Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood Somewhat apart, her clear and baréd limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,
The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply,
“Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts. Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shalt thou find me fairest.
If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbiass'd by self profit, O, rest thee sure
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,
So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood, Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's, To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, Commeasure perfect freedom.'
And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, O Paris, Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!
“O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida,
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Idalian Aphrodité beautiful,
Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew
From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder: from the violets her light foot Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form Between the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'
She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear: But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, And I beheld great Heré's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.
"Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Fairest why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she? Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.
"O mother, hear me yet before I die.
They came, they cut away my tallest pines,
My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge
High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Foster'd the callow eaglet - from beneath
Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn
The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat Low in the valley. Never, never more Shall lone Enone see the morning mist Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid With narrow moon-lit slits of silver cloud, Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.
O mother, hear me yet before I die.
I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, The Abominable, that uninvited came Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall
And cast the golden fruit upon the board,
And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, And tell her to her face how much I hate
Her presence, hated both of Gods and men.
'O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? O happy tears, and how unlike to these!
O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight? O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live: I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die.
"O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts
Do shape themselves within me, more and more, Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see
My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child
Ere it is born: her child! a shudder comes Across me: never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!
"O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me Walking the cold and starless road of Death Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love With the Greek woman.
Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says A fire dances before her, and a sound Rings ever in her ears of arméd men. What this may be I know not, but I know That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day, All earth and air seem only burning fire."
I SEE the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget
The busy wrinkles round his eyes? The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead dryly curl'd, Seem'd half-within and half-without,
And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cup
I see his gray eyes twinkle yet
At his own jest ·
gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:
My own sweet Alice, we must die. There's somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away, Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, 'That we may die the self-same day.
Have I not found a happy earth?
I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth
I'd almost live my life again.
So sweet it seems with thee to walk, And once again to woo thee mine It seems in after-dinner talk
Across the walnuts and the wine
To be the long and listless boy Late-left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you
Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken thro'
By some wild skylark's matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own.
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