> .* 'WHfc, %»MMju*a^ jy . A. (.7704- ^_ Cornell University Library PR 4262.U6 1883 Undertones. 3 1924 013 445 881 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013445881 UNDERTONES WORKS BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. " The dumb, wistful yearning in man to something higher — yearning such as the animal creation showed in the Greek period toward the human — has not as yet found any interpreter equal to Buchanan." — The Spectator. " In the great power of appealing to universal Humanity lies Buchanan's security. ITie hght of Nature has been his guide, and the human heart his study. He mugt unquestionably attain an exalted rank among the poets of this century, and produce works which cannot fail to be accepted as incontest- Jibly great, and worthy of the world's preservation." — Contemporary Review. " Buchanan is the most faithful poet of Nature among the new men. He is her familiar. Like no British poet, save himself, he knows her." — Stedman's Victorian Poets. BALLADS OF LIFE, LOVE, AND HTnUOTTR. With Frontispiece by Arthur Hughes. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. SELECTED POEMS OF ROBERT BITCHANAN. With a Frontis- piece by Thomas Dalziel. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6j. LONDON POEMS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6^. "UNDERTONES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. THE BOOK OF ORM. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. ST. ABE AND HIS SEVEN "WIVES: ATaleof Salt Lake City. With a Frontispiece by A. B. Houghton. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, sj. WHITE ROSE AND RED : A Love Story. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. * A CHILD OF NATURE : A Romance. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2S. 6d. THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD : A Romance. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3^. 6d. ; post 8vo, picture boards, 2J. GOD AND THE MAN: A Romance. With Illustrations by Fred. Barnard. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3^. 6d. THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE. New and cheaper Edition, crown Svo, cloth extra, 35. 6d. THE HEBRID ISLES : Wanderings in the Land of Lome and the Outer Hebrides. With a Frontispiece by William Small. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6^. CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W. UNDERTONES By ROBERT BUCHANAN A NEW EDITION HonKon CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1883 /\.(.'JJO^ L0?.1)0N : RRADBURV, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHTTEFRIARa. DEDICATION. TO JOHN WESTLAND MAESTON, ESa, LL.D. Dear Wbstland Maeston, To whom can I more appropriately dedicate these Undertones than to the man whose friendship has been a comfort to me during four years of the bitterest struggle and disappointment, and whose voice has whispered "courage" when I seemed faltering down the easy descent to Acheron ? The world knows least of your noble soul. High-minded, gracious-hearted, possessed of the true instinct of an artist, you have laid me under a debt of affection which I can never repay ; yet take the Book, as a token that I love and honour you. Ever yours, KoBEET Buchanan. London, November 1st, 1863. CONTENTS. FAGB poet's prologue : to david in heaven ...... 1 THE UNDERTONES : I. — PROTEUS ; OR, A PRELUDE . , . . 19 II.— ADES, KING OE HELL 26 III.— PAN 43 IV. — THE NAIAD 62 V. — THE SATYR 66 VI. — VENUS ON THE SUN-CAK .... 81 VII. — SELENE THE MOON 86 VIII. — IRIS THE RAINBOW 91 IX. — ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN . . . . 95 X. — POLYPHBME'S PASSION 101 XI. — PENELOPE 137 XIL— SAPPHO : ON THE LEUCADIAN ROCK . . 145 XIIL — THE SYREN 149 Yiii CONTENTS. PAOK THE nNDEETONBS : XIV. — A VOICE FKOM ACADEME .... 163 XV. — PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR: 1. SHADOW 168 2. THE MAKBLE LITE .... 170 3. THE SIN 175 4. DEATH IN LIFE 180 5. SHADOW ....... 186 xvi. — antony in asms 189 xvii. — eine weather on the digentia : horatius cogitabundus . . . 193 xviii. — fine weather by baiae: virgil to horace . . . ' . . 212 xix. — the swan-song op apollo . . . . 223 poet's epilogue : to mary on earth ...<.. 227 POET'S PEOLOGUE. TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. " Gko diversus aMs ?" " QuemlH dUigurU, adoUscens moritur." POET'S PEOLOGUE. TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. 1. Lo ! the slow moon roaming Thro' fleecy mists of gloaming, Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder'd sky ! Lo, the bridge moss-laden, Arch'd like foot of maiden, And on the bridge, in sUence, looking upward, you and I ! Lo, the pleasant season Of reaping and of mowing — The round still moon above, — beneath, the river duskily flowing ! b2 I PROLOGUE. 2. Violet-colour'd shadows, Blown from scented meadows, Float o'er us to the pine-wood dark from yonder dim corn-ridge ; The little river gushes Thro' shady sedge and rushes, And gray gnats murmur o'er the pools, beneath the mossy bridge ; — And you and I stand darkly. O'er the keystone leaning, And watch the pale mesmeric moon, in the time of gleaners and gleaning. Do I dream, I wonder 1 As, sitting sadly under A lonely roof in London, thro' the grim square pane I gaze 1 Here of you I ponder. In a dream, and yonder The still streets seem to stir and breathe beneath the white moon's rays. TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. By the vision cherish' d, By the battle bravid, Do I but dream a hopeless dream, in the city that slew you, David ? 4. Is it fancy also, That the light vrhich falls so Faintly upon the stony street below me as I write,' Near tall mountains passes Thro' churchyard weeds and grasses. Barely a mower's mile away from that small bridge, to-night ? And, where you are lying, — Grass and flowers above you — Is mingled with your sleeping face, as calm as the hearts that love you ? 5. •Poet gentle-hearted, Are you then departed, 6 PROLOGUE. And have you ceased to dream the dream we loved of old so well ? Has the deeply cherish'd Aspiration perish'd, And are you happy, David, in that heaven where you dweU? Have you found the secret We, so wildly, sought for, And is your soul enswath'd, at last, in the singing robes you fought for ? 6. In some heaven star-Ughted, Are you now united Unto the poet-spirits that you loved, of English race 1 Is Chatterton still dreaming ? And, to give it stately seeming. Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats' s face? Is Wordsworth there 1 and Spenser ? Beyond the grave's black portals, Can the grand eye of Milton see the glory he sang to mortals 1 TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. 7 7. You at least could teach me, Could your dear voice reach me, Where I sit and copy out for men my soul's strange speech. Whether it be bootless. Profitless, and fruitless, — The weary aching upward strife to heights we cannot reach, The fame we seek in sorrow. The agony we forego not, The haunting singing sense that makes us climb — whither we know not. 8. Must it last for ever. The passionate endeavour, Ay, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb and still aspire ? In the life you know now, Kender'd white as snow now. Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher — higher 1 8 PROLOGUE. Are you dreaming, dreaming, Is your soul still roaming. Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming ? 9. Lo, the book I hold here. In the city cold here ! I hold it with a gentle hand and love it as I may ; Lo, the weary moments ! Lo, the icy comments ! And lo, false Fortune's knife of gold swift-lifted up to slay ! Has the strife no ending ? Has the song no meaning ? Linger I, idle as of old, while men ai-e reaping or gleaning ? 10. Upward my face I turn to you, I long for you, I yearn to you, The spectral vision trances me to utt'rance wild and weak : TO DAVID IN- HEAVEN. 9 It is not that I mourn you, To mourn you were to scorn you, For you are one step nearer to the beauty singers seek. But I want, and cannot see you, I seek and cannot find you, And, see ! I touch the book of songs you tenderly left behind you ! 11. Ay, me ! I bend above it, With tearful eyes, and love it, With tender hand I touch the leaves, but cannot find you there ! Mine eyes are haunted only By that gloaming sweetly lonely. The shadows on the mossy bridge, the glamour in the air ' I touch the leaves, and only See the glory they retain not — The moon that is a lamp to Hope, who glorifies what we gain not ! 12. The achmg and the yearning. The hollow undisceming, 10 PROLOGUE. Uplooking want I still retain, darken the leaves I touch — Pale promise, with much sweetness Solemnizing incompleteness. But ah, you knew so httle then — and now you know so much ! By the vision cherish' d. By the battle braved, Have you, in heaven, shamed the song, by a loftier music, David ? 13. I, who loved and knew you. In the city that slew you, Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud-hearted and alone : Serpent-fears enfold me. Syren-visions hold me, And, like a wave, I gather strength, and gathering strength, I moan ; Yea, the pale moon beckons. Still I follow, aching. And gather strength, only to make a louder moan, in breaking ! TO DAVID IN HBAVifiB. H 14. Tho' the world could turn from you, This, at least, I learn from you : Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are worthy to be sought, The singer, upward-springing, Is grander than his singing, And'tranquU self-sufficing joy illumes the dark of thought. This, at least, you teach me. In a revelation : That gods still snatch, as worthy death, the soul in its aspiration. 15. And I think, as you thougnt, Poesy and Truth ought Never to lie silent in the singer's heart on earth ; Tho' they be discarded. Slighted, unrewarded, — Tho', unto vulgar seeming, they appear of little worth, — Yet tender brother-singers, Young or pot yet bom to us. 12 PROLOGUE. May seek there, for the singer's sake, that love which sweeteneth scorn to us ! 16. While I sit in silence, Comes from mile on mile hence, From English Keats's Roman grave, a voice that sweetens toil! Think you, no fond creatures Draw comfort from the features Of Chatterton, pale Phaethon, hurled down to sunless soil? Scorch'd with sunlight lying. Eyes of sunlight hollow. But, see ! upon the lips a gleam of the chrism of Apollo ! 17. Noble thought produces Noble ends and uses. Noble hopes are part of Hope wherever she may be. Noble thought enhances Life and all its chances, And noble self is noble song, — aU this I learn from thee ! TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. 13 And I learn, moreover, 'Mid the city's strife too, That such faint song as sweetens Death can sweeten the singer's life too ! 18. Lo, my Book ! — I hold it In weary hands, and fold it Unto my heart, if only as a token I aspire ; And, by song's assistance, Unto your dim distance. My soul uplifted is on wings, and beckon'd higher, nigher. By the sweeter wisdom You return unspeaking. Though endless, hopeless, be the search, we exalt our souls in seeking. 19. Higher, yet, and higher. Ever nigher, ever nigher. To the glory we conceive not, let us toE and strive and strain !— 14 PROLOGUE. The agonized yearning, Tiie imploring and the burning, Grown awfnller, intenser, at each vista we attain, And clearer, brighter, growing. Up the gulfs of heaven wander, Higher, higher yet, and higher, to the Mystery we ponder! 20. Yea, higher yet, and higher. Ever nigher, ever nigher, While men grow small by stooping and the reaper piles the grain, — Can it then be bootless, Profitless and fruitless. The weary aching upward search for what we never gain ? Is there not awaiting Eest and golden weather. Where, passionately purified, the singers may meet to- gether 1 21. Up ! higher yet, and higher, Ever nigher, ever nigher. TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. 15 Thro' voids that Milton and the rest beat still with seraph- wings ; Out thro' the great gate creeping Where God hath put his sleeping— A dewy cloud detaining not the soul that soars and sings, Up ! higher yet, and higher, Fainting nor retreating, Beyond the sun, beyond the stars, to the far bright realm of meeting ! 22. Mystery ! Passion ! To sit on earth, and fashion. What floods of music visibled may fill that fancied place ! To think, the least that singeth, Aspireth and upspringeth. May weep glad tears on Keats's breast and look in Milton's face ! When human power and failure Are equalized for ever, And the one great Light that haloes all is the passionate bright endeavour ! 16 PROLOGUE, 23. But ah, that pale moon roaming Thro' fleecy mists of gloaming, Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder' d sky, And ah, the days departed With your friendship gentle-hearted. And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, together, you and I! Is it fashion'd wisely. To help US or to blind us. That at each height we gain we turn, and behold a heaven behind us ? THE UNDERTONES. Thou Fame f wJio makest of the singer's Life, Faint with the sweetness of its own desire, A statue of Narcissus^ still and fair For evermorey and bending everTrwre Over its beauteous image mirrored In the swift cv/rrent of our human days, Stemally in act to clasp and kiss ! Fame, teach thou tJiisJlesh and blood to love Some beauteous counterpart, and while it bends, Tremvlously gazing on tlie imcLge, blow Thy trump aloud, and freeze it into stone t THE UNDERTONES. PROTEUS ; OK, A PEELTTDB. 1. Into the living elements of things I, Proteus, mingle, seeking strange disguise : I track the Sun-god on an eagle's wings. Or look at horror thro' a murderer's. eyes, In shape of homed beast my shadow glides Among broad-leaved flowers that blow 'neath Afrio tides. 2. Lo ! I was stirring in the leaves that shaded The Garden where the Man and Woman smiled : o 2 20 THE UNDEETONES. I saw them .ater, raimentless, degraded, The apple soui- upon their tongues ; beguiled By the sweet wildness of the Woman's tears, I dropt in dew upon her lips, and stole Under her heart, a stirring human Soul, The blood within her tingling in mine ears ; And as I lay, I heard a voice that cried " Lo, Proteus, the unborn, shall wake to be Heir of the Woman's sorrow, yet a guide Conducting back to immortality — The spirit of the leaves of Paradise Shall lift him upward, to aspire and rise ! " Then sudden, I was conscious that I lay Under a heaven that gleam'd afar away : — I heard the Man and Woman weeping, The green leaves rustling, and the Serpent creeping, The roar of beasts, the song of birds, the chime Of elements in sudden strife sublime, And overhead I saw the starry Tree, Eternity, Put forth the blossom Time. PROTEUS. 21 3. A wiud of ancient prophecy swept down, And wither'd up my beauty — where I lay On Paris' bosom, in the Trojan town ; Troy vanish'd, and I wander'd far away, — Till, lying on a Virgin's breast, I gazed Thro' infant eyes, and saw, as in a dream, ♦ The great god Pan whom I had raised and praised, Float huge, unsinew'd, down a mighty stream. With leaves and lilies heap'd about his head, And a weird music hemming him around, While, dropping from his nerveless fingers dead, A brazen sceptre plunged with hollow sound • A trackless Ocean wrinkling tempest-wing'd Open'd its darkness for the clay unking'd : Moreover, as he floated on at rest. With lips that flutter'd still in act to speak. An eagle, swooping down upon his breast, Pick'd at his songless lips with golden beak. i. There was a sound of fear and lamentation. The forests wail'd, the stars and moon grew pale, 22 THE UNDERTONES. The air grew cloudy with the desolation Of gods that fell from realmless thrones like hail ; But as I gazed, the great God Pan awaking, Lookt in the Infant's happy eyes and smiled, And smiling died ; and like a sunbeam breaking From greenwood olden, rose a presence mild In exhalatioh'*from the clay, and stole Around the Infant in an auriole — When, gladden'd by the glory of the child, Dawn gleam'd from pole to pole. 5. And, lo ! a shape with pallid smile divine Wander'd in Palestine ; And Adam's might was stately in his eyes. And Eve's wan sweetness glimmer'd on his cheek, And when he open'd heavenly lips to speak, I heard, disturbing Pilate into sighs. The rustle of those leaves in Paradise ! Then all was dark, the earth, and air, and sky, The sky was troubled and the earth was shaken. Beasts shriek' d, men shouted, and there came a cry— "My God, I am forsaken !" PROTEUS. 23 But even then, I smiled amid my tears, And saw in vision, down the future years, What time the cry still rung in heaven's dark dome, The likeness of his smile ineffable, Serenely dwell On Kaphael, sunn'd by popes and kings at Rome, And Dante, singing in his Tuscan cell ! 6. But sudden, from the vapours of the north. Ice-bearded, snowy-visaged. Strength bm'st forth, Brandishing arms in death ; 'Twas Ades, frighted from his seat in Hell By that pale smile of peace ineffable. That with a sunny life-producing breath. Wreathed summer round the foreheads of the Dead, And troubled Hell's weird silence into joy. And with a voice that rent the pole he said, " Lo, I am Thor, the mighty to destroy ! " The accents ran to water on his mouth. The pole was kindled to a fiery glow, A breath of summer floated from the south And melted him like snow. 24 THE UNDERTONES. 7. • Yea thus, thro' change on change, Haunted for ever by the leafy sound That sigh'd the Woman and the Man around, I, Proteus, range. A weary quest, a power to cHmb and soar. Yet never quit Ufa's bitterness and starkness, A groping for God's hand amid the darkness, The day behind me and the night before, This is my task for evermore ! I am the shadow of the inspiration Breath'd on the Man ; I am the sense alone, That, generation upon generation. Empowers the sinful Woman to atone By giving angels to the grave and weeping Because she knows not whither they are going ; I am the strife awake, the terror sleeping. The sorrow ever ebbing, ever flowing. Mine are the mighty names of power and worth The seekers of the vision that hath fled, I bear the Infant's smile about the earth. And put the Cross on the aspirant's head, PROTEUS. 25 I am the peace on holy men who die, I waft as sacrifice their fleeting breath — I am the change that is not change, for I Am deathless, being Death. 8. For, evermore I grow Wiser, with hilmbler power to feel and know ; For, in the end I, Proteus, shall" cast All wondrous shapes aside but one alone, And stand (while round about me in the Vast Earth, Sun, Stars, Moon, as snowflakes melt at last,) A Skeleton that, shadow'd by the Tree, Eternity, Holds in his hands the blossom Time full blown, And kneels before a Throne. 11, ADES, KING OF HELL. 1. Beneath the caves where sunless loam Grows dim and reddens into gold ; 'Neath the fat earth-seams, where the cold Rains thicken to the flowery foam Fringing blue streams in summer zones ; Beneath the spheres where dead men's bones Change darkly thro' slow centuries to marl and glittering stones ; — 2. Orb'd in that ray less realm, alone, Far from the realm of sun and shower, A palpable god with godlike power, I, Ades, dwelt upon a throne ; ADES, KING OF HELL. 27 Much darkness did my eyelids tire ; But thro' my veins the hid Sun's fire Communicated impulse, hope, thought, passion, and desire. 3. Eternities of lonely reign, FuU of faint dreams of day and night And the white glamour of starry light. Oppress' d my patience into paiu ; Upward I sent a voice of prayer That made a horror in the air : And " Ades craves a queen, Zeus ! " shook heaven unaware. 4. The gods stopt short in full carouse, And listen' d. On the streams of Hell The whole effulgent conclave fell As in a glass. With soft-arch'd brows. And wings of dewy-tinctured dye, Moist Iris listen'd blushingly ; And Herg sought the soul of Zeus with coldly eager eye. 28 THE UNDERTONES. 5. Theu the clear hyaline grew cold And dim before the Father's face ; Gray meditation clothed the place ; And rising up Zeus cried, " Behold ! " — And on Olumpos' crystal wall A kingly phantom cloudy and tall, Throned, sceptred, crown'd, was darkly apparition'd at the calL " Behold him ! " Zeus the Father cried. With voice that shook my throne forlorn : Pale Hermes curl'd his lips in scorn. And Iris drew her bow aside ; Artemis paled and did not speak ; Sheer fear flush'd Aphrodite's cheek ; And only owl-eyed Pallas look'd with pitying smile and meek. 7. A weary night thro' earth and air The shadow of my longing spread, ADES, KING OP HELL. 29 And not a goddess answered. All nature darken'd at my prayer ; Which darkness earth and air did shroud, No star rain'd light, but, pale and proud. With blue-edged sickle Artemis out her slow path thro' cloud. 8. And when the weary dark was done, Beyond my sphere of realm upsprang, With smile that beam'd and harp that sang, Apollo piloting the Sun ; And conscious of him shining o'er, I watch'd my black and watery floor Wherein the wondrous upper-world is mirror'd evermore. 9. When lo, there murmur' d on my brain. Like sound of distant waves, a sound That did my godlike sense confound And kiss'd my eyelids down in pain ; And far above I heard the beat Of musically falling feet, Hurl'd by the echoes of the earth down to my brazen seat. 30 THE UNDERTONES. 10, And I was 'ware that overhead Walk'd one whose very motion sent A sweet immortal wonderment Thro' the deep dwellings of the Dead, And flush'd the seams of cavern and mine To gleams of gold and diamond shine, And made the misty dews shoot up to kiss her feet divine, 11. By Zeus, the beat of those soft feet Thrill'd to the very roots of Hell, Troubling the mournful streams that fell Like snakes from out my brazen seat : Faint music reaoh'd me strange and slow, My conscious Throne gleam'd pale as snow, A beauteous vision vaguely fiU'd the dusky glass below. — 12. When I beheld in that dark glass The phantom of a lonely maid, ADES, KING OF HELL. 81 Who gather'd flowers in a green glade Knee-deep in dewy meadow-grass, And on a riverside. Behold, The sun that robed her round with gold, Mirror'd beneath me raylessly, loom'd white and roun'd and cold. 13. Soft yeUow hair that curl'd and clang Throbbed to her feet in softest showers^ And as she went she gather'd flowers, And as she gather'd flowers she sang : It floated down my sulphurous eaves, That melody of flowers and leaves. Of vineyards, gushing purple wines, and yellow slanted sheaves. 14. Darkling I mutter'd, " It were choice Proudly to thi-one in solemn cheer So fair a queen, and evei« to hear Such song from so^ divine a voice ! " 32 THE UNDERTONES. And with the wish I upward breatlied A mist of fire that swiftly seethed Thro' shuddering earth-seams overhead, and round her warm knees wreathed. 15. Whereon the caves of precious stones Grew bright as moonlight thrown on death, And red gold brighten' d, and the breath Drew greenness moist from fleshless bones ; And every cave was murmuring : " River, cease to flow and sing, And bear the tall bride on thy banks to the footstool of thy king ! " 16. Then writhed the roots of forest trees In tortuous fear, till tremblingly Green leaves quaked round her. A sharp cry Went upward from the Oreades ; Low murmurs woke in bower and cave, With diapason iji the wave : The River eddied darkly round, obeying as a slave. ADES, KING OF HELL. 33- 17. Half stooping downward, while she held A flower in loosening fingers light ; The quick pink fading from the white Upon her cheek ; with eyes that welled Dark pansy thoughts from veins that dart Like restless snakes round the honied heart, And balmy breath that mildly blew her rose-red lips apart., — 18. She listen' d — stately, yet dismay'd ; And dimly conscious of some change That made the whispering place seem strange And awful, far from human aid ; And as the moaning Stream grew near, And whirl'd unto her with eddies clear, She saw my shadow in his waves and shrank away in fear. 19. Small River, flowing with summer souna. Strong River, solemn Ades' slave. Flow unto her with gentle wave, And make an isle, and hem her round." 34 THE UNDEBTONES. The River, sad with gentle worth, Felt backward to that cave of earth Where, troubled with my crimson eyes, he shudder'd into birth. 20. Him saw she trembling ; but unseen, Under long sedges lily-strew' d, Round creeping roots of underwood. Low down beneath the grasses green Whereon she waited wondering-eyed, My servant slid with stealthy tide : — Then like a fountain bubbled up and foam'd on either side. 21. And shrinking back she gazed in fear On his wild hair, and lo, an isle — Around whose brim waves rose the while She cried, " mother Ceres, hear ! " Then sprang she wildly to and fro, WUder than rain and white as snow. " honour'd R,iver, grasp thy prize, and to the footstool flow!" ADES, KING OF HELL. 35 22. One swift sunbeam with sickly flare On white arms waving high did gleam, What time she shriek' d, and the strong Stream Leapt up and grasp'd her by the hair. And all was dark. With wild heads bow'd The forests murmur' d, and black cloud Split speumy on the mountain tops with fire and portent loud! 23. Then all was still as the Abyss, Save for the dark and bubbling water, And the far voice. " Bear Ceres' daughter Unto the kingly feet of Dis ! " Wherefore I rose upon my throne, And smote my kingdom's roof of stone ; Earth moan'd to her deep fiery roots — Hell answer'd with a groan. 24. When swiftly waving sulphurous wings The Darkness brooded down in fear Sa THE UKDEETONES. To listen. I, afar, could hear The coming River's murmurings ; My god-like eyes with flash of flame Peer'd up the chasm. As if in shame Of his slave-deed, darkly and slow, my trembling servant came. 25, The gentleness of summer light, This Stream, my honour'd slave, possessed : The blue flowers mirror' d in his breast, And the meek lamps that sweeten night, Had made his heart too mild to bear With other than a gentle cai-e. And slow sad solemn pace, a load so violet-eyed and fair i 26. Him saw I, as, thro' looming rocks, He glimmer'd like a serpent gray Whose moist coils hiss ; then, far away, Lo the dim gleam of golden locks, Lo a far gleam of glinting gold, Floating in many a throbbing fold, What time soft ripples panted dark on queenly eyelids cold. ADES, KING OF HELL. 37 27. Silently, with obeisance meet, In gentle arms escorting well The partner of eternal Hell, Thus flow'd, not halting, to my feet The gracious Eiver with his load : Her with dark arm-sweep he bestow'd On my great footstool — then again, with sharp shriek, upward flow'd. 28. So fair, so fair, so strangely fair. Dark from the waters lay my loye ; And lo, I, Ades, stoop'd above, And shuddering touch'd the yellow hair That made my beaded eyeballs close — Awful as sunshine. Cold as snows. Pale-faced, dank-lidded, proud,, she lay in wonderful repose. 29. And all the lesser Thrones that rise Around me, shook With murmurous breath. 38 THE UNDBETONBS. Their Kings shook off eternal death, And with a million fiery eyes Glared red above, below, around, And saw me stooping fiery-crown'd ; And the white faces of the damn'd arose withont a sound. 30. As if au awful sunbeam, rife With hviug glory, pierced the gloom, Bringing to spirits blind with doom The summers of forgotten life, — Those pallid faces, mad and stern, Rose up in foam, and each in turn RoU'd downward, as a white wave breaks, and seem'd to plead and yearn. 31. What time this horror loom'd beyond. Her soul was troubled into sighs : Stooping, throned, crown'd, I touch'd her eyes With dim and ceremonial wand ; ADES, KING OP HELL. 39 And looking up, she saw and knew . An awful love whioli did subdue Ttself to her bright comeliness and gave her greeting due ! 32. " Welcome ! " — The rocks and chasms and caves, The million thrones and their black kings, The very snakes and creeping things, The very damn'd within the waves, Groan'd " welcome ; " and she heard — with light Fingers that writhed in tresses bright, — But when I touch'd her to the soul, she slowly rose her height. While shadows of a reign eteme Quench'd the fine glint in her yellow hair. She rose erect more hugely fair, And, dark'ning to a queenhood stem. She gazed into mine eyes and thence Drew black and subtle inference, Subliming the black godhead there with sunnier, sweeter sense. id THE UNDERTONES. 34. Low at her feet, huge Cerberus Crouch'd groaning,* but with royal look She stooping silenced him, and took The throne sublime and perilous That rose to hold her and upstream'd Vaporous fire : the dark void scream'd. The pale Eumenides made moan, with eyes and teeth thai gleam' d. 35. Behold, she sits beside me now, A weighty sorrow in her mien. Yet gracious to her woes — a queen ; The sunny locks about her brow Shadow'd to godhead solemn, meet ; Throned, queen'd ; but round about her feet, Sweeten'd by gentle grass and flowers, the brackish waves grow sweet. And surely, when the min-or dun Beneath me min-ors yellowing leaves, ADBS, KING OF HELL. 41 And reapers blading golden sheaves, And vineyards purple in the sun, When fulness fills the plenteous year Of the bright upper-world, I hear The voice among the harvest-fields that mourns a daughter dear. 37. " Lo, Ceres mourns the bride of Dis," The old Earth moans, and rocks and hills, " Persephon6 ; " sad radiance fills The dripping horn of Artemis, Silverly shaken in the sky ; And a great frost-wind rushing by — " Ceres wUl rob the eyes of HeU when seed-time draweth nigh." 38. And in the seed-time after snow, Down the long caves, in soft distress, Dry corn-blades tangled in her dress, The weary goddess wanders slow — The million eyes of Hell are bent On my strange queen in wonderment, — The ghost of Iris gleams across my waters impotent ! 42 THE TJNDEETONES. 39. And the sweet Bow bends mild and bland O'er rainy meadows near the light, When fading far along the night They wander upward hand-in-hand ; And like a phantom I remain, Chain'd to a throne in lonely reign. Till, sweet with greenness, moonlight-kiss' d, she wanders back again. 40. But when afar thro' rifts of gold And caverns steep'd in fog complete, I hear the beat of her soft feet, My kingdom totters as of old ; And, conscious of her sweeter worth, Her godhead of serener birth, HeU, breathing fire thro' flowers and leaves, feels to the upper-earth. III. PAN. It is not well, ye gods, it is not well ! Yea, hear me grumble — ^rouse, ye sleepers, rouse Upon thick-carpeted Olumpos' top — Nor, faintly hearing, murmur in your sloth " 'Tis but the voice of Pan the malcontent ! " Shake the sleek sunshine from ambrosial locks. Vouchsafe a sleepy glance at the far earth That underneath ye wrinkles dim with cloud, And smile, and sleep again ! Me, when at iirst The deep Vast mvu-mur'd, and Eternity Gave forth a hollow sound while from its voids Ye blossom'd thick as flowers, and by the light Beheld yourselves eternal and divine, — Mb, underneath the darkness visible 44 THE UNDERTONES. And calm as ocean when the cold Moon smoothes The palpitating waves without a sound, — Me, ye saw sleeping in a dream, white-hair' d. Low-lidded, gentle, aged, and like the shade Of the eternal self-unconsciousness Out of whose law te had awaken'd — gods Fair-statured, self-apparent, marvellous, Dove-eyed, and inconceivably divine. Over the ledges of high mountains, thro' Tlie fulgent streams of dawn, soft-piUowed On downy clouds that swam in reddening streaks Like milk wherein a crimson wine-drop melts. And far beyond the dark of vague low lands, Uprose Apollo, shaking from his locks Ambrosial dews, and making as he rose A murmur such as west winds weave in June. Wherefore the darkness in whose depth I sat Wonder'd : thro' newly-woven boughs, the light Crept onward to mine eyelids unaware. And fluttering o'er my wrinkled length of limb Like tremulous butterflies above a snake, Disturb'd me, — and I stirr'd, and open'd eyes, PAN. 45 Then lifted up my eyes to see the light, And saw the light, and, seeing not myself, Smiled ! Thereupon, ye gods, the woods and lawns Grew populously glad with living things. A rod of stone beneath my heel grew bright, Writhing to life, and hissing drew swift coils O'er the upspringing grass ; above my head A birch unbound her silver-shimmering hair, Brightening to the notes of numerous birds ; And far dim mountains hoUow'd out themselves To give forth streams, till down the mountain-sides The loosen'd streams ran flowing. Then a voice Came from the darkness as it roU'd away Under Apollo's sunshine-sandall'd foot> And the vague voice shriek'd " Pan ! " and woods and streams, Sky-kissing mountains and the courteous vales, Cried " Pan ! " and earth's reverberating roots Gave forth an answer, " Pan ! " and stooping down His fiery eyes to scorch me from my trance, Unto the ravishment of his soft lyre " Pan ! " sang Apollo : when the wide world heard. J6 THE UNDERTONES. Brightening brightlier, till thro' murmurous leaves Pale wood-nymphs peep'd around me whispering " Pan ! " And sweeter faces floated in the stream That gurgled to my ankle, whispering " Pan ! " And, clinging to the azure gown of air That floated earthward dropping scented dews, A hundred lesser spirits panted " Pan ! " And, far along an opening forest-glade, Beating a green lawn with alternate feet, " Pan ! " cried the satyrs leaping. Then all sounds Were hush'd for coming of a sweeter sound ; And rising up, with outstretch'd arms, I, Pan, Look'd eastward, saw, and knew myself a god. It was not well, ye gods, it was not well ! Star-guiders, cloud-compellers — ^ye who stretch Ambrosia-dripping limbs, great-statured, bright, Silken and fair-proportion'd, in a place Thick-carpeted with grass as soft as sleep ; Who with mild glorious eyes of liquid depth Subdue to perfect peace and calm eterne The mists and vapom-s of the nether-world, That curl up dimly from the nether-world PAN. 47 And mate a roseate mist wherein ye lie Soft-lidded, broad-foreheaded, stretoh'd supine In awful contemplations — ye great gods, Who meditate your souls and find them fair — Ye heu-s of odorous rest — it was not well ! — For, with Apollo sheer above, I, Pan, In whom a gracious godhead lived and moved, Eose, glorious-hearted, and look'd down ; and lo, Goat-legs, goat-thighs, goat-feet, uncouth and rude, And, higher, the breast and bowels of a beast. Huge thews and twisted sinews swoU'n like cords, And thick integument of bark-brown skin — A hideous apparition masculine ! But in my veins a new and natural youth, In my great veins a music as of boughs When the cool aspen-fingers of the Rain Feel for the eyehds of the earth in spring. In every vein quick life ; within my soul The meekness of some sweet eternity Forgot ; and in mine eyes soft violet-thoughts That widen'd in the eyeball to the light. And peep'd, and trembled chilly back to the soul Like leaves of violets closing. 48 THE UNDERTONES. By my lawns, My honey-flowing rivers, by my woods Grape-growing, by my mountains down whose sides The slow flocks thread like silver streams at eve. By the deep comfort in the eyes of Zeus When the soft murmur of my peaceful dales Blows like a gust of perfume on his cheek. There where he reigns, cloud-shrouded — by meek lives That smoothe themselves like wings of doves and brood Over immortal themes for love of me — I swear it was not weE. Ay, ay, ye smile ;— Ye hear me, garrulous, and turn again To contemplation of the slothful clouds That curtain ye for sweetness. Hear me, gods ! Not the ineffable stars that interlace The azure panoply of Zeus himself. Have surer sweetness than my hyacinths When they grow blue iu gazing on blue heaven. Than the white lilies of my rivers when In leafy spring Selene's silver horn Spills paleness, peace, and fragrance. — And for these. For aU the sensible or senseless things PAN. Which swell the sounds and sights of earth and air, I snatch some glory which of right belongs To ye whom I revile : ay, and for these, F or all the sensible or senseless things Which swell the sounds and sights of earth and air, I will snatch fresher glory, fresher joy, Bobbing your rights in heaven day by day, Till from my dispensation ye remove Darkness, and drought that parches thirsty skins. The stinging alchemy of frost, the agues That rack me in the season of wet winds — Till, bit by bit, my bestial nether-man Peels oflF like bark, my green old age shoots up Godhead apparent, and I know myself Fair — as becomes a god ! Ay, I shall do ! Not I alone am something garrulous, gods ! But the broad-bosom'd earth, whose countless young Moan " Pan ! " most piteously when ye frown In tempests, or when Thunder, waving wings. Groans crouching from your lightning spears, and then Springs at your lofty silence with a shriek ! Not I alone, low horror masculine, 49 50 THE UNDERTONES. But earthquake-shaken hills, the dewy dales, Blue rivers as they flow, and boughs of trees, Yea, monsters, and the purblind race of men. Grow garrulous of your higher glory, gods ; Yearning unto it moan my name aloud, Climbing unto it shriek or whisper " Pan ! " Till from the far-off verdurous depths, from deep Impenetrable woods whose wondrous roots Blacken to coal or redden into gold, I, stirring in this antient dream of mine. Make answer — and they hear. In Arcady I, sick of mine own envy, hollow' d out A valley, green and deep ; then pouring forth From the great hollow of my hand a stream Sweeter than honey, bade it wander on In blue and oily lapse to the far sea. Upon its banks grew flowers as thick as grass. Gum-dropping poplars and the purple vine. Slim willows dusty like the thighs of bees. And, further, stalks of corn and wheat and flax, And, even further, on the mountain sides White sheep and new-yean'd lambs, and in the midst Mild-featured shepherds piping. Was not this An image of your grander ease, gods 1 A faint sweet picture of your bliss, gods 1 They thank'd me, those sweet shepherds, with the smoke Of crimson sacrifice of lambkins slain, Rich spices, succulent herbs that savour meats ; And when they came upon me ere aware, Walk'd sudden on my presence where I piped By rivers lorn my mournful ditties old, Cried " Pan ! " and worshipp'd. Yet it was not well. Ye gods, it was not well, that I, who gave The harvest to these men, and with my breath Thicken' d the wool upon the backs of sheep, I, Pan, should in these purblind mortal forms Witness a loveliness more gently fair. Nearer to your dim loveUness, gods ! Than my immortal wood-pervading self, — Carelessly blown on by the rosy Hours, Who breathe quick breath and smile before they die — Goat-footed, horn'd, a monster — ^yet a god. By wanton Aphrodite's velvet limbs, I swear, ye amorous gods, it was not well ! — 52 THE DNDBETONES. Down the long vale of Arcady I chased A wood-nymph, tinapparell'd and white-limb'd, From gleaming shoulder unto foot a curve Delicious, like the bow of Artemis : A gleam of dewy moonlight on her limbs ; Within her veins a motion as of waves Moon-led and silver-crested to the moon ; And in her heart a sweetness such as fills Uplooking maidens when the virgin orb Witches warm bosoms into snows, and gives The coloiirable chastity of flowers To the tumultuous senses curl'd within. Her^ after summer noon, what time her foot Startled with moonlight motion milk-blue stalks Of hyacinths in a dim forest glade, — Her saw I, and, uplifting eager arms, I rush'd around her as a rush of boughs. My touch thrill'd thro' her, she beheld my face. And like a gnat it stung her, and she fled. Down the green glade, along the verdurous shade, She screaming fled and I pursued behind : By Zeus, it was as though the forest moved PAN. 53 Behind her, following ; and with shooting boughs, And bristling arms and stems, and murmurous leayes, It eddied after her — my underwood Of bramble and the yellow-blossom'd furze Flung its thick growth around her waist, my trees Dropt thorns before her, and my growing grass Put forth its green and sappy oils and slid Under her feet ; untU, with streaming hair Like ravell'd sunshine torn 'mid scars and cliffs, Pale, breathless, and long-throated like a swan. With tongue that panted 'tween the foamy lips As the red arrow in a tuhp's cup. She, coming swiftly on the river-side, Into the circle of a sedgy pool Plunged knee-deep, shrieking. Then I, thrusting arms To grasp her, touch'd her with hot hands that clung Like burrs to the soft skin ; while, writhing down Even as a fountain lessens gurglingly. She cried to Artemis, " Artemis, Artemis, Sweet goddess, Artemis, aid me, Artemis ! " And o'er the laurels on the river-side. Dark and low-fluttering. Daphne's hidden soul Breathed fearful hoar-frost, echoing "Artemis" ; 54 THE UNDERTONES. When lo, above the sandy sunset rose The silver sickle of the green-gown'd witch, Which flicker'd thrice into a pallid orb, And thrice flash' d white across the forest leaves, And — ^lo, the change ye wot of : melting limbs Black'ning to oosy sap of reeds, white hands Waving aloft and putting forth green shoots. The faint breath-bubbles circling in a pool, Last, the sharp voice's murmur dying away In the low lapping of the rippling pool, The melancholy motion of the pool. And the faint imdertone of whispering reeds. By Latmos and its shepherd, was it well ? By smooth-chin'd Syrinx, was it well, gods ? Yet mark. What time the pallid sickle wax'd Blue-edged and Imninous o'er the black'ning west, I, looming hideous in the smooth pool, stooped And pluck'd seven wondrous pipes of brittle reeds Wherein the wood-nymph's soul still fiutter'd faint ; And these seven pipes I shaped to one, wherein I, Pan, with ancient and dejected head Nodding above its image in the pool, PAN. 55 And large limbs stretch'd their length on shadowy banks, Did breathe such weird and awful ravishment, Such symmetry of sadness and sweet sound, Such murmurs of deep boughs and hollow cells, > That neither bright Apollo's hair-strung lute, Nor Here's queenly tongue when her red lips Flutter to intercession of love-thoughts Throned in the counsel-keeping eyes of Zeus, Nor airs from heaven, blow sweetlier. Hear me, gods ! Behind her veil of azure, Artemis Turn'd pale and listen' d ; mountains, woods, and streams. And every mute and living thing therein, MarveU'd, and hush'd themselves to hear the end — Yea, far away, the fringe of the green sea Caught the faint sound and with a deeper moan Rounded the pebbles on the shadowy shore. Whence, in the season of the pensive eve. The earth plumes down her weary, weary wings ; The Hours, each frozen in his mazy dance. Look scared upon the stars and seem to stand Stone-still, like chisell'd angels mocking Time ; And woods and streams and mountains, beasts and birds. And serious hearts of purblind men, ^e hush'd ; gg THE UNDEETONES. While music sweeter far than any dream Floats from the far-off silence, where I sit Wondrously wov'n about with forest boughs — Through which the moon peeps faintly, on whose leaves The unseen stars sprinkle a diamond dew — And shadow' d in some water that not flows, But, pausing, spreads dark waves as smooth as oil To listen ! Am I over-garrulous, gods ? Thou pale-faced witch, green-kirtled, — thou whose light Troubles the beardless shepherd where he sleeps On Latmos, — am I over-garrulous? Nay, then, pale huntress of my groves, I swear The lily and the primrose 'neath thy heel Savour as fair as thee, as pure as thee, Drinking the lucid glamour of thy speed ; And on the cheeks of marriageable maids Dwelleth a pallor enviably sweet, Sweet as thy sweetest self, yet robb'd from thee. Snow-bosom'd lady, art thou proud 1 — Then hark . . When last in the cool quiet of the night Thou glimmeredst dimly down with thy white nymphs, And brush'd these dewy lawns with buskin'd foot. PAN. 57 I, Pan the scom'd, into an oak-tree crept, And holding between thumb and finger — thus — A tiny acorn, dropt it cunningly In the small nest beneath thy snow-heap'd breasts. And thou didst pause in tumult, cried aloud. Then redden'd like a rose from breast to brow, Sharp-crimson like a rose from breast to brow, And trembled, aspen-hearted, timorous As new-yean'd lambs, and with a young doe's cry Startled amazed, from thine own tremulous shade Faint-mirror'd in the dark and dewy lawn ! Ha, turn your mild grand eyes, gods, and hear ! Why do I murmur darkly, do ye ask ? What do I seek for, yearn for?— Why, not much. I would be milky-limb'd and straight and tall And pleasant-featured, like Apollo there ! I would be lithe and fair as Hermes is ; And, with that glittering sheath of god-like form. Trust me, coidd find for it a wit as keen As that which long ago did prick and pain The thin skin of the Sun-god. I would be Grand and fine-statured as becomes a god. 58 THE UNDERTONES. A sight divine conceived harmoniously, A stately incarnation of my sweet Pipings in lonely places. There's the worm ! Ay, ay, the mood is on me — I am aged, White-bearded, and my very lifted hands Shake garrulously — and ye hear, and smile. By the faint undertone of this blind Earth, Swooning towards the pathway of the Sun With flowery pulses, leafy veins, whene'er She hears in intercession of new births My voice miraculous melancholy old, — I swear not I alone, a sensible god. Shall keep these misproportions, worse than beast's ; While woods and streams, and all that dwell therein, And merest flowers, and the starr'd coils of snakes, Yea, purblind mortal men, inhale from heaven Such dews as give them heavenly seemliness, Communicably lovely as the shapes That doze on high Olumpos. Is it well? Ye who compel the very clouds to forms Beauteous and purely beauteous, ere my rain PAN. Rends their -white vestments into flowers to make My peaceful vales look lovely, — gods, great gods, I ask ye, is it well ? — Ye answer not. But Earth has answer' d, and all things that grow. All things that live, all things that feel or see The interchanges of the sun and moon ; A.nd with a yearning palpable and dumb, Yet conscious of some glory yet unborn, Of unfulfilled mysteries, I, Pan, Prophesy. In the time to come, — in years Across whose vast I wearily impel These antient, blear'd, and humble-lidded eyes, — Some law more strong than I, yet part of me, Some power more piteous, yet a part of me, Shall hurl ye from Olumpos to the depths, And bruise ye back to that great darkness whence Ye blossom'd thick as flowers ; while I — I, Pan — The antient haunting shadow of dim earths, Shall slough this form of beast, this wrinkled length. Yea, cast it from my feet as one who shakes A worthless garment ofi' ; and lo, beneath, Mild-featured manhood, manhood eminent, .fig 60 THE UNDERTONES. Subdued into the glory of a god, Sheer harmony of body and of soul, Wondrous, and inconceivably divine. Wherefore, ye gods, with this my prophecy I sadden those sweet sounds I pipe unseen. From dimly lonely places float the sounds To haunt the regions of the homeless air, Whatever changeful season ye vouchsafe To all broad worlds which, hearing, whisper, " Pan ! " And thence they reach the hearts of lonely men, Who wearily bear the burthen and are pain'd To utterance of fond prophetic song, Who singing smile, because the song is sweet, Who die, because they cannot sing the end. It is my care to keep the graves of such Thick-strewn and deep with grass and precious flowers Such as ye slumber on ; and to those graves. In sable vestments, ever comes the ghost Of my forgot and dumb eternity, Mnemosyne ; but what she broods on there I know not, nor can any wholly know, PAN. 61 Mortal or god. The seasons come and go, In their due season perish rocks and trees, In their due season are the streams drain'd dry ; Earth dumbly changes, and those lonely men, . Less blind than purblind mortals, sing and die ; But still, with hooded and dejected head. Above those graves ponders Mnemosyne ; While I remain to pipe my ditties old, And my new prophecy, in antient woods And by the margins of unfortunate pools, — ■ My wondrous music dying afar away Upon the fringes of the setting sun. IV. THE NAIAD. 1. DiAN whlte-arm'd has given me this cool shrine. Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine : The silver- sparkling showers That hive me in, the flowers That prink my fountain's brim, are hers and mine ; And when the days are mild and fair, And grass is springing, buds are blowing, Sweet it is, 'mid waters flowing, Here to sit, and know no care, 'Mid the waters flowing, flowing, flowing, Combing my yellow, yellow hair. 2. The ounce and panther down the mountain-side Creep thro' dark greenness in the eventide ; THE NAIAD. 63 And at the fountain's brink Casting great shades they drink, Gazing upon me, tame and sapphire-eyed ; For, awed by my pale face, whose light Gleameth thro' sedge and lilies yellow. They, lapping at my fountain mellow, Harm not the lamb that in affright Throws in the pool so mellow, mellow, mellow, Its shadow small and dusky-white. 3. Oft do the fauns and satyrs, flusht with play, Come to my coolness in the hot noon-day. Nay, once indeed, I vow By Dian's truthful brow. The great god Pan himself did pass this way. And, all in festal oak-leaves clad. His limbs among these lilies throwing, Watch'd the silver waters flowing, Listen'd to their music glad. Saw and heard them flowing, flowing, flowing. And ah ! his face was worn and sad ! 64, THE DNDERTONES. 4. Mild joys around like silvery waters fall ; But it is sweetest, sweetest far of all, In the calm summer night, AVhen the tree-tops look white, To be exhaled in dew at Dian's call, Among my sister-clouds to move Over the darkness earth-bedimming, Milky-robed thro' heaven swimming. Floating round the stars above, Swimming proudly, swimming, proudly swimming, And waiting on the Moon I love. 5. So tenderly I keep this cool green shrine, Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine ; Faithful thro' shade and sun, That service due and done May haply earn for me a place divine Among the white-robed deities That thread thro' starry paths, attending THE NAIAD. 65 My sweet Lady, calmly wending Thro' the silence of the skies, Changing in hues of beauty never ending, Drinking the light of Dian's eyes. T. THE SATYR. 1. The trunk of this tree, Dusky-leaved, shaggy-rooted Is a pillow well suited To a hybrid like me, Goat-bearded, goat-footed ; For the boughs of the glade Meet above me, and throw A cool pleasant shade On the greenness below ; Dusky and brown' d Close the leaves all around ; And yet, all the while, Thro' the boughs I can see A star, with a smile. Looking at me. THE SATYR. C7 2. Full length I lie, On this mossy tree-knot. With face to the sky, The vast blue I see not; And I start in surprise From my dim half-dream, With the moist white gleam Of the star in mine eyes : So strange does it seem Thau the star should beam From her crystal throne On this forest nook Of all others, and look Upon me alone : Ay, that yonder divine Soft face Should shine ■On this one place ; And, -when things so fair Fill the earth and air, Should choose to be. Night after night, F 2 THE UNDERTONES. The especial light Of a monster like me ! 3. Why, all day long, I rim about With a madcap throng, And laugh and shout. Silenus grips My ears, and strides On my shaggy hips, And up and down In an ivy crown Tipsily rides ; And when in a dose His eyelids close, Off he tumbles, and I Can his wine-skin teal, I drink — and feel The grass roll — sea-high Then with shouts and yells, Down mossy dells, I stagger after THE SATYR. 69 The ■wood-nymphs fleet, Who with mocking laughter And smiles retreat ; And just as I clasp A yielding waist, With a cry embraced, Gush ! it melts from my grasp Into water cool, And — bubble '. trouble ! Seeing doiible ! I stumble and gasp In some icy pool ! 4. All suborn me, Flout me, scorn me ! Drunken joys And cares are mine, Eomp and noise, And the dregs of wine ; And whene'er iu the night Diana glides by The spot where 1 lie, 70 THE UNDERTONES. With her maids green-diglit, I must turn my back In a rude affright, And blindly fly From her shining track ; Or if only I hear Her bright foot-fall near, Fall with face to the grass, Not breathing for fear Till I feel her pass. 5. I am — I know not what : Neither what I am, Nor what I am not — I seem to have rollick' d, And froliok'd. In this wood for ay. With a beast's delight Romping all day, Dreaming all night ! Yet I seem THE SATYB. 7X To remember awaking Just here, and aching With the last forsaking Tender gleam Of a droll strange dream. — When I lay at mine ease, With a sense at my heart Of being a part Of the grass and trees And the scented earth, And of drinking the bright Subdued sunlight With a leafy mirth : Then behold, I could see A wood-nymph peeping Out of her tree. And closer creeping. Timorously Looking at me ! And still, so still, I lay uutil She trembled close to me, Soft as a rose to me, 72 THE UNDERTONES. And I leapt with a thrill And a shout, and threw Arms around her, and press'd her, Kiss'd her, caress'd her, — Ere she scream'd, and flew. Then I was 'ware Of a power I had — To drink the air, Laugh and shout, Run about, And be consciously glad — So I follow'd the maiden 'Neath shady eaves. Thro' groves deep-laden With fruit and leaves, Till, drawing near To a brooklet clear, I shuddering fled From the monsti-ous shape There mirrored — Which seem'd to espy me, THE SATTB. 73 And grin and gape, And leap up high In the air with a cry, And fly me ! 7. Whence I seem to have slowly Grown conscious of being A thing wild, unholy, And foul to the seeing. — But ere I knew aught Of others like me, I would lie, fancy-fraught, In the greenness of thdiight. Beneath a green tree ; And seem to be deep In the scented earth-shade 'Neath the grass of the glade. In a strange half-sleep : When the wind seem'd to move me, The cool rain to kiss. The sunlight to love me. The stars in their bliss 74 THE UNDERTONES. To tingle above me ; And I crept thro' deep bowers That were sparkling with showers And sprouting for pleasure, And I quicken'd the flowers To a joy without measure — Till my sense seem'd consuming With warmth, and, upspringing, I saw the flowers blooming, And heard the birds singing ! 'WTierever I range, Thro' the greenery. That vision strange, Whatsoever it be, Is a part of me Which suffers not change. — The changes of earth, Water, air, ever-stirring, Disturb me, conferring My sadness or mirth : Wheresoever I run, THE SATYR. 75 I drink strength from the sun ; The wind stirs my veins With the leaves of the wood, The dews and the rains Mingle into my blood. I stop short In my sport, Panting, and cower, While the blue skies darken With a sunny shower ; And I lie and hearken. In a balmy pain To the tinkhng clatter, Fitter, patter, Of the rain On the leaves close to me. And sweet thrills pass Thro' and thro' me, Till I tingle like grass. When lightning with noise Tears the wood's green ceiling, When the black sky's voice Is terribly pealing. 76 THE UNDERTONES I hide me, hide me, hide me, With wild averted face, In some terror-stricken place. While flowers and trees beside me, And every streamlet near. Darken, whirl, and wonder. Above, around, and under. And murmur back the thunder In a palpitating fear ! Ay ; and when the earth turns A soft bosom of balm To the darkness that yearns Above it, and grows To dark, dewy, and calm Eepose, — I, apart from rude riot. Partake of the quiet The night is bequeathing. Lie, unseen and unheard. In the greenness just stirr'd By its own soft breathing — SATYE. 77 And m}' heart then thrills With a strange sensation Like the purl of rills Down moonlit hills That loom afar, With a sweet sensation Like the palpitation Of yonder star ! 10. Thro' yonder bough Her white ray twinkles ; And on my brow She silently sprinkles A dewy rain, That lulls my brain To a dream of being Under the ground, Blind to seeing, Deaf to sound, Drinking a dew That drops from afar, And feeling unto 78 THE UNDERTONES. The sweet pulse of a star, Who is beckoning me Though I cannot see ! And of suddenly blooming Up into the air, And, swooning, assuming The shape I wear ! While all fair things Fly night and day from me, Wave bright wings. And glimmer away from me ! 11. — She shines above me. And heareth not, Though she smiles on this spot And seems to love me. Here I lie aloof. Goat-footed, knock-kneed, A monster, indeed. From horns to hoof; And the star burns clearly With pearl-white gleam — THE SiTYB. Have I merely Dream' d a dream 1 12. — Did she hear me, I wonder 1 — She trembles upon Her throne — and is gone ! The boughs darken under, Then thrill, and are stirr'd By the notes of a bird. The green grass brightens With pearly dew, And the whole wood whitens As the dawn creeps thro'. — ■ " Hoho ! "—that shout Flung the echoes about The boughs, like balls ! Who caUs 1— 'Tis the noisy rout Of my fellows upspringmg From sleep and dreaming, To the birds' shriU singing, The day's soft beaming : 80 THE UNDERTONES. And they madly go To and fro, Thougli o' nights they are dumb. Hoho ! hoho ! I come ! I come ! Hark ! — to the cry They reply : " Ha, there, ha ! " " Hurrah ! "— " hurrah ! " And starting afraid At the cries, In the depths of the glade Echo replies — '.' Ho, there ! "— " ho, there ! "— By the stream below there The answer dies. VI. VENUS ON THE SUN-CAR 1. Tell me, thou many-finger'd Frost, Coming and going like a ghost In leafless woods forsaken — Frost, that o'er him lying low Drawest the garment of the snow From silver cloud-wings shaken. And round bare boughs with strange device Twinest fantastic leaves of ice — When wiU Adon waken ? Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar Beside Apollo in his car, And, far below us wreathing, 82 THE TJNDEETONES. Thy fogs and mists are duskly curl'd Eound the white slumber of the world, Like to its own deep breathing ; But crimson thro' the mist our light Foameth and ffeezeth, tiU by night Snow-bosom'd hills we fade on — The pallid god, at my desire. Gives unto thee a breath of fire To reach the lips of Adon. 2. TeU me, thou bare and wintry World, Wherein the winged flowers are curl'd Like pigmy spirits dozing — World, within whose lap he lies, With thy quick earth upon his eyes, In dim. unseen reposing, Husht underneath the wind and storm. Still rosy-lipt in darkness warm — Are Aden's eyes unclosing ? Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar Beside Apollo in his car. Thro' voids of azure soaring, VENUS ON THE SUN-OAE. 83 And gazing down on regions dead, With golden hair dishevelled, And clasped hands imploring. Wonderful creatures of the light Hover above thee, hanging bright Paint pictures glen and glade on : The pallid god, at my desire, Hideth in glimmering snows his fire, To reach the sleep of Adon. 3. TeU me, thou spirit of the Sun, Eadiant-lock'd and awful one, Strong, constant, unforsaking — Sun, by whose shadier side I sit. And search thy face, and question it. Conferring light and taking — Whose fiery westward motion throws The shadow-hours on his repose, — Is my Adon waking ? Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar Beside thee in thy flaming car. Thou ever-constant comer ! G 2 Si THE UNDERTONES. And flashing on the clouds that break Around our path thy sunbeams make A phantom of the summer. breathe upon the Moon, that she May use her magic witchery When snowy hills we fade on, That, in the dark, when thou art gone, She speed the resurrection. And stir the sleep of Adon ! 4. TeU me, silver-winged Moon, That gUdest to melodious tune Ice-sparkling skies on skies up, — Moon, that to the sunset grey. Drinking faint hght that fades away, Liftest immortal eyes up. And walking on, art thro' the night Troubled to pain by that strange light,- When will Adon rise up ? Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar Beside Apollo in his car. Imploring sign or token VENUS ON THE SUN-CAR. g5 But night by night such pale peace beams Upon his slumber, that it seems Too beauteous to be broken ! gentle goddess, be not cold — But, some dim dawn, may we behold New glory hiU and glade on. The leaves and flowers alive to bliss, And, somewhat pale with thy last kiss, The smiling face of Adon ! TIL SELENE THE MOON. 1. I HIDE myself in tlie cloud that flies From the west and drops on the hill's grey shoulder, And I gleam thro' the cloud with my panther-eyes, While the stars turn paler, the dews grow colder ; I veil my naked glory in mist, Quivering downward and dewily glistening, Till his sleep is as pale as my lips unkist, And I tremble above him, panting and listening. As white as a star, as cold as a stone, Dim as my light in a sleeping lake. With his head on his arm he Ueth alone. And I sigh " Awake ! SELENE THE MOON. 87 Wake, Endymion, wake and see ! " And he stirs in his sleep for the love of me ; But on his eyelids my breath I shake : " Endymion, Endymion ! Awaken, awaken ! " And the yellow grass stirs with the mystic moan. And the tall pines groan. And Echo sighs in her grot forsaken The name of Endymion ! A foamy dew from the Ocean old, Whence I rise with shadows behind me flying. Drops from my sandals and ghttereth cold On the long spear-grass where my love is lying ; My face is dim with departed suns. And my eyes are dark from the depths of ocean, A starry shudder throughout me runs. And my pale cloud stirs with a radiant motion. When the darkness wherein he slumbers alone Ebbs back from my brightness, as black waves break From my shining ankle with shuddering tone ; And I sigh " Awake ! 88 THE CNDERTONES. Wake, Endymion, wake and hear ! " And he stirs in his sleep with a dreainy fear, And his thin Hps part for my sweet sake : " Endymion, Endymion ! Awaken, awaken ! " . And the skies Eire moved, and a shadow is blown From the Thunderer's throne, And the speU of a voice from Olumpos shaken Echoes " Endymion ! " 3. Then under his lids like a balmy rain I put pale dreams of my heavenly glory;— And he sees me lead with a silver chain The tamed Sea-Tempest white-tooth'd and hoary ; And he sees me fading thro' forests dark Where the leopard and lion avoid me in wonder, Or ploughing the sky in a 'pearly bark, While the earth is dumb with my beauty under ! Then he brightens and yearns where he lies alone, And his heart grows dumb with a yearning ache. And the thin lips part with a wondering moan. As I sigh " Awake ! SELENE THE MOON. Wake, Endymion, wake and see All things grow bright for the love of me, With a love that grows gentle for thy sweet sake ! Endymion, Endymion ! Awaken, awaken ! " And my glory grows paler, the deep woods groan, And the waves intone. Ay, all things whereon my glory is shaken Murmur " Endymion ! " 4. Ai ! The black earth brightens, the Sea creeps near When I swim from the sunset's shadowy portal ; But he wUl not see, and he will not hear. Though to hear and see were to be immortal : Pale as a star and cold as a stone. Dim as my ghost in a sleeping lake, In an icy vision he lieth alone, And I sigh " Awake ! Wake, Endymion, wake and be Divine, divine, for the love of me ! " And my odorous breath on his lids I shake : " Endymion, Endymion ! 90 THE UNDERTONES. Awaken, awaken ! " But Zeus sitteth cold on his cloud-shrouded throne And heareth my moan, And his stern lips form not the hope-forsaken Name of Endymion. nil. IRIS THE RAINBOW. 'Mid the cloud-enshrouded haze Of Olumpos I arise, With the full and rainy gaze Of Apollo in mine eyes ; But I shade my dazzled glance With my dripping pinions white Where the sunlight sparkles dance In a many-tinctured light : My foot upon the woof Of a fleecy cloudlet small, I glimmer thro' the roof Of the paven banquet-haU, 92 THE UNDERTONES. And a soft pink radiance dips Thro' the floating mists divine, Touching eyes and cheeks and lips Of the mild-eyed gods supine, And the pinky odour roUs Round their foreheads, while I stain, With a blush like wine, the bowls Of foam-crusted porcelain : Till the whole calm place has caught A deep gleam of rosy fire — When I darken to the thought In the eyes of Zeus the Sire, 2. Then Zeus, arising, stoops O'er the ledges of the skies, Looking downward, thro' the loops Of the starry tapestries, On the evident dark plain Speck'd with wood and hill and stream. On the wrinkled tawny main Where the ships, like snowflakes, gleam ; And with finger without swerve, IRIS THE EAINBOW. Swiftly lifted, swiftly whirl'd, He draws a magic curve O'er the cirrus of the world ; When with waving wings display' d, On the Sun-god's threshold bright I upleap, and seem to &de In a humid flash of hght ; But I plunge thro' vapours dim To the dark low-lying land, And I tremble, float, and swim, On the strange curve of the Hand : From my wings, that drip, drip, drip. With cool rains, shoot jets of fire, As across green capes I slip With the thought of Zeus the Sire. 3. Thence, with drooping wings bedew' d, Folded close about my form, I alight with feet unview'd On the ledges of the storm ; For a moment, cloud-enroll'd. Mid the murm'rous rain I stand, 94 THE UNDERTONES. And with meteor eyes behold Vapoury ocean, misty land ; Till the thought of Zeus outsprings From my ripe mouth with a sigh, And unto my lips it clings Like a shining butterfly ; When I brighten, gleam, and glow And my glittering wings unfurl, And the melting colours flow To my foot of dusky pearl ; And the ocean rmle on mile Gleams thro' capes and straits and bays, And the vales and mountains snule. And the leaves are wet with rays, — While I wave the humid Bow Of my wings with flash of fire, And the Tempest, crouch'd below, Knows the thought of Zeus the Sire. IX, ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. I SAT of old beside a stream new-born From loamy loins of mountains cold, And it was garrulous of dreams forlorn And visions old : Wherefore the legends of the woods and oaves With that faint melody were blended ; And as the stream slid down to ocean-waves, I comprehended. 95 THE UNDERTONES. Into a dreary silence dim and deep I sank with drowsy sighs and nods : Then sang — my blue eyes dark and wise from sleep - The birth of gods. — A gleaming shoulder cut the stream, and lo ! I saw the glistening Naiad rise : She floated, like a lily white as snow, With half-closed eyes. And suddenly, thronging the boughs around, Came forest faces strange and glad. That droopt moist underlips and drank the sound Divinely sad. Far down the glade, where heavy shadows slept, Stole, purple-stained by the vine, Silenus, — ^thro' whose blood my music crept Like wondrous wine : ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. 97 Tiptoe, like one who fears to break a spell, He came, with eyeballs blank as glass — Not drawing breath till, at my feet, he fell Prone on the grass. Then, leaning forked chin upon his hand, lie listen'd, dead to tipsy strife, And lo ! his face grew smooth and soft and bland With purer life. Goat-footed fauns and satyrs one by one, With hmbs upon the greensward thrown, , Gather' d, and darken'd round me in the sun, Like shapes of stone : Between the sunset and the green hillside Quaint pigmy spirits linger' d bright, TiU heaven's white eyes swam dewy, opening wide To the delight, — H i THE UNDERTONES. While sunlight redden'd, dying, and below- All heark'd — like shapes upon a cup, By skied Herg, in the ambrosial glow, Held rosily up. Then twilight duskly gloam'd upon the place, FuU of sweet odour and cool shade. But music made a lamp of every face In the forest-glade : Till swiftly swam, in showers of pearly beams, iSeleng to her azure arc, Scattering silence, light, and dewy dreams On eyelids dark. The music sadden' d, and the greenwood stirr'd, The moonlight clothed us in its veil, As stooping down the dove-eyed goddess heard. Smiled, and grew pale : ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. 69 For as they listen'd, satyrs, nymphs, and fauris Conceived their immortality — Yea, the weird spirits of the woods and lawns, Gross, vile, to see — Whence her pure light disturb'd them, and they strove To shake away the sweet strange charm ; But the light brighten' d, shaken from above With pearly arm. They could not fly, they could not cry nor speak, It held them hke a hand of strength, — They hid their faces, wild, abash'd and weak, And writhed full length. The Naiad hfted up her dewy chin. And knew, and saw the light with love. Made peaceful by a purity akin To hers above. H 2 100 THE UNDERTONES. And countlesa beauteous spirits of the shade Knew their own souls and felt no fear ; While Echo, nestling in her thyme-cave, made An answer clear. Till, when I ceased to sing, the satyr-crew Rush'd back to riot and carouse ; Self-fearful ftujes blushingly withdrew Into leafy boughs ; Lastly, Silenus to his knees upcrept, Rubb'd eyelids swollen like the vine. Stared blankly round him, vow'd that he had slept, And bawl'd for wine. X. POLYPHEME'S PASSION. Ho, Silenus ! — no one here ! The kitchen empty, the flocks in stalls, The red fire flickering over the walls, And — a young kid spitted — dainty cheer ! Ho, Silenus ! — tipsy old reveller, Soft-zone-unloosener, bright-hair-disheveller. Where art thou hiding, you tipsy old hound you, With thy beard of a goat and thine eyes of a lamb 1 SILENUS. Ho, Cyclops ! POLTPHEMB. He mocks me ! Where are you, confound you 1 102 THE UNDERTONES. SILENCS. Patience, sweet master, here I am ! — ■ POLYPHEME. Rise ! or with my great fist I'll put an end to thee ; The dregs of my great flagon have been warming thee — Tliou'rt drunk, sow-ears. I find there's no reforming thee, Tho' six round moons I've tried to be a friend to thee. Once more divinely warming those old veins. Chirping like grasshoppers at every pore. Foaming as warm as milk among thy brains. Gushing like sunshine in thine heart's dry core, Runs the pink nectar of my vines. It stains. Flowing from that bald head, this grassy floor — Too sweet for earth to drink, immeet for thee, Fit only to be quaffed by gods like me ! Cyclops ! POLTPHEMB. Jump up, then, quickly. Nay, no more. Follow me to this rocky eminence. poltpheme's passion. 103 Cool-cushion'd with the yellow moss, from whence We can at ease behold The oloud-stain'd greenness of the ocean sleek, Rounding its glassy waves into the creek, Speckled with sparkling jewels manifold, And, far away, one melting patch of gold. Now, sit ! — Nay, nearer, higher — here, above My shoulder. Turn thy face to mine, Silenus ! Fear not : — being fiU'd with the sweet milk of Venus, Thou'rt a fit counsellor for one in love ; And, as I'm in a talking humour, why — Suppose we chat a little at our leisure. V\''ith pleasure ! The subject ? POLTPHEMB. One alone beneath the sky. Old man, is worthy of the conversation And serious consideration Of such a god as I ! Now, guess the name of that sweet thing ? 3 04 THE UNDERTONES. SILENTJS. With ease. Bacchus, the god to whom these aged kuees Bend gloriously impotent so often, And in whose luscious pool I dip hot mouth and eyes, and soak and soften The yoke of thy strong rule. POLTPHEME. A thing a thousand times more beautiful ! SILENUS. I know no thing more beautiful than he When, dripping odours cool. Deep-purpled, like a honey-bosom' d flower For winch the red mouth buzzes like a bee, He bursts from thy deep caverns gushingly. And throws his pleasure round him in a shower. And sparkles, sparkles, like the eyes that see, In sunshine, murmuring for very glee And bursting foamy bubbles until sour Lips tremble into moist anticipation Of his rich exultation ! POLYPHEME's passion. 106 POLYPHEMB. Has little Bacchus, whom ye praise so, power To unnerve these mighty limbs, make this one Eye Rain impotent tears, hurl this gigantic bulk Down on its stubborn knees — nay, make me skulk And fume and fret, and simper oaths, and sigh, Like tiny mortal milking-maids who sulk In dairies, frothing yellow like their cream t Could Bacchus, once let loose to fight and fly, Do all these things to sinewy Polypheme 1 Assuredly ! POLYPHEME. By this right hand, you lie ! — I am a god, gi'eat-statured, strong, and bom Out of Poseidon's nervy loins divine ! I laugh the wrath of Zeus himself to scorn ; And when I rise erect on Aetna's horn My shadow on the faint sea-hyaline Falls like a cloud wherein the winds drop still And white-wing'd ships move slowly without will. 106 THE .UNDERTONES. Shall bulk so wondrous and so grand as mine Yield to the miserable god of wine ? SILENCS, Certainly not. POLYPHEME. Never ! — by Pallas' spear. At whose sharp touch the plump god leaps and flies, While startled Revel shrieks with haggard eyes ! Never, by Hermes, whom the drunken fear, But whose quick fingers pilfer not the wise ! SILBNTTS. Whom shall we praise, Cyclops 1 POLTPHEME. Thou shalt hear — Tell me, didst thou ever see a, — Ever hear a, ever hear a, — Either far away or near, a — Nymph so sweet as Galatea ? P0LYPHEME8 PASSION. 107 SILENIJS. Never ! POLTPHBME. 'Tis false, old man ! she is not fair ; — Those weeds that under ocean rot at ease Into dark dreams o' the flowery earth, and there Put purples in the sea-nymph's sunny hair Are fairer : she is changeable as these. She is as wanton as the perfumed fays That dimple on the windless sea and dally, Musically, With the puflfd sails of ships becalm'd for days. EILENtrS. True, Cyclops, she is fickle ; and by her Whose amorous breath blew the Greek host to Troy, I have seen fairer ! POLTPHEMB. Dotard ! Driveller ! Not her the false Idalian shepherd-boy, With silken string, like a tame heifer, led — 108 THE UNDERTONES. Nay, not lush Aphrodite, whose blue eyne, Pink-lidded, smiled on their unhallow'd bed — Is half so fair, so precious, so divine, As Galatea ! SILENTJS, Exactly what I said. POLTPHEME. Her voice hath gentle sweetness, borrowed From soft tide-lispings on the pebbly sand, 'Tis like the brooding doves in junipers ; White as a shell of ocean is her hand. Wherein, like ocean sound, the pink blood stirs ! Her hair excels the fruitage of the beech Wherein the sun runs liquid gleam on gleam ; Her breasts are like two foamy bowls of cteam, A red straw-berry in the midst of each ; And the soft gold-down on her silken chin Is like the under-side of a ripe peach — A dimple dipping honeyly therein ! RILEXI7S. Her eyes — POLYPHBMES PASSION. 109 POLTPHEMB. Profane them not ! — For their sweet fire is Wondrous and various as the Bow- Drawn over rainy ledges dripping low By many-colour' d Iris — From whose bright end, plunged the dark watera under, Woven with the tapestries of her sea cave. And dying hue by hue on the green wave. They may have drunk a portion of their wonder. But oh, what tongue can tell Their glory inexpressible ? You seem to see the music of the ocean Folded within them, as within a shell, And gently stirring with a violet motion, Until it drops unto the lips, and there Flutters in perfumed accents on the air ! Nor this alone. They change as the sea changes, In hues as various as the ringdove's dyes : Whatsoever sweet and strange is Flashes across them with a quick surprise. Now, in their troubled orbs rise multiform Wild pictures of sky-tempest and sea-storm ; no THE UNDERTONES. And her wild eyes droop brightly on her breast Till it is troubled like a thing distrest ; But in their softest mood You watch the pale soul tremulously brood On those bright orbs whose fire the dark sea cools, And there it trembles, as the moonlight flows On seas just stirr'd by their own deep repose And throbbing, throbbing, into silver pools ! SILBNUS. eloquent Cyclops, pause, and breathe a space ! — Few eyes save thine, few eyes of earth, have plainly Seen this immortal Galatea's face ; For she thou lovest is of that fair race Whom mortal vision dreams of, but seeks vainly — For they comb and they comb Their yellow looks, Under the foam. Among weedy rocks ! And they sing unseen In their sea-caves green, And gaze at the white sun overhead Whose pale ray saddens their dripping curls, POLYPHEMB S PASSION. 1]1 Or the moon that glimm'ring in ocean's bed eaves her motion for ever in pools of pearls ! POLTPHEME. Chirrup not, wine-sponge ! — Am not I a god 1 Cannot this eye peer to Olumpos' helm ? Does not the great sea, trembling at my nod, Hush itself humbly around this my realm 1 It does, Cyclops ! POLYTHEME. Save, of course, when I Hurl rocks and trees down on the shuddering ships, And, while I loom above the waves, my lips Roar terrible defiance at the sky. Precisely. POLTPHEME. Ask not, then, the when and how ; But turn thine ancient gaze 112 THE CNDERTONES. On the broad wonder of my brow, Thence drop it, in a natural amasse, Down the steep mountain to my sinewy feet, Round whicli the lambs, as small as snowflakes, bleat ; Now, tell me — am I fair? BILENUS. Most fair ! POLTPHBME. Thy fears Lie to my strength a hoUow lie, Silenus ! SILENTJS. By all the love that there exists between us, By doves that perch ou Bacchus' vine-wreath'd ears, I swear thou art most beautiful ! POLTPHEMB. Again : Have those blurr'd eyeballs noticed that of late Mine air has grown more solemn, more sedate. More bountiful to those I hold in chain POLTPHEMES PASSION. 113 To watch my flocks, and more compassionate ; As if I struggled underneath the weight Of some indefinite pain 1 That I have learn' d to tremble and to blush. To droop this eyelid modestly, to flush AU over at the tiniest whispering sound, To pick small dainty steps upon the ground As if I saw and seeing fear'd to crush Some crawling insect or the crimson-crown' d Small daisy-flower that, whensoe'er I pass. Shuts up its little leaves upon the grass And thinks the shadowy eve has stolen down ! Cyclops ! — These things I saw, but fear'd to question ; Nay, with a blush I own it — do not frown ! — I set thy trouble down as indigestion. For neither unmilk'd kids, nor lambs stall-fed, Nor sucking-swine with pippins in their teeth. Nor ox-thighs with green herbs engarlanded. Nor foamy curds wherein hot apples seethe, Nay, not the parsley-flavour' d tongues of sheep. Could tempt o' late thy dainty appetite ; 114 THE UNDERTONES. But lying on the mountain out of sight Of melancholy thou hast drunken deep ;. While down among the yeUow pastures moaning With lambs new-yean'd, where thy cool streamlets run, We saw thee loom above us, mighty one ! And heard thee, like the monstrous seas intoning, Melodiously groaning ! POLYPHEMB. Ay me ! ay me ! Be calm, sweet Polypheme ! The eagle poised o'er yonder cropping lamb Flew scared, at that big cry. POLYPHEME. Ay me ! I am Lost, swallow'd up, absorbed into a dream ! Thro' the swift current of my frame gigantic Eddies a frantic Consuming fire. I am not what I seem. For Galatea I refuse all food. POLTPHEMES PASSION'. ] 15 For Galatea I grow weak and wild And petulant-featured as a sickly child ; For Galatea I, in desperate mood, Seek out green places in this solitude, And close my eyes, and think I am a curl Tingling, tingling, lightly Against the snow-heap'd bosom swelling whitely ! SILENTTS. One should not break his heart for any girL POLTPHEME. Ay me ! I close my eyes in a sweet woe. And dream that I am little, fair, and sweet. For a small goddess's embraces meet. Nor huge, nor rough. It was not always so ! Of old, Silenus, this great awful Me Was swoU'n with glory at the contemplation Of its enormity in yonder sea ; I revell'd in the roar and consternation. When, grasping rooks with frantic acclamation, Round this frt)wning, ./Etna-crowning head I whirl'd them, Tremendously, stupendously, and hurl'd them i2 nS THE UNDERTONES. On the passing fleets below ; And from under came the thunder of vessels crush'd asunder, And the shriek, faint and weak, of the mortals in their wonder. And the sea rolled underneath, and the winds began to blow, And above the desolation, drunk with rage, I took my station, With my waving arms expanded and my crimson eye aglow, And to earth's reverberation, Roar'd«Ho! ho! ho!" , SILENTJS. Cyclops ! sweet Cyclops ! — POLTPHEMB. Fear not ! I am as weak as the eagle's callow young ; Yet listen, mild old man, and interfere nci. One summer-day, when earth and heaven lung With thunders, and the hissing lightning^timg With forked meteor tongue polypheme's passion. U7 The greeu smooth living ocean till it shriek'd — I stood aloft on Etna's horn and wreak'd My cruel humour with a monstrous glee : When lo ! from out the rainy void did flit Bright Iris, and with tremulous foot alit On this my mountain, touching even me With her faint glory : for a moment, she Paused shudd'ring high above me : then with fleet Footstep slid downward till she reach'd my feet ; And there, with many-tinctured wings serene, She waved the seas to silence, and, beguiled By her mild message, the dark ocean smiled — A palpitating lapse of oily green, With silvery glimmers here and there between The shadows of the clouds that, dewy and mild. Parted and flutter'd : — when, with radiant head Plunging among the bulbous mists, she fled. But, as the vapours fleam'd away, behold ! I saw far down upon the brown sea-strand A nymph who held aloft in pearly hand A white-tooth'd comb, and comb'd her locks of gold Over a dank and shipwreck'd sailor-lad, — On whose damp eyelids a faint radiance lay, 118 THE HNDEETONKS. Eobb'd from some little homestead far away, Some silent hearth that wearily would wait. For that faint smile which left it desolate, And hush itself and watch and yearn and pray. Oh ! tenderly she comb'd her locks of gold, Over that gently-sleeping sailor-lad, 1 Stretch'd 'mid the purple dulse and rookweed cold ; And all the while she sang a ditty sad. To deep division of the wave that roll'd Up to her feet, like a huge snake that springs At two bright butterflies with golden wings : Marinere, Marinere, Waken, waken ! Sleep-o'ertaken, Look upon me, with no fear. Look, and see, and hear : Underneath the white-tooth'd waves. Sleep your comrades in their caves ; Coral grottoes are their bed, Purple plants stir overhead. All around black weeds are twined. Frozen still without a wind ; POLTPHEME S PASSIOIT. And the sea-nymphs in distress Pluck dark flowers all odourless, Growing deep in caverns clear, Gently to bestrew their bier. Under the sea They sleep — ah me ! They have slept for many a year. Mariners, Marinere, Wake not, wake not, Slumber break not, Close your eyelids with no fear, Do not see, nor hear ! Far above the silence deep. Where your gentle comrades sleep, EoUs the sea and foams the storm, Horrors thicken, terrors swarm. And the sea-nymphs, lightning-led. Flash about white-garmented ; But below the Storm-god's frown, Sleep the shipwreck'd fathoms down — Ocean-flowers are on the bier. Foam-bells hang in every ear ! 119 120 THE UNDERTONES. Under the sea They sleep — ah me ! They shall sleep for many a year. SILBNTJS. That was the song she sang ? POLYPHEME. It was. But ill Those tender accents fill This rocky breast, whose distant roar Frightens those white waves seaward from the shore. For they trembled, tinkling, twining. For melodious combining, While her yeUow locks fell shining To her knees. While the Storm with bright eyes glistening, Thro' its cloud-veil looking at her, Delay'd breathlessly and listening On the ledges of the seas : And in the sun she sat her, While her voice went pitter-patter, Pitter-patter, like the clatter POLTPHEMB S PASSION. 121 Of bright rain on boughs of trees ! Then ho ! with my great stride, Down the steep mountain side, I sprang unto her, with mine arms extended ! Her bright locks gleam'd afraid. Like a sunbeam trapt in shade, In my deep shadow, and the music ended : And she rose erect to fly. Panting, moaning, and her cry Met the lifted cry of Ocean, and they blended ! While earth reel'd under. Downward I bore. With step of thunder, On to the shore ; And in shrieking amaze, With eyes fasten'd in fear — Like a star's firm gaze When a cloud draws near — On the horror that came With an eye of flame. She leapt to the water, All woebegone ; And her bright locks shone 122 THE UNDERTONES. And tript and distraught her, But the water caught her And push'd her on ! From billow to billow, With wild locks streaming And tangling oft ; From billow to billow, Dark-green, or gleaming Like doves' wings soft, From billow to billow, Panting and screaming, , With white hands beaming And waving aloft ! Then, coming hideous On to the tide, I spurn'd the perfidious Foam aside, And foUow'd her, dashing Thro' storm sublime, Flashing, crashing, Splashing-splashing On the seaweed's slippery slime ! The billows clomb up, POLrPHEME S PASSION. 123 With flash of foam up, My loins and thighs ; Till they gleam'd and fleapi'd, With clangor and anger, And around me upstream'd With their wild white eyes ! Till panting, choking. Dripping and soaking. With nostrils smoking, I halted, spitting, Spurting, chin-deep, And saw her sitting Where gulls were flitting Far out on the deep ; And all around her with gentle motion One smooth soft part of the murmurous ocean Had gone to sleep ! Then waving her hands. And shaking her locks. To the ocean sands. To the purple rocks Under the foam. To the sea-caves brown. 124 THE UNBEETONBS. She sank to her home, Down ! down ! down ! down ! And the sea grew black In her shining track, And the waters green Darken'd afar ; And the one thing seen Was the steadfast star Of my round Eye red, Rolling immense With a pain intense In my rocky head. Mid the white foam wreathing Around wind-led, And the great sea seething Down to deep breathing, Like a monster panting, on its sandy bed ! SILBNUS. Most musical Cyclops ! POLTPHBME. Hush ! — Unto the beach POLTPHEME S PASSION. 126 I wearily strode, with great head bow'd, and dragg'd Foot-echoes after me ; and with no speech, On yonder shore, weedy and wet and cragg'd, I stood, and in an agony of pain Look'd out with widening eyeball on the main. Lo ! far away a white wind glided dim O'er the cloud-cover'd bright'ning ocean-rim. And violet shadows here and there were trail'd Over the waters : then behold the sun Flasht pale across the waste, and one by one, ' Like sea-gulls dripping rain, rose ships white-sail' d. All else was silence, save monotonous moan Of the broad-chested billows, till the warm Light kindled all things, and I loomed alone — The one huge cloud remaining of the storm ; And in the awfulness of that strange hour A change came over my big throbbing breast. And the soft picture of the calm had power To move my mountainous bulk with vague unrest ! — SILENUS. Weep not, Cyclops — lest thy tears should roll Down oceanward and brain the grazing sheep ! 126 THE UNDERTONES. POLYPHEMK. Ay me, ay me, the passion in my soul ! Ay me, her glory haunts me, and I weep ! — 0, I would give away the world to be As soft, as sweet, as fleecy-limb'd as she, As tiny and as tender and as white As her mild loveliness ! With two soft eyes such as mere men possess, Two pretty little dewy eyes, that might Interpret me aright ! SILBNUS. Amazement ! — Polypheme, whom vast Poseidon Spawn'd upon Thoosa in the salted brine, Thou who canst strangle fleets, and sit astride on .iEtna and roar thine origin divine ! Wrong not thyself, thy beauty, and thy sire ! See ! where thy mighty shadow stretches wide Down the steep mountain side, And see ! that eyebaU of immortal fire ! Had wanton Helen, Paris' love-sick toy, Beheld thee, Polypheme, POLTPHEMES PASSION. 127 Hill-haunting Echo had not found a theme In ruin and the ten years' war of Troy. And is it so ? POITPHEME. SILBNUS. By Ganymede bright-eyed, By— by— POLTPHEME. Enough — let us return. I stood, When she had flown, in meditative mood ; Then, raising up my resinous hands, I cried : " thou from whose huge loins I darkling came, King of all ocean and its wondrous races, KetiuTi, return, the nymph to my embraces, Or, thro' thy lips ooze-dripping, name her name ! " And o'er the sands did a low murmur creep, Whispering, 'Galatea;' and, deep-pain' d, I vaguely knew, like one who dreams in sleep, She was a goddess of the sacred deep, Not to be lightly woo'd or roughly gain'd. 128 THE UNDERTONES. SILENUS. pitiful ! and you — POLTPHEME. In the dim birth Of the strange love that stirs my hid blood's fountains, As unborn earthquakes trouble springs in mountains, 1 look'd abroad upon the fair green earth ; And lo, aU things that lived, all things that stiiT'd, Unto the very daisy closing up In my great shade its crimson-tipped cup. And the small lambs, and every little bird, Seem'd to abhor and dread, avoid and fear me ; And in an agony of hate for all, I cried " How can a thing so sweet, so small, So gentle, love me — or be happy near me 1 " Whereon I sadly clomb the cliffs and made A looking-glass of yonder ocean, where Startled by my long shade The silver-bellied fishes rose afraid ; But with a lover's hand I smooth'd my hair To sleekness, parting it with care, And husht the rugged sorrow of my brow — POLYPHEME's passion. 129 Then, stooping softly o'er the dimpled mirror, I shaped my face to a sweet smile — as now ! SILENUS. agony ! help, help, ye gods ! terror ! Hide me ! POLTPHBME. What ails thee 1 Ha ! SILENUS. Ocean's child- Cyclops ! My heart, with admiration rent. Fainted and cried with its deep ravishment Because you look'd so beauteous when you smiled ! POLTPHEME. Thou liest ! — and (ay me) you shrunk in fear As silly younghngs shrink at something hateful ; Yet tremble not : — to a lorn lover's ear, E'en flattery so base as thine is grateful. Ay me, ay me — I am ir 130 THE U>fDBRTONES. A great sad mountain in whose deptlis doth roam My small soul, wandering like a gentle lamb That bleats from place to place and has no home ; But prison'd among rocks Can just behold afar A land where honey-flowing rivera are And gentle shepherds with their gentle flocks : For even so my timid soul looks round On beauteous living things — that creep and seem. To this vast Eye, like insects on the ground — From whose companionship 'tis shut and bound Within this mountain of a Polypheme ! SILENUS. Most melancholy Cyclops, be consoled ! POLYPHEME. My heart is like those blubbery crimson blots That float on the dank tide in oozy spots ; It is as mild as patient flocks in fold. I am as lonely as the snowy peak Of Dardonos, and, like an eagle. Love Stoops o'er me, helpless, from its eyrie above, And grasps that lamb, my Soul, within its beak. POLYPHEME S PASSION. 131 Nay, on the margin of the waters where She comes and goes like a swift gull, I sit Above these flocks, and rake my little wit To jjipe upon the misty mountain air Ditties £is tender as a shepherd man, Perch' d on a. little hillock, half asleep, Surrounded by his silly stainless sheep. Pipes with mild pleasure and no definite plan In fields Arcadian. [He tings. White is the little hand of Galatea, That combs her yellow locks with dainty care ; Bright is the fluttering hand of Galatea, When tangled, like a dove, in sunny liair. Sweet is Galatea — sweet is Galatea — Ay, so sweet ! Complete is Galatea, from her feathery fingers fair To her small white mice of feet ! The billows huge and hoar cease to rumble and to roar, Wh^n the white hands wave above them, like doves that shine and soar, And, as gentle, from the shore, I adore, and implore Galatea ! k2 132 THE UNDERTONES. Ho, that these limbs were meet for Galatea With soft pink kisses sweetly to enfold ! Ho, had I two small eyes, that Galatea Might there my gentle gentle heart behold ! Dear is Galatea — dear is Galatea — Ay, so dear ! No peer has Galatea, but her bosom is so cold And her eyes so full of fear ! When the great seas wildly rise, there is terror in her eyes. And she trembles in sweet wonder, like a bird that storms surprise, — And before my tender cries, and my sighs, swiftly flies Galatea ! Under the white sea-storm sits Galatea, While overhead the sea-birds scream in flocks, In deep-green darkness sitteth Galatea, Combing out sunshine from her golden locks ! Fair sits Galatea — fair sits Galatea — Ay, so fair ! Ho, there sits Galatea, in the shade of purple rocks, Mid the fountain of her hair ! POLYPHBMES PASSION. 133 Ho, would I were the waves, on whose crest the tempest raves, So might I still the tempest that my raging bulk outbraves, For the dark-green stillness laves, and enslaves, and encaves Galatea ! SILENTTS. Comfort, Cyclops, comfort ! There is sure Some remedy for such a wound as this : Eed wine, I say again : the plump God's kiss Is sweeter far than honey, rich and pure. POLYPHEME. Alas, not he whose temples Artemis Bound with weird herbs and poison-snakes that hiss But sting not — wise Asclepios — could cure ! For evermore, Silenus, when my brain Lies in a dream just conscious of its pain. And my full heart throbs tenderly and rockingly, Far out upon the bosom of the main She flashes up, green-kirtled, and laughs mockingly. Thrice has her smile enticed me to the chin Thro' the great waves that round me bite and bark, 134 THE UNDERTONES. And gleam d away and left me in the dark. Alas, that I must woo and never win ! Alas, that I am foul while she is fair ! Alas, that this red Eye, my only one, Like a brown lizard looking on the sun. Turns green in her bright mist of yellow hair ! SILENtrS. Majestic Cyclops ! Heir of the huge Sea ! God-like, — like those great heavens that oversheen us ! One-eyed, like the bright Day ! Wilt thou by me, Thy sei-vant, be advised 1 POLYPHEME. Speak on, Silenus. SILENTJS. Behold ! — Beneath the many-tinctured west hid. Fades Phoibos crimson-crested, And the faint image of his parting light On the deep Sea broad-breasted Fades glassily ; while down the mountain height Behind us, slides the purple shadow'd Night. Come in ! — and from your cellar iced by springs POLTPHEME S PASSION. 135 Drag forth the god of wine, And listen to him as he chirps and sings His songs dehcious, dulcet, and divine : Throned in the brain, magnificently wise, And blowing warmly out thro' kindled eyes All vapours vapid, vain, and vague. Seek the god's counsel, Cyclops, I beseech thee ; 'Tis he alone, if once his magic reach thee, Can cui-e Love's panting heat or shivering ague. POLYPHBMB. He cannot make me fair ! ■ SILENFS. Phoo ! — He will teach thee To lift thy dreamy gaze from the soft sod. And rise erect, big-hearted, self-reliant, On jEtna's horn, with leathern lungs defiant — No minnow-hearted grampus of a god ! And — then in the quick flush and exultation Of that proud inspiration, Wine in his nostrils, Polypheme will be lu Polypheme's own estimation 136 THE UNDEBTONES. A match for any girl on land or sea. Then, furiously, gloriously rash. Grasp Opportunity, that, passing by On the sheet-lightning with a moment's flash. Haunts us for ever with its meteor eye ; And — grasp the thing thou pantest for in vain, Ay, hold her fast, and for a space intreat her — But, if she still be deaf to thy sad pain, Why, hearken to the mad god in thy brain, And make a meal of trouble — that is, eat her ! XI. PENELOPE. Whitheb, Ulysses, whither dost thou roam, Roll'd round with wind-led waves that render dark The smoothly-spinning circle of the sea 1 Lo, Troy has fallen, fallen like a tower. And the mild sunshine of degenerate daya Drops faintly on its ruins. One by one. Swift as the sparlsle of a star, the ships Have dipt up moistly from the under-world, And plumed warriors, standing in their prows, Stretching out arms to wives and little ones That crowd with seaward faces ou the beach, Have flung their armour off and leapt and swam Ere yet the homeward keels could graze the sand. And these — the gaunt survivors of thy peers — Have landed, shone upon by those they lovei, 13S THE UNDERTONES. Aud faded into happy happy homes ; While I, the lonely woman, hugging close The comfort of thine individual fame, Still wait and yearn and wish towards the sea ; And all the air is hollow of my joy : The seasons come and go, the hour-glass runs, The day and night come punctual as of old ; But thy deep strength is in the solemn dawn, And thy proud step is in the plumed noon, And thy grave voice is in the whispering eve ; And all the while, amid this dream of thee, In restless resolution oceanward, I sit and ply my sedentary task, Aud fear that I am lonelier than I know. Yea, love, I am alone in all the world. The past grows dark upon me where I wait. With eyes that hunger seaward and a cheek Grown like the sampler coarse-complexioned. For in the shadow of thy coming home I sit and weave a weary housewife's web, Pale as the silkworm in the cone ; all day I sit and weave this weary housewife's web, PENELOPE. 139 And in the night with fingers swift as frost Unweave the weary labour of the day. Behold how I am mock'd ! — Suspicion Mumbles my name between his toothless gums ; And while I ply my sedentary task, They come to me, mere men of hollow clay, Gross-mouth'd and stain'd with wine they come to me, And whisper odious comfort, and upbraid The love that follows thee where'er thou art, That follows, and perchance, with thy moist cheek, Dips on the watery bottom of the world. They come, Ulysses, and they seek to rob Thy glory of its weaker wearier half. They tell me thou art dead ; nay, they have brought To these cold ears that bend above the web Whispers that thou, no wiser than thy peers, Hast pluckt upon the windy plain of Troy A flower thou shriaest in a distant land, A chamber'd delicacy drowsy-eyed. Pink-lidded, wanton, like the queen who witch'd The fatal apple out of Paris' palm. And I — and I — ah me, I rise my height. 140 THE UNDERTONES. In matron majesty that melts in tears, And chide them from me with a tongue that long Hath lost the trick of chiding : what avails 1 They heed me not, rude men, they heed me not ; And he thou leftest here to guard me well, He, the old man, is helpless, and his eyes Are yellow with the money-minting lie That thou art dead. husband, what avails? They gather on me, till the sense grows cold And huddles in upon the steadfast heart ; And they have dragg'd a promise from my lips To choose a murderer of my love for thee. To choose at will from out the rest one man To slay me with his kisses in the dark, Whene'er the weary web at which I work Be woven : so, all day, I weave the web ; And in the night with fingers like a thief s Unweave the silken sorrow of the day. The years wear on. Telemachus, thy son, Grows sweetly to the height of all thy hope : More woman-like thau thee, less strong of limb. Yet worthy thee ; and likest thy grave mood. PENELOPE. 141 When, in old time, among these fields, thine eye Would kindle on a battle far away. And thy proud nostrils, drinking the mild breath Of tanned haycocks and of 'slanted sheaves, Swell suddenly, as if a trumpet spake. Hast thou forgotten how of old he loved To toy with thy great beard, and sport with thee, And how, in thy strong grasp, he leapt and seem'd A lambkin dandled in a lion's paw 1 But change hath come, Troy is an old wife's tale, And sorrow stealeth early on thy son, Whom sojourn with my weeping womanhood Hath taught too soon a young man's gentleness. Behold now, how his burning boy-face turns With impotent words beyond aU blows of arm On those rude men that rack thy weary wife ! Then turns to put his comfort on my cheek, While sorrow brightens roimd him — as the grey Of heaven melts to silver round a star ! Eetum, Ulysses, ere too late, too late : Eeturn, immortal warrior, return : Return, return, and end the weary web ! 142 THE UNDERTONES. For day by day I look upon the sea And watch each ship that dippeth like a gull Across the long straight line afar away Where heaven and ocean meet ; and when the winds Swoop to the waves and lift them by the hair, And the long storm-roar gathers, on my knees I pray for thee. Lo, even now, the deep Is garrulous of thy vessel tempest-tost ; And on the treeless upland grey-eyed March, With blue and humid mantle backward blown, Plucks the first primrose in a blustering wind. The keels are wheel'd unto the ocean sand And eyes look outward for the homeward bound. And not a marinere, or man or boy, Scum'd and salt-blooded from the boisterous sea. Touches these shores, but straight I summon liim. And bribe with meat and drink to tell good news, And question him of thee. But what avails ? Thou wanderest ; and my love sits all alone, Upon the threshold of an empty hall. My very heart has grown a timid mouse. Peeping out, fearful, when the house is still. PENELOPE. 1^3 Breathless I listen thro' the breathless dark, And hear the cock counting the leaden hours, And, in the pauses of his cry, the deep Swings on the flat sand with a hollow clang ; And, pale and burning-eyed, I fall asleep When, with wild hair, across the weary wave Stares the sick Dawn that brings thee not to me. Ulysses, come ! Ere traitors leave the mark Of spread wine-dripping fingers on the smooth And decent shoulders that now stoop for thee ! I am not yoimg or happy as of old. When, awed by thy male strength, my face grew dark At thy grave footfall, with a serious joy. Or when, with blushing backward-looking face, I came a bride to thine inclement realm, Trembling and treading fearfully on flowers. I am not young and beauteous as of old ; And much I fear that when we meet thy face May startle darkly at the work of years. And turn to hide a disappointed pang, And then, with thy gi-ave pride, subdue itself Into such pity as is love stone-dead. lU THE UNDERTONES. But thou, thou too, art old, dear lord — thy hair Is threaded with the silver foam — thy heart Is weary from the blows of cruel years ; And there is many a task thy wife can do To soothe thy sunset season and make calm Thy jom'ney down the slow descent to Sleep. Return, return, Ulysses, ere I die ! Upon this desolate, desolate strand I wait, Wearily stooping o'er the weary web — An alabaster woman, whose fix'd eyes Stare seaward, whether it be storm or calm. And ever, evermore, as in a dream, I see thee gazing hither from thy ship In sunset regions where the still seas rot, And stretching out great arms whose shadows fall Gigantic on the glassy purple sea ; And ever, evermore, thou comest slow, And evermore thy coming far away Aches on the burning heartstrings, — evermore Thou comest not, and I am tired and old. XII. SAPPHO : ON THE LEUCADIAN EOCE. 1. SWEET, sweet, sweet ! While the Moon, with her dove's eyes fair. And her beautiful yellow hair, And the Sea-Snake coiling round her silvery feet, WaUt'd dumbly up above in the jewell'd air Waving her luminous wings. To sit upon this crag above the sea Clasp'd close, so close, to thee, Pale with much yearning, while the murmurings Of the great waters seem'd to waft to me The name of Phaon, To whisper Phaon, Phaon, 146 THE UNDERTONES. Pliaon, Phaon, Phaon, with deep intoning, Hushfully, hushfully moaning ! 2. bliss, bliss, bliss ! Though the Moon look'd pale in the sky. On thy passionate heart to lie, To cling to thy burning lips with kiss on kiss. Faintly watching the butterfly stars swim by In the track of that queenly Moon ; And in a dream, clasp' d close, so close, to thee, To list and seem to be A portion of the faint monotonous tune Made for its mistress by the serpent sea, That whisper'd Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, while Dian darkening Stoop'd hushfully, hushfully, barkening ! pain, pain, pain ! While the Moon, in a sky as clear SAPPHO : ON THE LE0CADIAN ROCK. 147 As of old, walks on, and I hear Her palpitating foot on the living main. While, under her feet, the green sea-snake creeps near Hissing with scales that gleam, To stand upon this crag beside the sea, And dream, and dream, of thee — With clench'd white hands, set teeth, and robes th.it stream Behind me in the wind, while audibly The waves moan Phaon, Shriek Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, with deep intoning, Mournfully, mournfully, moaning ! 4. rest, rest, rest ! — While the Moon with her virgin light Thro' eternities of night Dumbly paces on to the east from the west, — To mingle with the waves that under the height Murmur along the shore, To mix my virgin love, my agony, l2 148 THE UNDERTONES. Into the serpent sea That Dian seeks to silence evermore, To cling to those white skirts and moan of thee, Phaon, Phaon, Restless for love of Phaon, Phaon, Phaon,. Phaon, with ceaseless motion Soothed by the soother of Ocean ! XIII. THE SYREN. Ah, kiss me, Sweetest, while on yellow sand Murmurs the breaking billow, And smoothe my silken ringlets with thy hand, And make my breast thy pillow ; And clasp me, Dearest, close to lip and cheek And bosom softly sighing, While o'er the green sea, in one orange streak. The summer day is dying ! Kiss, kiss, as one that presses to his mouth A vine-bunch bursting mellow. In this lone islet of the sleepy south Fringed with smooth sands yellow : A twilight of fresh leaves endusks us round, Flowers at our feet are springing, 150 THE UNDERTONES. And wave on wave breaks smoothly to the sound Of my sweet singing ! EUMOLPUS. Is it the voice of mine own Soul I hear ? Or some white sybil of the sphered ocean ? And are these living limbs that lie so near, Clinging around me with a serpent-motion ? Is this a tress of yellow yellow hair, Around my finger in a ring enfolden ? Whose face is this, so musically fair. That swoons upon my ken thro' vapours golden 1 What sad song withers on the odorous air ? AVhere am I, where? Where is my country and that vision olden ? THE SYREN. I sang thee hither in thy bark to land With deftly warbled measure, I wove a witch's spell with fluttering hand, Till thou wert drunken. Dearest, with much pleasure. At hush of noon I had thee at my knee. And round thy finger pink I wound a curl, THE SYREN. 151 And singing smiled beneath with teeth of pearl, Of what had been, what was, and what should be Sang dying ditties three ! And lo ! thy blood was ravish'd with the theme, And lo ! thy face was pale with drowsy dream, While stooping low, with rich lips tremulous, I kissed thee thus ! — and thus ! BUMOLPUS. Thy kisses trance me to a vision wan Of what hath been and nevermore will be. little fishing-town Sicilian, I can behold thee sitting by the sea ! little red-tiled town where I was born ! days ere yet I sail'd from mortal ken ! Why did I launch upon the deep forlorn, Nor fish in shalloVv pools with simple men 1 It was a charm ; for while I rockt at ease Within our little bay. There came a melody across the seas From regions far away ; And ah ! I fell into a swooning sleep, And all the world had changed before I knew, — 152 THE UNDEETONES. And I awoke upon a glassy deep With not a speck of land to break the view, And tho' I was alone, I did not weep, For I was singing too ! I sang ! I sang ! and with mine oars kept time Unto the rude sweet rhyme, And went a-sailing on into the west Blown on by airs divine. Singing for ever on a wild-eyed quest For that immortal minstrel feminine ; And night and day went past, until I lost All count of time, yet stiU did melodise ; And sun and stars beheld me from their skies ; And ships swam by me, from whose decks storm-tost Rude seamen gazed with terror-glazed eyes. And StiU I found not her for whom I sought, Yet smiled without annoy, To ply the easy oar, and take no thought, And sing, was such sweet joy ! — Then Tempest came, and to and from the sky I rose and feU in that frail bark of mine. While the snake Lightning, with its blank bright eye, Writhed fierily in swift coils serpentine THE STREN. I53 Along the slippery brine ; And there were days when dismal sobbing Rain Made melancholy music for the brain, And hours when I shriek'd out, and wept in woe Prison'd about by chilly still affright, While all around dropt hushed flakes of Snow Melting and mingling down blue chasms of night. Yet evermore, I heard that voice subhme Twining afar its weirdly woven song. And ever, ever more, mine oars kept time, And evermore I littered in song My yearnings sad or merry, faint or strong. Ah me ! my love for her afar away, My yearning and my burning night and day ! In dreams alone, I met her in still lands. And knelt in tears before her, And could not sing, but only wring mine hands, Adore her and implore her ! She glisten'd past me as a crane that sails Above the meeting of the ocean-gales. With waft of broad slow wing to regions new ; And tho' I foUow'd her from place to place. She held her veil dew-spangled to her face. 154 THE UNDERTONES. And I could merely feel her eyes of blue Steadfastly gazing thro' ! Wherefore my heart had broken quite, — ^but then I would awake again, — To see the oily water steep'd in rest While, glistering in mauy-colour'd flakes. Harming me not, lay brooding on its breast Leviathan and all the ocean-snakes. And on the straight faint streak afar the round Moist eye of morning lookt thro' dewy air, And all was still, a joyous calm profound, — And I would break the charm with happy sound To find the world so fair ! And lo ! I drank the rain-drops and was glad. And smote the bird of ocean down and ate ; And ocean harm'd me not, and monsters sad That people ocean and the desolate Abysses spared me, — charmed by the song I warbled wildly as I went along. Yet day and night sped on, and I grew old Before I knew ; and lo ! My hands were wither' d, on my bosom cold There droopt a beard of snow, — THE SYREN. 155 Aud raising hands I shriek'd, I cried a curse On that weird voice that twined me from home ; And echoes of the awful universe Answer'd me ; and the deep with lips of foam Mock'd me and spat upon me ; and the things That people ocean rose and threaten'd ill, Yea, also air-born harpies waving wings. Because I could not sing to charm them still. I was alone, the shadow of a man. Haunting the trackless waste of waves forlorn, Blown on by pitiless rains and vapours wan. Plaining for that small town Sicilian, Where, in the sweet beginning, I was bom ! THE STREIT. Ah, weep not. Dearest ! lean upon my breast, While sunset darkens stilly. And Dian goises o'er the slumberous west Her silver sickle chilly ; The eyes of heaven are opening, the leaves Fold siiver-dewy round the closing roses, In lines of foam the breaking billow heaves, ]o6 THE US"DBETONES. Each thing that gladdens and each thing that grieves Dip slow to dark reposes. KUMOLPTIS. voice that lured me on, I know thee now ! melancholy eyes, ye mildly beam ! kiss, thy touch is dewy on my brow ! Sweet Spirit of my dream ! THE STHBN". Name thy love, and I am she, Name thy woe, and look on me, Name the weary melody That led thee hither o'er the sea, — Then call to mind my ditties three Of what hath been, what is, and what shall be ! EUMOLPUS. Ah woe ! ah woe ! 1 see thee and I clasp thee, and I know ! Sing to me. Sweetest, while the shadows grow — Sing low ! sing low ! Oh, sweet were slumber now, at last, at last, THE STEEN. 157 For I am sick of wandering to and fro, And ah ! my singing-days are nearly pass'd — Sing low ! sing low ! sing low ! THE SYEEN. Love with wet cheek, Joy with red lips apart, Hope with her blue eyes dim with looking long, Ambition with thin hand upon his heart — Of which shall be the song ? Of one, of one, Who loved till life was done. For life with him was loving, tho' she slew his love with wrong. Then, on a winter day, When all was lost and his young brow was gray. He knelt before an Altar piled proud With bleached bones and fruits and garlands gay. And cried aloud ; — " Have I brought Joy, and slain her at thy feet t Have I brought Peace, for thy cold kiss to kill. Have I brought Youth crowned with wild-flowers sweet, With sandals dewy from a morning hill, For thy gray solemn eyes to fright and chill 1 158 THE UNDERTONES. Have I brought Scorn the pale and Hope the fleet, And First-Love in her lily winding-sheet 1 And art thou pitiless still ? O Poesy, thou nymph of fire. Grandest of that fair quire Which in the dim beginning stoop'd and fell, — So beauteous yet so awful, standing tall Upon the mountain-tops where mortals dwell. Seeing strange visions of the end of all. And pallid from the white-heat glare of HeU ! Is there no prophecy, far-seeing one. To seal upon these lips that yearn to sing ? Can nought be gain'd again 1 can nought be won t Is there no utterance in this suffering. Is there no voice for any human thing ? " Then, smiling in the impotence of pain. His sweet breath at the Altar did he yield, — While she he loved, afar across the main, Stoop'd down to break a weary people's chain. And crown a Hero on a battle-field ! ETIMOLPUS. Ah no ! ah no ! THE SYREN. 159 So sad a theme is too much woe ! Sing to me sweetlier, since thou lovest me so — Sing low ! sing low ! THE SYREN. Sisters we, the syren tnree, Fame and Love and Poesy ! In the solitude we sit, On the mountain-tops we flit, From the islands of the sea Luring man with melody ; Sisters three we seem to him Floating over waters dim, — Syrens, syrens three, are we — Fame and Love and Poesy ! EUMOLPtrS. Ah woe ! ah woe ! That is the song I heard so long ago ! That is the song That lured me long : Those were the three I saw, with arms of snow And ringlets waving yellow, beckoning, 160 THE UNDERTONES. While on the violet deep I floated slow, With little heart to sing ; And lo ! they faded as I leapt to land, And their weird music wither'd on the air, And I was lying drowsy on the sand Smiling and toying with thy yellow hair ! THE STBBN. Sisters we, the syrens three, Fame and Love and Poesy, Sitting singing in the sun. While the weary marinere Passes on or creeps in fear, — Sisters three, yet only one. When he cometh near ! Charmed sight and charmed sound Hover quietly around, Mine are dusky bowers and deep. Closed lids and balmy sleep. Kisses cool for fever'd cheeks and warmth for eyes that weep ! EUMOLPns. Sing low ! smg low ! THE 8YRBN. 101 Thou art more wondrous fair than mortals knowt Bringest thou, Beautiful, or peace or woe ? Close up each eyelid with a warm rich kiss And let me listen while the sunlights go I cannot bear a time so still as this, Unbroken by thy voice's fall and flow. Sing to me, Beautiful ! Sing low, sing low, sing low ! THE SYEEN, Love with wet cheek, Joy with red lips apart, Hope with her blue eyes dim with looking long, Ambition with thin hand upon his heart— i Of which shall be the song ? Ah, woe ! ah, woe ! For Love is dead and wintry winds do blow. Yea, Love is dead ; and by her funeral bier Ambition gnaws the lip and sheds no tear ; And in the outer chamber Hope sits wild. Watching the faces in the fire and weeping ; And at the threshold Joy the little child With rosy cheeks runs leaping. And stops, — while in the misty distance creeping Down western hills the large red sun sinks slow—;- 1«2 THE UNDERTONES. To see Death's footprints on the still white snow. Ah, Love has gone, and all the rest must go. Sing low ! sing low ! sing low ! EUMOLPtJS. It is a song that slays me. Sing no more. THE STREN. Ah, Sweet, the song is o'er ! — The ocean-hum is hush'd, 'tis end of day, The long white foam fades faintly, The oi-ange sunset dies into the gray Where star on star swims saintly. Hast thou not sung i and is not song enough ? Hast thou not loved 1 and is not loving all ? Art thou not weary of the wayfare rough, Or is there aught of life thou wouldst recall ? Ah no, ah no ! The life came sweetly — sweetly let it go ! Mine are dusky bowers and deep. Closed eyes and balmy sleep, Kisses cool for fever'd cheeks and warmth for eyes that weep ! THE SYREN. jq^ EUMOLPUS. Thou art the gentle witch that men call Death ! Ah, Beauteous, I am weary, and would rest ! THE SYREN. Lie very softly. Sweet, and let thy breath Fade calmly on my breast ! Call me Love or call me Fame, Call me Death or Poesy, Call me by whatever name Seemeth sweetest unto thee : — I anoint thee, I caress thee, With my dark reposes bless thee, I redeem thee, I possess thee ! I can never more forsake thee ! Slumber, slumber, peacefully. Slumber calm and dream of me. Till I touch thee, and awake thee ! EUMOIPUS. Diviner far than song divine can tell ! Thine eyes are dim with dreams of that awaking ! Yea, let me slumber, for my heart is breakmg With too much love. Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! m2 364 THE UNDERTONES. THE SYKB^T. Charmed sight and charmed sound Close the weary one around ! Charmed dream of charmed sleep Make his waiting sweet and deep ! Husht be all things ! Let the speU Duskly on his eyelids dwell ! BUMOLPUa. Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! THE SYREN. melancholy waters, softly flow ! Stars, shine softly, dropping dewy balm ! O Moon walk on in sandals white as snow ! O Winds, be calm,- be calm ! For he is tired with wandering to and fro, Yea, weary with unrest to see and know. charmed sound That hoverest around ! voices of the Night ! Sing low ! sing low ! sing low ! XIV. A VOICE FROM ACADEMK Over this azure poplar glade The sunshine, fainting high ahove, Ebbs back from woolly clouds that move Like browsing lambs and cast no shade ; And straight before me, faintly seen Thro' emerald boughs that intervene. The visible sun turns white and weaves Long webs of silver thro' the leaves. The grassy sward beneath my foot Is soft as lips of lambs and beeves. How. cool those lilies at the root Of yonder tree, that dimly dance Thro' dews of their own radiance ! Yonder I see the river run. Half in the shade, half in the sun ; 166 THE UNDEUTONES. And as I near its rushy brink The sparkling minnows, where they lie With silver bellies to the sky, Flash from me in a shower and sink. I stand in shadows cool and sweet, But in the mirror at my feet The heated azure heavens wink. All round about this shaded spot, Whither the sunshine cometh not. Where all is beautiful repose — I know the kindled landskip glows ; And further, flutter golden showers On proud Athenai white with towers, And catching from the murmurous sea, [Stain'd with deep shadows as of flowei-s And dark'ning down to purple bowers Thro' which the sword-fish darts in glee,] A strife that cometh not to me. For in this place of shade and sound, Hid from the garish heat around, A VOICE FROM ACADEME. ]67 I feel like one removed from strain And fever of the happy brain — Where thoughts thriU fiery into pain : Like one who, in the pleasant shade The peaceful pulseless dead have made, Walking in silence, just perceives The gaudy world from which he went Subdue itself to his content, Like that white globe beyond the leaves ! XV. PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. *' Materiem tuperaJbat opus" 1.— SHADOW. Upon the very morn I should have wed Jove put his silence in a mourning house ; And, coming fresh ffom feast, I saw her lie In stainless marriage samite, white and cold, With orange blossoms in her hair, and gleams Of the ungiven kisses of the bride Playing about the edges of her lips. Then I, Pygmalion, kiss'd her as she slept, And drew my robe across my face whereon The midnight revel linger'd dark, and pray'd ; And the sore trouble hollow'd out my heart To hatred of a harsh unhallow'd youth PYGMALlON THE SCULPTOR. 169 As I glode forth. Next, day by day, my soul Grew conscious of itself and of its fief Within the shadow of her grave : therewith, Waken'd a thirst for silence such as dwells Under the ribs of death : whence slowly grew Old instincts that had tranced me to tears In mine unsinew'd boyhood, sympathies Full of faint odours and of music faint Like buds of roses blowing j — till I felt Her voice come down from heaven on my soul, And stir it as a wind that droppeth down Unseen, unfelt, imheard, until its breath Troubles the shadows in a sleeping lake. And the voice said, " Pygmalion," and " Behold," I answer' d, " I am here ;" when thus the voice : " Put men behind thee — take thy tools, and choose A rock of marble white as is a star, Cleanse it and make it pure, and fashion it After mine image : heal thyself : from grief Comes glory, like a rainbow from a cloud. For surely life and death, which dwell apart In grossfer human sense, conspire to make 170 THE UNDERTONES. The breathless beauty and eternal joy Of sculptured shapes in stone. Wherefore thy life Shall purify itself and heal itself In the long toil of love made meek by tears." I barr'd the entrance-door to this my tower Against the hungry world, I hid above The mastiff-murmur of the town, I pray'd In my pale chamber. Then I wrought, and chose A rock of marble white as is a star, And to her silent image fashion'd clay, And purified myself and heal'd myself lu the long toil of love made meek by tears. 2.— THE MARBLE LIFE. The multitudinous light oppress' d me not, But smiled subdued, as a young mother smiles, As fearful lest the sunbeam of the smile Trouble the eyelids of the babe asleep. As Ocean murmurs when the storm is past And keeps the echoed thunders many days. PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 171 My solitude was troublous for a time : Wherefore I should have harden'd ; but the clay- Grew to my touch, and brighten' d, and assumed Fantastic images of natural things, Which, melting as the fleecy vapours melt Around the shining cestus of the moon. Made promise of the special shape I loved. Withdrawing back, I gazed. The unshaped stoue Took outline in the diisk, as rocks unhewn Seen from afar thro' floating mountain mists Gather strange forms and human lineaments. And thus mine eye was filled with what I sought As with a naked image, thus I grew Self-credulous of the form the stone would wear. And creeping close I strove to fashion clay After the vision. Day and night, I drew New comfort from my grief; my tears became As honey'd rain that makes the woodbine sweet, Until my task assumed a precious strength Wherewith I fortified mine inner ear Against the pleadings of the popular tongue That babbled at my door ; and when there dawn'd A hand as piu:« as milk and cold as snow, 172 THE UNDERTONEa A small white hand, a little lady hand, That peep'd out perfect from the changing mass, And seem'd a portion of some perfect shape Unfreed, imprison'd in the stone, — I wept Warm tears of utter joy, and kiss'd the hand, As sweet girl-mothers kiss the newly born. Weak as a mother. Then I heard no more The mumurous swarm beneath me, women and men ; But, hoarded in my toil, I counted not The coming and the going of the sun : Save when I swoon'd to sleep before the stone, i And dream'd, and dreaming saw the perfect shape Emblazon'd, like the rainbow in a stream, On the transparent tapestry of sleep. Ah me, the joy, the glory, and the dream. When like a living wonder senseless stone Smiles to the beating of a heart that hangs Suspended in the tumult of the blood ! . To the warm touch of my creating hand The marble was as snow ; and like the snow Whereon the molten sunshine gleams as blood. It soften' d, glow'd, and changed. As' one who stands PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 178 Beneath the cool and rustUng dark to watoh The shadow of his silently beloved Cross o'er the lighted cottage blind and feel The brightness of the face he cannot see, So stood I, trembling, while the shape unborn Darken'd across the white and milky mass And left the impress of its loveliness To glorify and guide me. As I wrought The Past came back upon me, like the ghost Of the To-Come. Whate'er was pure and white. Soft-shining with a snow-like chastity. Came back from childhood, and from that dim land Which lies behind the horizon of the sense. Felt though forgotten ; vanishings divine Of the strange vapours many-shaped and fair Which moisten sunrise when the eye of heaven Openeth dimly from the underworld : Faint instincts of the helpless babe that smiles At the sweet pictures in its mother's eyes And lieth with a halo round its head Of beauty uncompleted : memories Of young Love's vivid heaven-enthroned light. By whose moist rays the pensive soul of youth 174 THE UNDERTONES. Was troubled at the fountains, like a well Wherein the mirror'd motion of a star Lies dewy and deep ; — and, amid all, there dwelt A vaguer glory, deeper sense of power. Scarce conscious of itself yet ruling all, Like the hid heart which rocks the jaded blood. Brightens the cheek, throbs music to the brain. Yet dwells within the breast scarce recognised, Save when our pulses warn us and in fear We pause to listen. — Even so at times Those visions tranced me to a dumb dismay. And, sudden music thronging in mine ears, I hearken'd for that central loveliness Whose magic guided and created all. Then languor balmier than the blood i' the veins When youth and maiden mingle and the moon Breathes on the odorous room wherein they lie Chamber'd as in a folded rose's leaves, Oppress'd me, and a lover's rapture fiU'd My soul to swooning. Lo, I kiss'd the stone. And toy'd with the cold hand, and look'd for light In the dim onward-looking marble eyes. PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 175 And smooth'd the hair until it aeem'd to gi'ow Soft as the living ringlets tingling warm Against a heaving bosom. At her feet I knelt, and tingled to the finger-tips To gaze upon her breathless loveliness — Like one who, shuddering, gazes on a shrine From human eyes kept holy. Then at last, Fair-statured, noble, like an awful thing Frozen upon the very verge of life, And looking back along eternity With rayless eyes that keep the shadow Time, She rose before me in the milky stone, White-limb'd, immortal ; and I gazed and gazed Like one that sees a vision, and in awe Half hides his face, yet looks, and seems to dream. 3.— THE SIN. Blue night. I threw the lattice open wide. Drinking the odorous air ; and from my height I saw the watch-fires of the town and heard The gradual dying of the murmurous day. 176 THE UNDERTONES. Then, as the twilight deepen' d, on her limbs The silver lances of the stars and moon Were shatter' d, and the shining fragments fell Like jewels at her feet. The Cyprian star Quiver'd to liquid emerald where it hung On the rib'd ledges of the darkening hills, Gazing upon her ; and, as in a dream, Methought the marble, underneath that look, Stirr'd — like a bank of stainless asphodels Kiss'd into tumult by a wind of light. Whereat there swam upon me utterly A drowsy sense wherein my holy dream Was melted, as a pearl in wine : bright-eyed. Keen, haggard, passionate, with languid thrills Of insolent unrest, I watch'd the stone. And lo, I loved it : not as men love fame. Not as the warrior loves his laurel wreath, But with prelusion of a passionate joy That threw me from the height whereon I stood To grasp at Glory, and in impiousness Of sweet communing with some living Soul Chamber'd in that cold bosom. As I gazed, PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 177 There was a buzz of revel in mine ears, And tinkling fragments of a song of love, Warbled by wantons over wine-cups, swam Like bees within the brain. — ^Then I was shamed By her pale beauty, and I scorn'd myself, And standing at the lattice dark and cool Watch'd the dim winds of twilight enter in. And draw a veil about that loveliness White, dim, and breathed on by the common air. But, like a snake's moist eye, the dewy star Of lovers drew me ;' and I watch'd it grow Large, soft, and tremulous ; and as I gazed In fascinated impotence of heart, I pray'd the lifeless silence might assume A palpable life, and soften into flesh, And be a beautiful and human joy To crown my love withal ; and thrice the prayer Blacken'd across my pale face with no word. But thro' the wooUy silver of a cloud The cool star dripping emerald from the baths Of Ocean brighten'd in upon my tower, And touch' d the marble forehead with a gleam N 178 THE UNDERTONES. Soft, green, and dewy ; and I said " the prayer Is heard ! " The hve-long night, the breathless night I waited in a darkness, in a dream, Watching the snowy figure faintly seen. And ofttimes shuddering when I seem'd to see Life, like a taper burning in a scuU, Gleam thro' the rayless eyes : yea, wearily I hearken'd thro' the dark and seem'd to hear The low warm billowing of a living breast, Or the slow motion of anointed limbs New-stirring into life ; and, shuddering, Fearing the thing I hoped for, awful eyed, On her cold breast I placed a hand as cold And sought a fluttering heart. — But all was still. And chill, and breathless ; and she gazed right on With rayless orbs, nor marvell'd at my touch : White, silent, pure, inefiable, a shape Rebuking human hope, a deathless thing. Sharing the wonder of the Sun who sends His long bright look thro' all futurity. When Shame lay heavy on me, and I hid PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. I79 My face, and almost hated her, my work, Because she was so fair, so human fair, Yea not divinely fair as that pure face Which, when mine hour of loss and travail came, Haunted me, out of heaven. Then the Dawn Stared in upon her : when I open'd eyes, And saw the gradual Dawn encrimson her Like blood that blush'd within her, — and behold She trembled — and I shriek'd ! With haggard eyes, I gazed on her, my fame, my work, my love ! Red sunrise mingled with the first bright flush Of palpable life — she trembled, stirr'd, and sigh'd — • And the dim blankness of her stony eyes Melted to azure. Then, by slow degrees, She tingled with the warmth of living blood : Her eyes were vacant of a seeing soul, But dewily the bosom rose and fell, The lips caught sunrise, parting, and the breath Fainted thro' pearly teeth. I was as one Who gazes on a goddess serpent-eyed, And cannot fly, and knows to look is death. n2 180 THE UNDERTONES. apparition of my work and wish ! The weight of awe oppress'd me, and the air Swung as the Seas swing around drowning men. 4.— DEATH IN LIFE. About her brow the marble hair had clung With wavy tresses, in a simple knot Bound up and braided ; but behold, her eyes Droop'd downward, as she wonder'd at herself, Then flush'd to see her naked loveliness, And trembled, stooping downward ; and the hair Unloosening fell, and brighten' d as it fell. Till gleaming ringlets tingled to the knees And cluster'd round about her where she stood As yellow leaves around a lily's bud. Making a fountain round her such as clips A Naiad in the sunshine, pouring down And throwing moving shadows o'er the floor Whereon she stood and brighten'd. Wondering eyed. With softly heaving breast and outstretch'd arms, Slow as an eyeless man who gropes his wav, PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 181 She thrust a curving foot and touch'd the groniiJ, And stirr'd ; and, downcast-lidded, saw not me. Then as the foot descended with no sound, The whole live blood grew pink within the veins For joy of its own motion. Step by step. She paced the chamber, groping till she gain'd One sunlight-slip that thro' the curtain'd pane Crept slant — a gleaming line on roof and floor ; And there, in light, she pausing sunn'd herself With half-closed eyes ; while flying gleams of gold Sparkled like flies of fire among her hair. And the live blood show'd brightlier, as wine Gleams thro' a curd-white cup of porcelain. There, stirring not, she paused and sunn'd herself, With drooping eyelids that grew moist and warm, What time, withdrawn into the further dark, T watch'd her,, nerveless, as a murderer stretch'd Under a nightmare of the murder'd man. And still she, downcast-lidded, saw me not ; But gather'd glory while she sunn'd herself. Drawing deep breath of gladness such as earth Breathes dewily in the sunrise after rain. 182 THE UNDERTONES. Then pray'd I, lifting up my voice aloud. " apparition of my work and wish ! Thou most divinely fair as she whose face Haunted me, out of heaven ! Raise thine eyes ! Live, love, as thou and I have lived and loved ! Behold me — it is I — Pygmalion. Speak, Psyche, with thy human eyes and lips, Speak, to Pygmalion, with thy human soul !" And still she, downcast-lidded, saw me not, But gather'd glory as she sunn'd herself. Yet listen'd murmuring inarticulate speech, Listen'd with ear inclined and fluttering lids, As one who lying on a bed of flowers Hearkeneth to the distant fall of waves, ' That Cometh mufiSed in the drowsy hum Of bees pavilion'd among roses' -leaves Near to the ears that listen. So she stood And listen'd to my voice, framing her lips After the speech ; nay, when the sound had ceased. Still listen'd, with a shadow on her cheek — Like the Soul's Music, when the Soul has fled. Fading upon a dead Musician's face. PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 183 But, stooping in mine awe, with outstretch'd arms, I crept to her ; nor stirr'd she, till my breath Was warm upon her neck : then raised she eyes Of dewy azure, ring in ring of blue Less'ning in passionate orbs whereon my face Fell white with yearning wonder ; when a cry Tore her soft lips apart, the gleaming orbs Widen'd to silvery terror, and she fled. With yellow locks that shone and arms that waved, And in the further darkness cower'd and moan'd. Dumb as a ringdove that with fluttering wings Watches an adder in the act to leap. What follow'd was a strange and wondrous dream Wherein, half conscious, wearily and long I wooed away her fears with gentle words. Smooth gestures, and sweet smiles, — with kindness such . As calms the terror of a new-yean'd lamb, So pure, it fears its shadow on the grass ; And all the while thick pulses of my heart Throng' d hot in ears and eyelids, — for my Soul Seem'd swooning, deaden'd in the sense, like one Who sinks in snows, and sleeps, and wakes no more. 184 THE UNDBBT0KB3. Yet was I conscious of a hollow void, A yearning in the tumult of the blood, Her presence fiU'd not, quell'd not ; and I search'd Her eyes for meanings that they hai'bour'd not, Her face for beauty that disturb'd it not. 'Twas Psyche's face, and yet 'twas not her face, A face most fair, yet not so heavenly fair, As hers who, when my time of travaU came, Haunted me, out of heaven. For its smile Brought no good news from realms beyond the sun, The lips framed heavenly nor human speech, And to the glorious windows of the eyes No Soul clomb up — to look upon the stars. And search the void for glimpses of the peaks Of that far land of morning whence it comes. Then, further, I was conscious that my face Had lull'd her fears ; that close to me she came Tamer than beast, and toy'd with my great beard, And murmur'd sounds like prattled infants' speech. And yielding to my kisses kissed again. Whereat, in scorn of my pale Soul, I cried, " Here will I feast in honour of this night ! " PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 185 And spread the board with meats and bread and wine, And drew the curtain with a wave of arm Bidding the sunlight welcome : lastly, snatch' d A purple robe of richness from the wall. And flung it o'er her while she kiss'd and smiled, Girdling the waist with clasp and cord of gold. Then sat we, side by side. She, queenly stoled, Amid the gleaming fountain of her hair, With liquid azure orbs and rosy lips Gorgeous with honey'd kisses ; I, like a man Who loves fair eyes and knows they are a fiend's, And in them sees a heav'n he knows is hell. For, like a glorious feast, she ate and drank, Staining her lips in crimson wine, and laugh'd To feel the vinous bubbles froth and burst In veins whose sparkling blood was meet to be An angel's habitation. Cup on cup I drain' d in fulness — careless as a god — ■ A haggard bearded head upon a breast In tumult like a sun-kist bed of flowers. But ere, suifused with light, the eyes of Heaven 186 THE DNDERTONES. Widen'd to gaze upon the white-arm'd Moon, Stiller than stone we reign'd there, side by side. Yea, like a lonely King whose Glory sits Beside him, — impotent of life but fair, — Brightly appareled I sat above The tumult of the town, as on a throne. Watching her wearily ; whUe far away The sunset dark'd like dying eyes that shut Under the waving of an angel's wing. 5.— SHADOW. Three days and nights the vision dwelt with me, Three days and nights we dozed in di-eadful state, Look'd piteously upon by sun and star ; But the third night there pass'd a homeless sound Across the city underneath my tower, And lo ! there came a roll of muffled wheels, A shrieking and a hurrying to and fro Beneath, and I gazed forth. Then far below I heard the people shriek " A pestilence ! " But, while they shriek' d, they carried forth their Dead, And flung them out upon the common ways, PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 1S7 And moaning fled : while far across the hills A dark and brazen sunset ribb'd \vith black Glared, like the suUen eyeballs of the plague. I turn'd to her, the partner of my height : She, with bright eyeballs sick with wine, and hair Gleaming in sunset, on a couch asleep. And lo ! a horror lifted up my scalp, The pulses plunged upon the heart, and fear Froze my wide eyelids. Peacefully she lay In purple stole array' d, one little hand Bruising the downy cheek, the other still Clutching the dripping goblet, and the light, With gleams of crimson on the ruinous hair, Spangling a blue-vein'd bosom whence the rube Fell back in rifled folds ; but dreadful change Grew pale and hideous on the waxen face. And in her sleep she did not stir, nor dream. Therefore, it seem'd, Death pluck'd me by the sleeve. And, sweeping past, with lean forefinger touch'd The sleeper's brow and smiled ; when, shrinking back, I turn'd my face away, and saw afar The brazen sullen sunset ribb'd with black 188 THE UNDBETONES. Glare on her, like the eyeballs of the plague. apparition of my work and wish ! Shrieking I fled, my robe across my face, And left my glory and my woe behind, And sped, thro' pathless woods, o'er moonlit peaks, Toward sunrise ; — nor have halted since that hour, But wander far away, a homeless man. Prophetic, orphan'd both of name and fame. Nay, like a timid Phantom evermore I come and go with haggard warning eyes ; And some, that sit with lemans over wine, Or dally idly with the glorious hour, Turn cynic eyes away and smile aside ; And some are saved because they see me pass, And, shuddering, yet constant to their task, Look up for comfort to the silent stars. XVI. ANTONY IN ARMS. Lo, we are side by side ! — One dark arm furls Around me like a serpent warm and bare ; The other, lifted 'mid a gleam of pearls, Holds a full golden goblet in the air : Her face is shining through her cloudy curls With light that makes me drunken unaware, And with my chin upon my breast I smile Upon her, darkening inward all the while. And thro' the chamber curtains, backward roU'd By spicy winds that fan my fever'd head, I see a sandy flat slope yellow as gold To the brown banks of Nilus wrinklii^g red 190 THE UNDERTONES. In the slow sunset ; and mine eyes behold The West, low down beyond the river's bed, Grow sullen, ribb'd with many a brazen bar, Under the white smile of the Cyprian star. A bitter Roman vision floateth black Before me, in my dizzy brain's despite ; The Roman armour brindles on my back, My swelling nostrils drink the fumes of fight : But then, she smiles upon me ! — and I lack The warrior will that frowns on lewd delight, And, passionately proud and desolate, I smile an answer to the joy I hate. Joy coming uninvoked, asleep, awake, Makes sunshine on the grave of buried powers ; Ofttimes I wholly loathe her for the sake Of manhood slipt away in easeful hours : But from her lips mild words and kisses break, Till I am like a ruin mock'd with flowers ; I think of Honour's face — then turn to hers — Dark, like the splendid shame that she confers. ANTONY IN ARMS. ]91 Lo, how her dark arm holds me ! — I am bound By the soft touch of fingers light as leaves : I drag my face aaide, but at the souud Of her low voice I turn — and she perceives The cloud of Rome upon my face, and round My neck she twines her odorous arms and grieves, Shedding upon a heart as soft as they Tears 'tis a hero's task to kiss away ! And then she loosens from me, trembling still Like a bright throbbing robe, and bids me " go ! " — ■ When pearly tears her drooping eyelids fill, And her swart beauty whitens into snow ; And lost to use of life and hope and will, I gaze upon her with a warrior's woe. And turn, and watch her sidelong in annoy — Then snatch her to me, flush'd with shame and joy ! Once more, Rome ! I would be son of thine — This constant prayer my chain'd soul ever saith — I thirst for honourable end — I pine Not thus to kiss away my mortal breath. 92 THE UNDERTONES. But comfort such as this may not be mine— I cannot even die a Roman death : I seek a Roman's grave, a Roman's rest — But, dying, I would die upon her breast ! xvn. FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. HORATIUS COGITABUNDUS. 1; Favonius changes with sunny kisses The spring's ice-fetters to bands of flowers, And the deHcate Graces, those thin-skin' d Misses, Are beginning to dance with the rosy Hours ; The Dryades, feehng the breeze on their bosoms, Thro' tuby branches are blowing out blossoms ; The naked Naiad of every pool, Lest the sunshine should drive her to playing the fool, Lies fuU length in the water and keeps herself cool ; Pan is piping afar, 'mid the trees. His ditty dies on the dying breeze, While a wood-nymph leaneth her head on his knees, In a dream, in a dream, with her wild eyes glistening, 194 THE UNDERTONES. Her bosom throbbing, her whole soul listening ! In fact, 'tis the season of billing and cooing, Amorous flying and fond pursuing, Kissing, and pressing, and mischief-doing j And pleasant it is to take one's tipple In the mild warm breath of the spicy South, And deftly to fasten one's lips to the mouth Of a flasket warmer than Venus' nipple ! Pleasant, pleasant, at this the season When folly is reason and reason treason, When nought is so powerful near or far As the palpitating Titillating Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle of the Cyprian star ! 2. But what has a shaky quaky fellow, FuU of the sunshine but over-mellow, To do with the beautiful Lesbian Queen, The pink-eyed precious with locks of yellow. The goddess of twenty and sweet eighteen. Whose double conquest o'er Pride and Spleen In the Greek King's bed put a viper gieeu PINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 195 And darkeu'd the seas with the Grecian force ? Nothing, of course ! Well, even I have of joy my measure And can welcome the newborn Adonis with pleasure ; For since at Philippi, worst of scrapes, I saved my skin for the good of the nation, And made my pious asseveration To scorn ambition and cultivate grapes, I ve found by a curious convolution Of physical ailments and heavenly stars, And of wisdom wean'd, on the blood-milk of Mars, That my pluck is surpass'd by my elocution — And learnt, in fine. That rosy wine And sunshine agree with my constitution ! {Bibii. ) Pleasant it is, I say, to sit here. Just in the sunshine without the threshold. And, with fond fingers and lips, caress old Bacchus' bottle, the sources of wit, here ! Drowsily hum the honey-bees. Drowsily murmur the birds in the trees, 02 196 THE UNDERTONES. Drowsily drops the spicy breeze, Drowsily I sit at mine ease. 4. An idle life is the life for me, — Idleness spiced by philosophy ! I care not a fig for the cares of business. Politics fill me with doubt and dizziness, Pomps and triumphs are simply a bore to me, Crude ambition will come no more to me, I hate the vulgar popular cattle, And I modestly blush at the mention of battle. No ! — Here is my humble definition Of a perfectly happy and virtuous condition : A few fat acres aroundabout. To give one a sense of possession ; a few Servants to pour the sweet Massio out ; Plenty to eat and nothing to do ; A feeling of cozy and proud virility ; A few stray pence ; — And the tiniest sense Of self-conserving responsibility ! PINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. I97 5. For, what is life ? — or, rather ask here, What is that fountain of music and motion We call the Soul ? — As I sit and bask here, I confess that I haven't the slightest notion. Yet Plato calls it eternal, telling How its original lofty dwelling Was among the stars, till, fairly repining At eternally turning a pivot and shining, Heaven it quitted To dweU unpitied In a fleshly mansion of wining and whining ', Aristotle, I don't know why, Believes that, bom up above in the sky The moment that Body is bom on the earth, 'Tis married to Body that moment of birth ; Hippo and others, whose heads were a muddle, Affirm 'tis compounded of water — puddle ! Fire, not a few, with Democritus, swear ; While others — chameleons — reduce it to Air ; Water and fire, cries Hippocrates ! No, water and earth, cries Xenophanes ! Earth and fire, cries Parmenides ! 198 THE UNDERTONES. Stop ! cries Empedocles, — all of these ! Ennius foUow'd Pythagoras, thinking The transmigration of spirits a truth ; — A doctrine I choose to apply in sooth To the spirit that lies in the wine I'm drinking ; Speculation, muddle, trouble, Some see obliquely, others double. While under their noses, Which smell not the roses, Truth placidly bursts like a spangled bubble. 6. Altogether, they puzzle me quite, Tliey all seem wrong and they all seem right. The puzzle remains an unsatisfied question ; But Epicurus has flatly tried To prove that the Soul is cl(5sely allied To wine, and sunshine, and good digestion. For without any prosing, head-racking, or preaching, That's the construction I put on his teaching ! 'Tis simple : the Soul and the Body are one. Like the Sun itself and the light of the Sun, Born to change with all other creations. PINE WBATHBE ON THE DIGENTIA. 199 Homunculi, qualities, emanations, To pass thro' wondrous and strange gradations ; And if this be the case, our best resource Is to make the most of our time, of course, Nor grumble and question till hoary and hoarse. And I slightly improve upon Epicurus, Who shirk'd good living, as some assure us, And assert, from experience long and rare, That body and soul can be perfectly snug, With sunshine, fresh air, And no physical care. In a garden that never requires to be dug. 7. I, Quintus Horatius Flaccus, am learning From the tuneful stars in my zenith turning. From my bachelorhood, which is wide awake. That the sum of good is a life of ease, A friend or two, if the humour please. And not a tie it would pain you to break. Call me selfish, indolent, vain, But I don't and won't see the virtue of pain, Be it of body or be it of brain ; 200 THE UNDERTONES. Philippi finish'd my education, For it taught me the doctrine of self-presei-vation. I hate the barking of Scylla's dogs, Rouud Charybdis your sailor may spin, but not I :- In short, I am one of those excellent hogs That grunt in the Grecian epicure's sty. Day by day, my delight has grown wider Since I learnt that wine is a natural good, And the stubborn donkey called Fortitude Has a knack of upsetting the bile of its rider. All creeds that vex one are mere vexation ; But I firmly believe, and no man dare doubt me. In Massia taken in moderation. And I like to dwell where no fools can flout me — Sans physical care, In the sunny air. And to sing — when I feel the fresh world about me ! (Bibit.) 8. Bear witness. Flower ! — One's sense perceives The rich sap lying within your leaves, Which lusciously swoon to a soft blood-red As the sunlight woos them from overhead ! FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 201 Now, here is a parallel worth inspection Of body and blood in perfect connexion With what some call Soul, that obscure abstraction Which I have proved to my satisfaction To be body in lesser or greater perfection. The perfect parts of the perfect flower Were nourish'd by sunshine for many an hour, Till the sunshine within them o'erflowing, — hence The juice whose odorous quintessence, Though sweetly expressing the parts and the whole, Is simply a part of the whole, and stiU Inseparate from the general will. The Flower is the Body, the Scent is the Soul ! See ! I press a thorn in the milky stalk : The small thing droops o'er the garden walk, The soft leaves shiver, the sap runs dry. And never more will the flower's mild eye Drink the breath of the moon — it will linger, and die. But the scent of the flower, some would cry, is the sweeter ; True, but the scent, every moment, grows less, And, further observing, they would confess, That the flower, as a flower, is the incompleter ! Well, between my fingers I sharply press 202 THE UNDERTONES. The delicate leaves, and thro' every vein The perfect anatomy shrinks with pain, And the flower with its odorous quintessence Will never, 'tis clear, be perfection again. Bah ! I pluck it, I pluck it, and cast it hence, A.S Death plucks humanity body and brain. But the odour has not yet flown, you cry. It sweetens the air, tho' the flower doth die ! Of course ; and the feelers and stem and leaves. And the sap and the odour it interweaves, No longer perfect and gastronomic, Are in common resolving themselves, one perceives, Back to first principles — say atomic ; And whatever destination your fine Hard-headed philosophers choose to assign To the several parts, they are reft of their power. And, so far as concerns its true functions — to scent The soft air, and look fair — and its first sweet intent, 'Tis clear that the whole is no longer a Flower. 9. Take that bulky and truly delectable whole, The egotistic disciple of Bacchus, FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 203 With small hare's-eyes and gray hairs on his poll, Myself— good Quintus Horatius Flaccus ! There's a Body ! There's a Soul ! Many a year, over Rome's dominions, Has he vaunted his epicurean opinions ■ He may be wrong, he may be right, So he roars his creed in no mad heroics, — Since down in the grave, where all creeds unite. Even Epicureans are changed to Stoics. (Bibit.) 10. Humph, the grave ! — ^not the pleasantest project, affirms, This quiet old heart starting up with a beat — Well, 'tis rather hard that liquor so sweet Goes simply to flavour a meal for worms ! After all, I'm a sensible man, To render my span As happy and easeful as ever I can. To-morrow may mingle, who knows, who knows. The Life that is Dream with the Death that is Sleep, And the grass that covers my last repose May make a sward where the lambkins leap Hound a mild-eyed meUifluous musical boy 204 THE UNDERTONES. Who pipes to his flock in a pastoral joy, While the sun that is shining upon him there Draws silver threads thro' his curly hair, And Time with long shadows stalks past the spot, And the Hours pass by, and he sees them not ! Instead of moping and idly rueing it. Now, this is the pleasantest way of viewing it ! — To think, when all is over and done, Of insensately feeling one's way to the sun, Of being a part of the verdure that chases The mild west-wind into shady places. While one's Jiver, warming the roots of a tree, Creeps upward and flutters delectably In the leaves that tremble and sigh and sing, And the breath bubbles up in a daisy ring. And the heart, mingling strangely with rains and snows. Bleeds up thro' the turf in the blood of a rose. 11. Which reminds me, here, that the simile drawn From the flower that is withering on the lawn, May, by a stretch of the thought, apply To the universe — ocean, earth, air, and sky; FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 205 And dividing the whole into infinite less, Fh-st principles, atomies numberless. We find that the sum of the universe strange Sufiers continual mystical change ; While the parts of the whole, tho' their compounds range Thro' all combinations from men down to daisies, Are eternal, unchangeable, suffer no phases. So that Death, to the dullest of heads so unsightly, Is (here I improve Epicurus slightly) Is but the period of dissolution Into some untraceable constitution Of the several parts of the Body and Soul,^- And a total extinction of Man as a whole. As to Time — mere abstraction ! With even motion. Like waves that gathering foamy speech Grow duskily up on a moonlit beach, And seem to increase the huge bulk of the ocean. Hours roU upon hours in the measureless sea Of eternity ; Never ceasing, they seem increasing ; But the parts of the Infinite, changing never. Increase not, tho' changing, the Whole, the For Ever. Time ? Call it a compound, if you please, 20S THE UNDERTONES. A divisible drop in eternal seas, An abstract figure, by which we men Try to count our sensations again and again, And then you will know, perceiving we must Nourish some compound with dust of dust. And seeing how short our sensations and powers. Why I am one. Who sits in the sun, Whose Time is no limited number of hours. But wine ever-present, in nectarine showers. 12. Mutability, dread abstraction, Let me be wise in the satisfaction Of my moderate needs in a half-inaction ! While Propertius grows love-sick and weary and wan, While thou, Virgil, singest of arms and the man. While assassins on Csesar sharpen their eyes. While Agrippa stands grimly on blood-stained decks. While Msecenas flirts with the female sex, Teach me to sport and philosophize ! O Mutability, lasting ever, Changing ever, yet changing never, FINE WEAIHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 207 Teach me, teach me, and make me wise ! — In the dreadful depth of thy eyeballs dumb, Strange meanings flutter and pass to nought, And beautiful images fade as they come. Thro' an under-trouble of shady thought ! 13. Yonder, yonder, the River doth run, From sun to shade, and from shade to sun, Shaking the lilies to seed as it flows, Under the willow-trees taking a dose, And waking up in a flutter of fun ! Could you look at the leaves of yonder tree ! The wind is stirring them as the sun is stirring me ! The woolly clouds move quiet and slow, In the pale blue calm of the tranquil skies. And their shades that run on the grass below Leave purple dreams in the violet's eyes ! The vine droops over my head with bright Clusters of purple and green — the rose Breaks her heart on the air — and the orange glows Like golden lamps in an emerald night.* * Golden lamps in a green night. — Anijrew Marvel, 208 THE UNDERTONES. While I sit, with the stain of the wine on my lip, Shall nature and I part fellowship ? No, by Bacchus ! This view from the threshold of home Ts as glad to the core, and as sorrow-despising. As AphroditI when fresh from the foam That still on her bosom was falling and rising, While the sunshine crept thro' her briny hair And mingled itself with the shadows there. And her deepening eyes drank their azure from air. And she blush' d a new beauty surpassingly fair ! 14. 'Tis absurd to tell me to ruffle a feather, Because there may soon be a change of weather. When the- Dog-Star foams, I will lie in the shade. And watch the white sun thro' an emerald glade ; When winter murmurs with rain and storm, I will watch my hearth smile to itself, and keep warm ; And for Death, who having fulfilled his task Leaves his deputy Silence in houses of mourning, — Well, I hope he no troublesome questions will ask. But knock me down, like an ox, without warning. Like the world, I most solemnly promise devotion FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 209 To pleasure commingled of light, music, motion. I like (as I said) to sit here in my mirth, To be part of the joy of the sweet-smelling earth, To feel the blood blush like a flower with its glee, To sing hke a bird, to be stirr'd like a tree, Drowsily, drowsily, sit at mine ease, While the odd rhymes buzz in my brain like bees. And over my wine-cup to chirp and to nod. Ay to sit — tin I fall Like that peach from the wall — Self-sufficient, serenej happy-eyed, — like a God ! {JBibit.) 15. Ay, crop the com with the crooked sickle, Sow harvest early and reap too late. Prove Fortune friendly or false or fickle. Blunder and bother with aching pate. Attempting to conquer chance or fate, Struggle, speculate, dig, and bleed, Eeap the whirlwind of Venus' seed, senseless, impotent human breed ! What avails ! what avails ! Were ye less intent 210 THE UNDERTONES. On your raking and digging, perchance ye'd behold The fleecy vapours above you roU'd Round the dozing Deities dead to strife. With their mild great eyes on each other bent Enchanging a wisdom indifferent To the native honours of death and life. Sober truths of a pleasure divine Keep them supine ! The grand lazy fellows have nothing to do With the bubble and trouble of me or of you, The stars break around them in silver foam, And they calmly amuse themselves, sometimes, by stealing A peep at us pigmies, with much the same feeling With which, from the candoiir and quiet of home, I glance at the strife of political Rome. Serene, happy-eyed, self-sufficient, they rest On the hill where the blue sky is leaning her breast : — Jove seated supreme in the midst, at his side Apollo the Sun and Selene the Moon, Juno half dozing, her foot of pride On the neck of Venus the drowsy-eyed, And Pallas humming the spheric tuna FINE WEATHEH ON THE DIQENTIA. 211 16. Flash ! Lightning, I swear ! — there's a tempest brewing ! Crash ! Thunder, too — swift-fDoted lightning pursuing ! The leaves are troubled, the winds drop dead, The air grows ruminant overhead — Splash ! That great round drop fell pat on my nose. Flash ! crash ! splash ! — I must run for it, I suppose. what a flashing and crashing and splashing, The earth is rooking, the skies are riven — Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion. Is breaking the crystal urns of heaven. p2 XVIII. FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE. VIRGIL TO HORACE, 1. Sweet is soft slumber, Horace, after toil, To him who holds the glebe and ploughs the fruitful soil. Sweet to salt-blooded mariners, on decks washed red with storm. Deep sleep wherein past tempest and green waves Make shadows multiform ; 2. Sweet 'tis to Ceesar, when the red star, grown Swart with war's dust, doth fade, to loll upon a throne Dispensing gifts, while on his lips a crafty half-smile dies, And the soft whispers of approving Rome Fan his half-closed eyes ! FINE WEATHER BY BAIAB. g^S 3. Sweet to Tibullus, sick and out of tune, What time his elegies like wolves howl at the moon, Comes Pity loos'ning Delia's zone as breezes part a cloud ; And sweet to thee a wine-cup rough with sleep, After the tawny crowd. 4. And further, sweetly comes a scroll from thee To Virgil where he dwells at Baiae near the sea — For, sick with servile snakes of state that twine round Caesar's foot. He welcomes thy moist greeting and thy thought Poetically put. 5. Such alternation of unrest and rest, AU fitful peace and passion of the yearning breast, Deepen the meanings flashing swift in Joy's pink-lidded eyne. And help the Hours to juggle with the fruits Of easy creeds like thine. 214 THE UNDERTONES. 6. The time-glass runs, the seasons come and go, After the rain, the flowers, after the flowers, the snow; This Hour is pale and oUve-crown'd, that splash'd with rebel-mud — This, fliisht to gaze on Csesar's laurell'd brows, That, drunk with Caesar's blood ! 7. Shall merest mortal man with drowsy nod Sit under purple vine and doze and ape the god? Wave down the everlasting strife of earth and air and sea? And, like a full-fed fruit that gorges light, Grow rotten on the tree ? Leave the grand mental war that mortals keep ? Eat the fat ears of corn, yet neither sow nor reap ? Loll in the sunshine, sipping sweets, what time the din of fights Quenches the wind round Troy, and very goos Feel dizzy on their heights ? FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE. 215 9. Nay, friend ! — ^For .such a man each hour supplies Portents that mock his ease, affright his languid eyes : The veiy elements are leagued to goad him blood and brain, The very Sim sows drouth within his throat Until it raves for rainl 10. Methinks I see thee sitting in the sun, Whose kisses melt thy crusty wrinkles one by one : Thy lips droop darkly with a worm of thought, half sad, half wroth. Which stirs the chrysalis mouth, then, ripe with wine, Bursts like a golden moth. 11. TJnfaith is with thee, Horace. Sun and wind Disturb the tranquil currents of thy heart and mind; In midst of Joy, comes pigmy doubt, prick-pricking like a flea, Till, wide awake, you rack your brains to prove Your perfect joy to me. 216 The i/ndbrtone8. 12. better far, if Man would climb, to range Thro' sun and thunder-storm tempestuous paths of change, To mingle with the motion huge of earth and air and main. And lastly, fall upon a bed of flowers When wearied down by pain. 13. Deep, deep, within Man's elemental parts — Earth, water, fire, and air that mix in human hearts, — Subsists Unrest that seeketh Rest, and flashes into gleams That haunt the soul to action, and by night Disturb our sleep with dreams. 14. And thus we fashion with a piteous will The gods in drowsy mildness seated on a hill. The day before them evermore, the starry night behind, — Inheritors of the divine repose We seek and cannot find. ^ PINK WEATHER BY BAIAE. 217 15. Woe, woe, to him, who craving that calm boon Falleth to sleep on beds of poppy flowers too soon ! The elements shall hem him in and fright his shrieking soul, And, since he asks for light. Lightning itself Shall scorch his eyes to coal ! 16. My Horace ! — I am here beside the deep, Weaving at will this verse for Memory to keep : I share the sunshine with my friend, and like a lizard bask ; But I, friend, doubt this summer joy, — and you Shall answer what I ask. — 17. Blufif March has blown his clarion out of tune, Gone is the blue-edged sickle of the April moon ; Faded hath fretful May behind a tremulous veil of rain,-^ But I would the boisterous season of the winds And snows were here again ! 218 THE UNDERTONES. 18. For I am kneeling on the white sea-sand, Letting the cold soft waves creep up and kiss my hand ; A golden glare of sunshine fills the blue air at my back, And swims between the meadows and the skies, Leaving the meadows black. 19. All is as still and beautiful as sleep : Nay, all is sleep — the quiet air, the azure deep ; The cool blue waves creep thro' my fingers with a silver gleam. As, lost in utter calm, I neither think Nor act, but only dream. 20. This is the poetry of Heart's repose. For which my spirit yeam'd thro' drifting winds and snows — Only the tinghng coolness on my hand seems part akin To that bleak winter waxring when the dream Of peace arose within. FINE WEATHER BY BAIAB. 219 21. What time I dream'd of this, the winds, oast free, Swoop'd eagle-like and tore the white bowels of the sea ; The winter tempest moved above, and storm on storm did frown ; — I saw the awful Sea bound up in cloud And then torn hugely down. 22. Within my blood arose the wild commotion. My soul was battling abroad with winds and ocean ; But in the centre of the wrath, aU. nature, sea and sky, Call'd out aloud for peace divine as this, And lo, I join'd the cry. 23. And calm has come, and June is on the deep. The winds are nested, and the earth takes mellow sleep ; Yet, friend, my soul, though husht in awe, feels peace so still is pain, — And the monotonous yearning voice within Calls out for war again ! 220 THE UNDERTONES. 2i. For hark ! into my dream of golden ease Breaketh the hollow munnur of untroubled seas ; And behold, my blood awakens with a thrill and sinks and swells, As when low breezes die and rise again On beds of asphodels. 25. Ay, now, when all is placid as a star, My soul in incompleteness longs for active war ; Amid its utter happiness, it sighs imperfectly In answer to the beautiful unrest Within the sleeping sea. 26. Unsatisfied, I hunger on the land, Only subdued by this bright water on my hand ; The beating heart within my breast for louder utterance yearns — I listen, and the sjrmpathetic sea Its endless moan returns. FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE. 221 27. Quiet, monotonous, breathless, almost drown' d, Inaudibly audible, felt scarce heard, cometh the sound, Monotonous, so monotonous, but oh ! so sweet, so sweet, When my hid heart is throbbing forth a voice. And the two voices meet. 28. The void within the calm for which I yearned. Until this moment was imperfectly discerned ; But now I feel to the roots of life an inner melody, That harmonises my unquiet heart With the unquiet sea. 29. Hear I the crawling movements of the main ? Or hear I dim heart-echoes dying in the brain 1 Is there but one impatient moan, and is it of the sea ? And, if two voices speak, which voice belongs To ocean, which to me ? 222 THE UNDERTONES. 30. The sounds have mingled into some faint ■whole, Inseparate, trembling o'er the fibres of my soul ; And the cool waves have a magic all my swooning blood to quell ; The sea glides thro' and thro' me, and my soul Keeps sea-sound like a shell. 31. Ah, the monotonous music in my soul, Enlarging like the waves, murmuring without control !^ Is it that changeful nature can rest not night nor day ? And is the music born of this lorn Man, Or Ocean, — Horace, say 1 32. Is there a climbing element in life Which is at war with rest, alternates strife with strife, Whereby we reach eternal seas upon whose shores unstirr'd Ev'n Joy can sleep, — because no moan like this Within those waves is heard 1 XIX. THE SWAN-SONG OF APOLLO. 1. Lyre ! Lyre ! Strung with celestial fire ! Thou living soul of sound that answereth These fingers that have troubled thee so long, With passion, and with radiance, and with breath Of melancholy song, — Answer, answer, answer me, With thy withering melody ! For the earth is old, and strange Mysteries are working change. And the Dead who slumber'd deep Startle troubled from their sleep, And the ancient gods divine. Pale and haggard o'er their wine. Fade in their ghastly banquet-halls, with large eyes fixed on mine ! J24 THE UNDERTONES. 2. Ah me ! ah me ! The earth and air and sea Are shaken ; and the great pale gods sit still, The roseate mists around them roll away : — Lo ! Hebe listens in the act to fill, And groweth wan and grey ; On the banquet-table spread. Fruits and flowers grow sick and dead, Pale pure mead in every cup Gleams to blood and withers up ; Aphroditi breathes a charm, Gripping Pallas' bronzed arm ; Zeus the Father clenches teeth, While his cloud-throne shakes beneath ; The passion-flower in Herfi's hair melts in a snowy wreath ! 3. Ah, woe ! ah, woe ! One climbeth from below, — A mortal shape with pallid smUe divine. Bearing a heavy Cross and crown'd with thorn, — His brow is moist with blood, his strange sweet eyne THE SWAN-SONG OF APOLLO. 225 Look piteous and forlorn : Hark, hark J his cold foot-fall Breaks upon the banquet-hall ! God and goddess start to hear, Earth, air, ocean, moan in fear ; Shadows of the Cross and Him Dark the banquet-table dim. Silent sit the gods divine, Old and haggard over wine. And slowly to thy song they fade, with large eyes fixed on mine ! 4. Lyre ! Lyre ! Thy strings of golden fire Fade to their fading, and the hand is chill That touches thee ; the great bright brow gi-ows gray— I faint, I wither, while that conclave still Dies wearily away ! Ah, the prophecy of old Sung by us to smilers cold ! — God and goddess pale and die, a 226 THE UNDERTONES. Chilly cold against the sky, There is change and all is done, Strange look Moon and Stars and Sun ! God and goddess fade, and see ! All their large eyes look at me ! While woe ! ah, woe ! in dying song, I fade, I fade, with thee ! POET'S EPILOGUE. TO MARY ON EARTH. ** Simplex muTidUiis / " EPILOGUE. TO MAEY ON EARTH. 1. So ! now the task is ended ; and to-night, Sick, impotent, no longer soul-sustain' d. Withdrawing eyes from that ideal height Where, in low undertones, those Spirits plain' d. Each full of special glory unattain'd, — I turn on you, Sweet-Heart, my weary sight. — Shut out the darkness, shutting in the light : So ! now the task is ended. What is gain'd 1 2. First, sit beside me. Place your hand in mine. From deepest fountain of your veins the while THE UNDERTONES. Call up your Soul ; and briefly let it shine In those grey eyes with mildness feminine. Yes, smile, Dear ! — you are truest when you smile. My heart to-night is calm as peaceful dreams. — Afar away the wind is shrill, the culver Blows up and down the moors with windy gleams. The birch unlooseneth her locks of silver And shakes them softly on the mountain streams. And o'er the grave that holds my David's dust The Moon uplifts her empty dripping horn : Thither my fancies turn, but turn in trust, Not wholly sadly, faithful though forlorn. For you, too, love him, mourn his life's quick fleeting ; We think of him in common. Is it so 1 — Your little hand has answer' d, and I know His name makes music in your heart's soft beating ; And well, 'tis something gain'd for him and me- Him, in his heaven, and me, in this low spot. Something his eyes will see, and joy to see — Tliat you, too, love him, though you knew him not. TO MART ON EARTH. 231 4. Yet this is bitter. We were boy and boy, Hand link'd in hand we dreamt of power and fame, We shared each other's sorrow, pride, and joy, To one wild tune our swift blood went and came. Eyes drank each other's hope with flash of flame. Then, side by side, we clomb the hill of life. We ranged thro' mist and mist, thro' storm and strife ; But then, it is so bitter, now, to feel That his pale Soul to mine was so akin. Firm-fix' d on goals we each set forth to win. So twinly conscious of the sweet Ideal, So wedded (God forgive me if I sin !) That neither he, my friend, nor I could steal One glimpse of heaven's divinities — alone. And flushing seek his brother, and reveal Some hope, some joy, some beauty, else unknown ; Nor, bringing down his sunlight from the Sun, Call sudden up, to light his fellow's face, A smile as proud, as glad, as that I trace In your dear eyes, now, when my work is done. 232 THE UNDERTONES. 5. Love gains in giving. What had I to give Whereof his Poet-Soul was not possest ? What gleams of stars he knew not, fugitive As Ughtning-flashes, could I manifest ? What music fainting in a clearer air ? What lights of sunrise ffom beyond the grave What pride in knowledge that he could not share 1- Ay, Mary, it is bitter ; for I swear He took with him, to heav'n, no wealth I gave. 6. No, Love, it is not bitter ! Thoughts like those Were sin these songs I sing you must adjust. Not bitter, ah, not bitter ! — God is just ; And, seeing our one-knowledge, just God chose, By one swift stroke, to part us. Far above The measure of my hope, my pride, my love, Above our seasons, suns and rains and snows, — He, hke an exhalation, thus arose Hearing in a diviner atmosphere Music we only see, when, dewy and dim, The stars thro' gulfs of aaure darkness swim. To MARY ON EARTH. 233 Music I Seem to see, but cannot hear. But evermore, my Poet, on his height, Fills up my Soul with sweetness to the brim. Rains influence, and warning, and delight ; And now, I smile for pride and joy in him ! 7. I saia. Love gains by giving. And to know That I, who could not glorify my Fiiend, Soul of my Soul, although I loved him so. Have power and strength and privilege to lend Glimpses of heav'n to Thee, of hope, of bliss ! Power to go heavenward, pluck flowers and blend Their hues in wreaths I give you with a kiss — You, Love, who climb not up the heights at all ! To think, to think, I never could upcall On his dead face, so proud a smile as this ! 8. Most just is God : who bids me not be sad For his dear sake whose name is dear to thee, Who bids me proudly climb and sometimes see With joy a glimpse of him in glory clad j 234 THE UNDERTONES. Who, fhrther, bids your life be proud and glad, When I have climb'd and seen, for joy in me. My lowly-minded, gentle-hearted Love ! I bring you down his gifts, and am sustain'd : You watch and pray — I climb — he stands above. So, now the task is ended, what is gain'd 1 9. This knowledge. — Better in your arms to rest, Better to love you till my heart should break, Than pause to ask if he who would be West Should love for more than his own loving's sake. So closer, closer stiE ; for (while afar, Mile upon mile toward the polar star, Now in the autumn time our Poet's dust Sucks back thro' grassy sods the flowers it thrust To feel the summer on the outer earth) I turn to you, and on your bosom faU. Love grows by giving. I have given my all. So, smile — to show you hold the gift of worth. 10. Ay, all the thanks that I on earth can render TO MART ON EARTH. 235 To him who sends me such good news from God, Is, in due turn, to thy young hfe to tender Hopes that denote, while blossoming in splendour, Where an invisible Angel's foot hath trode. So, Sweet- Heart, I have given unto thee. Not only such poor song as here I twine, But Hope, Ambition, all of mine or me. My flesh and blood, and more, my Soul divine. Take all, take all ! Ay, wind white arms about My neck and from my Soul draw bliss for thine : Smile, Sweet-Heart, and be happy — lest thou doubt How much the gift I give thee makes thee mine ! THX EKO. SUAJ>llL'£r, AOS£W, & CO-t PKINIESS, WJiiI£FBllBS. lOctober, 1882 ChATTO & WiNDUS'S List of Books. *.* For NOVELS, see pp. 19-25. Beautifully bound in a novel style, small 4to, i6s. THE LADY OP THE LAKE. By Sir Walter Scott. With numerous fine Illustrations. 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