Volume I Part 12 (1/2)

Though all the singing days are done As in those climes that clasp the sun; Though the cuckoo in his throat Leaves to the dove his last twin note; Come to me with thy l.u.s.trous eye, Golden-dawning oriently, Come with all thy s.h.i.+ning blooms, Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.

Though the cuckoo doth but sing 'cuk, cuk,'

And the dove alone doth coo; Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo - To the cuckoo's halting 'cuk.'

II

Sweet July, warm July!

Month when mosses near the stream, Soft green mosses thick and shy, Are a rapture and a dream.

Summer Queen! whose foot the fern Fades beneath while chestnuts burn; I welcome thee with thy fierce love, Gloom below and gleam above.

Though all the forest trees hang dumb, With dense leafiness o'ercome; Though the nightingale and thrush, Pipe not from the bough or bush; Come to me with thy l.u.s.trous eye, Azure-melting westerly, The raptures of thy face unfold, And welcome in thy robes of gold!

Tho' the nightingale broods--'sweet-chuck-sweet' - And the ouzel flutes so chill, Tho' the throstle gives but one shrilly trill To the nightingale's 'sweet-sweet.'

SONG

I would I were the drop of rain That falls into the dancing rill, For I should seek the river then, And roll below the wooded hill, Until I reached the sea.

And O, to be the river swift That wrestles with the wilful tide, And fling the briny weeds aside That o'er the foamy billows drift, Until I came to thee!

I would that after weary strife, And storm beneath the piping wind, The current of my true fresh life Might come unmingled, unimbrined, To where thou floatest free.

Might find thee in some amber clime, Where sunlight dazzles on the sail, And dreaming of our plighted vale Might seal the dream, and bless the time, With maiden kisses three.

SONG

Come to me in any shape!

As a victor crown'd with vine, In thy curls the cl.u.s.tering grape, - Or a vanquished slave: 'Tis thy coming that I crave, And thy folding serpent twine, Close and dumb; Ne'er from that would I escape; Come to me in any shape!

Only come!

Only come, and in my breast Hide thy shame or show thy pride; In my bosom be caressed, Never more to part; Come into my yearning heart; I, the serpent, golden-eyed, Twine round thee; Twine thee with no venomed test; Absence makes the venomed nest; Come to me!

Come to me, my lover, come!

Violets on the tender stem Die and wither in their bloom, Under dewy gra.s.s; Come, my lover, or, alas!

I shall die, shall die like them, Frail and lone; Come to me, my lover, come!

Let thy bosom be my tomb: Come, my own!

THE s.h.i.+PWRECK OF IDOMENEUS

Swept from his fleet upon that fatal night When great Poseidon's sudden-veering wrath Scattered the happy homeward-floating Greeks Like foam-flakes off the waves, the King of Crete Held lofty commune with the dark Sea-G.o.d.

His brows were crowned with victory, his cheeks Were flushed with triumph, but the mighty joy Of Troy's destruction and his own great deeds Pa.s.sed, for the thoughts of home were dearer now, And sweet the memory of wife and child, And weary now the ten long, foreign years, And terrible the doubt of short delay - More terrible, O G.o.ds! he cried, but stopped; Then raised his voice upon the storm and prayed.

O thou, if injured, injured not by me, Poseidon! whom sea-deities obey And mortals wors.h.i.+p, hear me! for indeed It was our oath to aid the cause of Greece, Not unespoused by G.o.ds, and most of all By thee, if gentle currents, havens calm, Fair winds and prosperous voyage, and the Shape Impersonate in many a perilous hour, Both in the stately councils of the Kings, And when the husky battle murmured thick, May testify of services performed!

But now the seas are haggard with thy wrath, Thy breath is tempest! never at the sh.o.r.es Of hostile Ilium did thy stormful brows Betray such fierce magnificence! not even On that wild day when, mad with torch and glare, The frantic crowds with eyes like starving wolves Burst from their ports impregnable, a stream Of headlong fury toward the hissing deep; Where then full-armed I stood in guard, compact Beside thee, and alone, with brand and spear, We held at bay the swarming brood, and poured Blood of choice warriors on the foot-ploughed sands!

Thou, meantime, dark with conflict, as a cloud That thickens in the bosom of the West Over quenched sunset, circled round with flame, Huge as a billow running from the winds Long distances, till with black s.h.i.+pwreck swoln, It flings its angry mane about the sky.

And like that billow heaving ere it burst; And like that cloud urged by impulsive storm With charge of thunder, lightning, and the drench Of torrents, thou in all thy majesty Of mightiness didst fall upon the war!

Remember that great moment! Nor forget The aid I gave thee; how my ready spear Flew swiftly seconding thy mortal stroke, Where'er the press was hottest; never slacked My arm its duty, nor mine eye its aim, Though terribly they compa.s.sed us, and stood Thick as an Autumn forest, whose brown hair, l.u.s.trous with sunlight, by the still increase Of heat to glowing heat conceives like zeal Of radiance, till at the pitch of noon 'Tis seized with conflagration and distends Horridly over leagues of doom'd domain; Mingling the screams of birds, the cries of brutes, The wail of creatures in the covert pent, Howls, yells, and shrieks of agony, the hiss Of seething sap, and crash of falling boughs Together in its dull voracious roar.

So closely and so fearfully they throng'd, Savage with phantasies of victory, A sea of dusky shapes; for day had pa.s.sed And night fell on their darkened faces, red With fight and torchflare; shrill the resonant air With eager shouts, and hoa.r.s.e with angry groans; While over all the dense and sullen boom, The din and murmur of the myriads, Rolled with its awful intervals, as though The battle breathed, or as against the sh.o.r.e Waves gather back to heave themselves anew.

That night sleep dropped not from the dreary skies, Nor could the prowess of our chiefs oppose That sea of raging men. But what were they?

Or what is man opposed to thee? Its hopes Are wrecks, himself the drowning, drifting weed That wanders on thy waters; such as I Who see the scattered remnants of my fleet, Remembering the day when first we sailed, Each glad s.h.i.+p s.h.i.+ning like the morning star With promise for the world. Oh! such as I Thus darkly drifting on the drowning waves.

O G.o.d of waters! 'tis a dreadful thing To suffer for an evil unrevealed; Dreadful it is to hear the peris.h.i.+ng cry Of those we love; the silence that succeeds How dreadful! Still my trust is fixed on thee For those that still remain and for myself.