Alone could tell the story, had they speech. The maiden came not back: but, after rites Due to the goat-foot God, the pious youth Piped shrilly forth and shook off all his woe.
Sate at the hearth, and there was mirth and song.
Wealthy and generous in the Attic land,
Icarios wert thou; and Erigone,
Thy daughter, gave with hearty glee the milk,
Buzzing in froth beneath unsteady goat,
To many who stopt near her; some for thirst,
And some to see upon its back that hand
So white and small and taper, and await
Until she should arise and show her face.
The father wisht her not to leave his house,
Nor she to leave her father; yet there sued
From all the country round both brave and rich.
Some, nor the wealthier of her wooers, drove
Full fifty slant-brow'd kingly-hearted swine,
Reluctant ever to be led aright,
Race autocratical, autochthon race,
Hyperbion was among the chosen few
Of Phoebus; and men honoured him awhile,
Honouring in him the God. But others sang
As loudly; and the boys as loudly cheer'd.
Hyperbion (more than bard should be) was wroth,
And thus he spake to Phoebus: "Hearest thou,
0 Phoebus! the rude rabble from the field,
Who swear that they have known thee ever since
Thon feddest for Admetus his white bull?"
"I hear them," said the God. "Seize thou the Lords of the woods, fed by the tree of Jove.
first,
Some had three ploughs; some had eight oxen;
And haul him up above the heads of men,'
And thou shalt hear them shout for thee as Had vines, on oak, on maple, and on elm,
pleas'd."
In long and strait and gleamy avenues,
Headstrong and proud Hyperbion was: the crown Which would have tired you had you reacht the
Of laurel on it badly cool'd his brow:
So, when he heard them singing at his gate,
While some with flints cut there the rival's name,
Rashing he seized the songster at their head :
The songster kickt and struggled hard in vain.
Hyperbion claspt him round with arm robust,
And with the left a hempen rope uncoil'd,
Whereon already was a noose: it held
The calf until its mother's teat was drawn
At morn and eve; and both were now afield.
With all his strength he pull'd the wretch along,
And haul'd him up a pine-tree, where he died.
But one night, not long after, in his sleep
He saw the songster: then did he beseech
Apollo to enlighten him, if perchance
In what he did he had done aught amiss.
"Thou hast done well, Hyperbion!" said the God,
"As I did also to one Marsyas
Some years ere thou wert born: but better 'twere
If thou hadst understood my words aright,
For those around may harm thee, and assign
As reason, that thou wentest past the law.
My meaning was, that thou shouldst hold him up
In the high places of thy mind, and show
Thyself the greater by enduring him."
Downcast Hyperbion stood: but Phoebus said
Be of good cheer, Hyperbion! if the rope
Is not so frayed but it may hold thy calf,
The greatest harm is, that, by hauling him,
Thou hast chafed, sorely, sorely, that old pine;
And pine-tree bark will never close again."
VII. ICARIOS AND ERIGONÈ. Improvident were once the Attic youths, As (if we may believe the credulous And testy) various youths have been elsewhere. But truly such was their improvidence, Ere Pallas in compassion was their guide, They never stowed away the fruits of earth For winter use; nor knew they how to press Olive or grape: yet hospitality
Without the unshapen steps that led beyond
Up the steep hill to where they leaned on poles.
Yet kind the father was, and kind the maid.
And now when winter blew the chaff about,
And hens pursued the grain into the house,
Quarrelsome and indignant at repulse,
And rushing back again with ruffled neck,
They and their brood; and kids blinkt at the
brand,
And bee-nosed oxen, with damp nostrils lowered
Against the threshold, stampt the dogs away;
Icarios, viewing these with thoughtful mind,
Said to Erigonè, "Not scantily
The Gods have given us these birds and these
Short-bleating kids, and these loose-hided steers.
The Gods have given to them will we devote
A portion of their benefits, and bid
The youths who love and honour us partake:
So shall their hearts, and so shall ours, rejoice."
The youths were bidden to the feast the flesh
Of kid and crested bird was plentiful:
The steam hung on the rafters, where were nail'd
Bushes of savory herbs, and figs and dates;
And yellow-pointed pears sent down long stalks
Through nets wide-mesht, work of Erigonè
When night was long and lamp yet unsupplied.
Choice grapes Icarios had; and these, alone
Of all men in the country, he preserved
For festive days; nor better day than this
To bring them from beneath his reed-thatcht
roof.
He mounted the twelve stairs with hearty pride,
And soon was heard he, breathing hard: he now
Descended, holding in both arms a cask,
Fictile, capacious, bulging: cork-tree bark
Secured the treasure; wax above the mouth,
And pitch above the wax. The pitch he brake,
The wax he scraped away, and laid them by.
Wrenching up carefully the cork-tree bark,
A hum was heard. "What! are there bees within?"
Euphorbas cried. They came then with the
grapes,"
Replied the elder, and pour'd out clear juice
Fragrant as flowers, and wrinkled husks anon.
"The ghosts of grapes!" cried Phanor, fond of
jokes
Within the house, but ever abstinent
Of such as that, in woodland and alone,
Where any sylvan God might overhear.
No few were saddened at the ill-omen'd word,
But sniffing the sweet odour, bent their heads,
Tasted, sipt, drank, ingurgitated: fear
Flew from them all, joy rusht to every breast,
Friendship.grew warmer, hands were join'd, vows
From cups of every size, from cups two-ear'd,
From ivy-twisted and from smooth alike,
They dash the water; they pour in the wine;
(For wine it was,) until that hour unseen.
They emptied the whole cask; and they alone;
For both the father and the daughter sate
Enjoying their delight. But when they saw
Flusht faces, and when angry words arose
As one more fondly glanced against the cheek
Of the fair maiden on her seat apart,
And she lookt down, or lookt another way
Where other eyes caught hers, and did the like,
Sadly the sire, the daughter fearfully,
Upon each other fixt wide-open eyes.
This did the men remark, and, bearing signs
Different, as were their tempers, of the wine,
But feeling each the floor reel under him,
Each raging, with more thirst at every draught,
Acastor first (sidelong his step) arose,
Then Phanor, then Antyllos:
They fell; some suddenly; but more beneath
The desperate gasp of long-enduring wounds.
Rhaicos was born amid the hills wherefrom
Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd,
And small are the white-crested that play near,
And smaller onward are the purple waves.
Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd
With rose and myrtle if they were inborn;
If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast
Where stern Athenè raised her citadel,
Then olive was intwined with violets
Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large.
For various men wore various coronals;
But one was their devotion: 'twas to her
Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws
The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,
And whom in his chill caves the mutable
Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,
And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath pray'd
To turn in pity the averted cheek
Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx itself,
To give her daily more and sweeter flowers
Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell.
Rhaicos was looking from his father's door
At the long trains that hastened to the town
From all the valleys, like bright rivulets
Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave,
And thought it hard he might not also go
And offer up one prayer, and press one hand,
He knew not whose. The father call'd him in,
And said, "Son Rhaicos! those are idle games;
Long enough I have lived to find them so."
Confound thee, cursed wretch!" aloud they cried, And ere he ended, sigh'd; as old men do
"Is this thy hospitality? must all
Who loved thy daughter perish at a blow?
Not at a blow, but like the flies and wasps."
Madness had seiz'd them all. Erigonè
Ran out for help: what help? Before her sprang
Moera, and howl'd and barkt, and then return'd
Presaging. They had dragg'd the old man out
And murdered him. Again flew Mora forth,
Faithful, compassionate, and seized her vest,
And drew her where the body lay, unclosed
The eyes, and rais'd toward the stars of heaven.
Always, to think how idle such games are.
"I have not yet," thought Rhaicos in his heart,
And wanted proof.
"Suppose thou go and help
Echion at the hill, to bark yon oak
And lop its branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe:
This we may do in winter."
For thence he could see farther, and see more
Of those who hurried to the city-gate.
Echion he found there, with naked arm
Raise thine, for thou hast heard enough, raise Swart-hair'd, strong sinew'd, and his eyes intent
And view Böotes bright among those stars,
Brighter the Virgin Mora too shines there.
But where were the Eumenides? Repress
Thy anger.
If the clear calm stars above
Appease it not, and blood must flow for blood,
Listen, and hear the sequel of the tale.
Wide-seeing Zeus lookt down; as mortals knew
By the woods bending under his dark eye,
And huge towers shuddering on the mountain tops,
And stillness in the valley, in the wold,
And over the deep waters all round earth.
He lifted up his arm, but struck them not
In their abasement: by each other's blow
Upon the place where first the axe should fall:
He held it upright. "There are bees about,
Or wasps, or hornets," said the cautious eld,
Look sharp, O son of Thallinos!" The youth
Inclined his ear, afar, and warily,
And cavern'd in his hand. He heard a buzz
At first, and then the sound grew soft and clear,
And then divided into what seem'd tune,
And there were words upon it, plaintive words.
He turn'd, and said, "Echion! do not strike
That tree: it must be hollow; for some God
Speaks from within. Come thyself near." Again
Both turn'd toward it: and behold! there sat
Upon the moss below, with her two palms
Pressing it, on each side, a maid in form.
Downcast were her long eyelashes, and pale
Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd
Berries of colour like her lip so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering like the face beneath.
What dost thou here?" Echion, half-afraid,
Half-angry, cried. She lifted up her eyes,
But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step
Backward, for fear came likewise over him,
But not such fear he panted, gaspt, drew in
His breath, and would have turn'd it into words,
But could not into one.
Hamadryad. Awhile? thy father numbers then my days?
Rhaicos. Are there no others where the moss
beneath
Is quite as tufty? Who would send thee forth
Or ask thee why thou tarriest? Is thy flock
Anywhere near?
Hamadryad.
I have no flock: I kill Nothing that breathes, that stirs, that feels the air,
The sun, the dew. Why should the beautiful
(And thou art beautiful) disturb the source
Whence springs all beauty? Hast thou never
heard
That sad old man!" said she. The old man Of Hamadryads?
Without a warning from his master's son,
Glad to escape, for sorely he now fear'd,
And the axe shone behind him in their eyes.
Hamadryad. And wouldst thou too shed the
most innocent
Of blood? no vow demands it; no God wills
The oak to bleed.
Who art thou? whence? why
And whither wouldst thou go? Among the robed
In white or saffron, or the hue that most
Besembles dawn or the clear sky, is none
Array'd as thou art. What so beautiful
As that gray robe which clings about thee close,
Like moss to stones adhering, leaves to trees,
Yet lets thy bosom rise and fall in turn,
As, toucht by zephyrs, fall and rise the boughs
Of graceful platan by the river-side.
Hamadryad. Lovest thou well thy father's
house?
Rhaicos.
Tell me some tale about them. May I sit
Beside thy feet? Art thou not tired? The herbs
Are very soft; I will not come too nigh;
Do but sit there, nor tremble so, nor doubt.
Stay, stay an instant: let me first explore
If any acorn of last year be left
Within it; thy thin robe too ill protects
Thy dainty limbs against the harm one small
Acorn may do. Here's none. Another day
Trust me till then let me sit opposite.
Hamadryad. I seat me; be thou seated, and
content.
Rhaicos. O sight for gods! Ye men below!
adore
The Aphroditè. Is she there below?
Or sits she here before me? as she sate
Before the shepherd on those highths that shade
The Hellespont, and brought his kindred woe.
Hamadryad. Reverence the higher Powers;
nor deem amiss
Indeed Of her who pleads to thee, and would repay..
Ask not how much.. but very much. Rise not:
No, Rhaicos, no! Without the nuptial vow
Love is unholy. Swear to me that none
Of mortal maids shall ever taste thy kiss,
Then take thou mine; then take it, not before.
Rhaicos. Hearken, all gods above! O Aphrodite!
O Here! let my vow be ratified!
I love it, well I love it, yet would leave
For thine, where'er it be, my father's house,
With all the marks upon the door, that show
My growth at every birth-day since the third,
And all the charms, o'erpowering evil eyes,
My mother nail'd for me against my bed,
And the Cydonian bow (which thou shalt see)
Won in my race last spring from Eutychos.
Hamadryad. Bethink thee what it is to leave
a home
Thou never yet hast left, one night, one day.
Phaicos. No, 'tis not hard to leave it; 'tis not hard
To leave, O maiden, that paternal home,
If there be one on earth whom we may love
First, last, for ever; one who says that she
Will love for ever too. To say which word,
Only to say it, surely is enough. .
It shows such kindness. . if 'twere possible
We at the moment think she would indeed.
Hamadryad. Who taught thee all this folly at
thy age?
Rhaicos. I have seen lovers and have learnt to
love.
Hamadryad. But wilt thou spare the tree?
My father wants
The bark; the tree may hold its place awhile.
But wilt thou come into my father's house?
Hamadryad. Nay: and of mine I can not give
thee part.
Rhaicos. Where is it?
Hamadryad. In this oak.
Rhaicos.
Ay; now begins
The tale of Hamadryad: tell it through.
Hamadryad. Pray of thy father never to cut
down
My tree; and promise him, as well thou mayst,
That every year he shall receive from me
More honey than will buy him nine fat sheep,
More wax than he will burn to all the gods.
Why fallest thou upon thy face? Some thorn
May scratch it, rash young man! Rise up; for
shame!
Rhaicos. For shame I can not rise. O pity
I dare not sue for love.. but do not hate!
Let me once more behold thee.. not once more,
But many days: let me love on.. unloved!
I aimed too high on my own head the bolt
Falls back, and pierces to the very brain.
Even among the fondest of them all,
What mortal or immortal maid is more
Content with giving happiness than pain?
Hamadryad. Go.. rather go, than make me One day he was returning from the wood
Rhaicos. If happiness is immortality,
(And whence enjoy it else the gods above?)
I am immortal too: my vow is heard:
Despondently. She pitied him, and said
"Come back!" and twined her fingers in the
Above his shoulder. Then she led his steps
Hark! on the left. . Nay, turn not from me now, To a cool rill that ran o'er level sand
I claim my kiss.
Hamadryad. Do men take first, then claim?
Do thus the seasons run their course with them?
.. Her lips were seal'd; her head sank on his breast.
'Tis said that laughs were heard within the wood:
But who should hear them?.. and whose laughs?
and why?
Savoury was the smell and long past noon,
Thallinos in thy house; for marjoram,
Basil and mint, and thyme and rosemary,
Were sprinkled on the kid's well roasted length,
Awaiting Rhaicos. Home he came at last,
Not hungry, but pretending hunger keen,
With head and eyes just o'er the maple plate.
"Thou seest but badly, coming from the sun,
Boy Rhaicos!" said the father. "That oak's bark
Must have been tough, with little sap between ;
It ought to run; but it and I are old."
Rhaicos, although each morsel of the bread
Increast by chewing, and the meat grew cold
And tasteless to his palate, took a draught
Of gold-bright wine, which, thirsty as he was,
He thought not of until his father fill'd
The cup, averring water was amiss,
Through lentisk and through oleander, there
Bathed she his feet, lifting them on her lap
When bathed, and drying them in both her hands.
He dared complain; for those who most are
loved
Most dare it; but not harsh was his complaint.
"O thou inconstant!" said he, “if stern law
Bind thee, or will, stronger than sternest law,
O, let me know henceforward when to hope
The fruit of love that grows for me but here."
He spake; and pluckt it from its pliant stem.
"Impatient Rhaicos! why thus intercept
The answer I would give? There is a bee
Whom I have fed, a bee who knows my thoughts
And executes my wishes: I will send
That messenger. If ever thou art false,
Drawn by another, own it not, but drive
My bee away: then shall I know my fate,
And,.. for thou must be wretched,..weep at thine.
But often as my heart persuades to lay
Its cares on thine and throb itself to rest,
Expect her with thee, whether it be morn
Or eve, at any time when woods are safe."
Day after day the Hours beheld them blest, And season after season: years had past,
But wine had been at all times pour'd on kid,.. Blest were they still. He who asserts that Love It was religion.
Said, not quite boldly, and not quite abasht,
"Father, that oak is Jove's own tree: that oak
Year after year will bring thee wealth from wax
And honey. There is one who fears the gods
And the gods love.. that one
Ever is sated of sweet things, the same
Sweet things he fretted for in earlier days,
Never, by Zeus! loved he a Hamadryad.
The nights had now grown longer, and perhaps
The Hamadryads find them lone and dull
Among their woods; one did, alas! She called
Her faithful bee: 'twas when all bees should sleep,
And all did sleep but hers. She was sent forth
To bring that light which never wintry blast
"Has promist this, and may do more. Blows out, nor rain nor snow extinguishes, Thou hast not many moons to wait until The light that shines from loving eyes upon
The bees have done their best: if then there Eyes that love back, till they can see no more.
Nor wax nor honey, let the tree be hewn."
"Zeus hath bestow'd on thee a prudent mind,"
Said the glad sire: "but look thou often there,
And gather all the honey thou canst find
In every crevice, over and above
What has been promist; would they reckon that?"
Rhaicos went daily; but the nymph as oft
Invisible. To play at love, she knew,
Rhaicos was sitting at his father's hearth:
Between them stood the table, not o'erspread
With fruits which autumn now profusely bore,
Nor anise cakes, nor odorous wine; but there
The draft-board was expanded; at which game
Triumphant sat old Thallinos; the son
Was puzzled, vext, discomfited, distraught.
A buzz was at his ear: up went his hand,
Stopping its breathings when it breathes most soft, And it was heard no longer. The poor bee
Is sweeter than to play on any pipe.
She play'd on his: she fed upon his sighs:
They pleased her when they gently waved her hair,
Cooling the pulses of her purple veins,
Return'd (but not until the morn shone bright)
And found the Hamadryad with her head
Upon her aching wrist, and showed one wing
Half-broken off, the other's meshes marr'd,
And when her absence brought them out they And there were bruises which no eye could see pleased.
When, silently and reverently, the youths Down fell the languid brow, both hands fell down, Marcht side by side up the long steps that led
A shriek was carried to the ancient hall
Of Thallinos: he heard it not; his son
Heard it, and ran forthwith into the wood.
No bark was on the tree, no leaf was green,
The trunk was riven through. From that day forth
Nor word nor whisper sooth'd his ear, nor sound
Even of insect wing: but loud laments
The woodmen and the shepherds one long year
Heard day and night; for Rhaicos would not quit
The solitary place, but moan'd and died.
Hence milk and honey wonder not, O guest,
To find set duly on the hollow stone.
IX. ALCIPHRON AND LEUCIPPE.
An ancient chestnut's blossoms threw
Their heavy odour over two:
Leucippe, it is said, was one,
The other then was Alciphron.
"Come, come! why should we stand bencath
This hollow tree's unwholesome breath,"
Said Alciphron, "here's not a blade
Of grass or moss, and scanty shade.
Come; it is just the hour to rove
In the lone dingle shepherds love,
There, straight and tall, the hazel twig
Divides the crooked rock-held fig,
O'er the blue pebbles where the rill
In winter runs, and may run still.
Come then, while fresh and calm the air,
And while the shepherds are not there.'
Leucippe. But I would rather go when they
Sit round about and sing and play.
Then why so hurry me? for you
Like play and song and shepherds too.
Alciphron. I like the shepherds very well,
And song and play, as you can tell.
But there is play I sadly fear,
And song I would not have you hear.
Leucippe. What can it be? what can it be?
Alciphron. To you may none of them repeat
The play that you have played with me,
The song that made your bosom beat.
Leucippe. Don't keep your arm about my waist.
Alciphron. Might not you stumble?
Leucippe.
Well then, do.
But why are we in all this haste?
Alciphron. To sing.
Leucippe.
Alas! and not play too?
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.al/books/content?id=ji4LAAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA481&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=editions:UOM39015011235978&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U08VYxMKML0OaaCPf-PKtBdUNk1VQ&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=17,1315,444,302)
Toward the awful God who dwelt within.
Of those three youths fame hath held fast the
Of one alone; nor would that name survive Unless Love had sustain'd it, and blown off With his impatient breath the mists of time. "Ye come," the God said mildly, " of one will To people what is desert in the isle Of Lemnos. But strong men possess its shores; Nor shall you execute the brave emprize Unless, on the third day from going forth, To him who rules the waters ye devote A virgin, cast into the sea alive." They heard, and lookt in one another's face, And then bent piously before the shrine With prayer and praises and thanksgiving hymn, And, after a short silence, went away, Taking each other's hand and swearing truth, Then to the ship in which they came, return'd. Two of the youths were joyous, one was sad; Sad was Enallos; yet those two by none Were loved; Enallos had already won Cymodameia, and the torch was near. By night, by day, in company, alone, The image of the maiden fill'd his breast
To the heart's brim. Ah! therefore did that heart So sink within him.
They have sail'd; they reach Their home again. Sires, matrons, maidens, throng The plashing port, to watch the gather'd sail, And who springs first and farthest upon shore. Enallos came the latest from the deck. Swift ran the rumour what the God had said, And fearful were the maidens, who before Had urged the sailing of the youths they loved, That they might give their hands, and have their homes,
And nurse their children; and more thoughts perhaps
Led up to these, and even ran before.
But they persuaded easily their wooers
To sail without them, and return again
When they had seiz'd the virgin on the way.
Cymodameia dreamt three nights, the three
Before their fresh departure, that her own
Enallos had been cast into the deep,
And she had saved him. She alone embarkt
Of all the maidens, and unseen by all,
And hid herself before the break of day
Among the cloaks and fruits piled high aboard.
But when the noon was come, and the repast
Was call'd for, there they found her. Not quite
stern,
But more than sad, Enallos lookt upon her.
Forebodings shook him : hopes rais'd her, and love
Warm'd the clear cheek while she wiped off the
spray.
Kindly were all to her and dutiful;
And she slept soundly mid the leaves of figs
And vines, and far as far could be apart.
Now the third morn had risen, and the day
Was dark, and gusts of wind and hail and fogs
|