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 UNDER THE OLIVE 
 
 " The great of old! 
 
 The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 
 Our spirits from their urns " 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 (Elje Etber^itfe |3rc^, Camfortlrgc 
 
 1881
 
 Copyright, 1880, 
 By MBS. ANNIE FIELDS 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge: 
 Stereotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAQB 
 
 PRELUDE 1 
 
 To THE LYRIC MUSE 9 
 
 To THE POETESS 13 
 
 THE LAST CONTEST OF ^ESCHYLUS . . 17 
 
 SOPHOCLES 25 
 
 EURIPIDES 35 
 
 THE LANTERN OP SESTOS 41 
 
 HELENA 61 
 
 HERAKLES 77 
 
 ARTEMIS 89 
 
 ANTIXOUS 97 
 
 ACHILLES 105 
 
 APHRODITE OF MELOS 113 
 
 THEOCRITUS 121 
 
 AT THE FORGE 125 
 
 ELEGY TO DAPHNIS 129
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 CLYTIA 135 
 
 THE RETURN OF PERSEPHONE . . . 139 
 
 NOT BY WILL AND NOT IN STRIVING . . 187 
 TRANSLATIONS: 
 
 ANACREON'S GRAVE 193 
 
 MUSAGETES . . . . . 194 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE 196 
 
 PANDORA 197 
 
 NOTES . . 277
 
 Stack 
 Annex 
 stack:" 
 
 'Annex: 
 
 PRELUDE.
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 RAGRANCE of youth, 
 With thy light and thy joy, 
 Thy rapture and truth ; 
 Thou art not man's toy, 
 
 Thou shall break not nor vanish, 
 
 Nor thee shall any destroy ! 
 
 Youth must ever endure 
 
 In the heart of the pure, 
 
 And the leaves be uncurled 
 
 That sleep in the bosom of spring ; 
 
 And the banners unfurled 
 
 Of the flower de luce ; 
 
 They bring truce 
 
 To winter and labor, they sing 
 
 The beginning,
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 The tale of the garden, 
 Where after the heat of the day man may 
 rest. 
 
 But the world has grown old, 
 
 And forgets to be blest, 
 
 And to laugh in the garden at noon ; 
 
 He is gray, 
 
 He remembers the passions of men ; 
 
 For their sake 
 
 He is sad, he is cold, 
 
 And cries, " Behold death cometh soon." 
 
 youth of the world, 
 Thou wert sweet ! 
 
 In thy bud 
 
 Slept nor canker nor pain ; 
 
 In the blood 
 
 Of thy grape was no frost and no rain ; 
 
 1 love thee ! I follow thy feet ! 
 The youth of my heart, 
 
 And the deathless fire 
 
 Leap to embrace thee : 
 
 And nigher, and nigher, 
 
 Through the darkness of grief and the 
 
 smart, 
 Thy form do I see.
 
 PREL UDE. 5 
 
 But the tremulous hand of the years 
 Has brought me a friend. 
 Beautiful gift beyond price ! 
 Beyond loss, beyond tears ! 
 Hither she stands, clad in a veil. 
 O thou youth of the world ! 
 She was a stranger to thee, 
 Thou didst fear her and flee. 
 
 Sorrow is her name ; 
 
 And the face of Sorrow is pale ; 
 
 But her heart is aflame 
 
 With a fire no winter can tame. 
 
 Her love will not bend 
 
 To the storm, 
 
 To the voices of pleasure, 
 
 Nor faint in the arms of the earth ; 
 
 But she followeth ever the form 
 
 Of the Master whose promise is sure, 
 
 Who knows both our death and our birtl 
 
 Sorrow, thou gift of time ! 
 What were man's day without thee I 
 Thou art his prime, and nought 
 Can sever his thought
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Utterly from this earthly sea, 
 Till thy hand be laid within his, 
 And thy tender lips 
 
 Give to thine own, thy chosen, the sacred 
 kiss. 
 
 Fear her not ! 
 
 Stilly the bird slips 
 
 Into the heart of the tree ; 
 
 We had forgot, 
 
 Save for her, 
 
 Love is less brief than the spring. 
 
 She is the worshipper ! 
 
 Every green thine:, 
 
 The passing of clouds, 
 
 The shadow of birds, 
 
 And wandering in the garden-land that lies 
 
 Between the pinnacles of fame and the 
 
 great sea, 
 Are dear to her. 
 
 Dear to her eyes 
 
 Are the white-breasted youth, 
 
 And clear-cut shadows of the olive boughs; 
 
 The slender maid,
 
 PREL UDE. 7 
 
 White oxen with calm brows, 
 And grace that shrouds 
 The hero unafraid. 
 
 But ah ! they loved her not and they have 
 
 Weeping they struggled with resistless waves : 
 Then in the vast unknown abysm they cast 
 Their mighty limbs, 
 And sank to wander in dark caves. 
 
 If, Sorrow, we have loved thee over well, 
 
 And have forgot to frame the sacred hymns 
 
 To the young year or the late ripening vine, 
 
 And learned instead some piteous tale to tell, 
 
 Thou wilt forgive the hearts that must repine. 
 
 Thy heart is brave ! 
 
 Thou dost not waste thyself in tears, 
 
 But standest on the hillock of the grave 
 
 To point us higher with the greatening years.
 
 TO THE LYRIC MUSE.
 
 TO THE LYRIC MUSE. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AUTUMN. 
 
 l(HY dost thou linger, now the lamps 
 
 are out ! 
 Why dost thou stay, the roses being 
 
 dead ! 
 
 What is thy joy, now the white swan is fled 
 To southern gardens lapped by southern seas ! 
 No more for tliee the laughter and the shout, 
 Nor youthful forms outstretched in summer 
 ease. 
 
 No more, and yet thy pallid figure roams 
 Adown the alleys, over faded leaves, 
 And where through misty beams the grape still 
 weaves
 
 12 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 A broken tracery on the faded grass; 
 Over what unseen bed of amaranth comes 
 Odor to thee, our sense knows not, alas ! 
 
 Thy darkling passion now doth seem to feed 
 On briny perfumes of the eastern gale ; 
 Vapors of morning fold thee in their veil ; 
 And in the noonday silently rain down 
 Out of bright skies the acorn and the seed ; 
 Yet dost thou breathe a rapture all thine own. 
 
 Wilt thou not show me where thy spirit feeds, 
 And where the roses of thy desire still bloom, 
 The swan indeed being fled, and earth a tomb ! 
 Wilt thou not bring me where the wondrous 
 
 voice, 
 
 Hiding with spring-time in the falling seeds, 
 May bid the heart of dying men reioice !
 
 TO THE POETESS.
 
 TO THE POETESS. 
 
 AUGHTER of Love ! Out of the 
 
 flowing river, 
 
 Bearing the tide of life upon its bil- 
 low, 
 
 Down to that gulf where love and song to- 
 gether 
 
 Sink and must perish : 
 Out of that fatal and resistless current, 
 One little song of thine to thy great mother, 
 Treasured upon the heart of earth forever, 
 Alone is rescued. 
 
 Yet when spring comes, and weary is the 
 
 spirit, 
 
 When love is here, but absent is the lover, 
 And life is here, and only love is dying, 
 
 Then turn we, longing,
 
 l6 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Singer to thee ! Through ages unforgotten ; 
 Where beats the heart of one who in her lov- 
 ing 
 
 Sang, all for love, and gave herself in singing 
 To the sea's bosom.
 
 THE LAST CONTEST OF 
 AESCHYLUS.
 
 THE LAST CONTEST OF AESCHY- 
 LUS. 
 
 LENCE from out the arch of meas- 
 ureless heaven 
 Looked down upon the foaming sea 
 
 of men, 
 Where grace and beauty and the strength of 
 
 earth 
 
 Filled Athens' amphitheatre to its verge. 
 The limitless horizon of her pride 
 Widened that day in Greece, when there re- 
 turned 
 Kimon, and brought the bones of Theseus 
 
 home. 
 
 Then many a singer offered up his Song ; 
 But JEschylus, with weight of many years 
 O'erladen, master of the tragic art,
 
 20 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Wearing both age and honor in one crown, 
 Green laurel, but o'ersilvered, led the way. 
 The myriad-braided voices sprang like one, 
 Up to the stillness as the poet trod 
 That stage once more, where glory oft had 
 
 stooped 
 From the bright heaven and kissed him as her 
 
 child. 
 
 The leaves of glory's crown were still the same, 
 From spring-time round through all the sea- 
 sons' change, 
 
 Or grown more beautiful after summers' past. 
 Now in the falling autumn, while the winds 
 Of winter blew across his scanty days, 
 He gathered up life's embers, laid thereto 
 The fires of slow experience, till uprose 
 Again therefrom the poet's magic forms, 
 Beckoning the eye of fame once more to earth. 
 Proudly he bore a scroll, though heavy age 
 Delayed his feet, and proudly laid it down 
 Before the judges ; then he passed as one 
 Whose duty done turns him to other thoughts. 
 But in the train that followed, as must be 
 Forever in the footsteps of the gi'eat, 
 Came a long line of weaklier aspirants,
 
 THE LAST CONTEST OF AESCHYLUS. 21 
 
 Who make desire co-equal with the deed, 
 
 Or gazing at the sun of self, see blots 
 
 Where the great sun should be ! These also 
 
 passed 
 
 Before the patient judges, with their scrolls. 
 Last in the train came one, the youngest form 
 And noblest, moving in true harmony 
 To the glad sound of music still prolonged, 
 And wearing on his brow the light that shines 
 From the first coming star, ere sunset dies. 
 And JEschylus loved the boy, whom, when he 
 
 heard 
 The people greet, he turned and smiled on 
 
 him; 
 
 He saw not that the youth had laid a scroll, 
 Even he, and proudly, at the judges' feet. 
 
 But now the games succeeded, then a pause, 
 And after came the judges with the scrolls; 
 Two scrolls, not one, as in departed years. 
 And this saw none but the youth, Sophocles, 
 Who stood with head erect and shining eyes, 
 As if the beacon of some promised land 
 Caught his strong vision and entranced it there. 
 Then while the earth made mimicry of heuven
 
 22 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 With stillness, calmly spake tlie mightiest 
 
 judge : 
 
 " O JEschylus ! The father of our song ! 
 Athenian master of the tragic lyre 
 Thou the incomparable ! Swayer of strong 
 
 hearts ! 
 
 Immortal minstrel of immortal deeds ! 
 The autumn grows apace, and all must die ; 
 Soon winter comes, and silence. .ZEschylus ! 
 After that silence laughs the tuneful spring ! 
 Read'st thou our meaning through this slender 
 
 veil 
 
 Of nature's weaving? Sophocles, stand forth ! 
 Behold fame calls thee to her loftiest seat, 
 And bids thee wear her crown. Stand forth, 
 
 I say ! " 
 
 Then, like a fawn, the youthful poet sprang 
 From the dark thicket of new crowding friends, 
 And stood, a straight, lithe form with gentle 
 
 mien, 
 Crowned first with light of happiness and 
 
 youth. 
 
 But ZEschylus, the old man, bending lower 
 Under this n^w chief weight of all the years,
 
 THE LAST CONTEST OF AESCHYLUS. 23 
 
 Turned from that scene, turned from the shout- 
 ing crowd, 
 
 Whose every voice wounded his dying soul 
 
 With arrows poison-dipped, and walked alone, 
 
 Forgotten, under plane-trees, by the stream. 
 
 " The last! The last ! Have I no more to 
 do 
 
 With this sweet world ! Is the bright morn- 
 ing now 
 
 No longer fraught for me with crowding song ! 
 
 Will evening bring no unsought fruitage home! 
 
 Must the days pass and these poor lips be 
 dumb, 
 
 While strewing leaves sing falling through the 
 air, 
 
 And autumn gathers in her richest fruit ! 
 
 Where is my spring departed ! Where, O 
 gods ! 
 
 Within my spirit still the building birds 
 
 I hear, with voice more tender than when 
 leaves 
 
 Are budding and the happy earth is gay. 
 
 Am I, indeed, grown dumb for evermore! 
 
 Take me, O bark ! Take me thou flowing 
 stream 1
 
 24 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Who knowest nought of death save when thy 
 
 waves 
 
 Rush to new life upon the ocean's breast. 
 Bear thou me singing to the under world ! 
 From earth's lone pastures to the changeless 
 
 sea 
 Beyond the caves of death, where life is young.
 
 SOPHOCLES.
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Enter the son and grandson of Sophocles, IOPHON and 
 the YOUNG SOPHOCLES. 
 
 IOPHON. 
 AM the elder ! 
 
 YOUNG SOPHOCLES. 
 
 And I the latest born ! 
 Therefore, perchance, of all the best beloved. 
 
 IOPHON. 
 Yet right is mine, I am the lawful heir. 
 
 YOUNG SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Is it not right to give what is our own 
 As we would list?
 
 28 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 IOPHOX. 
 
 No ! Always the first-born 
 Holds a just claim. 
 
 YOUNG SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Indeed I know that well, 
 But thou dost claim the whole or largest part. 
 
 IOPHON. 
 
 And justly, too ! Thou art a bastard son. 
 
 YOUNG SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Better be that and dutiful, than as thou. 
 
 Ha ! What sayest thou ? Is it, then, come to 
 this I 
 
 [They seize their weapons. 
 
 SOPHOCLES enters, bowed with years. JTe speaks. 
 
 Children, I pray, if still ye love me, hold ! 
 Go, lophon, they call thee in the courts ! 
 To thy book, Sophocles, and the sounding 
 rhyme. 
 
 [They go out.
 
 SOPHOCLES. 29 
 
 What shall be done with these two braggart 
 
 boys? 
 
 In their first youth I joyed in their warm blood, 
 And took too little heed lest want of love 
 Might breed an angry discord at the last ; 
 And now behold they have reached man's es- 
 tate, 
 
 "But in the garden of their hearts is found 
 No fruit or blossom of fraternal good. 
 
 MESSFNGEK enters nnrl speaks. 
 Sophocles, thou art summoned to the courts. 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 Upon what plea am I thus hither called? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 To prove how old thou art, and how unfit 
 Justly to give away the goods thou hast. 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 This, Tophon, alas ! must be thy deed ! 
 Hath jealousy thee taught to hate thy sire? 
 The gods give strength and arm me with their 
 love !
 
 30 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Must the world seek to find the ravages, 
 The rents and fissures of these wintry years, 
 Young love should cover with the leaves of 
 
 spring ! 
 
 Do men seek these ! Then come, my (Edipus! 
 Thou shalt with me, companion of my age ! 
 [Tie takes tenderly in Jiis hand the scroll containing 
 his (Edipus Coloneus. Tlity go out. 
 
 SCENE: The Court Room. Judges, a large con- 
 course of people, and the son and grandson of SOPH- 
 OOLKS. Enter Aftssenyer, followed by the ayed poet 
 who bears the scroll. 
 
 soriion.KS. 
 
 Bowed half with age and half with reverence, 
 
 thus, 
 
 I, Sophocles, now answer to your call ; 
 Questioned have I the cause and the reason 
 
 learned. 
 
 Lo, I am here that all the world may see 
 These feeble limbs that signal of decay ! 
 But, know ye, ere the aged oak must die, 
 Long after the strong years have bent his form, 
 The spring still gently weaves a leafy crown, 
 Fresh as of yore to deck his wintry head.
 
 SOPHOCLES. 31 
 
 And now, O people mine, who have loved my 
 
 song, 
 
 Ye shall be judges if the spring have brought 
 Late unto me, the aged oak, a crown. 
 Hear ye once more, ere yet the river of sleep 
 Bear me away far on its darkening tide, 
 The music breathed upon me from these fields. 
 If to your ears, alas! the shattered strings 
 No longer sing, but breathe a discord harsh, 
 I will return and draw this mantle close 
 About my head and lay me down to die. 
 But if ye hear the wonted spirit call, 
 Framing the natural song that fills this world 
 To -\ diviner form, then shall ye all believe 
 The love I bear to those most near to me 
 Is living still, and living cannot wrong; 
 To me, it seems, the love I bear to thee, 
 Athens, blooms fresh as violets in yon wood, 
 Making new spring within this aged breast. 
 
 [He reads the chorus in praise of the sacred {/rove 
 of Colonus. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 I. 
 
 " Stranger ! The station of stallions, 
 Fairest of spots hast thou chosen,
 
 32 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Colonus the glistening. 
 
 Here in fresh blooming thickets 
 
 The nightingale hides her ; 
 
 And pours her sweet sorrow 
 
 'Mid thick-growing ivy and shadows the gods 
 
 love; 
 
 Here trees with fruit laden, 
 By storm-winds untouched, 
 And by mortals unshaken ; 
 Here Bacchus the reveller, 
 Chief loves to wander, 
 By nymph-gods encircled." 
 
 AXTISTROPHE. 
 I. 
 
 " And here on this spot dews of heaven 
 Have watered and fed fair Narcissus, 
 Each day freshly blooming, 
 For time-honored wreaths of two goddesses; 
 And here is the golden-leaved crocus, 
 And here are unsealed the sleepless 
 Streams of Kephissos, 
 That fail not, but ever are rippling 
 Through plains and rich pastures, 
 Gathering the unsullied rain drops
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 From wide-breasted liill-sides, 
 Scorned by no choir of the Muses, 
 Nor yet by gold-reined Aphrodite.' 
 
 *' Here marvel unknown unto Asia, 
 Or unto the famed isle, the Dorian, 
 Grows unnursed of the gardener ; 
 Blue-green olive grove, 
 Blest of her children, 
 Terror of the enemy, 
 Of this green earth the glory ! 
 Never in blossom, 
 Nor in fading of autumn, 
 Shall command slay thy beauty ; 
 For Zeus the protector 
 Of fruits watches ever, 
 And blue-eyed Athene." 
 
 AXTISTROPHE. 
 II. 
 
 ' Praise all others excelling 
 I tying for thy chief pride, thy greatest, 
 Gift of our father, the sea-god ; 
 3
 
 34 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Taming of horses and waters, 
 
 These are the pride of our mother, 
 
 Granted our home and our city, 
 
 Poseidon, by thee; 
 
 Thou, the bridle subduing, 
 
 First brought to these waysides, 
 
 And the oar too, shapely, foam-flinging, 
 
 Beckoning the crowd, hundred-footed, 
 
 Of Nereids following ever, 
 
 And dancing around in the billows." 
 
 Land of all lands, with loftiest praises crowned, 
 Prove now if thou deserve this shining wreath. 
 
 He is silent. The people shout. 
 Sophocles. Child of Athens ! The deathless 
 
 one ! 
 
 [He is borne away triumphant upon the shonltlers 
 of 'the people.
 
 EURIPIDES.
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 EHOLD I am the third ! Third 
 
 comer and third choice ! 
 The godliest one hath passed ! yet 
 
 the blue dome of heaven 
 Echoes his word repeated through the un- 
 measured air, 
 Bidding the people tow and worship the gods 
 
 and their deeds. 
 Is there one to lead them now and bring them 
 
 forth to the seats, 
 Circle on circle filled with a nation waiting to 
 
 hear ! 
 .ZEschylus gone, who else may interpret the 
 
 gods to men ! 
 Time is less long than his fame, yet do men 
 
 ask a new thing. 
 
 I could not do the work of my master, of JEs- 
 chylus, no !
 
 38 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 But my heart is stirred for the heart of a peo- 
 ple waiting for song, 
 Waiting to hear of beauty and joy and a love 
 
 divine 
 Which sleep in the darkest ways and wake to 
 
 a master's wand. 
 Patience, my heart ! Have I not said that I 
 
 was the third ! 
 Sophocles now is king, ant! royally weareth the 
 
 crown. 
 Soe how the people follow, see how they crowd 
 
 to the seats, 
 Breathing the breath of Colonus brought on 
 
 his picturing words. 
 
 See how they weep with Antigone, noblest sis- 
 ter and child, 
 Awed, by her presence enchanted, and (Edipus 
 
 god-smitten, old. 
 Is there no place for me ! Why with a breast 
 
 grown warm, 
 Warm with desire to answer their thoughts and 
 
 questioning eyes, 
 That turn to the east and west, and ask of the 
 
 north and south, 
 Turning no more to their gods but keeping 
 
 aloof in their dread,
 
 EURIPIDES. 39 
 
 Is there no room for another, for me, whose 
 
 spirit hath known 
 Sorrow of life and sorrow of death and the 
 
 hero's soul ? 
 One who hath known the sweetness of woman, 
 
 her glory and crown ? 
 One who hath known of her shame, deepest 
 
 blackness of earth ? 
 Hear me, hear me, ye people ! Long have I 
 
 wrought for your love, 
 Leading you into the clear bright air from the 
 
 noise of the courts, 
 Telling you nought of the gods, for what can I 
 
 know of their ways ! 
 But the ways of our brothers we see-, we feel 
 
 both their sadness and pain. 
 Polyxena dying for freedom, and they who 
 
 have died for truth, 
 Others, those glad bright spirits, who died for 
 
 love, 
 These are of us ! Ah, brothers and sisters, our 
 
 joy and our pain 
 Are like unto theirs ! Hear ye the music, see 
 
 but the light 
 Breathed from these living words, or kindled 
 
 bv death's dim torch.
 
 40 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Suddenly was he still; closed were those plead- 
 ing lips: 
 
 Ended the long desire, ended laborious days ; 
 
 Silent the fountain of song from rivulet and 
 from fell. 
 
 Sophocles came, the master, the old man, leav- 
 ing a tear 
 
 Ages have loved to treasure there on Euripides' 
 grave. 
 
 Latest born of the three ! Who shall dare 
 
 name the most great ! 
 Poet whose air repeated saved the Athenian 
 
 walls, 
 Grieving for sad Electra, still do thy warm 
 
 tears fall ! 
 Gods of Greece ! ye are cold and old as marble 
 
 and clay; 
 Songs of Euripides ! young are ye, fresh as the 
 
 shade of Cithaeron.
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS.
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 
 
 JATERS of song, ever flowing, that 
 ^ whisper of truth and fulfillment, 
 So'emn your voices, yet sweet, foun- 
 
 tains of healing to men. 
 
 Old is the legend of lovers the world is forever 
 
 repeating, 
 Old as the years and yet young, glad as the 
 
 vision of dawn ; 
 Old as the temples of Kypris, whose fragments 
 
 of beauty we worship, 
 Young as the blood that now leaps fresh with 
 
 the fountains of June. 
 Virgil hath sung of the story, recounted by 
 
 Ovid and Statius, 
 Musseus, sweetest of all, sad as the autumn's 
 
 decay ;
 
 44 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Carven by him it remains who hath used fair 
 
 Greek words for his chisel, 
 Like to a cameo- shell clasping the robe of a 
 
 nymph. 
 Burdened with lustre and loss, the tale as by 
 
 Marlowe repeated ; 
 Thus is it age by age caught to the heart of 
 
 mankind. 
 Lovers whose glances now meet and now bend 
 
 to the page ye are reading, 
 Are there no billows outstretched between ye 
 
 and your love? 
 Happy are ye and good then pitiful are ye to 
 
 others, 
 Swept by adversity's .wave far from the feet 
 
 they adore. 
 
 High was the tower and windy where Hero 
 
 lonely abiding 
 Fed the desires of a maid, whispering her heart 
 
 unto none; 
 There on the verge of the ocean she watched 
 
 from her height for the morning, 
 Where the motionless waves lay unstirred, fired 
 
 by no dart of the sun,
 
 THE LANTERN OF SE8TU8. 40 
 
 Till, wakened at last and pierced by his flames, 
 
 she beheld like a blossom 
 Dawn lying ro?y and soft rocked on the breas* 
 
 of the sea. 
 When the day broadened she sought with her 
 
 handmaid the temple of Kypris, 
 Praying the goddess of love safely her servant 
 
 to keep; 
 Ended her orison, straight she returned to her 
 
 chamber of silence, 
 Far from the dance, and shut far from the 
 
 music of youth. 
 Now the glad season approached, the yearly 
 
 feast of Adonis, 
 When women to worship went forth, and 
 
 youths to gaze on the maids. 
 There in the temple's most holy recesses Hero 
 
 long lingered, 
 Hidden from thoughts of the world, seen by no 
 
 eye of the crowd. 
 Soft fell the lawn of her robe round the grace 
 
 of her limbs low declining, 
 Her veil, half forgotten, slipped down from her 
 
 ivory throat, 
 Lost in the shadowy shrine while her spirit 
 
 arose in petition,
 
 46 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Lover she knew not, nor one clothed there in 
 
 beauty and strength. 
 He had seen her and followed her hither with 
 
 eyes full of ardor, 
 
 Noble and pure, audacious to die or to win. 
 Lingered he there impatient, till all her devo- 
 tions were ended, 
 Hoping to hear but her voice, longing to touch 
 
 but her hand. 
 Ardent and strong and beautiful was he far 
 
 above others, 
 Daring far above all, he who drew near to her 
 
 shrine. ., 
 Speaking now he addressed her, " Abydos, 
 
 home of my fathers, 
 Stands divided from thee; only by ships may 
 
 we come, 
 Yet there dwells not in Abydos, nor in the 
 
 wide region of Sestos, 
 One who moveth my heart save when it dvvell- 
 
 eth with thee. 
 Hear ye the words I would speak, nor fear a 
 
 foe in thy lover, 
 One who before thy Queen, Kypris the goddess, 
 
 now prays
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 47 
 
 Permission to touch and to kiss but thy rosy- 
 tipped fingers, 
 Gaze in thine eyes, and perchance whisper the 
 
 accents of love." 
 Downcast her vision became, and the blood her 
 
 bright shoulder suffusing, 
 Told all the tale of her thought, ere her slow 
 
 lips gave response; 
 Gently she turned her aside, nor answered his 
 
 tender assurance, 
 Left not the shade nor the shrine, gave not her 
 
 hand unto him. 
 But swift is the arrow of Love, and his missive 
 
 ethereal speeding 
 Straight from the young man's heart entered 
 
 the breast of the maid. 
 Then he prayed her again to tell him her name 
 
 and her story. 
 Asking, " Where is thy home, where may I 
 
 seek thee, my love?" 
 " I am Hero," she said, " and my home is 
 
 washed by the ocean. 
 
 Left in yon tower alone, save for one hand- 
 maid now old ; 
 Music is none for me if no voice of the sea-bird 
 
 be calling,
 
 48 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Dance there is none, but the dance led by the 
 
 waves on the strand. 
 High is my chamber and silent, the pathway 
 
 unknown unto any 
 Save to the jewels of the air borne on their 
 
 pinions of flame, 
 Flitting and stirring with kisses the jars of 
 
 alyssum and lilies 
 Lowering my casement and breathing of valleys 
 
 and rills." 
 Pausing again, while the blood all her throat 
 
 and her forehead was staining : 
 ** Why do I say this to thee? I but a stranger, 
 
 a maid! " 
 Then he returned : " Nay rather to me may 
 
 my words be forgiven, 
 Heated with fires of the heart, heated with 
 
 flames of desire! 
 Here in this sacred enclosure, by the mother of 
 
 love thus protected, 
 Nought can betray or alarm, nothing can lead 
 
 thee astray. 
 Turn not aside, nor hide thus from me thy face 
 
 and its meaning, 
 Give me at least thy hand, visible token of 
 
 peace."
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 49 
 
 Shyly she gave him her hand, and swiftly his 
 kisses descended, 
 
 Rained down over it, lo! till it blushed in re- 
 turn. 
 
 " Wilt thou not yield, then," he cried, " yield 
 thyself unto my honor, 
 
 Beautiful maiden of Sestos, thou, the fairest of 
 all? 
 
 Wilt thou not bid me to come unto thy window 
 forsaken, 
 
 Bid me to comfort thee there, nevermore lonely 
 or sad ? 
 
 Hither the goddess hath led me that I hence- 
 forth may protect thee, 
 
 Thee, the chosen of gods, light of my life and 
 my bride." 
 
 Turning her glances upon him, while she stood 
 there in maiden confusion, 
 
 Seeing his beauty and grace, seeing his honor 
 and truth, 
 
 " Tell me," she answered, " the name thou 
 dost bear and the name of thy parents ; 
 
 Tell me thy story of life, tell me the feats thou 
 hast done ; 
 4
 
 50 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Thou hast told me already thy home is afar in 
 
 A by d os, 
 How canst thou meet me unseen, borne by no 
 
 white-winged ship?" 
 ** I am L'eander," he said, " the love-crowned 
 
 husband of Hero! 
 These strong limbs be my ship ! Lamp of my 
 
 life, be my star ! 
 Now are the nights of May, and the soft-veiled 
 
 skies of the spring-time 
 Such as lovers must love, shadows of night and 
 
 the shrine. 
 
 Late, when the fires of the town are extin- 
 guished, thy lamp for my beacon, 
 Swiftly these limbs shall cleave waters blue as 
 
 the sky." 
 " See where, already ! " she cried, " are the 
 
 feet of my handmaid approaching, 
 Long are the hours we must wait, brief are the 
 
 moments of love ! " 
 Drooping she turned unto him and extended 
 
 her arms in acceptance, 
 Sinking with senses half drowned, lost in that 
 
 one short embrace.
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 51 
 
 "Farewell!" he murmured, "farewell, till the 
 moon of May hath turned from us, 
 
 Hanging, a fragment of mist, faint on the fore- 
 head of day. 
 
 Goddess, and mother of love, whose recesses 
 have given us shelter, 
 
 Bring me to answer her signal, bring me to find 
 her, my bride ! " 
 
 Slowly the mantle of night was spread o'er the 
 
 face of Abydos, 
 Slowly shone out the stars swung in the purple 
 
 expanse, 
 Still down the west the heavens were stained 
 
 with remembering crimson, 
 Lonely the lover remained pacing the picturing 
 
 sands. 
 One by one from afar the watch-towers caught 
 
 and were kindled, 
 Ghost-like sails faded out, lost inTthe moonless 
 
 expanse; 
 Slowly, more slowly, now were the fires of 
 
 Sestos extinguished, 
 Night, like a motionless veil, hid all the rim of 
 
 the earth.
 
 52 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Restless the waves as his spirit with their way- 
 ward glances inviting, 
 
 White-lipped, even in peace, noisy and strong 
 at their play; 
 
 " Come ! They ever are calling, Come ! to our 
 caverns unsounded, 
 
 Beautiful harbors of peace, strange and untrod- 
 den by man." 
 
 Heeded he not their vain music, dreamed he of 
 nought save her beacon ; 
 
 Star which should rise sole for him, lit in the 
 heart of his love. 
 
 " True is my darling, most true ! yet hath she 
 the signal forgotten ! " 
 
 Hardly the words were said when her lamp 
 shot a flame from afar; 
 
 Swiftly his mantle he seized, and swift round 
 his forehead he bound it, 
 
 Then in the waters he plunged, white as the 
 shafts of her shrine. 
 
 Down from the height of her chamber noise- 
 lessly Hero descended, 
 
 Stepped from the postern door out to the feet 
 of the sea ;
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 53 
 
 There in her arms she received her love, the 
 
 voyager, wave-stained, 
 Led him within, and his limbs washed and 
 
 anointed with oil. 
 
 Bride and bridegroom were there, but where 
 
 was the feast of the bridal ! 
 Wedding was there, yet where, guest of the 
 
 wedding, wert thou ! 
 Bliss of marriage was there, but absent the 
 
 blessing of parents ! 
 Silent the halls, and the hollows of the night 
 
 were grown still. 
 
 Many and many the hours through the too 
 
 brief midnights of summer, 
 Waiting the signal he stood, then plunged 
 
 through seas to his bride. 
 Thus lived Hero, a wife by night, and by day 
 
 but a maiden, 
 Till the flowers were faded and harvests ripened 
 
 and billows were cold. 
 Then followed the season of tempests, when 
 
 gloomily shadowed 
 Evening fell black, and the breeze died, and 
 
 the waves were aflame;
 
 51 
 
 Noiselessly crept a deluge that whispered low 
 
 to the ocean, 
 Waking the winds in their wrath, sweeping the 
 
 land with their might. 
 Long that night waited Leander, but only the 
 
 waves' wild blue lustre 
 Lightened the awful dark shining in blackness 
 
 profound. 
 Twice had the morning arisen ere the force of 
 
 the tempest was broken. 
 Then came winter abroad, calling to land and 
 
 to sea. 
 Burnished like steel was the ocean's face, and 
 
 the unmeasured forests 
 Shook their long locks to the wind, sweeping 
 
 the sky with their hair. 
 Glad was the spirit of Hero, and spring was 
 
 chaunting within her, 
 Surely to-night shall the lamp lead her beloved 
 
 to his own. 
 
 High was the wind and mighty the sea, but de- 
 sire was grown stronger, 
 Silencing one and soothing the other to her 
 
 mind. 
 Clear-eyed and angry and strong was the sun 
 
 in his early declining,
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 55 
 
 Hungry and angry the waves drew themselves 
 
 back from the shore; 
 Angrily answered the wind-blast from each 
 
 lofty coigne of her casement, 
 Tenderly, patiently there, Hero awaited her 
 
 love. 
 Busily first from the height her lantern she 
 
 bravely suspended, 
 Then she folded her hands, nought was there 
 
 left to be done. 
 Midnight, with clangorous voices, to earth's 
 
 dark bosom hath spoken, 
 Hero, listening, descends, seeking the dark 
 
 postern door; 
 
 Rudely and fiercely the wind repels her, dis- 
 puting her passage, 
 Firmly, nay sternly, she urgeth and holdeth 
 
 her ground. 
 Ragged and rent are the clouds, by the might 
 
 of .ZEolus driven, 
 High are the waves' that wash over the rocks 
 
 to her feet, 
 Dark is the sea, and dark is the vault where 
 
 her heaven is hidden,
 
 56 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Dark is her lamp! but alas! nought of that 
 
 night can she know. 
 Beaten by surges and beaten by wind, still 
 
 alone doth she linger, 
 Then, when he comes not, returns laden with 
 
 grief to her place. 
 Now beholdeth she first her lantern by storm 
 
 blasts extinguished, 
 There in the dark must she sit, waiting till 
 
 morning appear. 
 How could she tell if the treacherous beacon 
 
 had led him to venture, 
 Bid him to try the deep, then had forsaken the 
 
 trust, 
 Slow are the hours, grief- weighted and heavy 
 
 the tread of their footfall, 
 Laden with pain they approach, fearful the 
 
 greeting at last. 
 Thus the slow feet of the dawn through the 
 
 dim waste of darkness approached her, 
 Heavily treading, as tread burdened bearers of 
 
 woe. 
 When with the earliest glimmer she leaned 
 
 through the storm-shattered casement,
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 57 
 
 There she sees, at the tower-foot, his fair form 
 
 that she loves; 
 
 There she finds in the dawn that the lamp in- 
 deed is extinguished, 
 Flame of a candle and lamp life-lighted, both 
 
 as if one. 
 None may' hear, there are none to call, there 
 
 are none who can succor! 
 Down she casts herself, down she falls, on all 
 
 that she loves. 
 What were her life without him ! And what 
 
 worth were the days thus divided ! 
 Whither the unseen leads there will she follow 
 
 his feet. 
 
 Wrapt in the silence of sorrow, here endetk 
 
 the tender Greek story. 
 But thus the legend continues: There by the 
 
 shore in high noon 
 Multitudes gathered together and saw the glad 
 
 sunshine adorning 
 Whiteness of marble and limbs pressed closely 
 
 each unto each. 
 A-bsent were voices of hatred, and absent the 
 
 censure of lovers,
 
 58 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Youth was there, beauty and truth, death 
 
 was there, welcome for love ! 
 Those who were standing by and who knew 
 
 both the pain and the passion 
 Uttered no word, nor did they who knew not 
 
 the ashes nor flame. 
 Speechless they entered the tower, and found 
 
 there the lantern extinguished, 
 Bore it away to Anteros and hung o'er his 
 
 shrine. 
 u Come ye," they cried, u O ye lovers, whose 
 
 love knoweth nought but good fortune, 
 Kindle this lantern afresh, here on the fane of 
 
 the god." 
 Loud was the voice of the people, on high was 
 
 the beacon erected, 
 But there forever unlighted through time it 
 
 remains. 
 
 Still, O thou treacherous lamp, thou dost hang 
 
 in the eyes of all lovers ; 
 Still do they laugh with the spring, glad in a 
 
 joy that dies not, 
 Long the procession enamored in passing has 
 
 given it homage,
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. 59 
 
 Yet do they linger not fearing lest joy shall 
 
 take wing. 
 Better a sorrow for love, they say, and the 
 
 voices departed, 
 Better than revelry, lamps relumed, and hearts 
 
 that forget. 
 Grief who sittest unchanging beside the shrine 
 
 of these lovers, 
 Sit ye by hearts that are true; whispering of 
 
 love that dies not! 
 What can be sorrow to these but a mantle, a 
 
 sign, a possession, 
 Folding them ever enwrapt, blest as Elisha of 
 
 old! 
 Clad not in raiments of darkness, nor shrouded 
 
 in doubt and despondence, 
 Rather a lamp in themselves, beacons of light 
 
 unto men. 
 Ye are but shadows to them who possess the 
 
 passion immortal, 
 Lantern forever unlit! Night with thy silence 
 
 and stars! 
 
 Take, ye devouring days ! the gold of youth, 
 the desired things ;
 
 60 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Leave ye but sorrow white-robed here by the 
 
 feet dearly loved. 
 She, the priestess, shall lead us, companion of 
 
 evening and morning, 
 Till the one morning awake, knowing not 
 
 shadow or night.
 
 HELENA.
 
 HELENA. 
 
 ALL for my guilt and his deed, Zeus gives us a doom that ia 
 dreadful, 
 
 Erev to live in the songs and to be a theme for the min- 
 strels. 
 
 [LIAD. E. Arnold. 
 
 ICH fuhle mich so fern und doch so nah, 
 Und sage nur zu gern : da bin ich ! da ! 
 
 Ich scheme mir verlebt und doch so neu 
 In dich verwebt, dem Unbekannten treu. 
 
 HELENA. Second Part of Faust. 
 
 AM Helen of Argos, 
 I am Helen of Sparta, 
 I, the daughter of Egypt, 
 I, the inflamer of Troy ; 
 See me, Helen, still shining, 
 There where shines great Achilles;
 
 64 ' UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Blossoms of summer I bring ye 
 Born not of shadows nor dreams. 
 
 Early from Argos he bore me, 
 Theseus, inconstant of lovers; 
 Early in Argos he bound me, 
 He, Menelaus the King; 
 Queen of the court and of feasting, 
 Queen of the hearth and the temple, 
 Goddess and priestess and mother, 
 Holding Hermione's hand. 
 
 There in the chambers of purple, 
 Fair as the statues he gathered, 
 Worshipped by great Menelaus, 
 J, his Helen, remained ; 
 Pure as when Theseus snatched me, 
 First from the temple of Dian, 
 Dancing the dances of childhood, 
 Bare to her ivory floors. 
 
 Theseus snatched me and held me, 
 Hiding me far in Aphidnai; 
 Quickly I slipped from his covert, 
 J, no longer enslaved.
 
 HELENA. 65 
 
 Ah! Menelaus the gentle, 
 Gently but strongly he bound me; 
 Lo! with the ships I departed, 
 Ships that were sailing for Troy. 
 
 Paris had beckoned me hither; 
 Waves were leaping around me, 
 Whispering of freedom and gladness, 
 Paris whispered of love ; 
 Thus in the meshes entangled 
 Woven by hard Aphrodite, 
 Lost was I, slave to her service, 
 She, the compeller of men. 
 
 Tl^ere on the turrets of Troia, 
 Watching the combat of heroes, 
 There in the eye of the noble, 
 Sent she a woman to me; 
 Calling me hence to serve Paris, 
 He, the lascivious, the perfumed, 
 She, the compeller, she drove me 
 Hence in the faces of all. 
 
 Slave was I, bound was I, Helen! 
 Once the queen of the hearth-side ;
 
 UXDKR THE OLIVE. 
 
 Bond was T, scorned, yet the mother, 
 Queen of Hermione's heart; 
 Gazing on Hector the princely, 
 Dead, and Andromache weeping, 
 Tears were not mine! Alas deeper 
 Lay my smart and my pain. 
 
 Hector, my brother beloved ! 
 Dear to me, far above others, 
 Here on thy body lamenting 
 I, too, echo thy praise! 
 Listen, Andromache, listen! 
 Out of the deepness of silence 
 Calleth a voice unto thee: 
 
 
 
 ' Calm, O beloved, O dear one, 
 Calm are the valleys of Orcus, 
 Restful the streams and dim alleys 
 Shut from ihe clamor of men ; 
 Restful to him who has labored, 
 Labored and loved and is waiting, 
 Waiting to hold in his bosom 
 Child and mother again." 
 
 Hear me, Andromache ; listen! 
 This is for thee, but for Helen
 
 HELENA. 67 
 
 All is voiceless and barren, 
 Silent the valley of shades; 
 Faded her joy with the blossoms., 
 Dead on the heart of the summer! 
 Kypris, goddess, ah! free me, 
 Slave and child of thy will. 
 
 Long through the ages I suffered, 
 Suffered the calling of lovers ; 
 Down through the ages I followed, 
 Won by the bidding of Faust; 
 Strong, unsubdued, and immortal, 
 I, the young mother of Sparta, 
 Stand here and bring ye these blos- 
 soms, 
 Fresh as the children of spring. 
 
 Down to the ships went the captives, 
 Unwilling procession of sorrow, 
 Cassandra behind Agamemnon, 
 Andromache bound with the rest. 
 I, Helen, walked with my husband ; 
 Level my glance of pure azure, 
 llosy my cheeks, lest the Spartans 
 Think less well of their king.
 
 68 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Helen, that years could not alter, 
 Nor bees that deflower the lilies, 
 Helen, child of immortals, 
 Holding the reins of his steed; 
 Thus through the gateway of Sparta, 
 When the fires of Troy were extinguished, 
 Proud in his gladness and glory, 
 Proudly I brought them their king. 
 
 One sang, " Base was their Helen; " 
 
 I, standing far above splendor, 
 
 Calm in the circle of godhead, 
 
 Moved not by striving of men, 
 
 Heard thus Stesichorus the singer, 
 
 Mad raver, a poet, a mortal, 
 
 While the gods and the heroes immortal 
 
 Struck the perjurer blind with their glance. 
 
 No longer he seeth where beauty 
 Abideth untouched of the earth-stained; 
 No more shall he mark in her coming 
 Persephone's noiseless feet; 
 No more, when Helen approacheth, 
 Shall he know the star of her forehead, 
 And Helen the false shall decoy him 
 With wiles and tales of her own.
 
 II EL EX A. 09 
 
 Lovers, ah lovers inconstant ! 
 
 Ye have slain but the form and the semblance, 
 
 Know ye your Helen has vanished 
 
 And sleeps on a hero's breast. 
 
 Hers is the fire undying, 
 
 The light and the flame of the singer, 
 
 The mariner's lamp and his beacon, 
 
 His harbor of home and his rest. 
 
 Half proudly ended thus the queen her tale, 
 And ere the listener knew her notes were 
 
 stilled 
 Behold another singer took the strain. 
 
 This other was a youth who once had loved, 
 Or thought he loved, a maid who loved him 
 
 not, 
 
 And here he told the story of his love, 
 Which was not love, alas ! the lady said; 
 She sat and sang thus to him in the dusk, 
 And still at dusk he ever hears her song. 
 
 " 'Twas in dim ages of the world; 
 (The tale is true, too true!) 
 When first the fires of passion curled
 
 70 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 The leaf-buds of the heart, and whirled 
 Their ashes to the blue. 
 
 *' In Pian's temple danced a "child; 
 (The tale is true, too true!) 
 Brave Theseus there, with passion wild, 
 Stole, stole away the dancing child, 
 (The tale no more is new.) 
 
 "Her brothers captured her again; 
 (Too old the tale, too old !) 
 She w;is their joy, she was their pain, 
 Of Helen was their only strain; 
 (Thus is the old tale told.) 
 
 " The king of Sparta sought her hand; 
 (Too old the tale, too old !) 
 No prince her beauty could withstand, 
 Her fame was spread through every land; 
 (The tale has not grown cold.) 
 
 " The king of Sparta bore her home ; 
 (Too true the tale, too true!) 
 Through his vast halls her footsteps roam. 
 And hearts are glad where'er she come; 
 (O yes, the tale is true !)
 
 HELENA. 71 
 
 " Upon Mount Ida there was one 
 (The tale said) feeding sheep ; 
 The goddess whispered him alone, 
 He left her home of leaf and stone 
 And sought the clouded deep. 
 
 " He came by day to Sparta's walls ; 
 (Ah me! where was the king!) 
 A welcome guest throughout the halls, 
 And Helen, the fair queen, he calls, 
 Her women dainties bring. 
 
 " Thou shalt away with me, he said ; 
 (In the tale, he whispered low.) 
 A silver veil on the sea was spread, 
 A snowy mantle about her head ; 
 (Alas ! he whispered low.) 
 
 " Silent the glimmering statues stand; 
 (The tale has all come true !) 
 Silent the lovely Grecian land, 
 Speechless the softly murmuring sand, 
 And the waves the ship sailed through. 
 
 * What is fair, if false be fair! 
 (The tale was never false.)
 
 72 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Never hath faded the golden hair, 
 Beauty of Helen unchanged and rare, 
 Not false, nor faded, nor pale. 
 
 " Never to Troy did Helen go ; 
 (Say, canst thou read the song!) 
 Never unfaith true Helen know; 
 False Helen! Away! She is white as snow, 
 Helen the queen of my song." 
 
 The low mysterious wail wherewith he voiced 
 The mystery of his singing scarce had ceased, 
 When lo! another brought a little plaint 
 Of love and death, and love that cannot die. 
 
 " Ah, lonely, lonely is the wide blue sea, 
 And lonely are the summer fields at noon, 
 Yet the waves dance, and the fields laugh in 
 
 glee, 
 Though nought be left for me! 
 
 ' ' Life may be joy to such as know not love ! 
 But we who know, know that our joy must die, 
 And dying, carry onward, far above, 
 The light by which we move.
 
 QULENA. 73 
 
 " Love is not less that may not all be seen ; 
 But, watched for like the planet of the dawn, 
 It beckons us behind a cloudy screen, 
 While the waves roll between." 
 
 And still another singer, with eyes bent 
 Afar, as on that beacon light he gazed, 
 Seen by the warder who, for ten long years, 
 Swept the horizon toward the Trojan plains, 
 Till the great day when rising into heaven 
 The mountain tops rehearsed the flames of 
 
 Troy, 
 
 Such was his gaze, as one who knew the light 
 Were waiting to appear, and he could wait, 
 Assured of victory and the day of peace: 
 And thus he sang his song of Helena : 
 
 " I follow thee, 
 
 Run to thee, as the streamlet to the main! 
 What green repose for me ! m 
 No music and no luring sun or shade 
 Can still the heat of my desire, O maid, 
 Or my fond heart detain. 
 
 41 Thou lead'st me on! 
 I.struggle and forever I aspire,
 
 74 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Till days and years be done. 
 After thy feet how beautiful the vales! 
 How beautiful, beyond Arabian tales, 
 Apollo's golden fire! 
 
 " I grasp, I fail ! 
 
 I cannot seize the crystal cup she holds; 
 I hear her sweet ' All hail! ' 
 Then faint and fall, and senseless lie and 
 
 blind, 
 
 Till waking, but her empty robe I find, 
 Which my weak arm enfolds." 
 
 Impatient for the end then lastly spake 
 A carver in his pride: 4i Better than all 
 Your shifting notes of love that cannot die 
 The marble where the form of truth endures. 
 There shall man's eye forever see her shape 
 Uplifted to the gaze of hurrying crowds 
 Who press down toward the ships to see her 
 
 pass ; 
 
 Not of the weeping company of those 
 Who follow at the conqueror's nod is she, 
 But with eyes downward bent and reddening 
 
 blush
 
 HELENA. 75 
 
 She walks, revolving many a sombre thought. 
 Then, in his house of wood, with flaxen sails, 
 She floats a queen across the fateful seas, 
 Until the king restore her to her home. 
 Thus ever to the future Helen stands, 
 Carven triumphant in her chariot, 
 Entering anew the unbarred Spartan gates." 1 
 
 He ceased; but as the fluttering swallows meet 
 In earliest autumn near some cove, nor hear 
 Nor see intruders, learning busily 
 Their future, or rehearsing happy days, 
 Twittering of joys remembered ere they go 
 Into the silence, whither we know not! 
 So did this murmuring ring of singers fail, 
 Perchance, to hear the carver, but still sang, 
 In music half unheard for falling leaves, 
 Of Helen, Helen, Helen, through the dale, 
 And Helen, Helen, Helen, on the hills, 
 Till with the winds the undying murmur slept. 
 
 1 See bas-relief in the Campana Museum.
 
 HERAKLES.
 
 HERAKLES. 
 
 HORNING' S blue heaven wherein 
 
 birds rest and float 
 And rise to levels of new life ! a note 
 Of joy dropping by chance as in a 
 
 dream 
 
 To one who wanders by a sunlit stream, 
 And heard by him as he who waits and hears 
 At length, amid the falling of his tears, 
 The voice of love ; and while his heart is 
 
 strained 
 
 To bear joy's fullness, even then is pained 
 By the loud moaning of prophetic seas, 
 Drowning the pleasant laughter of the trees, 
 And weaving in his" bliss a thread of woe; 
 Such is our day, such is our morning hour! 
 A. gladness none can measure, heaven must 
 
 know; 
 A sadness that no season and no balin
 
 80 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 May heal, nor sun that follows any shower ; 
 Nor, after tempest, the great golden calm. 
 
 Nothing may heal save the unaided might 
 Of him who scorns not labor; he who bears 
 Scorn unto labor ever shall be slave; 
 But he who finds no dark in labor's night 
 He shall be king, and the bright crown he 
 
 wears 
 Will shine with stars above the sluggard's 
 
 grave 
 
 Herakles, brother of men and child of Jove, 
 Greatened apace; his beauty was a strength 
 And his strength beauty; and the spirit of rest 
 Loved to alight upon his shining brow. 
 But chiefly on his lips arrl forehead shone 
 Endeavor, and a wish to succor all, 
 And his were hands to grasp and hold at need. 
 When through Nemean woods the lion raged 
 Shouted the people, " Bring us Herakles, 
 He only may deliver the race of men." 
 
 Prometheus from his place in Hades heard 
 That cry, and like a last keen vulture shaft,
 
 HERAKLES. 81 
 
 Keenest of all, his wounds it tore afresh: 
 " Have I not also served this mortal race," 
 He cried; " I, bearer of the torch, who gave 
 Light and deliverance from the hate of Jove. 
 Why am I thus forgot! Why do they cry, 
 And Herakles their sole deliverer call! 
 Why do they love me not, nor give me room, 
 As highest good and therefore highest god; 
 Why amid shadows must I ever stray, 
 When I have loved and labored among men ! 
 And now the fickle race, for whom, through 
 
 years 
 
 Uncounted, I more pangs than mortals have 
 Endured within this frame of godlike mould, 
 Cries out to Herakles, nor thinks again 
 On him who raised and made them what they 
 
 are." 
 
 This, with an ear bent ever to the ills 
 Of others, heard and answered Herakles : 
 
 " Prometheus, my brother! Thou who hast 
 The temper and the nature of a god, 
 Heed thou my counsel who have felt thy 
 pain!
 
 82 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 11 First in the courts of heaven and fields of 
 
 earth 
 One king may reign, one only ! Nor may 
 
 gods, 
 Doing great deeds, think that themselves are 
 
 king; 
 
 But, doing greatly, thus may learn how great 
 The father Jove, who may transcend in all 
 What all have done. He may delay to send 
 Fire on earth, yet fire was his to send, 
 And thou didst steal it. Thou didst waken 
 
 earth 
 
 From morning into day, from child to man, 
 From dream to action, while the Lord of heaven 
 Lingered to watch his children at their play. 
 Then wert thou punished, and to me remained 
 To help the children in their tasks and toils, 
 The new-born labors of these later days. 
 But, now again, the Lord demands of thee 
 To render up the secret thou hast learned, 
 Or else return to suffer; what thou hast heard 
 By earth's new-kindled fires that should'st thou 
 
 give 
 
 Into Jove's keeping, lest insurgent man, 
 Joined by thine aid with the insurgent gods,
 
 HERAXLES. S3 
 
 Bring death to earth and anarchy to heaven. 
 Lo ! while I speak the dreadful Caucasus 
 Again awaits thy coming, and the dark bird 
 Of death sharpens for thee afresh his beak. 
 My brother, O my brother, thou must go! 
 But I will follow thee and watch thy pangs, 
 More dreaded than to bear them, till I hear 
 Wrought, not by all these centuries of pain, 
 But by the light of truth I bring to thee, 
 And by the love I ever bear to thee, 
 Until I hear thee whisper, ' It is done ; 
 The will I cherish, lo! is cherished first 
 In the vast cradle of obedience, 
 Obedience to law, and to his name 
 Who stands and holds the law within his hand/ 
 Then with a mighty joy this might of strength 
 To quicken, and, with a blow sharpened by all 
 Thy pain, I smite the gorging vulture dead. 
 
 " Behold! I hear the voice of Jove in heaven ! 
 Perchance, if one could hear thee say, ' 'Tis 
 
 well, 
 
 Obedience in a god is god-like. Lo! 
 My sin and weakness sting me deeper now 
 Than doth the vulture ; now at last I learn
 
 84 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 He shall be greatest who shall know one law 
 Governs each moving star and the courts of 
 
 Jove; 
 
 And who would stay one planet in his flight, 
 By the delaying of that car, is flung 
 Into eternal dark and boundless space, 
 Where nor his name nor fame lives evermore.' 
 Perchance, O brother, if thy heart should now 
 Thus whisper unto mine, the infinite Love 
 Would give thee peace and bid thee come up 
 
 higher. 
 
 Lo ! now I hear the music of the courts ! 
 Bend tjiou thine ear, and, listening, bow thy 
 
 will." 
 
 " Heaven is their home, 
 But dark is the passing, 
 And half-gods are many, 
 Who climb to the sheep-fold, 
 Nor follow my teaching. 
 
 ' Sorrowful fate ! 
 Prometheus the daring, 
 Hiding his counsels. 
 Scorning obedience, 
 Anarchy 's nursling 1
 
 HERAKLES. 85 
 
 "Bitter his fate ! 
 I, Jove, the ruler, 
 May not subdue him; 
 Yet there remaineth 
 Still my forgiveness. 
 
 '* Conquered at last 
 By love and by longing, 
 By Herakles' striving, 
 His greatest of labors, 
 Thus the night endeth. 
 
 "Gods hold him fast! 
 Gird ye his armor, 
 Sharpen the arrow, 
 Speed to its hiding 
 In the heart of the vulture." 
 
 " The music of the upper world is borne 
 
 Like a vast light which points me out the way; 
 
 Nor syllables nor voices do I hear; 
 
 But as the flight of fiery orbs through space 
 
 Makes music in the heavens, so do I see 
 
 A light which is all melody, and hear 
 
 A voice unfolding clear the higher path.
 
 86 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 " Twelve mighty labors have these hands per- 
 formed 
 
 Lest the night come and find no trace of good, 
 No difficult way made easier to the feet, 
 Because these days have been, and this hard life. 
 But now past toils are all as nought to me, 
 Who, climbing still new heights, must still 
 aspire ; 
 
 father, give me power to save thy child ! 
 What were all other joy compared to this! 
 What were all other victories, and what 
 All other labor, if the endless nights 
 
 Be counted, and the darkened dreadful days 
 Beside that sickening couch on the unveiled 
 mount. 
 
 1 go, I go, O guard and strengthen me; 
 Behold all fear is past, all sense of pain, 
 Save the divine unrest, the ceaseless flight 
 Of spirit winging toward the eternal peace." 
 
 VOICE FROM ON HIGH. 
 
 Since on earth there is prayer and desire, 
 And the love of a brother mounteth higher 
 Than flames or than temples and towers, 
 And fairer than fanes or than flowers;
 
 HERAKLES 87 
 
 In the court of my temple immortal, 
 And sheltered within the bright portal, 
 Prometheus, the god-like, forgiven, 
 Is seeking the service of heaven. 
 
 And rescued afar in his dying, 
 For new griefs of men and their sighing, 
 Comes Herakles, he who delivers; 
 The son of the gods, who are givers. 
 
 On the right hand of majesty seated, 
 Crowned with grace of his labors completed, 
 As one who but now were beginning 
 To succor earth's children from sinning; 
 
 He follows their feet in their failing, 
 He stills their wild cries and their wailing, 
 And leaves the bright trail of his story 
 To lead their sad hearts unto glory.
 
 ARTEMIS.
 
 ARTEMIS. 
 
 YER dusky fields afar, 
 Guided by the shepherd star, 
 When the sun hath sunk to rest, 
 And birds are hurrying toward 
 
 their nest, 
 
 See athwart the silvery night 
 Where Artemis pursues her flight. 
 
 Goddess of the shining bow, 
 Teach my willing feet to know 
 Paths across thy woodland glen 
 Where thou shun'st the face of men; 
 Yet where thou call'st thy love to thee, 
 However far his feet may be ! 
 Night can wear no pall so dark 
 To hide from him thy glistering mark ;
 
 92 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Nor the cavern's deepest shade 
 Ever shall make him afraid : 
 His lowly, glad, persistent tread 
 Follows where thy footsteps lead. 
 
 Troops of maidens thee attend, 
 Thou, their earliest, truest friend ! 
 Beckoning them through dawn and dew 
 Where the world is ever new. 
 Encompassed is thy form by them, 
 As the gold enspheres the gem. 
 In the noontide's fiery glow 
 Limbs they stretch of purest snow, 
 Where the beechen branches cool 
 Shadow some white-lilied pool. 
 But if rude feet profane the way, 
 Or curious eyes unloving stray, 
 Darkly plotting that to find 
 Which shall please the baser mind, 
 Thou shalt bid his form to wear, 
 Actaeon-like, the horns and hair. 
 
 But for him who is thy love 
 Untold joys are thine to prove ; 
 Unto him thy maidens give
 
 ARTEMIS. 
 
 Mountain-honey from the hive, 
 And the sacred draught that falls 
 Down from icy cavern walls; 
 Thou dost lull his limbs to rest 
 With music from thy mother's breast; 
 Waters round thy dreadful steep 
 Murmur ever through his sleep, 
 That he may wake and smile to know 
 Thine the harmonious ebb and flow. 
 
 When the sun this darksome frame 
 Touches first wifh spear of flame, 
 Bidding beacon lights expire, 
 And night to die on peaks of fire, 
 Artemis calls her lover then 
 From the dusty haunts of men. 
 Swift from his couch he seeks her side, 
 With kindling glance and joyous pride, 
 But stoops to bathe him in the stream 
 That gurgled in his vanished dream. 
 Lo ! ere he rises she is gone ! 
 All her trooping maidens flown ! 
 Now he searcheth far and near, 
 Up and down this grassy sphere; 
 Hearing now her jocund horn
 
 94 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 And following, till at length forlorn, 
 Fain would he rest his limbs and sink 
 Drowsy on some mossy brink. 
 There through the still noontide hour, 
 Calming every restless power, 
 Artemis herself shall brood, 
 Unseen genius of the wood. 
 
 Happy sleeper who can rest 
 Thus on the great mother's breast ! 
 While the ripening apple-bough 
 Shadows thy earth-weary brow, 
 And, ere Morpheus venture nigh, 
 Can see above the tender sky, 
 Through green tracery gazing down, 
 Fairer than night with gem and crown. 
 And what waking bliss is thine ! 
 Hid behind yon skirting pine, 
 Thou canst seem to see her move, 
 Mighty goddess of thy love ! 
 Up and away ! New strength succeeds 
 She beckons thee to dewy meads, 
 And where children love to dwell, 
 Healed by her balsamic spell ; 
 Or, perchance, to some dim nook
 
 ARTEMIS. 95 
 
 By the feet of man forsook, 
 Where the fount of song doth run, 
 Undiscovered of the sun ; 
 There she bids thee drink, and learn 
 Henceforward when the lilies burn, 
 Or when first her paths are green, 
 Or latest fruit in orchard seen, 
 Thou, her worshipper, may'st bring 
 Dearer songs than woodbirds sing. 
 
 Still thou shalt not see her face, 
 
 Tireless and brave howe'er thy chase; 
 
 Strange the way her steps may lure, 
 
 Yet many sorrows she will cure, 
 
 If thou ever faithful seek 
 
 Though the fainting sense grow weak. 
 
 Canst thou not, O lover, twine 
 Remembering garlands of the vine, 
 And hang them on an altar where 
 They who pant for heaven's air 
 May see them, and may follow her, 
 When thou art past, her worshipper! 
 Weave the olive and the grape, 
 And after mould their faultless shape
 
 96 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Worthy of her; then, for my sake, 
 
 Weave fern and bayberry, and the brier take, 
 
 That I may know she will not fail 
 
 To find me in my woodland pale. 
 
 Lover, do this, and wintry storm 
 Never shall despoil their form 1 
 Thought and memory shall shoot 
 Issues' from their living root. 
 Thus these garlands of thy verse 
 Other lovers may rehearse.
 
 ANTINOUS.
 
 ANTINOUS. 
 
 TRETCHED on the happy fields 
 
 that view the sea, 
 Pillowed on beds of cyclamen. 
 
 violet, rosemary, 
 Or treading with cool feet the balmy herb, 
 Freely I drink the morning and high noon, 
 And couch above the kine at eventide. 
 
 " The perfect blossom of the fig has fallen, 
 The perfect rounding of the fruit succeeds! 
 How lately have I seen a grain of corn 
 Laid lightly in the bosom of the earth, and 
 
 now 
 The sheaf stands high as stands this pillared 
 
 throat ! 
 
 Above the gleam and clash of lusty spears, 
 And swaying downward with the oak-tree 
 
 branch,
 
 100 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Like a white lyre of ivory played upon 
 By heaven-sent airs, I float and rest and live. 
 Far rather this than music of the feast 
 Sung by the white-robed boys to carven lute; 
 Far rather, lying on the springing grass, 
 To breathe and listen to the braided notes 
 From gardens ripening now toward their de- 
 cay. 
 My rounding limbs thus seem to grow and 
 
 curve 
 
 Into more perfect life; these eyes to swim 
 With languor born of music; and these silent 
 
 lips 
 To rest in joys beyond the realm of thought. 
 
 " Here in these fields are heard the harmonies 
 Born ere the listening ear of man was frame, 1; 
 And ever still the melody survives, 
 Though the fields bloom and die, and none may 
 
 know. 
 
 For man who thinketh not on days to come, 
 How shall he love to quit the busy mart, 
 And all the works and ways of other men, 
 And listen to the voices of the gods ! 
 He cannot think this glory is for him,
 
 ANTING US. . 101 
 
 Which rose before his morrow, and after his 
 
 day 
 Shall still endure when he is lost in night. 
 
 " But I 't is mine to hear the spheral notes 
 Borne by the winds across the sleeping seas,, 
 The messengers of Love to me, his child ; 
 They rest amid the trees, and fragrant thence 
 Call to me with each little breeze at noon; 
 Or on the tempest ride with dreadful tones, 
 Speaking the will of Him who works our good. 
 And ever, in each form, the leaf, the bud, 
 The fruit, the flower, there sleeps the hidden 
 
 voice, 
 
 Which I would lie unmoved and listening hear 
 Clothed thus with youth, watching the eager 
 
 bee, 
 Half drowned in his own bliss, while sleepy 
 
 birds 
 Are calling drowsily in the summer noon. 
 
 " Yet do I feel 't were sweeter far to die 
 And give this little life for one we love ! 
 What joy with this great joy can be compare:!; 
 Poor, to give infinite riches to our love!
 
 102 UNDER TEE OLIVE. 
 
 More sacred and more beautiful than all 
 Wealth of the East or glories of the West, 
 This life which is all the East and all the 
 
 West. 
 
 The jewel of my youth is mine to give; 
 Behold 1 bend me to the yellow stream, 
 And offer up this gift to my beloved." 
 
 Thus in those far off ages of the world 
 The waters parted and the deep received 
 Into its untried bosom this young life; 
 Nor yet the morning sun of Galilee 
 On valley and mount greeted the waking eye. 
 He nothing knew, save that his life was sweet 
 And death was bitter, save that one he loved 
 The gods had said must part from this fair 
 
 youth, 
 
 His chosen joy, ere Hadrian's fame he won. 
 W T hat were love worth, if love could not lay 
 
 down 
 
 Fairest possession for the one beloved ! 
 Therefore he clove the darksome wave and 
 
 sank 
 Never again to breathe this summer air.
 
 ANTING US. 103 
 
 Lo the swift river of: time that ever sweeps 
 Emperors and cities, monuments and kings, 
 Loveliness, luxury, and all earthly joys 
 Down to the black gulf of oblivion, 
 Has safely brought these beautiful white limbs, 
 Fair crowned head, and tender dreaming eyes 
 Back to our gaze, and the story of his fate. 
 He could not know Love, the immortal child, 
 Would put his arms about him and so keep 
 Undimmed the lofty beauty of his youth! 
 Vast cities, built to shrine his memory, 
 Have vanished in the stream; only remains 
 The undying vision of Antinous, 
 Who knew the gift he gave was great indeed.
 
 ACHILLES.
 
 ACHILLES. 
 
 O ! in the dawn of the morning the 
 
 funeral pyre, 
 That all ni<;ht long bore to the 
 
 heaven of desire 
 Prayers of^Achilles, smiting with black- winged 
 
 smoke 
 Purple summits of Jove, loftier than towering 
 
 oak, 
 Lo! when the morning broke into roses, wave 
 
 upon wave, 
 
 Only a smouldering ash lay white on Patroklos' 
 grave. 
 
 Then the hero Achilles, wearing pale sorrow's 
 
 crown, 
 Slept in the brightening dawn ; and there where 
 
 he lay down,
 
 108 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Covering his face, came in a dream the form 
 
 of his friend 
 Bending over him, as in the past he was wont 
 
 to bend, 
 But in his hand those tawny curls untouched 
 
 of the flame, 
 Signal of love and of death, signal of life and 
 
 of fame. 
 
 Sorrow, the mother and teacher, what can she 
 
 do for earth's child! 
 Lover of pleasure! thy morning was fair and 
 
 thy sheaves were piled! 
 Youth was dear, and dear was summer and 
 
 pride of strength, 
 
 High has he builded the altar, all have van- 
 ished at length. 
 Loved was he of the gods, yet his people were 
 
 exiled in vain ; 
 Wisdom was his, and he knew giving of life 
 
 was death's gain. 
 Why then should he yield the sweetness of 
 
 days to walk with the shades! 
 Fairer to wander in woodlands, where shadow 
 
 with sunshine braids;
 
 ACHILLES. 109 
 
 Better to join in the games, and rest in a white- 
 walled tent, 
 
 Than live in the dust of battles till youth be 
 spent. 
 
 Yet was there one who was dearer to him than 
 the days, 
 
 One who suffered for those who suffer in dark- 
 ened ways, 
 
 One who prayed to his friend, ll Leave thy in- 
 glorious rest ; 
 
 Strive and conquer, strive and fail, to strive is 
 the best," 
 
 Achilles listened, then answered with laughter 
 loud: 
 
 " Go, I will watch thee conquer the slavish 
 crowd ; 
 
 All the spoils and all the glory gladly be thine, 
 
 I will stay in my tent and pledge thee in wine." 
 
 " What," he murmured, " is life but the rising 
 
 and setting of suns! 
 Why should we struggle and fret when gayly 
 
 the streamlet runs !
 
 110 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 What is glory but noise and death, and a faded 
 
 wreath ! 
 Why for a shadow give to the shades this sweet 
 
 young breath!" 
 
 Glory ye could not decoy him, nor white- 
 winged fame! 
 
 Hero of heroes, he fought neither for life nor 
 for name; 
 
 Only the face of his dear dead friend, of Pa- 
 troklos his own, 
 
 Out of the land of shadows forever beckoned 
 him on. 
 
 " Watch, my beloved," the hero cried, " and 
 listen for me ! 
 
 Lean from thy darkened shore over the rest- 
 less sea! 
 
 Hear the trampling of horses, hear the victo- 
 rious shout, 
 
 See the white fires of Troy, and the dust and 
 the rout! 
 
 Music unto thine ear sweeter than pipe or than 
 flute,
 
 ACHILLES. Ill 
 
 When the towers crackle in flame and the peo- 
 ple grow mute! 
 
 Listen, beloved, again, and lean from thy 
 shore ! 
 
 Hear thou the chariot and horses drive o'er 
 the darkened floor! 
 
 Down to the kingdom they hasten, where thou 
 art waiting alone, 
 
 Waiting these wreaths that I bear to tell thee 
 thy labor is done."
 
 APHRODITE OF MELOS.
 
 APHRODITE OF MELOS. 
 
 AR had I wandered from this north- 
 ern shore, 
 Far from the bare heights and the 
 
 wintry seas, 
 Dreaming of these 
 No more. 
 
 Soft was the vale, 
 
 And silver-pointed were the olive-trees; 
 And pale, how pale ! 
 Narcissus and the tall anemones; 
 Where should I choose 
 To lay me down and rest! 
 Where to unloose 
 The sandals from my feet! 
 For all was sweet. 
 But lo! a dusky cave, 
 
 Where no faint breeze bade even the aspen 
 wave,
 
 116 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Unvisited of the sun, 
 
 Unhaunted by earth's labor never done, 
 
 Offered me her calm breast. 
 
 There entering, I espied 
 
 The flowery bed 
 
 Where Pan had lain his head : 
 
 'T was as if Ocean swept a snow-white billow 
 
 Thitherward for his pillow ! 
 
 So drifted, side by side, 
 
 Lay the dim crocus and the lily bell. 
 
 He, the god, had gone! 
 Long ago dead and gone! 
 But near where he had lain, 
 Above his head, 
 There stood the marble form 
 Of Aphrodite the victorious ; 
 Safe from all storm, 
 Safe from earth's pain, 
 Supreme and glorious! 
 
 Fearful 1 gazed, then whispered, " Sleep is 
 
 fled! 
 Why did she vanish not with the ancient world,
 
 APHRODITE OF ME LOS. 117 
 
 Where love and beauty lie with garlands furled, 
 Floating together down oblivion's tide! 
 How useless are they all, what joy or pride 
 Lives now for us in antique god or fane! " 
 
 Long, long I gazed upon that wondrous shape ; 
 
 I could not sleep, she would not let me stay, 
 
 But ever whispered to my soul, " Away, 
 
 New heights for thee to climb ; 
 
 Linger not thus to ape 
 
 The longing and the honey-dropping tones 
 
 Of that forgotten time! 
 
 *' I bid my lover flee 
 
 Back to those shores where moments fill the 
 
 hours, 
 
 And hours the day; by his bold sea, 
 Never shall he forget 
 When first we met. 
 To fill the measure of my lofty pride, 
 He shall stretch unknown powers ; 
 And when he dreams that I would smile on 
 
 him, 
 
 Let him pursue his way, 
 Farther and farther up the mountain side,
 
 118 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Until with' labor every sense grows dim> 
 Then as from some strange dream he shall 
 
 awake, 
 
 To find the rolling sphere 
 Beneath my feet ; 
 The past and present here 
 Mingled as one; 
 And he shall slake 
 His living endless thirst 
 At fountains where no restless billows moan. 
 
 " This latest; first, 
 
 The dawning mist, and then the happy sun. 
 
 Thou, O my lover, with longing shalt not greet, 
 
 Nor think a sister unto me, 
 
 That young sweet -woman stepping from the 
 
 bath, 
 
 Nor she who holds a mirror to her face, 
 Nor that fair creature feigning modesty. 
 
 " There is another path. 
 Why dnlst thou find me in my hiding-place, 
 And knowing nothing, fall and worship here, 
 As great men worshipped in the vanished time, 
 Tf thou wert not my chosen, set apart, 
 Guiltless of fear 1
 
 APHRODITE OF ME LOS. 119 
 
 " Fold, therefore, close within thine heart 
 The secret I shall give thee : know, thus far, 
 All men have sought in vain my lineage and 
 
 my birth; 
 
 But, as on sunny afternoons there lie 
 Upon the bosom of the heavens' blue sea, 
 Mountains of cloud thoughts climb, scaling the 
 
 sky, 
 Beautiful and impalpable, and remote from 
 
 earth, 
 
 Keen, unattainable, crowned with white fire; 
 So shall it be with thee! 
 The footless fancy ever climbeth higher 
 Than when the senses prey 
 Upon her sweet companionship; 
 Thou hast a vision from thy mountain top 
 Built all of cloud, which shall not waste nor 
 
 slip 
 
 Into the waters of forgetfulness ; 
 Such is thy bliss I 
 
 Nor, till the unending flight of rivers stop 
 Their journeys to the main, 
 Shall my love cease to be thy midnight star." 
 
 She is dumb, no longer a voice, 
 Only a presence is she !
 
 120 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Beautiful presence ever remain, 
 Lifting me, 
 
 Holding me true to my choice! 
 Standing unmoved, 
 
 Glad with a joy supreme which cannot pale, 
 Proud in the love supreme which struggles and 
 will not fail ! 
 
 Welcome the winter wind ! 
 
 The barren shore and the bleak blowing sands 1 
 
 Ye who bid the spirit his armor bind, 
 
 I follow ye ! 
 
 Break and cast away these nerveless bands, 
 
 Bid me strive till all striving cease, 
 
 And I find my love I 
 
 She who waiteth the conquering one, 
 
 Him whose labor is never done, 
 
 Till sorrow no longer call, 
 
 Nor on his ear the music of waters fall.
 
 THEOCRITUS.
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Y ! Unto thee belong 
 
 The pipe and song, 
 
 Theocritus, 
 
 Loved by the satyr and the faun I 
 To thee the olive and the viiie, 
 To thee the Mediterranean pine, 
 And the soft lapping sea! 
 Thine, Bacchus, 
 Thine, the blood-red revels, 
 Thine, the bearded goat! 
 Soft valleys unto thee, 
 And Aphrodite's shrine, 
 And maidens veiled in falling robes of lawn! 
 But unto us, to us, 
 The stalwart glories of the North; 
 Ours is the sounding main, 
 And ours the voices uttering forth 
 By midnight round these cliffs a mighty strain; 
 A tale of viewless islands in the deep
 
 124 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Washed by the waves' white fire; 
 
 Of mariners rocked asleep 
 
 In the great cradle, far from Grecian ire 
 
 Of Neptune and his train ; 
 
 To us, to us, 
 
 The dark-leaved shadow and the shining birch, 
 
 The flight of gold through hollow woodlands 
 
 driven, 
 
 Soft dying of the year with many a sigh, 
 These, all, to us are given ! 
 And eyes that eager evermore shall search 
 The hidden seed, and searching find again 
 Unfading blossoms of a fadeless spring; 
 These, these, to us! 
 The sacred youth and maid, 
 Coy and half afraid ; 
 The sorrowful earthly pall, 
 Winter and wintry rain, 
 And Autumn's gathered grain, 
 With whispering music in their fall; 
 These unto us! 
 And unto thee, Theocritus, 
 To thee, 
 
 The immortal childhood of tho, world, 
 The laughing waters of an in'and sea, 
 And beckoning signal of a sail unfurled!
 
 AT THE FOKGE.
 
 AT THE FORGE. 
 
 O! lull yourselves 
 
 In sweet illusions of the summer 
 
 fields, 
 
 Ye children of Pandora; rock be- 
 neath 
 
 Old apple boughs and listen to the waves, 
 The same that jEscbylus and Alcasus heard, 
 And later brethren of the sinking band ; 
 Where they have gone, perchance your sum- 
 mers go, 
 
 And in the stainless blue of the past days 
 May dwell together in some leafy waste. 
 
 I am Hephaistos, and forever here 
 Stand at the forge and labor, while I dream 
 Of those who labor not and are not lame. 
 I hear the early and the late birds call,
 
 128 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Hear winter whisper to the coming spring, 
 And watch the feet of summer dancing light 
 For joy across the bosom of the earth. 
 Labor endures, but all of these must pass! 
 And ye who love them best, nor are condemned 
 To beat the anvil through the summer day, 
 May learn the secret of their sudden flight; 
 No mortal tongue may whisper where they hide, 
 But to her love, half nestled in the grass, 
 Earth has been known to whisper low yet clear 
 Strange consolation for the wintry days. 
 O listen then ye singers! learn and tell 
 Those who must labor by the dusty wayl
 
 ELEGY TO DAPHNIS.
 
 ELEGY TO DAPHNIS. 
 
 ON A BAS-RELIEF IN THE FLORENTINE MU- 
 SEUM. 
 
 HE shepherd fleeth not and hath no 
 
 fear, 
 
 He lifteth slowly up his languid gaze, 
 The dancing phantom surely draw- 
 eth near! 
 
 But still his pleasant pipe the shepherd plays; 
 Death cannot choose, the pipe and he are one, 
 The fields elysian will but mend the tone. 
 
 Brief ceasing of the music may perchance 
 Succeed, and Silence place the double flute 
 Between his folded hands, and rest enhance 
 The joy which holier melodies shall suit; 
 Therefore the fleeting shepherd playeth on, 
 Though death soon bid the merry sound be 
 done-
 
 132 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Unstirred the shepherd's heart, for are not 
 
 fields 
 
 Fresh-blooming ever dear to childlike eyes, 
 Ere yet one thought of youth to manhood 
 
 yields, 
 
 Or earth's ambition veil those happier skies ! 
 Our budding fields must fade and man decay ! 
 Thou shalt waste not but in fresh meadows 
 
 stray. 
 
 O marble shepherd ! happy evermore 
 Thus with thy pipe to keep remembrance true, 
 To that far time and the far golden shore, 
 When sleep or death, twin children, gently 
 
 drew 
 
 Thee to lie down in peace in their embrace, 
 And thy companions piped if death might win 
 
 the race. 
 
 Morning with all her splendors hast thou seen, 
 Wearing her jewel-stars and faded moon; 
 Nor lovelier evening, nor a world more green 
 Could ages show to thee than thou hast known ! 
 Blest art thou, therefore, who dost fluting go 
 Where in new pastures fadeless blossoms blow.
 
 ELEGY TO DAPHNIS. 133 
 
 Thou lift'st thy languid eyes and follow'st him, 
 The shadow, toward the kingdom of the 
 
 Shades; 
 
 Nor stills thy melody although grows dim 
 Earth's vision, and the leaf thou look'st on 
 
 fades ; 
 
 O happy youth, thou hast not lost thy pipe! 
 Thy bud is fresh though fruits hang over-ripe. 
 
 Life is all youth to thee, and Death the hand 
 Leading thee gently into meadows, where 
 The sun of summer always clothes the land, 
 And tender leaves dance in the shining air; 
 Companioned by young heroes listening mute, 
 Thou stretchest thy fair limbs and ever tun'st 
 thy flute. 
 
 Jn the white dawn behold a silver flame 
 Leap and grow ruddy ere Aurora's ray 
 Touches with color all the world's dark frame! 
 Upon that fiery tip, far, far away, 
 Is borne the dreaming j-hepherd: why should he 
 Linger with age when Death would set him 
 free!
 
 CLYTIA,
 
 CLYTIA. 
 
 Gewaltsam schuttle Helios die Lockengluth : 
 Doch Menschenfade zu erhellen sind sie nicht. 
 
 GOETHE'S Pandora. 
 
 HROUGH the blackness of night I 
 
 can see, 
 Through the thickness of darkness 
 
 light comes, 
 A gleam where no starlight can be, 
 A glance where no meteor roams; 
 When the feet of the morning are dark, 
 And the lamp of her eye is but dim, 
 And the flower of the field a dead spark, 
 The old glint of the wavelet a whim, 
 When a mist hides the earth from the sky, 
 When a sound of bells tolling is heard, 
 A warning to fdiips that are nigh, 
 A silence of beast and of bird, 
 When the sad waves lament on the shore, 
 Or hurry and rush to the sand,
 
 138 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 In wild waste, and tumult, and roar, 
 A purposeless, riotous band, 
 Then over the night of my soul, 
 And over the tolling of death, 
 New fires of ecstasy roll 
 With the coming of Love, which is breath; 
 The green hollows whisper of birds, 
 The silences break into song, 
 And my spirit pours out into words, 
 That to gladness find morning belong. 
 But alas! for the glory of Dawn, 
 For his coming in fragrance and might, 
 Red roses and billowy lawn, 
 With the full patient moon in his sight! 
 If in vain do we wait for Love's feet, 
 And listen while the hours long delay, 
 And know that the lilies are sweet, 
 . And the month is the month of May! 
 In vain would my spirit be glad, 
 If Love hath forgotten his way ; 
 Or if slow he linger and sad, 
 In vain is the Madness of dav.
 
 THE RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 
 
 To 
 THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER.
 
 PERSOITS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ZEUS; .... Father of Gods and rrtfn. 
 
 AIDONEUS . . . Brother of Zeus and r,d* r of the Un'l, 
 
 World. 
 
 KELEUS . Prince of Eleusis. 
 . DEMOPUOOX . . Infant son of Keleus. 
 HELIOS . . God of the Sun. 
 
 DEMKTKR . . . Mother of Persephone (her dress a blue 
 
 robe, as of the earth in shadow). 
 PKRSEPIIOXE . . Daughter of Demeter. 
 METANEIEA . . Wife of Kfleus. 
 HECATE . . . Goddess of the Moon. 
 DAUGHTERS OP KELECS AND METANEIRA. 
 CHORUS OF NYMPHS.
 
 THE RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 DEMETER enters, leading the child PERSEPHONE. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 OTHER, may I leave you here awhile 
 Sitting and listening to the talking 
 
 drops 
 Which fill this amber fountain, while 
 
 I go 
 
 To gather crocuses and flags for you 
 Down in the meadow? 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Swift as go the hours! 
 
 How like a nymph or dryad speeds she on! 
 Leaping across the path and fluttering down 
 Over the meadow, as the Spring herself
 
 14:2 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 First flutters here and there, while close upon 
 The delicate printing of her feet are found 
 The new-born flowers and buds and fairest 
 
 things. 
 
 Even thus the field puts on her gayest robe, 
 Woven w yellow, purple, and in white, 
 And the grass bends to greet Persephone. 
 
 sweet new days! wherein the young moon 
 
 folds 
 
 The old on her bright breast, to nourish her! 
 Slowly the old shall vanish, silently, 
 Lost in the new when bud shall come to leaf. 
 
 PERSEPHONE (returning). 
 
 See, mother, see! 
 
 1 found a butterfly in the meadow there, 
 
 And brought him back to you, best gift of 
 
 all! 
 
 Though here are flowers, crocuses, violets; 
 But, ah! beyond my reach, down by the cool 
 Dark stream where you have bid me not to 
 
 stray, 
 Grow tall, strange, purple blooms, though some 
 
 are white, 
 White as warm lilies, and the purple dark
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 143 
 
 As streams that flow to Bacchus ! Might I go 
 Once more, dear mother, thence, to gather 
 them ? 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 No, no, my child! The hours now beckon us : 
 But as thou goest pluck blossoms from thy path 
 And strew them in the places without bloom ; 
 Thus men shall mark and bless thy passing feet. 
 To-day the heart of the old earth is glad, 
 Youth is so sweet to her, and the happy time 
 When Spring laughs out, nor knows of love nor 
 death. 
 
 They pass on and disappear beneath the arches which 
 form the portal of their abode. Scene changes. The 
 same seated within. PERSEPHONE, with embroidery. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Mother, thou teachest all things to thy child, 
 All she would know and all this life can need ; 
 I pray thee teach me now to blend these threads 
 And weave the magic hues that make the sky ; 
 Teach me to simulate blown grain, and more, 
 Far more, to paint the light in human eyes, 
 When joy transforms or pity bids them weep.
 
 144 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 My daughter, I give all the earth can give! 
 This warp and woof of dusky circumstance, 
 These lovely figures changing endlessly, 
 Gilded by fancy, painted by a dream ; 
 Further, the needle of thine industry, 
 By use grown sharp, obedient to thy need. 
 Thou lackest yet one thing, therefore I go 
 To watch and to instruct my laborers, 
 While thou here, sitting, in thine heart re- 
 volve 
 How joy and grief spring from one common 
 
 root, 
 Though bearing different blooms, and tenderest 
 
 souls 
 
 Go gathering the darkest, while they smile 
 With a calm smile which lightens the great 
 world. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Farewell, my bright-haired mother, far away 
 Over the greening fields they wait for thee, 
 The laborers! And I, I know, must sit 
 Alone and learn to weave the mingled web, 
 And make a shining mantle for thy form,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 145 
 
 To prove thy child doth love thee, and would 
 
 strive 
 To add a brightness to thy glorious shape. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Farewell ! Word heavy with a sea of tears ! 
 
 [Goes. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 How the wind seems to breathe among these 
 
 reeds 
 
 Which the swift needle plants beside the wave 1 
 And now the houses of the gods appear ! 
 The living heaven gazing from many a star! 
 And now the little globe whereon we sit 
 Hangs with the rest and sways to Tethys' 
 
 voice ! 
 
 (Sings at her work.) 
 
 Zeus, thou father of earth and heaven, 
 Thou who hast clothed the Pleiades seven 
 In their robes of living light; 
 Each a flame, a quenchless spark, 
 Planted in a homeless dark, 
 Shine and shadow to the sight; 
 Light companioned by her shade; 
 10
 
 146 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Tell me, Zeus, how light is made, 
 To sink and deepen into dark. 
 
 The sacred places of Dis are unveiled to her ; she gazes 
 at first awestruck, then bursts into tears. 
 
 I hear the myriad waters flow, 
 
 Myriad unwilling footsteps go 
 
 Toward the realm where shadows dwell. 
 
 Now, too soon, the way I know! 
 
 Swiftly doth the needle pass 
 
 Over the full-ripened grass, 
 
 Through yon river's death-cold swell. 
 
 Her work drops unfinished, night passes, dawn appears, 
 a chorus of ocean nymphs approach who beckon to 
 PEKSEPHONE. 
 
 Ye beckon me to leave my work undone ; 
 Full is the tide, ye say, and summer ripe : 
 Ye say the dew lies white upon the field, 
 And cools the thirsty violet which to-day 
 Must wither ere the blood-red lily blooms. 
 I will away with ye ere Helios snatch 
 The diamonds from the meadow, or shall strive 
 To pierce us with his arrows, all in vain; 
 For we will shelter seek, if he pursue, 
 In Hecate's moony cave, or by the rock
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 147 
 
 Where Neptune murmurs low in days of peace 
 And in his anger rages up to heaven. 
 Meanwhile the dewy eye of Phosphor dims; 
 Let us go hence, for bitter night is passed. 
 
 iTkey go out, moving in unison as they sing, into thf-, 
 
 fields. 
 
 CHOKUS OF NYMPHS. 
 
 STKOPHE. 
 
 What is cool as ocean's bed? 
 Who shall say? 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Violets ere dews be fled; 
 Naught so cool as they. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 What is soft as ocean's wave? 
 Who shall know ? 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 One her breast to Neptune gave, 
 White as snow; 
 He doth know !
 
 148 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 Watery world wherein we live, 
 Mortals call thy realm unstable! 
 What is stable canst thou give 
 Earth, the home of magic fable ? 
 Shadows under eyelids play, 
 Under petals of a flower, 
 Then they vanish all away, 
 Youth and petal in an hour. 
 Fading world of fading form, 
 Naught is stable we can see, 
 Gold and green and white and warm 
 Though the days of June may be. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 No more, no more to-day of mournful singing, 
 Chaunt no replies upon these shining sands, 
 But come and dance, for Zephyrus is bringing 
 Fresh odors from the heart of Eastern lands. 
 Come into meadows where the dews are sleep- 
 ing 
 
 Rocked tenderly upon each petal's breast, 
 Forgetful of the watch the Hours are keep- 
 ing, 
 Forgetting death, not life, is born of rpst.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 149 
 
 Come, sisters, come, where the strange flowers 
 are blooming, 
 
 Down yonder, down, beside the dark-leaved 
 shore, 
 
 Where all is silent, where no waves are boom- 
 ing* 
 
 Where widening blossoms star the watery floor. 
 
 They move together over the meadows ; at length PER- 
 SEPHONE allows herself to be outstripped, remem- 
 bering her mother's wish. 
 
 Fain would I too those godlike clusters bind, 
 Were I one with these others, Neptuno's own ; 
 But he is jealous of my mother's love, 
 And reaches up strong arms to drag me down, 
 If I grow careless where the waves run low. 
 She bade me stay behind, but here perchance 
 I may espy some wandering flowers astray 
 From that fair multitude, if Helios' eye 
 Be not too keen to drive me from the field. 
 How cool their voices sound, half lost, half 
 
 blent, 
 
 With murmur of the willows and the stream ! 
 But ah! there yonder, there, I see them grow 
 As if new-born for me, the wondrous flowers! 
 They seem a hundred blossoms from one root,
 
 150 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 And earth and sky and the deep-bosomed 
 
 nymphs, 
 Daughters of Neptune, laugh in their sweet 
 
 breath. 
 
 Let me but hasten, that I too may glean, 
 Ere they return, a harvest rich as theirs 
 From the great love in my great mother's heart. 
 
 (She runs leaping across the field.) 
 I think the blossoms fly, and I pursue ; 
 For still they seem but farther as I go; 
 Ah! now I f-eize them! But I faint, I feel 
 Thee, Father Helios, touch me with thy spear; 
 Stay, I beseech thee, hold thy cruel hand! 
 I am too young, my mother's only hope, 
 HIT happiness, the light of her sweet eyes, 
 I have not disobeyed her! Give me strength! 
 
 Enter AIDOXEUS. 
 
 Come with me, lady, where the shadows cool 
 Will lay their quiet hands upon thy brow. 
 The chariot and the horses are mine own ; 
 I will convey thee whither thou shnlt sleep, 
 Or waking sit and hear no sigh of grief, 
 Nor foolish laughter; calmly move the shades. 
 She hears me not ! Come, lily, bending down,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 151 
 
 Seeking, unconscious, still tliy mother-love, 
 I bear thee to my chariot, and the steeds 
 Now swiftly pass these meadows and the stream, 
 Now the deep shadowed valley and the cave; 
 Descending ever to my darkened throne. 
 
 PERSEPHONE (awaking). 
 How dark ! Where am I ? Whence is this cool 
 
 wind 
 
 Which fans my brow and bids my sense return ! 
 Why didst thou strive, O Helios, jealous grown, 
 To bring my bright-haired mother to despair? 
 But I am better ! Mother! mother dear ! 
 I did not disobey thee ! Where art thou ? 
 
 AIDONEUS. 
 
 'T is I, my child, am with thee! Still thou art 
 But half awakened ; I have brought thee safe, 
 And charioted in gold with flying steeds, 
 Far from the bright hot world, that thou mightst 
 
 sleep 
 In peace, nor know the trouble mortals know. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Where is my mother? 'T is no grief of mine
 
 152 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Of which I speak ! Bring thou me back to her ! 
 Wilt not? Then will I call to her, and she, 
 And she, though hidden in her inmost cave, 
 Or swept by clashing sheaths of the grown corn, 
 Would hear, and come, and answer. 
 
 [She calls and listens, then calls again. 
 
 AIDOXKl S. 
 
 No voice returns to touch the ear of earth 
 From these my kingdoms! We are past the 
 
 bounds 
 
 Where voices move the Spirit of the Air, 
 Bidding him fly to seek the one they love. 
 The bitter striving and pale agony, 
 The disobedient heart that endless beats 
 Forever on the boundaries I have placed, 
 These may alone be heard, and to the light 
 Of day and dreams of night bring awful shapes. 
 A multitude of shadows approach ; PERSEPHONE and 
 AIDOXEUS disappear among them. 
 
 HECATE (turning slowly frontier dark retreat toward 
 
 the earth). 
 
 I heard a mortal cry, a cry of pain ! 
 I thought the voice was of Persephone ; 
 Now will I give Demeter all rny light,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 153 
 
 And hang in peace above her restless soul. 
 
 I may not smile upon the face of grief 
 
 And bid it smile again! I only move 
 
 Serene on my one errand, and behold 
 
 The clouds succeed, then, after clouds, the 
 
 sun. 
 
 We are but phantoms moving to the voice 
 Of the Great Heart which still renews itself 
 And blooms again in spite of winter's frost. 
 [She mounts slowly up the east. 
 
 HELIOS (in the west). 
 
 My ardent gaze was fixed upon her form. 
 When lo ! she drooped; then Aidoneus, 
 Too ready to possess so fair a flower, 
 Gathered her up and drew her to himself. 
 I will away unto the sleepy hills. 
 We were alone, the secret rests with me. 
 To-morrow with the dawn will I return 
 Unchanged, as if unknowing of the change 
 Fallen Demeter ; all shall smile the same, 
 Though now the mother must grow old alone, 
 Nor greet her darling's face forevermore. 
 
 [Sinks and disappear*.
 
 154 
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 DEMETER (seeking). 
 
 IIEXCE came that cry! Echo, mine 
 
 elf, was 't thou, 
 Playing thine idle pranks to lure 
 
 some god 
 
 Lost in the enchanted bosom of the wood? 
 It comes again ! And now the peaked hills 
 Repeat the sound, and now the ocean deeps; 
 Too like, too like thy voice, Persephone! 
 Darling, where art thou V I can find thee not. 
 A sharp pain seizes at my heart! Not here! 
 How silent are these halls ! This narrow room 
 Wherein she sat ! The stillness speaks aloud ! 
 The birds, grown wonted to the dusky vine 
 Around her open casement, chatter there 
 All day when naught is questioned of their 
 
 speech, 
 
 But now, alas! they stir not; all are hid; 
 The very voices of the sea are hushed, 
 And when I call her name Persephone! 
 And yet again, Persephone! more loud,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 155 
 
 Comes only deeper stillness. Why so mute, 
 Ye birds, dear birds, who watched her tender 
 
 feet ! 
 Ye waving trees and blossoming shrubs that 
 
 brushed 
 
 The hem of her soft raiment ! Tell me now 
 Whither she passed ! where I may find my 
 
 love ! 
 
 Behold the clouds are come to weep for her, 
 Yet speak no word! Dumb, speechless are ye 
 
 all! 
 
 Yet see, where Iris speeds to Helios' throne 
 To ask him of my child ; swift though her 
 
 flight, ' 
 
 Already is the god in darkness veiled, 
 Journeying upon his storm-cloud down the 
 
 west. 
 
 My hope is dying ! Sad-faced Erebus 
 Stalks past my window, enters at the door, 
 And seems to say he shall abide with me. 
 Day is not day when love and hope are dead ! 
 Let me look eastward, there where Eos once 
 Was ever ready with her laughing face 
 To follow Phosphor. 1 will wait for her 
 But no ! I cannot weep through these long 
 
 hours !
 
 156 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Behold my sister Hecate from her cave 
 Now looking wistful in my longing eyes ! 
 I will ask her. O tell me, sister mine! 
 In thy cool cavern hear'st thou aught of grief, 
 Or voices crying from the deeps of earth? 
 For one is wandering motherless, and I 
 Am left alone, bereaved of all my home. 
 
 Far in my cave withdrawn 
 I heard an earthly cry, 
 As if the leaves were strewn, 
 As if the wells were dry ; 
 As autumn days were come, 
 And summer now must die ; 
 Again T heard the moan, 
 Iheard the voice of one 
 Who prayed her mother's love 
 To hear her latest tone ; 
 I said it is Persephone, 
 Dcmeter's child! The only! 
 
 In vain! In vain! Too swift 
 The chariot rolled away ; 
 I saw not him who drave,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 157 
 
 No god those wheels might stay; 
 Save Helios, who in heaven, 
 Led on the dancing Hours, 
 And stooped to kiss her once 
 While she was gathering flowers ; 
 Alas! I said, Persephone! 
 The only ! The only ! 
 
 [She passes slowly across the heavens ivhile DEME- 
 TEK wanders aimlessly, absorbed In grief. 
 
 O Hecate, turn not thy calm face away! 
 Thou wert the last to hear my darling's voice! 
 Enlighten me to seek at Helios' throne 
 The path by which her young feet were mis- 
 led ; 
 
 Then if thou goest, go but to return ; 
 For day is night now I am left alone, 
 Yet .without thee I stumble in my search. 
 
 (The smiling face of Eos appears in the east.) 
 Eos, dear Eos, know'st thou where is fled 
 The flower of this fair world, Persephone? 
 
 EOS. 
 
 Wherefore should I know, mother, who but 
 steal
 
 158 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 A kiss from her young lips when first I wake, 
 Then flee before the feet of my great Lord ? 
 
 HELIOS seated on a golden chariot, accompanied by 
 the HOURS, is seen climbing the horizon. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 O thou whose awful footsteps climb the sky, 
 Thou who dost bid the heavens to move for 
 
 thee, 
 
 The seas to follow and the flowers to raise 
 Their heads in prayer, I, too, bow unto thee, 
 And kiss thy golden raiment, and implore. 
 
 Father Helios, thou who seest all 
 
 Thy children in their ways both good and ill, 
 Thou who didst love me decked in happy hues, 
 
 1 pray thee tell me where Persephone 
 My child, my only darling, now is gone, 
 
 And who hath done this wrong, and why the 
 deed. 
 
 HELIOS. 
 
 Swift are the Hours, 
 
 Nor hasting, 
 
 Nor wasting! 
 
 From the waters they rise ;
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 159 
 
 They bear in their eyes 
 The hope of the future, 
 The light of the skies. 
 
 Strong is their flight ; 
 
 The portal 
 
 Immortal, 
 
 Moved by their strain 
 
 Of laughter or pain, 
 
 Sways to admit them, 
 
 Then closes again. 
 
 God of the heavens, 
 
 Nor hearing, 
 
 Nor fearing, 
 
 I move in my sphere 
 
 Remote and austere ; 
 
 I, seated in glory, 
 
 Bid the Hours to hear. 
 
 Ask them, the sisters 1 
 The unswerving, 
 The serving ; 
 Ask not the god-head, 
 Of living or dead ;
 
 160 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 I, seated in glory, 
 Know not what is sped. 
 [He passes on, hidden in a veil of dazzling light. 
 
 DEMETEU (despairing). 
 Linger, ye Hours, O linger, tell me where 
 
 THE FLYING HOURS. 
 
 On, ever on, 
 
 Servants are we, 
 
 We have no will of our own ; 
 
 Fast or slow, 
 
 The fall of our feet, 
 
 The end is ever the same ; 
 
 What the gods tell us we do, 
 
 What the heart of the lover commands; 
 
 Naught do we know of ourselves, 
 
 We are empty of thought, of desire. 
 
 Zeus knoweth more than all, 
 He knoweth of death and of life ; 
 Both when the child shall be born 
 And the days at length be fulfilled; 
 He knoweth the future ; 
 The unknown he knoweth,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 161 
 
 The dark and the light; 
 When one shall vanish away, 
 And whither the vanisher speeds. 
 
 DEMKTER (in anger}. 
 
 Dost thou know all, O Zeus ! Then where- 
 fore keep 
 
 from me, the sister of the gods, mine own! 
 Why didst not tell me Aidoneus stole 
 My child away, but leav'st me searching here 
 As if thou wert ignorant of the underworld ! 
 False, false to me, who sittest at thy board 
 In all the assemblies ! I, whom thou hast loved, 
 And now deceiv'st as one clay-born of men, 
 Since thou dost know, I know ! Ever 't was 
 
 thus, 
 Whom I did love thou hatest ; and now thou 
 
 hast given 
 
 My one, my darling, to A'idoneus' arms I 
 Never again, ah! never will I sit 
 Beside thy board nor pass the wreathed cup! 
 The buds shall wither and the streams shall 
 
 dry! 
 
 Green valleys become brown! The corn shall 
 fail! 
 
 11
 
 162 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 And sands now shut in Africa shall sweep 
 
 Across the seas and mantle all our land ! 
 
 The purple dark which shrouds .the midnight 
 
 sky 
 
 Is not more dark than is this veil I draw 
 To hide the ravages of grief and bid 
 The voice of joy be silent. Thus I pass, 
 And seek the stony hills and difficult ways 
 Known to the gods, that haply seeking thus 
 I yet may hear that voice which made the day 
 All music, and whose absence makes earth 
 
 dumb. 
 
 [She draws her blue veil about her and wanders away 
 while the Land gradually becomes desert.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 
 
 163 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 THE WELL OF ELEUSIS. 
 
 DEMETER (in the figure of an aged woman, seated on 
 the Stone of Sorrow). 
 
 Y yellow hair is sprinkled white with 
 
 snow ; 
 Even as in autumn early drifts are 
 
 piled 
 
 Against the hedge, nor fade beneath the gaze 
 Of Helios half 'estranged, but wait until 
 The punctual clouds return to bring afresh 
 A chilly mantle woven for all who sleep. 
 Thus peace abides under the snow of age, 
 And living spirit in the faded form ! 
 Here. may I sit upon this wayside stone 
 Alone, or wandering in my loneliness, 
 And see, upgazing with these mournful eyes, 
 Visions withheld save from the eyes of grief. 
 
 four young maidens, daughters of KELEUS, approach 
 to draw water. They come running and leaping like 
 fawns. They sing.
 
 164 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 CALLIDICE, CLEISIDICE, DEMO, CALLITHOE 
 
 CALL1THOE. 
 
 Pure well ! Deep well ! 
 We draw thy bubbles, 
 Thy shining bubbles ! 
 But quick they vanish, 
 Like the troubles 
 Of our youth. 
 O thou pure well ! 
 Deep as love, 
 Deep as desire ! 
 Stay thou forever, 
 And us deliver 
 From thirst and fire. 
 Thou strong clear spring ! 
 Deep as love, 
 Deep as truth ! 
 Cleanse and feed, 
 And cool at need, 
 These fires of youth. 
 
 ( The y perceive DEMETER.) 
 
 CALI.IDICE (to her sisters.) 
 Often we see an aged woman pass
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 165 
 
 Across our path, and say, Alas ! she is old ; 
 Pains have beset her and her nights are long 1 
 But lo! she goeth to her children's home, 
 To bring them fruits of dear experience, 
 And guide the grandchild's feet lest they should 
 
 stray. 
 
 Here lonely sits with sorrow for her friend, 
 Sad friend, sad sorrow, this poor aged crone, 
 As if her life were death though days remain. 
 Come, let us speak to her and give her cheer, 
 And tell her of our mother's baby boy, 
 Who lies now pale and drooping in her arms. 
 Pray her to come and tell us how to give 
 Our baby fresher color and strong life. 
 She should be wise, if wisdom grow with years ! 
 She should be kind, if sorrow match with love! 
 
 DEMETER (regarding them). 
 
 {To herself.) I had a daughter once as fair as 
 
 they ! 
 
 Her eyes were ardent like the maid who speaks, 
 Her figure lithe like yonder one who stoops 
 To gather flowers ; 't, was even thus she stooped; 
 And like that other drooped her pensive head, 
 The one who listens : and her laugh, ah me !
 
 166 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 How like the rippling lauj;h of her who finds 
 And points her sister where the blossoms grow! 
 For here besi.le the well where all must drink, 
 A fringe of -green still quickens the dead worl 1. 
 
 CALLIDICE (approaching}. 
 
 I pray thee wilt thou come with us where sits 
 Our mother sad beside the household fire, 
 Holding our baby brother on her knees? 
 For he is ill, and thou who sittest here, 
 Bent with the weight of wisdom and of time, 
 May comfort us and bring him back to health. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Why should I rise ! Why should these aged 
 
 feet 
 
 Make haste to quit this sacred spot whereon 
 My sorrow hand in hand with peace may sit, 
 And undisturbed rehearse the happy past ! 
 Here, mindless of the present, I behold 
 Strange secrets of the future, only known 
 To those who dwell alone with speechless grief 
 Why but for ye, ye Prayers, daughters of Zeus, 
 Honor to whom is honor unto him! 
 Ye sit upon the lips of these fair maids,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 167 
 
 Who each boars with her something of my child 
 
 Persephone, that unity of all 
 
 Most sweet, most fair, compassed within one 
 
 form, 
 
 And I must listen ; since if these are fair, 
 Yet four times fairer was Persephone ! 
 And when she prays to be brought back to me, 
 He would offend indeed who would not hear. 
 Prayers should sit fourfold on her flower-like 
 
 lips 
 
 And wait upon the coming of her feet, 
 Move as she moves, a goddess in her flight. 
 She, ever radiant with the illusive veil 
 Which seems to be, yet fades and is no more, 
 The mortal veil of something which endures, 
 Who can resist beseeching on her lips ! 
 
 CALLIDICE. 
 
 Wilt thou come with us, nurse, and see the 
 child ? 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 I will, lead on ! Can others grieve as I? 
 Stately they move, bearing their water-jars; 
 Each one with arm uplifted tall and straight;
 
 168 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Attendant maidens worthy of a queen. 
 They should be mine if rest remained for me, 
 Or hope, or light, or joy, or aught to love. 
 Ah me ! Beyond the well a poppy grew : 
 Forgetful of my vow, I plucked the flower 
 And bearing idly now have sown the seed. 
 My broken vow, alas ! must bear its fruit. 
 Behold the arch of Keleus and the hall ! 
 And now the maidens put their burden down 
 And beckon me to follow on their steps. 
 
 (She wraps her blue robe closely around her form 
 and enters. ) 
 
 I hear the mother singing to her child ! 
 Thus in the night I sung from topmost pine, 
 Or in the bushes called the nightingale 
 To give her his own lyric. Ah ! ah me ! 
 
 METANEIRA (singing to Demophoon, who lies upon her 
 knees). 
 
 Coo, coo, coo, chanteth the mother of doves ! 
 Rocked in the arms of the trees the drowsy 
 
 birds are asleep ; 
 Rocked in the arms of thy mother, who ever a 
 
 watch doth keep, 
 
 Coo, coo, my baby, sweetest of all the loves ! 
 (The baby moves restlessly and cries.)
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 169 
 
 CALLIDICE. 
 
 Strive no more, mother, but lay down thy care, 
 For lo ! beside the well an ancient dame 
 We found, forlorn, like one bereaved of love, 
 And we have brought her hither. She doth 
 
 wear 
 
 The front of wisdom and the form of age ; 
 And on her heart she seems to rest the head 
 Of ever-present grief ; thine, too, is hers; 
 Give her the child ! He cannot suffer more 
 Than now he suffers nested in your arms. 
 Perchance she bears some spell to charm away 
 The demon which forever draws the child 
 Farther from us and bids him hate the sun. 
 
 METANEIRA (to DEMETER). 
 
 Nurse, take the child and sit thou here by me, 
 Where I may watch his breathing and behold 
 Each movement, though I no more bear the 
 
 weight. 
 DEMETER takes the child and seats herself in silence 
 
 on a low stool by the hearth. She croons over it in a 
 
 voice inaudible to METANEIRA. 
 
 Come, baby, come 
 
 To my warm young breast
 
 170 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Under my robe, 
 Here is thy home, 
 Here is thy rest ; 
 Come, baby, come ! 
 
 Age may not touch thee; 
 
 Young, ever young, 
 
 Is my heart : see 
 
 How soft and how warm ! 
 
 And the songs I have sung 
 
 I will sing them again 
 
 For thee, for thee ! 
 
 Close, nestle close ! 
 
 I cover my head 
 
 With the veil of my grief ; 
 
 But beneath, beneath, 
 
 Sleep beauty and youth, 
 
 And my pain is fled. 
 
 Close, baby, close! 
 
 I feel thy soft hands 
 
 Nestle and steal 
 
 Round the waves of my breast ; 
 
 Come, baby, come ! 
 
 Here is thy home, 
 
 Here is thy rest.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 171 
 
 METANEIRA. 
 
 The child is quiet ! I will rise and seek 
 The household duties which forever wait 
 The housewife's hand. Why should he lie so 
 
 still, 
 
 While I who strove and wept o'er his unrest 
 Could soothe him not ! Bring hither, maid, the 
 
 wheel ! 
 
 [She takes the distaff and spins. 
 
 Enter KELEUS. 
 
 Who is this ancient crone who sits with thee 
 And rocks our babe? 
 
 METANEIRA. 
 
 One whom our daughters found 
 Beside the well, alone, and worn with grief, 
 Whose length of days outrun the days of love, 
 And still go on. Yet when she learned 
 AVe drew our breath in anguish for our child, 
 Her heart renewed itself, and swift she came, 
 Armed with experience, to bring us aid. 
 
 KELEUS. 
 The baby is asleep : the night draws nigh ;
 
 172 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Go thou to rest ! Perchance when day returns 
 He may require thy care, the nurse being spent. 
 [They go out. 
 
 DEMETER (alone with the child). 
 
 Breathe, breathe, and suck the milk of my warm 
 
 breast ! 
 
 How should I feel again a mother's joy! 
 Sad Aidoneus shalt not find thee, dear ! 
 For I will nourish thee and hold thee safe, 
 That others may not weep as I have done, 
 And see the black days pass devoid of hope. 
 Wax strong and grow and stretch thy rounded 
 
 limbs ! 
 
 Drink the warm milk of my late tenderness, 
 Grown greater for the sorrows I have known. 
 But hush ! Thou shalt not breathe the breath 
 
 of sighs, 
 
 Nor languish on my heart's exhausted flame ; 
 I will build fires afresh for thee, and blow 
 The ashes of my love, and lay thee there 
 To purify and strengthen for thy day. 
 
 She rises, lays the brands together on the hearth, and 
 places the child thereon, ffe rests there unhurt, grow- 
 ing more ruddy, laughing and stretching out his hand 
 to her, while she smiles down on him.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 173 
 
 Work, charm ! Work, fire ! 'T is thus a man 
 is made. 
 
 She takes up the child, who rests and sleeps on her 
 shotdder, while she walks with him; af/ain she sits 
 and looks at DEMOPHOON, who seems to increase in 
 size ; presently she rises and lays him once more on the 
 flaming brands. 
 
 Enter METAXEIKA. 
 My child ! Ah, woe ! What horror ! Slave, 
 
 begone ! 
 Help! help ! My child ! In vain I snatch thee 
 
 up 
 
 And strive to dash away these floes of flame 
 Wider and wider still they seem to spread 
 
 [She flings down the child and runs out, shrieking 
 for help. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Mortals know not the gods till they be fled ; 
 Wrapped in the veil of silence, grief, or age, 
 They follow unsuspected on man's path. 
 My darling, my Demophoon, thou must live 
 And serve me here, grown stronger for this 
 hour,
 
 174 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 But I must forth ! Alone, ever alone, 
 The great must voyage over stony heights, 
 And step by step must climb Olympos, ere 
 The voice of Zeus shall answer ! Sweet, fare- 
 well ! 
 
 KKLEUS OTW/METAXEIRA enter, while DEMETER, about 
 to vanish, rises in her youthful glory and scatters 
 jlou-ersand odors in benediction upon the house. 
 
 METAXEIHA. 
 
 Mother Demeter, now I know thy face, 
 Alas, too late ! I pray thee hear my prayer! 
 I did not know my goddess in that garb, 
 Far hidden under sorrow's dark-blue veil ; 
 Her, ever-youthful, shrouded thus in age ! 
 Hear me, O mother ! Stay Demophoon 
 [DEMETER vanishes. 
 
 She is gone ! Fools are we : slow to see the 
 
 good! 
 
 Caught by the glamour of a passing joy, 
 But dull to prize the jewel, till too late, 
 Concealed within the stone ! O mother, hear! 
 There by the well where first thy sacred feet
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 175 
 
 Paused in Eleusis we will build thy shrine, 
 A holy temple which may shelter thee 
 And thy fond votaries till Zeus shall hear 
 Thy prayer and give thee back Persephone. 
 Meanwhile this child Demophobn shall abide 
 Thy priest therein; there, from his loins grown 
 
 strong 
 With thine own strength, shall flourish through 
 
 all time 
 
 A race of priests which shall adore thy name, 
 And keep thy temple for a holy place, 
 Till mortal birth no longer mortal death 
 Shall follow, from thy hands, forevermore.
 
 176 
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 DEMETER (alone just before dawn on the desert shore 
 of a vast silent river.) 
 
 BATHER HELIOS, through the thick 
 
 of night, 
 
 Above the silver river at my feet, 
 I -see thy rosy messengers return. 
 Look t.hou with kindly eyes on me forlorn, 
 A heart forsaken in a desert land, 
 And wandering- through a night which has no 
 
 day. 
 
 Look tenderly upon me once again, 
 Though I am gray and wear these dark-blue 
 
 weeds, 
 
 And have forgotten all the tissues fine, 
 Woven of roses, thou wast wont to love. 
 But f if thou wilt recall Persephone, 
 She will adorn her with the flowers of spring. 
 Her thou wilt love ; then will old earth be gay, 
 Then will the sea and sky rejoice with her, 
 And gladness take possession ! Hear me now.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. Ill 
 
 HELIOS (bending his rays slowly but caressingly upon 
 her ; a blush suffuses the whole heaven and the deeps 
 of the sea). 
 
 Yield, O tliou god of darkness, yield the maid! 
 
 (A cry of joy is heard, continued and confused, like 
 myriads of waking birds.) 
 
 This gladness thrills throughout the upper world. 
 
 Now Aidoneus bids his love return 
 
 For a brief space to soothe her mother's heart. 
 
 I hear Persephone answer him again, 
 
 Up from her couch, swift-rising, wilh a song ; 
 
 All nature listens, every bird replies. 
 
 PERSEPHONE (dimly heard from afar). 
 I would away, since thou, my love, dost bid : 
 Ceaseless I hear my mother's longing cry, 
 Still do I see her in the dust forlorn ; 
 I would bend over her and bid her live, 
 "Would sing old songs until she too shall sing, 
 Would laugh a girlish laugh till she shall smile 
 The old sweet way, bidding the land rejoice. 
 To her belongs a portion of the fruit, 
 Pomegranate, which thy love hast given to me, 
 And eating I have learned to know the seed 
 Shall fall, the manymany seeds shall fall 
 In the dark earth, then grow again to light.
 
 178 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 ATOONEUS. 
 
 Speed thee, Persephone, and seek thine own ! 
 Wipe her dull tears away, and bring the joy 
 Of thy bright presence to the weeping world. 
 I may not hence with thee, but thou to me, 
 Dear, shalt return and find thy promised rest.* 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 I hear the stamping horses, swift T go ! 
 And peaceful will return when T shall hear 
 The peaceful beating of my mother's breast. 
 For she shall know what calm abides with thee. 
 Here jealous Helios nor the hund of Zeus 
 Can make us grieve : here, when the brown 
 
 leaves fall 
 
 And autumn freezes the green upper world, 
 We do but smile and brood on the new birth 
 Within the fallen seed ; here do we watch 
 The life that ever lives, yet living, rests, 
 Thus to renew itself and bring again, 
 Not the old past, ah no ! but tenderer yet 
 The same old beauty with a heart renewed. 
 
 Quickly I go, and amaryllis. plant 
 
 In the same places where last year it bloomed,
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 179 
 
 Tliat the new heart may bound with the old 
 
 love. 
 Away ! away, ye steeds ! Away ! away ! 
 
 SCENE CHAXGES. 
 
 DKMETER enters in the perfect beauty of womanhood, 
 wearing full-blown roses; she leads PERSEPHONE by 
 the hand. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Sit here, my child, and let me gaze on thee ! 
 How softly dance these tendrils of the vine, 
 These earliest shoots of many a promised joy, 
 About thy brow ; and this illusive veil 
 The summer of mine eyes would fain disperse, 
 How gently does it shroud thy tender form. 
 Ah! gladness of return ! What is all bliss, 
 The whole wide sum the soul may gather in, 
 Compared to this, thy coming? What was 
 
 death, 
 
 Is life ; all being absent is now all 
 Restored : so deep as grief could sound, so high 
 Doth joy now climb ; once having been mine 
 
 own, 
 There is no life, no light, when thou art gone.
 
 180 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Fond mother, say not so ! Thou found'st the 
 
 child 
 
 Demophob'n, and fed'st thy hungry heart ; 
 Or when that joy was snatched thou still didst 
 
 feel 
 
 A new, keen grace in making others glad. 
 And this is left to thee, this forever stays, 
 Though I must go and leave thee ; for no more 
 Can thy warm breast, thy beauty, or the love 
 Of thy great glory feeding every sense, 
 Detain me from the world where shadows dwell ; 
 For there is also love, and there is calm. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 Speak no more, darling, of the darkness past ! 
 Art thou not here? Are youth and joy not 
 
 here? 
 
 Do not the birds sing and the buds leap out? 
 Why shouldst thou dwell on sorrows that have 
 
 "been ! 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Mother, the immortal shadows n tneir wander- 
 ings 
 Teach us what hath been evermore shall be.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 181 
 
 The race of mortals quickly may forget, 
 But in that shade the seeds put forth again 
 "Which thou, neglectful, hid'stin thy rich heart. 
 Hence is it sorrow may no longer be 
 A sorrow there; there do we find again 
 What love has covered ; only such remains ; 
 The seed that is not cherished shall not grow. 
 
 DKMETER. 
 
 
 
 Look not on me with thy compassionate eyes ! 
 Thou, love, art here, and gladness is on 
 
 all; 
 
 The west wind waves at will my yellow hair ; 
 The hoary chestnuts blow on yonder hill ; 
 The flower-de-luce is blooming by the stream ; 
 And thou and I may wander all the day. 
 What more ! What more ! I ask the gods no 
 
 more. 
 
 PEKSEPHOXE. 
 
 I, too, rejoice, my mother, thou being glad! 
 Brief are the days I may remain with thee, 
 But glorious in their passing ; nor is told 
 What hour- the steeds of Aidoneus come. 
 But he is kind, and while the summer moons
 
 182 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Greaten or fade, he stays his solemn call 
 And leaves us to our gladness. 
 
 DEMETEK. 
 
 Art thou not mine ! 
 
 Then wherefore dost thou bring these dark- 
 some thoughts 
 Into our sunshine ! 
 
 
 
 PEUSEP110XE. 
 
 Am I not also his ! 
 
 Let me not grieve thee, mother, this sweet day 1 
 Hold me once more upon thy blessed breast, 
 As when I was a child and knew but thee. 
 Perchance thou dost not know the world of 
 shades ! 
 
 UEMETER. 
 
 I know thou wert stolen and art mine again ; 
 That with thy coming summer days are ours, 
 And endless beauty, born of light and love. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Endless ! Nay, mother, see yon roses droop 
 Which were but now thy pride.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 183 
 
 DEMETER (impatiently). 
 
 Tliou art not a rose ! 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 In the vast kingdom of the shades, where live 
 The spirits men call dead, we love these flow- 
 ers 
 
 With a deep passion, such as Sorrow plants 
 In her black mould ; and from their faded stem 
 Springs ever a fresh blossom like to that 
 Pale Sorrow yields. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 I pray, look yonder, see 1 
 A yellow bee upon his purple throne ! 
 Even now the thistle wears a gorgeous robe 
 To greet thee coming. 
 
 SCENE CHANGES. 
 
 Autumn. A forsaken garden. DEMETER and PER- 
 SEPHONE. 
 
 DEMETER. 
 
 The ground is strewn with ruins of the year j 
 One rose remains, late lingerer ! Boreas calls!
 
 184 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 I shudder at the echoes of his voice! 
 
 What would he here? And now the last swan 
 
 bends 
 
 His southward course and flies to Africa. 
 But hark ! Another sound the silence stirs ! 
 The stamping of strange steeds! Ah me! ah 
 
 me ! 
 My child , my daughter, Aidoneus comes ! 
 
 PERSEPHONK. 
 
 Dear mother ! long ago and from afar 
 I heard the chosen chariot and the steeds, 
 The impatient messengers of one who waits. 
 I may not say, weep not 1 for now thou know- 
 
 est 
 
 I shall return, nor leave thee comfortless; 
 Thou mayst awake and sing, thou of the dust ! 
 For I shall ever come when buds shall spring, 
 When the warm seed is quickened in the earth, 
 When the vines dance and stretch their tendrils 
 
 forth ! 
 
 Nor yet the same, but evermore renewed, 
 With the old love in a diviner form. 
 1 shall return, my mother shall return ! 
 
 {Goes.
 
 RETURN OF PERSEPHONE. 185 
 
 DEMETER stands gazing after the chariot which bears 
 her away. 
 
 DEMETKK. 
 
 She will return, my darling will return I 
 Forever changing, evermore the same ! 
 O ye who dwell in dust, awake and sing ! 
 She will return, my darling will return 1
 
 NOT BY WILL AND NOT BY 
 STRIVING.
 
 NOT BY WILL, AND NOT IN STRIVING. 
 
 i/ OT by will and not in striving 
 
 Came the voices to the singer, 
 Came the strange lamp of the dawn- 
 ing, . 
 
 Nor the tears that fell at sundown ; 
 
 Not in framing tuneful measures, 
 
 Nor because of light or darkness, 
 
 Nor of silence nor of noises, 
 
 Leaped the music that subdued him. 
 
 Lost in some forgotten dream-land, 
 
 Moving over h'elds unplanted, 
 
 Waving golden sheaves of glory, 
 
 Such as spring beside the fountains 
 
 Of the lands beyond Kambala, 
 
 Thus his song would come unto him, 
 
 Find the singer, who, obedient, 
 
 Labored on the dusty highway, 
 
 Waiting till the voice should call him 
 
 To the lofty steeps of song-land, 
 
 Where death is not nor to-morrow.
 
 TRANSLATIONS, 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 ANACREON'S GRAVE. 
 [)ERE where the roses now bloom, 
 where vines round the laurel are 
 twining ; 
 
 Here where the turtle-doves coo, 
 where the blithe cricket is heard, 
 Who lieth here! Whose grave is thus lovely 
 
 with life and adornment ? 
 Beautiful gift of the gods ! Here doth Anacreon 
 
 sleep. 
 Spring and summer and harvest brought joy to 
 
 the glad-hearted poet ; 
 
 Safe from the winter and snow under this 
 hillock he lies.
 
 194 
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 MUSAGETES. 
 
 FTEN in the winter midnight 
 Called I on the gentle Muses: 
 Though there be no morning 
 
 roses, 
 
 And no light of day appear, 
 Bring me when the hour cometh, 
 Bring the lamp that softly shining, 
 Failing Phoebus and Aurora, 
 May arouse to quiet labor! " 
 Yet they left me to my dreaming, 
 Suffered me to sleep unquickened, 
 Every sluggish morning followed 
 By a day thus rendered useless. 
 
 But as soon as spring-time opened, 
 To the nightingales thus said I: 
 " Dearest nightingales, complain ye 
 Early, early at my window, 
 Wake me from the heavy slumber 
 Holding, binding, youth so strongly! " 
 But the singers, full of loving, 
 Lingered all night round my window, 
 Chanting sweetest melodies,
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 195 
 
 Held awake the soul within me, 
 Stirred my new and tender longings 
 In my freshly-quickened bosom. 
 Thus I passed the night in listening, 
 And Aurora found me sleeping, 
 Yes, the sunshine scarcely waked me. 
 
 Now at last is come the summer, 
 And the earliest glint of morning 
 Brings the busy fly whose buzzing 
 Rouses me from pleasant dreaming. 
 Often as I half awaken, 
 Brushing her away impatient, 
 She returns and mercilessly 
 Lures her unashamed sisters ; 
 Driving from my very eyelids 
 All my quiet pleasant slumber. 
 Quickly spring I from my pillow, 
 Seek for the beloved Muses, 
 Find them underneath the beeches, 
 Where they joyfully receive me ; 
 And the troublous little insects 
 Thank I, many a golden hour. 
 Be ye then, ye small discomforts, 
 Highly by the poet praised 
 As true servants of Apollo.
 
 196 
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 HE nightingale has gone away, 
 She-will follow back the spring ; 
 She has learned nothing new, they 
 
 say, 
 But the old songs she will sing.
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 A FESTIVAL PLAY.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 PROMETHEUS i 
 EPIMETUEUS ] 
 
 . Sons of lapetus. 
 
 PHILEROS . . , 
 
 , Son of Prometheus. 
 
 ELPORE \ 
 
 
 1 EPIMELEIA j ' 
 
 , Daughters of Epimetheus. 
 
 Eos. 
 
 
 PANDORA . . . , 
 
 , Wife of Epimetlieus 
 
 DEMONS 
 
 
 HELIOS. 
 
 
 SMITHS. 
 
 
 SHEPHERDS. 
 
 
 FIELD-LABORERS. 
 
 
 A WARRIOR. 
 
 
 ARTIFICERS. 
 
 
 A VINTNER 
 
 
 A FISHERMAN. 
 
 
 EXCUSE, the offspring of AFTKHTIIDUGIIT.
 
 The Scene arranged according to the grand style 
 of Poussin. 
 
 PROMETHKUS* SIDE. 
 
 ON the left of the beholder rock and mountain, on 
 the huge banks and masses of which natural and arti- 
 ficial caves are built up, near and over one another, 
 connected by manifold paths and steps. A few of 
 these caves are closed at the entrance by pieces of rock, 
 others have doors and bars, all rough and rude. Here 
 and there something is seen built with regularity, es- 
 pecially the underpinnings, aiming at an artistic ar- 
 rangement of the masses, and signifying already more 
 convenient dwellings, though devoid of symmetry. 
 Climbing plants hang over, a few bushes appear here 
 and there on the steeps ; higher up they become thicker, 
 and end at length in a vast wood which crowns the 
 summit. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS' SIDE. 
 
 OPPOSITE, on the right, a building of wood, severe 
 in style, of the most ancient form of art and construc- 
 tion, with pillars of the trunks of trees, the beams and 
 sills rudely squared off. In the entrance hall a couch 
 with skins and covers. Near the chief building, toward
 
 200 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 the background, similar small dwellings, with many 
 arrangements of dry walls, planks, and fences which 
 hedge about the different possessions; behind them the 
 tops of fruit-trees may be seen, signs of well-kept gar- 
 dens. Scattered around many buildings of the same 
 kind. 
 
 In the background, various fields, hills, bushes, and 
 groves; a river, with cascades and windings, flows 
 down into a bay, which in the foreground is surround- 
 ed by steep rocks. 
 
 The horizon line of the sea, broken by islands, com- 
 pletes the whole.
 
 PANDORA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 NIGHT. 
 
 EPIMETIIEUS. 
 
 (Stepping forward from the middle of the landscape.) 
 
 HTLDHOOD and days of youth I call 
 . ye but too sweet! 
 When, after turbulence and hours 
 
 of ceaseless joy, 
 Swift-footed Sleep may grasp and hold ye 
 
 strong embraced, 
 While wiping out each line the mighty Now 
 
 hath traced, 
 The past and future mingle, clad in shapes of 
 
 air. 
 
 Such comfort now is far from me, from one 
 grown old :
 
 202 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 No longer day and night divide themselves for 
 
 me, 
 The ancient burden still I bear of mine own 
 
 name; 
 
 For Epimetheus was that my paients chose, 
 The past recalling thus, the deeds of rashness 
 
 done, 
 
 Returning thus, in difficult play of the thought, 
 To haunted realms where dwell the ghosts of 
 
 what might be. 
 So bitter was the task that weighed upon my 
 
 youth, 
 Impatient I plunged on, seizing what life could 
 
 give, 
 And thoughtless caught what came, grasping 
 
 the present gift, 
 And found new cares therein with a new weight 
 
 of pain. 
 Thus fleddest thou away, thou mighty time of 
 
 youth, 
 
 Forever changing, yet consoling in thy change, 
 From fullness unto need, from gladness unto 
 
 grief. 
 Despair before the wondrous forms of fancy 
 
 fled;
 
 PANDORA. 203 
 
 I slept a dreamless sleep after both sun and 9 
 storm. 
 
 Now do I wander in the night wakeful, and 
 glide around, 
 
 And weep the fleeting bliss granted to mine 
 who sleep; 
 
 I fear for them the crowing cock and morning- 
 star 
 
 Too swift in shining. Better were it always 
 night! 
 
 Though Helios mightily shake his glowing 
 locks 
 
 He cannot fill with light the pathways of man- 
 kind. 
 
 But what is this I hear? My brother's creak- 
 ing door 
 
 Thus early open! Wakes he so soon the doer? 
 
 Impatient for his task does he already light 
 
 Again the hollow hearth with work-inciting 
 flame, 
 
 And call the sooty crowd to share that happi- 
 ness 
 
 The powerful must feel who beat and mould 
 the brass?
 
 204 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Not so! Alight swift footstep turning hither 
 
 comes, 
 In joyous measure timed to heart-uplifting 
 
 song. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 (Approaching from the side of Prometheus.) 
 To the air! To the fresh blowing air, let me 
 
 go! 
 The four walls oppress me! The house is my 
 
 foe! 
 For how can the skins of my couch give me 
 
 pleasure ? 
 
 Or rock me, a fire, to dream on earth's treas- 
 ure? 
 
 Neither silence nor rest 
 Has the lover unblest. 
 What helps it though lowly his head may be 
 
 tying, 
 And tired, his limbs are stretched out like one 
 
 dying; 
 
 His heart is awake, it is eager and bright, 
 It lives a live day in the dark of the night. 
 
 The planets look down with their tremulous 
 glow,
 
 PANDORA. 205 
 
 And rejoice in the joy of a love thai they know. 
 
 To seek for and follow the blossoming way 
 
 Where lately she sang and her feet loved to 
 stray ; 
 
 Where she stood, where she sat, where the blue- 
 arching weather 
 
 Of the vast fragrant heaven enshrined us to- 
 gether ; 
 
 And around us and toward us the flowers of 
 the earth 
 
 Came nodding, possessed with the joy of new 
 birth. 
 
 There yonder, O balm! 
 
 Is the silence, the calm ! 
 
 EriMETHEUS. 
 
 What mighty hymn comes sounding through the 
 night to me! 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 W T hom do I meet so soon, who wakens thus so 
 earl}- ? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Say, Phileros, is 't thou? I seem to hear thy 
 voice.
 
 206 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Uncle, 'tis I! But stay me not, I pray of 
 thee. 
 
 EPI.METHEUS. 
 
 But whither do?t thou go? Thou early rising 
 youth. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Upon a path it suiteth not for age to tread. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 To guess the -ways of youth is never difficult. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Then let me but proceed, and ask me nothing 
 more. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Confide in me! The lover sometimes counsel 
 neeis. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 He stays no counsel, nor finds room for con- 
 fidence. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Yet tell me but the name of her who is thy
 
 PANDORA. 207 
 
 PHILEK09. 
 
 Her name and parentage are both concealed 
 from me. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Even this will bring thee woe, to injure one 
 
 unknown. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 My happy pathway darken not, O thou good 
 
 man. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 I fear me much thy feet are hastening to grief. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Pliileros, go on to the blossoming garden! 
 Where fullness of love shall be thy rich guer- 
 don; 
 
 If Eos, the .shy one, with color divine, 
 Makes the curtain to blush that veils the pure 
 
 shrine, 
 
 Behind her own curtain my darling now waits 
 With yet ruddier color, toward Helios' gates 
 Stands gazing for me over garden and field, 
 And longing for what the future may yield. 
 Thou yearnest for me, 
 As I strive after thee.
 
 208 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. (Turns to the tight of the beholder.) 
 happy one, go on! Thou blest one, thither 
 
 go! 
 
 If only this brief journey were a joy to thee 
 Thou wert a source of envy. Shall the hour of 
 
 bliss 
 Not also strike for thee? Though swiftly it 
 
 must pass. 
 So was it once with me, so joyful leaped my 
 
 heart, 
 
 When first Pandora hither from Olympus came! 
 Beautiful and all gifted, loftily she moved, 
 Sublime to those who gazed, asking with her 
 
 sweet face 
 If I should turn her off as my stern brother 
 
 did. 
 
 Already was my bosom deeply stirred by her ; 
 IVly lovely bride I took with senses all enslaved. 
 Her dowry, also, mystery-laden, I took home 
 In earthen vase enclosed, of stateliest design. 
 It stood unopened there. The fair one kindly 
 
 brought 
 It me, and broke the heaven-made seal, and 
 
 raised the lid. 
 When lo! a little smokf close sl.ut therein arose,
 
 PANDORA. 209 
 
 As incense should arise to bear the Muse's 
 
 praise, 
 And gayly shone one starry gleam from out the 
 
 mist, 
 And then another : quickly others followed 
 
 these. 
 Then I looked up and saw, there floating on 
 
 the cloud, 
 Delightful phantasms, godlike figures, crowding 
 
 thick. 
 
 Pandora showed them me, and named the float- 
 ing forms. 
 " Yonder," she said, " thou seest where happy 
 
 Love shines high ! " 
 I cried, " There floats it ! How ! Have we it 
 
 not with us ! " 
 
 " And yonder, Luxury," again she said, " I see, 
 Whose wind-swept garment floats wave-like 
 
 after her feet. 
 Still loftier there stands, with earnest lordly 
 
 look, 
 
 A powerful figure pressing forever onward. 
 And opposite, one friendly, seeking favor, sweet, 
 Compelling, full of eagerness, and pleased with 
 
 self, 
 
 14
 
 210 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 A pretty face, endeavoring to catch thine eye. 
 
 Still others, mingling melt, and each in each 
 dissolve ; 
 
 As waves the smoke, they wave, obedient to 
 the air, 
 
 Yet each desires to bring a pleasure for thy 
 
 days." 
 
 Then cried I: " All in vain the starry host 
 may shine; 
 
 In vain deceits mist-painted, worthy of de- 
 sire! 
 
 Pandora, ihou, the only, wilt deceive me not! 
 
 I ask no other joy, whether of real life, 
 
 Or fancy-painted; only stay thou ever mine! " 
 Meanwhile the new-formed choir of men drew 
 near to us, 
 
 The neophytes nowjirst gathered for our fete; 
 
 They gazed in joy upon the shining forms of 
 air, 
 
 And snatched and strove to seize; but these 
 again more swift 
 
 In motion, could not yield to earthly out- 
 stretched hands, 
 
 But floating, sometimes up, and sometimes 
 downward sunk,
 
 PANDORA. 211 
 
 Continually deceived the crowd that followed 
 them. 
 
 While I with trustfulness and speed approached 
 my wife, 
 
 And made mine own that form of bliss the gods 
 had sent, 
 
 Drawn close by these strong arms to my o'er- 
 flowing breast. 
 
 The blessedness of love in that one moment felt, 
 
 Immortal made the lovely fable of this life. 
 
 (lie goes to the couch in the hall and places himself 
 
 upon it.) 
 
 Yonder wreath by godlike fingers 
 Pressed upon Pandora's ringlets, 
 As her forehead it o'ershadowed, 
 Lustre of her eyes subduing, 
 Floats before my soul and senses, 
 Floats as she herself, long-vanished, 
 Starry vision,. over me. 
 
 No more holds the wreath together; 
 Torn and scattered and dispelled, 
 Over all the greening meadows 
 Richly are its gifts dispersed. 
 (Drowsily.)
 
 212 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 O how gladly would I bind thee 
 
 Once again, thou lovely garland! 
 
 In a garland, in a posy, 
 
 Bind thy gifts, O Flora-Cypris! 
 
 Now no longer wreath or posy 
 
 Stay for me; they fall apart. 
 
 Singly dropping flower by flower, 
 
 Through the green of field and meadow; 
 
 Plucking go I, and go losing 
 
 All the plucked, how quickly vanished! 
 
 Roses, do I glean your beauty, 
 
 Whither, lilies, are ye gone! 
 
 [He sleeps. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 (A torch in his hand.) 
 
 Thou flaming torch more early than the morn- 
 ing-star, 
 
 Aloft the father's hand, a herald, hath thee 
 swung 
 
 Of day before the day! God-like we honor 
 thee ! 
 
 For every industry most worthy of a man 
 
 Is born of morning's prime; thus only day af- 
 fords
 
 PANDORA. 213 
 
 Content and growth and full delight of tired 
 hours. 
 
 The evening ashes' holy treasure therefore now 
 
 Do I unveil and waken to a fresher glow, 
 
 Illuminating thus my strong work-loving men. 
 
 Thus, brass-subduers, do I call on ye aloud. 
 
 Your right arms lightly lift, swaying and keep- 
 ing time 
 
 In one vast hammer-chorus, ringing loud and 
 swift, 
 
 And from the molten store abundance take for 
 use. 
 
 (Many caves open, many fires beyin to burn,) 
 
 Now kindle the fire! 
 No power is higher. 
 He braved the gods' ire 
 Who snatched it and fled. 
 He who first kindled it, 
 He was allied to it, 
 Rounded and formed with it 
 Crowns for the head.
 
 214 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Water that only flows, 
 
 Guided as Nature knows, 
 
 From the rocks through the meadows; 
 
 Wherever it goes, 
 
 Follow cattle and men. 
 
 Fishes are swarming there, 
 
 Birds are reflected there, 
 
 Theirs is the flood; 
 
 Water unstable, 
 
 Now sunny, now sable, 
 
 If one who knoweth her 
 
 Sometimes controlled! her, 
 
 That find we good. 
 
 Thou, earth, who standest fast, 
 
 Though into torture cast, 
 
 Men hack thee and pain thee! 
 
 For gain do they rend theel 
 
 And for their pride. 
 
 Slaves to their sweaty doom, 
 
 All scarred and seamed they roam, 
 
 Rending thy fair sweet home : 
 
 And where no flowerets bloom 
 
 Thee do they chide. 

 
 PANDORA. 215 
 
 Stream ye, O air and light, 
 Far from my eager sight 1 
 Keep ye no fire bright, . 
 Worth ye have none. 
 When round the hearth ye play, 
 We bid ye welcome stay; 
 Your place is won. 
 Being in ye may not out, 
 Dance ye the flames about, 
 Till all is done. 
 
 Quick to the labor fly ! 
 Now flames the fire high, 
 Now beats against the sky; 
 Calm stands the father by 
 Who snatched it and fled. 
 He who first kindled it, 
 He was allied to it, 
 Rounded and formed with it, 
 Crowns for the head. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The active man finds comfort in his favorite 
 
 view ! 
 And thus it pleases me to hear the praise of 
 
 fire
 
 216 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Before all elements, ignoring others' worth. 
 Ye who now look within, and see the anvil 
 
 work, 
 And mould the hard brass, even as the mind 
 
 suggests, 
 Thus do I rescue ye from mine own ruined 
 
 race, 
 From those who reach for shapes of mist with 
 
 drunken eyes 
 
 And open arms, striving to grasp and to attain 
 What may not be attained; or, what if it were 
 
 reached 
 Were neither use nor joy; but ye are useful 
 
 ones. 
 Unyielding mountains may not stand against 
 
 your power, 
 The brazen hills must fall beneath your levers' 
 
 might, 
 
 And molten, quickly fly into a tool transformed, 
 A double hand; a hundred fold increasing 
 
 strength. 
 The swinging hammers weld, the dextrous 
 
 tongs hold fast; 
 Thus single force and powers combined shall 
 
 still advance
 
 PANDORA. 217 
 
 By aid of industry and wisdom, without end. 
 
 What might can work and subtlety suggest 
 may be 
 
 Brought onward farther to perfection by your 
 skill; 
 
 Alert and conscious, therefore, keep to daily 
 work. 
 
 The crowds of your posterity even now ap- 
 proach, 
 
 Desiring the complete and worshipping the 
 rare. 
 
 SHEPHERDS. 
 
 Climb up the mountain height, 
 Follow the streamlet bright, 
 Where the rough steep doth bloom, 
 "Where the spring flowers find room, 
 There drive your flock. 
 
 Everywhere let them browse 
 Clover or dewy boughs, 
 Wandering after sweetest food, 
 Tripping, dumb and joyous brood, 
 Where it pleaseth them.
 
 218 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 FIRST SHEPHERD (to the Smiths). 
 O, mighty brothers, see 
 We need your aid ! 
 We ask a knife of ye, 
 Sharpest is made! 
 Syrinx must sorrow! 
 Reeds we must borrow! 
 Give us the best there is! 
 Good make the steel! 
 Our joy and praise for this 
 Your heart shall feel. 
 
 SECOND stiEi'HEUi) (to the Smith). 
 
 Thou hast for weaklings 
 Tenderly cared, 
 
 Hast done even more than that - 
 With them hast shared. 
 Give us thy brazen craft, 
 Steel broad and keen, 
 Turning our shepherd's crook 
 Into a foeman's shaft. 
 
 Then we may meet the wolf, 
 Or man, unfriendly; 
 For even the friendly
 
 PANDORA. 219 
 
 Like not to have 
 
 Their rights interfered with: 
 
 Both feeble and brave 
 
 Contests must see; 
 
 He who no soldier is, 
 
 He shall no shepherd be. 
 
 THIRD SHEPHERD (to the Smith). 
 Who would a shepherd be 
 Long hours are his, 
 Many stars he may see, 
 The leaf his whistle is. 
 The tree may give us leaves, 
 The moor may give us reeds, 
 But come, thou artist smith, 
 Thou canst serve our needs! 
 Give us the iron reeds, 
 Pointed for the lips, 
 Slender as leafy tips! 
 Louder than singing words 
 Rings it afar; 
 Maidens who listening are 
 Hear the sweet chords. 
 
 [The shepherds divide, with music and song, in the 
 
 landscape.
 
 220 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Though ye may wander peaceful, peace ye may 
 not find; 
 
 One fate were then decreed, alike for man and 
 beast; 
 
 A better lot I pictured for the race of men, 
 
 That one against the other, singly or combined, 
 
 Should stand opposed, and, hating each, should 
 each compel 
 
 To manifest himself the one superior. 
 
 Take courage, therefore. Children of one fa- 
 ther ye ! 
 
 Who stands, or falls, can be to him but little 
 care. 
 
 A race remains to him, increasing still in power, 
 
 Which ever plots and plans to spread itself 
 abroad ; 
 
 Too crowded is the growth, and far too thickly 
 pressed. 
 
 Now do they draw apart and master all the 
 world. 
 
 How blessed is the moment of the wild fare- 
 well! 
 
 Ye smiths and friends! Now only arms 
 make ye for me;
 
 PANDORA. 221 
 
 To-day let go the wants that thoughtful plough- 
 men f.-el, 
 
 Or what from ye the fisher-people may de- 
 mand. 
 
 Make only weapons! Then ye have accom- 
 plished all, 
 
 And for your hardiest sons full satisfaction 
 heaped. 
 
 But first, to ye who painful strive through hours 
 of dark, 
 
 A festival of rest ! For he who nightly 
 works 
 
 He shall enjoy when others early go to toil. 
 (Approaches the sleeping Epimetheus.) 
 
 But thou, my sole twin-brother, dost thou rest 
 thee here ? 
 
 Night wanderer weighed down by care and 
 bitter thought ! 
 
 I pity thee, and yet I praise thy destiny. 
 
 Endurance is our lot ! laboring or suffering. 
 
 SMITHS. 
 
 He who first kindled it, 
 He was allied to it,
 
 222 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Rounded and formed with it 
 Crowns for the heaa. 
 [They disappear in the caves, which close behind them. 
 
 EPLMETHEUS. 
 
 (Sleeping in the open hatt.) 
 
 (The morning-star upon her head, in airy raiment, 
 rises behind the hill.) 
 
 EPIMETHEUS (dreaming). 
 I see the constellations coming thick ! 
 One star shines brightly out above the rest! 
 What rises there so swift behind the star? 
 What lovely crowned head doth it illume? 
 Not all unknown I see her moving on, 
 The slender, delicate, and gracious form. 
 Is 't thou, Elpore? 
 
 ELPORE (from afar). 
 
 Dear father, yes. 
 To cool thy brow I hither breathe to thee. 
 
 EPLMETHEUS. 
 
 Step this way, come.
 
 PANDORA. 223 
 
 BLPORE. 
 
 'T is not allowed to me. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 A little nearer 1 
 
 ELFORE (approaching). 
 So then ? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Yesl still nearer. 
 
 ELPORE (very close}. 
 Thus? 
 
 El'LMETIIEUS. 
 
 No longer do I know thee 1 
 
 ELPOKE. 
 
 So I thought (drawing away) 1 But now? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Yes! 'T is thou, beloved maiden, 
 Whom thy departing mother tore from me. 
 Where dost thou stay ? Come here to thy old 
 father.
 
 224 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 ELPORE (stepping nearer). 
 I come, my father, yet it serves for nought. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 What lovely child is this so near to me? 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 She whom thou know'st and know'st not is thy 
 daughter. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Then come into my arms ! 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 You cannot hold me. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Then kiss me. 
 
 ELPORE (at his head). 
 
 I kiss thy brow 
 With gentle lips (departing). Now am I gone. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Whither 1 Whither!
 
 PANDORA. 225 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 I go to look for lovers. 
 
 EPIMKTIIEUS. 
 
 Wherefore to seek them ? They can need thee 
 not. 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 Ah yes! They need me, no one needs me more. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Then promise me! 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 What shall I promise? What? 
 
 EPIMKTHEUS. 
 
 The joy of love, returning of Pandora. 
 
 ELPORE. 
 The impossible it suits me well to promise. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 And will sue come again? 
 
 15 
 
 ELPORE. 
 
 Yes! Truly, yes!
 
 226 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 (To the beholders.) 
 
 Ye good people! Such a gentle, 
 Sympathetic heart the gods have 
 Placed within my youthful bosom, 
 What ye will and what ye long for 
 Never can I quite deny ye, 
 And from me, good-hearted maiden, 
 Ye shall only hear a " Yes." 
 
 Ah ! Behold the other demons 
 Disobliging and unkindly, 
 Shrieking ever, interrupting, 
 Malice-born, a bitter " No." 
 
 Yet the morning breezes' sighing 
 Do I hear, and the cock crowing ! 
 I, the child of morn, must hasten, 
 Hasten to the waking ones. 
 
 Yet how can I thus forsake ye! 
 Do ye wait for something tender? 
 For a sweet assenting word? 
 
 Hear the storming ! Hear the rasing ! 
 Are the waves of morning roaring?
 
 PANDORA. 227 
 
 Do the feet of Helios' horses 
 Stamp behind the golden portals? 
 
 No! The murmuring waves of being, 
 Rushing of ungoverned wishes, 
 From the depth of hearts o'erfreighted, 
 These come surging up to uie. 
 
 Ah ! What will ye from the maiden ? 
 Ye, unresting, ye, the striving ! 
 Riches will ye, power and honor, 
 Gold and grandeur? These, the maiden, 
 Gifts like these she cannot give ye, 
 All her gifts and all her accents, 
 Every one is maidenly. 
 
 Would ye power? The powerful have it. 
 Would ye riches? Grasp and hold them ! 
 Splendor? Deck ye ! Influence? Cringe, then! 
 Hope ye not to have such bounties : 
 Who desires them, let him seize them ! 
 
 All is still ! Yet hear I clearly, 
 While I bend mine ear, a sighing, 
 Whispering. yes, a lisping, sighing, 
 O it is the voiee of Love !
 
 228 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Turn thyself to me, bclovbdl 
 See in me the sweet, the true one, 
 Of thine own beloved the vision ! 
 
 Speak as thou to her hadst spoken 
 If she stood before thee smiling, 
 And those lips which have been silent 
 Might and would confess to thee. 
 
 < ' Will she love, then ? " Ah , yes ! " Me ? " 
 
 Yes! - 
 "Will be mine?" Yes. " Constant? say !" 
 
 Yes! 
 
 " Shall we come once more together? " 
 Ah, yes ! " Bind our troth together? " 
 44 Not to part? " Yes, truly yes ! 
 (She veils herself and fades away while she repeats) 
 
 Truly, yes ! 
 
 EriMETHEUS. 
 
 How sweet, O lovely dream-world I But thou 
 
 fad'st away ! 
 
 ( The piercing shrieks of a woman come, from the gar- 
 den.)
 
 PANDORA. 229 
 
 EPIMETIIEUS (springing up). 
 
 How fearful falls the voice of pain when one 
 first wakes. 
 
 (Repeated shrieks.) 
 
 A woman shrieking ! flying ! nearer ! nearer 
 still ! 
 
 EPIMELEIA (inside the garden, close by the hedge). 
 Ai ! Ai ! Woe, woe to me ! Woe ! Ai ! Ai 1 
 Woe to me ! 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Epimeleia's voice: she is close behind the hedge. 
 
 EPIMELEIA (hastily leaping over). 
 
 Woe! Murder and death! Ai! Woe to the 
 murderer ! 
 
 PHILEROS (springing after). 
 In vain ! Already do I seize thy braided hair. 
 
 EPIMELEIA. 
 
 Upon my neck, alas! the murderer's breath I 
 feel.
 
 230 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Feel rather at thy neck, traitress, the axe'a 
 edge ! 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Off ! Daughter, thee I free, if guilty or guilt- 
 less. 
 
 EPIMELEIA (sinking down at the left side). 
 
 father ! Like a god a father is to us ! 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Who so audacious from this precinct drives 
 thee ? 
 
 PHILEROS (at the right of Epimetheus). 
 
 Protect ye not a shameless woman's cursed 
 head. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS (protecting her with his mantle). 
 
 1 save her, murderer, from thee and every 
 
 PHILEROS (going round to the left of Epimetheus). 
 
 But I will strike her even under thy mantle's 
 night.
 
 PANDORA. 231 
 
 EPIMELEIA (turning and throwing herself on the right 
 of her father). 
 
 O father ! I am lost ! Save me from vio- 
 lence ! 
 
 PHILEROS (behind Epimetkeus, turning to the right). 
 The knife may miss, perchance, yet missing it 
 shall strike. 
 
 (He wounds Epimeleia in the neck.) 
 
 EPIMELEIA. 
 
 Ai! Ai! Woe is me! 
 
 EPIMETHEUS (averting the blows). 
 
 Woe to us! Violence! 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 But scratched ! soon wider doors I '11 open for 
 thy soul! 
 
 EPIMELEIA. 
 
 misery! misery 1 
 
 EPIMETHEUS (defending her). 
 
 Help ! Woe to us ! Woe !
 
 232 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS (cominff quickly Jorward). 
 What cry of murder do I hear in this still place ? 
 
 EPIMKTHEUS. 
 
 Help, brother ! Hasten to us with thy mighty 
 arm. 
 
 EPIMELEIA. 
 
 Quicken thy hurrying steps! Hasten, deliverer! 
 here! 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Finish, O hand! and let deliverance lag behind. 
 
 PROMETHEUS (stepping between them). 
 Go back, thou wretched man! Thou foolish 
 
 raver, back! 
 
 Is it thou, Phileros? Madman, I hold thee fast. 
 [He seizes him. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 My father, let me go! Thy presence I respect. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The father's absence also honors the good son. 
 I hold thee now! here in the grasp of my 
 strong fist,
 
 PANDORA. 233 
 
 That ye may learn how crime first seizes upon 
 
 men, 
 And wise power holds at once the evil doer 
 
 fast. 
 To murder here! the unarmed! Go hence to 
 
 rob and fight 
 
 Whither unrule is rule! For where the law- 
 yet reigns, 
 Where parents' will itself is law, there thou art 
 
 naught. 
 Hast thou not seen these chains, these mighty 
 
 brazen chains? 
 From metal forged for the twin horns of the 
 
 wild bull? 
 Yet for the unrestrained of human-kind more 
 
 fit! 
 Thy limbs shall be weighed down by them; a 
 
 clanking noise 
 Shall mark thy footsteps' wheresoever thou 
 
 shalt go. 
 
 And yet what need of chains? Thou art con- 
 victed now, 
 Condemned! Go yonder, seek and find the 
 
 craggy rocks 
 Far over sea and land where justly we fling 
 
 down
 
 234 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 The madman, who like beast or like blind ele- 
 ment, 
 Reckless and headlong drives to perish in the 
 
 void. 
 
 (He sets him free.) 
 
 But now I loose my grasp! Out with thee, get 
 thee hence! 
 
 Repent thou mayst, or be thyself thy punish- 
 ment. 
 
 PHILEROS. 
 
 Thus thinkest thou, father, thy duty is done 
 
 If the course of inflexible justice be run? 
 
 And countest thou nothing the infinite power 
 
 Which brought me, once happy, to this wretched 
 hour? 
 
 What lies on the ground in this bloody dis- 
 tress ? 
 
 'Tis my lady, 'tis she I obeyed, I confess. 
 
 These hands that now struggle, these arms now 
 fear-shaken, 
 
 These arms and these hands are the same love 
 hath taken. 
 
 Why shudder, ye lips? Why complainest, 
 thou, breast? 
 
 Ye are signals unspoken of treacherous quest.
 
 PANDORA. 235 
 
 Treacherous, yes! What she sacredly gave, 
 She granted a second, a third might yet have. 
 Now tell me, O father, who gave at her 
 
 birth 
 
 This one fearful perfected power to earth? 
 And who brought her hither, by what hidden 
 
 way 
 
 Came she from Olympus, or Hades, astray? 
 Far sooner from destiny's hand mayst thou fly 
 Than escape the devouring glance of her eye ; 
 Far sooner.the fates' unavoidable snare 
 Than the entangling meshes of that flowing 
 
 hair; 
 
 Far sooner Sahara's bewildering stress 
 Than the restless environing waves of her 
 
 dress. 
 
 (Epimetheus has raised Epimeleia and brought her 
 round consolingly in such manner that her posture 
 suits the words of Phileros.) 
 Can this be Pandora? Her thou hast seen 
 
 once, 
 
 The undoing of fathers, the woe of the sons; 
 Hephaistos adorned her with splendors un- 
 told, 
 Therein the gods ruin enwove with each fold.
 
 236 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 How bright shone the vase! O how fairly 
 
 *t was wrought! 
 Wherefrom heaven poured the bewildering 
 
 draught. 
 What hides in this coyness ? The boldness of 
 
 wrong ; 
 Unfaith here lies hid beneath laughter and 
 
 song; 
 The light of her face, mock and jesting are 
 
 found : 
 Under breasts of a goddess the heart of a 
 
 hound. 
 
 tell me I lie! Only say she is pure! 
 
 More welcome unreason than reason made 
 
 sure. 
 
 From unreason to reason how joyous the way, 
 From reason to unreason ! what grief, what 
 
 dismay! 
 Now is your stern command the breath of my 
 
 breath; 
 
 1 fly to fulfill it, I seek but for death ; 
 Deep down to her life she sucked my life in, 
 There now remains nothing to lose or to win. 
 
 [Got*.
 
 PANDORA. 237 
 
 PROMETHEUS (to Epimeleio). 
 
 Art thou ashamed ! Dost thou confess the 
 charge he makes? 
 
 EriMETIIEUS. 
 
 Perplexed indeed am I by what has happened 
 
 EPIMELEIA (stepping between the two). 
 Undisturbed, as one, together wandering; 
 Circling planets shine on us below them; 
 Moonlight touches all the peaks above us; 
 In the foliage stir the little breezes, 
 To the breezes whispers Philomela, 
 Breathes the gladness of her youthful bosom, 
 Wakened fresh from happy dreams of spring- 
 time. 
 
 Why, ye gods, O why is all unending 
 Save our happiness, all, all, unending ! 
 Light of stars, the moon with her soft shimmer, 
 Cooling shadows, water's fall and murmur, 
 All unending, save alone our gladness. 
 
 Hear how sweet ! Upon a folded leaflet 
 Placed between his lips the shepherd whistles;
 
 238 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Cheerful prelude of the midday cricket 
 Early spreading wide throughout the meadows. 
 Yet is music of the* chorded lyre 
 Different to the heart: to that we listen, 
 Saying, who wanders thitherward so early? 
 Who to golden strings can sing so ably? 
 Thus the maiden questions, now she opens 
 Quick the shutter, listens at the casement, 
 And the youth marks; there is -Some one stir- 
 ring ! 
 
 Who? He longs to know and lingers spying; 
 So both linger spying at each other; 
 Each the other sees in twilight glimmer. 
 What is seen they think enough is known of, 
 What they know, of that they wish possession. 
 Longing fills their heart, their arms outstretch- 
 ing 
 
 Soon embrace; it is a holy compact; 
 Hearts are glad in light of this fulfilling. 
 
 Why, ye gods, ah why is all unending 
 All unchanging, save alone our gladness! 
 Light of stars, and love's dear affirmation; 
 Gleam of moon, and love's complete confiding; 
 Depth of shade, and love's inviolate longing, 
 All unending, only ends our gladness.
 
 PANDORA. 239 
 
 Leave my bleeding wound! O leave it, father! 
 Slowly the thickening stream will stay itself; 
 Let alone, the wound will soon be healing ; 
 But the heart's blood stagnant in the bosom, 
 Will that current ever be set flowing? 
 Stricken heart, wilt thou renew thy beating? 
 
 He is fled! Thy sternness drove him from us. 
 Ah! I could not stay him, the rejected, 
 While he raved at me and cursed blaspheming. 
 Welcome now, despite his rage and cursing; 
 For he loved me even while he scorned me; 
 I was sweet to him even while he cursed me: 
 Why did he mistake thus his beloved? 
 Will he live that he mny come to know her? 
 
 Left unlatched for him the garden wicket, 
 I confess; for why should I deny it? 
 Trouble conquers shame. A shepherd, straying, 
 Pushed the gate and opened it exploring ; 
 Bold and stealthy, soon the garden found he 
 Where I waited ; there he seized upon me ; 
 In an instant found himself was captured 
 By one closely following. This one left me, 
 Turned and fled, though he was followed swiftly
 
 240 UXDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 After, whether slain or not, what know I? 
 
 Phileros then chased me, pouring curses 
 
 On my footsteps ; I sprang flying 
 
 Through* the bush and blossoms till the hedge- 
 row 
 
 Stopped me; then, fear- winged, I leaped me 
 over 
 
 Into the open country: quickly also 
 
 Leaped he over; all the rest ye know of. 
 
 Dearest father! Has Epimeleia 
 Suffered for thee many days of trouble, 
 Sadly now she beareth her own sorrow, 
 And remorse comes dogging sorrow's footsteps. 
 Still my cheeks may blush from Eos' kisses, 
 But no more from his! and Helios lighten 
 Pleasant paths he never more may visit. 
 Let me go, O fathers, and be hidden ; 
 Scorn me not forlorn, nor still my weeping ; 
 Ah, what sadness! Ah, what grief unending! 
 Losing of a love so wholly granted! 
 
 PHOMETHKUS. 
 
 Who is this child divine, wearing this noble 
 form?
 
 PANDORA. 241 
 
 Like to Pandora, though she more cai'essing 
 
 seems 
 And lovelier; HER beauty almost terrified. 
 
 EPIMBTHKUS. 
 
 Pandora's daughter proudly do I claim for 
 
 mine. 
 Epimeleia did we name the -thoughtful child. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Why didst thou hide from me thy bliss of fath- 
 erhood ? 
 
 EPIMETUEUS. 
 
 Estranged was I from thee, O thou most ex- 
 cellent ! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Because of her whom I did not receive with 
 love. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Her whom you sent away, and whom my heart 
 took home. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Didst thou give refuge, then, unto the danger-
 
 242 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 The heavenly one! avoiding brothers' bitter 
 feud. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 How long remained the fickle one true unto 
 thee? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Her image still is true: it stands forever near. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 And in her daughter's presence tortures thee 
 afresh. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Even grief itself for such a treasure is delight. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The hands of man can treasures daily find for 
 him. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Unworthy they, if he find not the highest good. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The highest good! methinks all good to me is 
 like.
 
 PANDORA. 243 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 All, no! one passes all, and this one I have 
 had! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 I seem to guess the path by which thou goest 
 astray. 
 
 EPIMETIIEUS. 
 
 I do not go astray ; the right path beauty takes. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 In form of woman all too lightly she misleads. 
 
 El'IMETJIEUS. 
 
 Thou formest women which in no way can 
 mislead. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Yet are they shaped of finest clay, even the 
 most rude. 
 
 EPIMETHKUS. 
 
 Foredestined by the man to serve him as his 
 slave. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Then be a servant, thou, who scorn'st the faith- 
 ful maid.
 
 244 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 EPIMKTHEUS. 
 
 I cease to answer thee ; what on ray heart and 
 
 sense 
 Is graven, in the silence gladly I rehearse. 
 
 0, memory! what god-like power indeed is 
 
 thine! 
 
 Again dost thou restore her young and noble 
 form. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 1, too, recall her lofty form from out the past; 
 Hephaistos himself could not succeed thus, 
 
 twice. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 But why must thou rehearse this fable of her 
 
 birth? 
 From out the god -like old Titanic race she 
 
 sprang ; 
 Urania's child, sister of Here and of Zeus. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Yet thoughtfully Hephaistos her grace adorned; 
 A golden head-net first he wove with skillful 
 
 hand, 
 The finest threads enwrought in various colors 
 
 knit.
 
 PANDORA. 245 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 This sacred confine could not hold her flowing 
 
 hair, 
 That brown, abounding, and defiant wealth of 
 
 hair ; 
 One flaming lock rose shining from above her 
 
 brow. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 And therefore did he wind about it well- wrought 
 chains. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 She wove that wondrous hair herself in shining 
 
 braids, 
 Which, serpent like, unbound, down to her 
 
 ankles fell. 
 
 PUOMETHEUS. 
 
 Her diadem no rival had save Aphrodite's! 
 Like fire, beyond all words to tell, it strangely 
 shone. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 I only see where the familiar garland droops 
 With full-blown flowers to hide her forehead 
 and her brows,
 
 246 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 The envious ones ; as warriors do their arch- 
 ers hide 
 
 With shields, so cover they the arrows of her 
 eyes. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 I saw that garland was confined by chain-like 
 
 bands, 
 Which round her shoulders lightly curled and 
 
 fluttered down. 
 
 EPIMKTHEUS. 
 
 The white pearls of her ears still float before 
 
 my sight 
 As freely in its grace she turned her noble head. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The threaded gifts of Amphitrite bound her 
 
 throat. 
 And then her garments' blooming field, how 
 
 wonderful ! 
 Her bosom veiled with varied splendors rich as 
 
 spring. 
 
 KPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Upon that bosom where, I, happy, have been 
 clasped !
 
 PANDORA. 247 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Above all things, the girdle's art is worthy 
 praise. 
 
 EPIMETHKUS. 
 
 That very girdle which I loving have unloosed! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 First learned I from the dragon which her arm 
 
 enwound 
 How, serpent-like, hard metal may contract and 
 
 stretch. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 And me, with these affectionate arms she hath 
 embraced. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Her slender hand was greatened by her daz- 
 zling rings. 
 
 KPIMETHEUS. 
 
 That hand outstretched so often giving my 
 heart joy. 
 
 PKOMKTHEUS. 
 
 Did not her skill in art rival Athene's power?
 
 248 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 I know not: her soft fingers brought me but 
 caressing. 
 
 PROMETHKUS. 
 
 Her mantle was quite worthy of Athene's 
 loom. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 It swelling moved behind her steps in shimmer- 
 ing waves. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The dazzling edge confused even the keenest 
 eye. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 She drew the world upon the path that she 
 would go. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Enwroucrht were giant flowers, a horn of plenty 
 each. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Rich cups from whence leaped out quick creat- 
 ures of the chase. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The roe sprang forth to fly, tlu> lion (o pursue.
 
 PANDORA. 249 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Who looked upon her robe, her moving foot 
 
 once seen, 
 Responsive like the hand answering the touch 
 
 of love ! 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Here, too, unwearied, showed the artist's fur- 
 ther skill; 
 
 Her footstep speeding with soft yielding soles 
 of gold. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Like one with wings ! she hardly seemed to 
 touch the earth. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The golden lacings lightly clasped her ankles 
 round. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Recall not back to me the splendor of her 
 form! 
 
 To her, all-gifted, I had nothing more to give : 
 
 The fairest, richest in adornment, she was 
 mine! 
 
 I gave myself to her, and thus first found my- 
 self.
 
 250 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 And still unhappy, thus she tears thee from 
 thyself ! 
 
 EFIMETHEUS. 
 
 And yet, forever is she mine, the shining one! 
 
 The fullness of blessedness, this have I found! 
 Beauty's self I possessed, by her I was bound; 
 With Spring, her attendant, she stepped gayly 
 
 on, 
 I knew her and grasped her, and fate's work 
 
 was done! 
 
 As the mist of delusion is chased by the sun, 
 She drew me from earth, and our heaven was 
 
 won. 
 
 Thou seekest for words the most worthy to 
 
 praise her; 
 Would st thou place her on high, higher yet her 
 
 steps raise her; 
 With the best wouldst compare her, how bad 
 
 seems the best ; 
 She speaks, has found truth, while thy mind is 
 
 in quest.
 
 PANDORA. 251 
 
 She wins even while ye contend in hot zest ; 
 Thou wouhlst serve her, already her slave thou 
 dost rest. 
 
 Love and goodness are each in her shape to be 
 
 seen. 
 What use is high station ? She maketh it 
 
 mean. 
 She stands at the goal, and she wingeth the 
 
 flight; 
 If she crosses thy path, she stays thee at 
 
 sight. 
 A bargain wouldst-drive, gives the price a new 
 
 height, 
 Thy wealth and thy wisdom must purchase her 
 
 right. 
 
 Descending she takes varied forms as her shield ; 
 
 She floats on the water, she walks in the field ; 
 
 Her bearing, her voice, are of standards di- 
 vine, 
 
 And the form doth but render the essence more 
 fine ; 
 
 She gives unto both of all nature's best wine; 
 
 A woman and young, it is thus she was mine!
 
 232 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 The beauty and the bliss of youth are close 
 
 allied ; 
 Upon these summits mortals may not linger 
 
 long. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 And even in their change both are forever 
 sweet; 
 
 Eternal to the chosen ones is joy once known. 
 
 So freshly glorified Pandora's face appeared, 
 
 Shining from out the veil woven of many 
 hues, 
 
 Which now she throws around her, hiding god- 
 like limbs. 
 
 Her countenance, alone revealed, far lovelier 
 seems 
 
 Than when 't was rivaled by the beauty of her 
 form. 
 
 It now becomes the perfect mirror of her soul. 
 
 And she, the loveliest, sweetest, most confiding, 
 yea, 
 
 Trustful, was still more pleasing as a mystery. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Such transmutation signifies renewing joy.
 
 PANDORA. 253 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 And new joys, she, grief-bringing, unto me did 
 give. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Then tell me ! follows grief so quickly after joy ? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 One perfect day the world was breaking into 
 
 bloom 
 She met me in the garden covered with her 
 
 veil, 
 No more alone : for nestled in each arm she 
 
 rocked 
 A darling child; two daughters, twins, these 
 
 half concealed. 
 She lingered that my great astonishment and 
 
 bliss 
 She might behold, my rapture as I pressed 
 
 them close. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Alike were the two children, say, or different? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Unlike and like ; resembling each the other 
 much.
 
 254 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Perchance one wore the father's, one the moth- 
 er's look. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Thou hast the truth, as fits the experienced 
 
 mind. 
 Then said she to me : u Choose, one shall be 
 
 trusted unto thee, 
 And one to me in keeping 1 Quickly make thy 
 
 choice ! 
 
 Epimeleia call thou this ; Elpore this ! " 
 I looked upon them. Roguishly the latter 
 
 peeped 
 From out her mother's veil ; when she had 
 
 caught my look, 
 She drew her back and hid upon that loving 
 
 breast. 
 Her sister, on the other hand, calm, almost 
 
 sad, 
 After she first had fixed her gaze upon my 
 
 face, 
 Still steadfast looked, holding mine eye fixed 
 
 to her own, 
 And won my heart to her, and would not let 
 
 me go:
 
 PANDORA. 255 
 
 She leaned toward me, stretching out her 
 
 hand, and sought 
 My help with the strong glance of one who 
 
 thirsts for love. 
 How could I withstand this ! I took her in my 
 
 arms, 
 Then feeling first a father, clasped her to my 
 
 breast, 
 And strove to banish from her brow too early 
 
 care. 
 So stood I, nor conceived Pandora vanished 
 
 thus. 
 
 I followed gayly, calling her, already far; 
 But she, half turning toward me as I chased her 
 
 steps, 
 
 Waved with her hand an unmistakable fare- 
 well; 
 I stood and looked as turned to stone : I see 
 
 her yet ! 
 Three full-grown cypresses stand stretching 
 
 up toward heaven 
 There, wht-re she took her way. She, turning 
 
 in her flight, 
 The child once more uplifted, once more showed 
 
 it me, 
 Already unattainable within her arms;
 
 256 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 And then, in the next instant, moving past 
 
 those trees, 
 She vanished. Never have I seen her form 
 
 again. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Yet not so wonderful should this appear to one 
 
 Who binds himself unto the demons thus god- 
 sent. 
 
 Nor blame I thee for thy great woe, poor wid- 
 ower! 
 
 Who once was glad he still repeats his joy in 
 grief. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Indeed do I repeat it! Still those cypress trees 
 Remain niy only walk. There yet after my 
 
 love 
 I gaze where last she faded, passing from my 
 
 sight. 
 Perchance, I thought, by this same path she 
 
 will return, 
 And while my tears ran fountains, clasped my 
 
 child 
 Close, in its mother's stead. She looked on 
 
 me and wept, 
 Wondering, and moved by innocent sympathy.
 
 PANDORA. 257 
 
 So do I live and wear the endless wasting 
 
 time, 
 
 Supported by my daughter's ever tender care, 
 She who has now grown needful of her father's 
 
 thought, 
 Beyond endurance tried by most unhappy love. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Hast thou heard nothing from the twain in all 
 this time ? 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 Cruelly kind sometimes she comes, a morning 
 dream 
 
 In splendor, led by Phosphoros: and flattering 
 flow 
 
 Promises from her lips; caressing she draws 
 near, 
 
 Then wavering vanishes. By eternal change 
 
 Thus she deceives my grief, deceives by her 
 sweet " Yes," 
 
 Me, the imploring one, that she will still re- 
 turn. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 I know Elpore, brother; therefore am I kind 
 17
 
 258 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Unto your pain, and grateful for my human 
 
 race. 
 Thou and the goddess to it brought a lovely 
 
 form, 
 Although so close allied to those, the mist-born 
 
 ones; 
 
 Forever pleasing, she deceives the innocent; 
 No son of earth would be without her. To the 
 
 short-sight 
 
 She is a second eye: may all have joy of. her! 
 But them, who strengthenest thy daughter, 
 
 strengthen thou 
 
 What ! canst thou not hear me ? Has the past 
 
 all thine heart? 
 
 EPIMKTIIEUS. 
 
 Who from his fair one is doomed to be parted, 
 
 Let him flee, in his going, with face turned 
 away ! 
 
 If he, looking back, still must gaze broken- 
 hearted, 
 
 She draws him, ah ! drags him, forever astray. 
 
 Question ye not by the side of the dear one, 
 Must she go ? Must / go ? A terrible pain
 
 PANDORA. 259 
 
 Would seize upon thee, turning thee into 
 
 stone, 
 And despair would but make a loss of thy 
 
 gaiu. 
 
 If thou canst weep, and while tears come 
 
 thronging 
 
 See her, through distancing tears, as afar; 
 Stay ! it may yet be! to love and to longing 
 Bendeth the night's most immovable star. 
 
 To hold her once more! once more feel the 
 
 sweet wonder ! 
 
 Joy to embrace and life disposessed! 
 If no stroke of lightning shall rend ye asunder. 
 More closely press ye, then, breast unto 
 
 breast. 
 
 Who from his fair one is doomed to be parted, 
 
 Let him flee, in his going, with face turned 
 away! 
 
 If he, looking back, still must gaze broken- 
 hearted, 
 
 She draws him, ah ! drags him, forever astray.
 
 260 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 May that be called a blessing, which by its 
 presence 
 
 Shuts out and turns away whatever brings de- 
 light, 
 
 And, absent, torment gives, denying all com- 
 fort! 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 To lovers, fairest solace is unsolaced grief; 
 Ever to strive for what is lost is finding more 
 Than to grasp after new. What sorrow and 
 
 vain care ! 
 Seeking to bring back what has passed so far, 
 
 and win 
 The unrestorable ! Ah! empty, fatal pain! 
 
 Deep in the night plunges my sense 
 Down through the shadows, seeking afar 
 One figure, one look! Scarcely so clear 
 She in the day stood to my view. 
 
 Hardly to waver, seemed the sweet form ; 
 Swiftly she steps, just as of yore! 
 Nearer she comes! Shall we embrace? 
 Now she is gone, thing of the clouds.
 
 PANDORA. 261 
 
 Soon she returns, brought by desire, 
 Wavering now, floating in air, 
 Now like another, now like herself, 
 Vanishing still, keen though the sight. 
 
 Hither she comes, yet once again, 
 Clearer than ever stands in my path; 
 Glorious! let me have chisel or brush! 
 Turning mine eye frights her away. 
 
 Vain is the toil ! There is no grief 
 Deeper than this, sadder than this! 
 Stern though the laws Minos hath made, 
 Shadows henceforth ever are dear. 
 
 Once more let me strive hither to draw 
 Thee now, my wife! hold thee embraced, 
 Once more my joy! 't is but a shade! 
 Now it grows dim, now it dissolves. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Dissolve thou not, my brother, swallowed up in 
 
 grief! 
 Thou god-descended, think thou yet on nobler 
 
 years!
 
 262 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Unfitly come not tears unto the eye of youth; 
 They strain the eye of age: I pray thee weep 
 thou not. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 The gift of tears can soften even the sharpest 
 
 pain; 
 They gladly flow as if to heal the inner smart. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Look up, beyond thy grief! See yonder the red 
 
 heaven ! 
 Hath Eos failed to find her accustomed path 
 
 to-day V 
 From mid-sky hither see where dances a red 
 
 glow! 
 A fire from out thy woods, thy dwellings it may 
 
 be, 
 Appears to flame ! Fly thou ! The presence of 
 
 the lord 
 Is often cause of good, and may stem many a 
 
 loss. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 "What have I now to lose, Pandora being gone! 
 Let these be burned! Much better may be 
 built again.
 
 PANDORA. 263 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Undoing is a good when there is no more use ; 
 
 And willingly I help! But accident we hate. 
 
 Fly quickly, therefore, seek the men most near 
 to us 
 
 In thy command. Bid them withstand the rag- 
 ing flames. 
 
 Already do I hear the thickly swarming crowds, 
 
 Equally quick alike to ruin or protect. 
 
 EPIMELEIA. 
 
 Help I cry for, 
 Not fur me, no 
 I have no need 
 Listen, hear it! 
 Help thotse yonder ; 
 Ruin threatens: 
 I was ruined 
 Long, how long, since. 
 
 When he, death-struck, 
 Fell, my shepherd, 
 Luck then fied too; 
 Vengeance now works : 
 Waste and loss come 
 From his race here.
 
 264 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Fall the fences, 
 Breaks the woodland, 
 Mighty flames rise. 
 Through the red smoke 
 Seethes the balsam 
 From the pitch-pine. 
 
 Now the roof goes, 
 Quickly burns up. 
 Cracks the ridge-pole 
 Ah! it falls down, 
 Falls on my head, 
 Far though I be ! 
 Guilt is seen clear! 
 Eyes bend on me, 
 Dark brows comma- i 
 Justice to seek. 
 
 Turn I may not 
 Where my loved oje 
 Phileros mad, 
 Hath cast him down 
 In the sea-wave. 
 Whom he loves shall 
 Worthy prove her!
 
 PANDORA. 265 
 
 Love and remorse drive 
 Me thus flameward, 
 Who in rage fled 
 Love's fierce burning. 
 
 EPIMETHEUS. 
 
 I will save her, 
 Her, my only! 
 I defend her 
 With my full strength, 
 Till Prometheus 
 Send his army. 
 Then renew we 
 Angry contests; 
 We shall free us; 
 They shall fly then, 
 Flames extinguished. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Up, the work calls ! 
 See them swarm now 
 Round the steep cliffs 
 Of your night home; 
 Up through bushes, 
 On the roof-top, 
 Buzzing, striving.
 
 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Ere ye draw off 
 To the far land, 
 Be ye helpful 
 To your neighbor. 
 Seek to free him 
 From this blow of 
 Savage vengeance. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 The masters' call, 
 The fathers' need, 
 We follow, all, 
 At our best speed ; 
 Born thus to find 
 Our way through strife ; 
 Like storm and wind, 
 It is our life. 
 
 We go, we go, 
 And nothing say 
 Of why we go, 
 Or what the way : 
 And sword or spear 
 We bear afar, 
 And there or here 
 We fear no scar.
 
 PANDORA. 267 
 
 We follow brave, 
 To try our powers, 
 What gain we have 
 The gain is ours. 
 Would any keep 
 What we have won, 
 They waste and weep 
 Ere they have done. 
 
 Has one enough, 
 Yet wishes more, 
 Then, wild and rough, 
 We snatch his store. 
 His home is sacked, 
 His house is burned, 
 His goods are packed, 
 Ere we have turned. 
 
 Quick from the place 
 The first is gone, 
 And draws apace 
 The second on. 
 Through thick and thin 
 The best must break, 
 The last come in 
 Their rights to take.
 
 268 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Ready are ye 
 For good or ill 1 
 Devote ye, see 
 Ye work my will. 
 Up ! Easy sons, 
 Bring your swift stroke, 
 The mighty ones 
 Shall feel the yoke. 
 
 Here wise and gladly works the high compelling 
 
 power 
 
 Of voluntary service ; the fire already pales, 
 And, brother-like, my race their worthy labor 
 
 brings. 
 
 Now Eos, undelaying, swiftly strives to mount, 
 In maiden beauty springing, scattering crim- 
 son flowers 
 From v her full hands. See, on the fringe of 
 
 every cloud, 
 How rich they bloom, shifting their hues in 
 
 endless change! 
 So lovely steps she, such is her increasing 
 
 charm 
 The son of earth is wont to veil his too weak 
 
 sight,
 
 PANDORA. 2G9 
 
 Lest Helios' arrows should by chance my people 
 
 blind ; 
 The illumined they may look upon, but not the 
 
 light. 
 
 EOS (rising from the ocean}. 
 
 Youth thy roses, day thy blossoms, 
 Sweeter bring I now than ever, 
 From the unexplored recesses, 
 From unsounded deeps of ocean. 
 Speedily the day hath banished 
 Sleep, that dwells around these waters, 
 Haunts this rock-encircled harbor; 
 Earnest fisher, fresh from slumber, 
 Take your implements in hand ! 
 
 Quickly now your nets unwinding, 
 Girdle ye the well-known precinct! 
 Certain of a lucky capture, 
 Cheerily I urge ye on. 
 Swim, O swimmer! Dive, O diver! 
 Watch, O watcher, from the cliff-side! 
 Banks shall swarm as swarm the waters 
 With the tide of busy doers.
 
 270 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Thou flying one, why dost thou stay thy foot- 
 step here? 
 Why fixest thou thy glance upon this harbor 
 
 shore ? 
 Whom dost thou summon, ever-dumb, whom 
 
 dost command ? 
 
 Since no one hears beside, this time speak 
 thou to me ! 
 
 EOS. 
 
 Save this youth, O save him, save him! 
 Who, despairing and love-drunken, 
 Drunken for revenge and chided, 
 Down into the veiling waters, 
 From the rock hath flung himself. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 What do I hear ? Hath Phileros obeyed the 
 word , 
 
 And sought a watery death, himself con- 
 demned to die? 
 
 Up! let us fly, that I may give him back to 
 life. 
 
 EOS. 
 
 Stay, O Father! Has thy chiding 
 Driven him to seek his ending?
 
 PANDORA. 271 
 
 All thy wisdom, all thy striving, 
 Cannot bring him back to thee. 
 Only will of gods all mighty, 
 Moved by the unwasted striving 
 Of his life, so pure and simple, 
 Gives him, new-born, back to thee. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Is he then rescued? Answer me, and seest 
 thou him? 
 
 KOS. 
 
 Yonder see the stalwart swimmer, 
 Down he dives beneath the waters; 
 For the joy of life upholds him, 
 Will not suffer him to sink. 
 Gently sport the waves around him, 
 Crisply curling, fresh as morning, 
 Bearing him their lovely burden, 
 Who but plays among the waves. 
 All the fishers, all the swimmers, 
 Lively gather round about him, 
 Linger near him, not to save him, 
 But to frolic in the bath. 
 There the dolphins dance around them, 
 Form a circle there together,
 
 272 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 Diving down and fetching upward 
 Him, the lovelv, the refreshed; 
 All the floating crowd tumultuous 
 Swiftly bring him back to land. 
 
 And in life as well as freshness 
 Land will nothing yield to ocean; 
 Every hill and every cliff-side, 
 Gladdened by the living crowd! 
 Every vintner from his wine-press, 
 Drawing from his rocky cellar, 
 One cup, then another offers, 
 To the animated waves. 
 Now the god-like one arises, 
 From the sea- foam all-embracing, 
 From the good sea-monsters friendly; 
 Richly decked with mine own roses, 
 lie, an Anadyomen, 
 Seeks the rocks. The crowned goblet 
 By the hand of age is offered, 
 One who, bearded, smiles contented 
 With an air most like to Bacchus. 
 
 Clash, ye cymbals! Sound, ye timbrels! 
 Press ye round him, blessing him,
 
 PANDORA. 273 
 
 While I bathe his lovely person 
 
 With my glances full of love. 
 
 From his shoulders skins of panthers 
 
 Fall, his tender thighs half-hiding ; 
 
 In his hands he holds the thyrsus, 
 
 And how like a god lie steps. 
 
 Hear'st rejoicing? Ilear'st the clanging? 
 
 Now the day's exalted festal, 
 
 Now the general joy begins. 
 
 PKOMETHEUS. 
 
 Why tell me of thy festivals? I love them not; 
 The weary find enough refreshment every 
 
 night. 
 In doing, the true man finds his best holiday! 
 
 Varied riches changing hours bring to us; 
 But the hours of joy are the god-chosen! 
 Eos glances toward the heavenly spaces, 
 Where she sees the fate of day unfolded. 
 Thence the worthiest, loveliest, descending, 
 Hidden first, but soon to be laid open, 
 Is revealed, and soon again is hidden. 
 Phileros steps forth from out the waters, 
 18
 
 274 UNDER THE OLIVL. 
 
 From the flame comes out Epimeleia; 
 
 Now they meet again, and each the other 
 
 Feels as if the same and yet another. 
 
 Thus in love united, doubly joyful, 
 
 Take they up their journey. Heaven sends 
 
 downward 
 
 Both by word and deed a blessing on them ; 
 Gifts descend were formerly undreamed of. 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 New things please me not, sufficient favor 
 Now already has this race of mortals. 
 Only in the present do they sojourn, 
 Rarely dwell on yesterday's achievements, 
 On its loss or gain ; the whole is vanished. 
 Even grasp they roughly at the moment 
 What they meet with, take it to themselves, 
 
 then, 
 
 Careless, fling it from them, never thinking 
 Of the seed that sleeps within its essence. 
 This I blame ; yet neither speech nor lesson, 
 Nor example, even, can avail them. 
 They go onward like to thoughtless children, 
 Groping after what the day contains. 
 Could the past be treasured in their spirit,
 
 PANDORA. 275 
 
 Moulding fitly by its light the present, 
 This were well for all : thus could I wish it. 
 
 Longer I may not stay, for Helios' coming 
 Drives me unresisting with his arrows. 
 In his shining glance already tremble 
 Fainting drops of dew which star my garland. 
 Father of men, farewell ! I pray you listen : 
 Remember, the desired is what earth wishes, 
 But what is best to give is known in heaven. 
 The Titans begin greatly; but to follow 
 On to eternal good, eternal beauty, 
 This is the gods' work; let us trust their work 
 iiig.
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PRELUDE. (Page 3.) 
 
 "I compared the Greek world with the period of ado- 
 lescence, not in the sense, that youth bears within it 
 a serious anticipative destiny, and consequently, by 
 the very conditions of its culture, urges towards an 
 ulterior aim, presenting thus an inherently incomplete 
 and immature form, and being the most defective when 
 it would deem itself perfect, but in the sense, that 
 youth does not yet present the activity of work does 
 not yet exert itself for a definite intelligent aim, but 
 rather exhibits the concrete freshness of the soul's 
 life." HEGEL'S Philosophy of History. 
 
 THE LYRIC MUSE. (Page 11.) 
 U 0u trouver les anciens Grecs? Ce n'est pas dans 
 le coin obscur d'une vaste bibliotheque et courbe* sur 
 des pupitres mobiles charges d'une longue suite de
 
 280 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 iTianuscrits poudreux : mais un fusil a la main, dans 
 les forets d'Amerique, chassant avec les sauvages de 
 1'Ouabache. Le cliinat est moins heureux, mais voila 
 oil sont aujourdhui les Achilles et les Hercules." Di 
 STENDHAL. 
 
 " Es wird ein Friihling kommen, 
 Der bringt was ward ienommen, 
 Die Blumen und den Kranz. 
 Sei freudig, pei geschmiicket, 
 Die unschuld is ein Glanz ! 
 
 Und kommt der ernste Winter, 
 Dann sei wie andre Kinder, 
 An meiner Wiege froh.*' 
 Da spracb das Kind ergeben ; 
 " Ja Kind, das will ich so ! 
 
 " All, was du mir bescberet, 
 Hab ich von dir begehret, 
 Mit Liedes Flug und Fall, 
 Drum will ich dir lobsingen 
 Trotz Lerch, trotz Xachtigall." 
 
 PATER FRIFDRICH SPEB 
 
 To TUB POETESS. (Page 15.) 
 Among the ancients Sappho was called "The Poet- 
 ess " and Homer "The Poet." 
 
 44 Chaste Sappho, with thy dark tresses and thy gen- 
 tle smile, fain would I speak, but awe restrains me '* 
 ALC^EUS. 
 Plato calls her the tenth muse. The most important
 
 NOTES. 281 
 
 and only perfect poem preserved to us is a magnificent 
 Ode to the Goddess of Love. See version of this Ode, 
 by Mr. J. A. Symonds, in an appendix to his first 
 series of the Greek poets ; also one by Mr. Edwin Ar- 
 nold in ''Poems" (1880). "There is enough of heart- 
 devouring passion in Sappho's own verse," writes Mr. 
 Symonds, "without the legends of Phaon and the cliff 
 of Leucas. These dazzling fragments 
 
 " ' Which still, like sparkles of Greek fire, 
 Burn on through time and ne'er expire : 
 
 are the ultimate and finished forms of passionate utter- 
 ance." Every vestige that is left of her is shrined in 
 Bergk, pp. 874, 924. 
 
 " poet w.oman ! none foregoes 
 The leap, attaining the repose ! " 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 ^ESCHYLUS. (Page 17.) 
 
 "Old age and decay lay hold of the body, the senses, 
 the memory, the mind, never of the self, the looker- 
 on." MAX MULL.EK, Uphanished. 
 
 From the time of his first tragic victory (Olymp. 73, 4; 
 B. c. 485), JEschylus wrought with all the energy and 
 patience of a great genius at his art. According to the 
 most credible account he won thirteen tragic victories. 
 Yet he is reported to have been exceedingly hurt at 
 the success of Sophocles in tragedy, by whom he was 
 defeated in 468, B. c. See MAHAFFY. 
 
 "To be the centre of a living multitude, the heart of
 
 282 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 their hearts, the brain from which thoughts as waves 
 pass through them, this is the be*t and purest joy which 
 a human being can know." DOWDEN'S Essays. 
 11 Aischulos' bronze-throat eagle-bark at blood 
 Has somehow spoilt my taste for twitterings.'' 
 
 R. BROWMSG, Arist. Ap. p. 94. 
 
 " Je ne puis m'empecher de faire un triste retour de 
 ce grand empire de France sur un petit peuple, le peu- 
 ple d'Athenes. Oil est ici la gravite", la saintete du 
 theatre antique? Savez vous bien qui occupait la 
 scene, qui portait la drame du theatre? Le plus vail- 
 lant soldat Eschyle ; le vainqneur, apres la victoire, 
 venait la raconter lui meme. Et savez-vous qui jouait, 
 quels etaient les acteurs ? C'etaient sou vent les premiers 
 magistrats ; quand il s'agissait de reproduire les heros 
 ou les dieux, ils n'heYitaient pas a paraitre sur la 
 scene, regardant comme une fonction publique dVlever, 
 d'agrandir 1'ame du peuple. Et dans la circonstance 
 la plus grave du monde, apres Marathon, cette mer- 
 veilleuse rictoire de la civilization sur la barbaric, 
 lorsqu' Athenes voulut remercier les dieux de la patrie 
 d'avoir sauve la ville, les magistrats ne f urent pas assez, 
 personne ne parut assez digne; on chercha dans tout 
 le peuple, ou trouva une creature virginale, marque'e 
 du sceau des dieux, rayonnante de jeunesse, de beaut^, 
 fie genie; ce fut le jeune Sophocle qui fut charge de 
 paraitre seul devant les dieux pour la ville d'Athenes. 
 11 avait quinze ans alors, et de quinze ans a- quatre- 
 vingts, par une production non interrompus, dont rien
 
 NOTES. 283 
 
 dans nos ecrivains modernes peut donner l'ide, il fit 
 representer cent drames et fut pendant tout un sie'cle 
 1'interprete du ge*nie d'Athenes et le mediateur entre 
 les dieux et le peuple. MICHKLET, L'Etudiant. 
 11 Athens, a city such as vision 
 Builds from tue purple crags and silver towers 
 Of battlemented cloud, as in derision 
 Of kingliest masonry." 
 
 SHELLEY'S Ode to Liberty. 
 
 SOPHOCLES. (Page 27.) 
 
 " Sophocles, 
 With that king's look." 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 " In Sophocles, tragedy has long since broadened from 
 its source, and the strictly religious motive is veiled 
 under the free handling of triumphant art. Hardly 
 any of his subjects are taken immediately from the 
 Dionysiac legend. The gods seldom come upon the 
 scene, and their several attributes are less distinct than 
 in JEschylus. Their absolute control of human things 
 appears indirectly. They work through the passions 
 of men. But the Bacchic fire still springs forth un- 
 bidden." Sophocles, by LEWIS CAMPBELL, M. A., 
 LL. D., Professor of Greek in the University of St. 
 Andrew. 
 
 "The audience of ^Eschylus and Sophocles were, in 
 fact, the Athenian citizens, en masse, assembled in the 
 spirit of Dionysus at moments of high solemnity, and 
 finding in his observance an outlet for profound emo-
 
 284 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 tions which stirred them individually and socially. 
 They were a people who had lately learned that polit- 
 ical freedom is an excellent thing, but knew not yet 
 all that it meant, or into what struggles and dangers 
 it might hereafter carry them ; a people who had 
 learned and had taught mankind that national inde- 
 pendence is a thing worth fighting for, but had too 
 weak a hold of the other lesson which they had also 
 taught by their example, that the federation of free 
 peoples is nobler than any form of tyranny ; a people 
 with glorious memories and boundless possibilities, but 
 surrounded with unknown dangers. This people gave 
 their whole attention to tragic performances for days 
 together, year after year. Was there ever such an 
 opportunity? And never was great opportunity more 
 grandly met." THE SAME. 
 
 "The primary aim of tragedy is to excite universal 
 sympathy for an ideal sorrow, and to give expression 
 and relief to human emotion. In a great community, 
 there is a mass of grief and care which, in the common 
 daylight of the market-place assembly, is conveniently 
 ignored. Thus each heart is left to a knowledge of its 
 own bitterness, and pines in isolation. But when men 
 are drawn together to a spectacle of imagined woe, 
 placed vividly before the faithful witness of the eye, 
 the fountain of tears within them is unlocked, and so- 
 ciety of grief is gained without confession. Feeling is 
 at once consoled by communion, and sheltered in the 
 privacy of a crowd. Fur all who have any depth ill
 
 NOTES. ^ ' 285 
 
 them, however habitually light-hearted, such an occa- 
 sional overflow is tranquillizing, while those whose 
 burden presses heavily are eased and comforted. They 
 are rapt from the narrow contemplation of their own 
 destiny into a world where all private trouble is anni- 
 hilated, and yet is typified so as to give an excuse for 
 tears. . . .* . A direct result of tragic representation is 
 the enlargement of sympathy. The poet sets before 
 the spectators a life different 'from and yet akin to 
 their.*, which, however strange to them, powerfully 
 stirs their hearts." THE SAMK. 
 
 "Is there in all philosophy a thing more dignified, 
 more holy, or more lofty, than well ordered tragedy; 
 more effective for the concentrated contemplation of 
 the catastrophes and revolutions of human life?" 
 JOHN MILTON. 
 
 "In the Periclean age, reflecting persons, for the 
 first time, formed a clear conception of Human Nature. 
 It is his firm grasp of this idea from the intellectual 
 side that above all else gives permanent value to the 
 work of Thucydides. The same thought is not less 
 clearly apprehended by Sophocles in the form of feel- 
 ing, although in his mind it is never dissociated from 
 the recognition of powers above humanity, of a ' divin- 
 ity that shapes our ends.' Less speculative than ^Eschy- 
 lus, less skeptical than Euripides, he acknowledges in 
 each event a revelation of the divine will, which he 
 regards as just even when inscrutable. But his strong- 
 est lights are thrown upon the human figures them-
 
 286 UND^R THE OLIVE. 
 
 selves, which appear out of the darkness and go into 
 darkness again. So far as this can be achieved by art, 
 the predestined catastrophe is brought about by the 
 natural effect of circumstances on character, according 
 to the saying of Heraclitus in the previous century, 
 'Man's character is his destiny.' The gods are, for 
 the most part, withdrawn to their unseen Olympus, 
 whilst their will is done on earth by seemingly acci 
 dental means. The tradition of a fore-determined doom 
 is used by the poet as an instrument for evoking fear 
 and pity: the blindness of the agents makes us feel 
 doubly for their fate, and gives a deeper impression of 
 the feebleness and nothingness of man. And yet this 
 Man, who is nothing, a shadow passing away, is the 
 central object of our sympathies ; and this life of his, 
 so feeble in the sight of heaven, yet seems with every 
 drama of Sophocles that is seen or read, more rich in 
 noble possibilities." LKWIS CAMPBELL. 
 
 "The (Edipus Coloneus is a sublime religious poem; 
 but. as compared with the two other Theban plays, it 
 must be acknowledged to have less of concentrated 
 tragic power. The dramatic structure is still most ad- 
 mirable, but more scope is given to lyrical and rhetor- 
 ical effects." THE SAME. 
 
 "In the heroes of his extant plays, Sophocles pre- 
 sents five 'ages of man,' the boy, the full-grown 
 warrior, the established ruler, the afflicted solitary, the 
 time-worn wanderer whose end is peace." THE SAME. 
 
 "The most typical and regular in structure of the
 
 NOTES. 287 
 
 choral odes are those which hold a central place in 
 each of the great tragedies, where the action pauses 
 for a moment before hurrying to its consummation : in 
 the Ajax, 'O isle of glory; ' in the Antiyone, 'of won- 
 ders without end, most wonderful is man ; ' in the 
 (Edipus Tyrannus, 'May it be mine to keep the un- 
 written laws;' in the Coloneus, 'Friend, in. this land 
 of noblest steeds thou art come,' etc. In each of these 
 we have a lyric poem of the highest beauty, which at 
 the same time holds a distinct place in the economy of 
 the drama." THE SAME. 
 
 " Who saw life steadily and saw it whole." 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 " The close of Sophocles' life was troubled with fam- 
 ily dissensions. lophon, his son by an Athenian wife, 
 and therefore his legitimate heir, was jealous of the 
 affection manifested by his father for his grandson So- 
 phocles, the offspring of another son, Ariston, whom 
 he had had by a Sicyonian woman. Fearing lest his 
 father should bestow a great part of his property upon 
 his favorite, lophon summoned him before the Phra- 
 tores, or tribesmen, on the ground that his mind was 
 affected. The old man's only reply was, 'If I am 
 Sophocles, I am not beside myself; and if I am beside 
 myself, I am not Sophocles.' Then taking up his 
 (Erfipus at Colomts, which he had lately written, but 
 had not yet brought out, he read from it the beautiful 
 choral ode, with which the judges were so struck they 
 at once dismissed the case. He died shortly afterward,
 
 288 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 in B. c. 406, in his ninetieth year." SMITH'S History 
 of Greece FELTOX. 
 
 "Alcman first gave artistic form to the choral lyric 
 by arranging that the chorus, while singing, should 
 execute alternately a movement to the right (strophe, 
 'turning'), and a movement to the left (antistrophe); 
 and he composed the songs which the chorus was to 
 sing in couples of stanzas called strophe and antistrophe, 
 
 answering to these balanced movements Ste- 
 
 sichorus 'marshal of choruses,' completed the form of 
 the choral lyric .... by adding the epode sung by 
 the chorus while it remained stationary after the move- 
 ments to right and left." R. C. JEBB, M. A., Greek 
 Literature. 
 
 " As an artist, as a perfect exponent of that intense- 
 ly Attic development which in architecture tempered 
 Doric strength with Ionic sweetness, which in sculpture 
 passed from archaic stiffness to majestic action, which 
 in all the arts found the mean between antique repose 
 and modern vividness, as the poet of Athens, in the 
 heyday of Athens, Sophocles stands without an equal. 
 His plots are more ethical than those of Euripides; his 
 skepticism is more reverent or reticent." . . . . MA- 
 HAFFY'S History of Classical Greek Literature. 
 
 "In that elaborate piece of dramatic criticism .... 
 the Frogs, it is extremely interesting to notice both 
 the respectful reserve with which Sophokles is treated 
 as if he were almost above criticism, and the particular 
 force of the few passages in which Aristophanes more
 
 NOTES. 289 
 
 expressly refers to him 'Even-tempered alike 
 
 in life and death, in the world above and in the world 
 below,' is the brief but expressive phrase in which his 
 character is summed up." PIIILII* SMITH, in Clnss. 
 Diet. 
 
 " Sophocles was born in the deme Colonos, within 
 half an hour's walk of Athens, iu the scenery which he 
 describes in his famous chorus of the Second (Edipus, 
 and which has hardly altered up to the present day, 
 amid all the sad changes which have seamed and scarred 
 the fair features of Attica. I know not, indeed, why 
 he calls it the white Colonos, for it was then, as now, 
 hidden in deep and continuous green. The dark ivy 
 and the golden crocus, the white poplar and the gray 
 olive, are still there. The silvery Cephissus still feeds 
 the pleasant rills, with which the husbandman waters 
 his thickly wooded cornfields; and in the deep shade 
 the nightingale? have not yet ceased their plaintive 
 melody. MAHAKFY'S History of Classical Greek Lit- 
 erature. 
 
 "The skill of Sophocles as a dramatic poet is dis- 
 played in all its splendor by the new light thrown upou 
 
 the central figure of GEdipns In his new phase 
 
 the man of haste and wrath is no longer heedless of 
 oracles ; nor does he let their words lie idle in his mind. 
 It is, therefore, with a strong presentiment of approach- 
 ing death that he discovers early in this play that his 
 feet, led by Antigone, have rested in the grove of the 
 Furies at Colonos. The place itself is fair. There are 
 19
 
 290 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 here no Harpy -gorgons with blood-shot eyes, and vipers 
 twining in their matted hair. The meadows are dewy 
 with crocus-flowers and narcissus; in the thickets of 
 olive and laurel nightingales keep singing, and rivu- 
 lets spread coolness in the midst of summer heat. The 
 whole wood is hushed, and very fre>h and wild. A 
 solemn stillness broods there; for the feet of the pro- 
 fane keep far away, and none may tread the valley- 
 lawns but those who have been purified. The ransomed 
 of the Lord walk there. This solemnity of peace per- 
 vades the whole play, forming, to borrow a phrase from 
 painting, the silver-grav harmony of the picture. In 
 thus bringing (Edipus to die among the nnshowered 
 meadows of those Dread Ladies, whom in his troubled 
 life he found so terrible, but whom, in his sublime pas- 
 sage from the world, lie is about to greet resignedly, we 
 may trace peculiar depth of meaning. The thought of 
 death, calm but austere, tempers every scene in the 
 drama- We are in the presence of one whose life is 
 ended, who is about to merge the fever of existence 
 in the tranquillity beyond. This impression of solem- 
 nity is heightened when we remember that the poet 
 wrote the Coloneus in extreme old age. Over him, 
 too, the genius of everlasting repose already spread 
 wings in the twilight, and the mysteries of the grave 
 were nearer to him and more daily present than to 
 other men. J. ADDIXGTON SYMOXDS, Studies of the 
 Greek Poets.
 
 NOTES. 291 
 
 " Let there be light ! said Liberty, 
 And liKe sunrise from the sea, 
 Athens arose ! Around her born, 
 Shone like mountains in the morn 
 Glorious states ; and are they now 
 Ashes, wrecks, oblivion ? Go 
 Where Thermae and Asopus swallowed 
 Persia, as the sand does foam. 
 Deluge upon deluge followed, 
 Discord, Macedon, and Home. 
 And lastly thou ! temples and towers, 
 Citadels and marts, and they 
 Who live and die there have been ours 
 And may be thine, and must decay ; 
 But Greece and her foundations are 
 Built below the tide of war, 
 Based on the crystalline sea 
 Of thought and its eternity : 
 Her citizens, imperial spirits, 
 Kule the present from the past, 
 On all this world of men inherits 
 Their seal is set." 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 EURIPIDES. (Page 37.) 
 
 "Euripides was all his life," says Mahaffy, "apro- 
 ific and popular, though not a successful poet. He 
 was known to have won the first prize only five times, 
 though he may have written ninety tragedies. 
 
 "He has been well called 'der Prophet des Welt- 
 schmerzes."
 
 292 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 " Triumphant play, wherein our poet first 
 Dared bring the grandeur of the tragic two 
 Down to the level of our common life, 
 Close to the beating of our common heart." 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING, Aristophanes' Apology. 
 
 " The lyrics of Euripides are among the choice* 
 treasures of Greek poetry: they flow like mountaii 
 rivulets, flashing with sunbeams, eddying in cool, 
 shad} r places, rustling through leaves of mint, forget- 
 me-not, marsh-marigold, and dock." SYMONDS., 
 Greek Tragedy and Euripides. 
 
 "Erery Greek poet (I might indeed say every poet) 
 is strictly the child of his day, the exponent of a na- 
 tional want, the preacher of a national aspiration, ai 
 once the outcome and the leader of a literary public, or, 
 at least, of a public which craves after spiritual suste- 
 nance But in no case are these considerations 
 
 more important than in that of Euripides, the poet 
 who has bequeathed to us the largest and most varied 
 materials to estimate his age: while, on the other hand, 
 his age the age of Thucydides and of Aristophanes, 
 of Pericles and of Alkibiades, o f Phidias and of Al- 
 kamenes is the best known and most brilliant epoch 
 in Athenian history. He was indeed no public man, 
 but a continued student, a lover of bonks and of soli- 
 tude ; but yet certainly the personal friend of Pericles 
 and Socrates, his elder and younger contemporaries, 
 the hearer of Anaxagoras and Prodicus; if not the ac- 
 tive promoter, at least the close observer, of all that was
 
 NOTES. 293 
 
 great and brilliant in Athens, then the Hellas of Hel- 
 las, the inmost and purest shrine of all the national 
 culture." MAHAFFY, Euripides. 
 
 "When Euripides produced his first play ^Eschylus 
 was just dead, and though Sophocles was in the zenith 
 of his fame, and the delight of all Athens, men must 
 have looked anxiously for the appearance of a new 
 poet, who would succeed to the place left vacant by 
 the veteran dramatist. To such Euripides must have 
 been indued disappointing. 
 
 " His last plays came out about the time of Sophocles' 
 death, when men despaired of seeing any worthy heir 
 of either in tragedy, for the younger generation had 
 tried in vaiu to rival these poets even in their old age, 
 as Aristophanes plainly informs us. Thus our poet's 
 life extended from the noon to the sunset of Greek 
 tragedy. His posthumous plays were the rich after- 
 glow when that glorious day was gone. . . . . We will- 
 ingly believe the story that the aged Sophocles showed 
 deep sorrow at the death of the rival from whom he 
 learned so much ; but, by way of painful contrast, we 
 find Aristophanes composing upon the death of Euri- 
 pides, his bitter and unsparing onslaught in the Frotjs. 
 For at this time, as we shall see in the sequel, the play- 
 going world at Athens was rapidly veering round in 
 favor of the much-abused and oft-slighted poet; and 
 Aristophanes must have felt with disappointment, that 
 the matchless brilliancy of his satire was, after all, 
 powerless against the spirit of the times and the genius
 
 294 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 of his opponent Far deeper than the personal 
 
 griefs of Euripides, there lay upon his spirit the con- 
 stant melancholy of unsolved doubts, of unsettled prob- 
 lems, of seeking for the light in vain, and of hoping 
 against hope for the moral reformation of mankind. 
 Hence our beautiful extant busts and statues represent 
 him worthily as the ' jwet of the world's grief/ gen- 
 tle, subdued, and full of sorrowing sympathy. Nor is 
 there any authentic portrait left us from the great days 
 of Athens so interesting, or so thoroughly cosmopolitan 
 as that of the poet Euripides The continued riv- 
 alry with Sophocles, the most successful of all tragic 
 poets, the darling of Athens, the most consummate art- 
 ist of his day, must have powerfully affected him. The 
 two poets indeed differed widely in their conception of 
 the drama. When they treated the same subjects (as 
 they often did) they appealed to different interests, and 
 seem never to have copied, seldom to have criticised 
 one another. But we find that Euripides, the more 
 conscious and theoretical artist, showed the stronger 
 character even in his art; for the latest extant drama 
 of Sophocles (the Philocletes) shows a striking likeness 
 to the plays of Euripides, while the reverse is anything 
 but true; the latest plays of Euripides (the Bacchoe 
 and Aulid IpMyenia) show no traces of an increased 
 influence from the side of Sophocles. 
 
 " Yet, broadly speaking, it is plain that our poet was 
 no originator in the external appliances, or even in the 
 general internal plan of the Greek drama. His great
 
 NOTES. 295 
 
 predecessors had introduced him to the Muse of Trag- 
 edy, as it were dwelling in a splendid temple, and hon- 
 ored with an established worship No Greek 
 
 poet ever received more constant and unsparing ad- 
 verse criticism, and from the ablest possible critic. To 
 have outlived, nay, to have conquered such attacks, is 
 
 in my mind an astonishing proof of genius The 
 
 present century, while correcting the antipathies of 
 Schlegel's school, has nevertheless not reinstated Euri- 
 pides completely into his former position. 
 
 41 We understand JEschylus at last, and see in him a 
 giant genius, without parallel in the history of Greek 
 literature. We find in Sophocles a more perfect artist, 
 in complete harmony with his materials, and justifying 
 the uniform favor of the Attic public. But many re- 
 cent editors and historians, and one of our greatest 
 poets, Mr. Browning, have set themselves to assert for 
 Euripides his true and independent position- beside those 
 rivals, who have failed to obscure or displace him. The 
 Germans, indeed, still infected by Schlegel, talk of Eu- 
 ripides as the poet of the ochlocracy, that debased 
 democracy which they have invented at Athens, after 
 the suggestion of Thuc3"dides. But a sounder art crit- 
 icism, based upon the results of English and Frencli 
 scholarship, which does not spoil its delicacy and blunt 
 its edge by the weight of erudition, has turned with 
 renewed affection to the sympathetic genius, who de- 
 lighted the wild Parthian chiefs with his Bacchic rev- 
 els, who supplied the patient monk with sorrows for his
 
 296 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 suffering Christ, who witnessed (in truth a very mar- 
 tyr) to truth and nature in the stilted rhetoric of the 
 Koman stage, in the studied pomp of the French court; 
 who fed the youth of Racine and of Voltaire; who 
 revived the slumbering flame of Alfieri's genius; who 
 even in these latter days has occupied great and orig- 
 inal poets of many lands Schiller, Shelley, Alfieri, 
 Browning with the task of reproducing in their 
 tongues his pathos and his power." MAHAFFV on 
 uripides. 
 
 " Our Euripides the human, 
 
 With his droppings of warm tears, 
 And his touches of things common, 
 Till they rose to touch the spheres." 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 " Loved by Sokrates/' 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 "The intimacy of Euripides with Socrates is beyond 
 a doubt, and it is said that the latter never entered the 
 theatre unless when the plays of his friend were acted." 
 SMITH'S Classical Dictionary. 
 
 ;t Lucian, at the beginning of his treatise on the man- 
 ner in which history ought to be written, says that the 
 people of Abdera, a city in Thrace, during the reign of 
 Lysimachus, were so affected by the performance of 
 the Andromede of Euripides that they ran raving about 
 the streets, repeating from il the ' Invocation of Love.' 
 
 " ' Tyrant of gods and men, Love, forbear,' etc.,
 
 VOTES. 297 
 
 fill a severe winter restored them to their senses." 
 WOODHULL'S Translation, quoted from unpublished 
 notes on Aristophanes' Apology of Robert Browning, 
 by L. L. Thaxter. 
 
 THE LANTERN OF SESTOS. (Page 43.) 
 " Among the lonians of Asia Minor was developed 
 the pathetic melody of the Elegiac metre, which first 
 was apparently used to express the emotions of love 
 and sorrow, and afterwards (see (Joethe) ' came to be 
 the vehicle of moral sentiment and all strong feeling.' " 
 J. A. SYMONDS, Studies of the Greek Poets. 
 
 "The idea that Spirit is immortal involves this, 
 that the human individual inherently possesses infinite 
 value. The merely Natural appears limited, absolutely 
 dependent upon something other than itself, and has 
 its existence in that other; but immortality involves 
 the inherent infinitude of Spirit." HEGEL'S Philos- 
 ophy of History. 
 
 "When Leander was drowned, the inhabitants of 
 Sestos consecrated Hero's lanterne to Anteros ; Anteroti 
 sacrum ; and be that had good successe in his love, 
 should light the candle; but never any man was found 
 to light it. BURTON'S Anatomy of Melancholy. 
 
 HELENA. (Page 61.) 
 
 " Was this the fare that launched a thousand ships 
 And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ? " 
 
 MABLOWI
 
 298 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 " The tragic poet who deceived was juster than he 
 who deceived not, and he that was deceived was wiser 
 than he who was not deceived." PLATO'S Gorffins. 
 
 "A theme for the minstrel.' The Odyssey gives 
 us a lively picture of the minstrel (aoidos) bv whom 
 such songs were sung in the halls of princes. A king 
 is going to make a great feast, and bids his herald, the 
 chamberlain of his court, to invite ' the god-like singer; 
 for to him the god has given song abundantly, to glad- 
 den us.' So the chamberlain livings ' the welcome min- 
 strel, whom the'inuse loved exceedingly, and to whom 
 she gave both evil and good; she took away his eye- 
 sight, but she gave him sweet S"iig;' he sets a chair 
 for the minstrel, studded with silver nails, in the midst 
 of the feasters, firm against a tall pillar, and hangs a 
 clear-toned harp on a peg just above his head, and 
 guides the blind man's hands to touch it; then he puts 
 a table beside him, with food and wine. When the 
 banquet is over, the minstrel sings to his harp ' the glo- 
 ries of men.' Such a minstrel was not looked upon 
 simply as an artist; he was thought to be inspired by 
 the gods. And so, naturally, he had a sacred charac- 
 ter. When King Agamemnon was going awav to the 
 war at Troy (the story said) he charged the minstrel of 
 his house to watch over the honor of the Queen, Cly- 
 temnestra; and at first the wicked ^Egisthus was baf- 
 fled, 'for the lady was discreet; and, besides, the min- 
 strel was present.' R. C. JEBB, Primer of Greek 
 Literature.
 
 NOTES. 299 
 
 "0 beauty! how fatal art thou to mortals! how 
 precious to those who possess thee! Helen is always 
 the woman who has been!" EUKIPIDES, The Ores- 
 tes. 
 
 " La vicillesse meme ne pent fle'trir cette femme mar- 
 veilleuse ; le temps n'ose point 1'attaquer. Elle par- 
 court 1'espace d'un siecle dans le cj'de de la poesie 
 antique, toujours jeune, toujours desirable. Vivante 
 image de la B^aute iddale, 1'homme pent souiller sea 
 formes ephemeras, il n'attciut pas sou tvpe eternel." 
 PAUL PE SAINT-VICTOR, Hommes vt Dieux. 
 
 Stesichorus differed especially from Homer with re- 
 gard to the siege of Troy, and his famous palinodia 
 aboutw Helen gave rise to the most celebrated story 
 concerning him. He had in the opening of a poem 
 spoken disparagingly of the heroine, who struck him 
 with blindness. Plato is our earliest authority for 
 this legend. Se^ MAHAFFY'S History of Classical 
 Greek Literature. 
 
 "The identification of Demeter with Rhea Cybele is 
 the motive which has inspired a beautiful chorus in the 
 Helena, the new Helena, of Euripides. that great 
 lover of all subtle refinements and modernisms, wlm, in 
 this play, has worked on a strange version of the older 
 story, which relates that only the phantom of Helen 
 had really gone to Troy, herself remaining in Egypt 
 all the time, at the court of King Proteus, where she 
 is found at last by her husband Menelaus." W. H. 
 PATER.
 
 300 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 HERAKLES. (Page 79.) 
 
 "Herakles is among the Hellenes that Spiritual 
 Humanity which, by native energy, attains Olympus 
 through the twelve far-famed labors." HEGEL'sPAt- 
 losphy of History. 
 
 " Nay, never falter : no great deed is done 
 By falterers who ask for certainty. 
 No good is certain, but the steadfast mind, 
 The undivided will to seek the good : 
 'Tis that compels the elements, and wrings 
 A human music from the indifferent air. 
 The greatest gift the hero leaves his race 
 Is to have been a hero. Say we fail ! 
 We feed the high tradition of the world." 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT, The Spanish Gypsey. 
 
 " Humanity is erronpously counted among common- 
 place virtues. If it deserved such a place, there would 
 be less urgent need than, alas, there is for its daily ex- 
 ercise among us. In its pale shape of kindly senti- 
 ment and bland pity it is common enough, and is 
 always the portion of the cultivated ; but humanity, 
 armed, aggressive, and alert, never slumbering and 
 never wearying, moving like ancient hero over (he land 
 to slay monsters, is the rarest of virtues." JOHN 
 MORLEY'S Voltaire. 
 
 " Prometheus is unbound by Hercules, the power by 
 which the divine reason in the fullness of time rends 
 the fetters of the creative force; and the new nuptials 
 of Prometheus and Asia give birth to the new world,
 
 NOTES. 301 
 
 fairer than the old. This is the ever-renewed drama of 
 creation." J. TODIIUXTKK, Skelley, a Study. 
 
 " Herakles is, in the Greek conception of the type of 
 those who work for others, one condemned by his 
 destiny to achieve great, difficult, and unrewarded ex- 
 ploits at the bidding of another." GROTE, vol. viii., 
 chap. Ixvii. 
 
 ARTEMIS. (Page 91.) 
 " Honoring Apollo's sister Artemis, 
 The first of heavenly ones in his esteem ; 
 And ever roams he in her virgin train, 
 In intercourse too close for mortal man, 
 Through the p ile-\ ellow woods, with Heetest hounds. 
 Scaring the wild beasts that infest the land." 
 EURIPIDES, The Crowned Hippolytus. Translated into 
 English verse by MAURICE PiutctLL FITZ-GERALD. 
 
 " La Mythologie fait de Diane la fille de Latone, 
 mais le sein qui I'a portee est plus vaste, sa conception 
 plus divine encore. C'e.st dti courant des sources, de 
 la profondcur des ombrages, des bruits du vent, des 
 mysteres de la solitude que Diane est sortie. Tous les 
 Elements chastes de la nature, toutes les purete's du 
 corps et de I'ame se personnitient dans la grande vierge 
 
 dorienne De quels prestiges devait Templir les 
 
 bois sa presence sexrete! Elle sanctifiait tons leurs 
 sites, elle divinisait tous leurs bruits. La brise qui 
 troublait le feuillage etait peut-etre sa divine haleine. 
 Peut-etre le lac, fre'missant encore, venait-il de recevoir 
 son corps virginal. Sa chasse merveilleuse enchantait
 
 302 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 la forgt : elle se melait a toutes ses rumenr? 
 
 Fuis, t^meVaire, pans retourner la tete! d^ja tes cliieng 
 te regardent d'un oeil soupconneux." PAUL DE 
 SAIXT-VICTOR, Hummes et Dieux. 
 
 AXTIXOUS. (Page 99.) 
 
 "The Natural, as explained by men, i. e., its inter- 
 nal element, is as a universal principle the beginning 
 of the Divine." HEGKL'S Philosophy of History. 
 
 "In Greek beaut}- the Sensuous is only a sign, an 
 expression, an envelope, in which Spirit manifests it- 
 self. 1 ' THE SAME. 
 
 "Nothing that is truly beautiful externally is inter- 
 nally deformed. For everything which is externally 
 beautiful is so in consequence of the domination of in- 
 ward beauty." PLOTIXUS. 
 
 Fichte says: " All culture must proceed from the will, 
 not from the understanding ; .... Man does not con- 
 sist of two beings; he is absolutely one; .... as is 
 the heart of the individual, so is his knowledge." 
 " Ich halte nichtp von dem, der von sich denkt, 
 Wie inn das Volk vielleicht erheben mochte. 
 Allein, Jungling, danke du den Gottern, 
 Dass sie so friih durch dich so viel gethan." 
 
 GOETHE'S Iphegenie. 
 
 " Aime et tu renaitras : fais-toi fleur pour e"clore." 
 
 ALFRED DK MCSSET. 
 
 "Antinous, as he appears in sculpture, is a young
 
 NOTES. 303 
 
 man of eighteen or nineteen year?, almost faultless in 
 his form. His beauty is not of a pure Greek type. 
 Though perfectly proportioned and developed by gym- 
 nastic exercises to the true athletic fullness, his limbs 
 are round and florid, suggesting the possibility of early 
 
 overripeness The -whole body combines Greek 
 
 beauty of structure with something of Oriental volup- 
 tuousness. The same fusion of diverse elements may 
 be traced in the head. It is not too large, though more 
 than usually broad, and is nobly set upon a massive 
 throat, slightly inclined forward, as though this posture 
 were habitual; the hair lies thick in clusters, which 
 only form curls at the tips. The forehead is low and 
 somewhat square; the eyebrows are level, of a peculiar 
 shape, and very thick, converging so closely as almost 
 to meet above the deep-cut eves. The nose is straight, 
 but blunter than is consistent with the Greek ideal. 
 Both cheeks and chin are delicately formed, but fuller 
 than a severe taste approves; one might trace in their 
 rounded contours either a survival of infantine inno- 
 cence and immaturity, or else the sign of rapidly ap- 
 proaching over-bloom. The mouth is one of the love- 
 liest ever carved; but here, again, the blending of the 
 Greek and Oriental types is visible. The lips, half 
 parted, seem to pout; and the distance between mouth 
 and nostrils is exceptionally short. The undefinable 
 expression of the lips, together with the weight of the 
 brows and slumberous half-closed eyes, gives a look of 
 ulkiness or voluptuousness to the whole face. This,
 
 304 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 I fancy, is the first impression which the portraits of 
 Antinous produce; and Shelley h:is well conveyed it 
 by placing the two following phrases, 'eager and im- 
 passioned tenderness' and 'effeminate sullenness' in 
 close juxtaposition. But after long familiarity with 
 the whole range of Antinons's portraits, and after study 
 of his life, we are brought to read the peculiar expres- 
 sion of his face and form somewhat differently. A 
 prevailing melancholy, sweetness of temperament, over- 
 shadowed by resignation, brooding reverie, the inno- 
 cence of youth touched and saddened bv a calm resolve 
 or an accepted doom, such are the sentences we form 
 to give distinctness to a still vague and uncertain im- 
 pression One thing, however, is certain ; we 
 
 have before us no figment of the artistic imagination, 
 hut a real youth of incomparable beauty, ju<t as nature 
 made him, with all the inscrutahleness of undeveloped 
 character, with all the pathos of a most untimely doom, 
 with the almost imperceptible imperfections that ren- 
 der choice reality more permanently charming than 
 
 the ideal 
 
 "But who was Antinous, and what is known of 
 him? .... He first appears upon the scene as Ha- 
 drian's friend. Whether the emperor met with him 
 during his travels in Asia Minor, whether he found 
 him among the students of the university at Athens, 
 or whether the boy had been sent to Rome in his child- 
 hood, must remain matter of the merest conjecture 
 
 After journeying through Greece, Asia Minor, Syria,
 
 NOTES. 305 
 
 Palestine, and Arabia, Hndrian, attended by Antinous, 
 
 came to Egvpt When he had arrived near an 
 
 ancient citv named Besa, on the right bank of the river, 
 he lest his friei d. Antinons was drowned in the Nile. 
 He had thrown himself, it was believed, into the water; 
 seeking thus by a voluntary death to substitute his 
 own life for Hadrian's, and to avert predicted perils 
 from the Roman Empire." J. ADDINGTON SYMOXDS, 
 Sketches and Studies in Southern Europe. 
 
 "Let me feel that I am to be a lover. I am to see 
 to it that he world is better for me and to find my re- 
 ward in the act. Love would put a new face on this 
 weary old world, in which we dwell as pagans and ene- 
 mies too long; and it would warm the heart to see 
 how fast the vain diplomacy of statesmen, the impo- 
 tence of armies, and navies, and lines of defense, 
 would be superseded by this unarmed child." R. W. 
 EMERSON. 
 
 " Life, I repeat, is energy of love 
 Divine or human ; exercised in pain, 
 In strife and tribulation ; and ordained, 
 If so approved and sanctified, to pass 
 Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy." 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 "Call it Truth or Summer going forth; seeming to 
 walk miraculously on the surface, but supported by a 
 power which has reached firm footing; balancing him- 
 self gracefully, maybe a long, long time ; but never 
 getting anywhere until he has made his dive into the 
 20
 
 306 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 unknown. A ripple closes over us." From a letter 
 by WILLIAM M. HUNT, describing his picture called 
 ** The Bather." 
 
 ACHILLES. (Page 107.) 
 
 "The Iliad has for its whole subject the 'Passion of 
 Achilles' that ardent energy of the hero which dis- 
 played itself first as anger against Agamemnon, and 
 afterwards as love for the lost Patroclus. The truth of 
 this was perceived by one of the greatest poets and pro- 
 foundest critics of the modern world, Dante. When 
 Dante, in the Inferno, wished to describe Achilles he 
 wrote, with characteristic brevity : 
 
 " ' Achille 
 Che per aniore al fine combatteo.' 
 
 "The wrath of Achilles agahist Agamemnon which 
 prevented him from lighting; the love of Achilles, 
 passing the love of women, for Patroclus, which in- 
 duced him to forego his anger and to fight at last; 
 these are the two poles on which the Iliad turns." 
 J. ADDIXGTON SYMONDS. 
 
 " The highest form that floated before the Greek 
 imagination was Achilles, the son of the poet, the 
 Homeric youth of the Trojan war. Homer is ^the ele- 
 ment in which the Greek world lives as man does in 
 the air. The Greek life is a truly youthful achieve- 
 ment. Achilles, the ideal youth of poetry, began it ; 
 Alexander the Great, the ideal youth of reality, con- 
 cluded it. Both appear in contest with Asia." HK- 
 SEL'S Philosophy of History .
 
 MOTES. 307 
 
 " Wem die Himmliscben viel Verwirrtmg zugedacht 
 haben, wem sie erschiitternde, schnelle Wechsel der 
 Freude und des Schmerzens bereiten, dem geben sie 
 kein holier Geschenk als einen ruhigen Freund." 
 GOETHK'S Iphiyenie. 
 
 "Parle avec confiance ; 
 Le severe Dieu silence 
 Est un des freres de la Mort ; 
 En se plaignant on se console, 
 Et quelquefois une parole 
 Nous a de'livre" d'un remords." 
 
 ALFRED DE MDSSET. 
 
 " In the world secular business demands accomplish- 
 ment, and ultimately the discovery is made that spirit 
 finds the goal of its struggle and its harmonization in 
 that very sphere which it made the object of its resist- 
 ance, it finds that secular pursuits are a spiritual 
 occupation." HEGEL'S Philosophy of History. 
 
 " What is it that gives to each individual the pecul- 
 iar character of his particular life'? I answer, it is the 
 love of this particular and individual life. Show me 
 what thou truly lovest, what thoti seekest and strivest 
 for with thy whole heart when thou wouldst attain to 
 true enjoyment of thyself, and thou hast thereby 
 shown me thy life. . . . That to many men it may be 
 no easy matter to answer such a question, since tlu-y 
 do not even kno.w what they love, proves onlj- that 
 they do not in reality love anything; and just on that 
 account do they not live because they do not love." 
 FICHTK, The Blessedness of lift.
 
 308 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 APHRODITE OF MEI,OS. (Page 115.) 
 " Volge sua sfera e beata si gode." 
 
 DANTB. 
 
 " And in thy face 
 I see, astonied, that severe content 
 Which comes of thought and musing." 
 
 KEATS ? Hyperion. 
 
 " My daughter, Venus is not Love alone, 
 But many a title "longs to her beside. 
 She is deep Hades ; she is deathless Foice, 
 And she is maddening Frenzy ; she 's Desire 
 Unmingled ; she is Mourning ; all ; s in her 
 That ? s eager, that is tranquil, that ; s perverse. 
 For she invades each bosom that hath lodged 
 A soul. What heart is not this goddess' prey 1 " 
 
 Attributed to EURIPIDES. 
 
 "Piety is no end or aim, it is a means by which, 
 through the purest tranquillity of mind, the highest 
 culture is attained." GOETHE'S Spriiche in Prosa. 
 " Beauty, old, yet ever new ! 
 
 Eternal Voice and inward Word, 
 The Logos of the Greek and Jew, 
 The old sphere-music which the Samian heard ! 
 
 " Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, 
 
 Wide as our need thy favors fall ; 
 The white wings of the Holy Ghost 
 Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all." 
 
 WHITTIKB. 
 
 "Nothing so lifts a man from all his mean imprison- 
 ments, were it but for moments, as true admiration." 
 THOMAS CARLYLE.
 
 NOTES. 309 
 
 "-The love of beauty is nothing different from that 
 first and leading motive in all minds to the pursuit of 
 everything, namely, that motive whence the philoso- 
 pher sets out in his inquiry after wisdom, the desire of 
 good. Thus the perfection of man consists in his simil- 
 itude^to this supreme beauty; and in his union with it 
 is found his supreme good." FLOYEK SYPKNHAM. 
 
 "It is not the transient breath of poetic license that 
 
 women want ; each can receive that from a lover 
 
 It is the birthright of every being capable to receive it, 
 the freedom, the religions, intelligent freedom, of the 
 universe, to use its means, to learn its secrets as far as 
 nature has enabled them, with God alone for their 
 
 guide and their judge We would have every 
 
 arbitrary barrier thrown down. We would have every 
 path thrown open as freely to woman as to man. Were 
 this done, and the slight temporary fermentation al- 
 lowed to subside, we believe that the divine would as- 
 cend into nature to a height unknown in the history 
 of past ages: and nature, thus instructed, would regu- 
 late the spheres, not only so as to avoid collision, but 
 to bring forth ravishing harmony." MARGARET FUL- 
 LER. 
 
 "Cette Ve"nus n'est pas la Cypris frivole d'Anacreon 
 et d'Ovide, celle qtti forme T Amour aux ruses erotiques, 
 et a laquelle on immole les oiseaux lascifs. C'est 
 la Ve*nus Celeste, la Venus Victorieuse, toujours de"- 
 Bire"e, jamais posse"dee, absolue comme la vie, dont le 
 feu centrale reside dans son sein ; invincible comme
 
 310 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 1'attrait des sexes auquel elle preside, chaste comme 
 1'Eternelle Beaute" qu'elle personifie. C'est la Ve'nus 
 qu'adorait Platon, et dont C^sar donnait le nom Ve- 
 nus Victrix pour mot d'ordre ii son arme'e, la veille 
 de Pharsale. Elle est la flamnie qui cre'e et qui con- 
 serve, Pinstigatrice des grandes ehoses et des projets 
 heroiqnes. Ce qu'il y a de pur dans les affections ter- 
 restres, I'amedes sens, 1'etincelle crearrice, la particule 
 sublime melee a Palliate des passions grossieres, tout 
 cela lui appartient de plein droit. Le reste revient aux 
 Venus vulgaires, copies profanees de son type qui se 
 parent de ses attributs et usurpent son pedestal. Quel- 
 ques-uns croient que son pied nuitile reposait sur un 
 globe; ce symbole completerait sa grandeur. Les as- 
 tres gravitent en cadence autour de la Ve'nus celeste, 
 et le monde roule harnionieiiseinent sous son pied." 
 PAUL DE SAIXT-VICTOK, Hommes et Dieux. 
 
 ELKGY TO DAPMNIS. (Page 131.) 
 "True enjoyment consists in those pure delights 
 which do not arise after pain, but which the soul ex- 
 periences when fillt-d with the contemplation of true 
 being." PLATO'S Republic. 
 
 " When we proximately accede to that which cannot 
 be impelled, tlien we shall imitate the soul of the uni- 
 verse, and the soul of the stars, and, becoming near 
 through similitude, we shall hasten to be one and the 
 same with them." PLOTINUS. 
 
 "Nothing, which is comprehended in being, per- 
 ishes." PLOTINUS.
 
 NOTES. 311 
 
 " This, therefore, is the life of the gods and of di- 
 vine and happy men, a liberation from all terrene con- 
 cerns, a life unaccompanied with human pleasures, and 
 a flight of the alone to the alone." PI.OTIXUS. 
 
 " Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 
 ^ Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 
 Ye have souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived iu regions new ! " 
 
 Joux KEATS. 
 
 PERSEPHONE. (Page 139.) 
 
 " Wer jung die Erde verlassen 
 Wandelt auf ewig jung im Reiche Pereephoueia's 
 Ewig erscheint er jung den Kiinftigen, ewig ersehnet.' r 
 GOETHE'S Achilleit. 
 
 "The central expression of the story of Demeter and 
 Persephone is the Homeric hymn to which Grote as- 
 signs a date at least as early as six hui.dred years before 
 Christ. The one survivor of a whole flight of hymns 
 on this subject, it was written perhaps for one of those 
 contests which took place on the seventh day of the 
 Eleusinian festival, and in which a bunch of ears of 
 corn was the prize; perhaps for actual use in the mys- 
 teries themselves by the Hierophautes or Interpreter, 
 who showed to the worshipers at Eleusis those sacred 
 places to which the poem contains so many references. 
 .... What follows is an extract from an abbreviated 
 version of this hymn." 
 
 " I begin the song of Demeter," says the prize-poet,
 
 312 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 or the Interpreter of the holy places, "the song of. 
 Demeterand her daughter Persephone, whom Aidoneus 
 carried away, by the consent of Zeus, as she plaved, 
 apart from her mother, with the deep-bosomed daugh- 
 ters of the Ocean, gathering flowers in a meadow of soft 
 grass, roses, and the crocus, and fair violets, and flags, 
 and hyacinths, and, above all, the strange flower of the 
 Narcissus, which the Earth, favoring the desire of Ai- 
 doneus, brought forth for the first time, to snare the 
 V>otsteps of the flower-like girl. A hundred heads of 
 blossom grew up from the roots of it, and the sky and 
 the earth and the salt sea were glad at the scent thereof. 
 She stretched forth her hand to take the flower; then 
 the earth opened, and the king of the great nation of 
 
 the dead sprang out with his immortal horses 
 
 "Demeter sent upon the earth, in her anger, a year 
 of grievous famine. The dry seed remained hidden in 
 the soil ; in vain the oxen drew the ploughshare through 
 the furrows; much white seed-corn fell fruitless on the 
 earth, and the whole human race had like to have per- 
 ished, and the gods had no more .'ervice of men, unless 
 Zeus had interfered. First he sent Iris, afterwards all 
 the gods, one by one, to turn Demeter from her anger; 
 but none was able to persuade her; she heard their 
 words with a hard countenance, and vowed by no 
 means to return to Olympus, nor to yield the fruit of 
 the earth, until her eyes had seen her lost daughter 
 again. Then, last of all, Zeus sent Hermes into the 
 kingdom of the dead, to persuade Aidoneus to suffer
 
 NOTES. 313 
 
 his bride to return to the light of day. And Hermes 
 found the king at home in his palace, sitting on a 
 couch, beside the shrinking Persephone, consumed 
 within herself by desire for her mother. A doubtful 
 smile passed over the face of Aidoneus; yet he obeyed 
 the message, and bade Persephone return; yet praying 
 her a little to have gentle thoughts of him, nor judge 
 him too hardly, who was also an immortal god. And 
 Persephone arose up quickly in great joy; but before 
 she departed, he caused "her to eat a morsel of sweet 
 pomegranate, designing secretly thereby that she should 
 not remain always upon earth, but might sometime re- 
 turn to him. And Aidoneus yoked the horses to his 
 chariot; and Persephone ascended into it; and Hermes 
 took the reins in his hands and drove out through the 
 infernal halls; and the horses ran willingly; and they 
 two quickly passed over the ways of that long journey, 
 neither the waters of the sea, nor of the rivers, nor the 
 deep ravines of the hills, nor the cliffs of the shore, 
 resisting them; till at last Hermes placed Persephone 
 before the door of the temple where her mother was; 
 who, seeing her, ran out quickly to meet her, like a 
 maenad coming down a mountain-side dusky with 
 
 woods So Uemeter suffered the earth to yield 
 
 its fruits once more, and the land was sudd'enly laden 
 with leaves and flowers and waving corn. Perseph- 
 one also visited the princes of Eleusis and instructed 
 them in Ihe performance of her sacred rites, those 
 mysteries of which no tongue may speak. Only,
 
 314 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 bfessed is he whose eyes have seen them ; his lot after 
 death is not as that of other men ! " From the Myth 
 of Demeter and Persephone, by W. H. PATER. 
 
 "In three lines of the Theoyony we find the stealing 
 of Persephone by Akloneus, one of those things in 
 Hesiod, perhaps, which are really older than Homer. 
 Hesiod has been called the poet of helots, and is thought 
 to have preserved some of the traditions of those earlier 
 inhabitants of Greece who had become a kind of serfs; 
 and in a certain shadowiness in his conception of the 
 gods, contrasting with the concrete and heroic forms 
 of the gods of Homer, \ve may perhaps trace something 
 of the quiet brooding of a subdued people, of that 
 dreamy temper to which the story of Persephone prop- 
 erly belongs. However this may be, it is in Hesiod 
 that the two images, divided in Homer, the goddess of 
 summer and the goddess of death, Kore and Perseph- 
 one, are identified with much significance, and that 
 strange dual being makes her first appearance, whose 
 latent capabilities the poets afterwards developed, 
 among the rest, a peculiar blending of those two con- 
 trasted aspects, full of purpose for the duly chastened 
 intelligence. Awake, and sing, ye that dwell in the 
 dust." THE SA.MK. 
 
 "There is an attractiveness in these goddesses of thi 
 earth akin to the influence of cool places, quiet hours, 
 subdued light, tranquillizing voices. . . . This invtb 
 illustrates the power of the Greek religion as a religior 
 of pure ideas, of conceptions, which, having no link oa
 
 NOTES. 315 
 
 historical fact, yet because they arose naturally out of 
 the spirit of man, and embodied, in adequate symbols, 
 his deepest thoughts concerning the conditions of his 
 physical and spiritual life, maintained their hold 
 through man}' changes, and are still not without' a 
 solemnizing power even for the modern mind, which 
 has once admitted them as recognized and habitual 
 inhabitants; and abiding thus for the elevation and 
 purifying of our sentiments, long after the earlier and 
 simpler races of their worshipers have passed away, 
 they may be a pledge to us of the place in our culture, 
 at once legitimate and possible, of the associations, the 
 conceptions, the imagery, of Greek religious poetry in 
 general, of the poetry of all religions." THE SAME. 
 
 PASDORA. (Page 197.) 
 
 Mr. Symonds renders thus succinctly the story of 
 Pandora as given by Hesiod. 
 
 "Work," he says ''is necessary for men, because 
 Zeus has concealed and hidden far away our means of 
 livelihood, so that we are forced to toil and suffer in 
 the search for sustenance. In old days the human 
 race had fire, and offered burnt sacrifice to heaven ; 
 but Prometheus by his craft deceived the gods of their 
 just portion of the victims, making Zeus take the bones 
 and fat for his share. Whereupon Zeus deprived men 
 of the use of fire. Prometheus then stole fire from 
 heaven and gave it back to men. Then was cloud- 
 gathering Zeus full wroth of heart, and he devised a
 
 316 UNDER THE OLIVE. 
 
 great woe for all mankind. He bade Hephaistos mix 
 earth and water, and infuse into the plastic form a hu- 
 man voice and human powers, and liken it in all points 
 to a heavenly goddess. " Athene was told to teach the 
 woman th-us made household work and skill in weav- 
 ing. Aphrodite poured upon her head the charm of 
 beaut}', with terrible desire, and flesh-consuming 
 thoughts of love. But Zeus commanded Hermes to 
 give to her the mind of a dog and wily temper. After 
 
 this fashion was the making of Pandora Then 
 
 Pandora was sent under the charge of Hermes to Epi- 
 metheus, who remembered not his brother's words, 
 how he had said : ' Receive no gift from Zeus but 
 send it back again, lest evil should befall the race 
 of men.' .... 
 
 "Just as Prometheus signifies the forecasting reason 
 of humanity, so Epimetheus indicates the overhasty 
 judgment foredoomed to be wise too late. These are 
 intellectual qualities." J. ADDINGTON SYMONDS. 
 
 The translator cannot print this version of Goethe's 
 poem without one word of gratitude to Bayard Taylor. 
 It was his reference to Goethe's Pandora, in a paper 
 written from Weimar some years since, which first 
 called her attention to it, and it was his patient revis- 
 ion of her translation, a few years later, which first 
 suggested the idea of giving it to the public. The 
 beautiful line, "Depth of shade and love's inviolate 
 longing" is Bayard Taylor's. 
 
 " Ein grosseres Werk begann Goethe 1807 fiir die Zeit-
 
 NOTES. 317 
 
 schrift Prometheus des befreundeten Leo v. Seckendorf , 
 fur dessen Neujahrstaschenbuch auf 1801 Goethe ehe- 
 mals seinen Palaophron und Neoterpe mitgetheilt. Er 
 sagte auf den Wunsch des Herausgebers einen Beitrag 
 zu, und wahlte Pandora's Wiederkunft, wiederum 
 wie das Vorspiel in antiken Trimetern, die ihm so viel 
 Miihe machten, dass er nicht tiber Pandoren's abschied 
 hinauskam. ' Wenn es mir so viel Miihe macht,' 
 scherzt er in einem Briefe an Frau v. Stein, 'sie wieder 
 herbeizuholen, alsesmirverursachte, sie fortzuschaffen, 
 so weiss ich nicht, wann wir sie wiedersehen warden.' 
 So war es. Die Gestalten selbst traten ihm in die Ferue 
 und er verwundete sich iiber das Titanische, wenu er 
 epater wieder hineui sah." GOETHE'S Werke, Erster 
 Band, Stuttgart, 1866, p. cli.

 
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