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APHROESSA 
 
By the Same Author. 
 
 CONSTANTINE : 
 
 A TALE OF GREECE UNDER KING OTHO. 
 
 Paper covers, price is. 6d. 
 
 The Literary World : " Mr. Horton deserves credit for his story, 
 which is told simply and with considerable skill." 
 
 Queen : " A pretty, simple tale." 
 
 Scotsman : " It is a romantic and pathetic story. ... It is written 
 from so intimate a knowledge of the life of modern Greece that its 
 pictures of manners and character are instructive as well as pleasing." 
 
 Dundee Advertiser : " A story of unique and undeniable charm." 
 
APHROESSA 
 
 A LSGS^D OF A%GOLIS 
 And other Poems 
 
 GEORGE HORTON 
 
 LONDON 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 1897 
 
7^ 3^'^ 
 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
^ 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND, 
 
 ERNEST McGAFFEY, ESQ. 
 
 OF CHICAGO. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 APHROESSA I 
 
 PAN 80 
 
 CUPID SLEEPING 83 
 
 THE HONEY THIEF • • • • • 85 
 
 BALLADE OF SAPPHO'S FAME . . . .87 
 
 A NIGHT IN LESBOS 89 
 
APHROESSA. 
 
 Here on this innocent ^gean isle, 
 Whose mountains look on bloomy Argolis, 
 Will I take refuge from the world awhile — 
 There is no other spot so sweet as this. 
 
 Here young-eyed Spring an early haven seeks, 
 Fled over sea from the voluptuous south, 
 With pink of almond blossoms in her cheeks 
 And red of blood-red roses on her mouth. 
 
 With laurel leaves her brow is garlanded ; 
 Her breath is sea-wind mingled with the sweet, 
 Faint breath of flowers that, when they hear 
 
 her tread. 
 Swarm out of doors to kiss her rosy feet. 
 
2 APHROESSA. 
 
 Oh, that I knew the words to picture well 
 The almond trees when blossoming their fill ! 
 Oh, that I wrote as sweetly as they smell, 
 Patches of white against the purple hill ! 
 
 What brings so many swallows ere their time 
 O'er heaving leagues of wan and sullen seas ? 
 It is because they long in alien clime 
 All winter for the heavenly almond trees. 
 
 My heart is healed the grief it knoweth of 
 When I look up into the skies of Greece, 
 For they are deeper than divinest love 
 And softer than the brooding wing of peace. 
 
 Oh, happy hills of islands far away, 
 In purple isolation dreaming there 1 
 Are ye creations of the truthful day, 
 Can any earthly country be so fair ? 
 
APHROESSA. 3 
 
 The violet, unearthly air of sleep 
 Enfolds them in a dim poetic mist, 
 And slopes that nearer lie are buried deep 
 In tender tints of melted amethyst. 
 
 If any little town, distinctly white. 
 Embowered sits in silvery olive trees. 
 How pleasantly it lingers on the sight. 
 Harmonious amid softer harmonies ! 
 
 What colour is so soft as olive green ? 
 Such tints belong not to the garish sun, 
 But they must be the moon's ethereal sheen 
 That lingers on although the night is done. 
 
 And here, if anywhere beneath the sky, 
 Spring decks herself as bride awaitii^g groom, 
 For long before 'tis time that she must fly 
 A thousand orange orchards are in bloom. 
 
4 APHROESSA. 
 
 Oh, happy moment for the wanderer 
 Who stands at last upon the homing prow, 
 When first his village gleams from out the blur, 
 And orange orchards breathe upon his brow ! 
 
 I pray you, simple people, let me bide 
 Here in your town and dream for many days ; 
 So much I loathe the world of guile and pride 
 That I feel worthy of your peaceful ways. 
 
 And I will be as one of you : I'll grieve 
 If any grieve, and sing when others sing ; 
 And if I may but hear it, I'll believe 
 In all your lore of elfin happening. 
 
 What do we know, we so-called wiser men ? 
 They doubt the most who most are counted 
 
 sage, 
 Sneering at all things : let us woo again 
 The fertile credence of a fresher age. 
 
APHROESSA. 5 
 
 Oh, surely with becoming awe I'll tell, 
 And many prudent signings of the cross. 
 What fate a youthful shepherd once befell, 
 What joy he had, what long and bitter loss. 
 
 Stern manhood had not come to set its mark 
 
 Upon the lip of graceful Spiridon, 
 
 Nor had the sunny upland of his cheek 
 
 Put forth as yet a single tiny sprout 
 
 To hide the wild, red poppies of its youth. 
 
 Young Spiridon a shepherd was, and kept 
 His woolly flock in flowering Argolis, 
 And he was comely as a stripling god. 
 More graceful was he than a slender reed 
 That guards a midday lurking-place of Pan. 
 Brown locks he had that rippled round his 
 \ brow 
 
 Like tiny wavelets on a shining beach ; 
 
6 APHROESSA. 
 
 Narcissus' features, splendid dreamy eyes, 
 Lips that the reddest berry could not stain 
 And teeth more pearly than a cuttle bone 
 Foam-fetched and foam-forsaken on the sands ! 
 Oh, who can say if any little rill 
 Of classic blood has trickled down the years ? 
 Has wound its tortuous and shining way 
 Through ages of slow disillusionment. 
 Of dim despair and dark forgetfulness ? 
 
 If this can be, perhaps a tiny drop 
 Had mingled with the blood of Spiridon ; 
 For he could see the beautiful in things. 
 He was not blind nor deaf, as are the brutes 
 And brutish men ; no sordid world was his 
 Of commonness and dull utility. 
 
 O happy shepherd, for whom not in vain 
 A myriad wild-wood blossoms lifted sweet 
 
APHROESSA. 7 
 
 Beseeching faces ! for whom not in vain 
 
 Fleet swallows laid above the level sea 
 
 The invisible carpet of their woven flight. 
 
 If any roguish warbler from a twig 
 
 With saucy curve of neck looked down at 
 
 him, 
 Or if a petal- winged butterfly 
 Mistook some flower for its love, and with 
 Despairing kisses wooed it, Spiridon 
 Was heart-stung with a sudden dart of joy. 
 
 There is a class of men who only see 
 Good pasturage for cattle, tho' the mead 
 Is Tyrian-dyed with bright anemones ; 
 Who, looking at a Patmian sunset say : 
 ^' 'Twill rain to-morrow," or " It will be dry." 
 
 Young Spiridon was not of these, nor yet 
 Of those who count the spots upon a moth 
 
8 APHROESSA. 
 
 And add the creature to a catalogue. 
 Untutored was he, yet as finely tuned 
 To harmonies of colour, sound and form 
 As an reolian lyre to summer winds. 
 
 He was enwrapped in Nature, and his soul 
 
 As quick to the great mother's every change 
 
 As is the unborn babe unto the heart 
 
 That feeds it ; every subtle influence 
 
 Of night and day was shadowed in his moods 
 
 As when upon a mountain, moving clouds 
 
 With sky between, cast fluent light and shade. 
 
 When first at dawn the awakening hills uprose 
 Like old leviathans, and looked about 
 To see if yet the shepherd sun were come, 
 Young Spiridon was glad — the uncertain 
 
 world 
 Seemed full of hope and vague resolve and 
 
 song. 
 
APHROESSA. 9 
 
 How different that other twilight was 
 
 When Evening poured her horn of purple wine 
 
 Above the world, and spattered all the sky 
 
 With the unmelted jewels in the dregs ! 
 
 '' O Night, thou bringest all things ! " saith the 
 
 queen 
 Of song : to Spiridon she brought the stars. 
 
 He floated down a life of golden days 
 
 And lone, mysterious nights, as one who drifts 
 
 By stretches of dim forest, alternate 
 
 With peaceful open, and for comradeship 
 
 His timid flock sufficed him and the stars. 
 
 The athletic maidens of the villages, 
 However comely in their graceful garb, 
 Bewitched him not ; he never came to watch 
 The Pyrrhic line of girls upon the green 
 Dancing at Easter festivals ; nor sought 
 
10 APHROESSA. 
 
 The fields in summer, where with crooked 
 
 swords 
 The fierce, hthe women slew the myriad 
 
 wheat. 
 Ah, many a twain of tropic eyes that bloomed 
 Twin pansy blossoms in a garden face 
 Leaned to his smile, and many a simple heart 
 Ached secretly beneath his guiltless scorn ! 
 
 Who could resist the gentle Marigo — 
 
 Who but this dreamer Spiridon ? Indeed, 
 
 I know the truth of his heart history. 
 
 And what strange things befell him in the 
 
 wild. 
 Were it not so, I should be fain to say 
 That he was blind to God's most utter work. 
 For who that loves the lovely cannot feel 
 That all the beauty of the universe. 
 Rife as the countless laughter of the sea. 
 
APHROESSA. II 
 
 Reaches flood-tide in woman ? Fairer she 
 Than wind-swept stars or song of nightingale 
 Or moth, moon-dusted and with dewdrop 
 
 eyes ; 
 Fairer is she than mountain waterfalls 
 Or gentle kine, knee-deep in clover fields ; 
 And sweeter than the sun's good-night caress 
 Before he puts the drowsy world to bed. 
 For woman's beauty makes a man forget 
 All other things in heaven or earth beneath 
 Until he hears no music save her voice, 
 And wots of beauty only in her face. 
 
 The sister years had made of Marigo 
 Their darling : one by one they went tiptoe 
 Across her sunny life, like nymphs that play 
 At hide and seek 'twixt two eternities. 
 Like nymphs were they, that hear the frolic 
 tread 
 
12 APHROESSA. 
 
 Of sandalled feet, and flee into the shade ; 
 And as they passed, each left with Marigo 
 Some charm that added to her loveliness. 
 
 The opening rose a crowning moment has 
 When it retains the beauty of the bud, 
 Although the swelling glory of the flower 
 Has burst its bars and warmly peeps abroad. 
 At such exquisite age of double charm 
 Was Marigo : A bud of maidenhood 
 That half-fulfilled its riper promises. 
 
 Ah, you should see her coming from the well, 
 The jug upon her shoulder lifted high ! 
 One chiselled arm with classic curve upraised, 
 Holding the antique amphora, her sleeve 
 Slipped shoulder-low from off the dimpled 
 
 skin ; 
 Or look into her deep, dark eyes and say 
 
APHROESSA. 13 
 
 If they indeed are black ; for Love has come 
 And lit his beacon in their splendid night. 
 
 A mighty walnut tree its branches spread, 
 Like hands in benediction, o'er the home 
 Of Anna, mother of our Spiridon ; 
 A humble cot of white, where sweet content 
 Had dwelt with frugal plenty many a year. 
 'Tis evening, and the shrill cicada's song 
 Has ceased among the feathery olive trees. 
 How suddenly the quiet fell ! but now, 
 A million tiny prisoners of the grove 
 Were rasping at the bars, when in a breath 
 They stopped with one accord, as if they heard 
 Night's footfall in the pillared corridors. 
 
 Anna stood spinning in her open door. 
 The forked distaff leaning from her waist 
 A lily seemed, that bloomed in snowy wool. 
 
14 APHROESSA. 
 
 Deftly her lingers twirled the slender yarn, 
 
 While ever and anon with quavering voice 
 
 She hummed the sweet, monotonous refrain 
 
 Of some yEgean lullaby, first sung 
 
 To Grecian mothers by the crooning sea. 
 
 For Anna was awaiting Spiridon, 
 
 Her pride, her pallikar, her platane tree ! 
 
 One after one the great-eyed stars awoke, 
 
 And from an orange grove the hiding moon 
 
 Came forth, dimly yet brightly beautiful. 
 
 Who can describe, what human words can 
 
 paint 
 Such golden ecstasy, such utter grace ? 
 Oh, that the song archangel, he who wrote 
 'Neath English skies, *^ See how the floor of 
 
 heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold," 
 
APHROESSA. 15 
 
 Had been baptized in Grecian moonshine ! 
 then 
 
 The world might read and some would under- 
 stand. 
 
 It is no wonder that the feathered choirs 
 Have picked their sweetest throat to sing at 
 
 night, 
 Such rare enchantment never could exist 
 Without a voice : and when the earth is 
 
 poured 
 So full of vague, yet potent ecstasy, 
 That even dullards cease from chattering. 
 They know not why — Night walks among the 
 
 trees. 
 And whispers to her singer, ^^ Sing my song ! " 
 
 Upon a bench beneath the walnut tree 
 Sat Anna, waiting for her Spiridon 
 
i6 APHROESSA. 
 
 Until the nightingales began to spin 
 
 The fleecy moonshine into skeins of song. 
 
 But even then, though all the air was full 
 
 Of their delirium of joy and pain, 
 
 Sweeter and sadder than a seraph's love, 
 
 Her mother's heart forgot not, and she sighed : 
 
 " Why comes he not to hear his nightingales ? 
 
 Perhaps he lingers 'neath the fragrant pines, 
 
 Or gazes long upon the moongilt sea : 
 
 Sing on until he comes, O nightingales ! 
 
 He loves you so, my boy, my cypress tree ! " 
 
 Out of the Grecian night came Marigo, 
 And seemed a part of all that perfectness 
 And of the hour ; she wore about her brow 
 A broidered kerchief tied in charming haste. 
 Her eyes were shining like the stars with 
 
 love. 
 Her tread was light as fall of orange flowers. 
 
APHROESSA. 17 
 
 *' I come," she said, '^ to share your loneliness," 
 And kissed the hand that Anna held to her. 
 But Anna drew the fair cheek to her own. 
 And whispered low : '' To-night he comes to 
 
 me, 
 And I shall tell him it is time he wed. 
 And that I long to see him wed with you. 
 Why should he say me nay ? my slightest wish 
 Has ever been his law, he is so good. 
 Besides, where will he find a fairer maid. 
 Or I a daughter with a kinder heart ? 
 He shall not put me off, for I am old 
 And long to see a grandchild ere I go. 
 I long to hold his chubby little feet, 
 And feel his soft, red fingers in my hair." 
 But Marigo, because she feared the moon 
 Would tell her blushes, kissed the fond old dame 
 And fled into the fragrant night, the while 
 Her heart sang louder than the nightingales. 
 
1 8 APHROESSA. 
 
 Meanwhile our Spiridon had left his flock 
 Safe in the keeping of his wolfish dogs, 
 And homeward down the rugged mountain- 
 side 
 Was coming slow. Each treacherous step he 
 
 tried 
 With long slim crook, while one hand guarded 
 
 well 
 And lifted high above the bristling thorns 
 A bag of snowy curds. Full soon he came 
 Upon a path that led by winding ways 
 Into a deep ravine, where timidly 
 With many hidings 'mid the tumbled rock, 
 A little rill ran to its mother sea. 
 The path was dangerous here, and Spiridon 
 Stretched him upon a bank of velvet sand 
 Until the Night should bring her silver bowl 
 Of light, and pour it on the world. Anon 
 Sheer loneliness oppressed him ; e'en the dog 
 
APHROESSA. 19 
 
 That loved him most and always followed 
 
 him 
 Lay down and slept. Somewhere among the 
 
 rocks 
 At sad monotonous intervals an owl 
 Uttered its single note ; far, far away 
 It seemed, yet near, as when a smitten bird 
 Peeps feebly while it gasps its life away. 
 A cricket too chirped in the wilderness 
 Complainingly, because he had no kin 
 Or comrades nearer than the firefly stars. 
 Even the trees that by the light of day 
 Are friends of man and beast, now stood apart 
 With cloaks of night about them tightly drawn 
 And whispered dread conspiracies. At last 
 Instinctively the shepherd's fingers sought 
 His pipe of reeds and drew it from his breast ; 
 For he was skilled to blow sweet melodies, 
 And many an hour that otherwise had been 
 
20 APHROESSA. 
 
 Companionless, he thought away in tunes. 
 In such a way came music in the world — 
 
 That old god Pan, because he was uncouth 
 And every nymph that chanced to peep at him 
 Through parted grasses, frightened ran away, 
 Grew lonely, and for many dreary years 
 The whispering reeds his only comrades were. 
 Oh, long he listened, till at last he learned 
 Their secret language and he heard them boast : 
 " We know all music that shall ever be. 
 And all that ever was in other worlds. 
 We have ensnared the very wildest notes 
 Of birds that, perched awry upon our stems, 
 Went mad with joy while swaying in the sun. 
 We know the dove's low coo, the lullaby 
 Of sighing winds, the lap of laughing waves. 
 Our hollow stems are prisons, and they hold 
 The fairy souls of silent melodies." 
 
APHROESSA. 21 
 
 Then old god Pan, with twinkling, curious 
 
 eyes, 
 And thick lips parted in astonishment, 
 Seized one that nearest grew and broke it off. 
 Long did he listen at the open end, 
 And shutting one eye, long he peered within. 
 Darkness was there and silence, nothing more. 
 At last, with sudden puffing of his cheeks. 
 He blew into the hole, in hope to drive 
 The lurking fairy forth ; then straightway leapt 
 Erect on crooked legs, for he had heard 
 A vibrant moan ! What wonder that the god. 
 Sitting thereafter at cross-legged ease. 
 Wooed the imprisoned sprites of sound until 
 The shepherds' pipes grew perfect in his 
 
 hands ? 
 Or that the nymphs, whose rosy faces pushed 
 The reeds asunder, oftentimes forgot, 
 Alas ! too late, that old god Pan was there ? 
 
22 APHROESSA. 
 
 'Twas Pan, quaint denizen of solitudes, 
 Who taught the lonely shepherds how to pipe, 
 And they from earliest ages have beguiled 
 The friendless hours with strange wild melodies. 
 
 So Spiridon began to play, and slow 
 His fingers rose and fell along the stops 
 Responsive to his mood ; with eyes half closed, 
 Sitting cross-legged on the sand, he blew 
 A sad refrain, monotonous and low. 
 While thus he sat, a playful infant star 
 Passed overhead leading the stately moon. 
 And in a magic moment Night had slipped 
 Her gauzy veil and flung it to the winds. 
 
 Oh, beautiful ! far up the deep ravine. 
 Those vague white cliffs a fairy palace are 
 Reached by a giant stairway, over which 
 Is laid the brooklet's labyrinthine thread. 
 
APHROESSA. 23 
 
 The sand is silver dust, the shining pools 
 Are melted silver, and their bottoms gleam 
 With diamond stars down -fallen from the sky. 
 Wrapt by the birth of beauty, Spiridon 
 Sat gazing at the scene in ravishment, 
 His pipe held silently to parted lips. 
 
 What is that wild, strange singing that he hears. 
 Unearthly sweet ? He springs erect and looks 
 Above him where the cavern's rocky walls 
 Define a heavenly road bestrown with stars. 
 No human form he sees, no sprite adrift 
 Beneath the dazzling moon, yet overhead 
 A score of voices swell the weird refrain, 
 Haunting the night with ghostly harmony. 
 
 The singing ceases, and a sudden peal 
 Of elfin laughter, like a chime of bells, 
 Startles the sky ; far, far and faint it wanes 
 
24 APHROESSA. 
 
 Ha-ha-ing down the wind. The shepherd youth 
 Rubs both his eyes, beHeving that he sleeps, 
 Then looks again in wide-eyed wonderment. 
 The laughter dies in throbbing waves, as when 
 One gently strikes a thin-lipped bell, and holds 
 It to his ear. And now 'tis gone away 
 As fitfully as though a door were thrown 
 Wide open on a room of revellers 
 And closed again. A few belated notes 
 Call to each other from far distances 
 And all is utter silence. Now indeed 
 Great fear has seized the soul of Spiridon. 
 
 Quickly he bares his head and many times 
 Crosses himself, while calling on the name 
 Of Blessed Mary, Mother of Our Lord. 
 
 While thus he stood devout, again he heard 
 Strange laughter, this time from a single throat. 
 
APHROESSA. 25 
 
 A maiden's voice it was, so clear, so sweet, 
 The shepherd's music-loving heart was thrilled 
 With mingled joy and fear, for well he knew 
 No earthly voice could have such eerie charm. 
 Upon a jutting rock that swam high up 
 Full in the magic moon, he fixed his eyes. 
 For thence the laughter came, and while he 
 
 gazed 
 The fluent moonbeams flowed into a shape 
 And vision of ethereal loveliness. 
 For lo ! an instant on the perilous rock 
 A Nereid maiden kneeled, her radiant cheeks 
 Abloom with roguish mirth. Her dainty hands 
 Clung to the edge, and all her yellow hair 
 Fell downward in a flood, from which her face 
 Looked forth, as from a moonlit waterfall. 
 
 The impulsive shepherd flung his pipe to earth 
 And raised his arms in passionate appeal, 
 
26 APHROESSA. 
 
 But in three heart beats she had mehed back 
 Into thin moonshine, and the rock was bare. 
 
 Alas, for Marigo ! for nevermore 
 
 Will Spiridon so much as turn his head, 
 
 Although the softest eyes in Argolis 
 
 Yearn to him from the white, wild clematis 
 
 Wreathing her father's balcony. Ah, no ! 
 
 He would not give the slightest look or thought 
 
 Although the daintiest daughters of the town 
 
 Stood by the church door on a festal day 
 
 In gala dress, more lovely than a patch 
 
 Of mingled daisies and anemones. 
 
 The shepherd reached his home before the 
 
 moon 
 Had stood lovelorn upon a beetling crag 
 And fallen with Sapphic leap into the sea. 
 His mother's hand he kissed, and offered her 
 
APHROESSA. 27 
 
 The snowy curds with all the deference 
 Of one who kneels with gems before a queen. 
 Then sitting on the bench, his arm about 
 The gentle creature's waist, he talked to her 
 Of new-born lambs, their clumsy, foolish ways, 
 Of dogs that looked into his face with eyes 
 Brimming with thought and vainly tried to 
 
 speak. 
 He told her of a sunset he had seen 
 When one great cloud had waved across the 
 
 west 
 In shape so like a mighty angel's wing 
 That he had been afraid ; and how last eve 
 He climbed a crag to watch the Queen of Night 
 Open old Ocean's palace door and stroll 
 Into the flowery sky ; but not a word 
 Of fairy singing heard beneath the moon 
 He said, and not a word about the maid 
 Who smiled upon him through her yellow hair. 
 
28 APHROESSA. 
 
 With harmless guile and much maternal art 
 
 His mother led the talk to Marigo ; 
 
 " Here is a girl," she said, '' most beautiful, 
 
 And yet without the pride that beauty brings. 
 
 Who has a whiter neck, a rounder arm ? 
 
 Who has so red a cheek, and who can dance 
 
 So featly at the village festivals ? 
 
 And yet no spider better spins than she. 
 
 No building bird is more industrious. 
 
 She's not the girl to sit all day and eat 
 
 Muskmelon seeds upon her balcony. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis often true of women folk 
 
 That shrewdest venom flows from sweetest lips ; 
 
 But 'tis not true of Marigo. Her heart 
 
 Is full of love for everything that lives, 
 
 And sweet as St. Helene's. More than this, 
 
 Her dowry is all ready, and mine eyes 
 
 Have seen the things — dainty embroideries, 
 
 And snowy linen sweet with lavender, 
 
APHROESSA. 29 
 
 Soft woolly rugs of mingled red and white 
 Made by herself ; a score of long-eared goats, 
 Whose bleating kids shall quickly swell your 
 
 flock, 
 The income of a hundred olive trees — 
 All these she has, and better than all this, 
 Five hundred drachmas safely hid away." 
 
 But who that once a Nereid has seen 
 Can talk of marriage with a village maid ? 
 Oh, what cares he for fruit of olive trees, 
 For bleating kids, or drachmas hid away ? 
 '* I am too young to wed," said Spiridon. 
 ** Besides, I do not care for Marigo, 
 Nor such as she. She is too big and strong. 
 Her cheeks too red and white, and like the rugs 
 She makes and dyes." Such cruel heresies 
 Spoke he against the sweetest, kindest soul 
 In all the world, for he had been bewitched. 
 
30 APHROESSA. 
 
 The poppies faded from the shepherd's face, 
 And in their stead the pale, sad hhes sprung 
 Of bitter yearning. Little hope he had, 
 But love thrives best when fed upon despair. 
 
 This only hope he clung to : once again 
 That he might see her face, that he might hear 
 Her peace-destroying voice. And so in all 
 The wildest, loneliest places that he knew 
 He cried her beauty, and declared his love 
 In words so mad they sliould have moved the 
 
 breast 
 Of any she that had a woman's heart. 
 
 " Oh, cruel one," he cried, '' oh, cruel one, 
 To rob a simple shepherd of his peace ! 
 What right had you to come into my life. 
 When but to look was sorrow ? What knew 1 
 Of hair more fine than tangled moonshine, 
 what 
 
APHROESSA. 31 
 
 Of eyes that sparkled through it Hke the glow 
 Of fireflies winking in midsummer grass ? 
 Oh, what knew I of arms more white than foam, 
 So dazzling pure, it puts the sand to shame. 
 Sea-washed a thousand years ? Oft have I 
 
 dreamed 
 Of maidens fairer than the eye of man 
 Has ever seen ; have sat with one for hours 
 Waist deep in blooms ; or walked full loverlike 
 Through long, cool vistas of an ancient wood. 
 But never have I dreamed by night or day 
 Of beauty such as yours, so fatal fair," 
 
 Is there a dweller in the wilderness 
 Who doubts that often he is overheard 
 Whether he pipe or sing ? Who does not know 
 That all his lonely mutterings are theme 
 Of gossip for the unseen folk ? Bright eyes 
 Peep at the shepherd from thick-woven vines. 
 
32 APHROESSA, 
 
 And curious faces from behind grey rocks 
 Steal slowly out, then dart from sight again. 
 
 And so that beauteous being must have heard 
 How that a comely shepherd roamed the hills 
 Gone witless for a cruel Nereid's love. 
 Does there exist a thing in woman's shape, 
 Half goddess though she be, who would not 
 
 haste 
 To breathe the air of worship, and enjoy 
 The pain and ruin by her beauty made ? 
 
 Often there came to Spiridon the sense 
 That she he loved was near, and so because 
 The Nereids are a music-loving folk 
 He wont to sit him in the shade and pipe 
 His fondest strains, and as his grief increased 
 His piping grew in skill and tenderness, 
 Until at last no reed in Argolis 
 Could breathe such sweet despair. 
 
APHROESSA. 33 
 
 A tree there was, 
 A mighty platane tree, that flourished near 
 The thicket's edge, and towered above the 
 
 copse. 
 Herded below in gnarled and thorny strife, 
 As mortals great in goodness overtop 
 Their pigmy kind. Oh, 'twas a noble growth ! 
 And only lived to bring into the world 
 A meed of joy and peace. On summer noons, 
 With palms uplift, it motioned back the sun 
 And murmured soothingly, *^ Nay, not so 
 
 fierce ! " 
 And beckoning to the weary horse it said, 
 " Here is a haven, come and rest with me." 
 Often through long and sultry afternoons. 
 Sleek, thoughtful cattle lingered in its shade. 
 And there the nodding goat would lie and 
 
 watch 
 Her offspring gambol, nor took heed if one 
 4 
 
34 APHROESSA. 
 
 Leaped nimbly on her side and looked abroad, 
 Deeming the earth the radius of his eyes. 
 
 Amid the spacious foliage of this tree 
 Abode a world of insect tribes, whose life 
 Flowed on through endless generations, like 
 The lives of men upon a little star. 
 The industrious ant was there, the adventurous 
 
 bee, 
 The brigand spider, and the dainty moth. 
 And sometimes droves of flies droned drowsily, 
 Making a mellow music round its trunk. 
 
 One August afternoon came Spiridon 
 Beneath the tree, and finding that the place 
 Was cool and fair, he sat him down to pipe 
 And muse upon his love ; the slender reed 
 Was lifted to his lips, but ere he blew 
 The fickle breath escaped him in a sigh. 
 
APHROESSA. 35 
 
 '' Was ever lover so forlorn," he cried, 
 
 ^* As I who live upon the memory 
 
 Of one delicious moment ? Yet her face 
 
 Is cut more vividly upon my heart 
 
 Than goddess' profile on an old-time gem. 
 
 Ah, happier the shepherd lad who loves 
 
 Some high-born dame, some princess sweetly 
 
 proud ! 
 For he at least may look upon her face, 
 May worship from afar, as heathen men 
 Kneel to the moon — oh, happy, happy swain ! 
 For he may tell his grief and bear the jeers 
 That are the highest praise the world can 
 
 give: 
 Can follow her with distant steps and say, 
 Mt is not madness here to love in vain. 
 But simple worship.' Ah, unhappy me ! 
 What can I do but loiter in the shade 
 And sigh my sorrow to a gossip reed ? " 
 
36 APHROESSA. 
 
 While thus bemoaning fate, he stretched him 
 
 prone 
 And gazed into the deep green sky of leaves 
 That arched above his head ; their infinite stir 
 Fell like the blur of sleep upon his mind, 
 Confusing thought, and all the images 
 Of wakefulness were trembled out of shape, 
 As when a zephyr blows across the face 
 Of some reflecting pool. While thus he lay 
 The low, melodious hum of clumsy flies 
 Boomed its full bass among the tenor hymn 
 Of insects swarming in the dim, warm shade. 
 Thought was asleep, and so all faintest sounds 
 Came clear and far, familiar and yet strange. 
 He heard a blackbird shout in mockery 
 The choicest trills of half a hundred throats. 
 Then rise to such a heavenly height of song 
 It seemed Apollo after Marsyas. 
 A lone cicada lit upon a limb 
 
APHROESSA. 37 
 
 And tuned his strident violin* A dove 
 Cooed in the wood, the voice of dreaming 
 love. 
 
 ^' Aphroessa ! Aphroessa ! " what sound 
 
 Is that, what name wind-murmured in his ear ? 
 
 Who whispered it, what red and roguish lips 
 
 Laughed from the tangled thyme ''Aphroessa " ? 
 
 The timid dove repeats *' Aphroessa," 
 
 The blackbird listening cries '' Aphroessa 1 " 
 
 The shepherd leapt erect and called the name 
 In wonder mixed with fear, and when he 
 
 heard 
 Sweet laughter fainting as it fled, he knew 
 That he must sigh henceforth '' Aphroessa." 
 
 The shepherd came unto a crystal spring 
 That filled a rocky basin ; it was clear 
 
38 APHROESSA. 
 
 As mountain air and pure as innocence. 
 The waters bubbled up through snowy sands 
 And, overflowing, made a little brook 
 Along whose edges lush green grasses grew, 
 Haunt of limp frogs and slim, smooth water- 
 snakes. 
 Ferns dipped their silken tresses in the spring 
 And velvet mosses crept around its brim, 
 Uncertain if beneath the wave or not. 
 Oh, every influence about the spot 
 Was cool and fresh, for e'en the myriad 
 
 blooms 
 Upon a neighbouring oleander bush 
 Were tinted with the pink of early dawn. 
 A lusty fig tree stood not far away. 
 Domed like a mosque, and holding 'mong its 
 
 leaves 
 Entangled twilight, where secreted deep 
 In dim recesses hung the purple figs. 
 
APHROESSA. 39 
 
 Oh, spot of blest refreshment ! All day long 
 The lavish plash and bubble of the flood 
 Was heard among the hollows, making there 
 Delicious music for the thirsty soul. 
 How many creatures to this fountain came 
 For life and joy ! The graceful partridge cock 
 At early dawn stepped softly from the wood 
 And whistled to his flock if all was safe. 
 Often the song-bird, panting in the shade, 
 Flew down to bathe and flutter in the pool, 
 And when the day was hottest, yellow wasps 
 Stood tiptoe on the brink and buzzing drank. 
 
 So Spiridon a moment ere he knelt 
 To quaff the limpid freshness, paused to list 
 The voice of running waters, while his eyes 
 Outran delay and quickly drank their full. 
 
 What says *' Aphroessa, Aphroessa " ? 
 Not loudly, as a mocking-bird might call 
 
40 APHROESSA. 
 
 A word so fair 'tis music in itself, 
 But whisperingly, as a zephyr lisps 
 Among the nodding tree-tops. Yet no breeze 
 Was stirring in the pines ; the spindles hung 
 Untrembling in the balsam-laden air. 
 
 " ^ Aphroessa ! Aphroessa ' ! so oft 
 I've breathed the name that every lovely sound 
 In nature seems an echo of my thought. 
 My heart beats out its syllables ; and yet 
 I hear ^ Aphroessa, Aphroessa ' ? " 
 
 So mused the shepherd, much perplexed, until 
 He spied a spot below him where the brook 
 Fell thinly o'er a ledge of rocks and bloomed 
 In drifts of creamy foam, pink shot with sun. 
 Thither he ran to listen, but he heard 
 Naught save the silken hissing of the stream. 
 
APHROESSA. 41 
 
 " Aphroessa ! Aphroessa " ! and now 
 The overflowing waters of the spring 
 Bubble the word as children talk in tears ; 
 But when he turns to look, oh, mockery ! 
 The rhythmic wavelets of a shallow pool 
 Take up the sound and laugh it on the sands. 
 
 He sees the pallid moon, disconsolate, 
 For night has led the stars away and left 
 Her there, forgotten in an alien sky : 
 He sees this only, and the rocks and trees 
 And the glad waters flinging back the sun. 
 
 In sheer despair he kneels beside the pool 
 To bathe his throbbing brow — what lovely face 
 Looks from the wave in roguish innocence, 
 Now vague amid the fluent lymph, now clear 
 As mirrored beauty smiling at itself ? 
 'Twas she, Aphroessa, as whitely fair 
 
42 APHROESSA. 
 
 As though a water-lily stood tiptoe 
 But could not lift its petals to the air. 
 Her parted lips were redder than the bright 
 Anemone that blooms beneath the sea — 
 How soft they tremble on her coral teeth ! 
 Her eyes made dim the clearness of the pool, 
 And all about her in the crystal flood 
 Her yellow tresses floated pale and fine. 
 
 '' At last ! " cried Spiridon— " oh, love, at last ! " 
 And falling on his face he thrust his arms 
 Deep in the pool. How shall I tell his grief, 
 How shall I tell his tortures as he lay 
 Panting with passion ? For the twentieth 
 
 time 
 The sweet face trembled back to perfectness, 
 But if he touched the fluid mirror, if 
 He breathed upon it with kiss-shapen lips. 
 The features mocked him with large grimaces. 
 
APHROESSA. 43 
 
 And once he wooed the shape with honeyed 
 
 prayers 
 Most piteously sweet, and then it smiled 
 So tenderly upon him that he threw 
 His arms about the yellow floating hair — 
 Alas ! alas ! 'twas cold elusiveness. 
 
 At earliest morning Spiridon had gone 
 Into an ancient forest ; 'twas a place 
 Of dim solemnity, whose mossy trunks 
 Made quiet corridors, that seemed more sad 
 Than some old cloister long untenanted. 
 'Twas spacious as a Jovian portico 
 Or antique stoa suitable for thought. 
 Whose giant shafts, beleaguered by the years, 
 Make their last stand among their fallen kin. 
 
 Oh, very sad was Spiridon ! His eyes 
 Were fixed upon the earth, and when he 
 sighed 
 
44 APHROESSA. 
 
 'Twas tremulously, as a punished child 
 Breathes in its sleep. Unto such wretched 
 
 state 
 Love brings a man. Sometimes in feverish 
 
 spleen 
 He paused and cursed his fate and with his 
 
 staff 
 Beat on the guiltless ground. '' Fool ! fool ! " 
 
 he cried, 
 ^' Cowardly fool, who might have drowned 
 
 myself 
 While yet her image lingered in the wave, 
 And so have died seeing her last of all." 
 
 While thus he mused, much wondering he 
 
 heard 
 The golden strumming of a lyre, as sweet 
 As though the boom of bees, when first they 
 
 rise 
 
APHROESSA. 45 
 
 In flight, were set to music. Straight and fair 
 Before him stretched a sylvan avenue 
 Under whose leafy portal peeped the day, 
 And thither hied the shepherd, for the sounds 
 Grew louder as he went. Tiptoe he walked 
 And scarcely breathed, for ever in his heart 
 Was that one hope to see Aphroessa. 
 
 Behind a chieftain rock about whose form 
 Attending vines had thrown a verdant robe 
 Inwove with snowy blooms, stood Spiridon. 
 Pushing the leaves aside, full cautiously 
 He looked upon a meadow, brightly green, 
 Where countless yellow dandelions grew 
 And white wild carrots lifted high their stems, 
 "As though a prince of India lolled along 
 With pomp of sunward-tilted parasols. 
 And all amid the fluffy, golden flowers 
 Zigzagged the robber bees, or swaggered there 
 Among the pollen with thick-booted thighs. 
 
46 APHROESSA. 
 
 A chosen spot there was of velvet sward 
 Close-cropped and shaded by a mighty rock. 
 And there upon a little mound of earth 
 Sat one who lyred, akimbo at the strings, 
 In pose more graceful than a poet's dream 
 Of Lesbian Sappho with her cithara. 
 Voluptuous music was her every move, 
 And as she tapped the earth with sandalled toe. 
 Or swayed her sweet form to the melody, 
 Her slightest attitude was so instinct 
 With gracefulness, she seemed bewitched with 
 rhythm. 
 
 Three Nereid maids meanwhile expressed the 
 
 air 
 In stately dance, sweet music's pantomime. 
 It was an ancient Lydian harmony, 
 Monotonous and slow, as when the lyre 
 Had fewer strings and only those of love. 
 
APHROESSA. 47 
 
 But now indeed I pause in deep despair, 
 Knowing full well that I shall never mix 
 Words that would paint the picture of those 
 
 nymphs. 
 Yes, even he who told a Grecian urn 
 In song more dainty than the thing itself 
 Would meet with failure here, nor could the 
 
 brush 
 Of deftest painter catch the easy sway 
 Of supple bodies, or the varied charm 
 Of changing poses when each moment brings 
 Its own fair picture ; hand in hand they 
 
 danced — 
 Bending far back like lilies in the wind — 
 Or nodding all their heads together while 
 They tripped it in a ring ; sometimes aline 
 They started o'er the green, with lifted leg 
 And foot poised ready for the tiptoe step. 
 And ever as they moved, their drapery 
 
48 APHROESSA. 
 
 Clung to their forms or floated on the breeze 
 
 In undulations of Paeonion grace. 
 
 White clad were they, except their pink-white 
 
 arms, 
 And these were bare; upon their heads they wore 
 Crowns of the starry jasmine, honey sweet. 
 Their hair was yellow as ripe wheat and fine 
 As the silk thread wherein the mummy worm 
 Dreams of his heaven and wakes to find it 
 
 true : 
 E'en to the feet it fell, a priceless robe. 
 Like that which Lady Godiva enwrapped 
 About her modest nudeness ; in their hands. 
 With many wavy floatings on the wind 
 And many playful flutterings, they held 
 Their magic veils, those wondrous strips of 
 
 gauze 
 That give invisibility, and power 
 To swim like thistledown upon the air, 
 
APHROESSA. 49 
 
 And youth that drifts along the centuries 
 Unwithered as a rosebud in a brook 
 
 What shepherd has not heard a hundred times 
 
 From wise old women, and from other springs 
 
 Of certain knowledge, how the Nereid's power 
 
 Lies in her magic veil ? Snatch that away 
 
 And she will follow like a little child — 
 
 The slave of him who holds it. Who shall tell 
 
 The joy and torture of our Spiridon 
 
 Hid there among the vines ? Aphroessa 
 
 Was dancing with the dancers. He could see 
 
 Her body gleaming through the gauzy robe 
 
 And hear the whisper of her drapery 
 
 Upon her smooth round limbs. Oh, heartless 
 
 Love, 
 
 Who tortures us with such a cruel flame 
 
 And lets us look on heaven ! that heathen 
 
 drqam 
 
 5 
 
50 APHROESSA. 
 
 Of one who bent with parched and swollen 
 
 tongue 
 O'er cooling waters that eluded him, 
 Is love's own parable. 
 
 Now Spiridon 
 Stood trembling in the vines, one moment hot 
 One moment cold, for love's malaria 
 Had crept into his marrow ; all his soul 
 And all his life were centred in the thought 
 To snatch the Nereid's veil. He was more 
 
 tense 
 Than the sleek cat that crouches patiently 
 Beneath the fluttering bird ; at last ! at last ! 
 Aphroessa came near, and as she danced 
 The filmy fabric floated by his face — 
 
 Out darted Spiridon and leapt at it. 
 
 When lo ! the maidens vanished from his gaze 
 
APHROESSA. 51 
 
 As utterly as people of a dream 
 From eyes that open on reality. 
 
 One instant stands the shepherd so perplexed 
 
 He does not hear sweet laughter mocking him, 
 
 Or if he hears, it is as when the door 
 
 Of sleep is left ajar, and waking sounds 
 
 Flit in like day-birds into candle light. 
 
 But when his own name floated merrily 
 
 Adown the rippling syllables of mirth 
 
 He looked, and there upon the forest's edge 
 
 Stood fair Aphroessa ; to Spiridon 
 
 She stretched inviting arms and from her eyes 
 
 There leapt a laughing challenge ; in one hand 
 
 She held the magic veil ; her snowy robe 
 
 Was bound beneath her bosom with a zone 
 
 Of golden scales ; no modern woman she 
 
 Attired in stiff, unchanging ugliness. 
 
 The supple form was free, one breast was bare, 
 
52 APHROESSA. 
 
 A snowy hill upon whose summit love 
 Had set a beacon pyre ; 'twas virgin firm 
 And yet voluptuous, as when some girl 
 Diana slender hints at motherhood. 
 
 The fluent drapery falling from her belt 
 Whether it clung or floated free, obeyed 
 The Grecian fingers of the oflicious wind. 
 Her feet were nude, except that o'er them 
 
 crossed 
 A sandal's fastenings ; not large were they 
 Nor small, for either is deformity. 
 The lovely toes, like white mice all asleep, 
 Lay side by side. Oh, happy Spiridon, 
 Whose eyes at least might kiss his lady's feet 1 
 Her chest was deep as Hera's, and the neck 
 Arose from sloping shoulders round and fair 
 As an uplifted column ; suddenly 
 She twined her hair about a glowing arm 
 
APHROESSA. S3 
 
 And with the white hand held it to her breast ; 
 
 Turning as though to flee into the wood 
 
 She cast a backward glance the while she sang : 
 
 " Who would catch a Nereid maid 
 
 He must follow, follow 
 Fleetly on through sunny glade 
 
 And through S34van hollow. 
 Come away at early morn 
 
 If you love me, mortal. 
 While the knight bee winds his horn 
 
 At the rose's portal." 
 
 The ardent youth sprang forward, and the 
 
 nymph 
 Flitted before him through the leafy wood. 
 So doth a child pursue a butterfly 
 Among the roses on a summer's morn. 
 The gaudy creature slightly moves it wings 
 And swims the wind with fleet, aerial grace ; 
 
54 APHROESSA. 
 
 The eager boy flies after, unawares 
 
 Of weariness or hunger, while his cheeks 
 
 So redly glow, the insect often turns 
 
 To see if it shall light on them or not. 
 
 With chubby arms outstretched, with parted 
 
 lips 
 And fascinated eyes, the child pursues 
 The prize that now is at his finger-tips. 
 Now floating far away ; and if it rests 
 One moment on the bosom of a rose 
 It flits before his fingers close on it. 
 
 So Spiridon through all that summer morn 
 Followed Aphroessa among the trees. 
 Sometimes her drapery seemed to brush his 
 
 face. 
 But he could no more catch it than a cloud. 
 Sometimes she sat upon a fallen tree 
 And mocked at him, beseeching him to come 
 
APHROESSA. 55 
 
 And take her in his arms, but when he would. 
 She bounded from him with a playful scream 
 And burst of sunny laughter ; once she stood 
 Tiptoe behind a bush, and peeping o'er 
 Besought him : " Gentle shepherd, stand you 
 
 still 
 Behind this leafy wall and woo awhile. 
 What ! would you chase a woman like a sheep 
 And hook her with your staff ? Call me sweet 
 
 names, 
 Tell me how fair I am. No woman lives 
 Who will not yield to him who pleads aright." 
 
 '' Ah ! " cried the panting shepherd, '^ now you 
 
 set 
 A task too hard for me ; I'll follow you 
 While I've a single heart-beat left, or strength 
 To lift a limb. Oh, I can die for you 
 But cannot tell how fair you are, our speech 
 
56 APHROESSA. 
 
 Was never made with thought of loveliness 
 Like yours^ there are not words to cope with 
 it." 
 
 At this she clapped her little hands and cried : 
 '^This want of language is more eloquent 
 Than any richness. I am almost won. 
 Yet would I hear the sweetest things you 
 
 know. 
 I have a woman's ear, that takes delight 
 In honeyed names and flattering metaphor." 
 
 At this her head she tilted like a bird 
 That hears a new note in the wilderness, 
 In pretty pose of curiosity. 
 '^ If you'll but stand and let me feast my eyes 
 Upon your goddess face," cried Spiridon, 
 " I'll pour you out a tireless stream of talk. 
 Whose every wave shall be a simile 
 
APHROESSA. 57 
 
 Praising your loveliness. You are more sweet, 
 Yea, more delicious than cold water is 
 Found suddenly by one who raves for drink 
 In desert sands. So do I long for you, 
 So do I look and thirst but cannot drink. 
 Your voice is like the sound of such a stream." 
 
 '^ Nay, turn me not to water," laughed the 
 
 nymph ; 
 ^' Am I so cold and do I babble so ? " 
 
 ^' There's not a berry in the wood whose blood 
 Could stain your lips. If but the wild, red 
 
 rose 
 Could steal the fragrance of the jasmine bloom 
 I'd shut my eyes and kiss it for your mouth. 
 Your lips are bright as a pomegranate bloom 
 When all the tree save that one little flower 
 Is oversnowed by woodland clematis." 
 
58 APHROESSA. 
 
 ^' Nay, leave my lips, good shepherd, 'tis not 
 
 meet 
 To dwell so long upon a maiden's lips ! " 
 
 ^'Your neck is whiter than fresh milk, your 
 
 skin 
 More soft and delicate than new-made curds." 
 
 ^^ Fie, saucy shepherd ! is it thus you woo ? 
 
 Am I as cold as water, sour as curds ? " 
 
 ^' Mock on, Aphroessa, mock all you will ! 
 
 Laugh me into the meanest thing alive 
 
 So you'll but stay and let me hear your voice." 
 
 " Tell mef about my cheeks. Of course you'll 
 
 say 
 They're like a peach ? " 
 
 ^^ Why, if an autumn peach, 
 Of softest skin and downy bloom most rare, 
 
APHROESSA. 59 
 
 Were tinted with bright blood that came and 
 
 went 
 Beneath transparent whiteness, then I'd say 
 Your cheeks were hke a peach. They are in truth 
 Like all the fairest peaches on a tree 
 Where all are beautiful. If one is pale, 
 It is Aphroessa, perchance in thought ; 
 Its neighbour here has but a crimson spot 
 Among its dainty pallor : 'tis my love 
 When she is angry with poor Spiridon. 
 Another is all red, and so you looked 
 When dancing on the dandelions there. 
 Here's one beneath whose dowaiy surface 
 
 spreads 
 A faint but general bloom : it is my love 
 When she's asleep. I see her glossy cheek 
 
 Nesting upon her arm " 
 
 " Oh, fare thee well ! " 
 Exclaimed Aphroessa. '' I'm put to bed, 
 
6o APHROESSA. 
 
 So it's high time I said 'good-night ' to you." 
 With that she danced away, and in a breath 
 Was flitting whitely 'mong the solemn trees. 
 Where a long vista narrowed to its end, 
 A shaft of sunshine pierced the sombre shade 
 And glorified her while she paused to sing : 
 
 '' Never mind the midday sun, 
 White in summer weather. 
 For you follow after one 
 Airy as a feather. 
 
 All the yellow afternoon 
 
 You must falter never : 
 Should the weary shepherd swoon, 
 
 I am gone for ever ! " 
 
 Love winged the shepherd's feet and bore him 
 
 up; 
 He noted not the passing hours, nor thirst, 
 
APHROESSA. 6i 
 
 Nor heat, nor weariness, but ran and ran 
 Over the silent floor of fallen leaves 
 In vain pursuit of the fair, cruel sprite. 
 Once lightly up a rocky steep she led. 
 And bending o'er him warbled from a ledge : 
 
 ^' Up the steepest mountain height 
 You must struggle after ; 
 Where I go in easy flight, 
 
 Where you hear my laughter." 
 
 At eventide stood fair Aphroessa 
 Upon the western borders of the wood. 
 The regal sun forgot his fierce regard 
 And gave the world a mellow parting smile 
 Before he left it with the satrap stars ; 
 An old gold light lay on the sea, and shot 
 Its level lances o'er the meadow-land. 
 Into the wood the furtive splendour crept, 
 
62 APHROESSA. 
 
 Searching its inner nooks. The tall, bare 
 
 trunks 
 Were touched with glory toward the dying day. 
 ^' Farewell, good shepherd ! " said Aphroessa : 
 " The night is near, and I must hie me home 
 Unto my people. But before I go, 
 I thank you for a pleasant summer day. 
 You run right well, and from your honeyed 
 
 tongue 
 Drips most persuasive flattery. 'Tis rue 
 To waste such talents on a Nereid maid. 
 Leave the chase, unhappy lad ! 
 
 Or if you must marry. 
 Make a village maiden glad — 
 Though she run she'll tarry." 
 
 Then dropping both her silken-fringed lids 
 Over the eyes that would not feign at grief, 
 She sighed most dolefully ; while her red lips 
 
APHROESSA. 63 
 
 Into a rosebud that is half a rose 
 
 She drew, and from her gathered finger-tips 
 
 Wafted a kiss. Oh, joyless mockery ! 
 
 *' Farewell," she sighed, '' good shepherd, fare 
 
 you well ! " 
 And turning with a proud and queenly sweep 
 Of gathered robes, and with a stately bow 
 Like some great lady in a minuet, 
 She fled, when lo ! 
 
 A zephyr caught her veil 
 And twisted it about a thorny branch. 
 Now ! shepherd, now ! if you would taste 
 
 delights 
 Worthy the young old gods ! One heart-beat 
 
 more 
 And all is lost. See in what frantic haste 
 Aphroessa is struggling for the veil. 
 But Spiridon is there, his weary limbs 
 Electrified with sudden hope ! He leaps, 
 
64 APHROESSA. 
 
 He breaks the limb away, and tears 
 The gauzy thing from out the Nereid's grasp. 
 She springs upon him Uke a Uoness. In vain ! 
 He throws his right arm round the glowing 
 
 form 
 And holds the veil behind his back. At last 
 The struggles cease, the yielding body lies 
 Soft on his breast as though in willingness. 
 He feels the strong heart beat beneath his 
 
 hand, 
 The cool, smooth hair upon his cheek. He 
 
 hides 
 His face among it and breathes deep, as one 
 Would smell a flower. What flower was e'er 
 
 so sweet ? 
 
 Our Spiridon grows faint, but will not swoon. 
 He must not die of joy — not yet ! not yet ! 
 He lifts her face and looks into her eyes 
 
APHROESSA. 65 
 
 As one would lift a flower with broken stem. 
 She smiles a wan, sad smile : " Give me my 
 
 veil ! 
 What ! Will the comeliest youth in Argolis, 
 The strongest and the very wisest too, 
 Descend to force a helpless maiden's love ? 
 Give me my veil and woo me as you should." 
 
 But Spiridon replied : '^ You should not have 
 Your veil by pleading here a thousand years. 
 No, though you blamed me with such elo- 
 quence 
 As made the very stones cry ^ shame ' on me 
 Would I not yield. Nor will I heed your tears 
 Quenching with ruffian brine the sweetest eyes 
 That ever broke a heart. I pity more 
 The wretch I would be if I had you not ! " 
 
 He took her by the hand, and through the 
 
 wood 
 
 6 
 
66 APHROESSA. 
 
 He led her like a disobedient child, 
 Brought to its mother to confess a fault. 
 Backward she hung, reluctantly, with head 
 Drooping to hide her face ; her lily neck 
 Blushed rosy with the dawn of maiden shame. 
 
 " Fear not," said Spiridon, ^' my love, my life, 
 My heart's delight, my joy, my little bird ! 
 I know a cavern by a crystal brook ; 
 Tall oleanders grow before the door. 
 And all about beneath the pleasant trees 
 Are flowery couches, whereon we may sit 
 And talk of love, and when we tire of these, 
 I'll spread soft fleeces on the cavern floor. 
 Oh, we will wander 'neath the summer moon. 
 My arm about your waist, pausing full oft 
 To hear the impatient nightingales express 
 Those raptures that we feel but cannot say. 
 I'll bring the fairest blossoms of the year. 
 
APHROESSA. 67 
 
 And weave them into garlands for your brow. 
 Wild roses red as blood, pomegranate flowers, 
 Sprigs of the scented basil, osier blooms, 
 And morning glories purple, pink and white. 
 And I know, too, a hundred little blooms 
 That hide among the grasses ; tiny things. 
 So small that we must bend to look for them, 
 And yet most perfect ; dainty bells that swing 
 Tolling out perfume ; heaven-gazing stars 
 That do not catch the wild bee's eye, yet each 
 As wonderful and perfect as a sun. 
 
 And I will make you every day a wand 
 Of jasmine buds that, threaded on a twig, 
 Will open when you kiss them, and breathe 
 
 back 
 Your very breath ; aiid I will bring you too 
 The prettiest little lambs in all the flock 
 To love you. Dear, and be your followers. 
 
68 APHROESSA. 
 
 Nor shall you lack for dainties, for Til choose 
 The whitest curds for you, and fill a gourd 
 Each morn with sweetest milk ; besides, who 
 
 knows 
 So well as I where juiciest berries grow, 
 Delicious figs, and golden mousmoula ? " 
 
 She seemed to heed him, in a breath she 
 
 dropped 
 Her mood of angry sorrow and became 
 As shyly happy as a half-hour bride 
 When love is maddest. Thus she hid her eyes 
 The while her body shivered at his touch. 
 Or flashed brief glances through him, looks 
 
 that spoke 
 Of shame and joy commingled — joy so great 
 No shame could hide it — shame that fiercer 
 
 grew 
 Even with the bliss it blushed for. So they 
 
 came 
 
APHROESSA. 69 
 
 At purple evening to the port of love, 
 And all night long upon a flowery couch 
 The shepherd drank the strong, delirious wine 
 That youth and love mix only once for man ; 
 The Nereid plied him with the cup of bliss 
 Until he lost all knowledge save the thought 
 That he was drunk with joy. She held him 
 
 close, 
 So flooding him with tingling ecstasy 
 That he believed her kisses, and at last 
 She cozened him to give her back the veil. 
 
 She took him like a mother to her breast, 
 Her balmy breast, whose rhythmic rise and 
 
 . fall 
 Lulled him as softly as a summer wave. 
 With her cool hair she soothed his burning 
 
 eyes, 
 Piling the fragrant tresses on his face 
 
70 APHROESSA, 
 
 And on her own. She whispered Up to Hp : 
 
 " See how I love you, darling, for I stay 
 
 E'en though I have the veil. For your dear 
 
 sake 
 Will I give up my thousand years of life 
 And we'll grow old together. Now I know 
 That perfect joy must wither like a flower ; 
 But while it lasts, how sweet ! how sweet it is ! 
 Now close your eyes, my love, and sleep, and 
 
 sleep." 
 
 Her poppy kisses lay upon his lids ; 
 Her fragrant sighs were like a breeze that blows 
 From indolent islands of the southern seas 
 Where life is but a dream of love. He slept. 
 
 Then did the fair, false creature lay his head 
 Upon the earth, and, springing from the couch, 
 Vanished for ever from the eyes of men. 
 
APHROESSA. 71 
 
 Here ends the simple tale of Spiridon. 
 The madness of an hour had blighted him, 
 Changing his life to worse than weariness. 
 They found him dead beside the magic spring. 
 His crook lay near, but never more would he 
 Run to the rescue of the wayward lambs. 
 They buried him among the rustic dead, 
 And many village maidens wept for him ; 
 And one, fairest of all the countryside, 
 Grieved with a lifelong sorrow. Even now. 
 After long years, her withered, trembling 
 
 hands 
 Hang frequent wreaths upon the unsightly 
 
 cross 
 Of wood that marks the shepherd's grave. Ah, 
 
 me ! 
 Love blooming in an aged woman's heart 
 Is very sad and beautiful, as when 
 One lone rose lingers where a garden was. 
 
■ 
 
 72 APHROESSA. 
 
 Old Father Zeus is dead, long, long ago ; 
 He drank sweet nectar from a golden bowl, 
 And lived high up above the cares of men. 
 He breathed sweet incense from a thousand 
 
 fires, 
 And smiled benignly while immortal bards 
 Assuaged his soul with most harmonious 
 
 praise. 
 
 But he is gone, and with him all the gods 
 That wont to loll upon Olympian clouds. 
 
 Ah, me ! sweet Cytherea is no more, 
 The fairest dream of men who dreamt most 
 fair. 
 
 She was the poet's woman — passionate 
 
 As some young girl whose pulses are athrill 
 
 With most delicious torture, strange to her, 
 
APHROESSA. 73 
 
 Until she look upon the chosen swain. 
 And she was beautiful beyond the power 
 Of God or man to look and live in peace ; 
 Most delicate and yet voluptuous. 
 Divinely and yet softly beautiful. 
 Her every undulate move was a caress, 
 And never from her lips a moment strayed 
 The roguishness and tenderness of love. 
 Her breath was perfume, and her rosy skin 
 Soft as the bosom of first motherhood. 
 
 And Artemis is gone for evermore. 
 
 Who followed with fleet foot the flying stag 
 
 Far into deeps of forests old and dim. 
 
 She was more graceful than the fairest boy 
 
 Ever idealised upon an urn, 
 
 And, save for dimpled knees and budding 
 
 breasts 
 And wealth of hair that often in the chase 
 
74 APHROESSA. 
 
 Slipped from its coil and clothed her to the 
 
 thighs, 
 She might have looked another Ganymede, 
 Or him who died of innocent despair 
 Because no maid was lovelier than he. 
 She was all woman too, and when the moon 
 Poured its full splendour through the Latmian 
 
 wood 
 She fled the chase for many and many a night 
 To mourn beside her lost Endymion. 
 Oh, blissful moment when he oped his eyes 
 To see the lovelorn goddess floating down. 
 Her robes of woven moonlight drifting close 
 About the beauty of her radiant form ! 
 
 And Psyche too is gone, who wandered far 
 Seeking for tidings of her vanished love. 
 
 Sometimes a shepherd leaning on his staff 
 Was startled by a plaintive voice that called, 
 
APHROESSA. 75 
 
 " I prithee, shepherd, hast thou seen my love ? " 
 And there a girHsh figure clad in white 
 Stood Hly-wise among the anemones. 
 And as he looked in mute astonishmenti 
 He heard again the pleading voice that said, 
 ^^ Oh, tell me, shepherd, did he pass this way ? " 
 Sometimes she saw a swain who played the 
 
 pipe, 
 And hailed him till he paused with gathered 
 
 lips : 
 *' Oh, tell me, piper, have you seen my love ? " 
 
 Oh, many days she went her lonely way 
 Seeking for tidings of the vanished one, 
 And oftentimes some kindly soul would ask : 
 " How looked your love ? What sort of man 
 was he ? " 
 
 Then would her full heart overflow its bounds 
 And flood the ear with sudden eloquence : 
 
^ 
 
 76 APHROESSA. 
 
 ^' Oh, he was fairer than a wild, white rose 
 That flushes faintly with a hue of pink, 
 And baby soft was all his naked flesh. > 
 
 Thick curls about his waxen temples grew — 
 Light brown were they and fine as spiders' silk. 
 His lips were redder than a poppy leaf 
 That blazes in a bed of snowy thyme, 
 And when he sighed his breath was like 
 
 perfume 
 Wind-wafted from the climbing clematis, 
 And sweeter were his kisses than the scent 
 Down sifting from a heaven of jasmine stars." 
 
 What happy beings were the ancient gods ! 
 How beautiful they were, how lifted up 
 Above the mean and sordid thoughts of men. 
 And free from every pain save those of love ! 
 Their memories are as sad and beautiful 
 As columns of old temples that uprear 
 
APHROESSA. 77 
 
 Their graceful heads o'er heaps of ruined walls — 
 And so they gleam amid the ruined past. 
 
 What man is there who loves the beautiful 
 Who has not grieved for stately Artemis — 
 For Aphrodite and her rosy son, 
 For bright Apollo and sweet Ganymede ? 
 
 Their temples are destroyed, their images 
 Long since have been despoiled by impious 
 
 hands, 
 And they themselves have waned like proud, 
 
 fair stars 
 Before the fierce sun of a later creed. 
 
 But not alone the skies of Greece were 
 
 thronged 
 With deities, for river, grove, and fount 
 Were peopled with a vague, ethereal folk ; 
 
78 APHROESSA. 
 
 And some of these, because they were not 
 
 great, 
 But Hved deep hid in forests hoar and still, 
 Whose giant trunks eternal twiHght made, 
 Have never been molested in their haunts. 
 
 Often the simple shepherd of to-day. 
 Bending to drink from out a crystal pool, 
 Beholds a sweet face trembling in the lymph ; 
 Sometimes he hears wild singing in the wood. 
 And if the voice be more than mortal sweet 
 He signs the cross and mutters hasty prayers. 
 They even know, the pious village folk, 
 Of fairy routs that play on ancient pipes 
 And dance, white-clad, beneath the summer 
 moon. 
 
 Strange tales the watchers of the vineyards tell. 
 Huddled at noon within their leafy huts ; 
 
APHROESSA. 79 
 
 Ah, then no merry laugh is heard, no song 
 From hearts however full of joy or love. 
 For woodland spirits lie asleep at noon, 
 And rise in wrath if any sound they hear. 
 Strange tales the shepherds tell around the fires 
 That gleam at night upon the lonely hills. 
 
 Oh, for a touch of that poetic charm 
 That sifts into the hearts of uncouth men. 
 Who lodge apart beneath the large white stars 
 And listen to the whispering wilderness ! 
 
PAN. 
 
 That old god Pan, 
 
 By some sweet stream that ran 
 
 Through dreamy fields Arcadian, 
 
 Safe hid would lie 
 
 'Mongst reeds and rushes high, 
 
 And watch the flashing waves go by. 
 
 Often he made 
 
 Soft music in the shade, 
 
 And all things listened while he played. 
 
 He earliest knew 
 
 What sound-souls fair and true 
 
 In whispering reeds imprisoned grew. 
 
 80 
 
I 
 
 PAN. 8i 
 
 'Twas he that in 
 
 Their hollow pipes and thin 
 
 Found all of Nature's dulcet din. 
 
 He played ; the thrush, 
 Hid in leaf-bower lush, 
 With head awry grew mute and hush, 
 
 And honey-bees, 
 
 Quiring in blossomed trees, 
 
 Would cease to list his melodies. 
 
 His pipe to hear. 
 
 The timid fawn stole near 
 
 And, quite entranced, forgot its fear. 
 
 And many a face 
 Of nymph and woodland grace 
 Peeped through into his hiding-place. 
 7 
 
82 PAN. 
 
 We of to-day 
 
 On scrannel pipes that play, 
 
 Make discord, blow them how we may. 
 
 Oh, that some man 
 
 By stream Arcadian 
 
 Might find the syrinx of old Pan ! 
 
CUPID SLEEPING. 
 (from the anthology.) 
 
 Through a shady forest going, 
 Found we Cupid all alone, 
 
 And his cheeks, so smoothly glowing, 
 Like to golden apples shone. 
 
 He had not his quiver by him. 
 
 Nor his bow, well bent and strung ; 
 But we soon espied them nigh him, 
 
 'Midst the leafy branches hung. 
 
 83 
 
84 CUPID SLEEPING. 
 
 Chains of sleep his limbs encumbered, 
 As among the flowers he lay, 
 
 Smiling even while he slumbered, 
 In his cruel, roguish way. 
 
 Swarms of tawny bees came flying 
 All about his waxen lip — 
 
 Often thus one sees them trying 
 Flowers, that with honey drip. 
 
 '^H 
 
THE HONEY THIEF. 
 (from the anthology.) 
 
 Love, the thief, chanced on a day 
 
 Near the bees to Unger, 
 When a naughty one, they say, 
 
 Stung him on the finger. 
 
 Oh, the wound it hurt him so I 
 How he blew and shook it ! 
 
 How he stamped and danced with woe, 
 Then to mother took it ! 
 
 Spreading all his fingers, he 
 
 Sobbed to Aphrodite : 
 ** Mother, little is the bee. 
 
 But its sting is mighty ! " 
 
86 THE HONEY THIEF. 
 
 Then the Queen of Passion smiled, 
 And she answered merely : 
 
 ^* You are small yourself, my child, 
 But you wound severely." 
 
BALLADE OF SAPPHO'S FAME. 
 (to MADAME BAKHMETEFF, ATHENS.) 
 
 Oh, who was lord of Lesbos' isle 
 When Sappho sang for many a year, 
 And great Apollo's self the while, 
 Ceased from the lyre and bent to hear ? 
 The titles to his heart so near, 
 His lineage, who can now repeat ? 
 Yet she escaped oblivion drear 
 Who said that love is " bitter-sweet." 
 
 And who by wealth or selfish guile 
 Became the island's proudest peer ? 
 What siren with voluptuous wile 
 
 Was potent at the royal ear ? 
 
 87 
 
88 BALLADE OF SAPPHO'S FAME. 
 
 Who gained renown with sword and spear ? 
 Their fame is dust beneath the feet 
 Of Time, and she alone is dear 
 Who said that love is " bitter-sweet." 
 
 Our joy is sadder than the smile 
 Of grief that cannot shed a tear ; 
 Our lives are like a little mile 
 Marked on the orbit of a sphere ; 
 The wisdom that we most revere 
 Is mixed with folly and defeat : 
 Her laurel never can grow sere 
 Who said that love is ^' bitter-sweet." 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 From out that pallid atmosphere 
 Where dawn and darkness vaguely meet, 
 Comes but her lark-note cool and clear 
 Who said that love is '* bitter-sweet." 
 
A NIGHT IN LESBOS. 
 
 Asdvics fxev a (raXdva 
 Kdt HXTjiaSeg, fxeaai dt 
 vvKTsg, TTCLpa depx^T u>pa, 
 fyu) Sb fiSva Karsvdoj. 
 
 Sappho. 
 
 The moon has left the sky, 
 The Pleiades are flown, 
 Midnight is creeping nigh, 
 And I am still alone. 
 
 Ah me ! how long, how long 
 Are all these weary hours ! 
 I hate the night-bird's song 
 Among the Lesbian flowers. 
 
 89 
 
90 A NIGHT IN LESBOS. 
 
 I hate the soft, sweet breeze 
 That comes to kiss my hair 
 From oleander trees 
 And waters cool and fair. 
 
 My heart is fierce and wild ; 
 The winds should rave and moan. 
 Ah ! why is Nature mild 
 When I am here alone ? 
 
 While yet the silver moon 
 Rode o'er the laughing sea, 
 My heart was glad, for, '^ Soon," 
 I said, ^* He comes to me." 
 
 But when its placid sphere 
 Slid swiftly 'neath the wave, 
 I sighed, ^' He is not here. 
 Be brave, my heart, be brave ! " 
 
A NIGHT IN LESBOS. 91 
 
 Then for an age of woe, 
 Of doubts and hopings vain, 
 I watched the white stars snow 
 On yon ^gean plain. 
 
 I named them by their names — 
 Alcyone, and all 
 Those far and happy flames 
 On which we mortals call. 
 
 '^ Ere that one sets," I said 
 *' My soul shall swim in bliss ; " 
 And then, '' Ere that is fled 
 My lips shall feel his kiss." 
 
 The moon has left the Pole, 
 The Pleiades are flown ; 
 'Tis midnight in my soul. 
 And I am here alone ! 
 
Hbe ©resbam lpres0, 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, 
 WOKING AND LONDON. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 021 426 051 7