Part 10 (1/2)

Fair was the morn to-day, the blossom's scent Floated across the fresh gra.s.s, and the bees With low vexed song from rose to lily went, A gentle wind was in the heavy trees, And thine eyes shone with joyous memories; Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thou, And I was happy--Ah, be happy now!

Peace and content without us, love within That hour there was, now thunder and wild rain, Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin, And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain; Ah, love! although the morn shall come again, And on new rose-buds the new sun shall smile, Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?

E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, But midst the lightning did the fair sun die-- --Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet, He cannot waste his life--but thou and I-- Who knows if next morn this felicity My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live This seal of love renewed once more to give?

Within a lovely valley, watered well With flowery streams, the July feast befell, And there within the Chief-priest's fair abode They cast aside their trouble's heavy load, Scarce made aweary by the sultry day.

The earth no longer laboured; shaded lay The sweet-breathed kine, across the sunny vale, From hill to hill the wandering rook did sail, Lazily croaking, midst his dreams of spring, Nor more awake the pink-foot dove did cling Unto the beech-bough, murmuring now and then; All rested but the restless sons of men And the great sun that wrought this happiness, And all the vale with fruitful hopes did bless.

So in a marble chamber bright with flowers, The old men feasted through the fresher hours, And at the hottest time of all the day When now the sun was on his downward way, Sat listening to a tale an elder told, New to his fathers while they yet did hold The cities of some far-off Grecian isle, Though in the heavens the cloud of force and guile Was gathering dark that sent them o'er the sea To win new lands for their posterity.

THE SON OF CROESUS.

ARGUMENT.

Croesus, King of Lydia, dreamed that he saw his son slain by an iron weapon, and though by every means he strove to avert this doom from him, yet thus it happened, for his son was slain by the hand of the man who seemed least of all likely to do the deed.

Of Croesus tells my tale, a king of old In Lydia, ere the Mede fell on the land, A man made mighty by great heaps of gold, Feared for the myriads strong of heart and hand That 'neath his banners wrought out his command, And though his latter ending happed on ill, Yet first of every joy he had his fill.

Two sons he had, and one was dumb from birth; The other one, that Atys had to name, Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth, And well it seemed the race wherefrom he came From him should never get reproach or shame: But yet no stroke he struck before his death, In no war-shout he spent his latest breath.

Now Croesus, lying on his bed anight Dreamed that he saw this dear son laid a-low, And folk lamenting he was slain outright, And that some iron thing had dealt the blow; By whose hand guided he could nowise know, Or if in peace by traitors it were done, Or in some open war not yet begun.

Three times one night this vision broke his sleep, So that at last he rose up from his bed, That he might ponder how he best might keep The threatened danger from so dear a head; And, since he now was old enough to wed, The King sent men to search the lands around, Until some matchless maiden should be found;

That in her arms this Atys might forget The praise of men, and fame of history, Whereby full many a field has been made wet With blood of men, and many a deep green sea Been reddened therewithal, and yet shall be; That her sweet voice might drown the people's praise, Her eyes make bright the uneventful days.

So when at last a wonder they had brought, From some sweet land down by the ocean's rim.

Than whom no fairer could by man be thought, And ancient dames, scanning her limb by limb, Had said that she was fair enough for him, To her was Atys married with much show, And looked to dwell with her in bliss enow.

And in meantime afield he never went, Either to hunting or the frontier war, No dart was cast, nor any engine bent Anigh him, and the Lydian men afar Must rein their steeds, and the bright blossoms mar If they have any l.u.s.t of tourney now, And in far meadows must they bend the bow.

And also through the palace everywhere The swords and spears were taken from the wall That long with honour had been hanging there, And from the golden pillars of the hall; Lest by mischance some sacred blade should fall, And in its falling bring revenge at last For many a fatal battle overpast.

And every day King Croesus wrought with care To save his dear son from that threatened end, And many a beast he offered up with prayer Unto the G.o.ds, and much of wealth did spend, That they so prayed might yet perchance defend That life, until at least that he were dead, With earth laid heavy on his unseeing head.

But in the midst even of the wedding feast There came a man, who by the golden hall Sat down upon the steps, and man or beast He heeded not, but there against the wall He leaned his head, speaking no word at all, Till, with his son and son's wife, came the King, And then unto his gown the man did cling.

”What man art thou?” the King said to him then, ”That in such guise thou prayest on thy knee; Hast thou some fell foe here among my men?

Or hast thou done an ill deed unto me?

Or has thy wife been carried over sea?

Or hast thou on this day great need of gold?

Or say, why else thou now art grown so bold.”

”O King,” he said, ”I ask no gold to-day, And though indeed thy greatness drew me here, No wrong have I that thou couldst wipe away; And nought of mine the pirate folk did bear Across the sea; none of thy folk I fear: But all the G.o.ds are now mine enemies, Therefore I kneel before thee on my knees.

”For as with mine own brother on a day Within the running place at home I played, Unwittingly I smote him such-a-way That dead upon the green gra.s.s he was laid; Half-dead myself I fled away dismayed, Wherefore I pray thee help me in my need, And purify my soul of this sad deed.

”If of my name and country thou wouldst know, In Phrygia yet my father is a king, Gordius, the son of Midas, rich enow In corn and cattle, golden cup and ring; And mine own name before I did this thing Was called Adrastus, whom, in street and hall, The slayer of his brother men now call.”