MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

PROM

HEROIC IDYLS, WITH ADDITIONAL POEMS," 1863.

ADDITIONAL POEMS.

HE who is within two paces of the ninetieth year may sit down and make no excuses; he must be unpopular, he never tried to be much otherwise. He never contended with a contemporary, but walked alone on the far eastern uplands, meditating and remembering. To the Idyls a few slight matters have been appended, as tassels are to a purse. The Greek proper names have Greek terminations, not Latin, or French, or English.

I.

A FRIEND TO THEOCRITOS IN EGYPT.

Dost thou not often gasp with longdrawn sighs,
Theocritos, recalling Sicily?

Glorious is Nile, but rather give me back
Our little rills which fain would run away
And hide themselves from persecuting suns
In summer, under oleander boughs,
And catch its roses as they flaunt above.
Here are no birds that sing, no sweeter flower
Than tiny fragile weak-eyed resida,

Which faints upon the bosom it would cool.
Altho' the royal lotos sits aloof

On his rich carpet, spread from wave to wave,
I throw myself more gladly where the pine
Protects me, loftier than the palace-roof,
Or where the linden and acacia meet
Across my path, in fragrance to contend.
Bring back the hour, Theocritos, when we
Shall sit together on a thymy knoll,

With few about us, and with none too nigh,
And when the song of shepherds and their glee

We may repeat, perchance and gaily mock,

[The Idyls, which appeared in the volume of 1863, are in this edition printed in Volume VII., with the other "Hellenics and Heroic Idyls."]

Until one bolder than the rest springs up
And slaps us on the shoulder for our pains.
Take thou meanwhile these two papyrus-leaves,
Recording, one the loves and one the woes
Of Pan and Pitys, heretofore unsung.
Aside our rivers and within our groves
The pastoral pipe hath dropt its mellow lay,
And shepherds in their contests only try
Who best can puzzle.

Come, Theocritos,

Come, let us lend a shoulder to the wheel
And help to lift it from this depth of sand.

II.

PAN.

Pan led me to a wood the other day,

Then, bending both hoofs under him, where moss
Was softest and where highest was the tuft,
Said he, "Sit thou aside me; there is room
Just for us two; the tinklers are below
To catch the little birds and butterflies,
Nor see us nor would heed us if they saw.
I minded thee in Sicily with one

I dearly love; I heard thee tell my loss

Of Pitys; and he swore that none but thou

Could thus contend with him, or ever should.

Though others had loud lyres and struck them well,

Few could bring any harmony from reeds

By me held high, and higher since thou hast breath'd
Thy gentle breath o'er Pitys and her Pan."

III.

NIOBE.

Amid nine daughters slain by Artemis

Stood Niobe: she rais'd her head above

Those beauteous forms which had brought down the scath Whence all nine fell, rais'd it, and stood erect,

And thus bespake the Goddess enthroned on high.
"Thou heardest, Artemis, my daily prayer

That thou wouldst guide these children in the pass
Of virtue, through the tangling wilds of youth,
And thou didst ever guide them: was it just
To smite them for a beauty such as thine?

Deserv'd they death because thy grace appear'd
In every modest motion? 'twas thy gift,

The richest gift that youth from heaven receives.
True, I did boldly say they might compare
Even with thyself in virgin purity :

May not a mother in her pride repeat
What every mortal said?"

For me to offer yet.

Thy quiver holds

One prayer remains

More than nine arrows: bend thy bow: aim here,
I see, I see it glimmering through a cloud.
Artemis thou at length art merciful.

My children will not hear the fatal twang."

IV.

THE GARDENER AND THE MOLE.

A gardener had watcht a mole
And caught it coming from its hole.
'Mischievous beast!" he cried, "to harm
The garden as thou dost the farm.
Here thou hast had thy wicked will
Upon my tulip and jonquil.

Behold them drooping and half dead
Upon this torn and tumbled bed.”
The mole said meekly in reply,
"My star is more to blame than I.
To undermine is mole's commission,
Our house still holds it from tradition.
What lies the nearest us is ours,
Decreed so by the higher Powers.
We hear of conies and of hares,

But when commit we deeds like theirs?
We never touch the flowers that blow,
And only bulbs that lurk below.

'Tis true, where we have run, the ground
Is rais'd a trifle, nor quite sound,
Yet, after a few days of rain,
Level and firm it lies again;
Wise men, like you, will rather wait
For these than argue against fate,
Or quarrel with us moles because
We simply follow Nature's laws.
We raise the turf to keep us warm,
Surely in this there is no harm.