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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75533-0.txt b/75533-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53eee43 --- /dev/null +++ b/75533-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2980 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75533 *** + + + + + + Greek Wayfarers + + and + + Other Poems + + By + + Edwina Stanton Babcock + + G. P. Putnam’s Sons + New York and London + The Knickerbocker Press + 1916 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1916 + BY + EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK + + + The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + + To + + MARIÁNTHE + + +The author believes that Greece today--largely because of her people’s +opportunity in America--knows conscious renewal of her endless spirit +while she still keeps wonder and glory for all who approach her. + +Whatever her destiny, her natural beauties have not betrayed her, +and through her glorious wildness and barrens her people are looking +outward and forward. Therefore, if these verse-pictures of ancient and +modern Greek life bring to those familiar with Greece any refreshing +memory and to those who do not know this beautiful country an awakened +interest, they will justify their existence. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +THE AMAZONS AT EPÍDAUROS 3 + +THE BLACK SAIL 5 + +WIDOWED ANDROMACHE 6 + +THE SACRED SHIP FROM DELOS 7 + +THE LITTLE SHADE 9 + +THE CONTRAST--VOLO 10 + +“SHE HAD REVERENCE”--VOLO 11 + +THE GLORY--GOOD-FRIDAY NIGHT, ATHENS, 1914 12 + +SUNSET ON THE ACROPOLIS 15 + +THE STREET OF SHOES (ATHENS) 16 + +ON THE ELEUSINIAN WAY--SPRING 18 + +IN THE ROOM OF THE FUNERAL STELÆ (ATHENS MUSEUM) 20 + +“THE SEVEN-STRINGED MOUNTAIN LUTE” 22 + +GREEK WAYFARERS 23 + +THE THRESHING-FLOOR 30 + +BY THE WALLACHIAN TENTS--THESSALY 32 + +THE VALE OF TEMPÉ 35 + +THE ENCOUNTER 37 + +EASTER DANCE AT MEGARA--FIRST PICTURE 40 + +EASTER DANCE AT MEGARA--SECOND PICTURE 41 + +PEACE, 1914 44 + +DELPHI 46 + +THE DESCENT FROM DELPHI 49 + +TWILIGHT ON ACRO-CORINTH 51 + +ROMANCE 53 + +NIGHT IN OLD CORINTH 55 + +AQUAMARINE 57 + +THE SHEPHERDESS 60 + +MAY-DAY IN KALAMATA 63 + +FROM THE ARCADIAN GATE 66 + +THE ABBESS 68 + +GREEK FARMERS 70 + +SONG 73 + +TO THE OLYMPIAN HERMES 75 + +GREECE--1915-1916 78 + +THE SINGING STONES 80 + +THE OLD QUEST 83 + +THE GODS ARE NOT GONE, BUT MAN IS BLIND 86 + +THE SEA OF TIME 87 + +ON THE THOROUGHFARE 89 + +AT PÆSTUM 90 + +PHIDIAS--A DRAMATIC EPISODE 95 + +EPILOGUE 118 + + + + + GREEK WAYFARERS + + + + +TO THE AMAZONS AT EPÍDAUROS + + + Ride, Amazons, ride! + Militant women, careless of tunic and limb; + Sinuous torsos, naked legs boy-like and pressed + Close to the warm horse’s flank, while the wild battle-hymn + Fixes the eyes with the far-reaching look of the quest; + Caring no more for the places of mother and bride; + Ride, Amazons, ride! + + Ride, Amazons, ride! + Arrow-swift warriors galloping over the plain, + Feverish, urged ever onward with furious rage; + War-fretted golden-hair tangled with wind-fretted mane; + One-breasted heroines, vigorous, quick to engage, + Hot with the vigor of pulsating, vehement pride-- + Ride, Amazons, ride! + + Ride, Amazons, ride! + Penthesilèa falls by Achilles’ drawn bow. + Fell she, the Queen, by the white tents of bold Priam’s side? + Leaderless women, on to the battle ye go-- + Plunging on, speeding on; galloping Vengeance, astride + Horses that feel ye victorious, with gods allied-- + Ride, Amazons, ride! + + Ride, Amazons, ride! + Fearless stone-women, ardent and flushed with the race, + Gleaming like swords, ruthless of body and breast; + Nothing shall utterly quell ye, nor wholly deface, + Ye shall ride onward forever, on ultimate quest. + Spirited! Splendid! Time shall not turn ye aside. + Ride, Amazons, ride! + + + + +THE BLACK SAIL + + + How did it seem, that warm thyme-scented day + When emerald figs hung swelling in the dark + Rose-nippled glooms of laurel and of bay, + And pomegranate flowers burned their spark + Through cypresses, to wait ’neath temple frieze, + Scanning the hermless highways of the seas, + + Watching for one white canvas far away, + And when the morning seemed to grow so late, + Going, amaracus and grapes to lay + With reeds and gums on Nike’s stylobate, + Muttering: “’Tis the Day--he cannot fail!” + Then on a sudden, seeing--the black sail! + + + + +WIDOWED ANDROMACHE + + + “Full in the morning sun I saw him first + And followed him through meadows, flower-massed, + All his steep, toilsome ways, I, too, traversed; + After his battles all his wounds I nursed, + From our tent gazing to the cities passed. + + “Then, to the Trojan walls, where battle burned + And every altar had a bloody rim, + I trod his ardent footsteps, though I yearned + For fields so free; but until back he turned + My only way was onward, after him. + + “The summons came while I was following, true, + Eager, alert, though bruised by thorn and stone. + Had he but paused to tell me, ere he drew + His cloak about him, what I was to do, + I would have kept the path, yea, all alone! + + “But he was silent, answering not my woe. + He muffled him against my prayers and tears. + I raise my arms, hung with the links of years, + Hung with his broken chains, my right to show + But--o’er his Unknown Paths, I may not go!” + + + + +THE SACRED SHIP FROM DELOS + +(The Pilot speaks) + + + “Strange, how I felt the homeward voyage long; + As I looked back to Delos o’er our wake, + And heard the priest’s song, saw our sails out-shake + Under the round sun hanging like a gong + Mid-heaven. All night long I lay on deck + Remembering how he taught us in the Porch; + Yet, the black waters’ phosphorescent torch + Gave me no Sign, no word in white foam-fleck. + + “When we passed Sunion, methought I saw + Red fires burning ’mid the holy white + Of sacred columns; but the Athenian law + I did not know! And then, the reef’s long jaw + Foamed at us. Through the hollow night + We fared, unwitting; putting forth our might; + Speeding with oars our fated way upon, + Till the white Dawn ensilvered Phaleron. + + “At the Piræus, when I saw the throng,-- + Crito and Phædo, there, to meet us,--I + Gave myself no portentous reason why, + But thought: ‘He’s free!’ (Forsooth he did no wrong) + Then I remembered lofty words he said + Of freedom as its dangerous truth he read,-- + Great Zeus! The cowards might as well indict + Sea-circled priest or mountain anchorite! + + “Crito it was who told me, voice all raw + With grief, and on my shoulder his kind hand: + He saw me flinch,--‘Tremblest?’ he said, ‘Nay, stand + Here in the shadow. ’Twas _thy_ ship they saw, + _The Sacred ship from Delos_, ere they gave + The signal for the hemlock--and his grave! + He drank the cup: the while, methought, thy prow + Would have steered Hades-ward, didst thou but know.’ + + “I made no sign. No trite word left my lip. + I turned from Crito, and saw Phædo, grave, + Join him. Alone, I went back to my ship, + Sails furled with garlands riding harbor-wave; + I looked at her, rehearsed the sacred rite, + And purified me; set my torch alight: + ‘Socrates! Master!’ I sobbed once; set then + Aflame the Sacred Ship of Ill-Omen!” + + + + +THE LITTLE SHADE + + + No longer that grey visage fix, + Charon, + Asking me how I come to mix + With this pale boat-load on the Styx, + Charon. + + I am so very small a Shade, + Charon, + Holding the vase my father made + And toys of silver all inlaid, + Charon. + + Ferry me to the golden trees, + Charon, + To isles of childish play and ease + And baths of dove-like Pleiades, + Charon. + + Ferry me to the azure lands, + Charon, + Where some dead mother understands + The lifting of my baby hands, + Charon. + + + + +THE CONTRAST + + “Neither my Magnesian home, nor Demetrias, my happy country mourned + for me, the son of Sotimos; nor did my mother Soso lament me,--for no + weakling did I march against my foes.”--_From a painted stele at Volo, + Thessaly._ + + + ’Tis said, when young Greeks went to die, + Greek mothers would not weep; + And steadfast mien and tearless eye + Controlled themselves to keep. + + Ah!--they were trained to bloody deed; + We--in this time so late + That life seemed gentle, know our breed + More tragically great! + + Had we foreseen, no tear would fall. + Now mothers, too, could smile ... + Only, we proved men brave ... and dead + In such a little while! + + + + +“SHE HAD REVERENCE” + + “O Rhadamanthos, or O Minos, if you have judged any other woman as + of surpassing worth, so also judge this young wife of Aristomachos + and take her to the Islands of the Blessèd. For she had reverence for + the gods and a sense of justice sitting in council with her. Talisos, + a Cretan city, reared her and this same earth enfolds her dead; thy + fate, O Archidíke!”--_From a painted stele in the Museum at Volo._ + + + The dear dead women Browning drew + Lean forth in happy watchfulness; + With them Rossetti’s Starry-tress: + And Tennyson’s royal maidens press + To bring you to their Sacred Few. + Lovely companions wait for you, + Dear _Archidíke_, wife divine, + With asphodels your locks to twine; + Thus crowning with celestial vine + That noble reverence you knew! + + + + +THE GLORY + +Good Friday Night, Athens, 1914. + + + Myriad candles windy flaring + Over faces stilled in prayer; + Silken banners, icon-bearing, + Jewelled vestments, laces rare-- + All the people in a daze, + Walking in a candle-haze, + Of uplifted pure amaze. + All the people in a stream, + Crowding in an Easter dream; + While choragic song + Pours from out the throng-- + “It is the Glory--holy holiday.” + So, smiling, good Athenians say. + + Priests in choir, softly singing, + Carry the Pantokrator, + While the city-bells are ringing + In their wild two-toned uproar; + All the people, in a mass, + With the purple-robed Papas, + Bearing crosses made of brass, + Scarlet cap, and fustanelle, + Turkish fez, and bead, and bell, + While choragic song + Leads the trancèd throng. + “It is the Glory--holy holiday,” + So, smiling, good Athenians say. + + Colored lights, and dripping torches, + Burn on Lykabettos crags; + In the narrow streets and porches + Whole-sheep roasting never flags. + Bonfires all the country light, + Up to dark Hymettus’ height, + Making all the hillsides bright. + Still the surging crowds advance, + Moving, moving in a trance; + While choragic song + Leads the trancèd throng. + “It is the Glory--holy holiday,” + So, smiling, good Athenians say. + + In their wistful majesty, + See them waiting for a sign, + Of religious unity + From the human or divine; + Faithful, yearning, poor, uncouth, + Pagan-born, yet craving truth-- + Old grey-heads and stripling youth. + All the people in a stream, + Holding candles in a dream, + While choragic song + Swells throughout the throng. + “It is the Glory--holy holiday,” + This, smiling, good Athenians say. + + + + +SUNSET ON THE ACROPOLIS + + + If ever I have freed me of all time, + Let me so free me now, that I have brought me + Near to these hill-top temples, which have caught me + Up to their soaring heights and Vision wrought me + Of things serene, and stricken, and sublime. + + Let me, the titled, spurious Christian, face + This solemn wistfulness of Pagan yearning-- + This aspiration of white columns, burning + With golden fires, their pillars deep inurning + The tragic, sunset beauty of the place. + + Let me stand silent, under evening skies, + Watching this radiance grown cold and hoary; + In death-white, black-stained ruins, read the story + The Parthenon tells of ancient Grecian glory, + Reiterating beauty as it dies. + + Let me stand silently and humbly, there, + Seeking that Unknown God Greeks apprehended; + That, as the temples fade, and day is ended, + My own hope with this ancient faith be blended, + And I be part of this eternal prayer! + + + + +THE STREET OF SHOES + +(Athens) + + + Now, while the Bulgars creep in stealthy crews + To Macedonian borders, do they stay + In Athens as they were one April day-- + The busy cobblers in “The Street of Shoes”? + + I wonder: for the faces leaning there, + Had Oriental heat, the hands that sewed + Had look of readiness; some skillful code + The hammers rapped on leather-scented air. + + The old shoemakers, hung about with hide + In cave-like booths, with beads and fringe adrip, + Muttered their restless words beneath the clip + Of shoe-laces, or hammered, sombre-eyed; + + Red-capped, white-bearded, keen for petty strife, + They hammered and they stitched; while, might and main + Down their small, narrow, red-morocco lane, + They cut the scarlet shoes with gleaming knife. + + How would it go, if mad Bulgarian hordes + Invaded here with pillage and abuse? + I like to think that in the Street of Shoes + Those old, gnarled hands would fiercely leap to swords! + + I love to think how fiery faces there + Would light like lurid skies before the storm, + And that Athenian shoemakers would swarm + To guard the city with ferocious care. + + Then, if the foe to trample Athens choose, + I pity them if those Greek cobblers still + Stick to their lasts. These would not wait to spill + A brighter red than red-morocco shoes! + + Bulgars would know how nimble fingers use + Flayed skin to keep the needles very bright; + They would learn much before they took their flight + Forever from the valiant Street of Shoes! + + + + +ON THE ELEUSINIAN WAY--SPRING + + + Hush! Walk slowly; + All this winding road is holy; + Place your votive image in a niche + By Pass of Daphne, where rocks forward pitch. + Now, sit lowly-- + Under dim firs that cool the dust-white way + Curving from Athens to Eleusis Bay. + + Soft! Speak lightly! + See’st this myriad Concourse? all the sprightly + Luminous Mystæ? Naked flower forms + Dancing in close commingled color-swarms + So brightly? + Follow them in their green-hot Mænad flame, + Their sweet mysterious rapture of no name. + + Watch! Far-seeing + Demeter’s yellow torches fitful fleeing. + And seed processions moving towards the shrine + Where motion, moisture, act in soft sunshine; + And being + Earth-taught, flower-figures of desire + Sway toward white Oreads quick with fire. + + Take, unceasing + Joy of powers these Mystæ are releasing + Eternal, they, who seem so lovely-brief. + Soft luminous shapes of petal and of leaf + Increasing, + They sweep across Semele’s ancient fields + Handing the torch the calm Earth-mother yields. + + Yea--the senses + Have their holy truths and recompenses + Sweetly simple may their teachings be + “Wine flashing clusters from a sacred tree”; + Defences + From all our sorry wisdoms have these flowers + Who teach deep truths with Dionysiac powers! + + + + +IN THE ROOM OF THE FUNERAL STELÆ + +(Athens Museum) + + + O’er all the world I wandered with my grief, + My human grief, that would not be forgot, + Finding no face, no word, nor any spot + Where haunted heart and brain could find relief. + + Until the morning I unwitting stept + Into the stelæ-halls and the great peace + Of the Greek sorrow over Life’s surcease + Enveloped me, even in woe inept. + + Here, marble love in simple human sense + To nearest friend gives earthly treasure up, + A matron handing maid a box or cup; + A man from dog and slave turning him hence; + + A soldier springing out into the dark; + A wife slow fading in her husband’s arms; + The inexorable Fact, its vague alarms + And Love grown suddenly aloof and stark! + + Yet no breast-beating here, nor frantic woe, + Nor bitter tears, nor loud outcry of pain. + Only the question: “Will they live again? + Go they forever from us, when they go?” + + Majestic sorrowers the figures stand, + Absorbed in contemplation of One Thing ... + No promises, nor priestly counselling, + Only the longing eyes and clasping hand! + + Down the long halls I wandered; Athens’ Spring + Radiant without, with almonds’ rosy spray, + And violets crowding on the hills. That day + My dead heart stirred to marble comforting! + + For the Greeks _knew_! Death is the only thing + That keeps its dignity. So Death they met + Ready to pay to him a subject’s debt; + Going out awe-struck as to meet a King. + + The Greeks _knew_! nothing any more can heal + The heart Death once despoils of sorrowing. + With proud simplicity they felt the sting, + Then wore the mystery like sacred seal! + + Calm-eyed, controlled, those marble figures gaze + Into the depths no mortal eyes have known, + Then, Grecian head thrown back, the world is shown + Sorrow’s transfigured face, immortal ways! + + + + +“THE SEVEN-STRINGED MOUNTAIN LUTE” + + “Homer, Sappho, Anacreon, Pindar, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, the + very names are a song.”--M. C. M. + + + I knew, no matter how they plucked at me + Like golden fingers--all those cadenced names-- + That never could I answer; for the power + Of their majestic harmonies was perfect flower. + No greater song, nor lovelier verse could be + Unless Greece lived another golden hour. + I tried to echo them. I vainly sought + Timid expression of their rhythmic fire; + My melodies with halting effort caught + Faintly their classic motive and desire. + Yet, while I failed, a miracle was wrought, + Themselves did sing! Thus, humble, I was taught + These names that are the plectrum and the lyre. + + + + +GREEK WAYFARERS + + +I + + Around the Hellenic coast the dark-blue bands + Of circling waters, like a loin-cloth, wind + The stalwart nakedness of seaward lands; + Bronze crag, and beach, and rock and terrace bind + As foreground for the somber swelling tent + Of purple mountain. On the morning sky + Pale azure summits, with their sides snow-rent, + Loom in the distance; slowly, solemnly, + The coasts of Greece define; their misty chains + Backed by soft clouds and silver sky-moraines. + While we sail on, reverent vision-sharers, + To read the romance of the Greek Wayfarers! + + +II + + Those serrate ridges toward the southward brew + Grape-colored mist, snow-frothed; the foamy crest + Of Mount Taÿgetos bursts on the blue + Peloponnesian pinnacles, repressed + Back of fair bays and coasts. Rich lands of corn, + “Slopes that the Spartans loved,” the Headlands Three + Hide from the eye; but nearer shores forlorn + Wounded and Ancient, scarred of rock and tree + Looming beyond the starry-clustered Isles, + Where fire-blue waters surge on circled strand, + Lead to far cliffs, which once were beacon-bearers + In early wars, for early Greek Wayfarers. + + +III + + Each azure-rippled, rock-encrusted beach + Tells of the dusky, strong Phœnician sails + That came from Sidon, passed the stormy reach, + And touched at islands, dark as wave-tossed bales + Left floating in the murex-stainèd sea + Where restless fishers, full of dawning schemes + Cruised in the tunny waters; sailing free, + Drawn by the Tyrian Purple to new dreams. + Adventurers, traders, heard the sailor-boasts + Of civilized beginnings on the coasts, + And in black vessels brought the new Space-Darers + Whose reckless sea-paths made them Greek Wayfarers! + + +IV + + Thus rovers came, and dark-skinned traders planned + New villages by fertile pasture lures + In lonely valleys; by succeeding hands + Minoan vases, Mycenean ewers + Were fashioned; then the tribes fought hill by hill, + And coast by coast, for wealth, till Knossos’ tombs + And Tiryns’ palaces had dawning skill + Of goldsmith and of craftsman in their glooms. + The legends grew, the wooden statues raised + New, mystic Cults. Where rams and young kids grazed + Distaffs sprang up, and primitive sheep-shearers + Brought snowy fleece to clothe the Greek Wayfarers. + + +V + + Delphi, Eleusis, guided human awe + By mystic voices and by legend thrill; + Then, one by one, came templed porch and floor + Gleaming by sea or on some fir-crowned hill. + Far back in forest, or on Islands, rose + Transcendent loveliness of chiselled stone, + And in the secret shrine Artemis chose + To hear, or not to hear, the victim’s moan. + The entrails burned; worshippers at the feet + Of Gold-Apollo knew the saving-sweet + Comfort of God-in-life, evolved from terrors + Of Nature-forces by the Greek Wayfarers. + + +VI + + And then the restless ichor in Greek veins + Created dreams of new posterity, + And mother-cities planning greater gains + Sent emigrants exploring on the sea. + Before Ionians, strange Æolians went. + To Chalcedon came “œkist” altar-fire; + Silver, and iron, and flax, for commerce sent + Dorians roving with renewed desire; + And coins and woolens, pottery and dyes, + Marked with age-seal each eager new emprise; + And shrines and temples followed all the eras + Of settled colonies of Greek Wayfarers. + + +VII + + To vale and coppice, every forest place, + Came note of Syrinx and the sound of flutes; + And golden ball and pomegranate trace + On priestly robes; and ’mid the cool volutes + Were public treasures heaped; the Councils met; + Athens and Corinth grew to haughty names, + And glorious youths and lovely boys were set + To daring deeds at the Olympic Games. + By mountain paths and solitudes they trod, + They set the votive offerings to their god + Invoking glory--happy olive-wearers-- + Consciously beautiful, as Greek Wayfarers. + + +VIII + + Then sculptors wrought and painters ground the crude + Colors, and potters found the yellowish glaze; + And out of Cretan bowls and bottles rude + Came polychrome and monographic vase. + The echoing, marble theatres curved in hills, + Where master-voices, with dramatic art, + Chorused all joys and passions, and all ills-- + And touched with deep emotion every heart, + Till poet-minds flowered to richer truth; + Forsaking earlier thoughts and laws uncouth, + With nobler aim to be the way-preparers + Of philosophic thought for Greek Wayfarers. + + +IX + + While every river mothered daughters fair, + And clouds conceived, and ancient trees enslaved + Satyr and hama-dryad ... then the flare + Of the Greek torch too happy-high was waved-- + The jealous East was plotting, Persians lay + In plundering splendor, with their blazing hosts, + Till Marathon and grim Thermopylæ.... + Then, envious cities, roused at Athens’ boasts + Of glittering power, crushed the Golden Age. + Under the Spartan and Bœotian rage; + “Leagues” and sea-struggles, Macedonian terrors, + Dragged to a desperate pass the Greek Wayfarers. + + +X + + Yet after Byzantine and Ottoman + Settled despotic heel upon the land, + No cruel Venetian yoke nor Turkish ban + Forced the brave Greeks’ unconquerable stand. + Outsiders saw the Cause inviolate, + Byron’s hot poet’s heart and cosmic brain + Urged on the struggle, to once more create + An independent Greece, unchained again. + The whole world watched the piteous battle fought, + And hailed small triumphs, passionately bought + With faith, until, from wild, despairing errors, + The struggling Greeks once more were Greek Wayfarers. + + +XI + + Now on Greek highways, where the wagons roll, + Piled high with wineskins, or with bags of flour, + Past schools and churches and the fountain bowl, + New hope springs in the peasants hour by hour. + Greeks know that through their sordid modern strife + They walk in poetry, believing well + They are the children of enchanted life, + That sends them forward messages to tell + Of Greek restraint and hospitality, + Greek love of beauty, and Greek dignity, + Making them, in their toil, devoted carers + For new and better goals for Greek Wayfarers. + + +XII + + What are the goals to be, and what the gain? + As soldiers camp in valley and on hill + Do Spartan youths leap on the dusty plain? + Does spirit of Leonidas keep still + One death-defying purpose? Will the blood + Leap of a sudden out of the Soros, + And Marathon with bright phalanxes flood? + Do all Greeks bear the title _agathos_? + Ah, Greece! Ah, Greece! dare for the precious Past, + And throw your lot with gallant men that cast + Eternal die, to be the Spirit-Bearers + For all the world and all the Greek Wayfarers. + + + + +THE THRESHING-FLOOR + + “This mess of hard-kneaded barley-bread and a libation mixed in a + little cup.”--_Greek Anthology._ + + + There’s a white stone-paven floor + Set in a jade-green field + Where the spiked acacias yield + A shadow, and the four + Earthen pots on a round well-wheel + Come up drippingly full and spill + Where the white horse runs his circle round + Drawing water for garden ground. + + The white foundation here + Has ne’er held temple-plinth, + But mint and terebinth + Perfume is in the air. + And here, at the harvest-time the wains + Rattle along the sunburnt plains, + And the peasant’s arms are bared to thresh + Food from the golden barley mesh. + + Before the morning’s long + Comes drowsy, sliding snatch + Of primitive threshing-song; + Down in the garden patch + The murmurous sleepy drone of bees + Blends with the stir of the poplar-trees, + And the rustle of bundled grain + Tossed from the wagon train. + + Ah! the _Mavrodaphne_ wine + Is fruity and sweet to taste, + And the oranges are fine + And the blocked Loukoúmi paste. + But I long for a crust of peasant bread + Eaten with honey from Parnes’ head, + And I hunger the more and more + At sight of the threshing-floor! + + + + +BY THE WALLACHIAN TENTS + + +THE BOY + + Over dripping washing-trough + Bends my mother busy drubbing, + Father’s fustanella rubbing + With the dark soap, smeary--rough. + There my goats go, wild careering + From the sound of wagons, nearing. + Oootz--Ella--Whooff--! + Out of there, you silly kid, + By the old soup-kettle hid. + + +THE MOTHER + + That boy, lying in the thyme, + Sheepskinned loafer in the grasses, + He is carelessness sublime, + Sunned in yellow iris masses. + Thinks he of the dead men sleeping + Far away from flocks he’s keeping, + Piled in bloody mountain-passes? + With the brutal guns again + Booming: “Give us men! More men!” + + +THE BOY + + Baby hanging from the tree, + Peeps from out his bright bag-hollows, + While the white dog rolls and wallows + Bitten by an angry bee. + Forth for those sheep he must sally, + Where they by the cold brook dally. + Oootz--Ella--Deee!-- + Now the fools, in silly mass, + Scamper toward the mountain-pass. + + +THE MOTHER + + Far off, on the dusty plain, + Reels my drunk Wallachian, + Coming up from town again. + Drinking in the village khan, + All our Balkan coin he’s spending; + As his stupid way he’s wending + I the future scan. + Ugh! I hear those guns again + Surly--growling: “Men! More men!” + + +THE BOY + + Swift the smooth Peneios flows + Smoky-white to sea’s blue gleaming. + Where the battleships are steaming + Ready for their foes, + I should like to fight and bear me + Fiercely. Nothing there would scare me. + Ella--Ella--Pros! + With this high-swung shepherd-stick + That old bucking ram I’ll hit! + + +THE MOTHER + + St. Spiridion! He beats + That old ram as ’t were his woman! + What a fine, big, brawny human + Have I suckled at these teats! + Ah! I have my mother-reasons + To distrust Rumanian treasons, + When our Council meets. + Bah! those dirty guns again + Booming: “Give us men! More men!” + + When my man comes, o’er and o’er + I will bluster--Not will hunger + Nor your beatings make me monger + Sons to angry war. + That brown boy, in sunshine dreaming, + I’ll not feed him to the teeming + Snorting cannon-maw! + Move we now our tents again, + Far from guns that roar: “More men!” + + + + +THE VALE OF TEMPÉ + + + The river that winds through the Vale of Tempé is white, + Smokily white, like water opaque with a charm, + Olympus knows why. He towers there, frostily bright, + And Ossa forth stretches a slaty, precipice arm,-- + Deepening silvery pools into green-clouded light,-- + So that Tempé is hidden and secret and free from alarm. + + But the green Vale of Tempé leads forth to the stir of the Sea + Where the battleships growl and where Salonica is held + Fast in the grip of the Powers, who fight for the key + Unlocking the Border-doors; if Tempé were shelled, + Then the white Peneios, veiled as for bridal, would be + Scarlet with blood of soldiers, like forests felled. + + Pindar, Spenser, Shelley, Byron,--ye bards-- + Lyric-tongued all! What if the fair Tempé glade, + Where delicate flowers gleam on the virginal swards + And the cuckoo pipes to the shy-footed dryad-maid + And the trees hide Daphne,--What if the horror-mad hordes + Trample this Pastoral, where old Mythology stayed? + + They answer not and the soft Peneios is veiled, + ’Mid the joy of the fauns and flowers and river-born shade. + But an old Belief in the smoky-white water is trailed-- + Who knows but Apollo, fierce for his pagan glade-- + Will hasten, haughtily, in shining sun-armor mailed, + And carry it off to the Greek gods’ ambuscade? + + + + +THE ENCOUNTER + + + ’Twas there in Tempé that he lay + Under a plane-tree, fast asleep, + His pipes far-flung.--Pan! growing gray; + Lines on his mocking face; his gay + Scuffling hoofs forgot to leap. + + The river pleaded, “Wake the God”; + The birds sat by with soft aside; + Up from the delicate spring-sod + I saw the eager flowers nod, + And little leaves my language tried. + + I woke Pan. Bore the deep earth-gaze + On my false being, false to life + By all the dreary modern ways: + “Pan,” I dared whisper--“long the days-- + One needs thy music in the Strife. + + “Full many a spring when poppies fired + This brook-side, did I play for you.” + Pan answered me: “My music tired, + For colder music you desired; + So be it--I am weary too!” + + “Forgive me for my sad unworth, + Oh, patient Pan,” I murmured low. + “I know that I have failed the earth; + Only, perhaps, by spirit-birth, + My children thy wild pipes will know.” + + Pan frowned: “Nay, all the world doth rave; + Against the Pipe; they rant, like you! + Go, people my deserted cave + With theories and books. Zeus save + That I should hinder what you do!” + + Far back in Tempé’s leafy glade + The dappled sunshine filtered through, + And dewdrops opalled every blade. + I was not of the god afraid.-- + And still there was a thing to do. + + “Ah, Pan, dear Pan,” I softly cried, + “Who is it that shall save but thee? + Thy music, god, the whole world wide, + Is listened for on country-side, + And every dreamer bows the knee! + + “By musky grapes in rosy hands, + And all the golden fruits that glow, + A happy lover understands + Thy fluting, hearts in sober lands + Languish till they thy clear pipe know! + + “Ah, Pan--play on! Forgive the souls + Whom knowledge cheats of love; forgive + That life exacts its bitter tolls + And leads to artificial goals. + Oh! Play! that we may surelier live!” + + I bent, I touched the shaggy hoof, + The horns; I looked into the eyes + Clear as rock pools, and yet aloof + Like wild bird’s, then I saw the proof + That Pan is kind beyond surmise. + + Tears! In Pan’s eyes!--I sprang away + (Not even Pan should see me weep)-- + Yet on through Tempé, all that day + I heard wild, happy piping.--Yea, + I wakened Pan!--He’s not asleep! + + + + +EASTER DANCE AT MEGARA + + +FIRST PICTURE + + Green lizards flash along the walls + Curd-white against the fire-blue bay; + The pepper-trees’ fern branches sway + Their delicate, hot, scarlet balls. + + The linkèd maidens wreathe the square, + Blazing with festal coinage, hung + On brown necks; yellow kerchiefs, flung + O’er dusky, long, twin braids of hair. + + The Attic maids, with Attic mirth + Subdued and shy, from hill and plain, + On Easter holiday, at birth + Of spring, weave altar-pacèd chain. + + And sing a song, to shepherd flute, + Its shifting, three-toned lilt is cold, + Only--it is so very old, + The wonder is it is not mute. + + But so, they say, did maidens dance + In dim Eleusis, near the shrine. + And that is why these dark eyes shine + With classic-cultured ignorance. + + And that is why, from near and far, + Greek peasants come with stately pride, + They know that Past from which they glide + Into the dance at Megara! + + +SECOND PICTURE + + In his long smock, and farmer’s cotton cap, + Demetri dances. + The old crones smile, the little children clap, + The young girls’ glances + Follow him, tall and grave, and deep of eye, + Marvelling at him, yet aloof and shy; + His fellow-dancers jostle roughly by + With rude askances. + + The piper plays his reediest, shrillest tune, + And at his leisure + Demetri, as though pacing in a rune, + Treads out a measure. + The elders laugh: “Dance there, fantastic fellow! + Tread down the grapes, while harvest moon is mellow, + Give thy feet wings, fly o’er the sunset billow + At thy good pleasure!” + + The little glasses of brown resin-wine + Are quaffed; beads slipping + Through the Greek fingers, slender, brown, and fine, + Accent his skipping. + They nudge, to see his hand curve on his shoulder, + They marvel as his dark eyes burn and smoulder, + And note his step less vague, his bearing bolder, + And go on sipping. + + Around him dance the peasants, pacing slow + With rhythmic swinging, + But in and out he threads their simple show + ’Midst childish singing. + Reels past old bearded Greeks, their grave tales weaving, + And fierce Wallachians come for Easter thieving; + Albanian women with bold bosoms heaving + To children clinging. + + Spell-bound, all watch him reel, and swerve, and bend; + His dizzy spinning + Dazzles their eyes. Word goes from friend to friend: + “He is beginning!” + For now with somber eyes, unveiled and burning, + From peasant dance they see Demetri turning + To an old trance of rapturous discerning-- + Loud plaudits winning. + + The sun shines paler on the kerchief’s gold, + The church-bell’s tolling; + The sea grows purple, and the distance cold, + With dark waves rolling. + The long lines break, the black-haired maidens wrangle; + With exclamation all the dusty tangle + Comes to a halt, ’mid glint of peasant spangle + And soft song trolling. + + But tall Demetri lost in dreaming pace + In solemn swaying, + Keeps on alone, with tense and mystic face + As he were praying. + With hand upraised, as holding the caduceus, + He looks away to old far-off Eleusis, + Devising Dionysiac curves and nooses, + Old Laws obeying. + + Why, in his face that mystic peering gaze + Like a faun, waiting? + Why does he pace his lonely, occult ways + His eyes dilating? + “Demetri!” “Mitchu!” tease the girls. Their screaming + He does not hear, lost in far other seeming, + In strange dance-spell, in old blood-tutored dreaming, + Old rhythms creating. + + + + +PEACE, 1914 + + + Why do the women walk so free and strong + In Thessaly? + It is because the Turks wreak no more wrong; + The Balkans ended, sunburnt soldiers throng, + In Thessaly. + + Why do the old monks pray so hard for rain + In Thessaly? + It is because the mountain slopes again + Roll in green terraces of silver grain, + In Thessaly. + + Why does the shepherd wear a broidered shirt + In Thessaly? + Because ’tis peace; clean is the goat-herd’s skirt, + The women spin; the needles are alert, + In Thessaly. + + And why the young kids, white as snowy curds, + In Thessaly? + The farmers are successful with their herds; + The highway’s loud with guttural teamster-words, + In Thessaly. + + Why are the threshing-floors so thickly set + In Thessaly? + Because, when harvest comes, and youth is met, + Comes the old will of Nature, sturdy yet, + In Thessaly. + + And these deserted hovels that we see + In Thessaly, + Where the Peneios winds about the tree? + The villagers have gone across the sea + From Thessaly. + + And this trim town of plaster and of thatch + In Thessaly? + America hangs fortune on the latch, + Our sons come back, then blooms the garden patch, + In Thessaly! + + Then, this is no decadent race I see + In Thessaly? + Oh, stranger, who can tell? Hard things must be. + Only, the “Greeks were Greeks,” and Greeks are we + In Thessaly. + + + + +DELPHI + + + Matrixed ’mid purple mountain steeps, + An ancient Grecian city sleeps. + Where rock-hewn fountains spill + Down scarlet-poppied hill; + Long time ago its temples fair + Rose, Doric-columned, on the air, + And voices told of riddles strange + That echoed down the mountain range; + And men and cities brought their all + To Delphi and the priestess’ thrall. + While in the mountain-pass a pipe + Played on and on and on-- + A pipe played on. + + Now up the aisles of olive-trees + Come wistful souls from over-seas, + From the Itean shore, + Past rose-hung cottage door, + And in the sacred fount they dip, + Or tell the lore with alien lip; + Or, dreaming, scan far snow-crowned heights, + Lit, as of old, with pagan lights. + While through the thyme, ’mid rock and pool, + The sheep-bells tinkle, water cool,-- + And in the mountain pass, a pipe + Plays on and on and on-- + A pipe plays on. + + While glowworms blur the dewy gorse, + And stars float from their tidal source, + And Grecian peasants steal + By creaking wagon-wheel, + We ponder on this Life and Death + Within the taking of our breath; + So old, these ruined fanes that lie, + Beneath the temple of the sky! + So old these sacred stones that gleam + With the strange shining Delphic dream. + While in the mountain-pass the pipe + Plays on and on and on-- + A pipe plays on. + + So old, this silence trembles, brought + To solemn tension with our thought-- + Deep as the mystic strain + Born in Apollo’s fane: + “Dear God, ’tis well no Pythoness + For us may prophesy or bless! + Well, that no riddle-verse controls + The will that slumbers in our souls! + Well, that we choose, calm, clear-eyed, free + To live and learn our truth from Thee!”-- + Still in the mountain-pass the pipe + Plays on and on and on-- + The pipe plays on. + + + + +THE DESCENT FROM DELPHI + + + Dawn, pallid and cold, + Parnassos, grave in the mist + Like the shrouded form of a priest; + No light in the East, + Save thin stars, worn and old. + + Under the “Shining Ones” + The temple-steps, in white, + Chromatic, gleaming, light, + Mount to the stadion’s + Oval of crumbling stones. + + Dawn, stealthy and still, + Frostily fills the fields, + Dew sprinkles the maize; + Where ranging cattle graze, + His pipe a shepherd plays. + + Sun, striking the snow + On far off mountain height,-- + Day, solemn and slow, + Rises from Long Ago + Clothed in pure samite. + + A scarlet rug in a field; + A man and a woman asleep-- + Around them, dogs and sheep, + Where the maize is quivering gold, + As the broad day is unrolled. + + The man and the woman asleep-- + Alone in the Delphian field! + And the world, once more revealed + Young, and all time is healed + The Oracle unsealed! + + + + +TWILIGHT ON ACRO-CORINTH + + + From the Venetian arch, the doubting owl + Sends forth his whimper; where the sheep-dogs lope + Sounds donkey’s thirsty octave, call of fowl, + And near green-silver maize and poppied slope, + Goat-bells ring jangling on the tether-rope + As, truant from some hooded shepherd’s scowl, + Dim, hornèd shapes in black thyme-bushes grope. + + I look four ways down all the rich descents + To mountain, cliff, and sea. First to the South + Where Argolis in purple permanence + Gives sumptuous breast to dark sea’s hungry mouth. + Enthroned in mountain fastness, warm, immense, + Or, lying prone by misty olive-fence + Losing herself in languid, dusty drouth. + + Far Eastward, islanded Ægina keeps + Her tree-girt shrine, and Sunion the prow + Of white sea-temple lifts on Laurion steeps + Where mines are hid, and silver quarries show. + Then, like a bee, the eager eye upsweeps + To Athens, where the Acros-flowers grow + And the dim road to far Eleusis creeps. + + I look toward Athens, over golden gorse, + Purple anemones, Saronic seas, + Powerful, kingly blue. I see the source + Of all Mind ever was, and then the trees + Blurring, I turn me West, perforce + Sweeping Arcadian ridges, as light flees + And over paling skies cloud-horses course. + + Bœotia, Phocis, Lokris ranges tread + Vast gorges ’round the Gulf’s imperial shores; + Like citadels, their summits, thunder-bred, + And at their feet are sacred river-floors, + And many a mountain stream its crystal bed + Has hidden beyond those labyrinthine doors + From whence down winds the clue-like glancing thread. + + And as the night surrounds me and the stars + Climb up the clouds like mountain-pastured flocks, + I muse on Progress, that which hurts and scars + Nature with blood, machines, and battle-shocks. + But, as I gaze, the whole wild sky unbars + War’s end portending; the new time unlocks + Ultimate peace no human passion mars. + + + + +ROMANCE + + + The “wine-dark” sea menaces as of old, + When young Odysseus dared; and all our ship + Shudders against the midnight mountain-waves + Hurrying to crush the steamer, in her plunge + On black path, under wind-blown scattered stars. + Strange is the contrast! Strange it is to lie + Cabined and berthed, feeling like crystal, hid + In a night-moving mountain; thence to see + At port-hole’s glimmer, land, solemn and strange! + Old as all prayers, all vigils, and all hope! + As the ship stops at Patras, and bells ring, + To look out on the mole-lights, red and white, + And see the black, unreadable night-shore. + And then, to lie back, ponder the mystery + Of that one man--that little ugly man-- + Reviled, unknown, and unbelieved, who burned + So fiercely with his message, that he sailed + From port to port, to give it. My age boasts + Its Christian ethics cool expedience. + That age, simply knew a man named “Paul,” + Who fought with beasts, endured the stripes, to give + His flaming, tender, strong epistles; wrote + To the people, as ’twixt starvings and shipwrecks + He sailed these waters, from the “upper coasts.” + + + + +NIGHT IN OLD CORINTH + + + A hill trembling with grain + And a winding path. + Shadowy sheep on the slopes; + The sound of bells and sea, + The sound of a peasant song, + The sound of pipe and drum ... + And in the twilight grey + Apollo’s temple. + + Wide doors and the cottage fire, + Bright coffee-coppers; plates + Of white curds and of fish; + A man in a scarlet cap, + Turning a roasting spit; + A woman by the fount ... + And in the twilight grey + Apollo’s temple. + + How was it when Paul came? + Corinth was blazing white, + Walled and rich and corrupt. + They “sat to eat and drink + And rose up but to play!” + The Purple Sellers knew ... + But in the twilight gleamed + Apollo’s temple! + + The fountain’s hung with moss + But the cypress-trees are tall, + And little wingèd shapes + Say “Níke” in the ground. + The Jews “requiring signs,” + And the Greeks “looking for wisdom,” + Still in the twilight, see + Apollo’s temple! + + + + +AQUAMARINE + + + I think, when I grow tired of the world, + I shall go back to Greece (in spring, of course), + By forest trail, and oleander source, + Past snow-peaks on green mountain lawns impearled. + + To Trypi: where, from saddle I shall slide, + And hear my donkey’s bell jerk as he feeds + On herbs and simples--growing to his needs-- + By rosy roofs set in the green glenside. + + Far down the valleys I shall hear the call + Of white-garbed peasants; throaty cattle-cry; + The little Trypi brook will rustle by + Among the poplars, silver-green and tall. + + I shall watch Greek girls, toiling up the height, + Laden with brush and whorls of scented thyme, + And see their youthful climbing pantomime, + Ere I lie down to ponder with my might + + On three sweet subjects, simple village themes, + And yet so strange, so subtle, I have met + No man, nor woman, who can tell me yet + The answers, nor have found them in my dreams. + + First: The Greek plane-trees, cool ancestral trees, + Biblical-strong, like mighty tents of Saul, + What earth power spreads their green ethereal + Canopied gloom, their soft immensities? + + Next, the Greek fruits and flowers; what godlike soil + Nourishes orange, fig, and olive stretch, + So that no child goes forth the goats to fetch + But fills his cap with colored orchard spoil? + + Last, I shall ponder (never sure, quite, + Imaging richly, merged in miracle) + Wondering what source conceals the mystic shell + Staining with blue the Ægean’s mica-light. + + Lies in it some great Pool, that slow distils + Azure of flowers and skies to pigment bold? + Or do the encircling mountain-chains enfold + A vat of purple, whence wine-color spills? + + Ægean Blue, that crimson-orchil tide + Bold, deep, intensest, incandescent flame, + Pure well of Azure, fitly has no name + But Greece in her inimitable pride + + Of worship on strange occult secret planes + The hidden sponsors of her visual life + May, long ago, ’neath sacrificial knife + Have loosed the gods’ blue blood from Dacian veins. + + One can see Spartan blood flow down Greek shores, + In crimson poppy-tide, in scarlet waves; + But it is “wine-dark” energy, that laves + Gold-bronzèd rocks and hidden sea-cave floors. + + Ah! it is not enough for me to say + “Faery silver-azure! Clear, superb + Cobalt no chemistry of sun can curb, + Attar of purest lapis-lazuli.” + + ’Tis not enough for me to invent a name + Like Nauplian Blue, Greek Blue, Blue of Emprise, + As I re-vision golden argosies + Or red-sailed moth-boats sailing molten flame. + + No--I must ponder (never sure quite), + Always a-dream in Trypi, where the trees + Whisper adventurous old names of seas, + Through silver valley-eve and mountain night. + + + + +THE SHEPHERDESS + + + Not only mulberry vendors travel Langada Pass, + Rough soldiers and black-fezzed peddlers take that trail + And stop to drink at a khan ’neath the rocky mass, + Where the pine-trees root in the drifts of sliding shale, + And a half-crazed Greek sells resin-wine and cheese + And “Thalassa” mutters, pointing to far-off seas. + + For Langada Pass is miles of precipice rock + Where the rug-hung pack-mules scramble with fumbling feet + Sliding unsteadily over the cobbles, that shock, + Stone upon stone, in monotonous noontide heat. + But a mountain girl, fleet-footed, with brown knees bare, + Flutters along the crags, where the great pines flare. + + Now the mulberry vendors are fuddled with Spartan rum, + They howl in the cañons and kick the sides of their steeds. + The soldiers are merry, they sit on the rocks and hum + And talk politics and twiddle their malachite beads; + Hardly a shrine for a maid, or a convent roof, + Under the blue sky, classic and calm and aloof; + The goats stand cynical, cloven of horn and hoof. + + But she whistles and calls and scrambles up to her flock, + High on the bronze-grey peaks of Langada Pass, + With warm eyes mote-flecked, bright as the quartz gold rock + A deer-like, dryad-like fierce, shy, crag-born lass, + Perching where orange anemones spangle the banks + And white streams flash down thicketed mountain flanks. + + We told her the tale of the world and the dreams of men, + We poured out wine-of-the-world in her shepherd cup, + She took it calmly, thoughtfully, drinking up + All that we were, quaffing us, thirstily, then: + “Salute your cities,” the wild little shepherdess said, + And swift as an eagle, far up the precipice sped. + + Washington, New York, and Boston have new renown! + Their rivers of seething light, where the witch wires hold + Clustering, bright-balled fruits, and the chimneys frown + Like satyrs drunk with smoke through the sunset gold-- + All these must bow, in turn, to a little lass + Who “salutes the cities” out of Langada Pass! + + + + +MAY-DAY IN KALAMATA + + + In Kalamata, where the harvests are + Purple and crimson for the currant-bin, + When merchants close their shutters with a jar, + The young night-gallant twangs his brown guitar, + And first begins the merry May-day din. + + All night they strum the mandolins and lutes; + Glyco, the jolly merchant of the fruits, + Sings to accordion: “O nux kalé!” + In Kalamata on the first of May. + + Morning comes. See the church across the street + Its doorway wreathed! See Anastasia pass, + Twining her pretty shoulders with the sweet + Mountain-born orchids, brought on tireless feet + By lads from Sparta o’er Taÿgetos. + + All night they strum the lute, and mandolin, + Georgio, the dark-eyed, plays the violin, + Sings under balconies: “O nux kalé!” + In Kalamata on the first of May. + + The cottage-doors are hung with poppy-wreaths, + To keep away the evil spirits: hats + Are garlanded with oleander. Leaves + Fair, golden-braided Marianthé weaves + Into a veil for her long sunny plaits. + + All night they sound the flutes and castanets; + Mitchu, in pompommed shoes, fingers the frets, + Quaffs resin-wine,--“Aha--! O nux kalé!” + In Kalamata on the first of May. + + To the _Platea_, all the booths astir; + Mulberry vendors clad in goat-skins come; + Here are embroidered bags and fragrant myrrh, + And silver-handled knives; and the drum-whirr + Beats like a heart throb in the village hum. + + All night they play the rough accordion; + The sailors from the “skala,” to a man, + March, drunk with mastika, along the quay, + In Kalamata on the first of May. + + Along the railroad all the stations fill + With children garlanded; the peasant throngs + Sing at car windows. From a laurel hill, + Rings “Zito” with the happy springtime thrill, + While rose-crowned maidens chant their merry songs. + + All night they play the violin and drum; + And to the windows tawdry women come + Bright-eyed and bold, to hear: “O nux kalé!” + In Kalamata on the first of May. + + May-day, down all the silver-olive plain, + Along the mountain trail, and torrent track, + May-day on ships on blue Messenian Main, + On locomotives, where the young Greek swain + Hangs lily wreaths upon his engine stack! + + All night I hear the zither; the guitar + Maddens my northern pulses, and from far, + Far up the mountainside: “O nux kalé!” + Wakes Kalamata on the first of May. + + + + +FROM THE ARCADIAN GATE + + + From Arcadian Gate, with its tower-topped bulk, + White on Ithóme’s war-ridden hulk, + A road winds down past the artichokes, + And the almond-trees, and acacia-spokes. + And, silver-harnessed, the small brooks fly + Down to Messenian industry. + And, here one sees, under the trees, + Greek women making the cheese. + + Black kettles hang from the giant plane, + Where children gather, and where you gain + A charming sight from your donkey-mount, + For the wash-trough’s set by the village-fount, + And, hanging high on the olive-boughs, + Where, grey, light-fingered zephyrs drowse, + Swaying in bags, in the summer breeze, + Greek babies take their embroidered ease. + + In old Dodona, so they say, + In a time when priest-craft had its sway, + “The Will of the Gods” came jostling, + Through the oak-leaves’ gentle rustling, + And the Priest of the Oracle carefully hung + Brazen vessels, which, easily rung, + By moving branches, in many keys, + Instructed the Greeks how their gods to please. + + ’Tis an old Greek fashion this hanging of things; + Many the legends from which it springs. + Twists of scarlet, and bright-dyed flax, + Hang on the rough Arcadian shacks, + Where the railroad follows the mountain base. + They hang brown jugs by the watering-place. + Amulets hang on the goats and the swine; + Wreaths hang high on the house and the shrine. + + And now the pots for the cheese + And the babies in black-eyed reveries + Sway, like the brasses long ago. + Hanging on high branch and on low! + Somehow the sight doth strangely please, + This new fruit on the old Greek trees! + One hears “Will of the Gods!” in speech + Babbling from olive and oak and beech. + + + + +THE ABBESS + + + Pink oleander lamps the brook-bed trails, + And orange-trees hang fruitage o’er the grain, + And there are hedges, green with fitful rain, + And cyclamen in white the hillside veils. + + While through the villages, ’neath Mistra’s height, + The children run to give a rose and stare + At strangers riding where grey olives flare + Mistily in the long hills’ summer light. + + Rose-pinnacled, a Franco-Turkish wall + Trailing with ivy, rears its crumbling mass, + Pantassa Church’s apse and mouldered hall + Look down upon the plain of Eurotas. + + Byzantine tower’s clear octagonal, + Jewel-like and fretted, circles on the sky; + A pavèd walk leads to the nunnery, + Past moss-grown arch and ruined capital. + + And here, an Abbess, old, yet maiden-faced, + Sits in a frigid pomp, in solemn pride: + Stately, aloof, the church’s pallid bride, + Greets us with countenance austere and chaste. + + The Abbess leads the way, with rigid calm, + Detached, haughty, imperious; her eyes + Pompously ignorant, religious-wise, + Cool as the blank intoning of a psalm. + + There are great piles of rose-leaves in the room, + Convent-brewed wines and bright bags, needle-wrought; + There is an ancient fountain in the court, + And guttering candles in the Church’s gloom. + + “The times have changed,” we said; “women no more + Hide them from life. We mingle and we work. + Christ only asks that not a soul shall shirk + Or flinch from bearing burdens that He bore.” + + The Abbess smiled. “Silence,” she said; “we learn, + On this hilltop we women watch the East, + The morning sun o’er Sparta is our priest, + The mountain stars like midnight tapers burn.” + + We looked at her; her eyes were crystal clear, + Passionless, pure and cold as moonlit snow. + Something she felt that we could never know; + Our vision to her eyes could not appear. + + We left her in the shadowed court to brood, + Where Frankish frescoes peer through shadows dim, + And cloistered nuns in tuneless, wailing hymn, + Chant Faith untried in mountain solitude. + + + + +GREEK FARMERS + + + In green Laconia, where the hedges are + Spring-starred with flowers, and the little brooks + Wake all the mountains from their solemn dreams + Of the old days, when gods moved strong and white + On hill and sea, or slept within the clouds; + There are great slopes, broken with tillage, rough + With clumsy ploughing, thick with olive-trees. + And here they stand, the tall, black-bearded men, + Whose eyes, unblinking, look into the sun. + Men, plainly bred from tribal wanderings, + Whose blood is fevered fire, men whose lands + Are bare with waste and bloodshed; men who stand + Gazing at strangers with shy interest; + Who, when you question their fresh peasant-eyes + Straighten up from their field-tasks and reply: + “These are our flocks and pastures--we are Greeks!” + + Black-bearded men who sow, What is the Seed? + For Greece has lain beneath the Turkish plough, + And all her hills and mountains smoke again + With treachery, rape, and murder. On the seas + The nations wait to grasp; the kings and crews + Who play the Blood-game snap at little lands + Like dogs at flies. Yea, that fair seed ye sow, + Is it Greek seed? though sown by mongrel hands? + Seed of a greatness far exceeding theirs, + The lands that would despoil Greece? Will it grow + That seed, Deucalion’s hope, Athena’s pride, + Is it once more the sacred seed that fell + Out of Demeter’s hand on holy ground? + Or, is it Cadmus-sown, for crops of Hell? + Truthfully, farmers, can ye stand and say: + “These are our fields and pastures, we are Greeks”? + + They make no answer--strong, black-bearded men, + Grimly at work on the Phigalian Hill + Where the grey Bassæ Temple guards the corn. + They make no answer in the mountain towns + Arcadian, where pink-roofed houses splotch + The hillsides and where hidden teamsters climb + Thicketed bridle-paths beside the streams. + They cannot tell us, if they know, what seed + The sculptors, patriots, and statesmen sowed; + Nor even if these furrows that they plow + Will bring a season’s harvest to their doors. + But, as we pass them, under upland oaks, + Under the fig-trees in the rocky gorge, + They walk with strange, fleet steps, so tireless, + So strong, with eyes set on some distant goal, + Till we, too, puzzled, murmur: “_They are Greeks_.” + + Oh, fateful World! insatiate modern life-- + Driven by urgencies too great to tell, + Destroying, recreating, balancing-- + What of this Old World, dreaming modern dreams, + Yet with the old dream dwelling in the land + To teach it Pride? Shall we dare face a Greek-- + With all his shining temples at his back, + With the eternal Thought behind his name,-- + As he were German, Russian, Turk, Chinese? + If these black-bearded mongrels share the pride + Of Argonauts and claim a classic birth + And till the wild land, dropping in the seed, + Forever saying softly, “We are Greeks,” + Why should they garner any other crop, + Why should they bend and toil for better gain + Than seeing New Greece realize her dream? + + + + +SONG + + + Toil on, fishermen! + Pan sits on the cliff, + Smiles and watches the fare, + Wreaths him with flowers there, + Bites at a lettuce leaf, + Binds him a poppy sheaf, + Drinks from a painted jug, + Watching the full nets tug; + Toil on, fishermen! + + Work on, harvesters! + Demeter rests on the hill, + Near to the threshing-floor; + Near to the cottage door, + Girds her with fruited vines, + Blows foam from the wines, + Drinks from a golden bowl, + While corn-filled wagons roll; + Work on, harvesters! + + Rest well, goat-herds! + Hermes cares for the sheep, + Flashes across the sun, + Burnishes helmet wings, + The wreathed caduceus brings, + To swift talaria-flight, + Through the sheep-scattered night; + Rest well, goat-herds! + + + + +TO THE OLYMPIAN HERMES + + + Now let the formal, folded curtain fall + Over this majesty of mellowed stone. + Let me go forth with eyes alight with joy + From this god-gazing. Let me not pause nor stay + Till by some clear word I have given faith + To doubting minds, how Greeks ennobled form + And carved high meaning in a body’s truth. + Yet, Hermes, fair god, consciously the flower + Of the Greek dream, sculptured so lofty-kind, + Stainlessly physical, superbly true;-- + Who is to tell thee that thou hast one fleck + On that pure manliness, and dare to speak + Something against thy calm that seems to say, + “Earth has no greater gift than perfect limbs, + And god-like manhood’s straight significance”? + Forgive me, Hermes, I had thought to take + Thy princely healthiness to ailing worlds; + To meanness and to littleness and lust, + Bidding them gaze upon thee in thy calm, + Telling them: “This is all. This Hermes stands + For Greek expression of a definite truth + Speaking its message to the world of men + And placing beauty as a final goal.” + But then I pondered: What will be the gain + If men say: “Hermes is very kind and fair, + Wholesome and generous and unafraid + And--soulless! Let be! we’ll no longer hope + For strength more than the body--loftier calm + Than this superb control of manly limbs, + Friendly with sun and rock, and sea, and life. + Now yield we up that old, defeated claim + Of soul, the ugly, hunted, harried thing, + And trust us to a pagan manliness, + Stand Hermes-like, unpuzzled, unamazed!” + I knew, oh Hermes! Greek perfection, lit + Like stately lamp with one clear, shining joy, + That of well-being, I knew life ended not + With just the beauty of a human form; + Marble, translated into mystery + Must needs have line to make it fair and right; + And that is all.... Thy unknown sculptor knew + The pagan mind and set thy godhood high, + In an unsullied semblance of a man + Untouched by sorrow, poverty, and shame. + Immortal _semblance_--then the cleavage comes! + Real men must live (we mortals know the fight), + Hot-blooded, passionate, forlorn, astray; + We know how men determine to be true + To some one Greatness,--struggle to the test + Baffled and crucified;--in bitter shame + Leaving the unsolved meaning of their lives. + And now we know, by those French faces torn + To rags, around the dumbly loyal eyes; + By English soldiers, done to crippled wrecks + And hideous mangling, how men dare to die, + Or live their silent, agonizing days. + And then we know there is a human thing + Transcending any body--called a Soul! + Yea, let the formal, folded curtain fall + O’er all that graciousness of mellowed stone. + The Pagan knew the beauty of the flesh. + We, Modern, view that beauty with resolve + Firm and unswerving that it be outdone, + Firm that all ugly, bruised, and broken things + Shall stand invested with a deathless pride + Before our eyes--that see them beautiful; + Determined that the perfect ones approach + Humbly with sense of some imperfectness, + And kneel in homage to the shattered brave. + + + + +GREECE, 1915-16 + + + Yea, taunt me, World Voice--I am dumb and blind, + My body broken, and my heart unclad. + Yet am I silent, while strange forces wind + The chains about me. Helpless, scorned, maligned, + I answer not. The Greece of long ago + Speaks for me in this newest time of woe. + + Europe reviles me. Yea, I stand alone + Like woman left before the ruined door, + Like woman who, beneath her outraged moan, + Remembers sacred hours. Like a stone + I am cold, passionless, mid the wild uproar, + Murmuring “Peace” and “Hellas” o’er and o’er. + + Apollo’s beauty sprang from out my womb; + Socrates called me, mother. Every hill + And templed glade, and solemn-urnèd tomb, + Bids me refrain; no longer to resume + War and rapine, no longer blood to spill, + Nor hate engender, nor intent to kill. + + Europe! Greece speaks, Greece, who so deeply drank + The bitter cup of ravage; who has laid + A new foundation: near her altars, blank + Of by-gone fires, she phalanxes the rank + Of golden grain. And bids the new-born Greek + Old classic words with modern tongue to speak. + + Homer withholds me, Æschylus restrains, + “Human Euripides” exhorts me--“Stay!” + I was despoilèd once; strike off my chains, + Unsay the insult! Greece nor plots nor feigns, + Only withholds her, agonized, at bay, + But loyal to her hallowed cliffs and plains! + + + + +THE SINGING STONES + + “Remember me, the Singing Stone ... for ... Phœbus ... laid on me his + Delphic harp--thenceforth I am lyre-voiced; strike me lightly with a + little pebble; and carry away witness of my boast.”--_Greek Anthology._ + + + Beyond brute Titan dissonance, black, bitter strains + Of Warfare; through the smitten fields of wheat; + Upon the bloody bridges, where the wains + Roll drone chords between marching soldier-feet; + Through mob-voice, robbed of cadence and of beat, + I hear the Stones of Sunion + Singing by the sea: + + “Lift we on high our time-defying shafts! + Our white-wing on the promontory stays, + Our age-old glory from the Ancient wafts + Godward out of an old, blind, Pagan mood, + While in the surging blue the Islands brood + In dim, time-purpled haze.” + + Out of the din of sociologic strife, + Of hoarse-voiced men, embruted by their work, + Of women, low-intoning lesser life, + From the rich Theme, which modern voices shirk, + Where all the forced, half-harmonizings lurk,-- + I hear the stones of Delphi + Singing in the rain: + + “Black swell the mountains, guarding well the Cleft, + Clear spills the water, o’er the fountain rim, + The worshipers are gone, the priests bereft. + Men keep no light upon the altar dim; + No Council meets, but ah, the hope is left, + The dream goes on, new voices chant the Hymn.” + + To the soft twilight of Æsthetic ease, + Where a smile is no smile, a tear no tear; + Where the fruit has no seed, the wine no lees, + No strong song comes. Yet, faintly year by year, + ’Mid those who listen, wistful, and in fear, + I hear the stones of Bassæ + Singing on the heights: + + “Grey comes the dawn upon the mountain crest, + Warm lie the vines on the Phigalian Hill; + The deities are gone, their secrets rest + Hidden by time. But still the Sun-God smites + Altar and soil, and richly thus requites + The farmers’ faith, and all the fields fulfill.” + + And everywhere my wistful head is bowed, + Pensive, absorbed, to find significance, + I hear stone chorus; the immortal crowd + Of pillars round some vocal radiance-- + Chant Spirit-Song of new inheritance-- + I hear all Pagan Temples + Singing in the dawn: + + “Lift we on high our columns shining white! + Our broad wings on the promontories stay; + For us forever was the world’s first light,-- + Ignorant God-seeking. Ye, that follow, may + Soar to a higher vision! ’mid the Pagan night. + We were the singers of a brighter Day.” + + + + +THE OLD QUEST + + “Feed in joy thine own flock and look on thine own land.”--_Greek + Anthology._ + + + “Friend! hast thou seen the rosy mass + Of cyclamen along the pass + To Arcady? + Doth the green country sweep enlarge + Beneath the white cloud’s floating barge? + Does the sun lift a gleaming targe + On Arcady? + + “Hold.... Do the trees keep happy nests + Between the young leaves’ trembling breasts + In Arcady? + Does running water laugh and sing, + Do butterflies waft wing-and-wing? + Spins the white moon her mystic ring + O’er Arcady? + + “Speak!--Are there greenwoods cool and dense, + Do flower-grails gleam out from thence + In Arcady? + Do pines the aisles and arches blur, + With frankincense and breaths of myrrh, + Veiling the happy forms that stir + Through Arcady? + + “Thou seest that I am blind,”--said he, + “But hast thou been where I would be + In Arcady? + Oh! didst thou see within the gate + The one who promised me to wait? + Stays she for me, though I come late + To Arcady? + + “I wonder that she doth not send + A clue to show the roads that trend + To Arcady-- + But thou canst tell me. Does it rise + Empinnacled to azure skies?... + Thou sayst?... _None knoweth where it lies, + Fair Arcady!_” + + _’Tis sunset and the end of day, + The roads are closed--so all men say-- + To Arcady. + The birds and butterflies are fled; + The honey quaffed; the perfume shed; + The feet that used to dance are sped + From Arcady._ + + “The roads are closed?... Oh, not to me! + Thou seest that I am blind,” said he. + “And Arcady?... + Full well I know thou liest now, + Hast thou the world-mark on thy brow? + Hast thou no one to ’wait thee--thou? + In Arcady?” + + He wanders down the darkling way + The mute horizons watch him stray + Toward Arcady. + His feet are bleeding, he is blind, + He dreams of that he will not find, + But in his wide unconquered mind + Lives Arcady! + + + + +THE GODS ARE NOT GONE, BUT MAN IS BLIND + + + Over the hills the gods come walking, + Where the black pines draw their swords, + And the spell-bound leaves cease talking, + For the High-Priest sun comes stalking + And ’tis no time for words. + + And oh! the gifts the gods are bringing-- + Stretches of happy heath, + Jewels with souls, and flowers singing; + Smiling stars, and new hope springing + With the wingèd hope called Death! + + Over the hills the pipes are playing, + And the gods come strong and fair. + Alas! they know not of the straying, + The faithlessness and bitter saying: + “We know no gods, nor care....” + + Over the hills--the day-sky kindles + On a blackened world of clods; + Dead and dry are the flaxless spindles, + The cruse is drained,--the fire dwindles ... + No worshipers for the gods! + + + + +THE SEA OF TIME + + +(Sappho sings to Alcæus) + + Only our few short hours, + For you and me; + Temples and groves and bowers, + And then--the Sea! + + Only our finite word + For you and me, + Who knows what gods have heard + Under the Sea? + + Love, though the gold moons wane + For you and me, + We shall not meet again + Down by the Sea. + + Ours shall be hidden ways; + For you and me + Stretch the long separate days-- + Mist on the Sea! + + Artemis--will she say + For you and me + What Law we must obey + Moves in the Sea? + + Moves, till the faces worn + By you and me, + Luminous, dream-forsworn + Change in the Sea? + + Change, for unending tides + Bear you and me + And the Self in us glides + From Sea to Sea. + + Love, shall the sailing souls + Of you and me + Float where new shore unrolls + Rimmed by the Sea? + + Comes then the meeting place + For you and me? + Silence ... white bubbles trace + Foam on the Sea! + + + + +ON THE THOROUGHFARE + + + To-day I go to buy some dates + From Glyco’s cart. + “Ten cents,” my smiling fruitman states, + And then we part-- + I to the mart, + He for the next fig-buyer waits! + + Back to my world I go, its keen + Quick energy + And competitions sharp and mean, + Its flippancy, + And sophistry, + And tampering with things unclean; + + But Glyco waits; he has ten cents; + And he has hope, + And back of him, antecedents + Give him such scope! + With his traditions’ affluence + I cannot cope! + + + + +AT PÆSTUM + + + The low, flat marshland, myrtle overrun, + A palm, a Roman wall that skirts the way, + The far blue reaches of Salerno’s bay, + Then ... the three temples standing in the sun. + + These are the caskets of the sun-sealed years; + ’Mid tides that ebb and flow, ’neath stars that set, + Deathless their grave and tranquil beauty ... yet + Buried in silence, in eternal tears. + + Beneath these tympana the Dorians trod; + Here, Doric priests upon an alien shore + Made sacrifice, perhaps these myrtles wore, + And garlanded the offering to their god. + + Demeter saw the bright libations spilled; + To Hermes leapt the scarlet through the fleece. + Amid these columns moved the gods of Greece; + These lofty spaces with the pæan thrilled. + + This, centuries ago. Demeter now + Is known no more. Poseidon, too, hath fled. + ’Twould seem that Pan and Hermes both are dead; + No Nike springs upon a Grecian prow. + + Yet is this sacred pause, this pillared calm + Still stirred by whispers from Tyrrhenian waves + While near the shadows of these architraves + Lie smiling shores of terraced fruit and palm. + + And springing from Demeter’s altar site, + Where the old dream of gods hath died away, + And the Greek torch burned down to ashen grey, + There blooms a star shape, mystical and white. + + One mystical white star! Oh! Pagan fire + Whose temples stand, whose gods have been forgot, + One goddess holds in memory this spot, + Else why should Nature thus in bloom aspire? + + Why else in this dim fane the sea intone, + And sun send fire to the altars bare, + And moss and lichen trace strange scripture, here + The lizards flash like symbols o’er the stone? + + The low, flat marshland, myrtle overrun, + A palm, a Roman wall that skirts the way, + The far blue reaches of Salerno’s bay, + Then ... the three temples standing in the sun. + + + + +PHIDIAS + +A DRAMATIC EPISODE + +_Dungeon in an Athenian prison; a small grated window near the ceiling +shows a patch of blue sky. The scene discloses Phidias, prostrate and +manacled. In the dusk of the cell lingers the_ JAILER. + + + JAILER (_curiously_). What sayst thou, Phidias, who art accused? + The old plaint, snarling that thou art abused? + + PHIDIAS (_lifting his head wearily_). + What do I answer? Yea! what thing thou wilt! + What care I for this legendary guilt? + Who makes or unmakes Unity? Accused? + Why, any fool accuses. It amused + The enemies of Pericles to stab + At him through me. Let gossips spread their blab, + The sea is just as broad, the sky as clear + And I as blameless. + + JAILER (_persisting_). But that brought thee here, + Took thee from royal favor, once the dear + Adviser, friend of Pericles. It seems + Here is the end of all thy mighty dreams; + ’Twas Pericles who made thee, and there lurks + His royal patronage about thy works. + + PHIDIAS (_sullenly_). So reason vulgar minds; as well to say + Hephæstus made me, manacled this way, + Hammered to fever, bent to twisted woe. + No, clown! no tyrant brought this overthrow, + Nor my once vivid glory, but the fate + That overtakes the artist; whether late, + Slow, poisoning, by deadly world-born things, + Or early blight of strong imaginings + Too fervent for his frame. Athens is free + From every blame. Not Pericles made me! + + JAILER (_wagging his head obstinately_). + ’Twas love of Pericles that cast thee here, + Ungeniused thee, put thee to rot in drear + Murk of this den; and if not he who made + Thee what thou wast--aloof and haughty blade + Fellow I watched in Agora, as one + Treading on air, thy white himation + Streaming like wings back of thy eager form, + As thy swift sandal moved among the swarm + Of merchants, gamesters, thieves; while deep gaze drank + Of something that was neither wealth nor rank-- + Why then,--who made thee? for that thou hast fame + ’Tis granted, when the rabble speak thy name. + + PHIDIAS (_moving restlessly, clenches his hands, answering + impatiently_). I made me, fool, made this unfinished self, + Nourished me as a child, in happy health, + Fostered the thirst my mother gave to me + With her electric milk. Ecstatic tree + Charmides planted, I did grow and thrive, + Adding to that, what Greece alone could give! + Studied cult-statues, studied Xoana, saw + Paralysis in Polygnotus’ law, + Wondered that Hegias and Hageladas wrought + Hardly beyond the cold Egyptian thought. + Out of their almond-eyed archaic things, + New butterfly, my free Athena springs! + My Zeus Olympian came to my prayer + To see a god. I saw, then made him there! + (_To jailer._) Poor ragged dolt, clanking thy silly keys, + Did Pericles make me as I made these? + Did Athens tell me what a man must do + Who sees instinctive _life_, and sees it true? + + JAILER (_impudently_). + How now! What saw’st thou that _I_ might not see? + A rosy nymph at bath! Aphrodite + Caught in a net of foam? Hermes’ disguise? + Come now, what is this power within thine eyes? + + PHIDIAS (_speaking dreamily as if to himself_). + What is the power? Life! The heroic thing + Streaming magnetic from a sea-gull’s wing, + That light in stars, in waves, in children’s eyes, + In green plane-tree, or in deep, sphinx-like skies + Of unknown countries, where the grasses blow + Unseen of man; where flower-laced streamlets flow + Past mystic herbs, Demeter loves to keep + Secretly growing on the mountain steep. + I saw the curves of fruits, saw Grecian sails + Take fire-blue seas; saw the soft, misty veils + Of maidens wrap their limbs, saw horses, shields, + Victories, warriors, priests, and battlefields; + Each man a poem; women each a jar + Filled with soft, psychic flame, an avatar + Shaped to a noble outline, lofty truth + From some great vital Source-- + (_The Sculptor breaks off suddenly, scrutinizing the jailer + and continuing._) + Rascal, uncouth + As are thy words and gestures, I can see + Some trace of life-light.--Gods! were I but free-- + + JAILER (_interrupting with smug complacency_). + Which, proper thanks to Theseus, thou art not, + Thou light-fingered; thou dingy-robed sot! + Carving thy way to treason, selling State + For greasy coin, with Hermes as thy mate + Slanting his profile on it. Dreamer,--thou! + “Bronze-worker.” Yea! By Dionysus! How + Thou workedst guilty things for Athens’ shame, + Thinking to hide behind thy Patron’s name! + Athens, the famous city; thou, a worm, + Coiling in earth, no four-eyed marble herm + Will mark. Our furry worms that make the silk + Munch the mulberry; but thy crafty ilk + Munch the fine gold, for sickly marble shapes + Of statues stoned by every Jack-a-napes; + ’Twas thou, worm, coiled ’round thy princely friend, + And gained War-Treasure for thy braggart’s end. + + PHIDIAS (_sadly musing_). The fool is glib. His lesson he has got + From Agora and Propylæa, not + The polished utterance of Bema’s Hill. + But that crowd’s word, that bodes or good or ill + From a fierce thirst; sneering pitiless breath, + Freezing a man, or scorching him to death. + + JAILER (_scratching his head, expectorates knowingly and argues_). + Why are thy statues costly? with the urns + Of Dipylon Gate, the passer-by discerns + Good lusty statues, made by Such-an-one, + Quite comely, they, and all of porous stone; + Why use Pentelic marble? so much gold? + Thou dreamer-schemer, sculptor overbold? + + PHIDIAS (_with a moan turns from his tormentor to face the stone + wall, muttering_). “Dreamer,” he called me. Is it by that name + My curse comes? Verily; I dreamed my shame, + My rich accusings. Dreamed brook-flowing folds + Of draperies, dreamed my young hero-moulds, + Dreamed men who sat their horses, as they rode + Clouds over seas, dreamed Panathenaic ode + In singing-rhythm round the Parthenon; + The frieze and metopes of Theseion; + Dreamed the sweet-bodied girls, whose maiden strength + Poise vase and basket all the Temple length. + Dreamed the slow, garlanded, portentous beasts, + Led by the veiled and sacrificial priests; + Dreamed the young, leaping horseman’s haughty ease + Pediment grouped, or filleted in frieze. + Was it a dream only to-day shall know? + Lives it no longer than this artist’s throe? + If that must be, then butterfly most drear + I sink back to the worm-thing crawling here. + + JAILER (_having curiously listened, now struts forward and faces the + Sculptor. He eyes him stupidly and shakes his finger at him_). + Why, were it not for Pericles who gave + Thee marble, color, gold for statues brave,-- + Poured out his coffers,--we should amply be + Equipped for Persia. Bronze and ivory + Changed back to drachmæ, all the sacred rock + Would stand as staunch, to the barbaric shock, + As when Pisistratus, with hardy race, + Made the Acropolis his fortress place. + And look ye, with that gold Athena wears + (Filched from State monies, for thy stone affairs), + We could plant ships in Piræus, array + Our strength to Corinth, where the Persians may + Once more with envy strike.--But, thou wouldest bring + To a State’s need thy stone imagining! + Fie! but for gold, thy dreams would be as vague + As fat my wife scrapes from altar-dreg, + And boils to stuff to make my chiton white; + Ethereal substance, wind-shaken, alight + With lambent iridescence, very fine, + From the amphora gushing forth like wine. + But look you, in a moment, just a trace + Of foam is all that froths from out the vase, + And nothing’s left but the damp greasy lees; + So knave, with thee, without thy Pericles! + + THE SCULPTOR (_with scornful amusement to himself_). + He mouths that name as if it were a mask, + Through which a stupid actor says his task, + Forgets, mistakes, yet struts around the place + Thinking the mask gives him a certain grace. + + (_Phidias wearily rises and stretches himself, the jailer meanwhile + curiously observing him._) + + PHIDIAS (_abruptly_). + Slave, thou art childish, many a name like this + Links close to art, for its own ego-bliss, + To have possession, be the master, who + Owns, keeps, controls, the work we artists do. + Pericles views the height of Athens’ power, + Pomp of Acropolis, where every hour + In golden, crimson, blue, and creamy dye + Ecstatic marble forms sing to the sky, + And hears them sing! (This for his kingly wage:) + “_Nikomen_, Athens, Pericles, Golden Age!” + + JAILER (_looking at the prisoner with heavy curiosity_). + And what, by Hades, _is_ the thing they sing? + + PHIDIAS (_turns impulsively to answer; then a fierce reticence makes + him draw himself up and turn away_). + Torture me not with thy coarse questioning; + My sorrowing answers, for the ribaldries + Of bath or games: “Thus spluttered Phidias, + Maddened at being walled up.” So the crass + Idling crowd, jostling in brainless mass, + Gapes, sneers, and marvels, at my grim defeat; + Mud covers stately names where rascals meet. + + JAILER (_with offended dignity_). + Well, then, good-night. I leave thee to thy prayers. + No friends, no patron, for thy artist-wares, + Unless, indeed (_grinning back of his hand_) + Zeus showers thee with gold + Like Danaē. + + PHIDIAS (_steadily and reverently_). Yea, most mighty Zeus can hold + Me to my service, to that Ageless Thing + Higher than he, called Beauty. + +(_He breaks off suddenly, goes eagerly to the now departing jailer, +saying authoritatively_.) + + Fellow, bring + Here to my cell, some wax, a tool or two, + Some clay, a lump, stuck in thy cap will do-- + A hand’s length of the white, Pentelic stone, + From where it sleeps within the mountain, grown + Pregnant by streams and flowers, for some birth + Of wingéd dream, out of hypnotic earth. + + JAILER (_backing mockingly away, mimics coarsely_). + A jewel, a star, a little bit of wax! + Some tiny thing this mighty genius lacks! + That pearl, perchance, Aspasia’s bosom decks, + Or blood-red stones hung round Hetairæ-necks! + + PHIDIAS (_beseechingly_). Only some clay, man, in the dark my touch + Will fashion thee a goddess-image, such + As still they place in niches, who obey + “Sea-wards, oh! Mystæ,” on Eleusis-Way. + I’ll mould thee woman’s hand, or horse’s head, + A dreaming faun, Marsyas as he bled; + A babe’s round, dimpled, saucy little back; + A vine-wreathed satyr, with his grape-filled sack. + + JAILER (_pompously drawing aloof_). + By Dionysus! that were illy done. + Artist is one thing. State another. Shun + Thee and punish thee, doth Will of State, + Who art no artist more, but he who late + Sculptor to Pericles, now is a knave, + Who sits and twists his thumbs in prison-cave! + + (_The_ JAILER _finishes by an insulting gesture and departs_. PHIDIAS + _going to the heavy door listens to his retreating footsteps. He draws + a long sigh and, standing with his back to the door, looks up at the + patch of blue sky, in silence. At last he speaks._) + + Thus they leave Phidias, worker in the bronze, + Breather of life! breaker of chisel-bonds! + He is, they think, a man, a common thing-- + All yellow, freckled, thin-blooded; they wring + His soul, because of policies. + Make him a sacrifice to fallacies; + “Drop him,” they say, in any dungeon now; + “Gods, grant in time his traitor’s neck shall bow + To death, for that he trifled with the State! + Strike his face from the shield where he dared mate + That face with Pericles,”--Oh! lofty Hill + High Sacred Rock, where sun-bathed columns thrill; + Proud statue-gleaming, gold Acropolis; + Dreamed I so high, to fall as low as--this? + Athens, I made thee out of my heart’s blood; + Rising by ages, from Time’s ’whelming flood. + Deucalion-fashion, soar my stones that sing + The beauty of this age’s visioning. + Out of Iktinos’ soul the Parthenon grew-- + Those glorious Doric shafts, that taper through + The blaze of morn or eve. Athena’s shrine, + Lodging her ivory maidenhood, is mine! + ’Twas I who gave the Lemnian her life, + Knew god-like action whether peace or strife. + Knew how a god would stand, breathe, smile, or frown, + And by that knowledge, deities’ renown, + I was a god-creator. Yet I lie + Here in befoulèd darkness, with the sky + Still burning blue upon the mountain tops + Surrounding Athens; where the Sun-God stops + Of evening, all his golden fingers laid + On marble chords of rhythmic colonnade, + And plays so strange, so Delphic-high a strain, + That hopes ethereal fill men’s hearts again. + Oh! Athens, marble glory, is it naught + Phidias lived, and dreamed, and planned, and taught? + + (_In his agony the Sculptor buries his head in his hands. There is a + long silence, suddenly broken by the alighting of a_ CRICKET _upon the + small grated window; the_ CRICKET _keeps up a steady trilling and is + not at first noticed by the Sculptor_.) + + +THE CRICKET + + Greet, greet, greet, + Pan with hymning sweet. + Wine and corn are here, + Grapes and honey clear; + Olives, purple-black, + Burst from tawny sack. + Through Olympian night + Temples glimmer white + Stars their tangled vines + Wreathe around the shrines. + Shepherds all alone + Under mountain tree, + By the midnight sea, + Shall pipe songs of thee + Singer in the stone! + + (PHIDIAS _listening intently, passes his hand over his eyes, creeps + nearer under the grating, straining his gaze upward_.) + + Prometheus! but I think this minstrel wrings + Wise melody from gauzy zither-wings, + A healing balm, like to the lustral wave + At Delphi, comes my broken soul to lave. + For, as he perches with his roundelay, + Methinks he counsels me; not for to-day + Only is artist-pride and feverish bliss-- + Perchance my spirit still may suffer this + Infamy, yet go singing down the years! + + (_The Sculptor pauses doubtfully. Still looking upward, he presses + closer beneath the little window._) + + Answer me, Cricket, are my stricken tears, + My empty hands, proof of a thing to be, + That I dreamed true? If Beauty nourished me, + Mothered and saved; shall I in ages more + Stand firm and proud, telling what guise she wore + These days? For with young Myron I would hold + There is a law of Beauty, which, controlled + By men’s stern truth, becomes a sacred thing, + Expanded from our holy cherishing. + It is not static, cold, but lives and grows + Out of the All of Life, the artist knows. + + (_The_ CRICKET _after another silence, again chirps. This time the + rhythm is feebler and grows fainter and fainter, as the Sculptor, face + upwards, eagerly listens_.) + + +THE CRICKET + + Sweet, sweet, sweet, + Praise is full and meet; + O’er the architrave, + Beautiful and brave, + Strong and good and fair, + Poise in hallowed air. + In the violet clime, + In the winter rime, + On the poppied steep, + In the passes deep, + All the temples know + Paths that Greece shall go + Toward posterities + Far beyond the seas! + Far as man is known, + Thou shalt speak to men + Far beyond thy ken, + Beyond tongue or pen, + Singer in the stone! + + (PHIDIAS _at the close of the lilt lifts both arms appealingly. The_ + CRICKET _is silent a moment_.) + + PHIDIAS. Hist!--the green minstrel, god-of-little-things, + Thinketh perchance he strums his lyric wings + On dark Hymettus, where bees sip so long, + They lose their way in all the flower throng, + And many a little waxy dot of fuzz + Is caught in honey-prison. (_Whimsically._) Thou dost buzz + Cricket, as loud as I, encased + In this hard prison, bitter to my taste. + + (_The_ CRICKET _after a long pause trills for the last time_.) + + Fleet, fleet, fleet, + The ways of fame are sweet. + A marble head of dreams + Conquers the world, meseems. + Beautiful vases tell + How happy peoples dwell. + Beautiful bodies speak + New message to the weak. + Greece adown the years + Is the song of Seers. + Kora still intones + Nike still responds: + “Wielder of the wands.” + “Worker in the Bronze.” + “Singer in the Stones.” + + SCULPTOR (_suddenly and rapturously_). + Xaire! thou little herald, Xaire! thou + Hast cheered me, saved me! See my courage now! + What foul, damp cell can ever hold me here? + What slander stain my work of yester-year? + Upon the Hill my glowing children call + To the unborn of Artists; to the All, + Great Fusion of the races, who + Shall yet unite, some holy thing to do, + Before this strange world on its journey far + In trackless space shall move an empty star. + For portico and frieze and vase and fane. + Fountain and stele, that our utmost main + Our utterest patience brought to perfect whole + Will cast strange, spellful seed, and where the soul + Of art is known, its free, broad, ardent wing, + “Greece,” will be whispered like a sacred thing! + (_To the_ CRICKET.) Yea, Yea! thou little herald, “wingèd pipe,” + So I’ll indite thee in thy wisdom ripe-- + Now will I write my comrade young and lithe + Pæonius, how I imprisoned writhe. + Yet for his comfort will I softly tell + The cricket message to my dreary cell. + Luck! that I hid the chalk lump in my sleeve! + Joy that I have the parchment! Who’ll believe + That this is _all_ he hath, who was the friend + Of Pericles brought to this bitter end! + + (_The Sculptor with the parchment on his knee, busies himself in + writing. Occasionally he pauses and reads aloud what he has written._) + + Pæonius, good comrade, merry Greek, + Walking Olympian groves, watching the freak + Of scarlet-flowered pomegranate vine + Tasting the cool jugs filled with pine-tree wine, + Fruits like warm bowls of amber nectar hung + And figs from branches o’er the streamlets flung-- + Read and reflect, and if thou com’st to see + Some supple scheme to set thy brother free, + Act on it swiftly; only be advised + _Pericles’ day is over_. What he prized + Was proud display, but what the people want + Is arms and ships that they may proudly vaunt. + (Since Marathon no Greek knows how to smile + Passing the Soros’ valiant hero-pile, + And still they say in Sparta, athletes wait + To teach barbarians how Greece is great.) + I, the poor Sculptor, lived too near the throne, + Therefore, I lie now on the dungeon stone! + + (PHIDIAS’S _gaze wanders, he becomes absorbed, intense, then once more + he applies himself to the letter_.) + + Last summer, passing Sunion, my sail + Red-burning down the stormy silver trail + O’er clouded blue, I humbly turned my sight + Up to that white fane, on the bronzèd height, + All its upspringing columns touched with sun + As the slow golden clouds walked high upon + Wave buttressed paths, to purple Cyclades + Those mystic islands of Saronic seas. + And as the molten sapphire round me sprayed + O’er the eye-painted prow, I humbly prayed + Poseidon, that Piræus I might gain; + Offered no cock, no vase, oil to contain, + But vowed a frieze from my young pupil’s skill, + New, daring sculpture for the Sea-God’s Hill + In Parian marble, calm and haughty white, + To gleam for sailors passing in the night. + How I was timid then! who after dared + Dispute with Pericles, and proudly shared + His vast ambitions for that golden realm-- + That Athens, which the vulgar overwhelm. + That I did promise, wilt thou execute? + So will these singing stones, out of the mute + Parian marble, form immortal choir + Chanting “Poseidon” to the ocean’s lyre. + + (PHIDIAS _pauses once more. He draws a long sigh, then continues + writing._) + + Well, brother-artist, here I agonized, + Until a cricket, by great Zeus apprised, + Perched on the window-bar and chirped a thing + Wise as Athena, took away the sting + Of the world’s serpent-sayings. Friend, I give + Faith to the cricket message while I live. + + (_The Sculptor, head in hands ponders deeply then again resumes + writing._) + + He trilled, Pæonius, a theme like this: + What we _do_ lives, though after all the bliss + Of our own living, must our bodies pass! + Hast ever caught the perfume of sweet grass + Dying beneath the sickle? Our breath goes + Thus to the gods indifferent, ’mid the snows + High on Parnassos’ or Kiona’s crest, + Where mountain after mountain heaves a breast, + Black, billow-deep, sky-ranging, in a chain + Tumultuously, serene around the plain. + But what we make of beauty keeps its power + Down the long years, from the conception’s hour. + For mark ye, lad, I never sensed my work, + But did it all unconscious; now in murk, + In prison black, I see it flying forth, + The strong wings of my friezes! All the worth + Of Laurion silver in Colossi paid + And proud Athena, ivory o’er laid. + Gold-sandalled, springing, mellow-marble feet, + Olive-crowned heads in pensive bending, sweet + Backs, limbs, and bosoms! Noble eye and tress, + Caught in the dream of their own loveliness-- + I see it all, so calm! “Nothing too much,” + Tunics in solemn folds, majesty such + As comes with purity; things strong and free; + White to the sky and naked to the sea. + Women and men that move adown the days + Out of the forest deep, through shimmering maize, + In fructifying suns, in cooling dews,-- + All tranquil, noble, filled with God, or Muse + Of deathless Greece.--Yea, all my strife, + My will, my soul, was this portrayal--Life! + + (_Moved by what he has written, the Sculptor gets to his feet and + paces feverishly his narrow cell. He goes on writing as he walks and + reading aloud._) + + I now see by prophetic cricket-voice + That Life is deathless, that my works rejoice + For all rejoicing. Brother mine + We carve for worlds to come. Beyond the line + Of horizons, untravelled, rise the lands + Hungry of spirit, waiting at our hands + Bread of True Vision. Yea, where rusty wars, + Hot blood of nation-struggle, stain these shores, + Women and men shall bleed with sacrifice + To a dead god, called Progress, and the Vice + Of chance-worship, on sickly, pampered knees + And counting gold in languors of disease. + Can’st picture these, coming to look upon + My glorious horsemen of the Parthenon? + Seeing your Nikes tread triumphant air? + Our marble dreams forever beauty-clean + And dark heroic bronzes stained with green, + By fire and sword and water all unspoiled, + Their perfect limbs’ clear candor unassoiled? + Mark ye, those stranger eyes shall take and take, + Still the thirst grow and still the joy to slake + From Old-World beauty. Till we sculptors stand + Supreme World-life within our pulseless hand! + Think, lad, when father’s little ones shall tell + How Greeks saw, felt, and struggled, conquered, fell! + Fear not, Pæonius, our spirits win + Out of this age to call all ages kin. + + (PHIDIAS, _sighing as one relieved of a burden, pauses awhile, then + writes a few more lines_.) + + Smile not upon this, friend--All fancy--Yea! + But, by the Etruscans, gone but yesterday + To Italy, and now established there; + By Dorians, building temples by the fair + Purple Tyrennian, so I think + Greek soul o’erflows, as over fountain-brink, + And that we circle out and out, our creed + Begetting world-dream for an unborn breed, + Ardent posterities!--Thus do I then + Bid now farewell to my own race of men! + And for a future permanence, new clime, + Lift statues in the peristyles of Time + And trust my message, where that message seeks + Its own fulfillment. Hail to the happy Greeks + Hail to that Race; keen, wistful, passionate, + That shall know Greece, Athens, the gods, the State! + + (_The paper hangs listlessly in the hand of_ PHIDIAS, _who sits in + revery, lost to all around him_.) + + JAILER (_entering_). Rise! thou infamous sculptor! A decree! + Follow! Thy haughty judges have demanded thee! + + (PHIDIAS _wearily rising, stares stupidly at him, then looks up to the + little window where the_ CRICKET _perched and makes a slight gesture + of salute and farewell_.) + + PHIDIAS. “So be it.” + (_Hastily aside._) See this coin? Of all good fees + The best, with head of high Themistocles-- + Thine--if thy hand this simple scroll wilt bear + To the great sculptor at Olympia. + To give to him my farewell words and tears, + (_The Sculptor pauses, looking unseeingly at the_ JAILER _and + adding softly_.) As I pass outward--down the faithful years! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + + As children keep + Some spiraled shell or crystal crusted stone + For wonder and for solace, when alone + They fall asleep, + + So do I soft caress + And guard through days of World-dark such a charm + And cherish from indifference and harm + One loveliness. + + And every Grecian vase + And sculptured fragment to my eyes doth mean + Life, calm and balanced, simple, and serene, + Transcending Race! + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + +Obvious punctuation errors and omissions have been corrected. + +Page 37: “grim Thermoyplæ” changed to “grim Thermopylæ” + +Page 108: “the rythm is feebler” changed to “the rhythm is feebler” + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75533 *** diff --git a/75533-h/75533-h.htm b/75533-h/75533-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3816710 --- /dev/null +++ b/75533-h/75533-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3998 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Greek wayfarers and other poems | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; width: 60%;} +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } +.x-ebookmaker table {width: 95%;} + +.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} +.page {width: 8em; vertical-align: top;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; +} +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + +/* Poetry */ + +.poetry { + display: block; + text-align: left; + margin-left: 0 + } +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry in browsers */ +/* .poetry {display: inline-block;} */ +/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ +@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5% + } +.poetry-container { + margin: 1.5em auto; + text-align: center; + font-size: 98%; + display: flex; + justify-content: center + } +.poetry .stanza { + padding: 0.5em 0; + page-break-inside: avoid + } +.poetry .verse { + text-indent: -3em; + padding-left: 3em + } + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + +.xbig {font-size: 2em;} +.big {font-size: 1.3em;} +.small {font-size: 0.8em;} + +abbr[title] { + text-decoration: none; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 2em;} +.poetry .indent14 {text-indent: 4em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent33 {text-indent: 13.5em;} +.poetry .indent34 {text-indent: 14em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + + + /* ]]> */ </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75533 ***</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</span></p> + + + +<h1>Greek Wayfarers<br> +<span class="small">and</span><br> +Other Poems</h1> + +<p class="center p2"> +By<br><span class="big"> +Edwina Stanton Babcock</span> +</p> + +<p class="center p4"> +<span class="big">G. P. Putnam’s Sons</span><br> +New York and London<br> +The Knickerbocker Press<br> +1916<br> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1916<br><span class="small"> +BY<br> +EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK</span> +</p> +</div> +<p class="center p4"> +The Knickerbocker Press, New York<br> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +To<br> +MARIÁNTHE<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p>The author believes that Greece today—largely because of her people’s +opportunity in America—knows conscious renewal of her endless spirit +while she still keeps wonder and glory for all who approach her.</p> + +<p>Whatever her destiny, her natural beauties have not betrayed her, +and through her glorious wildness and barrens her people are looking +outward and forward. Therefore, if these verse-pictures of ancient and +modern Greek life bring to those familiar with Greece any refreshing +memory and to those who do not know this beautiful country an awakened +interest, they will justify their existence.</p></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr><th></th><th class="tdr page">PAGE</th></tr> +<tr><td> +<span class="smcap">The Amazons at Epídauros</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Black Sail</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Widowed Andromache</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Sacred Ship from Delos</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Little Shade</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Contrast—Volo</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">“She Had Reverence”—Volo</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Glory—Good-Friday Night, Athens, 1914</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Sunset on the Acropolis</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Street of Shoes (Athens)</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">On the Eleusinian Way—Spring</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">In the Room of the Funeral Stelæ (Athens + Museum)</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +“<span class="smcap">The Seven-Stringed Mountain Lute</span>” </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Greek Wayfarers</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Threshing-Floor</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">By the Wallachian Tents—Thessaly</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Vale of Tempé</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Encounter</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Easter Dance at Megara—First Picture</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Easter Dance at Megara—Second Picture</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</span> + +<span class="smcap">Peace, 1914</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Delphi</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Descent from Delphi</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Twilight on Acro-Corinth</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Romance</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Night in Old Corinth</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Aquamarine</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Shepherdess</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">May-Day in Kalamata</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">From the Arcadian Gate</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Abbess</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Greek Farmers</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Song</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">To the Olympian Hermes</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Greece—1915-1916</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Singing Stones</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Old Quest</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Gods are not Gone, but Man is Blind</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">The Sea of Time</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">On the Thoroughfare</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">At Pæstum</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Phidias—a Dramatic Episode</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> + +<span class="smcap">Epilogue</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> +<p class="center xbig">GREEK WAYFARERS</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_THE_AMAZONS_AT_EPIDAUROS">TO THE AMAZONS AT EPÍDAUROS</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Militant women, careless of tunic and limb;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sinuous torsos, naked legs boy-like and pressed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Close to the warm horse’s flank, while the wild battle-hymn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fixes the eyes with the far-reaching look of the quest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Caring no more for the places of mother and bride;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Arrow-swift warriors galloping over the plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Feverish, urged ever onward with furious rage;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">War-fretted golden-hair tangled with wind-fretted mane;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One-breasted heroines, vigorous, quick to engage,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hot with the vigor of pulsating, vehement pride—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Penthesilèa falls by Achilles’ drawn bow.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fell she, the Queen, by the white tents of bold Priam’s side?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Leaderless women, on to the battle ye go—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plunging on, speeding on; galloping Vengeance, astride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Horses that feel ye victorious, with gods allied—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fearless stone-women, ardent and flushed with the race,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gleaming like swords, ruthless of body and breast;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nothing shall utterly quell ye, nor wholly deface,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye shall ride onward forever, on ultimate quest.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spirited! Splendid! Time shall not turn ye aside.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ride, Amazons, ride!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BLACK_SAIL">THE BLACK SAIL</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How did it seem, that warm thyme-scented day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When emerald figs hung swelling in the dark</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rose-nippled glooms of laurel and of bay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And pomegranate flowers burned their spark</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through cypresses, to wait ’neath temple frieze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Scanning the hermless highways of the seas,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Watching for one white canvas far away,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And when the morning seemed to grow so late,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Going, amaracus and grapes to lay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With reeds and gums on Nike’s stylobate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Muttering: “’Tis the Day—he cannot fail!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then on a sudden, seeing—the black sail!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="WIDOWED_ANDROMACHE">WIDOWED ANDROMACHE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Full in the morning sun I saw him first</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And followed him through meadows, flower-massed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All his steep, toilsome ways, I, too, traversed;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">After his battles all his wounds I nursed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From our tent gazing to the cities passed.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Then, to the Trojan walls, where battle burned</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And every altar had a bloody rim,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I trod his ardent footsteps, though I yearned</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For fields so free; but until back he turned</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My only way was onward, after him.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The summons came while I was following, true,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eager, alert, though bruised by thorn and stone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had he but paused to tell me, ere he drew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His cloak about him, what I was to do,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I would have kept the path, yea, all alone!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“But he was silent, answering not my woe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He muffled him against my prayers and tears.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I raise my arms, hung with the links of years,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hung with his broken chains, my right to show</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But—o’er his Unknown Paths, I may not go!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SACRED_SHIP_FROM_DELOS">THE SACRED SHIP FROM DELOS</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">(The Pilot speaks)</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Strange, how I felt the homeward voyage long;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As I looked back to Delos o’er our wake,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And heard the priest’s song, saw our sails out-shake</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the round sun hanging like a gong</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mid-heaven. All night long I lay on deck</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Remembering how he taught us in the Porch;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet, the black waters’ phosphorescent torch</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gave me no Sign, no word in white foam-fleck.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“When we passed Sunion, methought I saw</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Red fires burning ’mid the holy white</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of sacred columns; but the Athenian law</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I did not know! And then, the reef’s long jaw</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Foamed at us. Through the hollow night</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We fared, unwitting; putting forth our might;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Speeding with oars our fated way upon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till the white Dawn ensilvered Phaleron.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“At the Piræus, when I saw the throng,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Crito and Phædo, there, to meet us,—I</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gave myself no portentous reason why,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">But thought: ‘He’s free!’ (Forsooth he did no wrong)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then I remembered lofty words he said</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of freedom as its dangerous truth he read,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Great Zeus! The cowards might as well indict</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sea-circled priest or mountain anchorite!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Crito it was who told me, voice all raw</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With grief, and on my shoulder his kind hand:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He saw me flinch,—‘Tremblest?’ he said, ‘Nay, stand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here in the shadow. ’Twas <i>thy</i> ship they saw,</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>The Sacred ship from Delos</i>, ere they gave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The signal for the hemlock—and his grave!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He drank the cup: the while, methought, thy prow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would have steered Hades-ward, didst thou but know.’</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I made no sign. No trite word left my lip.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I turned from Crito, and saw Phædo, grave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Join him. Alone, I went back to my ship,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sails furled with garlands riding harbor-wave;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I looked at her, rehearsed the sacred rite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And purified me; set my torch alight:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Socrates! Master!’ I sobbed once; set then</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aflame the Sacred Ship of Ill-Omen!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LITTLE_SHADE">THE LITTLE SHADE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">No longer that grey visage fix,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Asking me how I come to mix</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With this pale boat-load on the Styx,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I am so very small a Shade,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holding the vase my father made</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And toys of silver all inlaid,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ferry me to the golden trees,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To isles of childish play and ease</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And baths of dove-like Pleiades,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ferry me to the azure lands,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where some dead mother understands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lifting of my baby hands,</div> + <div class="verse indent10">Charon.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CONTRAST">THE CONTRAST</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Neither my Magnesian home, nor Demetrias, my happy country mourned +for me, the son of Sotimos; nor did my mother Soso lament me,—for no +weakling did I march against my foes.”—<i>From a painted stele at +Volo, Thessaly.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis said, when young Greeks went to die,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Greek mothers would not weep;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And steadfast mien and tearless eye</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Controlled themselves to keep.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah!—they were trained to bloody deed;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">We—in this time so late</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That life seemed gentle, know our breed</div> + <div class="verse indent2">More tragically great!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Had we foreseen, no tear would fall.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Now mothers, too, could smile ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only, we proved men brave ... and dead</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In such a little while!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SHE_HAD_REVERENCE">“SHE HAD REVERENCE”</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“O Rhadamanthos, or O Minos, if you have judged any other woman as +of surpassing worth, so also judge this young wife of Aristomachos +and take her to the Islands of the Blessèd. For she had reverence for +the gods and a sense of justice sitting in council with her. Talisos, +a Cretan city, reared her and this same earth enfolds her dead; thy +fate, O Archidíke!”—<i>From a painted stele in the Museum at Volo.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The dear dead women Browning drew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lean forth in happy watchfulness;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With them Rossetti’s Starry-tress:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Tennyson’s royal maidens press</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To bring you to their Sacred Few.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lovely companions wait for you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dear <i>Archidíke</i>, wife divine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With asphodels your locks to twine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus crowning with celestial vine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That noble reverence you knew!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GLORY">THE GLORY</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">Good Friday Night, Athens, 1914.</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Myriad candles windy flaring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Over faces stilled in prayer;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Silken banners, icon-bearing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jewelled vestments, laces rare—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the people in a daze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Walking in a candle-haze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of uplifted pure amaze.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the people in a stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Crowding in an Easter dream;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While choragic song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pours from out the throng—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“It is the Glory—holy holiday.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So, smiling, good Athenians say.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Priests in choir, softly singing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Carry the Pantokrator,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While the city-bells are ringing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In their wild two-toned uproar;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the people, in a mass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the purple-robed Papas,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bearing crosses made of brass,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Scarlet cap, and fustanelle,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Turkish fez, and bead, and bell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While choragic song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leads the trancèd throng.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“It is the Glory—holy holiday,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So, smiling, good Athenians say.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Colored lights, and dripping torches,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Burn on Lykabettos crags;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the narrow streets and porches</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whole-sheep roasting never flags.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonfires all the country light,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to dark Hymettus’ height,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Making all the hillsides bright.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still the surging crowds advance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Moving, moving in a trance;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While choragic song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leads the trancèd throng.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“It is the Glory—holy holiday,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So, smiling, good Athenians say.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In their wistful majesty,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See them waiting for a sign,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of religious unity</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the human or divine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faithful, yearning, poor, uncouth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pagan-born, yet craving truth—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Old grey-heads and stripling youth.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the people in a stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holding candles in a dream,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">While choragic song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Swells throughout the throng.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“It is the Glory—holy holiday,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This, smiling, good Athenians say.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SUNSET_ON_THE_ACROPOLIS">SUNSET ON THE ACROPOLIS</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">If ever I have freed me of all time,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let me so free me now, that I have brought me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near to these hill-top temples, which have caught me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to their soaring heights and Vision wrought me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of things serene, and stricken, and sublime.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Let me, the titled, spurious Christian, face</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This solemn wistfulness of Pagan yearning—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This aspiration of white columns, burning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With golden fires, their pillars deep inurning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The tragic, sunset beauty of the place.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Let me stand silent, under evening skies,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Watching this radiance grown cold and hoary;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In death-white, black-stained ruins, read the story</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Parthenon tells of ancient Grecian glory,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reiterating beauty as it dies.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Let me stand silently and humbly, there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seeking that Unknown God Greeks apprehended;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That, as the temples fade, and day is ended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My own hope with this ancient faith be blended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And I be part of this eternal prayer!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STREET_OF_SHOES">THE STREET OF SHOES</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">(Athens)</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now, while the Bulgars creep in stealthy crews</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Macedonian borders, do they stay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In Athens as they were one April day—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The busy cobblers in “The Street of Shoes”?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I wonder: for the faces leaning there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had Oriental heat, the hands that sewed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had look of readiness; some skillful code</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hammers rapped on leather-scented air.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The old shoemakers, hung about with hide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In cave-like booths, with beads and fringe adrip,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Muttered their restless words beneath the clip</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of shoe-laces, or hammered, sombre-eyed;</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Red-capped, white-bearded, keen for petty strife,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They hammered and they stitched; while, might and main</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down their small, narrow, red-morocco lane,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They cut the scarlet shoes with gleaming knife.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How would it go, if mad Bulgarian hordes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Invaded here with pillage and abuse?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I like to think that in the Street of Shoes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those old, gnarled hands would fiercely leap to swords!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I love to think how fiery faces there</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would light like lurid skies before the storm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And that Athenian shoemakers would swarm</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To guard the city with ferocious care.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, if the foe to trample Athens choose,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I pity them if those Greek cobblers still</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stick to their lasts. These would not wait to spill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A brighter red than red-morocco shoes!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bulgars would know how nimble fingers use</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Flayed skin to keep the needles very bright;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They would learn much before they took their flight</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forever from the valiant Street of Shoes!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_THE_ELEUSINIAN_WAY-SPRING">ON THE ELEUSINIAN WAY—SPRING</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Hush! Walk slowly;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All this winding road is holy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Place your votive image in a niche</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By Pass of Daphne, where rocks forward pitch.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now, sit lowly—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under dim firs that cool the dust-white way</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Curving from Athens to Eleusis Bay.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Soft! Speak lightly!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See’st this myriad Concourse? all the sprightly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Luminous Mystæ? Naked flower forms</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dancing in close commingled color-swarms</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So brightly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Follow them in their green-hot Mænad flame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their sweet mysterious rapture of no name.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Watch! Far-seeing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Demeter’s yellow torches fitful fleeing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And seed processions moving towards the shrine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where motion, moisture, act in soft sunshine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And being</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Earth-taught, flower-figures of desire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sway toward white Oreads quick with fire.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Take, unceasing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Joy of powers these Mystæ are releasing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eternal, they, who seem so lovely-brief.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soft luminous shapes of petal and of leaf</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Increasing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They sweep across Semele’s ancient fields</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Handing the torch the calm Earth-mother yields.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yea—the senses</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have their holy truths and recompenses</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetly simple may their teachings be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Wine flashing clusters from a sacred tree”;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Defences</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From all our sorry wisdoms have these flowers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who teach deep truths with Dionysiac powers!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_THE_ROOM_OF_THE_FUNERAL_STEL">IN THE ROOM OF THE FUNERAL STELÆ</h2> +</div> + +<p class="center">(Athens Museum)</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er all the world I wandered with my grief,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My human grief, that would not be forgot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Finding no face, no word, nor any spot</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where haunted heart and brain could find relief.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Until the morning I unwitting stept</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Into the stelæ-halls and the great peace</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the Greek sorrow over Life’s surcease</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Enveloped me, even in woe inept.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Here, marble love in simple human sense</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To nearest friend gives earthly treasure up,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A matron handing maid a box or cup;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A man from dog and slave turning him hence;</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A soldier springing out into the dark;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A wife slow fading in her husband’s arms;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The inexorable Fact, its vague alarms</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Love grown suddenly aloof and stark!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet no breast-beating here, nor frantic woe,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor bitter tears, nor loud outcry of pain.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only the question: “Will they live again?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go they forever from us, when they go?”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Majestic sorrowers the figures stand,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Absorbed in contemplation of One Thing ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No promises, nor priestly counselling,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only the longing eyes and clasping hand!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Down the long halls I wandered; Athens’ Spring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Radiant without, with almonds’ rosy spray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And violets crowding on the hills. That day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My dead heart stirred to marble comforting!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For the Greeks <i>knew</i>! Death is the only thing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That keeps its dignity. So Death they met</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ready to pay to him a subject’s debt;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Going out awe-struck as to meet a King.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Greeks <i>knew</i>! nothing any more can heal</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The heart Death once despoils of sorrowing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With proud simplicity they felt the sting,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then wore the mystery like sacred seal!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Calm-eyed, controlled, those marble figures gaze</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Into the depths no mortal eyes have known,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, Grecian head thrown back, the world is shown</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sorrow’s transfigured face, immortal ways!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SEVEN-STRINGED_MOUNTAIN_LUTE">“THE SEVEN-STRINGED MOUNTAIN LUTE”</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Homer, Sappho, Anacreon, Pindar, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, the +very names are a song.”—M. C. M.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I knew, no matter how they plucked at me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like golden fingers—all those cadenced names—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That never could I answer; for the power</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of their majestic harmonies was perfect flower.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No greater song, nor lovelier verse could be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unless Greece lived another golden hour.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I tried to echo them. I vainly sought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Timid expression of their rhythmic fire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My melodies with halting effort caught</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faintly their classic motive and desire.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet, while I failed, a miracle was wrought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Themselves did sing! Thus, humble, I was taught</div> + <div class="verse indent0">These names that are the plectrum and the lyre.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GREEK_WAYFARERS">GREEK WAYFARERS</h2> +</div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Around the Hellenic coast the dark-blue bands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of circling waters, like a loin-cloth, wind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The stalwart nakedness of seaward lands;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bronze crag, and beach, and rock and terrace bind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As foreground for the somber swelling tent</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of purple mountain. On the morning sky</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pale azure summits, with their sides snow-rent,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loom in the distance; slowly, solemnly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The coasts of Greece define; their misty chains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Backed by soft clouds and silver sky-moraines.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While we sail on, reverent vision-sharers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To read the romance of the Greek Wayfarers!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Those serrate ridges toward the southward brew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grape-colored mist, snow-frothed; the foamy crest</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Mount Taÿgetos bursts on the blue</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Peloponnesian pinnacles, repressed</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Back of fair bays and coasts. Rich lands of corn,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Slopes that the Spartans loved,” the Headlands Three</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hide from the eye; but nearer shores forlorn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wounded and Ancient, scarred of rock and tree</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Looming beyond the starry-clustered Isles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where fire-blue waters surge on circled strand,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lead to far cliffs, which once were beacon-bearers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In early wars, for early Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Each azure-rippled, rock-encrusted beach</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tells of the dusky, strong Phœnician sails</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That came from Sidon, passed the stormy reach,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And touched at islands, dark as wave-tossed bales</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Left floating in the murex-stainèd sea</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where restless fishers, full of dawning schemes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cruised in the tunny waters; sailing free,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drawn by the Tyrian Purple to new dreams.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adventurers, traders, heard the sailor-boasts</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of civilized beginnings on the coasts,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in black vessels brought the new Space-Darers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose reckless sea-paths made them Greek Wayfarers!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus rovers came, and dark-skinned traders planned</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New villages by fertile pasture lures</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In lonely valleys; by succeeding hands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Minoan vases, Mycenean ewers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Were fashioned; then the tribes fought hill by hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And coast by coast, for wealth, till Knossos’ tombs</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Tiryns’ palaces had dawning skill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of goldsmith and of craftsman in their glooms.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The legends grew, the wooden statues raised</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New, mystic Cults. Where rams and young kids grazed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Distaffs sprang up, and primitive sheep-shearers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Brought snowy fleece to clothe the Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Delphi, Eleusis, guided human awe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By mystic voices and by legend thrill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, one by one, came templed porch and floor</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gleaming by sea or on some fir-crowned hill.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far back in forest, or on Islands, rose</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Transcendent loveliness of chiselled stone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the secret shrine Artemis chose</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To hear, or not to hear, the victim’s moan.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">The entrails burned; worshippers at the feet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Gold-Apollo knew the saving-sweet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comfort of God-in-life, evolved from terrors</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Nature-forces by the Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And then the restless ichor in Greek veins</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Created dreams of new posterity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And mother-cities planning greater gains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sent emigrants exploring on the sea.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Before Ionians, strange Æolians went.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Chalcedon came “œkist” altar-fire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Silver, and iron, and flax, for commerce sent</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dorians roving with renewed desire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And coins and woolens, pottery and dyes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Marked with age-seal each eager new emprise;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And shrines and temples followed all the eras</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of settled colonies of Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To vale and coppice, every forest place,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Came note of Syrinx and the sound of flutes;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And golden ball and pomegranate trace</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On priestly robes; and ’mid the cool volutes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Were public treasures heaped; the Councils met;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Athens and Corinth grew to haughty names,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And glorious youths and lovely boys were set</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To daring deeds at the Olympic Games.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">By mountain paths and solitudes they trod,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They set the votive offerings to their god</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Invoking glory—happy olive-wearers—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Consciously beautiful, as Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Then sculptors wrought and painters ground the crude</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Colors, and potters found the yellowish glaze;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And out of Cretan bowls and bottles rude</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Came polychrome and monographic vase.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The echoing, marble theatres curved in hills,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where master-voices, with dramatic art,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chorused all joys and passions, and all ills—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And touched with deep emotion every heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till poet-minds flowered to richer truth;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forsaking earlier thoughts and laws uncouth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With nobler aim to be the way-preparers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of philosophic thought for Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">While every river mothered daughters fair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And clouds conceived, and ancient trees enslaved</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Satyr and hama-dryad ... then the flare</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the Greek torch too happy-high was waved—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The jealous East was plotting, Persians lay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In plundering splendor, with their blazing hosts,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till Marathon and grim Thermopylæ....</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, envious cities, roused at Athens’ boasts</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Of glittering power, crushed the Golden Age.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the Spartan and Bœotian rage;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Leagues” and sea-struggles, Macedonian terrors,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dragged to a desperate pass the Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>X</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet after Byzantine and Ottoman</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Settled despotic heel upon the land,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No cruel Venetian yoke nor Turkish ban</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forced the brave Greeks’ unconquerable stand.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Outsiders saw the Cause inviolate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Byron’s hot poet’s heart and cosmic brain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Urged on the struggle, to once more create</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An independent Greece, unchained again.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The whole world watched the piteous battle fought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hailed small triumphs, passionately bought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With faith, until, from wild, despairing errors,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The struggling Greeks once more were Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>XI</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now on Greek highways, where the wagons roll,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Piled high with wineskins, or with bags of flour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Past schools and churches and the fountain bowl,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New hope springs in the peasants hour by hour.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Greeks know that through their sordid modern strife</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They walk in poetry, believing well</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They are the children of enchanted life,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That sends them forward messages to tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Greek restraint and hospitality,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greek love of beauty, and Greek dignity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Making them, in their toil, devoted carers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For new and better goals for Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>XII</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What are the goals to be, and what the gain?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As soldiers camp in valley and on hill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do Spartan youths leap on the dusty plain?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does spirit of Leonidas keep still</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One death-defying purpose? Will the blood</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leap of a sudden out of the Soros,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Marathon with bright phalanxes flood?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do all Greeks bear the title <i>agathos</i>?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah, Greece! Ah, Greece! dare for the precious Past,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And throw your lot with gallant men that cast</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eternal die, to be the Spirit-Bearers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For all the world and all the Greek Wayfarers.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_THRESHING-FLOOR">THE THRESHING-FLOOR</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“This mess of hard-kneaded barley-bread and a libation mixed in a +little cup.”—<i>Greek Anthology.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">There’s a white stone-paven floor</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Set in a jade-green field</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the spiked acacias yield</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A shadow, and the four</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Earthen pots on a round well-wheel</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come up drippingly full and spill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the white horse runs his circle round</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drawing water for garden ground.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The white foundation here</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has ne’er held temple-plinth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But mint and terebinth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Perfume is in the air.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And here, at the harvest-time the wains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rattle along the sunburnt plains,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the peasant’s arms are bared to thresh</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Food from the golden barley mesh.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Before the morning’s long</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comes drowsy, sliding snatch</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of primitive threshing-song;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down in the garden patch</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">The murmurous sleepy drone of bees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blends with the stir of the poplar-trees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the rustle of bundled grain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tossed from the wagon train.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! the <i>Mavrodaphne</i> wine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is fruity and sweet to taste,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the oranges are fine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the blocked Loukoúmi paste.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But I long for a crust of peasant bread</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eaten with honey from Parnes’ head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And I hunger the more and more</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At sight of the threshing-floor!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak x-ebookmaker-important" id="BY_THE_WALLACHIAN_TENTS">BY THE WALLACHIAN TENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<h3>THE BOY</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Over dripping washing-trough</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bends my mother busy drubbing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Father’s fustanella rubbing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the dark soap, smeary—rough.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There my goats go, wild careering</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the sound of wagons, nearing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oootz—Ella—Whooff—!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of there, you silly kid,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By the old soup-kettle hid.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>THE MOTHER</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">That boy, lying in the thyme,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sheepskinned loafer in the grasses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He is carelessness sublime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sunned in yellow iris masses.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thinks he of the dead men sleeping</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far away from flocks he’s keeping,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Piled in bloody mountain-passes?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the brutal guns again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Booming: “Give us men! More men!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<h3>THE BOY</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Baby hanging from the tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Peeps from out his bright bag-hollows,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While the white dog rolls and wallows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bitten by an angry bee.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forth for those sheep he must sally,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where they by the cold brook dally.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oootz—Ella—Deee!—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now the fools, in silly mass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Scamper toward the mountain-pass.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>THE MOTHER</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Far off, on the dusty plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reels my drunk Wallachian,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Coming up from town again.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drinking in the village khan,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All our Balkan coin he’s spending;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As his stupid way he’s wending</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I the future scan.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ugh! I hear those guns again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Surly—growling: “Men! More men!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>THE BOY</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Swift the smooth Peneios flows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smoky-white to sea’s blue gleaming.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the battleships are steaming</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ready for their foes,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">I should like to fight and bear me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fiercely. Nothing there would scare me.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ella—Ella—Pros!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With this high-swung shepherd-stick</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That old bucking ram I’ll hit!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>THE MOTHER</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">St. Spiridion! He beats</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That old ram as ’t were his woman!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What a fine, big, brawny human</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have I suckled at these teats!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! I have my mother-reasons</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To distrust Rumanian treasons,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When our Council meets.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bah! those dirty guns again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Booming: “Give us men! More men!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When my man comes, o’er and o’er</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I will bluster—Not will hunger</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor your beatings make me monger</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sons to angry war.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That brown boy, in sunshine dreaming,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’ll not feed him to the teeming</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Snorting cannon-maw!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Move we now our tents again,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far from guns that roar: “More men!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_VALE_OF_TEMPE">THE VALE OF TEMPÉ</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The river that winds through the Vale of Tempé is white,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Smokily white, like water opaque with a charm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Olympus knows why. He towers there, frostily bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And Ossa forth stretches a slaty, precipice arm,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deepening silvery pools into green-clouded light,—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So that Tempé is hidden and secret and free from alarm.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But the green Vale of Tempé leads forth to the stir of the Sea</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where the battleships growl and where Salonica is held</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fast in the grip of the Powers, who fight for the key</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Unlocking the Border-doors; if Tempé were shelled,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then the white Peneios, veiled as for bridal, would be</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Scarlet with blood of soldiers, like forests felled.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Pindar, Spenser, Shelley, Byron,—ye bards—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Lyric-tongued all! What if the fair Tempé glade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where delicate flowers gleam on the virginal swards</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And the cuckoo pipes to the shy-footed dryad-maid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the trees hide Daphne,—What if the horror-mad hordes</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Trample this Pastoral, where old Mythology stayed?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">They answer not and the soft Peneios is veiled,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">’Mid the joy of the fauns and flowers and river-born shade.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But an old Belief in the smoky-white water is trailed—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Who knows but Apollo, fierce for his pagan glade—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will hasten, haughtily, in shining sun-armor mailed,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And carry it off to the Greek gods’ ambuscade?</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ENCOUNTER">THE ENCOUNTER</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas there in Tempé that he lay</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Under a plane-tree, fast asleep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His pipes far-flung.—Pan! growing gray;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lines on his mocking face; his gay</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Scuffling hoofs forgot to leap.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The river pleaded, “Wake the God”;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The birds sat by with soft aside;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up from the delicate spring-sod</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I saw the eager flowers nod,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And little leaves my language tried.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I woke Pan. Bore the deep earth-gaze</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On my false being, false to life</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By all the dreary modern ways:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Pan,” I dared whisper—“long the days—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">One needs thy music in the Strife.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Full many a spring when poppies fired</div> + <div class="verse indent2">This brook-side, did I play for you.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pan answered me: “My music tired,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For colder music you desired;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So be it—I am weary too!”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Forgive me for my sad unworth,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oh, patient Pan,” I murmured low.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“I know that I have failed the earth;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only, perhaps, by spirit-birth,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My children thy wild pipes will know.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Pan frowned: “Nay, all the world doth rave;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Against the Pipe; they rant, like you!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go, people my deserted cave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With theories and books. Zeus save</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That I should hinder what you do!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Far back in Tempé’s leafy glade</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The dappled sunshine filtered through,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And dewdrops opalled every blade.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I was not of the god afraid.—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And still there was a thing to do.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ah, Pan, dear Pan,” I softly cried,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Who is it that shall save but thee?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy music, god, the whole world wide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is listened for on country-side,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And every dreamer bows the knee!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“By musky grapes in rosy hands,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And all the golden fruits that glow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A happy lover understands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy fluting, hearts in sober lands</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Languish till they thy clear pipe know!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ah, Pan—play on! Forgive the souls</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Whom knowledge cheats of love; forgive</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That life exacts its bitter tolls</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And leads to artificial goals.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oh! Play! that we may surelier live!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I bent, I touched the shaggy hoof,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The horns; I looked into the eyes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clear as rock pools, and yet aloof</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like wild bird’s, then I saw the proof</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That Pan is kind beyond surmise.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tears! In Pan’s eyes!—I sprang away</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(Not even Pan should see me weep)—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet on through Tempé, all that day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I heard wild, happy piping.—Yea,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I wakened Pan!—He’s not asleep!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EASTER_DANCE_AT_MEGARA">EASTER DANCE AT MEGARA</h2> +</div> + + +<h3>FIRST PICTURE</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Green lizards flash along the walls</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Curd-white against the fire-blue bay;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The pepper-trees’ fern branches sway</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their delicate, hot, scarlet balls.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The linkèd maidens wreathe the square,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blazing with festal coinage, hung</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On brown necks; yellow kerchiefs, flung</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er dusky, long, twin braids of hair.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Attic maids, with Attic mirth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Subdued and shy, from hill and plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On Easter holiday, at birth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of spring, weave altar-pacèd chain.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And sing a song, to shepherd flute,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its shifting, three-toned lilt is cold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only—it is so very old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wonder is it is not mute.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But so, they say, did maidens dance</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In dim Eleusis, near the shrine.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And that is why these dark eyes shine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With classic-cultured ignorance.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And that is why, from near and far,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greek peasants come with stately pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They know that Past from which they glide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Into the dance at Megara!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<h3>SECOND PICTURE</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In his long smock, and farmer’s cotton cap,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Demetri dances.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The old crones smile, the little children clap,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The young girls’ glances</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Follow him, tall and grave, and deep of eye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Marvelling at him, yet aloof and shy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His fellow-dancers jostle roughly by</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With rude askances.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The piper plays his reediest, shrillest tune,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And at his leisure</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Demetri, as though pacing in a rune,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Treads out a measure.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The elders laugh: “Dance there, fantastic fellow!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tread down the grapes, while harvest moon is mellow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Give thy feet wings, fly o’er the sunset billow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At thy good pleasure!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The little glasses of brown resin-wine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are quaffed; beads slipping</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the Greek fingers, slender, brown, and fine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Accent his skipping.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">They nudge, to see his hand curve on his shoulder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They marvel as his dark eyes burn and smoulder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And note his step less vague, his bearing bolder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And go on sipping.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Around him dance the peasants, pacing slow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With rhythmic swinging,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But in and out he threads their simple show</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Midst childish singing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reels past old bearded Greeks, their grave tales weaving,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And fierce Wallachians come for Easter thieving;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Albanian women with bold bosoms heaving</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To children clinging.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Spell-bound, all watch him reel, and swerve, and bend;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His dizzy spinning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dazzles their eyes. Word goes from friend to friend:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“He is beginning!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For now with somber eyes, unveiled and burning,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From peasant dance they see Demetri turning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To an old trance of rapturous discerning—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loud plaudits winning.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The sun shines paler on the kerchief’s gold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The church-bell’s tolling;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sea grows purple, and the distance cold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With dark waves rolling.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The long lines break, the black-haired maidens wrangle;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With exclamation all the dusty tangle</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comes to a halt, ’mid glint of peasant spangle</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And soft song trolling.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But tall Demetri lost in dreaming pace</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In solemn swaying,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Keeps on alone, with tense and mystic face</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As he were praying.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With hand upraised, as holding the caduceus,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He looks away to old far-off Eleusis,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Devising Dionysiac curves and nooses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Old Laws obeying.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why, in his face that mystic peering gaze</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a faun, waiting?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why does he pace his lonely, occult ways</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His eyes dilating?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Demetri!” “Mitchu!” tease the girls. Their screaming</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He does not hear, lost in far other seeming,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In strange dance-spell, in old blood-tutored dreaming,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Old rhythms creating.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PEACE_1914">PEACE, 1914</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why do the women walk so free and strong</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It is because the Turks wreak no more wrong;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Balkans ended, sunburnt soldiers throng,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why do the old monks pray so hard for rain</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It is because the mountain slopes again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Roll in green terraces of silver grain,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why does the shepherd wear a broidered shirt</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Because ’tis peace; clean is the goat-herd’s skirt,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The women spin; the needles are alert,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And why the young kids, white as snowy curds,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The farmers are successful with their herds;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The highway’s loud with guttural teamster-words,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why are the threshing-floors so thickly set</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Because, when harvest comes, and youth is met,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comes the old will of Nature, sturdy yet,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And these deserted hovels that we see</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the Peneios winds about the tree?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The villagers have gone across the sea</div> + <div class="verse indent14">From Thessaly.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And this trim town of plaster and of thatch</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">America hangs fortune on the latch,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our sons come back, then blooms the garden patch,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, this is no decadent race I see</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, stranger, who can tell? Hard things must be.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only, the “Greeks were Greeks,” and Greeks are we</div> + <div class="verse indent14">In Thessaly.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DELPHI">DELPHI</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Matrixed ’mid purple mountain steeps,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An ancient Grecian city sleeps.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where rock-hewn fountains spill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down scarlet-poppied hill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Long time ago its temples fair</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rose, Doric-columned, on the air,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And voices told of riddles strange</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That echoed down the mountain range;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And men and cities brought their all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Delphi and the priestess’ thrall.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While in the mountain-pass a pipe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Played on and on and on—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A pipe played on.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now up the aisles of olive-trees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come wistful souls from over-seas,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the Itean shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Past rose-hung cottage door,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the sacred fount they dip,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or tell the lore with alien lip;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or, dreaming, scan far snow-crowned heights,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lit, as of old, with pagan lights.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">While through the thyme, ’mid rock and pool,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sheep-bells tinkle, water cool,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the mountain pass, a pipe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plays on and on and on—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A pipe plays on.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">While glowworms blur the dewy gorse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And stars float from their tidal source,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Grecian peasants steal</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By creaking wagon-wheel,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We ponder on this Life and Death</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Within the taking of our breath;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So old, these ruined fanes that lie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the temple of the sky!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So old these sacred stones that gleam</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the strange shining Delphic dream.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While in the mountain-pass the pipe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plays on and on and on—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A pipe plays on.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So old, this silence trembles, brought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To solemn tension with our thought—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deep as the mystic strain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Born in Apollo’s fane:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Dear God, ’tis well no Pythoness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For us may prophesy or bless!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Well, that no riddle-verse controls</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The will that slumbers in our souls!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Well, that we choose, calm, clear-eyed, free</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">To live and learn our truth from Thee!”—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still in the mountain-pass the pipe</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plays on and on and on—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The pipe plays on.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_DESCENT_FROM_DELPHI">THE DESCENT FROM DELPHI</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dawn, pallid and cold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Parnassos, grave in the mist</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like the shrouded form of a priest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No light in the East,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Save thin stars, worn and old.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the “Shining Ones”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The temple-steps, in white,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chromatic, gleaming, light,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mount to the stadion’s</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oval of crumbling stones.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dawn, stealthy and still,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Frostily fills the fields,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dew sprinkles the maize;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where ranging cattle graze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His pipe a shepherd plays.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sun, striking the snow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On far off mountain height,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Day, solemn and slow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rises from Long Ago</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clothed in pure samite.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A scarlet rug in a field;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A man and a woman asleep—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Around them, dogs and sheep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the maize is quivering gold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the broad day is unrolled.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The man and the woman asleep—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Alone in the Delphian field!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the world, once more revealed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Young, and all time is healed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Oracle unsealed!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TWILIGHT_ON_ACRO-CORINTH">TWILIGHT ON ACRO-CORINTH</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">From the Venetian arch, the doubting owl</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sends forth his whimper; where the sheep-dogs lope</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sounds donkey’s thirsty octave, call of fowl,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And near green-silver maize and poppied slope,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Goat-bells ring jangling on the tether-rope</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As, truant from some hooded shepherd’s scowl,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dim, hornèd shapes in black thyme-bushes grope.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I look four ways down all the rich descents</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To mountain, cliff, and sea. First to the South</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where Argolis in purple permanence</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gives sumptuous breast to dark sea’s hungry mouth.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Enthroned in mountain fastness, warm, immense,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or, lying prone by misty olive-fence</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Losing herself in languid, dusty drouth.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Far Eastward, islanded Ægina keeps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her tree-girt shrine, and Sunion the prow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of white sea-temple lifts on Laurion steeps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where mines are hid, and silver quarries show.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then, like a bee, the eager eye upsweeps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Athens, where the Acros-flowers grow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the dim road to far Eleusis creeps.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I look toward Athens, over golden gorse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purple anemones, Saronic seas,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Powerful, kingly blue. I see the source</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of all Mind ever was, and then the trees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blurring, I turn me West, perforce</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweeping Arcadian ridges, as light flees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And over paling skies cloud-horses course.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bœotia, Phocis, Lokris ranges tread</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vast gorges ’round the Gulf’s imperial shores;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like citadels, their summits, thunder-bred,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And at their feet are sacred river-floors,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And many a mountain stream its crystal bed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has hidden beyond those labyrinthine doors</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From whence down winds the clue-like glancing thread.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And as the night surrounds me and the stars</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Climb up the clouds like mountain-pastured flocks,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I muse on Progress, that which hurts and scars</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nature with blood, machines, and battle-shocks.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But, as I gaze, the whole wild sky unbars</div> + <div class="verse indent0">War’s end portending; the new time unlocks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ultimate peace no human passion mars.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ROMANCE">ROMANCE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The “wine-dark” sea menaces as of old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When young Odysseus dared; and all our ship</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shudders against the midnight mountain-waves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hurrying to crush the steamer, in her plunge</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On black path, under wind-blown scattered stars.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strange is the contrast! Strange it is to lie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cabined and berthed, feeling like crystal, hid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In a night-moving mountain; thence to see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At port-hole’s glimmer, land, solemn and strange!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Old as all prayers, all vigils, and all hope!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the ship stops at Patras, and bells ring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To look out on the mole-lights, red and white,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And see the black, unreadable night-shore.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And then, to lie back, ponder the mystery</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of that one man—that little ugly man—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reviled, unknown, and unbelieved, who burned</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So fiercely with his message, that he sailed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From port to port, to give it. My age boasts</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its Christian ethics cool expedience.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That age, simply knew a man named “Paul,”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Who fought with beasts, endured the stripes, to give</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His flaming, tender, strong epistles; wrote</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the people, as ’twixt starvings and shipwrecks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He sailed these waters, from the “upper coasts.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="NIGHT_IN_OLD_CORINTH">NIGHT IN OLD CORINTH</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A hill trembling with grain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And a winding path.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shadowy sheep on the slopes;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sound of bells and sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sound of a peasant song,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sound of pipe and drum ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the twilight grey</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Apollo’s temple.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wide doors and the cottage fire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bright coffee-coppers; plates</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of white curds and of fish;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A man in a scarlet cap,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Turning a roasting spit;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A woman by the fount ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the twilight grey</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Apollo’s temple.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How was it when Paul came?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Corinth was blazing white,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Walled and rich and corrupt.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They “sat to eat and drink</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And rose up but to play!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Purple Sellers knew ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But in the twilight gleamed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Apollo’s temple!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The fountain’s hung with moss</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But the cypress-trees are tall,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And little wingèd shapes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Say “Níke” in the ground.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Jews “requiring signs,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the Greeks “looking for wisdom,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still in the twilight, see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Apollo’s temple!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="AQUAMARINE">AQUAMARINE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I think, when I grow tired of the world,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I shall go back to Greece (in spring, of course),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By forest trail, and oleander source,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Past snow-peaks on green mountain lawns impearled.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To Trypi: where, from saddle I shall slide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hear my donkey’s bell jerk as he feeds</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On herbs and simples—growing to his needs—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By rosy roofs set in the green glenside.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Far down the valleys I shall hear the call</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of white-garbed peasants; throaty cattle-cry;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The little Trypi brook will rustle by</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Among the poplars, silver-green and tall.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I shall watch Greek girls, toiling up the height,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Laden with brush and whorls of scented thyme,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And see their youthful climbing pantomime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ere I lie down to ponder with my might</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">On three sweet subjects, simple village themes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And yet so strange, so subtle, I have met</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No man, nor woman, who can tell me yet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The answers, nor have found them in my dreams.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">First: The Greek plane-trees, cool ancestral trees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Biblical-strong, like mighty tents of Saul,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What earth power spreads their green ethereal</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Canopied gloom, their soft immensities?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Next, the Greek fruits and flowers; what godlike soil</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nourishes orange, fig, and olive stretch,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So that no child goes forth the goats to fetch</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But fills his cap with colored orchard spoil?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Last, I shall ponder (never sure, quite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Imaging richly, merged in miracle)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wondering what source conceals the mystic shell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Staining with blue the Ægean’s mica-light.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Lies in it some great Pool, that slow distils</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Azure of flowers and skies to pigment bold?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or do the encircling mountain-chains enfold</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A vat of purple, whence wine-color spills?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ægean Blue, that crimson-orchil tide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bold, deep, intensest, incandescent flame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pure well of Azure, fitly has no name</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But Greece in her inimitable pride</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Of worship on strange occult secret planes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hidden sponsors of her visual life</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May, long ago, ’neath sacrificial knife</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have loosed the gods’ blue blood from Dacian veins.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">One can see Spartan blood flow down Greek shores,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In crimson poppy-tide, in scarlet waves;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But it is “wine-dark” energy, that laves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gold-bronzèd rocks and hidden sea-cave floors.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! it is not enough for me to say</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Faery silver-azure! Clear, superb</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cobalt no chemistry of sun can curb,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Attar of purest lapis-lazuli.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis not enough for me to invent a name</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like Nauplian Blue, Greek Blue, Blue of Emprise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As I re-vision golden argosies</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or red-sailed moth-boats sailing molten flame.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">No—I must ponder (never sure quite),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Always a-dream in Trypi, where the trees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whisper adventurous old names of seas,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through silver valley-eve and mountain night.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SHEPHERDESS">THE SHEPHERDESS</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Not only mulberry vendors travel Langada Pass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rough soldiers and black-fezzed peddlers take that trail</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And stop to drink at a khan ’neath the rocky mass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the pine-trees root in the drifts of sliding shale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And a half-crazed Greek sells resin-wine and cheese</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And “Thalassa” mutters, pointing to far-off seas.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For Langada Pass is miles of precipice rock</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the rug-hung pack-mules scramble with fumbling feet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sliding unsteadily over the cobbles, that shock,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stone upon stone, in monotonous noontide heat.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But a mountain girl, fleet-footed, with brown knees bare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Flutters along the crags, where the great pines flare.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now the mulberry vendors are fuddled with Spartan rum,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They howl in the cañons and kick the sides of their steeds.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">The soldiers are merry, they sit on the rocks and hum</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And talk politics and twiddle their malachite beads;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hardly a shrine for a maid, or a convent roof,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the blue sky, classic and calm and aloof;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The goats stand cynical, cloven of horn and hoof.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But she whistles and calls and scrambles up to her flock,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">High on the bronze-grey peaks of Langada Pass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With warm eyes mote-flecked, bright as the quartz gold rock</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A deer-like, dryad-like fierce, shy, crag-born lass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Perching where orange anemones spangle the banks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And white streams flash down thicketed mountain flanks.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">We told her the tale of the world and the dreams of men,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We poured out wine-of-the-world in her shepherd cup,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She took it calmly, thoughtfully, drinking up</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All that we were, quaffing us, thirstily, then:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Salute your cities,” the wild little shepherdess said,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And swift as an eagle, far up the precipice sped.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Washington, New York, and Boston have new renown!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their rivers of seething light, where the witch wires hold</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clustering, bright-balled fruits, and the chimneys frown</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like satyrs drunk with smoke through the sunset gold—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All these must bow, in turn, to a little lass</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who “salutes the cities” out of Langada Pass!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MAY-DAY_IN_KALAMATA">MAY-DAY IN KALAMATA</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In Kalamata, where the harvests are</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purple and crimson for the currant-bin,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When merchants close their shutters with a jar,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The young night-gallant twangs his brown guitar,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And first begins the merry May-day din.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night they strum the mandolins and lutes;</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Glyco, the jolly merchant of the fruits,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Sings to accordion: “O nux kalé!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">In Kalamata on the first of May.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Morning comes. See the church across the street</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its doorway wreathed! See Anastasia pass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Twining her pretty shoulders with the sweet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mountain-born orchids, brought on tireless feet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By lads from Sparta o’er Taÿgetos.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night they strum the lute, and mandolin,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Georgio, the dark-eyed, plays the violin,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Sings under balconies: “O nux kalé!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">In Kalamata on the first of May.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The cottage-doors are hung with poppy-wreaths,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To keep away the evil spirits: hats</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are garlanded with oleander. Leaves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fair, golden-braided Marianthé weaves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Into a veil for her long sunny plaits.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night they sound the flutes and castanets;</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Mitchu, in pompommed shoes, fingers the frets,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Quaffs resin-wine,—“Aha—! O nux kalé!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">In Kalamata on the first of May.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To the <i>Platea</i>, all the booths astir;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mulberry vendors clad in goat-skins come;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here are embroidered bags and fragrant myrrh,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And silver-handled knives; and the drum-whirr</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beats like a heart throb in the village hum.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night they play the rough accordion;</div> + <div class="verse indent4">The sailors from the “skala,” to a man,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">March, drunk with mastika, along the quay,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">In Kalamata on the first of May.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Along the railroad all the stations fill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With children garlanded; the peasant throngs</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sing at car windows. From a laurel hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rings “Zito” with the happy springtime thrill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While rose-crowned maidens chant their merry songs.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night they play the violin and drum;</div> + <div class="verse indent4">And to the windows tawdry women come</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Bright-eyed and bold, to hear: “O nux kalé!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">In Kalamata on the first of May.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">May-day, down all the silver-olive plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Along the mountain trail, and torrent track,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May-day on ships on blue Messenian Main,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On locomotives, where the young Greek swain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hangs lily wreaths upon his engine stack!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">All night I hear the zither; the guitar</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Maddens my northern pulses, and from far,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Far up the mountainside: “O nux kalé!”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Wakes Kalamata on the first of May.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FROM_THE_ARCADIAN_GATE">FROM THE ARCADIAN GATE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">From Arcadian Gate, with its tower-topped bulk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">White on Ithóme’s war-ridden hulk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A road winds down past the artichokes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the almond-trees, and acacia-spokes.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, silver-harnessed, the small brooks fly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down to Messenian industry.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, here one sees, under the trees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greek women making the cheese.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Black kettles hang from the giant plane,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where children gather, and where you gain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A charming sight from your donkey-mount,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the wash-trough’s set by the village-fount,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, hanging high on the olive-boughs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where, grey, light-fingered zephyrs drowse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Swaying in bags, in the summer breeze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greek babies take their embroidered ease.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In old Dodona, so they say,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In a time when priest-craft had its sway,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“The Will of the Gods” came jostling,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the oak-leaves’ gentle rustling,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And the Priest of the Oracle carefully hung</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Brazen vessels, which, easily rung,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By moving branches, in many keys,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Instructed the Greeks how their gods to please.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis an old Greek fashion this hanging of things;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Many the legends from which it springs.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Twists of scarlet, and bright-dyed flax,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hang on the rough Arcadian shacks,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the railroad follows the mountain base.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They hang brown jugs by the watering-place.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Amulets hang on the goats and the swine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wreaths hang high on the house and the shrine.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And now the pots for the cheese</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the babies in black-eyed reveries</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sway, like the brasses long ago.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hanging on high branch and on low!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Somehow the sight doth strangely please,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This new fruit on the old Greek trees!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One hears “Will of the Gods!” in speech</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Babbling from olive and oak and beech.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ABBESS">THE ABBESS</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Pink oleander lamps the brook-bed trails,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And orange-trees hang fruitage o’er the grain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And there are hedges, green with fitful rain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cyclamen in white the hillside veils.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">While through the villages, ’neath Mistra’s height,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The children run to give a rose and stare</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At strangers riding where grey olives flare</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mistily in the long hills’ summer light.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rose-pinnacled, a Franco-Turkish wall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Trailing with ivy, rears its crumbling mass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pantassa Church’s apse and mouldered hall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look down upon the plain of Eurotas.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Byzantine tower’s clear octagonal,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jewel-like and fretted, circles on the sky;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A pavèd walk leads to the nunnery,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Past moss-grown arch and ruined capital.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And here, an Abbess, old, yet maiden-faced,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sits in a frigid pomp, in solemn pride:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stately, aloof, the church’s pallid bride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greets us with countenance austere and chaste.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Abbess leads the way, with rigid calm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Detached, haughty, imperious; her eyes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pompously ignorant, religious-wise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cool as the blank intoning of a psalm.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">There are great piles of rose-leaves in the room,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Convent-brewed wines and bright bags, needle-wrought;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There is an ancient fountain in the court,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And guttering candles in the Church’s gloom.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The times have changed,” we said; “women no more</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hide them from life. We mingle and we work.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Christ only asks that not a soul shall shirk</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or flinch from bearing burdens that He bore.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Abbess smiled. “Silence,” she said; “we learn,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On this hilltop we women watch the East,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The morning sun o’er Sparta is our priest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The mountain stars like midnight tapers burn.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">We looked at her; her eyes were crystal clear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Passionless, pure and cold as moonlit snow.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Something she felt that we could never know;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our vision to her eyes could not appear.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">We left her in the shadowed court to brood,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where Frankish frescoes peer through shadows dim,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cloistered nuns in tuneless, wailing hymn,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chant Faith untried in mountain solitude.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GREEK_FARMERS">GREEK FARMERS</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In green Laconia, where the hedges are</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spring-starred with flowers, and the little brooks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wake all the mountains from their solemn dreams</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the old days, when gods moved strong and white</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On hill and sea, or slept within the clouds;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There are great slopes, broken with tillage, rough</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With clumsy ploughing, thick with olive-trees.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And here they stand, the tall, black-bearded men,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose eyes, unblinking, look into the sun.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Men, plainly bred from tribal wanderings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose blood is fevered fire, men whose lands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are bare with waste and bloodshed; men who stand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gazing at strangers with shy interest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who, when you question their fresh peasant-eyes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Straighten up from their field-tasks and reply:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“These are our flocks and pastures—we are Greeks!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Black-bearded men who sow, What is the Seed?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For Greece has lain beneath the Turkish plough,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And all her hills and mountains smoke again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With treachery, rape, and murder. On the seas</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The nations wait to grasp; the kings and crews</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who play the Blood-game snap at little lands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like dogs at flies. Yea, that fair seed ye sow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is it Greek seed? though sown by mongrel hands?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seed of a greatness far exceeding theirs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lands that would despoil Greece? Will it grow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That seed, Deucalion’s hope, Athena’s pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is it once more the sacred seed that fell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of Demeter’s hand on holy ground?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or, is it Cadmus-sown, for crops of Hell?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Truthfully, farmers, can ye stand and say:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“These are our fields and pastures, we are Greeks”?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">They make no answer—strong, black-bearded men,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grimly at work on the Phigalian Hill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the grey Bassæ Temple guards the corn.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They make no answer in the mountain towns</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Arcadian, where pink-roofed houses splotch</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hillsides and where hidden teamsters climb</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thicketed bridle-paths beside the streams.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They cannot tell us, if they know, what seed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sculptors, patriots, and statesmen sowed;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor even if these furrows that they plow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will bring a season’s harvest to their doors.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">But, as we pass them, under upland oaks,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the fig-trees in the rocky gorge,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They walk with strange, fleet steps, so tireless,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So strong, with eyes set on some distant goal,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till we, too, puzzled, murmur: “<i>They are Greeks</i>.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, fateful World! insatiate modern life—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Driven by urgencies too great to tell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Destroying, recreating, balancing—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What of this Old World, dreaming modern dreams,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet with the old dream dwelling in the land</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To teach it Pride? Shall we dare face a Greek—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With all his shining temples at his back,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the eternal Thought behind his name,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As he were German, Russian, Turk, Chinese?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If these black-bearded mongrels share the pride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Argonauts and claim a classic birth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And till the wild land, dropping in the seed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forever saying softly, “We are Greeks,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why should they garner any other crop,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why should they bend and toil for better gain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than seeing New Greece realize her dream?</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SONG">SONG</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Toil on, fishermen!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pan sits on the cliff,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smiles and watches the fare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wreaths him with flowers there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bites at a lettuce leaf,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Binds him a poppy sheaf,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drinks from a painted jug,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Watching the full nets tug;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Toil on, fishermen!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Work on, harvesters!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Demeter rests on the hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near to the threshing-floor;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near to the cottage door,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Girds her with fruited vines,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blows foam from the wines,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drinks from a golden bowl,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While corn-filled wagons roll;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Work on, harvesters!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rest well, goat-herds!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hermes cares for the sheep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Flashes across the sun,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Burnishes helmet wings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wreathed caduceus brings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To swift talaria-flight,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the sheep-scattered night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rest well, goat-herds!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_THE_OLYMPIAN_HERMES">TO THE OLYMPIAN HERMES</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now let the formal, folded curtain fall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Over this majesty of mellowed stone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let me go forth with eyes alight with joy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From this god-gazing. Let me not pause nor stay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till by some clear word I have given faith</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To doubting minds, how Greeks ennobled form</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And carved high meaning in a body’s truth.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet, Hermes, fair god, consciously the flower</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the Greek dream, sculptured so lofty-kind,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stainlessly physical, superbly true;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who is to tell thee that thou hast one fleck</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On that pure manliness, and dare to speak</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Something against thy calm that seems to say,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Earth has no greater gift than perfect limbs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And god-like manhood’s straight significance”?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Forgive me, Hermes, I had thought to take</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy princely healthiness to ailing worlds;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To meanness and to littleness and lust,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bidding them gaze upon thee in thy calm,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Telling them: “This is all. This Hermes stands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For Greek expression of a definite truth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Speaking its message to the world of men</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And placing beauty as a final goal.”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">But then I pondered: What will be the gain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If men say: “Hermes is very kind and fair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wholesome and generous and unafraid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And—soulless! Let be! we’ll no longer hope</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For strength more than the body—loftier calm</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than this superb control of manly limbs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Friendly with sun and rock, and sea, and life.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now yield we up that old, defeated claim</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of soul, the ugly, hunted, harried thing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And trust us to a pagan manliness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stand Hermes-like, unpuzzled, unamazed!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I knew, oh Hermes! Greek perfection, lit</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like stately lamp with one clear, shining joy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That of well-being, I knew life ended not</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With just the beauty of a human form;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Marble, translated into mystery</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Must needs have line to make it fair and right;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And that is all.... Thy unknown sculptor knew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The pagan mind and set thy godhood high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In an unsullied semblance of a man</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Untouched by sorrow, poverty, and shame.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Immortal <i>semblance</i>—then the cleavage comes!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Real men must live (we mortals know the fight),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hot-blooded, passionate, forlorn, astray;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We know how men determine to be true</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To some one Greatness,—struggle to the test</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Baffled and crucified;—in bitter shame</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leaving the unsolved meaning of their lives.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And now we know, by those French faces torn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To rags, around the dumbly loyal eyes;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By English soldiers, done to crippled wrecks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hideous mangling, how men dare to die,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or live their silent, agonizing days.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And then we know there is a human thing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Transcending any body—called a Soul!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yea, let the formal, folded curtain fall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er all that graciousness of mellowed stone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Pagan knew the beauty of the flesh.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We, Modern, view that beauty with resolve</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Firm and unswerving that it be outdone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Firm that all ugly, bruised, and broken things</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall stand invested with a deathless pride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Before our eyes—that see them beautiful;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Determined that the perfect ones approach</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Humbly with sense of some imperfectness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And kneel in homage to the shattered brave.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GREECE_1915-16">GREECE, 1915-16</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yea, taunt me, World Voice—I am dumb and blind,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My body broken, and my heart unclad.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet am I silent, while strange forces wind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The chains about me. Helpless, scorned, maligned,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I answer not. The Greece of long ago</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Speaks for me in this newest time of woe.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Europe reviles me. Yea, I stand alone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like woman left before the ruined door,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like woman who, beneath her outraged moan,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Remembers sacred hours. Like a stone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I am cold, passionless, mid the wild uproar,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Murmuring “Peace” and “Hellas” o’er and o’er.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Apollo’s beauty sprang from out my womb;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Socrates called me, mother. Every hill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And templed glade, and solemn-urnèd tomb,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bids me refrain; no longer to resume</div> + <div class="verse indent0">War and rapine, no longer blood to spill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor hate engender, nor intent to kill.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Europe! Greece speaks, Greece, who so deeply drank</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The bitter cup of ravage; who has laid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A new foundation: near her altars, blank</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of by-gone fires, she phalanxes the rank</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of golden grain. And bids the new-born Greek</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Old classic words with modern tongue to speak.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Homer withholds me, Æschylus restrains,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Human Euripides” exhorts me—“Stay!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I was despoilèd once; strike off my chains,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unsay the insult! Greece nor plots nor feigns,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only withholds her, agonized, at bay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But loyal to her hallowed cliffs and plains!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SINGING_STONES">THE SINGING STONES</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Remember me, the Singing Stone ... for ... Phœbus ... laid on me +his Delphic harp—thenceforth I am lyre-voiced; strike me lightly +with a little pebble; and carry away witness of my boast.”—<i>Greek +Anthology.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beyond brute Titan dissonance, black, bitter strains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Warfare; through the smitten fields of wheat;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon the bloody bridges, where the wains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Roll drone chords between marching soldier-feet;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through mob-voice, robbed of cadence and of beat,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear the Stones of Sunion</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singing by the sea:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Lift we on high our time-defying shafts!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our white-wing on the promontory stays,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our age-old glory from the Ancient wafts</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Godward out of an old, blind, Pagan mood,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While in the surging blue the Islands brood</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In dim, time-purpled haze.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of the din of sociologic strife,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of hoarse-voiced men, embruted by their work,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of women, low-intoning lesser life,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the rich Theme, which modern voices shirk,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Where all the forced, half-harmonizings lurk,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear the stones of Delphi</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singing in the rain:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Black swell the mountains, guarding well the Cleft,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clear spills the water, o’er the fountain rim,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The worshipers are gone, the priests bereft.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Men keep no light upon the altar dim;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No Council meets, but ah, the hope is left,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The dream goes on, new voices chant the Hymn.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To the soft twilight of Æsthetic ease,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where a smile is no smile, a tear no tear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the fruit has no seed, the wine no lees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No strong song comes. Yet, faintly year by year,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Mid those who listen, wistful, and in fear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear the stones of Bassæ</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singing on the heights:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Grey comes the dawn upon the mountain crest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Warm lie the vines on the Phigalian Hill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The deities are gone, their secrets rest</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hidden by time. But still the Sun-God smites</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Altar and soil, and richly thus requites</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The farmers’ faith, and all the fields fulfill.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And everywhere my wistful head is bowed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pensive, absorbed, to find significance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear stone chorus; the immortal crowd</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of pillars round some vocal radiance—</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Chant Spirit-Song of new inheritance—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear all Pagan Temples</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singing in the dawn:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Lift we on high our columns shining white!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our broad wings on the promontories stay;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For us forever was the world’s first light,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ignorant God-seeking. Ye, that follow, may</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soar to a higher vision! ’mid the Pagan night.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We were the singers of a brighter Day.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_QUEST">THE OLD QUEST</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Feed in joy thine own flock and look on thine own land.”—<i>Greek +Anthology.</i></p> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Friend! hast thou seen the rosy mass</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of cyclamen along the pass</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To Arcady?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Doth the green country sweep enlarge</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the white cloud’s floating barge?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does the sun lift a gleaming targe</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On Arcady?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Hold.... Do the trees keep happy nests</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Between the young leaves’ trembling breasts</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In Arcady?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does running water laugh and sing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do butterflies waft wing-and-wing?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spins the white moon her mystic ring</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O’er Arcady?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Speak!—Are there greenwoods cool and dense,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do flower-grails gleam out from thence</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In Arcady?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do pines the aisles and arches blur,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With frankincense and breaths of myrrh,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Veiling the happy forms that stir</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Through Arcady?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thou seest that I am blind,”—said he,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“But hast thou been where I would be</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In Arcady?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh! didst thou see within the gate</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The one who promised me to wait?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stays she for me, though I come late</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To Arcady?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I wonder that she doth not send</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A clue to show the roads that trend</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To Arcady—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But thou canst tell me. Does it rise</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Empinnacled to azure skies?...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou sayst?... <i>None knoweth where it lies,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>Fair Arcady!</i>”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>’Tis sunset and the end of day,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>The roads are closed—so all men say—</i></div> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>To Arcady.</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>The birds and butterflies are fled;</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>The honey quaffed; the perfume shed;</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>The feet that used to dance are sped</i></div> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>From Arcady.</i></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The roads are closed?... Oh, not to me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou seest that I am blind,” said he.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“And Arcady?...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Full well I know thou liest now,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hast thou the world-mark on thy brow?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hast thou no one to ’wait thee—thou?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In Arcady?”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He wanders down the darkling way</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The mute horizons watch him stray</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Toward Arcady.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His feet are bleeding, he is blind,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He dreams of that he will not find,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But in his wide unconquered mind</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Lives Arcady!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GODS_ARE_NOT_GONE_BUT_MAN_IS_BLIND">THE GODS ARE NOT GONE, BUT MAN IS BLIND</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the hills the gods come walking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the black pines draw their swords,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the spell-bound leaves cease talking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the High-Priest sun comes stalking</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And ’tis no time for words.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And oh! the gifts the gods are bringing—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stretches of happy heath,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jewels with souls, and flowers singing;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smiling stars, and new hope springing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the wingèd hope called Death!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the hills the pipes are playing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the gods come strong and fair.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! they know not of the straying,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The faithlessness and bitter saying:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“We know no gods, nor care....”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the hills—the day-sky kindles</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On a blackened world of clods;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dead and dry are the flaxless spindles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The cruse is drained,—the fire dwindles ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No worshipers for the gods!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SEA_OF_TIME">THE SEA OF TIME</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="center">(Sappho sings to Alcæus)</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Only our few short hours,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Temples and groves and bowers,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And then—the Sea!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Only our finite word</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who knows what gods have heard</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Under the Sea?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Love, though the gold moons wane</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We shall not meet again</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Down by the Sea.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ours shall be hidden ways;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stretch the long separate days—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Mist on the Sea!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Artemis—will she say</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What Law we must obey</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Moves in the Sea?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Moves, till the faces worn</div> + <div class="verse indent2">By you and me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Luminous, dream-forsworn</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Change in the Sea?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Change, for unending tides</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Bear you and me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the Self in us glides</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From Sea to Sea.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Love, shall the sailing souls</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of you and me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Float where new shore unrolls</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Rimmed by the Sea?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Comes then the meeting place</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For you and me?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Silence ... white bubbles trace</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Foam on the Sea!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_THE_THOROUGHFARE">ON THE THOROUGHFARE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To-day I go to buy some dates</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From Glyco’s cart.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ten cents,” my smiling fruitman states,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And then we part—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I to the mart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He for the next fig-buyer waits!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Back to my world I go, its keen</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quick energy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And competitions sharp and mean,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its flippancy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sophistry,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And tampering with things unclean;</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But Glyco waits; he has ten cents;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And he has hope,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And back of him, antecedents</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Give him such scope!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With his traditions’ affluence</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I cannot cope!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="AT_P_STUM">AT PÆSTUM</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The low, flat marshland, myrtle overrun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A palm, a Roman wall that skirts the way,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The far blue reaches of Salerno’s bay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then ... the three temples standing in the sun.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">These are the caskets of the sun-sealed years;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Mid tides that ebb and flow, ’neath stars that set,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deathless their grave and tranquil beauty ... yet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Buried in silence, in eternal tears.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath these tympana the Dorians trod;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here, Doric priests upon an alien shore</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Made sacrifice, perhaps these myrtles wore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And garlanded the offering to their god.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Demeter saw the bright libations spilled;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Hermes leapt the scarlet through the fleece.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Amid these columns moved the gods of Greece;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">These lofty spaces with the pæan thrilled.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">This, centuries ago. Demeter now</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is known no more. Poseidon, too, hath fled.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twould seem that Pan and Hermes both are dead;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No Nike springs upon a Grecian prow.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet is this sacred pause, this pillared calm</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still stirred by whispers from Tyrrhenian waves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While near the shadows of these architraves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lie smiling shores of terraced fruit and palm.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And springing from Demeter’s altar site,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the old dream of gods hath died away,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the Greek torch burned down to ashen grey,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There blooms a star shape, mystical and white.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">One mystical white star! Oh! Pagan fire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose temples stand, whose gods have been forgot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One goddess holds in memory this spot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Else why should Nature thus in bloom aspire?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why else in this dim fane the sea intone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sun send fire to the altars bare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And moss and lichen trace strange scripture, here</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lizards flash like symbols o’er the stone?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The low, flat marshland, myrtle overrun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A palm, a Roman wall that skirts the way,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The far blue reaches of Salerno’s bay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then ... the three temples standing in the sun.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PHIDIAS">PHIDIAS<br><span class="small">A DRAMATIC EPISODE</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + + +<p><i>Dungeon in an Athenian prison; a small grated window near the +ceiling shows a patch of blue sky. The scene discloses Phidias, +prostrate and manacled. In the dusk of the cell lingers the</i> +<span class="smcap">Jailer</span>.</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>curiously</i>). What sayst thou, Phidias, who art accused?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The old plaint, snarling that thou art abused?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>lifting his head wearily</i>). What do I answer? Yea! what thing thou wilt!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What care I for this legendary guilt?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Who makes or unmakes Unity? Accused?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Why, any fool accuses. It amused</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The enemies of Pericles to stab</div> + <div class="verse indent2">At him through me. Let gossips spread their blab,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The sea is just as broad, the sky as clear</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And I as blameless.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>persisting</i>). But that brought thee here,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Took thee from royal favor, once the dear</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Adviser, friend of Pericles. It seems</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Here is the end of all thy mighty dreams;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">’Twas Pericles who made thee, and there lurks</div> + <div class="verse indent2">His royal patronage about thy works.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>sullenly</i>). So reason vulgar minds; as well to say</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hephæstus made me, manacled this way,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hammered to fever, bent to twisted woe.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">No, clown! no tyrant brought this overthrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nor my once vivid glory, but the fate</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That overtakes the artist; whether late,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Slow, poisoning, by deadly world-born things,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Or early blight of strong imaginings</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Too fervent for his frame. Athens is free</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From every blame. Not Pericles made me!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>wagging his head obstinately</i>). ’Twas love of Pericles that cast thee here,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ungeniused thee, put thee to rot in drear</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Murk of this den; and if not he who made</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thee what thou wast—aloof and haughty blade</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Fellow I watched in Agora, as one</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Treading on air, thy white himation</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Streaming like wings back of thy eager form,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As thy swift sandal moved among the swarm</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of merchants, gamesters, thieves; while deep gaze drank</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of something that was neither wealth nor rank—</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Why then,—who made thee? for that thou hast fame</div> + <div class="verse indent2">’Tis granted, when the rabble speak thy name.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>moving restlessly, clenches his hands, answering impatiently</i>). I made me, fool, made this unfinished self,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nourished me as a child, in happy health,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Fostered the thirst my mother gave to me</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With her electric milk. Ecstatic tree</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Charmides planted, I did grow and thrive,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Adding to that, what Greece alone could give!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Studied cult-statues, studied Xoana, saw</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Paralysis in Polygnotus’ law,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Wondered that Hegias and Hageladas wrought</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hardly beyond the cold Egyptian thought.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Out of their almond-eyed archaic things,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">New butterfly, my free Athena springs!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My Zeus Olympian came to my prayer</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To see a god. I saw, then made him there!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(<i>To jailer.</i>) Poor ragged dolt, clanking thy silly keys,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Did Pericles make me as I made these?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Did Athens tell me what a man must do</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Who sees instinctive <i>life</i>, and sees it true?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>impudently</i>). How now! What saw’st thou that <i>I</i> might not see?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A rosy nymph at bath! Aphrodite</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Caught in a net of foam? Hermes’ disguise?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Come now, what is this power within thine eyes?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>speaking dreamily as if to himself</i>). What is the power? Life! The heroic thing</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Streaming magnetic from a sea-gull’s wing,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That light in stars, in waves, in children’s eyes,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In green plane-tree, or in deep, sphinx-like skies</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of unknown countries, where the grasses blow</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Unseen of man; where flower-laced streamlets flow</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Past mystic herbs, Demeter loves to keep</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Secretly growing on the mountain steep.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I saw the curves of fruits, saw Grecian sails</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Take fire-blue seas; saw the soft, misty veils</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of maidens wrap their limbs, saw horses, shields,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Victories, warriors, priests, and battlefields;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Each man a poem; women each a jar</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Filled with soft, psychic flame, an avatar</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Shaped to a noble outline, lofty truth</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From some great vital Source—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(<i>The Sculptor breaks off suddenly, scrutinizing the jailer and continuing.</i>)</div> + <div class="verse indent33">Rascal, uncouth</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As are thy words and gestures, I can see</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Some trace of life-light.—Gods! were I but free—</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>interrupting with smug complacency</i>). Which, proper thanks to Theseus, thou art not,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thou light-fingered; thou dingy-robed sot!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Carving thy way to treason, selling State</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For greasy coin, with Hermes as thy mate</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Slanting his profile on it. Dreamer,—thou!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Bronze-worker.” Yea! By Dionysus! How</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thou workedst guilty things for Athens’ shame,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thinking to hide behind thy Patron’s name!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Athens, the famous city; thou, a worm,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Coiling in earth, no four-eyed marble herm</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Will mark. Our furry worms that make the silk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Munch the mulberry; but thy crafty ilk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Munch the fine gold, for sickly marble shapes</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of statues stoned by every Jack-a-napes;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">’Twas thou, worm, coiled ’round thy princely friend,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And gained War-Treasure for thy braggart’s end.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>sadly musing</i>). The fool is glib. His lesson he has got</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From Agora and Propylæa, not</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The polished utterance of Bema’s Hill.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But that crowd’s word, that bodes or good or ill</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">From a fierce thirst; sneering pitiless breath,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Freezing a man, or scorching him to death.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>scratching his head, expectorates knowingly and argues</i>). Why are thy statues costly? with the urns</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of Dipylon Gate, the passer-by discerns</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Good lusty statues, made by Such-an-one,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Quite comely, they, and all of porous stone;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Why use Pentelic marble? so much gold?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thou dreamer-schemer, sculptor overbold?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>with a moan turns from his tormentor to face the stone wall, muttering</i>). “Dreamer,” he called me. Is it by that name</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My curse comes? Verily; I dreamed my shame,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My rich accusings. Dreamed brook-flowing folds</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of draperies, dreamed my young hero-moulds,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Dreamed men who sat their horses, as they rode</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Clouds over seas, dreamed Panathenaic ode</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In singing-rhythm round the Parthenon;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The frieze and metopes of Theseion;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Dreamed the sweet-bodied girls, whose maiden strength</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Poise vase and basket all the Temple length.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Dreamed the slow, garlanded, portentous beasts,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Led by the veiled and sacrificial priests;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Dreamed the young, leaping horseman’s haughty ease</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pediment grouped, or filleted in frieze.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Was it a dream only to-day shall know?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Lives it no longer than this artist’s throe?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">If that must be, then butterfly most drear</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I sink back to the worm-thing crawling here.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>having curiously listened, now struts forward and faces the Sculptor. He eyes him stupidly and shakes his finger at him</i>). + Why, were it not for Pericles who gave</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thee marble, color, gold for statues brave,—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Poured out his coffers,—we should amply be</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Equipped for Persia. Bronze and ivory</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Changed back to drachmæ, all the sacred rock</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Would stand as staunch, to the barbaric shock,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As when Pisistratus, with hardy race,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Made the Acropolis his fortress place.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And look ye, with that gold Athena wears</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(Filched from State monies, for thy stone affairs),</div> + <div class="verse indent2">We could plant ships in Piræus, array</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our strength to Corinth, where the Persians may</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Once more with envy strike.—But, thou wouldest bring</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To a State’s need thy stone imagining!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Fie! but for gold, thy dreams would be as vague</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As fat my wife scrapes from altar-dreg,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And boils to stuff to make my chiton white;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ethereal substance, wind-shaken, alight</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With lambent iridescence, very fine,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From the amphora gushing forth like wine.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But look you, in a moment, just a trace</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of foam is all that froths from out the vase,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And nothing’s left but the damp greasy lees;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So knave, with thee, without thy Pericles!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">The Sculptor</span> (<i>with scornful amusement to himself</i>).</div> + <div class="verse indent2">He mouths that name as if it were a mask,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Through which a stupid actor says his task,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Forgets, mistakes, yet struts around the place</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thinking the mask gives him a certain grace.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>Phidias wearily rises and stretches himself, the jailer meanwhile +curiously observing him.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>abruptly</i>). Slave, thou art childish, many a name like this</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Links close to art, for its own ego-bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To have possession, be the master, who</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Owns, keeps, controls, the work we artists do.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pericles views the height of Athens’ power,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pomp of Acropolis, where every hour</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In golden, crimson, blue, and creamy dye</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ecstatic marble forms sing to the sky,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">And hears them sing! (This for his kingly wage:)</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“<i>Nikomen</i>, Athens, Pericles, Golden Age!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>looking at the prisoner with heavy curiosity</i>). And what, by Hades, <i>is</i> the thing they sing?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>turns impulsively to answer; then a fierce reticence makes him draw himself up and turn away</i>). + Torture me not with thy coarse questioning;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My sorrowing answers, for the ribaldries</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of bath or games: “Thus spluttered Phidias,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Maddened at being walled up.” So the crass</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Idling crowd, jostling in brainless mass,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Gapes, sneers, and marvels, at my grim defeat;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Mud covers stately names where rascals meet.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>with offended dignity</i>). Well, then, good-night. I leave thee to thy prayers.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">No friends, no patron, for thy artist-wares,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Unless, indeed (<i>grinning back of his hand</i>)</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Zeus showers thee with gold</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Like Danaē.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>steadily and reverently</i>). Yea, most mighty Zeus can hold</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Me to my service, to that Ageless Thing</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Higher than he, called Beauty.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> +<p>(<i>He breaks off suddenly, goes eagerly to the now departing jailer, +saying authoritatively</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent34">Fellow, bring</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Here to my cell, some wax, a tool or two,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Some clay, a lump, stuck in thy cap will do—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A hand’s length of the white, Pentelic stone,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From where it sleeps within the mountain, grown</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pregnant by streams and flowers, for some birth</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of wingéd dream, out of hypnotic earth.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>backing mockingly away, mimics coarsely</i>).</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A jewel, a star, a little bit of wax!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Some tiny thing this mighty genius lacks!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That pearl, perchance, Aspasia’s bosom decks,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Or blood-red stones hung round Hetairæ-necks!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias</span> (<i>beseechingly</i>). Only some clay, man, in the dark my touch</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Will fashion thee a goddess-image, such</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As still they place in niches, who obey</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Sea-wards, oh! Mystæ,” on Eleusis-Way.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I’ll mould thee woman’s hand, or horse’s head,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A dreaming faun, Marsyas as he bled;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A babe’s round, dimpled, saucy little back;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A vine-wreathed satyr, with his grape-filled sack.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>pompously drawing aloof</i>). By Dionysus! that were illy done.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Artist is one thing. State another. Shun</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thee and punish thee, doth Will of State,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Who art no artist more, but he who late</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sculptor to Pericles, now is a knave,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Who sits and twists his thumbs in prison-cave!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Jailer</span> <i>finishes by an insulting gesture and +departs</i>. <span class="smcap">Phidias</span> <i>going to the heavy door listens to +his retreating footsteps. He draws a long sigh and, standing with his +back to the door, looks up at the patch of blue sky, in silence. At +last he speaks.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus they leave Phidias, worker in the bronze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Breather of life! breaker of chisel-bonds!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He is, they think, a man, a common thing—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All yellow, freckled, thin-blooded; they wring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His soul, because of policies.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Make him a sacrifice to fallacies;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Drop him,” they say, in any dungeon now;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Gods, grant in time his traitor’s neck shall bow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To death, for that he trifled with the State!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strike his face from the shield where he dared mate</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That face with Pericles,”—Oh! lofty Hill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">High Sacred Rock, where sun-bathed columns thrill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Proud statue-gleaming, gold Acropolis;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dreamed I so high, to fall as low as—this?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Athens, I made thee out of my heart’s blood;</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Rising by ages, from Time’s ’whelming flood.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deucalion-fashion, soar my stones that sing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The beauty of this age’s visioning.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of Iktinos’ soul the Parthenon grew—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those glorious Doric shafts, that taper through</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The blaze of morn or eve. Athena’s shrine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lodging her ivory maidenhood, is mine!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas I who gave the Lemnian her life,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Knew god-like action whether peace or strife.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Knew how a god would stand, breathe, smile, or frown,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And by that knowledge, deities’ renown,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I was a god-creator. Yet I lie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here in befoulèd darkness, with the sky</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still burning blue upon the mountain tops</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Surrounding Athens; where the Sun-God stops</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of evening, all his golden fingers laid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On marble chords of rhythmic colonnade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And plays so strange, so Delphic-high a strain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That hopes ethereal fill men’s hearts again.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh! Athens, marble glory, is it naught</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Phidias lived, and dreamed, and planned, and taught?</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>In his agony the Sculptor buries his head in his hands. +There is a long silence, suddenly broken by the alighting of +a</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span> <i>upon the small grated window; the</i> +<span class="smcap">Cricket</span> <i>keeps up a steady trilling and is not at first +noticed by the Sculptor</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + + +<h3>THE CRICKET</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Greet, greet, greet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pan with hymning sweet.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wine and corn are here,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grapes and honey clear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Olives, purple-black,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Burst from tawny sack.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through Olympian night</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Temples glimmer white</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stars their tangled vines</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wreathe around the shrines.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shepherds all alone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Under mountain tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By the midnight sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall pipe songs of thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singer in the stone!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias</span> <i>listening intently, passes his hand over his +eyes, creeps nearer under the grating, straining his gaze upward</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Prometheus! but I think this minstrel wrings</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wise melody from gauzy zither-wings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A healing balm, like to the lustral wave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At Delphi, comes my broken soul to lave.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For, as he perches with his roundelay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Methinks he counsels me; not for to-day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Only is artist-pride and feverish bliss—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Perchance my spirit still may suffer this</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Infamy, yet go singing down the years!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The Sculptor pauses doubtfully. Still looking upward, he presses +closer beneath the little window.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Answer me, Cricket, are my stricken tears,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My empty hands, proof of a thing to be,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That I dreamed true? If Beauty nourished me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mothered and saved; shall I in ages more</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stand firm and proud, telling what guise she wore</div> + <div class="verse indent0">These days? For with young Myron I would hold</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There is a law of Beauty, which, controlled</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By men’s stern truth, becomes a sacred thing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Expanded from our holy cherishing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It is not static, cold, but lives and grows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of the All of Life, the artist knows.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span> <i>after another silence, again chirps. +This time the rhythm is feebler and grows fainter and fainter, as the +Sculptor, face upwards, eagerly listens</i>.)</p> +</div> + + +<h3>THE CRICKET</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweet, sweet, sweet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Praise is full and meet;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the architrave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beautiful and brave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strong and good and fair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Poise in hallowed air.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">In the violet clime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the winter rime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the poppied steep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the passes deep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the temples know</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Paths that Greece shall go</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Toward posterities</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far beyond the seas!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far as man is known,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt speak to men</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far beyond thy ken,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beyond tongue or pen,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singer in the stone!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias</span> <i>at the close of the lilt lifts both arms +appealingly. The</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span> <i>is silent a moment</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias.</span> Hist!—the green minstrel, god-of-little-things,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thinketh perchance he strums his lyric wings</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On dark Hymettus, where bees sip so long,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">They lose their way in all the flower throng,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And many a little waxy dot of fuzz</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is caught in honey-prison. (<i>Whimsically.</i>) Thou dost buzz</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Cricket, as loud as I, encased</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In this hard prison, bitter to my taste.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span> <i>after a long pause trills for the last +time</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Fleet, fleet, fleet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The ways of fame are sweet.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A marble head of dreams</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conquers the world, meseems.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beautiful vases tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How happy peoples dwell.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beautiful bodies speak</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New message to the weak.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greece adown the years</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is the song of Seers.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kora still intones</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nike still responds:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Wielder of the wands.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Worker in the Bronze.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Singer in the Stones.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Sculptor</span> (<i>suddenly and rapturously</i>). Xaire! thou little herald, Xaire! thou</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hast cheered me, saved me! See my courage now!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What foul, damp cell can ever hold me here?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What slander stain my work of yester-year?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Upon the Hill my glowing children call</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the unborn of Artists; to the All,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Great Fusion of the races, who</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Shall yet unite, some holy thing to do,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Before this strange world on its journey far</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In trackless space shall move an empty star.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For portico and frieze and vase and fane.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Fountain and stele, that our utmost main</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Our utterest patience brought to perfect whole</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Will cast strange, spellful seed, and where the soul</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of art is known, its free, broad, ardent wing,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Greece,” will be whispered like a sacred thing!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span>.) Yea, Yea! thou little herald, “wingèd pipe,”</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So I’ll indite thee in thy wisdom ripe—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Now will I write my comrade young and lithe</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pæonius, how I imprisoned writhe.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Yet for his comfort will I softly tell</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The cricket message to my dreary cell.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Luck! that I hid the chalk lump in my sleeve!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Joy that I have the parchment! Who’ll believe</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That this is <i>all</i> he hath, who was the friend</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of Pericles brought to this bitter end!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The Sculptor with the parchment on his knee, busies himself +in writing. Occasionally he pauses and reads aloud what he has +written.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Pæonius, good comrade, merry Greek,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Walking Olympian groves, watching the freak</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of scarlet-flowered pomegranate vine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tasting the cool jugs filled with pine-tree wine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fruits like warm bowls of amber nectar hung</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And figs from branches o’er the streamlets flung—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Read and reflect, and if thou com’st to see</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Some supple scheme to set thy brother free,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Act on it swiftly; only be advised</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Pericles’ day is over</i>. What he prized</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was proud display, but what the people want</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is arms and ships that they may proudly vaunt.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(Since Marathon no Greek knows how to smile</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Passing the Soros’ valiant hero-pile,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And still they say in Sparta, athletes wait</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To teach barbarians how Greece is great.)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I, the poor Sculptor, lived too near the throne,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Therefore, I lie now on the dungeon stone!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias’s</span> <i>gaze wanders, he becomes absorbed, intense, +then once more he applies himself to the letter</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Last summer, passing Sunion, my sail</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Red-burning down the stormy silver trail</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er clouded blue, I humbly turned my sight</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to that white fane, on the bronzèd height,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All its upspringing columns touched with sun</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the slow golden clouds walked high upon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wave buttressed paths, to purple Cyclades</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those mystic islands of Saronic seas.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as the molten sapphire round me sprayed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the eye-painted prow, I humbly prayed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Poseidon, that Piræus I might gain;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Offered no cock, no vase, oil to contain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But vowed a frieze from my young pupil’s skill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">New, daring sculpture for the Sea-God’s Hill</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">In Parian marble, calm and haughty white,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To gleam for sailors passing in the night.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How I was timid then! who after dared</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dispute with Pericles, and proudly shared</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His vast ambitions for that golden realm—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That Athens, which the vulgar overwhelm.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That I did promise, wilt thou execute?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So will these singing stones, out of the mute</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Parian marble, form immortal choir</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chanting “Poseidon” to the ocean’s lyre.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias</span> <i>pauses once more. He draws a long sigh, then +continues writing.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Well, brother-artist, here I agonized,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Until a cricket, by great Zeus apprised,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Perched on the window-bar and chirped a thing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wise as Athena, took away the sting</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the world’s serpent-sayings. Friend, I give</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faith to the cricket message while I live.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The Sculptor, head in hands ponders deeply then again resumes +writing.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He trilled, Pæonius, a theme like this:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What we <i>do</i> lives, though after all the bliss</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of our own living, must our bodies pass!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hast ever caught the perfume of sweet grass</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dying beneath the sickle? Our breath goes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus to the gods indifferent, ’mid the snows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">High on Parnassos’ or Kiona’s crest,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Where mountain after mountain heaves a breast,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Black, billow-deep, sky-ranging, in a chain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tumultuously, serene around the plain.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But what we make of beauty keeps its power</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down the long years, from the conception’s hour.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For mark ye, lad, I never sensed my work,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But did it all unconscious; now in murk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In prison black, I see it flying forth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The strong wings of my friezes! All the worth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Laurion silver in Colossi paid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And proud Athena, ivory o’er laid.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gold-sandalled, springing, mellow-marble feet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Olive-crowned heads in pensive bending, sweet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Backs, limbs, and bosoms! Noble eye and tress,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Caught in the dream of their own loveliness—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I see it all, so calm! “Nothing too much,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tunics in solemn folds, majesty such</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As comes with purity; things strong and free;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">White to the sky and naked to the sea.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Women and men that move adown the days</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of the forest deep, through shimmering maize,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In fructifying suns, in cooling dews,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All tranquil, noble, filled with God, or Muse</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of deathless Greece.—Yea, all my strife,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My will, my soul, was this portrayal—Life!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p><div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>Moved by what he has written, the Sculptor gets to his feet and +paces feverishly his narrow cell. He goes on writing as he walks and +reading aloud.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I now see by prophetic cricket-voice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That Life is deathless, that my works rejoice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For all rejoicing. Brother mine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We carve for worlds to come. Beyond the line</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of horizons, untravelled, rise the lands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hungry of spirit, waiting at our hands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bread of True Vision. Yea, where rusty wars,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hot blood of nation-struggle, stain these shores,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Women and men shall bleed with sacrifice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To a dead god, called Progress, and the Vice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of chance-worship, on sickly, pampered knees</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And counting gold in languors of disease.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can’st picture these, coming to look upon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My glorious horsemen of the Parthenon?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seeing your Nikes tread triumphant air?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our marble dreams forever beauty-clean</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And dark heroic bronzes stained with green,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By fire and sword and water all unspoiled,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their perfect limbs’ clear candor unassoiled?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mark ye, those stranger eyes shall take and take,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still the thirst grow and still the joy to slake</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From Old-World beauty. Till we sculptors stand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Supreme World-life within our pulseless hand!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Think, lad, when father’s little ones shall tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How Greeks saw, felt, and struggled, conquered, fell!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fear not, Pæonius, our spirits win</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Out of this age to call all ages kin.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias</span>, <i>sighing as one relieved of a burden, pauses +awhile, then writes a few more lines</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Smile not upon this, friend—All fancy—Yea!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But, by the Etruscans, gone but yesterday</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Italy, and now established there;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By Dorians, building temples by the fair</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purple Tyrennian, so I think</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Greek soul o’erflows, as over fountain-brink,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And that we circle out and out, our creed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Begetting world-dream for an unborn breed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ardent posterities!—Thus do I then</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bid now farewell to my own race of men!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And for a future permanence, new clime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lift statues in the peristyles of Time</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And trust my message, where that message seeks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its own fulfillment. Hail to the happy Greeks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hail to that Race; keen, wistful, passionate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That shall know Greece, Athens, the gods, the State!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<i>The paper hangs listlessly in the hand of</i> <span class="smcap">Phidias</span>, +<i>who sits in revery, lost to all around him</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Jailer</span> (<i>entering</i>). Rise! thou infamous sculptor! A decree!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Follow! Thy haughty judges have demanded thee!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Phidias</span> <i>wearily rising, stares stupidly at him, then +looks up to the little window where the</i> <span class="smcap">Cricket</span> +<i>perched and makes a slight gesture of salute and farewell</i>.)</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Phidias.</span> “So be it.”</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(<i>Hastily aside.</i>) See this coin? Of all good fees</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The best, with head of high Themistocles—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thine—if thy hand this simple scroll wilt bear</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the great sculptor at Olympia.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To give to him my farewell words and tears,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">(<i>The Sculptor pauses, looking unseeingly at the</i> <span class="smcap">Jailer</span> <i>and adding softly</i>.) As I pass outward—down the faithful years!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">As children keep</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some spiraled shell or crystal crusted stone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For wonder and for solace, when alone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They fall asleep,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So do I soft caress</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And guard through days of World-dark such a charm</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cherish from indifference and harm</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One loveliness.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And every Grecian vase</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sculptured fragment to my eyes doth mean</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life, calm and balanced, simple, and serene,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Transcending Race!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter transnote"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> + + +<p>Obvious punctuation errors and omissions have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_37">37</a>: “grim Thermoyplæ” changed to “grim Thermopylæ”</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_108">108</a>: “the rythm is feebler” changed to “the rhythm is feebler” +</p></div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75533 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75533-h/images/cover.jpg b/75533-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06b5c4e --- /dev/null +++ b/75533-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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