« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Yet long before the sun had showed his head, Long ere the varied hangings on the wall Had gained once more their blue and green and red, He rose as one some well-known sign doth call When war upon the city's gates doth fall, And scarce like one fresh risen out of sleep, He 'gan again his broken watch to keep.
Then he turned round; not for the sea-gull's cry That wheeled above the temple in his flight, Not for the fresh south wind that lovingly Breathed on the new-born day and dying night, By some strange hope 'twixt fear and great delight Drew round his face, now flushed, now pale and wan, And still constrained his eyes the sea to scan.
Now a faint light lit up the southern sky,
Saw nought for dazzling light that round him shone.
But as he staggered with his arms outspread,
At last his eyes were cleared, and he could see
Whose well-wrought smile and dainty changeless grace
But through the stillness he her voice could hear
And thou mayest hear perchance, and live to save
"See, by my feet three golden apples lie-
"And note, that these are not alone most fair With heavenly gold, but longing strange they bring Unto the hearts of men, who will not care Beholding these, for any once-loved thing Till round the shining sides their fingers cling. And thou shalt see thy well-girt swift-foot maid By sight of these amidst her glory stayed.
"For bearing these within a scrip with thee, When first she heads thee from the starting-place Cast down the first one for her eyes to see, And when she turns aside make on apace, And if again she heads thee in the race Spare not the other two to cast aside If she not long enough behind will bide.
"Farewell, and when has come the happy time That she Diana's raiment must unbind
And all the world seems blessed with Saturn's clime
Milanion raised his head at this last word
These then he caught up quivering with delight, Yet fearful lest it all might be a dream; And though aweary with the watchful night, And sleepless nignts of longing, still did deem He could not sleep; but yet the first sun-beam That smote the fane across the heaving deep Shone on him laid in calm untroubled sleep.
But little ere the noontide did he rise,
Now has the lingering month at last gone by,
Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon.
But yet-what change is this that holds the maid? Does she indeed see in his glittering eye
More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade,
But he-what look of mastery was this
Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, And even as she casts adown her eyes Redden to note his eager glance of praise, And wish that she were clad in other guise? Why must the memory to her heart arise Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word?
What makes these longings, vague, without a name, And this vain pity never felt before,
This sudden languor, this contempt of fame,
Now while she seemed to hear her beating heart, Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out And forth they sprang; and she must play her part. Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, Though slackening once, she turned her head about, But then she cried aloud and faster fled Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead.
But with no sound he raised aloft his hand,