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Watered
her bosom with weeping, and longed for her home and her
mother.
Beautiful,
eager, he wooed her, and kissed off her tears as he
hovered,
Roving at
will, as a bee, on the brows of a rock nymph-haunted,
Garlanded
over with vine, and acanthus, and clambering roses,
Cool in the
fierce still noon, where streams glance clear in the
mossbeds,
Hums on from
blossom to blossom, and mingles the sweets as he tastes
them.
Beautiful,
eager, he kissed her, and clasped her yet closer and
closer,
Praying her
still to speak – ‘Not cruel nor rough did my mother
Bear me to
broad-browed Zeus in the depths of the bass-covered
dungeon;
Neither in
vain, as I think, have I talked with the cunning of
Hermes,
Face unto
face, as a friend; or from grey-eyed Pallas Athené
Learnt what
is fit, and respecting myself, to respect in my dealings
Those whom
the gods should love; so fear not; to chaste espousals
Only I woo
thee, and swear, that a queen, and alone without rival
By me thou
sittest in Argos of Hellas, throne of my fathers,
Worshipped by
fair-haired kings: why callest thou still on thy
mother?
Why did she
leave thee thus here? For no foeman has bound thee; no
foeman
Winning with
strokes of the sword such a prize, would so leave it behind
him.’
Just as at
first some colt, wild-eyed, with quivering nostril,
Plunges in
fear of the curb, and the fluttering robes of the rider;
Soon, grown
bold by despair, submits to the will of his master,
Tamer and
tamer each hour, and at least, in the pride of
obedience,
Answers the
heel with a curvet, and arches his neck to be fondled,
Cowed by the
need that maid grew tame; while the hero indignant
Tore at the
fetters which held her: the brass, too cunningly
tempered,
Held to the
rock by the nail, deep wedged: till the boy, red with
anger,
Drew from his
ivory thigh, keep flashing, a falchion of diamond –
‘Now let the
work of the smith try strength with the arms of
Immortals!’
Dazzling it
fell; and the blade, as the vine-hook shears off the
vine-bough,
Carved
through the strength of the brass, till her arms fell soft on his
shoulder.
Once she
essayed to escape: but the ring of the water was round
her,
Round her the
ring of his arms; and despairing she sank on his bosom.
Then, like a
fawn when startled, she looked with a shriek to the
seaward.
‘Touch me
not, wretch that I am! For accursed, a shame and a
hissing,
Guiltless,
accurst no less, I await the revenge of the sea-gods.
Yonder it
comes! Ah go! Let me perish unseen, if I
perish!
Piecemeal!
Enough to endure by myself in the light of the sunshine
Guiltless,
the death of a kid!’ But the boy still lingered around
her
Loth, like a
boy, to forego her, and waken the cliffs with his
laughter.
‘Yon is the
foe, then? A beast of the sea? I had deemed him
immortal.
Titan, or
Proteus’ self, or Nereus, foeman of sailors:
Yet would I
fight with them all, but Poseidon, shaker of mountains,
Uncle of
mine, whom I fear, as is fit; for her haunts on Olympus,
Holding the
third of the world; and the gods all rise at his coming.
Unto none
else will I yield, god-helped: how then to a
monster,
Child of the
earth and of night, unreasoning, shapeless, accursed?’
‘Art thou,
too, then a god?’ ‘No god I,’ smiling he
answered;
‘Mortal as
thou, yet divine: but mortal the herds of the
ocean,
Equal to men
in that only, and less in all else; for they nourish
Blindly the
life of the lips, untaught by the gods, without wisdom:
Shame if I
fled before such!’
In her heart
new life was enkindled,
Worship and
trust, fair parents of love: but she answered him
sighing.
‘Beautiful,
why wilt thou die? Is the light of the sun, then, so
worthless,
Worthless to
sport with thy fellows in flowery glades of the forest,
Under the
broad green oaks, where never again shall I wander,
Tossing the
ball with my maidens, or wreathing the altar in
garlands,
Careless,
with dances and songs, till the glens rang loud to our
laughter.
Too full of
death the sad earth is already: the halls full of
weepers,
Quarried by
tombs all cliffs and the bones gleam white on the
sea-floor,
Numberless,
gnawn by the herds who attend on the pitiless sea-gods,
Even as mine
will be son: and yet noble it seems to me, dying,
Giving my
life for a people, to save to the arms of their lovers
Maidens and
youths for a while: thee, fairest of all, shall I slay
thee?
Add not thy
bones to the many, thus angering idly the dread ones!
Either the
monster will crush, or the sea-queen’s self overwhelm
thee,
Vengeful, in
tempest and foam, and the thundering walls of the
surges.
Why wilt thou
follow me down? can we love in the black blank
darkness?
Love in the
realms of the dead, in the land where all is forgotten?
Why wilt thou
follow me down? is it joy, on the desolate oozes,
Meagre to
flit, grey ghosts in the depths of the grey salt water?
Beautiful!
why wilt thou die, and defraud fair girls of thy
manhood?
Surely one
waits for thee longing, affair in the isles of the
ocean.
Go thy way; I
mine; for the gods grudge pleasure to mortals.’
Sobbing she
ended her moan, as her neck, like a storm-bent lily,
Drooped with
the weight of her woe, and her limbs sank, weary with
watching,
Soft on the
hard-ledged rock: but the boy, with his eye on the
monster,
Clasped her,
and stood, like a god; and his lips curved proud as he answered
–
‘Great are
the pitiless sea-gods: but greater the Lords of
Olympus;
Greater the
ægis-wielder, and greater is she who attends him.
Clear-eyed
Justice her name is, the counsellor, loved of Athené;
Helper of
heroes, who dare, in the god-given might of their
manhood,
Greatly to do
and to suffer, and far in the fens and the forests
Smite the
devourers of men, Heaven-hated, brood of the giants,
Twyformed,
strange, without like, who obey not the golden-haired
Rulers.
Vainly
rebelling they rage, till they die by the swords of the
heroes,
Even as this
must die; for I burn with the wrath of my father,
Wandering,
led by Athené; and dare whatsoever betides me.
Led by Athené
I won from the greay-haired terrible sisters
Secrets
hidden from men, when I found them asleep on the
sand-hills,
Keeping their
eye and their tooth, till they showed me the periloud
pathway
Over the
waterless ocean, the valley that led to the Gorgon.
Her too I
slew in my craft, Medusa, the beautiful horro;
Taught by
Athené I slew her, and saw not herself, but her image,
Watching the
mirror of brass, in the shield which a goddess had lent
me.
Cleaving her
brass-scaled throat, as she lay with her adders around
her,
Fearless I
bore off her head, in the folds of the mystical
goat-skin
Hide of
Amaltheié, fair nurse of the ægis-wielder.
Hither I bear
it, a gift to the gods, and a death to my foemen,
Freezing the
seer to stone; to hide thine eyes from the horror.
Kiss me but
once, and I go.’
Then lifting
her neck, like a sea-bird
Peering up
over the wave, from the foam-white swells of her bosom,
Blushing she
kissed him: afar, on the topmost Idalian summit
Laughed in
the joy of her heart, far-seeing, the queen Aphrodite.
Loosing his
arms from her waist he flew upward, awaiting the
sea-beast.
Onward it
came from the southward, as bulky and black as a galley,
Lazily
coasting along, as the fish fled leaping before it;
Lazily
breasting the ripple, and watching by sandbar and
headland,
Listening for
laughter of maidens at bleaching, or song of the fisher,
Children at
play on the pebbles, or cattle that pawed on the
sand-hills,
Rolling and
dripping it came, where bedded in glistening purple
Cold on the
cold sea-weeds lay the long white sides of the maiden,
Trembling,
her face in her hands, and her tresses afloat on the
water.
As when an
osprey aloft, dark-eyebrowed, royally crested,
Flags on by
creek and by cove, and in scorn of the anger of Nereus
Ranges, the
king of the shore; if he see on a glittering shallow,
Chasing the
bass and the mullet, the fin of a wallowing dolphin,
Halting, he
wheels round slowly, in doubt at the weight of his
quarry,
Whether to
clutch it alive, or to fall on the wretch like a
plummet,
Stunning with
terrible talon, the life of the brain in the hindhead:
Then rushes
up with a scream, and stooping the wrath of his eyebrows
Falls from
the sky, like a star, while the wind rattles hoarse in his
pinions.
Over him
closes the foam for a moment; and then from the sand-bed
Rolls up the
great fish, dead, and his side gleams white in the
sunshine.
Thus fell the
boy on the beast, unveiling the face of the Gorgon;
Thus fell the
boy on the beats; thus rolled up the beast in his
horror,
Once, as the
dead eyes glared into his; then his sides,
death-sharpened,
Stiffened and
stood, brown rock, in the wash of the wandering water.
Beautiful,
eager, triumphant, he leapt back again to his treasure;
Leapt back
again, fell blest, toward arms spread wide to receive
him.
Brimful of
honour he clasped her, and brimful of love she caressed
him,
Answering lip
with lip; while above them the queen Aphrodité
Poured on
their foreheads and limbs, unseen, ambrosial odours,
Givers of
longing, and rapture, and chaste content in espousals.
Happy whom
ere they be wedded anoints she, the Queen Aphrodité!
Laughing she
called to her sister, the chaste Tritonid Athené,
‘Seest thou
yonder thy puil, thou maid of the ægis-wielder?
How he has
turned himself wholly to love, and caresses a damsel,
Dreaming no
longer of honour, or danger, or Pallas Athené?
Sweeter, it
seems, to the young my gifts are; so yield me the
stripling;
Yield him me
now, les he die in his prime, like hapless Adonis.’
Smiling she
ansered in turn, that chaste Tritonid Athené:
‘Dear unto
me, no less than to thee, is the wedlock of heroes;
Dear, who can
worthily win him a wife not unworthy; and noble,
Pure with the
pure to beget brave children, the like of their father.
Happy, who
thus stands linked to the heroes who were, and who shall
be;
Girdled with
holiest awe, not sparing of self; for his mother
Watches his
steps with the eyes of the gods; and his wife and his
children
Move him to
plan and to do in the farm and the camp and the council.
Thence comes
weal to a nation; but woe upon woe, when the people
Mingle in
love at their will, like the brutes, not heeding the
future.’
Then from her
gold-strung loom, where she wrought in her chamber of
cedar,
Awful and
fair she arose; and she went by the glens of Olympus;
Went by the
isles of the sea, and the wind never ruffled her mantle;
Went by the
water of Crete, and the black-beaked fleets of the
Phœnics;
Came to the
sea-girt rock which is washed by the surges forever,
Bearing the
wealth of the gods, for a gift to the bride of a hero.
There she met
Andromeden and Persea, shaped like Immortals;
Solemn and
sweet was her smile, while they hearts beat loud at her
coming;
Solemn and
sweet was her smile, as she spoke to the pair in her
wisdom.
‘Three things
hold we, the Rulers, who sit by the founts of Olympus,
Wisdom, and
prowess, and beauty; and freely we pour them on mortals;
Pleased at
our image in man, as a father at his in his children.
One thing
only we grudge to mankind: when a hero,
unthankful,
Boasts of our
gifts as his own, stiffnecked, and dishonours the
givers,
Turning our
weapons against us. Him Até follows avenging;
Slowly she
tracks him and sure, as a lyme-hound; sudden she grips
him,
Crushing him,
blind in his pride, for a sign and a terror to folly.
This we
avenge, as is fit; in all else never weary of giving.
Come, then
damsel, and know if the gods grudge pleasure to
mortals.’
Loving and
gentle she spoke: but the maid stood in awe, as the
goddess
Plaited with
soft swift finger her tresses, and decked her in jewels,
Armlet and
anklet and earbell; and over her shoulders a necklace,
Heavy,
enamelled, the flower of the gold and the brass of the
mountain.
Trembling
with joy she gazed, so well Hæphaistos had made it.
Deep in the
forges of ætna, while Charis his lady beside him,
Mingled her
grace in his craft, as he wrought for his sister Athené.
Then on the
brows of the maiden, a veil bound Pallas Athené;
Ample it fell
to her feet, deep-fringed, a wonder of weaving.
Ages and ages
agone, it was wrought on the heights of Olympus,
Wrought in
the gold-strung loom, by the finger of cunning Athené.
In it she
wove all creatures that teem in the womb of the ocean;
Nereid, siren
and triton, and dolphin, and arrowy fishes
Glittering
round, many-hued, on the flame-red folds of the mantle.
In it she
wove, too, a town where grey-haired kings sat in
judgement;
Sceptre in
hand in the market, they sat, doing right by the people,
Wise:
while above watched Justice, and near, far-seeing
Apollo.
Round it she
wove for a fringe all herbs of the earth and the water,
Violet,
asphodel, ivy, and vine-leaves, roses and lilies,
Coral and
sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms of the
ocean:
Now from
Olympus she bore it, a dower to the bride of a hero.
Over the
limbs of the damsel she wrapt it: the maid still
trembled,
Shading her
face with her hands; for the eyes of the goddess were
awful.
Then as a
pine upon Ida when southwest winds blow landward,
Stately she
bent to the damsel, and breathed on her: under her
breathing
Taller and
fairer she grew; and the goddess spoke in her wisdom.
‘Courage I
give thee; the heart of a queen, and the mind of
Immortals;
Godlike to
talk with the gods, and to look on their eyes
unshrinking;
Fearing the
sun and stars no more, and the blue salt water;
Fearing us
only, the lords of Olympus, friends of the heroes;
Chastely and
wisely to govern thyself and thy house and thy people,
Bearing a
god-like race to thy spouse, till dying I set thee
High for a
star in the heavens, a sign and a hope to the seamen,
Spreading thy
long white arms all night in the heights of the æther,
Hard by thy
sire and the hero thy spouse, while near thee thy mother
Sits in her
ivory chair, as she plaits ambrosial tresses.
All night
long thou wilt shine; all day thou wilt feast on
Olympus,
Happy, the
guest of the gods, by thy husband, the god-begotten.’
Blissful,
they turned them to go; but the fair-tressed Pallas
Athené
Rose, like a
pillar of tall white cloud, toward silver Olympus;
Far above
ocean and shore, and the peaks of the isles and the
mainland;
Where no
frost nor storm is, in clear blue windless abysses,
High in the
home of the summer, the seats of the happy Immortals,
Shrouded in
keep deep blaze, unapproachable; there ever youthful
Hebé,
Harmonié, and the daughter of Jove, Aphrodité,
Whirled in
the white-linked dance with the gold-crowned Hours and the
Graces,
Hand within
hand, while clear piped Phœbe, queen of the woodlands.
All day long
they rejoiced: but Athené still in her chamber
Bent herself
over her loom, as the stars rang loud to her singing,
Chanting of
order and right, and of foresight, warden of nations;
Chanting of
labour and craft, and of wealth in the port and the
garner;
Chanting of
valour and fame, and the man who can fall with the
foremost,
Fighting for
children and wife, and the field which his father bequeathed
him.
Sweetly and
solemnly sand she, and planned new lessons for mortals:
Happy, who
hearing obey her, the wise unsullied Athené.
Eversley,
1852
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