joy unstilled, Wanton in the flood.

With the spirits blest he feeds,— Leaves us here in gloom; We can only praise his deeds, And his corpse entomb.

Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring, Sound the death-note sad! Bury with him everything That can make him glad!

'Neath his head the hatchet hide That he boldly swung; And the bear's fat haunch beside, For the road is long;

And the knife, well sharpened, That, with slashes three, Scalp and skin from foeman's head Tore off skilfully.

And to paint his body, place Dyes within his hand; Let him shine with ruddy grace In the Spirit-land!



THE FEAST OF VICTORY.

Priam's castle-walls had sunk, Troy in dust and ashes lay, And each Greek, with triumph drunk, Richly laden with his prey, Sat upon his ship's high prow, On the Hellespontic strand, Starting on his journey now, Bound for Greece, his own fair land. Raise the glad exulting shout! Toward the land that gave them birth Turn they now the ships about, As they seek their native earth.

And in rows, all mournfully, Sat the Trojan women there,— Beat their breasts in agony, Pallid, with dishevelled hair. In the feast of joy so glad Mingled they the song of woe, Weeping o'er their fortunes sad, In their country's overthrow. "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well! By our foreign masters led, Far from home we're doomed to dwell,— Ah, how happy are the dead!"

Soon the blood by Calchas spilt On the altar heavenward smokes; Pallas, by whom towns are built And destroyed, the priest invokes; Neptune, too, who all the earth With his billowy girdle laves,— Zeus, who gives to terror birth, Who the dreaded Aegis waves. Now the weary fight is done, Ne'er again to be renewed; Time's wide circuit now is run, And the mighty town subdued!

Atreus' son, the army's head, Told the people's numbers o'er, Whom he, as their captain, led To Scamander's vale of yore. Sorrow's black and heavy clouds Passed across the monarch's brow: Of those vast and valiant crowds, Oh, how few were left him now! Joyful songs let each one raise, Who will see his home again, In whose veins the life-blood plays, For, alas! not all remain!

"All who homeward wend their way, Will not there find peace of mind; On their household altars, they Murder foul perchance may find. Many fall by false friend's stroke, Who in fight immortal proved:"— So Ulysses warning spoke, By Athene's spirit moved. Happy he, whose faithful spouse Guards his home with honor true! Woman ofttimes breaks her vows, Ever loves she what is new.

And Atrides glories there In the prize he won in fight, And around her body fair Twines his arms with fond delight. Evil works must punished be. Vengeance follows after crime, For Kronion's just decree Rules the heavenly courts sublime. Evil must in evil end; Zeus will on the impious band Woe for broken guest-rights send, Weighing with impartial hand.

"It may well the glad befit," Cried Olleus' valiant son, [24] "To extol the Gods who sit On Olympus' lofty throne! Fortune all her gifts supplies, Blindly, and no justice knows, For Patroclus buried lies, And Thersites homeward goes! Since she blindly throws away Each lot in her wheel contained, Let him shout with joy to-day Who the prize of life has gained."

"Ay, the wars the best devour! Brother, we will think of thee, In the fight a very tower, When we join in revelry! When the Grecian ships were fired, By thine arm was safety brought; Yet the man by craft inspired [25] Won the spoils thy valor sought. Peace be to thine ashes blest! Thou wert vanquished not in fight: Anger 'tis destroys the best,— Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"

Neoptolemus poured then, To his sire renowned [26] the wine— "'Mongst the lots of earthly men, Mighty father, prize I thine! Of the goods that life supplies, Greatest far of all is fame; Though to dust the body flies, Yet still lives a noble name. Valiant one, thy glory's ray Will immortal be in song; For, though life may pass away, To all time the dead belong!"

"Since the voice of minstrelsy Speaks not of the vanquished man, I will Hector's witness be,"— Tydeus' noble son [27] began: "Fighting bravely in defence Of his household-gods he fell. Great the victor's glory thence, He in purpose did excel! Battling for his altars dear, Sank that rock, no more to rise; E'en the foemen will revere One whose honored name ne'er dies."

Nestor, joyous reveller old, Who three generations saw, Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold Gave to weeping Hecuba. "Drain the goblet's draught so cool, And forget each painful smart! Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,— Balsam for a broken heart. Drain the goblet's draught so cool, And forget each painful smart! Bacchus' gifts are wonderful,— Balsam for a broken heart.

"E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven Loved in wrath to persecute, Respite from her pangs was given, Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit. Whilst the thirsty lip we lave In the foaming, living spring, Buried deep in Lethe's wave Lies all grief, all sorrowing! Whilst the thirsty lip we lave In the foaming, living spring, Swallowed up in Lethe's wave Is all grief, all sorrowing!"

And the Prophetess [28] inspired By her God, upstarted now,— Toward the smoke of homesteads fired, Looking from the lofty prow. "Smoke is each thing here below; Every worldly greatness dies, As the vapory columns go,— None are fixed but Deities! Cares behind the horseman sit— Round about the vessel play; Lest the morrow hinder it, Let us, therefore, live to-day."



PUNCH SONG.

(TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)

On the mountain's breezy summit, Where the southern sunbeams shine, Aided by their warming vigor, Nature yields the golden wine.

How the wondrous mother formeth, None have ever read aright; Hid forever is her working, And inscrutable her might.

Sparkling as a son of Phoebus, As the fiery source of light, From the vat it bubbling springeth, Purple, and as crystal bright;

And rejoiceth all the senses, And in every sorrowing breast Poureth hope's refreshing balsam, And on life bestows new zest.

But their slanting rays all feebly On our zone the sunbeams shoot; They can only tinge the foliage, But they ripen ne'er the fruit.

Yet the north insists on living, And what lives will merry be; So, although the grape is wanting, We invent wine cleverly.

Pale the drink we now are offering On the household altar here; But what living Nature maketh, Sparkling is and ever clear.

Let us from the brimming goblet, Drain the troubled flood with mirth; Art is but a gift of heaven, Borrowed from the glow of earth.

Even strength's dominions boundless 'Neath her rule obedient lie; From the old the new she fashions With creative energy.

She the elements' close union Severs with her sovereign nod; With the flame upon the altar, Emulates the great sun-god.

For the distant, happy islands Now the vessel sallies forth, And the southern fruits, all-golden, Pours upon the eager north.

As a type, then,—as an image, Be to us this fiery juice, Of the wonders that frail mortals Can with steadfast will produce!



THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. [29]

Does pleasant spring return once more? Does earth her happy youth regain? Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er; Soft brooklets burst their icy chain: Upon the blue translucent river Laughs down an all-unclouded day, The winged west winds gently quiver, The buds are bursting from the spray; While birds are blithe on every tree; The Oread from the mountain-shore Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee— Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!"

Alas! how long an age it seems Since all the earth I wandered over, And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams The loved—the lost one—to discover! Though all may seek—yet none can call Her tender presence back to me The sun, with eyes detecting all, Is blind one vanished form to see. Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away From these sad arms my daughter torn? Has Pluto, from the realms of day, Enamored—to dark rivers borne?

Who to the dismal phantom-strand The herald of my grief will venture? The boat forever leaves the land, But only shadows there may enter.— Veiled from each holier eye repose The realms where midnight wraps the dead, And, while the Stygian river flows, No living footstep there may tread! A thousand pathways wind the drear Descent;—none upward lead to-day;— No witness to the mother's ear The daughter's sorrows can betray.

Mothers of happy human clay Can share at least their children's doom; And when the loved ones pass away, Can track—can join them—in the tomb! The race alone of heavenly birth Are banished from the darksome portals; The Fates have mercy on the earth, And death is only kind to mortals! [30] Oh, plunge me in the night of nights, From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled! Oh, let the goddess lose the rights That shut the mother from the child!

Where sits the dark king's joyless bride, Where midst the dead her home is made; Oh that my noiseless steps might glide, Amidst the shades, myself a shade! I see her eyes, that search through tears, In vain the golden light to greet; That yearn for yonder distant spheres, That pine the mother's face to meet! Till some bright moment shall renew The severed hearts' familiar ties; And softened pity steal in dew, From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes!

Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are! Calm in the changeless paths above Rolls on the day-god's golden car— Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove! Far from the ever-gloomy plain, He turns his blissful looks away. Alas! night never gives again What once it seizes as its prey! Till over Lethe's sullen swell, Aurora's rosy hues shall glow; And arching through the midmost hell Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow!

And is there naught of her; no token— No pledge from that beloved hand? To tell how love remains unbroken, How far soever be the land? Has love no link, no lightest thread, The mother to the child to bind? Between the living and the dead, Can hope no holy compact find? No! every bond is not yet riven; We are not yet divided wholly; To us the eternal powers have given A symbol language, sweet and holy.

When Spring's fair children pass away, When, in the north wind's icy air, The leaf and flower alike decay, And leave the rivelled branches bare, Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn I take life's seeds to strew below— And bid the gold that germs the corn An offering to the Styx to go! Sad in the earth the seeds I lay— Laid at thy heart, my child—to be The mournful tokens which convey My sorrow and my love to thee!

But, when the hours, in measured dance, The happy smile of spring restore, Rife in the sun-god's golden glance The buried dead revive once more! The germs that perished to thine eyes, Within the cold breast of the earth, Spring up to bloom in gentler skies, The brighter for the second birth! The stem its blossom rears above— Its roots in night's dark womb repose— The plant but by the equal love Of light and darkness fostered—grows!

If half with death the germs may sleep, Yet half with life they share the beams; My heralds from the dreary deep, Soft voices from the solemn streams,— Like her, so them, awhile entombs, Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign, Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms With such sweet messages again, To tell,—how far from light above, Where only mournful shadows meet, Memory is still alive to love, And still the faithful heart can beat!

Joy to ye children of the field! Whose life each coming year renews, To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield The purest of its nectar-dews! Steeped in the light's resplendent streams, The hues that streak the Iris-bow Shall trim your blooms as with the beams The looks of young Aurora know. The budding life of happy spring, The yellow autumn's faded leaf, Alike to gentle hearts shall bring The symbols of my joy and grief.



THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL.

Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! With it, the Cyane [31] blue intertwine Rapture 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 peace Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home.

Shyly in the mountain-cleft Was 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 gay Give of godlike worship proof.

Fruit of no propitious ear Bids her to the pure feast fly; On the ghastly altars here Human 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 man To whom we our image lend, Whose fair limbs of noble span Upward towards the heavens ascend? Laid we not before his feet Earth's unbounded godlike womb? Yet upon his kingly seat Wanders 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 reigns Pangs of others ne'er can move; Yet man's anguish and man's pains My tormented heart must prove."

"So that a man a man may be, Let him make an endless bond With the kind earth trustingly, Who is ever good and fond To revere the law of time, And the moon's melodious song Who, with silent step sublime, Move their sacred course along."

And she softly parts the cloud That conceals her from the sight; Sudden, in the savage crowd, Stands she, as a goddess bright. There she finds the concourse rude In their glad feast revelling, And the chalice filled with blood As a sacrifice they bring.

But she turns her face away, Horror-struck, and speaks the while "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may Of a god the lips defile, He needs victims free from stain, Fruits matured by autumn's sun; With the pure gifts of the plain Honored is the Holy One!"

And she takes the heavy shaft From the hunter's cruel hand; With the murderous weapon's haft Furrowing 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 gracefully Shoot, 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 all That in ether's mansions dwell, Let a sign from thee now fall That thou lov'st this offering well! And from the unhappy crowd That, 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 plays High above in circling rounds.

Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling, Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng; Into humanity's earliest feeling Melt 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 advance Downward from their heavenly seats; Themis' self 'tis leads the dance, And, with staff of justice, metes Unto every one his rights,— Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix; And in witness she invites All the hidden powers of Styx.

And the forge-god, too, is there, The inventive son of Zeus; Fashioner of vessels fair Skilled in clay and brass's use. 'Tis from him the art man knows Tongs and bellows how to wield; 'Neath his hammer's heavy blows Was 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 around Bind in loving unison.

The immortals' steps she guides O'er the trackless plains so vast, And where'er her foot abides Is the boundary god held fast; And her measuring chain is led Round the mountain's border green,— E'en the raging torrent's bed In the holy ring is seen.

All the Nymphs and Oreads too Who, 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 clear Crashing down the pine-wood flies.

E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends From his verdant spring to light, And his raft's direction bends At the goddess' word of might,— While the hours, all gently bound, Nimbly to their duty fly; Rugged trunks are fashioned round By her skilled hand gracefully.

E'en the sea-god thither fares;— Sudden, with his trident's blow, He the granite columns tears From 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 strings Lures Apollo harmony, Measured time's sweet murmurings, And the might of melody. The Camoenae swell the strain With 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 halls By the gods' own hands are made, And the temple's glowing walls Stand in festal pomp arrayed.

With a crown of myrtle twined, Now the goddess queen comes there, And she leads the fairest hind To 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 tames Each wild lust that lingers there. Yet, when thus together thrown, Man with man must fain unite; And by his own worth alone Can 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!



THE RING OF POLYCRATES. [32]

A BALLAD.

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 overthrown All those who once were like to thee. Yet to avenge them one lives still; I cannot call thee blest, until That 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 gay Thou 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 how Thy 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 heard Resounding from the distant strand. With foreign treasures teeming o'er, The vessels' mast-rich wood once more Returns 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 here Is never to a mortal given."

"With me, too, everything succeeds; In all my sovereign acts and deeds The 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 bestow Their 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 dear Of 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 sight A 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.



THE CRANES OF IBYCUS.

A BALLAD.

Once to the song and chariot-fight, Where all the tribes of Greece unite On Corinth's isthmus joyously, The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh. On him Apollo had bestowed The gift of song and strains inspired; So, with light staff, he took his road From 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 swarm Of cranes, who guide him on his way; Who from far southern regions warm Have 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 host Who from the stranger wards disgrace!"

And on he hastes, in joyous wood, And reaches soon the middle wood When, on a narrow bridge, by force Two 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 tell The features that he loved so well. "And is it thus I find thee now, Who hoped the pine's victorious crown To place upon the singer's brow, Illumined by his bright renown?"

The news is heard with grief by all Met at Poseidon's festival; All Greece is conscious of the smart, He leaves a void in every heart; And to the Prytanis [33] swift hie The people, and they urge him on The dead man's manes to pacify And with the murderer's blood atone.

But where's the trace that from the throng The 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 braves Upon the threshold of their fane,— Joins boldly in the human waves That 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 man Toward 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' strand From Phocis, from the Spartan land, From Asia's distant coast, they wend, From every island of the sea, And from the stage they hear ascend The 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 wield The torch, that with a dull red glows,— While in their cheek no life-blood flows; And where the hair is floating wide And 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 air The 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 might Around 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 there We 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 flight Of cranes, approaching hastily.

"Of Ibycus!"—That name so blest With 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 flies Through every heart, with speed of light— "Observe in this the furies' might! The poets manes are now appeased The 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 now The scene becomes the tribunal; Their crimes the villains both avow, When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall.



THE PLAYING INFANT.

Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle The 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!



HERO AND LEANDER. [34]

A BALLAD.

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, cannot Rend love from love asunder!

In Hero's, in Leander's heart, Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart Whose feather flies from love. All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek— And his the hunter's steps that seek Delight, the hills above! Between their sires the rival feud Forbids 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 eyes The cliffs of fair Abydos rise Afar—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 land Bowed—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 tower Lone 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, above All earthly boons—can liberal love The 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 delight Exult the happy pair; Caress will never pall caress, And joys that gods might envy, bless The single bride-night there. Ah! never he has rapture known, Who has not, where the waves are driven Upon 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 eyes The leaves that withering droop and fall, Nor hear, when, from its northern hall, The neighboring winter sighs; Or, if they see, the shortening days But 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 eyes That 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 play Amid 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 love To rapture steal its secret way: And Hecate [36] seals the only lips That 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 say That 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!"