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 Narcissus, 
 
 a POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 Samuel Watson Wheeler. 
 
 ^PYRISNr. 
 
 1885 ' FEB 19 1885 
 
N3 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 18S4 by 
 
 SAMUEL WATSON WHEELER, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It may seem strange to some that at this 
 late day the author should presume to take 
 as the groundwork of a poem that which our 
 greatest poets have ennobled in the sublim- 
 est verse — the mythology of Greece. The 
 author hopes that he may be pardoned if he 
 has ventured upon ground that is sacred to 
 those of the past. He has no excuse to offer 
 for trespassing. While thinking upon the 
 beautiful mythology of the ancients, involun- 
 tarily his hand felt for the strings of his harp 
 — and this poem was created. If the strains 
 lack the melody which the subject deserves, 
 he trusts the world will overlook his folly in 
 attempting to produce a poem worthy of the 
 poetry of the nineteenth century. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 The Author. 
 
Printed for the Author at 406 So. 5th St., Camden, N.J. 
 
NARCISSUS 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 On the banks of the river Kephisos lay the beautiful Narcissus, mourning 
 for his sister whom Hermes had taken beyond the river of death. The 
 nymph Echo, seeing him thus, loved him ; but Narcissus would not 
 hearken to her words of passion and he saw only the face of the beloved 
 one reflected back to him from the silent stream whereon he gazed. 
 Weary with his sorrow he fell asleep and died. Then the heart of Echo 
 was broken and she faded away like the dew of the morning. Upon the 
 grave of Narcissus there grew a beautiful flower and it was called after 
 his name. — Greek Mythology . 
 
 COME fairest Muse — blest Erato — and sing 
 A song of love ; but give my harp to sound 
 A saddened strain, for now Narcissus dies ! 
 
 Tis afternoon : Apollo's golden rays 
 Fall slantingly through trees that line the banks 
 Of placid Kephisos. The tuneful breeze, 
 With trembling music, whispers to the flower, 
 That smiling nods and thus disturbs the bee 
 That wishes sweetness. Beauteous is the day — 
 Fit for the gods — a day of happiness ! 
 Tellus has bared her breast and showeth here 
 A kingdom fit for palaces on high : 
 How green yon bank appears beneath the trees ! 
 Each separate blade of grass doth sing for joy 
 And bends a low obeisance to the breeze ! 
 
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 Sweet is the breath of Summer ; sweetly she 
 Upon her throne of flowers here queenly reigns- 
 Nature's fair virgin — and she reigns supreme! 
 
 See !— yonder is a wood that makes dense shade: 
 Tall, upright, stand the trees in robes of green ; 
 The birds within the branches sweetly sing 
 And with the loved one rear the little brood. 
 Near to the edge, methinks, there stands a form : 
 It is a nymph most gloriously fair : 
 Upon the scene she gazes timidly, 
 And seems to hesitate as if afraid— 
 Like to the deer whose feet have 'scaped the hounds 
 And come unto some shelter, doth she seem. 
 Her eyes— so dark— are like the curtained Night ; 
 Her raven hair falls o'er each ivory limb 
 And hides it partly from th' observer's gaze :— 
 Like virtuous Cynthia, when the silent Night 
 Has thrown her sable mantle o'er the earth, 
 To screen herself from man's immodest eye, 
 Into her darkened clouds she glides and shows 
 But now and then the world her glorious form ! 
 
 Her name is Echo : she it is who came 
 From Tellus and the Air. (Proud Hymen joyed 
 When all the bells rang out their marriage morn ; 
 
Juno — the queen of marriage— blest the day ; 
 And Cupid grasped his bow and swiftly fled 
 Unto his mother. Venus kissed her child 
 And, laughing, said his work was nobly done!) 
 
 Her form is grace itself: as she appears 
 Her mother smiles more sweetly; all the birds 
 From bush, and tree, and sprig, break forth and sing, 
 If can be, more melodious; whilst the brook 
 Babbles more musically as it seeks 
 O'er whitened pebbles yonder silent stream. 
 
 She thinks at first alone she is— but no: 
 Lying upon the bank reclines a youth- 
 Is he asleep? she wonders— she will see. 
 She timidly approaches, like the fawn 
 That is afraid but must find out the cause : 
 Slowly she comes : the breezes waft her hair 
 Over her shoulders. Those pink, little feet 
 Are much too delicate to bear the wounds 
 The ground inflicts. Had she the wings to fly 
 Methinks 'twere better— but e'en these would mar 
 The fine proportions of her maiden form ! 
 
 Near and more near : the distance grows much less : 
 On light tip-toe she goes- now very near 
 She stands and nearer hardly dares to go : 
 
There at his back she is : she sees his curls 
 
 Of shining gold — upon her knees she falls 
 
 And o'er his shoulder leans : her heart beats fast, 
 
 You see its palpitation on her breast : 
 
 How still she breathes ! her bosom scarcely heaves — 
 
 Is he asleep? she wonders — no; a tear 
 
 Steals down his cheek and falls upon the earth. 
 
 "Narcissus!" cries the nymph— and as she speaks 
 Each bird holds back his song to hear the strain 
 That musically breaks upon the ear — 
 " Narcissus — it is I — thine Echo ; do not mourn ! 
 Each tear thy blue eye sheds pierces my heart 
 As if it were a dagger — look at me ! " 
 
 The youth starts at her voice but does not turn 
 His face to her. Beneath, the river flows 
 Silent and still: no wavelet mars — 'tis still — 
 Smooth as the mirror: there the trees reflect 
 Their gorgeous colors, and each leaf is seen 
 As if it were there hanging to the tree ! 
 It seems another world : now floats a cloud 
 Upon the nether azure, and its form 
 Is white as snow— so silent and so pure 
 It slowly sails along as if with wings ! 
 
 "Ah, youth! " she cries, "shall I ne'er gain thy love! 
 
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 Why mourn the loved one — am I not as fair?" 
 With this she upward springs and stands between 
 Him and the stream below. O, all ye gods 
 And goddesses ! never was beauty seen 
 So rare and lovely as the one that stands 
 
 Before the youth Narcissus! But with all 
 
 His heart is cold unto her ; still the tears 
 Fall one by one adown his cheek — no one 
 Save his own loved one can his love procure — 
 And she is dead! "Ah, me!" he cries aloud, 
 "And I am doomed to weep! Come, cruel Death, 
 Take me e'en now unto the Stygian shades ! " 
 
 "And still thou art unmoved!" the sad nymph cries. 
 " Thou knowest not how deep the arrow is ! — 
 God of the bow, why did ye give to me 
 A hopeless love ! " — the tears fall down her cheek — 
 " Canst thou, Narcissus, never love but one ! 
 Look at the stream below : behold the face 
 Of her whom Hermes came for — see ! is she 
 As fair as I ? — look and be satisfied !" 
 
 Narcissus gazes on the placid stream, 
 The placid stream gives back the features fair — 
 The golden hair— the mild blue eye— the form 
 So near perfection! "O!" Narcissus cries, 
 
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 Come back my only love ! Come to my arms 
 And not e'en death shall separate us more ! 
 Methinks I see you as you talked with me — 
 I almost hear the music as it came 
 From those sweet lips ! Ah, I remember well 
 How oft we played together ; how we laughed 
 When from the lips of mother fell the kiss 
 Upon us both ! Loved one are ye at peace 
 In those Elysian fields ? — and do ye smile 
 As ye were wont to smile ? Are ye not sad 
 To think Narcissus stays alone to mourn? — 
 O, cruel Hermes ! how could ye take one 
 And leave the other mourning!— Is your heart 
 As hard as adamant! 
 
 " O, sister fair, 
 I cannot tarry here— my heart doth break ! 
 But, gazing now upon thy beauteous face, 
 I am some comforted : the world recedes, 
 And I look forward through the mists that shroud 
 My mournful life unto the time when he — 
 The god of death— will separate the chain 
 That binds me to the earth, and I will then 
 Be borne across that dark and dreadful stream 
 To yonder plains beyond, where we shall meet 
 To dwell forever in Elysium." 
 
The youth is silent : still his eye is fixed 
 Upon the stream— no more the bright tear falls 
 
 Still sweet in her despair the nymph doth gaze 
 As if the youth possessed the power to charm. 
 O ! who can e'er describe a hopeless love ! 
 Against a tree she leans : a pearly tear 
 Hangs on the long dark lash, making it seem 
 Like to the dewdrop on the trembling flower 
 Before Apollo's smile lights up the world 
 
 And kisses off the tear! Now Echo speaks, 
 
 Sadly and slowly : "And you scorn my love ! 
 
 Narcissus, do not hate me! I would give 
 
 The world to gain thy love ! My throbbing heart 
 
 Reflects only thy features : there you reign 
 
 A god supreme, whether you love or no ! " 
 
 The sun still shines with glory : all the earth 
 Is fair and lovely : through the trees a ray 
 Of sunlight pierces and rests on that head 
 Of golden curls : those mild blue eyes forget 
 Their fixed intent, and the long lashes droop 
 Until they close the eye : a sweet, sad smile 
 Dwells near the mouth — and now Narcissus sleeps. 
 
 " My loved one sleeps," speaks Echo, in a voice 
 Of sweetest melody — so hushed and still 
 
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 You scarcely hear it. — " I will rest his head 
 Upon my bosom." Softly now she falls 
 Down at his side, and with a hand as light 
 As the still summer's zephyr, lifts his head 
 Close to her bosom : there the golden curls 
 Remain enthralled. — Narcissus knows it not ; 
 His thoughts are far away to that blest land 
 
 Where dwells the one he loves. Echo's sweet voice, 
 
 Low and most clear, bids him to sweetly sleep : 
 "Narcissus, now I claim thee as my own ; 
 Though, when awake, you keep me far away, 
 In sleep I now will love thee. Rest, sweet one, 
 Nothing shall harm." 
 
 From off his ruby lips 
 She steals a kiss ; and as she bends her head 
 A maiden blush uprises, and her face 
 Glows with her passion like the dewy rose — 
 " Sleep, loved Narcissus, let the gentle breeze 
 Fan with its wings thy face and softly tell 
 Thee in thy slumber that the nymph still loves 
 And will protect thee. O, sweet sleeping one, 
 Did ye but know how throbs this broken heart 
 For love of thee, ye could not thus refuse 
 And scorn her so ! Now weary are you dear ? 
 
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 Rest then your head upon this snowy breast 
 
 And it will give you rest." 
 
 Thus doth she love : 
 Now mourning for his love ; now satisfied 
 That she can love e'en if he does not give 
 His love to her: now kissing those sweet lips 
 As if they were her heaven ; and now with tears 
 Whispers his name — despairingly— thus loves, 
 Thus weeps, thus mourns the broken-hearted nymph. 
 
 The afternoon now wanes : nearer the sun 
 Comes to the west horizon — and the youth 
 Still sleeps in silence ; still the mournful nymph 
 Shows her despairing love. The birds still sing, 
 But not so joyously, as if the night 
 That was approaching warned that rest was near. 
 
 Apollo's car sinks slowly ; fleecy clouds 
 Above his resting-place change to the hues 
 Of glory as he sweetly goes to rest. 
 The zephyrs play more roughly ; now a leaf 
 Is tost on high, which, quivering, downward falls 
 Into the river: from the zephyr's kiss 
 The placid river turns to rippling waves : 
 Cooler the day grows as the Night with haste 
 Spreads o'er the earth her mantle. Silence reigns. 
 
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 Still doth the nymph caress the sleeping youth : 
 "Ah sweet one," crieth she " your lips are cold ! 
 Methinks 't is time you were awakened — see ! 
 Each bird leaves off its song and seeks its nest — 
 Narcissus! love! awake!— the evening comes 
 To shed its silent dews! " (Narcissus rests 
 All undisturbed— yea, with the lasting rest 
 That Hermes gives!) "Awake!" sweet Echo cries 
 In wild alarm. She sees his eyes unclose 
 And they are glassy. 
 
 "Ah, my love is dead ! " 
 She sadly moans. " O, Hermes ye have torn 
 My heart in twain ! I was afraid the dream 
 Would pass away and leave me all alone. 
 My love has gone where I can never go — 
 Across that dreadful stream no one will give 
 The boon I crave !— I cannot die !— I live 
 Only to mourn ! " 
 
 Night falls upon the scene 
 And still the sad nymph mourns. The night winds join 
 With awful melody her mournful strain : 
 Darkness prevails : no star shines through the gloom, 
 But blackened clouds roll fiercely o'er the sky. 
 Through the dense gloom a messenger from Jove 
 
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 Descends and buries underneath the sod, 
 Close by the stream, the lovely, youthful form 
 Of young Narcissus. Sad the night -winds sing 
 A requiem for the dead. 
 
 At last the Night 
 Rolls from her breast the clouds of opaque gloom, 
 And gives the reign to Day. Aurora, fair, 
 With lovely face of rose, in yonder East 
 Unbars the gates of light. Her blush reflects 
 E'en in the West. Then Phoebus' horses prance 
 In golden trappings to the car of Day : 
 The god grasps tight the reins and forth he comes 
 Gorgeous and grand ! At sight of him the earth 
 Most sweetly smiles ; the birds resume their songs. 
 
 Upon the bank where yesterday the form 
 Of young Narcissus lay a mound is seen : 
 It is his grave. — Beneath, the river flows 
 So calm and still ! Upon the bank of green, 
 Filling the air with perfume, bloom the flowers ; 
 But on the mound of him who sweetly sleeps 
 One fair flower blooms alone : the golden ray 
 Now for the first time kisses off the dew — 
 'Tis the Narcissus. 
 
 W 7 here is she who mourned ? 
 
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 Hush !— hear ye not that voice, that saddened strain 
 That lingers o'er his grave ? 'T is Echo's voice, 
 Sweet as /Eolian music. All the night 
 She pined away ; and as the morning breaks 
 No sign of her is seen. Only her voice 
 Can now be heard — 't is sad and sorrowful. 
 
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