Puslapio vaizdai

Not hapless doomed to loathe the forms we bear,
And senseful roll in senseless savagery ;
For surely cursed above all cursed are we,
And surely this the bitterest of ill ;-
To feel the old aspirings fair and free,

Become blind motions of a powerless will
Through swine-like frames dispersed to swine-like issues still.

But make us men again, for that thou may'st!
Yea, make us men, Enchantress, and restore
These grovelling shapes, degraded and debased,
To fair embodiments of men once more ;
Yea, by all men that ever woman bore ;-
Yea, e'en by him hereafter born in pain,
Shall draw sustainment from thy bosom's core,

O'er whom thy face yet kindly shall remain,
And find its like therein,-make thou us men again !

Make thou us men again,-if men but groping
That dark Hereafter which th' Olympians keep ;
Make thou us men again,-if men but hoping
Behind death's doors security of sleep ;-
For yet to laugh is somewhat, and to weep ;-
To feel delight of living, and to plough
The salt-blown acres of the shoreless deep;
Better,--yea better far all these than bow
Foul faces to foul earth and yearnas we do now!

So they in speech unsyllabled. But She,
The fair-tressed Goddess, born to be their bane,
Uplifting straight her wand of ivory,
Compelled them groaning to the styes again ;
Where they in hopeless bitterness were fain
To rend the oaken woodwork as before,
And tear the troughs in impotence of pain,-

Not knowing, they, that even at the door Divine Odysseus stood,-as Hermes told of yore.



(The Power of Love.)

FIRST, in an Agate-stone, a Centaur


With square man-breasts and hide of dapple dun, His brown arms bound behind him with a thong, On strained croup strove to free himself from one,A bolder rider than Bellerophon. For, on his back, by some strange power of art, There sat a laughing Boy with bow and dart, Who drove him where he would, and driving him, With that barbed toy would make him rear and start. To this was writ “World-victor" on the rim.


(The Thefts of Mercury.) The next in legend bade“ Beware of show !" 'Twas graven this on pale Chalcedony. Here great Apollo, with unbended bow, His quiver hard by on a laurel tree, For some new theft were rating Mercury. Who stood with downcast eyes, and feigned distress,

As daring not, for utter guiltiness,
To meet that angry voice and aspect joined.
His very heel-wings drooped; but yet, not less,
His backward hand the Sun-God's shafts purloined.


(The Song of Orpheus.) Then, on a Sardonyx, the man of Thrace, The voice supreme that through Hell's portals stole, With carved white lyre and glorious song-lit face, (Too soon, alas ! on Hebrus' wave to roll !) Played to the beasts, from a great elm-tree bole. And lo! with half-shut eyes the leopard spread His lissome length; and deer with gentle tread Came through the trees; and, from a nearer spring, The prick-eared rabbit paused; while overhead The stock-dove drifted downward, fluttering.



(The Crowning of Silenus.) Next came an Amethyst,—the grape in hue. On a mock throne, by fresh excess disgraced, With heavy head, and thyrsus held askew, The Youths, in scorn, had dull Silenus placed, And o'er him “King of Topers” they had traced. Yet but a King of Sleep he seemed at best,

With wine-bag cheeks that bulged upon his breast, And vat-like paunch distent from his carouse. Meanwhile, his ass, by no respect represt, Munched at the wreath upon her Master's brows.



(The Sirens.) LASTLY, with “Pleasure” was a Beryl graven, Clear-hued,-divine. Thereon the Sirens sung. What time, beneath, by rough rock-bases caven, And jaw-like rifts where many a green bone clung, The strong flood-tide, in-rushing, coiled and swung. Then,-in the offing,- -on the lift of the sea, A tall ship drawing shoreward-helplessly. For, from the prow, e'en now the rowers leap Headlong, nor seek from that sweet fate to flee ... Ah me, those Women-witches of the Deep !

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