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Christina Georgina Rossetti | Why? | Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me,
Why need I any more these toilsome days;
Why should I not run singing up Thy ways
Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee?
What need remains of death-pang yet to be,
If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise;
If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze,
Struggle and dimness of an agony? -
Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me,
Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower:
So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide
Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour
When I My Likeness shall behold in thee,
And thou therein shalt waken satisfied. | Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me,
Why need I any more these toilsome days;
Why should I not run singing up Thy ways
Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? | What need remains of death-pang yet to be,
If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise;
If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze,
Struggle and dimness of an agony? -
Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me,
Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower:
So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide
Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour
When I My Likeness shall behold in thee,
And thou therein shalt waken satisfied. | sonnet |
Henry Kendall | Dante and Virgil | When lost Francesca sobbed her broken tale
Of love and sin and boundless agony,
While that wan spirit by her side did wail
And bite his lips for utter misery
The grief which could not speak, nor hear, nor see
So tender grew the superhuman face
Of one who listened, that a mighty trace
Of superhuman woe gave way, and pale
The sudden light up-struggled to its place;
While all his limbs began to faint and fail
With such excess of pity. But, behind,
The Roman Virgil stood the calm, the wise
With not a shadow in his regal eyes,
A stately type of all his stately kind. | When lost Francesca sobbed her broken tale
Of love and sin and boundless agony,
While that wan spirit by her side did wail
And bite his lips for utter misery | The grief which could not speak, nor hear, nor see
So tender grew the superhuman face
Of one who listened, that a mighty trace
Of superhuman woe gave way, and pale
The sudden light up-struggled to its place;
While all his limbs began to faint and fail
With such excess of pity. But, behind,
The Roman Virgil stood the calm, the wise
With not a shadow in his regal eyes,
A stately type of all his stately kind. | sonnet |
John Clare | Poverty. | Rank Poverty! dost thou my joys assail,
And with thy threat'nings fright me from my rest?
I once had thoughts, that with a Bloomfield's tale,
And leisure hours, I surely should be blest;
But now I find the sadly-alter'd scene,
From these few days I fondly thought my own,
Hoping to spend them private and alone,
But, lo! thy troop of spectres intervene:
Want shows his face, with Idleness between,
Next Shame's approaching step, that hates the throng,
Comes sneaking on, with Sloth that fetters strong.
Are these the joys my leisure hours must glean?
Then I decline:--but know where'er we meet,
Ye ne'er shall drive me from the Muses' seat. | Rank Poverty! dost thou my joys assail,
And with thy threat'nings fright me from my rest?
I once had thoughts, that with a Bloomfield's tale,
And leisure hours, I surely should be blest; | But now I find the sadly-alter'd scene,
From these few days I fondly thought my own,
Hoping to spend them private and alone,
But, lo! thy troop of spectres intervene:
Want shows his face, with Idleness between,
Next Shame's approaching step, that hates the throng,
Comes sneaking on, with Sloth that fetters strong.
Are these the joys my leisure hours must glean?
Then I decline:--but know where'er we meet,
Ye ne'er shall drive me from the Muses' seat. | sonnet |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | New Year | Know this! there is nothing can harm you
If you are at peace with your soul.
Know this, and the knowledge shall arm you
With courage and strength to the goal.
Your spirit shall break every fetter,
And love shall cast out every fear.
And grander, and gladder, and better
Shall be every added new year. | Know this! there is nothing can harm you
If you are at peace with your soul. | Know this, and the knowledge shall arm you
With courage and strength to the goal.
Your spirit shall break every fetter,
And love shall cast out every fear.
And grander, and gladder, and better
Shall be every added new year. | octave |
Algernon Charles Swinburne | Nell Gwyn | Sweet heart, that no taint of the throne or the stage
Could touch with unclean transformation, or alter
To the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falter
At the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage,
Of a master whom chance could inflame or assuage,
Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter,
Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter,
Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age.
Our Lady of Pity thou wast: and to thee
All England, whose sons are the sons of the sea,
Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarls
When the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken;
And thy lover she cannot but love'by the token
That thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles. | Sweet heart, that no taint of the throne or the stage
Could touch with unclean transformation, or alter
To the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falter
At the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage, | Of a master whom chance could inflame or assuage,
Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter,
Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter,
Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age.
Our Lady of Pity thou wast: and to thee
All England, whose sons are the sons of the sea,
Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarls
When the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken;
And thy lover she cannot but love'by the token
That thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles. | sonnet |
Sara Teasdale | Immortal | So soon my body will have gone
Beyond the sound and sight of men,
And tho' it wakes and suffers now,
Its sleep will be unbroken then;
But oh, my frail immortal soul
That will not sleep forevermore,
A leaf borne onward by the blast,
A wave that never finds the shore. | So soon my body will have gone
Beyond the sound and sight of men, | And tho' it wakes and suffers now,
Its sleep will be unbroken then;
But oh, my frail immortal soul
That will not sleep forevermore,
A leaf borne onward by the blast,
A wave that never finds the shore. | octave |
Frank Sidgwick | Lord Maxwell's Last Goodnight | The Text is from the Glenriddell MSS., and is the one on which Sir Walter Scott based the version given in the Border Minstrelsy. Byron notes in the preface to Childe Harold that 'the good-night in the beginning of the first canto was suggested by Lord Maxwell's Goodnight in the Border Minstrelsy.'
The Story.--John, ninth Lord Maxwell, killed Sir James Johnstone in 1608; the feud between the families was of long standing (see 3.4), beginning in 1585. Lord Maxwell fled the country, and was sentenced to death in his absence. On his return in 1612 he was betrayed by a kinsman, and beheaded at Edinburgh on May 21, 1613. This was the end of the feud, which contained cases of treachery and perfidy on both sides.
'Robert of Oarchyardtoun' was Sir Robert Maxwell of Orchardton, Lord Maxwell's cousin.
'Drumlanrig,' 'Cloesburn,' and 'the laird of Lagg' were respectively named Douglas, Kirkpatrick, and Grierson.
The Maxwells had houses, or custody of houses at Dumfries, Lochmaben, Langholm, and Thrieve; and Carlaverock Castle is still theirs.
As for Lord Maxwell's 'lady and only joy,' the ballad neglects the fact that he instituted a process of divorce against her, and that she died, while it was pending, in 1608, five years before the date of the 'Goodnight.'
LORD MAXWELL'S LAST GOODNIGHT
1.
'Adiew, madam my mother dear,
But and my sisters two!
Adiew, fair Robert of Oarchyardtoun
For thee my heart is woe.
2.
'Adiew, the lilly and the rose,
The primrose, sweet to see!
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I manna stay with thee.
3.
'Tho' I have killed the laird Johnston,
What care I for his feed?
My noble mind dis still incline;
He was my father's dead.
4.
'Both night and day I laboured oft
Of him revenged to be,
And now I've got what I long sought;
But I manna stay with thee.
5.
'Adiew, Drumlanrig! false was ay,
And Cloesburn! in a band,
Where the laird of Lagg fra my father fled
When the Johnston struck off his hand.
6.
'They were three brethren in a band;
Joy may they never see!
But now I've got what I long sought,
And I maunna stay with thee.
7.
'Adiew, Dumfries, my proper place,
But and Carlaverock fair!
Adiew, the castle of the Thrieve,
And all my buildings there!
8.
'Adiew, Lochmaben's gates so fair,
The Langholm shank, where birks they be!
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
And, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.
9.
'Adiew, fair Eskdale, up and down,
Where my poor friends do dwell!
The bangisters will ding them down,
And will them sore compel.
10.
'But I'll revenge that feed mysell
When I come ou'r the sea;
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I maunna stay with thee.'
11.
'Lord of the land, will you go then
Unto my father's place,
And walk into their gardens green,
And I will you embrace.
12.
'Ten thousand times I'll kiss your face,
And sport, and make you merry.'
'I thank thee, my lady, for thy kindness,
But, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.'
13.
Then he took off a great gold ring,
Whereat hang signets three;
'Hae, take thee that, my ain dear thing,
And still hae mind of me;
14.
'But if thow marry another lord
Ere I come ou'r the sea;
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I maunna stay with thee.'
15.
The wind was fair, the ship was close,
That good lord went away,
And most part of his friends were there,
To give him a fair convay.
16.
They drank thair wine, they did not spare,
Even in the good lord's sight;
Now he is o'er the floods so gray,
And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his goodnight. | The Text is from the Glenriddell MSS., and is the one on which Sir Walter Scott based the version given in the Border Minstrelsy. Byron notes in the preface to Childe Harold that 'the good-night in the beginning of the first canto was suggested by Lord Maxwell's Goodnight in the Border Minstrelsy.'
The Story.--John, ninth Lord Maxwell, killed Sir James Johnstone in 1608; the feud between the families was of long standing (see 3.4), beginning in 1585. Lord Maxwell fled the country, and was sentenced to death in his absence. On his return in 1612 he was betrayed by a kinsman, and beheaded at Edinburgh on May 21, 1613. This was the end of the feud, which contained cases of treachery and perfidy on both sides.
'Robert of Oarchyardtoun' was Sir Robert Maxwell of Orchardton, Lord Maxwell's cousin.
'Drumlanrig,' 'Cloesburn,' and 'the laird of Lagg' were respectively named Douglas, Kirkpatrick, and Grierson.
The Maxwells had houses, or custody of houses at Dumfries, Lochmaben, Langholm, and Thrieve; and Carlaverock Castle is still theirs.
As for Lord Maxwell's 'lady and only joy,' the ballad neglects the fact that he instituted a process of divorce against her, and that she died, while it was pending, in 1608, five years before the date of the 'Goodnight.'
LORD MAXWELL'S LAST GOODNIGHT
1.
'Adiew, madam my mother dear,
But and my sisters two!
Adiew, fair Robert of Oarchyardtoun
For thee my heart is woe.
2.
'Adiew, the lilly and the rose,
The primrose, sweet to see!
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I manna stay with thee.
3.
'Tho' I have killed the laird Johnston,
What care I for his feed?
My noble mind dis still incline;
He was my father's dead.
4.
'Both night and day I laboured oft
Of him revenged to be,
And now I've got what I long sought;
But I manna stay with thee.
5.
'Adiew, Drumlanrig! false was ay, | And Cloesburn! in a band,
Where the laird of Lagg fra my father fled
When the Johnston struck off his hand.
6.
'They were three brethren in a band;
Joy may they never see!
But now I've got what I long sought,
And I maunna stay with thee.
7.
'Adiew, Dumfries, my proper place,
But and Carlaverock fair!
Adiew, the castle of the Thrieve,
And all my buildings there!
8.
'Adiew, Lochmaben's gates so fair,
The Langholm shank, where birks they be!
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
And, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.
9.
'Adiew, fair Eskdale, up and down,
Where my poor friends do dwell!
The bangisters will ding them down,
And will them sore compel.
10.
'But I'll revenge that feed mysell
When I come ou'r the sea;
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I maunna stay with thee.'
11.
'Lord of the land, will you go then
Unto my father's place,
And walk into their gardens green,
And I will you embrace.
12.
'Ten thousand times I'll kiss your face,
And sport, and make you merry.'
'I thank thee, my lady, for thy kindness,
But, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.'
13.
Then he took off a great gold ring,
Whereat hang signets three;
'Hae, take thee that, my ain dear thing,
And still hae mind of me;
14.
'But if thow marry another lord
Ere I come ou'r the sea;
Adiew, my lady and only joy!
For I maunna stay with thee.'
15.
The wind was fair, the ship was close,
That good lord went away,
And most part of his friends were there,
To give him a fair convay.
16.
They drank thair wine, they did not spare,
Even in the good lord's sight;
Now he is o'er the floods so gray,
And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his goodnight. | free_verse |
Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton) | The Story Of Mongrel Grey | This is the story the stockman told
On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright;
The moon rose up like a globe of gold
And flooded the plain with her mellow light.
We watched the cattle till dawn of day
And he told me the story of Mongrel Grey.
He was a knock-about station hack,
Spurred and walloped, and banged and beat;
Ridden all day with a sore on his back,
Left all night with nothing to eat.
That was a matter of everyday
Normal occurrence with Mongrel Grey.
We might have sold him, but someone heard
He was bred out back on a flooded run,
Where he learnt to swim like a waterbird;
Midnight or midday were all as one,
In the flooded ground he would find his way;
Nothing could puzzle old Mongrel Grey.
'Tis a trick, no doubt, that some horses learn;
When the floods are out they will splash along
In girth-deep water, and twist and turn
From hidden channel and billabong,
Never mistaking the road to go;
for a man may guess, but the horses know.
I was camping out with my youngest son,
Bit of a nipper, just learnt to speak,
In an empty hut on the lower run,
Shooting and fishing in Conroy's Creek.
The youngster toddled about all day
And there with our horses was Mongrel Grey.
All of a sudden a flood came down,
At first a freshet of mountain rain,
Roaring and eddying, rank and brown,
Over the flats and across the plain.
Rising and rising, at fall of night
Nothing but water appeared in sight!
'Tis a nasty place when the floods are out,
Even in daylight; for all around
Channels and billabongs twist about,
Stretching for miles in the flooded ground.
And to move seemed a hopeless thing to try
In the dark with the storm-water racing by.
I had to risk it. I heard a roar
As the wind swept down and the driving rain;
And the water rose till it reached the floor
Of our highest room; and 'twas very plain,
The way the torrent was sweeping down,
We must make for the highlands at once, or drown.
Off to the stable I splashed, and found
The horses shaking with cold and fright;
I led them down to the lower ground,
But never a yard would they swim that night!
They reared and snorted and turned away,
And none would face it but Mongrel Grey.
I bound the child on the horse's back,
And we started off, with a prayer to heaven,
Through the rain and the wind and the pitchy black
For I knew that the instinct God has given
To prompt His creatures by night and day
Would guide the footsteps of Mongrel Grey.
He struck deep water at once and swam,
I swam beside him and held his mane,
Till we touched the bank of the broken dam
In shallow water; then off again,
Swimming in darkness across the flood,
Rank with the smell of the drifting mud.
He turned and twisted across and back,
Choosing the places to wade or swim,
Picking the safest and shortest track,
The blackest darkness was clear to him.
Did he strike the crossing by sight or smell?
The Lord that held him alone could tell!
He dodged the timber whene'er he could,
But timber brought us to grief at last;
I was partly stunned by a log of wood
That struck my head as it drifted past;
Then lost my grip of the brave old grey,
And in half a second he swept away.
I reached a tree, where I had to stay,
And did a perish for two days' hard;
And lived on water, but Mongrel Grey,
He walked right into the homestead yard
At dawn next morning, and grazed around,
With the child strapped on to him safe and sound.
We keep him now for the wife to ride,
Nothing too good for him now, of course;
Never a whip on his fat old hide,
For she owes the child to that brave grey horse.
And not Old Tyson himself could pay
The purchase money of Mongrel Grey.
| This is the story the stockman told
On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright;
The moon rose up like a globe of gold
And flooded the plain with her mellow light.
We watched the cattle till dawn of day
And he told me the story of Mongrel Grey.
He was a knock-about station hack,
Spurred and walloped, and banged and beat;
Ridden all day with a sore on his back,
Left all night with nothing to eat.
That was a matter of everyday
Normal occurrence with Mongrel Grey.
We might have sold him, but someone heard
He was bred out back on a flooded run,
Where he learnt to swim like a waterbird;
Midnight or midday were all as one,
In the flooded ground he would find his way;
Nothing could puzzle old Mongrel Grey.
'Tis a trick, no doubt, that some horses learn;
When the floods are out they will splash along
In girth-deep water, and twist and turn
From hidden channel and billabong,
Never mistaking the road to go;
for a man may guess, but the horses know.
I was camping out with my youngest son,
Bit of a nipper, just learnt to speak,
In an empty hut on the lower run,
Shooting and fishing in Conroy's Creek.
The youngster toddled about all day
And there with our horses was Mongrel Grey. | All of a sudden a flood came down,
At first a freshet of mountain rain,
Roaring and eddying, rank and brown,
Over the flats and across the plain.
Rising and rising, at fall of night
Nothing but water appeared in sight!
'Tis a nasty place when the floods are out,
Even in daylight; for all around
Channels and billabongs twist about,
Stretching for miles in the flooded ground.
And to move seemed a hopeless thing to try
In the dark with the storm-water racing by.
I had to risk it. I heard a roar
As the wind swept down and the driving rain;
And the water rose till it reached the floor
Of our highest room; and 'twas very plain,
The way the torrent was sweeping down,
We must make for the highlands at once, or drown.
Off to the stable I splashed, and found
The horses shaking with cold and fright;
I led them down to the lower ground,
But never a yard would they swim that night!
They reared and snorted and turned away,
And none would face it but Mongrel Grey.
I bound the child on the horse's back,
And we started off, with a prayer to heaven,
Through the rain and the wind and the pitchy black
For I knew that the instinct God has given
To prompt His creatures by night and day
Would guide the footsteps of Mongrel Grey.
He struck deep water at once and swam,
I swam beside him and held his mane,
Till we touched the bank of the broken dam
In shallow water; then off again,
Swimming in darkness across the flood,
Rank with the smell of the drifting mud.
He turned and twisted across and back,
Choosing the places to wade or swim,
Picking the safest and shortest track,
The blackest darkness was clear to him.
Did he strike the crossing by sight or smell?
The Lord that held him alone could tell!
He dodged the timber whene'er he could,
But timber brought us to grief at last;
I was partly stunned by a log of wood
That struck my head as it drifted past;
Then lost my grip of the brave old grey,
And in half a second he swept away.
I reached a tree, where I had to stay,
And did a perish for two days' hard;
And lived on water, but Mongrel Grey,
He walked right into the homestead yard
At dawn next morning, and grazed around,
With the child strapped on to him safe and sound.
We keep him now for the wife to ride,
Nothing too good for him now, of course;
Never a whip on his fat old hide,
For she owes the child to that brave grey horse.
And not Old Tyson himself could pay
The purchase money of Mongrel Grey. | free_verse |
Walter Crane | The Hart & The Vine | A Hart by the hunters pursued,
Safely hid in a Vine, till he chewed
The sweet tender green,
And, through shaking leaves seen,
He was slain by his ingratitude.
Spare Your Benefactors | A Hart by the hunters pursued,
Safely hid in a Vine, till he chewed | The sweet tender green,
And, through shaking leaves seen,
He was slain by his ingratitude.
Spare Your Benefactors | free_verse |
Rudyard Kipling | The Four Points | Ere stopping or turning, to put foorth a hande
Is a charm that thy daies may be long in the land.
Though seventy-times-seven thee Fortune befriend,
O'ertaking at corners is Death in the end.
Sith main-roads for side-roads care nothing, have care
Both to slow and to blow when thou enterest there.
Drink as thou canst hold it, but after is best;
For Drink with men's Driving makes Crowners to Quest. | Ere stopping or turning, to put foorth a hande
Is a charm that thy daies may be long in the land. | Though seventy-times-seven thee Fortune befriend,
O'ertaking at corners is Death in the end.
Sith main-roads for side-roads care nothing, have care
Both to slow and to blow when thou enterest there.
Drink as thou canst hold it, but after is best;
For Drink with men's Driving makes Crowners to Quest. | octave |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Acquaintance | Not we who daily walk the city's
Not those who have been cradled in its heart,
Best understand its architectural art
Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet
Some stranger who has staid his passing feet
And lingered with us for a single hour,
And learned more of cathedral, and of tower,
Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.
Not always those we hold most loved and dear,
Not always those who dwell with us, know best
Our greater selves. Because they stand so near
They cannot see the lofty mountain crest,
The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear
Stands forth - revealed unto the some-time guest. | Not we who daily walk the city's
Not those who have been cradled in its heart,
Best understand its architectural art
Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet | Some stranger who has staid his passing feet
And lingered with us for a single hour,
And learned more of cathedral, and of tower,
Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.
Not always those we hold most loved and dear,
Not always those who dwell with us, know best
Our greater selves. Because they stand so near
They cannot see the lofty mountain crest,
The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear
Stands forth - revealed unto the some-time guest. | sonnet |
Lewis Carroll | How Doth The Little Crocodile | How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws! | How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail, | And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws! | octave |
Christina Georgina Rossetti | Song | Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two butterflies upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Who look upon them hand in hand
Flushed in the rosy summer light;
Who look upon them hand in hand
And never give a thought to night. | Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem, | Two butterflies upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Who look upon them hand in hand
Flushed in the rosy summer light;
Who look upon them hand in hand
And never give a thought to night. | octave |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | Bless God, He Went As Soldiers, | Bless God, he went as soldiers,
His musket on his breast;
Grant, God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest.
Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe then,
I should not fear the fight. | Bless God, he went as soldiers,
His musket on his breast; | Grant, God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest.
Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe then,
I should not fear the fight. | octave |
George MacDonald | Thou Also | Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip
The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track
The bloody secret; let the welkin crack
Reverberating, while ye dance and skip
About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip,
More secretly, for the avenging rack,
Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black
Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip,
And all the knotted limbs lie quivering!
Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting,
With wide and tearless eyes go staring through
The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees
Bow not to holiness, then even in you
Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. | Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip
The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track
The bloody secret; let the welkin crack
Reverberating, while ye dance and skip | About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip,
More secretly, for the avenging rack,
Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black
Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip,
And all the knotted limbs lie quivering!
Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting,
With wide and tearless eyes go staring through
The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees
Bow not to holiness, then even in you
Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. | sonnet |
Richard Hunter | Policeman. | When little dolls in Nurs'ry Street,
Do anything that's wrong;
Throw stones, or knock each other down,
Policeman comes along.
"Move on, move on," Policeman cries;
Be sure they never fail;
For if they did not move at once,
He'd take them off to jail. | When little dolls in Nurs'ry Street,
Do anything that's wrong; | Throw stones, or knock each other down,
Policeman comes along.
"Move on, move on," Policeman cries;
Be sure they never fail;
For if they did not move at once,
He'd take them off to jail. | octave |
Thomas Hardy | He Fears His Good Fortune | There was a glorious time
At an epoch of my prime;
Mornings beryl-bespread,
And evenings golden-red;
Nothing gray:
And in my heart I said,
"However this chanced to be,
It is too full for me,
Too rare, too rapturous, rash,
Its spell must close with a crash
Some day!"
The radiance went on
Anon and yet anon,
And sweetness fell around
Like manna on the ground.
"I've no claim,"
Said I, "to be thus crowned:
I am not worthy this:-
Must it not go amiss? -
Well . . . let the end foreseen
Come duly! - I am serene."
- And it came. | There was a glorious time
At an epoch of my prime;
Mornings beryl-bespread,
And evenings golden-red;
Nothing gray:
And in my heart I said,
"However this chanced to be, | It is too full for me,
Too rare, too rapturous, rash,
Its spell must close with a crash
Some day!"
The radiance went on
Anon and yet anon,
And sweetness fell around
Like manna on the ground.
"I've no claim,"
Said I, "to be thus crowned:
I am not worthy this:-
Must it not go amiss? -
Well . . . let the end foreseen
Come duly! - I am serene."
- And it came. | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. XLVIII. Tales. | There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile:
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house. | There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, | He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile:
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house. | quatrain |
Edward Lear | Nonsense Alphabet 1 | A
A was an ant
Who seldom stood still,
And who made a nice house
In the side of a hill.
a!
Nice little ant!
B
B was a book
With a binding of blue,
And pictures and stories
For me and for you.
b!
Nice little book!
C
C was a cat
Who ran after a rat;
But his courage did fail
When she seized on his tail.
c!
Crafty old cat!
D
D was a duck
With spots on his back,
Who lived in the water,
And always said "Quack!"
d!
Dear little duck!
E
E was an elephant,
Stately and wise:
He had tusks and a trunk,
And two queer little eyes.
e!
Oh, what funny small eyes!
F
F was a fish
Who was caught in a net;
But he got out again,
And is quite alive yet.
f!
Lively young fish!
G
G was a goat
Who was spotted with brown:
When he did not lie still
He walked up and down.
g!
Good little goat!
H
H was a hat
Which was all on one side;
Its crown was too high,
And its brim was too wide.
h!
Oh, what a hat!
I
I was some ice
So white and so nice,
But which nobody tasted;
And so it was wasted.
i!
All that good ice!
J
J was a jackdaw
Who hopped up and down
In the principal street
Of a neighboring town.
j!
All through the town!
K
K was a kite
Which flew out of sight,
Above houses so high,
Quite into the sky.
k
Fly away, kite!
L
L was a light
Which burned all the night,
And lighted the gloom
Of a very dark room.
l!
Useful nice light!
M
M was a mill
Which stood on a hill,
And turned round and round
With a loud hummy sound.
m!
Useful old mill!
N
N was a net
Which was thrown in the sea
To catch fish for dinner
For you and for me.
n!
Nice little net!
O
O was an orange
So yellow and round:
When it fell off the tree,
It fell down to the ground.
o!
Down to the ground!
P
P was a pig,
Who was not very big;
But his tail was too curly,
And that made him surly.
p!
Cross little pig!
Q
Q was a quail
With a very short tail;
And he fed upon corn
In the evening and morn.
q!
Quaint little quail!
R
R was a rabbit,
Who had a bad habit
Of eating the flowers
In gardens and bowers.
r!
Naughty fat rabbit!
S
S was the sugar-tongs,
Nippity-nee,
To take up the sugar
To put in our tea.
s!
Nippity-nee!
T
T was a tortoise,
All yellow and black:
He walked slowly away,
And he never came back.
t!
Torty never came back!
U
U was an urn
All polished and bright,
And full of hot water
At noon and at night.
u!
Useful old urn!
V
V was a villa
Which stood on a hill,
By the side of a river,
And close to a mill.
v!
Nice little villa!
W
W was a whale
With a very long tail,
Whose movements were frantic
Across the Atlantic.
w!
Monstrous old whale!
X
X was King Xerxes,
Who, more than all Turks, is
Renowned for his fashion
Of fury and passion.
x!
Angry old Xerxes!
Y
Y was a yew,
Which flourished and grew
By a quiet abode
Near the side of a road.
y!
Dark little yew!
Z
Z was some zinc,
So shiny and bright,
Which caused you to wink
In the sun's merry light.
z!
Beautiful zinc! | A
A was an ant
Who seldom stood still,
And who made a nice house
In the side of a hill.
a!
Nice little ant!
B
B was a book
With a binding of blue,
And pictures and stories
For me and for you.
b!
Nice little book!
C
C was a cat
Who ran after a rat;
But his courage did fail
When she seized on his tail.
c!
Crafty old cat!
D
D was a duck
With spots on his back,
Who lived in the water,
And always said "Quack!"
d!
Dear little duck!
E
E was an elephant,
Stately and wise:
He had tusks and a trunk,
And two queer little eyes.
e!
Oh, what funny small eyes!
F
F was a fish
Who was caught in a net;
But he got out again,
And is quite alive yet.
f!
Lively young fish!
G
G was a goat
Who was spotted with brown:
When he did not lie still
He walked up and down.
g!
Good little goat!
H
H was a hat
Which was all on one side;
Its crown was too high,
And its brim was too wide.
h!
Oh, what a hat!
I
I was some ice
So white and so nice,
But which nobody tasted; | And so it was wasted.
i!
All that good ice!
J
J was a jackdaw
Who hopped up and down
In the principal street
Of a neighboring town.
j!
All through the town!
K
K was a kite
Which flew out of sight,
Above houses so high,
Quite into the sky.
k
Fly away, kite!
L
L was a light
Which burned all the night,
And lighted the gloom
Of a very dark room.
l!
Useful nice light!
M
M was a mill
Which stood on a hill,
And turned round and round
With a loud hummy sound.
m!
Useful old mill!
N
N was a net
Which was thrown in the sea
To catch fish for dinner
For you and for me.
n!
Nice little net!
O
O was an orange
So yellow and round:
When it fell off the tree,
It fell down to the ground.
o!
Down to the ground!
P
P was a pig,
Who was not very big;
But his tail was too curly,
And that made him surly.
p!
Cross little pig!
Q
Q was a quail
With a very short tail;
And he fed upon corn
In the evening and morn.
q!
Quaint little quail!
R
R was a rabbit,
Who had a bad habit
Of eating the flowers
In gardens and bowers.
r!
Naughty fat rabbit!
S
S was the sugar-tongs,
Nippity-nee,
To take up the sugar
To put in our tea.
s!
Nippity-nee!
T
T was a tortoise,
All yellow and black:
He walked slowly away,
And he never came back.
t!
Torty never came back!
U
U was an urn
All polished and bright,
And full of hot water
At noon and at night.
u!
Useful old urn!
V
V was a villa
Which stood on a hill,
By the side of a river,
And close to a mill.
v!
Nice little villa!
W
W was a whale
With a very long tail,
Whose movements were frantic
Across the Atlantic.
w!
Monstrous old whale!
X
X was King Xerxes,
Who, more than all Turks, is
Renowned for his fashion
Of fury and passion.
x!
Angry old Xerxes!
Y
Y was a yew,
Which flourished and grew
By a quiet abode
Near the side of a road.
y!
Dark little yew!
Z
Z was some zinc,
So shiny and bright,
Which caused you to wink
In the sun's merry light.
z!
Beautiful zinc! | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | In The Sound Of Mull | Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw
Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung
Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue
On rock and ruin darkening as we go,
Spots where a word, ghostlike, survives to show
What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;
From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,
What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labours of the pen,
Could gentleness be scorned by those fierce Men,
Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed
For patriarchal occupations, named
Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?" | Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw
Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung
Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue
On rock and ruin darkening as we go, | Spots where a word, ghostlike, survives to show
What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;
From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,
What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labours of the pen,
Could gentleness be scorned by those fierce Men,
Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed
For patriarchal occupations, named
Yon towering Peaks, "Shepherds of Etive Glen?" | sonnet |
Robert Burns | The Kirk's Alarm. - A Ballad. (Second Version.) | I.
Orthodox, orthodox,
Who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience,
There's a heretic blast,
Has been blawn i' the wast,
That what is not sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox,
That what is not sense must be nonsense.
II.
Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac,
Ye should stretch on a rack,
And strike evil doers wi' terror;
To join faith and sense,
Upon any pretence,
Was heretic damnable error,
Doctor Mac,
Was heretic damnable error.
III.
Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was rash I declare,
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;
Provost John is still deaf,
To the church's relief,
And orator Bob is its ruin,
Town Of Ayr,
And orator Bob is its ruin.
IV.
D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild,
Tho' your heart's like a child,
And your life like the new-driven snaw,
Yet that winna save ye,
Old Satan must have ye
For preaching that three's are an' twa,
D'rymple mild,
For preaching that three's are an' twa.
V.
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,
Seize your spiritual guns,
Ammunition ye never can need;
Your hearts are the stuff,
Will be powder enough,
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead,
Calvin's sons,
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead.
VI.
Rumble John, Rumble John,
Mount the steps with a groan,
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd;
Then lug out your ladle,
Deal brimstone like aidle,
And roar every note o' the damn'd,
Rumble John,
And roar every note o' the damn'd.
VII.
Simper James, Simper James,
Leave the fair Killie dames,
There's a holier chase in your view;
I'll lay on your head,
That the pack ye'll soon lead,
For puppies like you there's but few,
Simper James,
For puppies like you there's but few.
VIII.
Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,
Are ye herding the penny,
Unconscious what danger awaits?
With a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm every soul,
For Hannibal's just at your gates,
Singet Sawnie,
For Hannibal's just at your gates.
IX.
Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,
Ye may slander the book,
And the book nought the waur, let me tell you;
Tho' ye're rich and look big,
Yet lay by hat and wig,
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value,
Andrew Gowk,
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value.
X.
Poet Willie, Poet Willie,
Gie the doctor a volley,
Wi' your "liberty's chain" and your wit;
O'er Pegasus' side,
Ye ne'er laid a stride
Ye only stood by when he ----,
Poet Willie,
Ye only stood by when he ----.
XI.
Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,
What mean ye? what mean ye?
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,
Ye may hae some pretence, man,
To havins and sense, man,
Wi' people that ken ye nae better,
Barr Steenie,
Wi' people that ken ye nae better.
XII.
Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,
Ye hae made but toom roose,
O' hunting the wicked lieutenant;
But the doctor's your mark,
For the L--d's holy ark,
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't,
Jamie Goose,
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't.
XIII.
Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,
For a saunt if ye muster,
It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits,
Yet to worth let's be just,
Royal blood ye might boast,
If the ass were the king o' the brutes,
Davie Bluster,
If the ass were the king o' the brutes.
XIV.
Muirland George, Muirland George,
Whom the Lord made a scourge,
To claw common sense for her sins;
If ill manners were wit,
There's no mortal so fit,
To confound the poor doctor at ance,
Muirland George,
To confound the poor doctor at ance.
XV.
Cessnockside, Cessnockside,
Wi' your turkey-cock pride,
O' manhood but sma' is your share;
Ye've the figure, it's true,
Even our faes maun allow,
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair,
Cessnockside,
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair.
XVI.
Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,
There's a tod i' the fauld
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;[1]
Tho' ye downa do skaith,
Ye'll be in at the death,
And if ye canna bite ye can bark,
Daddie Auld,
And if ye canna bite ye can bark.
XVII.
Poet Burns, Poet Burns,
Wi' your priest-skelping turns,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy,
Yet were she even tipsy,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are,
Poet Burns,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.
* * * * *
Postscript.
Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird,
When your pen can be spar'd,
A copy o' this I bequeath,
On the same sicker score
I mentioned before,
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith,
Afton's Laird,
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith. | I.
Orthodox, orthodox,
Who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience,
There's a heretic blast,
Has been blawn i' the wast,
That what is not sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox,
That what is not sense must be nonsense.
II.
Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac,
Ye should stretch on a rack,
And strike evil doers wi' terror;
To join faith and sense,
Upon any pretence,
Was heretic damnable error,
Doctor Mac,
Was heretic damnable error.
III.
Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was rash I declare,
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;
Provost John is still deaf,
To the church's relief,
And orator Bob is its ruin,
Town Of Ayr,
And orator Bob is its ruin.
IV.
D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild,
Tho' your heart's like a child,
And your life like the new-driven snaw,
Yet that winna save ye,
Old Satan must have ye
For preaching that three's are an' twa,
D'rymple mild,
For preaching that three's are an' twa.
V.
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,
Seize your spiritual guns,
Ammunition ye never can need;
Your hearts are the stuff,
Will be powder enough,
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead,
Calvin's sons,
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead.
VI.
Rumble John, Rumble John,
Mount the steps with a groan,
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd;
Then lug out your ladle,
Deal brimstone like aidle,
And roar every note o' the damn'd,
Rumble John,
And roar every note o' the damn'd. | VII.
Simper James, Simper James,
Leave the fair Killie dames,
There's a holier chase in your view;
I'll lay on your head,
That the pack ye'll soon lead,
For puppies like you there's but few,
Simper James,
For puppies like you there's but few.
VIII.
Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,
Are ye herding the penny,
Unconscious what danger awaits?
With a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm every soul,
For Hannibal's just at your gates,
Singet Sawnie,
For Hannibal's just at your gates.
IX.
Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,
Ye may slander the book,
And the book nought the waur, let me tell you;
Tho' ye're rich and look big,
Yet lay by hat and wig,
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value,
Andrew Gowk,
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value.
X.
Poet Willie, Poet Willie,
Gie the doctor a volley,
Wi' your "liberty's chain" and your wit;
O'er Pegasus' side,
Ye ne'er laid a stride
Ye only stood by when he ----,
Poet Willie,
Ye only stood by when he ----.
XI.
Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,
What mean ye? what mean ye?
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,
Ye may hae some pretence, man,
To havins and sense, man,
Wi' people that ken ye nae better,
Barr Steenie,
Wi' people that ken ye nae better.
XII.
Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,
Ye hae made but toom roose,
O' hunting the wicked lieutenant;
But the doctor's your mark,
For the L--d's holy ark,
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't,
Jamie Goose,
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't.
XIII.
Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,
For a saunt if ye muster,
It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits,
Yet to worth let's be just,
Royal blood ye might boast,
If the ass were the king o' the brutes,
Davie Bluster,
If the ass were the king o' the brutes.
XIV.
Muirland George, Muirland George,
Whom the Lord made a scourge,
To claw common sense for her sins;
If ill manners were wit,
There's no mortal so fit,
To confound the poor doctor at ance,
Muirland George,
To confound the poor doctor at ance.
XV.
Cessnockside, Cessnockside,
Wi' your turkey-cock pride,
O' manhood but sma' is your share;
Ye've the figure, it's true,
Even our faes maun allow,
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair,
Cessnockside,
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair.
XVI.
Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,
There's a tod i' the fauld
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;[1]
Tho' ye downa do skaith,
Ye'll be in at the death,
And if ye canna bite ye can bark,
Daddie Auld,
And if ye canna bite ye can bark.
XVII.
Poet Burns, Poet Burns,
Wi' your priest-skelping turns,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy,
Yet were she even tipsy,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are,
Poet Burns,
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.
* * * * *
Postscript.
Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird,
When your pen can be spar'd,
A copy o' this I bequeath,
On the same sicker score
I mentioned before,
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith,
Afton's Laird,
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith. | free_verse |
Helen Leah Reed | The Cry Of The Women | A new year dawning on a warring world!
And many fight, and many pray for peace;
But yet the roar of battle will not cease,
Still man against his brother man is hurled.
So we who wait - we women in our woe,
Who wait and work - who wait, and work, and weep -
For us there is no rest, for us no sleep,
As our sad thoughts are wandering grim and slow,
Across those dreary fields where far away
Our hero myriads bleed and burn and die,
We lift our hearts toward the pitying sky -
Dawns there no hope upon this New Year's day?
1915
| A new year dawning on a warring world!
And many fight, and many pray for peace;
But yet the roar of battle will not cease,
Still man against his brother man is hurled. | So we who wait - we women in our woe,
Who wait and work - who wait, and work, and weep -
For us there is no rest, for us no sleep,
As our sad thoughts are wandering grim and slow,
Across those dreary fields where far away
Our hero myriads bleed and burn and die,
We lift our hearts toward the pitying sky -
Dawns there no hope upon this New Year's day?
1915 | free_verse |
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (Joyce) | Poets | Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells
That the wind sways above a ruined shrine.
Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells
Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine.
Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath
Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod.
They shall not live who have not tasted death.
They only sing who are struck dumb by God. | Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells
That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. | Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells
Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine.
Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath
Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod.
They shall not live who have not tasted death.
They only sing who are struck dumb by God. | octave |
Paul Cameron Brown | Old Brompton Road | 1
"Death is but a sleep"
quaint rationalization
even to Revolutionaries.
Think of Robespierre
holding his bleeding jaw
or Marat outside -
eyeing the inscription,
scofula no longer distracting while
tepidly emptying bath water.
2
Dreams, poetry of painting,
deathly pastel shades alongside
granite canyons
entwined with rosebuds and leaves -
bone horseshoes clanking in the dark.
3
Catch basin, drainage ditch
upon which the raspberry
parts its tendrils and
human remains, the loathing
of the living ("not dead yet...."
...appropriate obscenity:)
scrawled on one Victorian
mortuary, windows knocked out,
coffins in full view a
hand's reach away on a dare
dignitaries in a pile pried loose;
one, few years hence across
the Channel, sworn enemy
to the French.
| 1
"Death is but a sleep"
quaint rationalization
even to Revolutionaries.
Think of Robespierre
holding his bleeding jaw
or Marat outside -
eyeing the inscription,
scofula no longer distracting while
tepidly emptying bath water. | 2
Dreams, poetry of painting,
deathly pastel shades alongside
granite canyons
entwined with rosebuds and leaves -
bone horseshoes clanking in the dark.
3
Catch basin, drainage ditch
upon which the raspberry
parts its tendrils and
human remains, the loathing
of the living ("not dead yet...."
...appropriate obscenity:)
scrawled on one Victorian
mortuary, windows knocked out,
coffins in full view a
hand's reach away on a dare
dignitaries in a pile pried loose;
one, few years hence across
the Channel, sworn enemy
to the French. | free_verse |
Walter Savage Landor | Finis | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. | I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. | Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. | quatrain |
Horatio Alger, Jr. | Mrs. Merdle, Having "Nibbled A Little" For Two Hours At Dinner, Retireth From The Table Unsatisfied. | "Impatient--oh yes--just the way with you men!
I never have time to half finish my eating
Ere Merdle is done; such a fidget is then,
He'd starve me I think rather 'n miss of a meeting
Where brokers preside o'er the fate of the stocks,
As Pales presided o'er shepherds and flocks.
Now while you are smoking--what nonsense and folly--
I'll go to my room.--don't say No, for I must--
Put on a new dress, with assistance of Molly,
And then with a little strong tea and a crust,
My strength I may hope for a walk will be able
As far as the gate, and a very short ride,
To give me a relish again for the table--
What else do we live for in this world beside?" | "Impatient--oh yes--just the way with you men!
I never have time to half finish my eating
Ere Merdle is done; such a fidget is then,
He'd starve me I think rather 'n miss of a meeting | Where brokers preside o'er the fate of the stocks,
As Pales presided o'er shepherds and flocks.
Now while you are smoking--what nonsense and folly--
I'll go to my room.--don't say No, for I must--
Put on a new dress, with assistance of Molly,
And then with a little strong tea and a crust,
My strength I may hope for a walk will be able
As far as the gate, and a very short ride,
To give me a relish again for the table--
What else do we live for in this world beside?" | sonnet |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Victor And Vanquished | As one who long hath fled with panting breath
Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall,
I turn and set my back against the wall,
And look thee in the face, triumphant Death,
I call for aid, and no one answereth;
I am alone with thee, who conquerest all;
Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall,
For thou art but a phantom and a wraith.
Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt,
With armor shattered, and without a shield,
I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt;
I can resist no more, but will not yield.
This is no tournament where cowards tilt;
The vanquished here is victor of the field. | As one who long hath fled with panting breath
Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall,
I turn and set my back against the wall,
And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, | I call for aid, and no one answereth;
I am alone with thee, who conquerest all;
Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall,
For thou art but a phantom and a wraith.
Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt,
With armor shattered, and without a shield,
I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt;
I can resist no more, but will not yield.
This is no tournament where cowards tilt;
The vanquished here is victor of the field. | sonnet |
Walter Scott (Sir) | Coronach | He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font, reappearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the corrie,
Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever! | He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font, reappearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow! | The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the corrie,
Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever! | free_verse |
Charles Baudelaire | Monologue | You are a lovely autumn sky, rose-clear!
But sadness is flowing in me like the sea,
And leaves on my sullen lip, as it disappears,
of its bitter slime the painful memory.
Your hand glides over my numb breast in vain:
what it seeks, dear friend, is a place made raw
by woman's ferocious fang and claw, refrain:
seek this heart, the wild beasts tear, no more.
My heart is a palace defiled by the rabble,
they drink, and murder, and clutch each other's hair!
About your naked throat a perfume hovers!...
O Beauty, harsh scourge of souls, this is your care!
With your eyes of fire, dazzling as at our feasts,
Burn these scraps to ashes, spared by the beasts! | You are a lovely autumn sky, rose-clear!
But sadness is flowing in me like the sea,
And leaves on my sullen lip, as it disappears,
of its bitter slime the painful memory. | Your hand glides over my numb breast in vain:
what it seeks, dear friend, is a place made raw
by woman's ferocious fang and claw, refrain:
seek this heart, the wild beasts tear, no more.
My heart is a palace defiled by the rabble,
they drink, and murder, and clutch each other's hair!
About your naked throat a perfume hovers!...
O Beauty, harsh scourge of souls, this is your care!
With your eyes of fire, dazzling as at our feasts,
Burn these scraps to ashes, spared by the beasts! | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | The Bellman | From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders Benedicite.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night :
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two,
My masters all, good-day to you. | From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders Benedicite. | From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night :
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye while ye sleep.
Past one o'clock, and almost two,
My masters all, good-day to you. | octave |
James Barron Hope | Mahone's Brigade.[1] - A Metrical Address. | "In pace decus, in bello praesidium." - Tacitus.
I.
Your arms are stacked, your splendid colors furled,
Your drums are still, aside your trumpets laid,
But your dumb muskets once spoke to the world -
And the world listened to Mahone's Brigade.
Like waving plume upon Bellona's crest,
Or comet in red majesty arrayed,
Or Persia's flame transported to the West,
Shall shine the glory of Mahone's Brigade.
Not once, in all those years so dark and grim,
Your columns from the path of duty strayed;
No craven act made your escutcheon dim -
'Twas burnished with your blood, Mahone's Brigade.
Not once on post, on march, in camp, or field,
Was your brave leader's trust in you betrayed,
And never yet has old Virginia's shield
Suffered dishonor through Mahone's Brigade.
Who has forgotten at the deadly Mine,
How our great Captain of great Captains bade
Your General to retake the captured line?
How it was done, you know, Mahone's Brigade.
Who has forgotten how th' undying dead,
And you, yourselves, won that for which Lee prayed?
Who has forgotten how th' Immortal said:
That "heroes" swept that field, Mahone's Brigade?
From the far right, beneath the "stars and bars,"
You marched amain to Bushrod Johnson's aid,
And when you charged - an arrow shot by Mars
Went forward in your rush, Mahone's Brigade.
In front stood death. Such task as yours before
By mortal man has rarely been essayed,
There you defeated Burnside's boasted corps,
And did an army's work, Mahone's Brigade.
And those who led you, field, or line, or staff,
Showed they were fit for more than mere parade;
Their motto: "Victory or an epitaph,"
And well they did their part, Mahone's Brigade.
II.
Were mine the gift to coin my heart of hearts
In living words, fit tribute should be paid
To all the heroes whose enacted parts
Gave fame immortal to Mahone's Brigade.
But he who bore the musket is the man
Whose figure should for future time be made -
Cleft from a rock by some new Thorwaldsen -
The Private Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.
His was that sense of duty only felt
By souls heroic. In the modest shade
He lived, or fell; but his, Fame's Starry Belt -
His, Fame's own Galaxy, Mahone's Brigade.
And in that Belt - all luminous with stars,
Unnamed and woven in a wondrous braid -
A blaze of glory in the sky of Mars -
Your orbs are thickly set, Mahone's Brigade.
The Private Soldier is the man who comes
From mart, or plain, or grange, or sylvan glade,
To answer calls of trumpets and of drums -
So came the Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.
His messmate, hunger; comrades, heat and cold;
His decorations, death or wounds, conveyed
To the brave patriot in ways manifold -
But yet he flinched not in Mahone's Brigade.
When needing bread, Fate gave him but a stone;
Ragged, he answered when the trumpet brayed;
Barefoot he marched, or died without a groan;
True to his battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade.
Could some Supreme Intelligence proclaim,
Arise from all the pomp of rank and grade,
War's truest heroes, oft we'd hear some name,
Unmentioned by the world, Mahone's Brigade.
And yet they have a name, enriched with thanks
And tears and homage - which shall never fade -
Their name is simply this: Men of the Ranks -
The Knights without their spurs - Mahone's Brigade.
And though unbelted and without their spurs,
To them is due Fame's splendid accolade;
And theirs the story which to-day still stirs
The pulses of your heart, Mahone's Brigade.
Men of the Ranks, step proudly to the front,
'Twas yours unknown through sheeted flame to wade,
In the red battle's fierce and deadly brunt;
Yours be full laurels in Mahone's Brigade.
III.
For those who fell be yours the sacred trust
To see forgetfulness, shall not invade
The spots made holy by their noble dust;
Green keep them in your hearts, Mahone's Brigade.
Oh, keep them green with patriotic tears!
Forget not, now war's fever is allayed,
Those valiant men, who, in the vanished years,
Kept step with you in ranks, Mahone's Brigade.
Each circling year, in the sweet month of May,
Your countrywomen - matron and fair maid -
Still pay their tribute to the Soldier's clay,
And strew his grave with flow'rs, Mahone's Brigade.
Join in the task, with retrospective eye;
Men's mem'ries should not perish 'neath the spade;
Pay homage to the dead, whose dying cry
Was for the Commonwealth, Mahone's Brigade.
Raise up, O State! a shaft to pierce the sky,
To him, the Private, who was but afraid
To fail in his full duty - not to die;
And on its base engrave, "Mahone's Brigade."
IV.
Now that the work of blood and tears is done,
Whether of stern assault, or sudden raid,
Yours is a record second yet to none -
None takes your right in line, Mahone's Brigade.
Now that we've lost, as was fore-doomed, the day -
Now that the good by ill has been outweighed -
Let us plant olives on the rugged way,
Once proudly trodden by Mahone's Brigade.
And when some far-stretchen future folds the past,
To us so recent, in its purple shade,
High up, as if on some "tall Admiral's mast,"
Shall fly your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.
V.
Each battle-flag shall float abroad and fling
A radiance round, as from a new-lit star;
Or light the air about, as when a King
Flashes in armor in his royal car;
And Fame's own vestibule I see inlaid
With their proud images, Mahone's Brigade.
Your battle-flags shall fly throughout all time,
By History's self exultingly unfurled;
And stately prose, and loud-resounding rhyme,
Nobler than mine, shall tell to all the world
How dauntless moved, and how all undismayed,
Through good and ill stood Mahone's Brigade.
O glorious flags! No victory could stain
Your tattered folds with one unworthy deed,
O glorious flags! No country shall again
Fly nobler symbols in its hour of need.
Success stained not, nor could defeat degrade;
Spotless they float to-day, Mahone's Brigade.
Immortal flags, upon Time's breezes flung,
Seen by the mind in forests, or in marts,
Cherished in visions, praised from tongue to tongue,
Wrapped in the very fibres of your hearts,
And gazing on them, none may dare upbraid
Your Leader, or your men, Mahone's Brigade.
VI.
That splendid Leader's name is yours, and he
Flesh of your flesh, himself bone of your bone,
His simple name maketh a history,
Which stands, itself grand, glorious and alone,
Or, 'tis a trophy, splendidly arrayed,
With all your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.
His name itself a history? Yes, and none
May halt me here. In war and peace
It challenges the full rays of the sun;
And when the passions of our day shall cease,
'Twill stand undying, for all time displayed,
Itself a battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade.
He rose successor of that mighty man
Who was the "right arm" [2] of immortal Lee;
Whose genius put defeat beneath a ban;
Who swept the field as tempest sweeps the sea;
Who fought full hard, and yet full harder prayed.
You knew that man full well, Mahone's Brigade.
And here that great man's shadow claims a place;
Within my mind I see his image rise,
With Cromwell's will and Havelock's Christian grace;
As daring as the Swede, as Frederick wise;
Swift as Napoleon ere his hopes decayed;
You knew the hero well, Mahone's Brigade.
And when he fell his fall shook all the land,
As falling oak shakes mountain side and glen;
But soon men saw his good sword in the hand
Of one, himself born leader among men, -
Of him who led you through the fusilade,
The storm of shot and shell, Mahone's Brigade.
Immortal Lee, who triumphed o'er despair,
Greater than all the heroes I have named.
Whose life has made a Westminster where'er
His name is spoken; he, so wise and famed,
Gave Jackson's duties unto him whose blade
Was lightning to your storms, Mahone's Brigade.
Ere Jackson fell Mahone shone day by day,
A burnished lance amid that crop of spears, -
None rose above him in that grand array;
And Lee, who stood Last of the Cavaliers,
Knew he had found of War's stupendous trade,
A Master at your head, Mahone's Brigade.
O Countrymen! I see the coming days
When he, above all hinderances and lets
Shall stand in Epic form, lit by the rays
Of Fame's eternal sun that never sets,
The first great chapter of his life is made,
And spoken in two words - "Mahone's Brigade."
O Countrymen! I see historic brass
Leap from the furnace in a blazing tide;
I see it through strange transformations pass
Into a form of energy and pride;
Beneath our Capitol's majestic shade
In bronze I see Mahone - Mahone's Brigade.
O Countrymen! When dust has gone to dust.
Still shall he live in story and in rhyme;
Then History's self shall multiply his bust,
And he defy the silent Conqueror, Time.
My song is sung: My prophecy is made -
The State will make it good, Mahone's Brigade. | "In pace decus, in bello praesidium." - Tacitus.
I.
Your arms are stacked, your splendid colors furled,
Your drums are still, aside your trumpets laid,
But your dumb muskets once spoke to the world -
And the world listened to Mahone's Brigade.
Like waving plume upon Bellona's crest,
Or comet in red majesty arrayed,
Or Persia's flame transported to the West,
Shall shine the glory of Mahone's Brigade.
Not once, in all those years so dark and grim,
Your columns from the path of duty strayed;
No craven act made your escutcheon dim -
'Twas burnished with your blood, Mahone's Brigade.
Not once on post, on march, in camp, or field,
Was your brave leader's trust in you betrayed,
And never yet has old Virginia's shield
Suffered dishonor through Mahone's Brigade.
Who has forgotten at the deadly Mine,
How our great Captain of great Captains bade
Your General to retake the captured line?
How it was done, you know, Mahone's Brigade.
Who has forgotten how th' undying dead,
And you, yourselves, won that for which Lee prayed?
Who has forgotten how th' Immortal said:
That "heroes" swept that field, Mahone's Brigade?
From the far right, beneath the "stars and bars,"
You marched amain to Bushrod Johnson's aid,
And when you charged - an arrow shot by Mars
Went forward in your rush, Mahone's Brigade.
In front stood death. Such task as yours before
By mortal man has rarely been essayed,
There you defeated Burnside's boasted corps,
And did an army's work, Mahone's Brigade.
And those who led you, field, or line, or staff,
Showed they were fit for more than mere parade;
Their motto: "Victory or an epitaph,"
And well they did their part, Mahone's Brigade.
II.
Were mine the gift to coin my heart of hearts
In living words, fit tribute should be paid
To all the heroes whose enacted parts
Gave fame immortal to Mahone's Brigade.
But he who bore the musket is the man
Whose figure should for future time be made -
Cleft from a rock by some new Thorwaldsen -
The Private Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.
His was that sense of duty only felt
By souls heroic. In the modest shade
He lived, or fell; but his, Fame's Starry Belt -
His, Fame's own Galaxy, Mahone's Brigade.
And in that Belt - all luminous with stars,
Unnamed and woven in a wondrous braid -
A blaze of glory in the sky of Mars -
Your orbs are thickly set, Mahone's Brigade.
The Private Soldier is the man who comes
From mart, or plain, or grange, or sylvan glade,
To answer calls of trumpets and of drums -
So came the Soldier of Mahone's Brigade.
His messmate, hunger; comrades, heat and cold;
His decorations, death or wounds, conveyed
To the brave patriot in ways manifold -
But yet he flinched not in Mahone's Brigade.
When needing bread, Fate gave him but a stone;
Ragged, he answered when the trumpet brayed;
Barefoot he marched, or died without a groan;
True to his battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade. | Could some Supreme Intelligence proclaim,
Arise from all the pomp of rank and grade,
War's truest heroes, oft we'd hear some name,
Unmentioned by the world, Mahone's Brigade.
And yet they have a name, enriched with thanks
And tears and homage - which shall never fade -
Their name is simply this: Men of the Ranks -
The Knights without their spurs - Mahone's Brigade.
And though unbelted and without their spurs,
To them is due Fame's splendid accolade;
And theirs the story which to-day still stirs
The pulses of your heart, Mahone's Brigade.
Men of the Ranks, step proudly to the front,
'Twas yours unknown through sheeted flame to wade,
In the red battle's fierce and deadly brunt;
Yours be full laurels in Mahone's Brigade.
III.
For those who fell be yours the sacred trust
To see forgetfulness, shall not invade
The spots made holy by their noble dust;
Green keep them in your hearts, Mahone's Brigade.
Oh, keep them green with patriotic tears!
Forget not, now war's fever is allayed,
Those valiant men, who, in the vanished years,
Kept step with you in ranks, Mahone's Brigade.
Each circling year, in the sweet month of May,
Your countrywomen - matron and fair maid -
Still pay their tribute to the Soldier's clay,
And strew his grave with flow'rs, Mahone's Brigade.
Join in the task, with retrospective eye;
Men's mem'ries should not perish 'neath the spade;
Pay homage to the dead, whose dying cry
Was for the Commonwealth, Mahone's Brigade.
Raise up, O State! a shaft to pierce the sky,
To him, the Private, who was but afraid
To fail in his full duty - not to die;
And on its base engrave, "Mahone's Brigade."
IV.
Now that the work of blood and tears is done,
Whether of stern assault, or sudden raid,
Yours is a record second yet to none -
None takes your right in line, Mahone's Brigade.
Now that we've lost, as was fore-doomed, the day -
Now that the good by ill has been outweighed -
Let us plant olives on the rugged way,
Once proudly trodden by Mahone's Brigade.
And when some far-stretchen future folds the past,
To us so recent, in its purple shade,
High up, as if on some "tall Admiral's mast,"
Shall fly your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.
V.
Each battle-flag shall float abroad and fling
A radiance round, as from a new-lit star;
Or light the air about, as when a King
Flashes in armor in his royal car;
And Fame's own vestibule I see inlaid
With their proud images, Mahone's Brigade.
Your battle-flags shall fly throughout all time,
By History's self exultingly unfurled;
And stately prose, and loud-resounding rhyme,
Nobler than mine, shall tell to all the world
How dauntless moved, and how all undismayed,
Through good and ill stood Mahone's Brigade.
O glorious flags! No victory could stain
Your tattered folds with one unworthy deed,
O glorious flags! No country shall again
Fly nobler symbols in its hour of need.
Success stained not, nor could defeat degrade;
Spotless they float to-day, Mahone's Brigade.
Immortal flags, upon Time's breezes flung,
Seen by the mind in forests, or in marts,
Cherished in visions, praised from tongue to tongue,
Wrapped in the very fibres of your hearts,
And gazing on them, none may dare upbraid
Your Leader, or your men, Mahone's Brigade.
VI.
That splendid Leader's name is yours, and he
Flesh of your flesh, himself bone of your bone,
His simple name maketh a history,
Which stands, itself grand, glorious and alone,
Or, 'tis a trophy, splendidly arrayed,
With all your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.
His name itself a history? Yes, and none
May halt me here. In war and peace
It challenges the full rays of the sun;
And when the passions of our day shall cease,
'Twill stand undying, for all time displayed,
Itself a battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade.
He rose successor of that mighty man
Who was the "right arm" [2] of immortal Lee;
Whose genius put defeat beneath a ban;
Who swept the field as tempest sweeps the sea;
Who fought full hard, and yet full harder prayed.
You knew that man full well, Mahone's Brigade.
And here that great man's shadow claims a place;
Within my mind I see his image rise,
With Cromwell's will and Havelock's Christian grace;
As daring as the Swede, as Frederick wise;
Swift as Napoleon ere his hopes decayed;
You knew the hero well, Mahone's Brigade.
And when he fell his fall shook all the land,
As falling oak shakes mountain side and glen;
But soon men saw his good sword in the hand
Of one, himself born leader among men, -
Of him who led you through the fusilade,
The storm of shot and shell, Mahone's Brigade.
Immortal Lee, who triumphed o'er despair,
Greater than all the heroes I have named.
Whose life has made a Westminster where'er
His name is spoken; he, so wise and famed,
Gave Jackson's duties unto him whose blade
Was lightning to your storms, Mahone's Brigade.
Ere Jackson fell Mahone shone day by day,
A burnished lance amid that crop of spears, -
None rose above him in that grand array;
And Lee, who stood Last of the Cavaliers,
Knew he had found of War's stupendous trade,
A Master at your head, Mahone's Brigade.
O Countrymen! I see the coming days
When he, above all hinderances and lets
Shall stand in Epic form, lit by the rays
Of Fame's eternal sun that never sets,
The first great chapter of his life is made,
And spoken in two words - "Mahone's Brigade."
O Countrymen! I see historic brass
Leap from the furnace in a blazing tide;
I see it through strange transformations pass
Into a form of energy and pride;
Beneath our Capitol's majestic shade
In bronze I see Mahone - Mahone's Brigade.
O Countrymen! When dust has gone to dust.
Still shall he live in story and in rhyme;
Then History's self shall multiply his bust,
And he defy the silent Conqueror, Time.
My song is sung: My prophecy is made -
The State will make it good, Mahone's Brigade. | free_verse |
Arthur Macy | Dinner Favors, To S. B. F. | Give me but a bit to eat,
And an hour or two,
Just a salad and a sweet,
And a chat with you.
Give me table full or bare,
Crust or rich ragout;
But whatever be the fare,
Always give me you. | Give me but a bit to eat,
And an hour or two, | Just a salad and a sweet,
And a chat with you.
Give me table full or bare,
Crust or rich ragout;
But whatever be the fare,
Always give me you. | octave |
Samuel Butler | Smatterers | All smatterers are more brisk and pert
Than those that understand an art;
As little sparkles shine more bright
Than glowing coals, that give them light. | All smatterers are more brisk and pert | Than those that understand an art;
As little sparkles shine more bright
Than glowing coals, that give them light. | quatrain |
Richard Le Gallienne | Good-Night | (After The Norwegian Of Rosencrantz Johnsen)
Midnight, and through the blind the moonlight stealing
On silver feet across the sleeping room,
Ah, moonlight, what is this thou art revealing -
Her breast, a great sweet lily in the gloom.
It is their bed, white little isle of bliss
In the dark wilderness of midnight sea, -
Hush! 'tis their hearts still beating from the kiss,
The warm dark kiss that only night may see.
Their cheeks still burn, they close and nestle yet,
Ere, with faint breath, they falter out good-night,
Her hand in his upon the coverlet
Lies in the silver pathway of the light.
(LILLEHAMMER, August 22, 1892.) | (After The Norwegian Of Rosencrantz Johnsen)
Midnight, and through the blind the moonlight stealing
On silver feet across the sleeping room,
Ah, moonlight, what is this thou art revealing - | Her breast, a great sweet lily in the gloom.
It is their bed, white little isle of bliss
In the dark wilderness of midnight sea, -
Hush! 'tis their hearts still beating from the kiss,
The warm dark kiss that only night may see.
Their cheeks still burn, they close and nestle yet,
Ere, with faint breath, they falter out good-night,
Her hand in his upon the coverlet
Lies in the silver pathway of the light.
(LILLEHAMMER, August 22, 1892.) | sonnet |
Edgar Allan Poe | Silence | There are some qualities some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a twofold Silence sea and shore
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!
| There are some qualities some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a twofold Silence sea and shore | Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God! | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DXXIV. Natural History. | Dickery, dickery, dare,
The pig flew up in the air;
The man in brown soon brought him down,
Dickery, dickery, dare. | Dickery, dickery, dare, | The pig flew up in the air;
The man in brown soon brought him down,
Dickery, dickery, dare. | quatrain |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Lines by Taj Mahomed | This passion is but an ember
Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set;
I could not live and remember,
And so I love and forget.
You say, and the tone is fretful,
That my mourning days were few,
You call me over forgetful -
My God, if you only knew! | This passion is but an ember
Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set; | I could not live and remember,
And so I love and forget.
You say, and the tone is fretful,
That my mourning days were few,
You call me over forgetful -
My God, if you only knew! | octave |
Edward Lear | The Queer Querulous Quail | The Queer Querulous Quail,
who smoked a Pipe of tobacco on the top of
a Tin Tea-kettle.
| The Queer Querulous Quail, | who smoked a Pipe of tobacco on the top of
a Tin Tea-kettle. | free_verse |
Robert Burns | To The Same, On The Author Being Threatened With His Resentment. (On Seeing The Beautiful Seat Of Lord Galloway.) | Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway,
In quiet let me live:
I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give. | Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, | In quiet let me live:
I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give. | quatrain |
Robert Lee Frost | What Fifty Said | When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.
Now when I am old my teachers are the young.
What can't be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I got to school to youth to learn the future. | When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold. | I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.
Now when I am old my teachers are the young.
What can't be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I got to school to youth to learn the future. | octave |
Archibald Lampman | The Loons. | Once ye were happy, once by many a shore,
Wherever Glooscap's gentle feet might stray,
Lulled by his presence like a dream, ye lay
Floating at rest; but that was long of yore.
He was too good for earthly men; he bore
Their bitter deeds for many a patient day,
And then at last he took his unseen way.
He was your friend, and ye might rest no more:
And now, though many hundred altering years
Have passed, among the desolate northern meres
Still must ye search and wander querulously,
Crying for Glooscap, still bemoan the light
With wierd entreaties, and in agony
With awful laughter pierce the lonely night. | Once ye were happy, once by many a shore,
Wherever Glooscap's gentle feet might stray,
Lulled by his presence like a dream, ye lay
Floating at rest; but that was long of yore. | He was too good for earthly men; he bore
Their bitter deeds for many a patient day,
And then at last he took his unseen way.
He was your friend, and ye might rest no more:
And now, though many hundred altering years
Have passed, among the desolate northern meres
Still must ye search and wander querulously,
Crying for Glooscap, still bemoan the light
With wierd entreaties, and in agony
With awful laughter pierce the lonely night. | sonnet |
Edna St. Vincent Millay | To Kathleen | Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold,
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;
Still as of old his being give
In Beauty's name, while she may live,
Beauty that may not die as long
As there are flowers and you and song. | Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold, | Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;
Still as of old his being give
In Beauty's name, while she may live,
Beauty that may not die as long
As there are flowers and you and song. | octave |
John Campbell | Cuba | Spake one upon the vessel's prow, before
The sinking sun had kissed the glittering seas:
"'Twas here Columbus with his Genoese
Steered his frail barks toward the unknown store,
With hope unfaltering, though all hope seemed o'er;
Calm 'mid the mutineers the prophet mind
Saw the New World to which their eyes were blind,
Heard on its continents the breakers' roar,
Told of the golden promise of the main,
While cursed his crew, and called a madman's dream
The land his ashes only hold for Spain!
It rose on dim horizon with the gleam
Of morn, proclaiming to the kneeling throng
All treasures theirs, because one heart was strong." | Spake one upon the vessel's prow, before
The sinking sun had kissed the glittering seas:
"'Twas here Columbus with his Genoese
Steered his frail barks toward the unknown store, | With hope unfaltering, though all hope seemed o'er;
Calm 'mid the mutineers the prophet mind
Saw the New World to which their eyes were blind,
Heard on its continents the breakers' roar,
Told of the golden promise of the main,
While cursed his crew, and called a madman's dream
The land his ashes only hold for Spain!
It rose on dim horizon with the gleam
Of morn, proclaiming to the kneeling throng
All treasures theirs, because one heart was strong." | sonnet |
Oliver Herford | In Darkest Africa | At evening when the lamp is lit,
The tired Human People sit
And doze, or turn with solemn looks
The speckled pages of their books.
Then I, the Dangerous Kitten, prowl
And in the Shadows softly growl,
And roam about the farthest floor
Where Kitten never trod before.
And, crouching in the jungle damp,
I watch the Human Hunter's camp,
Ready to spring with fearful roar
As soon as I shall hear them snore.
And then with stealthy tread I crawl
Into the dark and trackless hall,
Where 'neath the Hat-tree's shadows deep
Umbrellas fold their wings and sleep.
A cuckoo calls--and to their dens
The People climb like frightened hens,
And I'm alone--and no one cares
In Darkest Africa--down stairs. | At evening when the lamp is lit,
The tired Human People sit
And doze, or turn with solemn looks
The speckled pages of their books.
Then I, the Dangerous Kitten, prowl
And in the Shadows softly growl, | And roam about the farthest floor
Where Kitten never trod before.
And, crouching in the jungle damp,
I watch the Human Hunter's camp,
Ready to spring with fearful roar
As soon as I shall hear them snore.
And then with stealthy tread I crawl
Into the dark and trackless hall,
Where 'neath the Hat-tree's shadows deep
Umbrellas fold their wings and sleep.
A cuckoo calls--and to their dens
The People climb like frightened hens,
And I'm alone--and no one cares
In Darkest Africa--down stairs. | free_verse |
John Keats | Sonnet V: To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses | As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert; when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields;
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that Queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled;
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled. | As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert; when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields; | I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that Queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled;
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled. | sonnet |
Henry Lawson | To Tom Bracken | O had you tracked where Kendall trod
I think you would be kneelin'
Three times a week and thankin' God
That you are of New Zealan'!
For this I'll say, to make it short,
An' keep my tongue from clacken,
The people are a kinder sort
You're singin' for, Tom Bracken | O had you tracked where Kendall trod
I think you would be kneelin' | Three times a week and thankin' God
That you are of New Zealan'!
For this I'll say, to make it short,
An' keep my tongue from clacken,
The people are a kinder sort
You're singin' for, Tom Bracken | octave |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | Iphigenia In Tauris (Complete) | PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS, King of the Taurians.
ORESTES. PYLADES. ARKAS.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
A Grove before the Temple of Diana.
IPHIGENIA.
Beneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughs
Of this old, shady, consecrated grove,
As in the goddess' silent sanctuary,
With the same shudd'ring feeling forth I step,
As when I trod it first, nor ever here
Doth my unquiet spirit feel at home.
Long as the mighty will, to which I bow,
Hath kept me here conceal'd, still, as at first,
I feel myself a stranger. For the sea
Doth sever me, alas! from those I love,
And day by day upon the shore I stand,
My soul still seeking for the land of Greece.
But to my sighs, the hollow-sounding waves
Bring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply.
Alas for him! who friendless and alone,
Remote from parents and from brethren dwells;
From him grief snatches every coming joy
Ere it doth reach his lip. His restless thoughts
Revert for ever to his father's halls,
Where first to him the radiant sun unclos'd
The gates of heav'n; where closer, day by day,
Brothers and sisters, leagu'd in pastime sweet,
Around each other twin'd the bonds of love.
I will not judge the counsel of the gods;
Yet, truly, woman's lot doth merit pity.
Man rules alike at home and in the field,
Nor is in foreign climes without resource;
Possession gladdens him, him conquest crowns,
And him an honourable death awaits.
How circumscrib'd is woman's destiny!
Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord,
Her duty, and her comfort; sad her fate,
Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote:
Thus I, by noble Thoas, am detain'd,
Bound with a heavy, though a sacred chain.
Oh! with what shame, Diana, I confess
That with repugnance I perform these rites
For thee, divine protectress! unto whom
I would in freedom dedicate my life.
In thee, Diana, I have always hop'd,
And still I hope in thee, who didst infold
Within the holy shelter of thine arm
The outcast daughter of the mighty king.
Daughter of Jove! hast thou from ruin'd Troy
Led back in triumph to his native land
The mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict,
His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding,--
Hast thou for him, the godlike Agamemnon,
Who to thine altar led his darling child,
Preserv'd his wife, Electra, and his son.
His dearest treasures?--then at length restore
Thy suppliant also to her friends and home,
And save her, as thou once from death didst save,
So now, from living here, a second death.
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
The king hath sent me hither, and commands
To hail Diana's priestess. This the day,
On which for new and wonderful success,
Tauris her goddess thanks. The king and host
Draw near,--I come to herald their approach.
IPHIGENIA.
We are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting;
Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye
The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.
ARKAS.
Oh, priestess, that thine eye more mildly beam'd,--
Thou much-rever'd one,--that I found thy glance,
O consecrated maid, more calm, more bright,
To all a happy omen! Still doth grief,
With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind;
Still, still, through many a year we wait in vain
For one confiding utt'rance from thy breast.
Long as I've known thee in this holy place,
That look of thine hath ever made me shudder;
And, as with iron bands, thy soul remains
Lock'd in the deep recesses of thy breast.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth become the exile and the orphan.
ARKAS.
Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?
IPHIGENIA.
Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
ARKAS.
Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals.
In early youth, when first my soul, in love,
Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd,
A group of tender germs, in union sweet,
We sprang in beauty from the parent stem,
And heavenward grew. An unrelenting curse
Then seiz'd and sever'd me from those I lov'd,
And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands.
It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth,
The simple gladness of life's early dawn;
Though sav'd, I was a shadow of myself,
And life's fresh joyance bloom'd in me no more.
ARKAS.
If thus thou ever dost lament thy fate,
I must accuse thee of ingratitude.
IPHIGENIA.
Thanks have you ever.
ARKAS.
Not the honest thanks
Which prompt the heart to offices of love;
The joyous glance, revealing to the host
A grateful spirit, with its lot content.
When thee a deep mysterious destiny
Brought to this sacred fane, long years ago.
To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven,
With reverence and affection, Thoas came.
Benign and friendly was this shore to thee,
Which had before each stranger's heart appall'd,
For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm
But fell, according to an ancient rite,
A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.
IPHIGENIA.
Freely to breathe alone is not to live.
Say, is it life, within this holy fane,
Like a poor ghost around its sepulchre
To linger out my days? Or call you that
A life of conscious happiness and joy,
When every hour, dream'd listlessly away,
Leads to those dark and melancholy days,
Which the sad troop of the departed spend
In self-forgetfulness on Lethe's shore?
A useless life is but an early death;
This, woman's lot, is eminently mine.
ARKAS.
I can forgive, though I must needs deplore,
The noble pride which underrates itself
It robs thee of the happiness of life.
And hast thou, since thy coming here, done nought?
Who cheer'd the gloomy temper of the king?
Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd,
From year to year, the usage of our sires,
By which, a victim at Diana's shrine,
Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain death
Sending so oft the rescued captive home?
Hath not Diana, harbouring no revenge
For this suspension of her bloody rites,
In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?
On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host,
Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?
And feels not every one a happier lot,
Since Thoas, who so long hath guided us
With wisdom and with valour, sway'd by thee,
The joy of mild benignity approves,
Which leads him to relax the rigid claims
Of mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou,
Thou, from whose being o'er a thousand hearts,
A healing balsam flows? when to a race.
To whom a god consign'd thee, thou dost prove
A fountain of perpetual happiness,
And from this dire inhospitable shore
Dost to the stranger grant a safe return?
IPHIGENIA.
The little done doth vanish to the mind,
Which forward sees how much remains to do.
ARKAS.
Him dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?
IPHIGENIA.
Who estimates his deeds is justly blam'd.
ARKAS.
We blame alike, who proudly disregard
Their genuine merit, and who vainly prize
Their spurious worth too highly. Trust me, priestess,
And hearken to the counsel of a man
With honest zeal devoted to thy service:
When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee,
Lend to his purpos'd words a gracious ear.
IPHIGENIA.
The well-intention'd counsel troubles me:
His offer studiously I've sought to shun.
ARKAS.
Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh.
Since the king lost his son, he trusts but few,
Nor those as formerly. Each noble's son
He views with jealous eye as his successor;
He dreads a solitary, helpless age,
Or rash rebellion, or untimely death.
A Scythian studies not the rules of speech,
And least of all the king. He who is used
To act and to command, knows not the art,
From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse
Through many windings to its destin'd goal.
Do not embarrass him with shy reserve
And studied misconception: graciously,
And with submission, meet the royal wish.
IPHIGENIA.
Shall I then speed the doom that threatens me?
ARKAS.
His gracious offer canst thou call a threat?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis the most terrible of all to me.
ARKAS.
For his affection grant him confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
If he will first redeem my soul from fear.
ARKAS.
Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?
IPHIGENIA.
A priestess secrecy doth well become.
ARKAS.
Nought to our monarch should a secret be;
And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine,
His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels,
That studiously thou hid'st thyself from him.
IPHIGENIA.
Displeasure doth he harbour 'gainst me, then?
ARKAS.
Almost it seems so. True, he speaks not of thee.
But casual words have taught me that the wish
To call thee his hath firmly seiz'd his soul;
Oh, do not leave the monarch to himself!
Lest his displeasure, rip'ning in his breast,
Should work thee woe, so with repentance thou
Too late my faithful counsel shalt recall.
IPHIGENIA.
How! doth the monarch purpose what no man
Of noble mind, who loves his honest name,
Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains,
Would ever think of? Will he force employ
To tear me from this consecrated fane?
Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee,
Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me;
Thyself a virgin, thou'lt a virgin shield,
And succour to thy priestess gladly yield.
ARKAS.
Be tranquil! Passion, and youth's fiery blood
Impel not Thoas rashly to commit
A deed so lawless. In his present mood,
I fear from him another harsh resolve,
Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmov'd,)
He then will execute without delay.
Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more,
At least be grateful--give thy confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh tell me what is further known to thee.
ARKAS.
Learn it from him. I see the king approach;
Thou honour'st him, and thy own heart will prompt thee
To meet him kindly and with confidence.
A noble man by woman's gentle word
May oft be led.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
I see not how I can
Follow the counsel of my faithful friend.
But willingly the duty I perform
Of giving thanks for benefits receiv'd,
And much I wish that to the king my lips
With truth could utter what would please his ear.
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
IPHIGENIA.
Her royal gifts the goddess shower on thee!
Imparting conquest, wealth, and high renown,
Dominion, and the welfare of thy house,
With the fulfilment of each pious wish,
That thou, who over numbers rul'st supreme,
Thyself may'st be supreme in happiness!
THOAS.
Contented were I with my people's praise;
My conquests others more than I enjoy.
Oh! be he king or subject, he's most blest,
Who in his home finds happiness and peace.
Thou shar'dst my sorrow, when a hostile sword
Tore from my side my last, my dearest son;
Long as fierce vengeance occupied my heart,
I did not feel my dwelling's dreary void;
But now, returning home, my rage appeas'd,
My foes defeated, and my son aveng'd,
I find there nothing left to comfort me.
The glad obedience, which I used to see
Kindling in every eye, is smother'd now
In discontent and gloom; each, pond'ring, weighs
The changes which a future day may bring,
And serves the childless king, because compell'd.
To-day I come within this sacred fane,
Which I have often enter'd to implore
And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast
I bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish.
To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger;
Thee, maid, a blessing to myself and realm,
I hope, as bride, to carry to my home.
IPHIGENIA.
Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown;
Abash'd the fugitive before thee stands,
Who on this shore sought only what thou gav'st,
Safety and peace.
THOAS.
Thus still to shroud thyself
From me, as from the lowest, in the veil
Of mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here,
Would in no country be deem'd just or right.
Strangers this shore appall'd; 'twas so ordain'd
Alike by law and stern necessity.
From thee alone--a kindly welcom'd guest,
Who hast enjoy'd each hallow'd privilege,
And spent thy days in freedom unrestrain'd--
From thee I hop'd that confidence to gain
Which every faithful host may justly claim.
IPHIGENIA.
If I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race,
'Twas fear that prompted me, and not mistrust.
For didst thou know who stands before thee now,
And what accursed head thy arm protects,
A shudd'ring horror would possess thy heart;
And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,
Thou, ere the time appointed, from thy realm
Wouldst banish me perchance, and thrust me forth,
Before a glad reunion with my friends
And period to my wand'rings is ordain'd,
To meet that sorrow, which in every clime,
With cold, inhospitable, fearful hand,
Awaits the outcast, exil'd from his home.
THOAS.
Whate'er respecting thee the gods decree,
Whate'er their doom for thee and for thy house,
Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'd
The privilege the pious stranger claims,
To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from Heaven;
And to persuade me, that protecting thee
I shield a guilty head, were hard indeed.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy bounty, not the guest, draws blessings down.
THOAS.
The kindness shown the wicked is not blest.
End then thy silence, priestess; not unjust
Is he who doth demand it. In my hands
The goddess plac'd thee; thou hast been to me
As sacred as to her, and her behest
Shall for the future also be my law.
If thou canst hope in safety to return
Back to thy kindred, I renounce my claims:
But is thy homeward path for ever clos'd--
Or doth thy race in hopeless exile rove,
Or lie extinguish'd by some mighty woe--
Then may I claim thee by more laws than one.
Speak openly, thou know'st I keep my word.
IPHIGENIA.
Its ancient bands reluctantly my tongue
Doth loose, a long-hid secret to divulge;
For once imparted, it resumes no more
The safe asylum of the inmost heart,
But thenceforth, as the powers above decree,
Doth work its ministry of weal or woe.
Attend! I issue from the Titan's race.
THOAS.
A word momentous calmly hast thou spoken.
Him nam'st thou ancestor whom all the world
Knows as a sometime favourite of the gods?
Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himself
Drew to his council and his social board?
On whose experienc'd words, with wisdom fraught,
As on the language of an oracle,
E'en gods delighted hung?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis even he;
But gods should not hold intercourse with men
As with themselves. Too weak the human race,
Not to grow dizzy on unwonted heights.
Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer;
To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great:
To be his friend and comrade,--but a man.
His crime was human, and their doom severe;
For poets sing, that treachery and pride
Did from Jove's table hurl him headlong down,
To grovel in the depths of Tartarus.
Alas, and his whole race their hate pursues.
THOAS.
Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'?
IPHIGENIA.
The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame
Was his descendant's certain heritage;
But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass.
Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,
He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd;
In them each passion grew to savage rage,
And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son,
The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride,
Hippodamia, child of OEnomaus,
Through treachery and murder; she ere long
Bore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes;
With envy they beheld the growing love
Their father cherish'd for a first-born son
Sprung from another union. Bound by hate,
In secret they contrive their brother's death.
The sire, the crime imputing to his wife,
With savage fury claim'd from her his child,
And she in terror did destroy herself--
THOAS.
Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative!
Do not repent thy confidence--say on!
IPHIGENIA.
How blest is he who his progenitors
With pride remembers, to the list'ner tells
The story of their greatness, of their deeds,
And, silently rejoicing, sees himself
Link'd to this goodly chain! For the same stock
Bears not the monster and the demigod:
A line, or good or evil, ushers in
The glory or the terror of the world.--
After the death of Pelops, his two sons
Rul'd o'er the city with divided sway.
But such an union could not long endure.
His brother's honour first Thyestes wounds.
In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.
Thyestes, planning horrors, long before
Had stealthily procur'd his brother's son,
Whom he in secret nurtur'd as his own.
Revenge and fury in his breast he pour'd,
Then to the royal city sent him forth,
That in his uncle he might slay his sire,
The meditated murder was disclos'd,
And by the king most cruelly aveng'd,
Who slaughter'd, as he thought, his brother's son.
Too late he learn'd whose dying tortures met
His drunken gaze; and seeking to assuage
The insatiate vengeance that possess'd his soul,
He plann'd a deed unheard of. He assum'd
A friendly tone, seem'd reconcil'd, appeas'd.
And lur'd his brother, with his children twain,
Back to his kingdom; these he seiz'd and slew;
Then plac'd the loathsome and abhorrent food
At his first meal before the unconscious sire.
And when Thyestes had his hunger still'd
With his own flesh, a sadness seiz'd his soul;
He for his children ask'd,--their steps, their voice,
Fancied he heard already at the door;
And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,
Threw in the members of the slaughter'd boys.--
Shudd'ring, O king, thou dost avert thy face:
So did the sun his radiant visage hide,
And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.
These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors,
And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,
And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,
Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,
Or shroud in gloomy twilight.
THOAS.
Hidden there
Let them abide. A truce to horror now,
And tell me by what miracle thou sprang'st
From race so savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Atreus' eldest son
Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire:
But I may say with truth, that, from a child,
In him the model of a perfect man
I witness'd ever. Clytemnestra bore
To him, myself, the firstling of their love,
Electra then. Peaceful the monarch rul'd,
And to the house of Tantalus was given
A long-withheld repose. A son alone
Was wanting to complete my parent's bliss;
Scarce was this wish fulfill'd, and young Orestes,
The household's darling, with his sisters grew,
When new misfortunes vex'd our ancient house.
To you hath come the rumour of the war,
Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,
The force united of the Grecian kings
Round Ilion's walls encamp'd. Whether the town
Was humbl'd, and achiev'd their great revenge
I have not heard. My father led the host
In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale
They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,
Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,
Through Chaleas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.
They lur'd me with my mother to the camp,
And at Diana's altar doom'd this head.--
She was appeas'd, she did not wish my blood,
And wrapt me in a soft protecting cloud;
Within this temple from the dream of death
I waken'd first. Yes, I myself am she;
Iphigenia,--I who speak to thee
Am Atreus' grandchild, Agamemnon's child,
And great Diana's consecrated priestess.
THOAS.
I yield no higher honour or regard
To the king's daughter than the maid unknown;
Once more my first proposal I repeat;
Come, follow me, and share what I possess.
IPHIGENIA.
How dare I venture such a step, O king?
Hath not the goddess who protected me
Alone a right to my devoted head?
'Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary,
Where she perchance reserves me for my sire,
By my apparent death enough chastis'd,
To be the joy and solace of his age.
Perchance my glad return is near; and how
If I, unmindful of her purposes,
Had here attach'd myself against her will?
I ask'd a signal, did she wish my stay.
THOAS.
The signal is that still thou tarriest here.
Seek not evasively such vain pretexts.
Not many words are needed to refuse,
By the refus'd the no alone is heard.
IPHIGENIA.
Mine are not words meant only to deceive;
I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd.
And doth no inward voice suggest to thee,
How I with yearning soul must pine to see
My father, mother, and my long-lost home?
Oh let thy vessels bear me thither, king!
That in the ancient halls, where sorrow still
In accents low doth fondly breathe my name,
Joy, as in welcome of a new-born child,
May round the columns twine the fairest wreath.
Thou wouldst to me and mine new life impart.
THOAS.
Then go! the promptings of thy heart obey;
Despise the voice of reason and good counsel.
Be quite the woman, sway'd by each desire,
That bridleless impels her to and fro.
When passion rages fiercely in her breast,
No sacred tie withholds her from the wretch
Who would allure her to forsake for him
A husband's or a father's guardian arms;
Extinct within her heart its fiery glow,
The golden tongue of eloquence in vain
With words of truth and power assails her ear.
IPHIGENIA.
Remember now, O king, thy noble words!
My trust and candour wilt thou thus repay?
Thou seem'dst, methought, prepar'd to hear the truth.
THOAS.
For this unlook'd-for answer not prepar'd.
Yet 'twas to be expected; knew I not
That 'twas with woman I had now to deal?
IPHIGENIA.
Upbraid not thus, O king, our feeble sex!
Though not in dignity to match with yours,
The weapons woman wields are not ignoble.
And trust me, Thoas, in thy happiness
I have a deeper insight than thyself.
Thou thinkest, ignorant alike of both,
A closer union would augment our bliss;
Inspir'd with confidence and honest zeal
Thou strongly urgest me to yield consent;
And here I thank the gods, who give me strength
To shun a doom unratified by them.
THOAS.
'Tis not a god, 'tis thine own heart that speaks.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis through the heart alone they speak to us.
THOAS.
To hear them have I not an equal right?
IPHIGENIA.
The raging tempest drowns the still, small voice.
THOAS.
This voice no doubt the priestess hears alone.
IPHIGENIA.
Before all others should the prince attend it.
THOAS.
Thy sacred office, and ancestral right
To Jove's own table, place thee with the gods
In closer union than an earth-born savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Thus must I now the confidence atone
Thyself extorted from me!
THOAS.
I'm a man,
And better 'tis we end this conference.
Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still
Of the great goddess who selected thee;
And may she pardon me, that I from her,
Unjustly and with secret self-reproach,
Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld.
From olden times no stranger near'd our shore
But fell a victim at her sacred shrine.
But thou, with kind affection (which at times
Seem'd like a gentle daughter's tender love,
At times assum'd to my enraptur'd heart
The modest inclination of a bride),
Didst so inthral me, as with magic bonds,
That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock
My senses in a dream: I did not hear
My people's murmurs: now they cry aloud,
Ascribing my poor son's untimely death
To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake
Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd,
Who urgently demand the sacrifice.
IPHIGENIA.
For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee.
Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood
Do misconceive their nature, and impute
To them their own inhuman dark desires.
Did not Diana snatch me from the priest,
Preferring my poor service to my death?
THOAS.
'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds,
Lightly to guide and construe rites divine.
Perform thy duty; I'll accomplish mine.
Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore
We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here
Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power.
With them thy goddess may once more resume
Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites!
I send them here,--thy duty not unknown. [Exit.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
Gracious protectress! thou hast clouds
To shelter innocence distress'd,
And genial gales from Fate's rude grasp,
Safely to waft her o'er the sea,
O'er the wide earth's remotest realms,
Where'er it seemeth good to thee.
Wise art thou,--thine all-seeing eye
The future and the past surveys,
And doth on all thy children rest,
E'en as thy pure and guardian light
Keeps o'er the earth its silent watch,
The beauty and the life of night.
O Goddess! keep my hands from blood!
Blessing it never brings, nor peace;
And still in evil hours the form
Of the chance-murder'd man appears
To fill the unwilling murderer's soul
With horrible and gloomy fears.
For fondly the Immortals view
Man's widely-scatter'd, simple race;
And the poor mortal's transient life
Gladly prolong, that he may raise
Awhile to their eternal heavens
His sympathetic joyous gaze.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
ORESTES. PYLADES.
ORESTES.
It is the path of death that now we tread:
At every step my soul grows more serene.
When I implor'd Apollo to remove
The grisly band of Furies from my side,
He seem'd, with hope-inspiring, godlike words,
To promise aid and safety in the fane
Of his lov'd sister, who o'er Tauris rules.
Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,
That with my life shall terminate my woe.
How easy 'tis for me, whose heart is crush'd,
Whose sense is deaden'd by a hand divine,
Thus to renounce the beauteous light of day!
And must the son of Atreus not entwine
The wreath of conquest round his dying brow--
Must I, as my forefathers, as my sire,
Bleed like a victim,--an ignoble death--
So be it! Better at the altar here,
Than in a nook obscure, where kindred hands
Have spread assassination's wily net.
Yield me this brief repose, infernal Powers!
Ye, who, like loosen'd hounds, still scent the blood,
Which, trickling from my feet, betrays my path.
Leave me! ere long I come to you below.
Nor you, nor I, should view the light of day.
The soft green carpet of the beauteous earth
Is no arena for unhallow'd fiends.
Below I seek you, where an equal fate
Binds all in murky, never-ending night.
Thee only, thee, my Pylades, my friend,
The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,
Thee am I loath, before thy time, to take
To yonder cheerless shore! Thy life or death
Alone awakens in me hope or fear.
PYLADES.
Like thee, Orestes, I am not prepar'd
Downwards to wander to yon realm of shade.
I purpose still, through the entangl'd paths,
Which seem as they would lead to blackest night,
Again to guide our upward way to life.
Of death I think not; I observe and mark
Whether the gods may not perchance present
Means and fit moment for a joyful flight.
Dreaded or not, the stroke of death must come;
And though the priestess stood with hand uprais'd,
Prepar'd to cut our consecrated locks,
Our safety still should be my only thought:
Uplift thy soul above this weak despair;
Desponding doubts but hasten on our peril.
Apollo pledg'd to us his sacred word,
That in his sister's' holy fane for thee
Were comfort, aid, and glad return prepar'd.
The words of Heaven are not equivocal,
As in despair the poor oppress'd one thinks.
ORESTES.
The mystic web of life my mother spread
Around my infant head, and so I grew,
An image of my sire; and my mute look
Was aye a bitter and a keen reproof
To her and base 'gisthus[1]. Oh, how oft,
When silently within our gloomy hall
Electra sat, and mus'd beside the fire,
Have I with anguish'd spirit climb'd her knee,
And watch'd her bitter tears with sad amaze!
Then would she tell me of our noble sire:
How much I long'd to see him--be with him!
Myself at Troy one moment fondly wish'd,
My sire's return, the next. The day arrived--
(Transcriber's Note 1: Original text read "Egisthus".)
PYLADES.
Oh, of that awful hour let fiends of hell
Hold nightly converse! Of a time more fair
May the remembrance animate our hearts
To fresh heroic deeds. The gods require
On this wide earth the service of the good,
To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee;
For in thy father's train they sent thee not,
When he to Orcus went unwilling down.
ORESTES.
Would I had seiz'd the border of his robe.
And follow'd him!
PYLADES.
They kindly car'd for me
Who here detain'd thee; for if thou hadst died
I know not what had then become of me;
Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone,
Have from my childhood liv'd, and wish to live.
ORESTES.
Do not remind me of those tranquil days,
When me thy home a safe asylum gave;
With fond solicitude thy noble sire
The half-nipp'd, tender flow'ret gently rear'd;
While thou, a friend and playmate always gay,
Like to a light and brilliant butterfly
Around a dusky flower, didst around me
Still with new life thy merry gambols play,
And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul,
Until, my cares forgetting, I with thee
Was lur'd to snatch the eager joys of youth.
PYLADES.
My very life began when thee I lov'd.
ORESTES.
Say, then thy woes began, and thou speak'st truly.
This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot,
That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear
Death and destruction hid within my breast;
That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot,
Ere long the blooming faces round betray
The writhing features of a ling'ring death.
PYLADES.
Were thy breath venom, I had been the first
To die that death, Orestes. Am I not,
As ever, full of courage and of joy?
And love and courage are the spirit's wings
Wafting to noble actions.
ORESTES.
Noble actions?
Time was, when fancy painted such before us!
When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam'd
O'er hill and valley; hoping that ere long
With club and weapon arm'd, we so might track
The robber to his den, or monster huge.
And then at twilight, by the glassy sea,
We peaceful sat, reclin'd against each other
The waves came dancing to our very feet.
And all before us lay the wide, wide world.
Then on a sudden one would seize his sword,
And future deeds shone round us like the stars,
Which gemm'd in countless throngs the vault of night.
PYLADES.
Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul
Burns to accomplish. We would every deed
At once perform as grandly as it shows
After long ages, when from land to land
The poet's swelling song hath roll'd it on.
It sounds so lovely what our fathers did,
When, in the silent evening shade reclin'd,
We drink it in with music's melting tones;
And what we do is, as their deeds to them,
Toilsome and incomplete!
Thus we pursue what always flies before;
We disregard the path in which we tread,
Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires,
Or heed the trace of their career on earth.
We ever hasten on to chase their shades,
Which godlike, at a distance far remote,
On golden clouds reclin'd, the mountains crown.
The man I prize not who esteems himself
Just as the people's breath may chance to raise him.
But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks,
That they have done so much through thee already.
ORESTES.
When they ordain a man to noble deeds,
To shield from dire calamity his friends,
Extend his empire, or protect its bounds,
Or put to flight its ancient enemies,
Let him be grateful! For to him a god
Imparts the first, the sweetest joy of life.
Me have they doom'd to be a slaughterer,
To be an honour'd mother's murderer,
And shamefully a deed of shame avenging.
Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelm'd.
Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom'd;
Nor may his last descendant leave the earth,
Or crown'd with honour or unstain'd by crime.
PYLADES.
The gods avenge not on the son the deeds
Done by the father. Each, or good or bad,
Of his own actions reaps the due reward.
The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends.
ORESTES.
Methinks their blessing did not lead us here.
PYLADES.
It was at least the mighty gods' decree.
ORESTES.
Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.
PYLADES.
Perform what they command, and wait the event.
Do thou Apollo's sister bear from hence,
That they at Delphi may united dwell,
Rever'd and honour'd by a noble race:
Thee, for this deed, the heav'nly pair will view
With gracious eye, and from the hateful grasp
Of the infernal Powers will rescue thee.
E'en now none dares intrude within this grove.
ORESTES.
So shall I die at least a peaceful death.
PYLADES.
Far other are my thoughts, and not unskill'd
Have I the future and the past combin'd
In quiet meditation. Long, perchance,
Hath ripen'd in the counsel of the gods
The great event. Diana wish d to leave
This savage region foul with human blood.
We were selected for the high emprize;
To us it is assign'd, and strangely thus
We are conducted to the threshold here.
ORESTES.
My friend, with wondrous skill thou link'st thy wish
With the predestin'd purpose of the gods.
PYLADES.
Of what avail is prudence, if it fail
Heedful to mark the purposes of Heaven?
A noble man, who much hath sinn'd, some god
Doth summon to a dangerous enterprize,
Which to achieve appears impossible.
The hero conquers, and atoning serves
Mortals and gods, who thenceforth honour him.
ORESTES.
Am I foredoom'd to action and to life,
Would that a god from my distemper'd brain
Might chase this dizzy fever, which impels
My restless steps along a slipp'ry path,
Stain'd with a mother's blood, to direful death;
And pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood,
For ever spouting from a mother's wounds,
Eternally defiles me!
PYLADES.
Wait in peace!
Thou dost increase the evil, and dost take
The office of the Furies on thyself.
Let me contrive,--be still! And when at length
The time for action claims our powers combin'd,
Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride,
With cautious boldness to achieve the event.
ORESTES.
I hear Ulysses speak!
PYLADES.
Nay, mock me not.
Each must select the hero after whom
To climb the steep and difficult ascent
Of high Olympus. And to me it seems
That him nor stratagem nor art defile
Who consecrates himself to noble deeds.
ORESTES.
I most esteem the brave and upright man.
PYLADES.
And therefore have I not desir'd thy counsel.
One step is ta'en already: from our guards
I have extorted this intelligence.
A strange and godlike woman now restrains
The execution of that bloody law:
Incense, and prayer, and an unsullied heart,
These are the gifts she offers to the gods.
Her fame is widely spread, and it is thought
That from the race of Amazon she springs,
And hither fled some great calamity.
ORESTES.
Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power
At the approach of one so criminal,
Whom the dire curse enshrouds in gloomy night.
Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood
Again unchains the ancient cruel rite:
The monarch's savage will decrees our death;
A woman cannot save when he condemns.
PYLADES.
That 'tis a woman is a ground for hope!
A man, the very best, with cruelty
At length may so familiarize his mind,
His character through custom so transform,
That he shall come to make himself a law
Of what at first his very soul abhorr'd.
But woman doth retain the stamp of mind
She first assum'd. On her we may depend
In good or evil with more certainty.
She comes; leave us alone. I dare not tell
At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide
Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile,
And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again.
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
IPHIGENIA.
Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
(She unbinds his chains.)
The freedom that I give is dangerous:
The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
PYLADES.
Delicious music! dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land!
With joy my captive eye once more beholds
The azure mountains of my native coast.
Oh, let this joy that I too am a Greek
Convince thee, priestess! How I need thine aid,
A moment I forget, my spirit wrapt
In contemplation of so fair a vision.
If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips.
From which of our illustrious races, say,
Dost thou thy godlike origin derive?
IPHIGENIA.
A priestess, by the Goddess' self ordain'd
And consecrated too, doth speak with thee.
Let that suffice: but tell me, who art thou,
And what unbless'd o'erruling destiny
Hath hither led thee with thy friend?
PYLADES.
The woe,
Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps,
I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou
Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us
One ray of cheering hope! We are from Crete,
Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born,
Named Cephalus; my eldest brother, he,
Laodamus. Between us two a youth
Of savage temper grew, who oft disturb'd
The joy and concord of our youthful sports.
Long as our father led his powers at Troy,
Passive our mother's mandate we obey'd;
But when, enrich'd with booty, he return'd,
And shortly after died, a contest fierce
For the succession and their father's wealth,
Parted the brothers. I the eldest joined;
He slew the second; and the Furies hence
For kindred murder dog his restless steps.
But to this savage shore the Delphian god
Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope, commanding us
Within his sister's temple to await
The blessed hand of aid. We have been ta'en,
Brought hither, and now stand for sacrifice.
My tale is told.
IPHIGENIA
Tell me, is Troy o'erthrown?
Assure me of its fall.
PYLADES.
It lies in ruins.
But oh, ensure deliverance to us!
Hasten, I pray, the promis'd aid of heav'n.
Pity my brother, say a kindly word;
But I implore thee, spare him when thou speakest.
Too easily his inner mind is torn
By joy, or grief, or cruel memory.
A feverish madness oft doth seize on him,
Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free,
A prey to furies.
IPHIGENIA.
Great as is thy woe,
Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while,
Till I am satisfied.
PYLADES.
The stately town,
Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host,
Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again;
Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall
Our sad remembrance to that barbarous shore;
There lies Achilles and his noble friend.
IPHIGENIA.
And are ye, godlike forms, reduc'd to dust!
PYLADES.
Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, ere again
The daylight of their native land behold.
IPHIGENIA.
He speaks not of my father, doth not name
Him with the fallen. He may yet survive!
I may behold him! still hope on, my heart!
PYLADES.
Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd
Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand!
For terror wild, and end most tragical,
Some hostile, angry, deity prepar'd,
Instead of triumph, for the home-returning.
Do human voices never reach this shore?
Far as their sound extends, they bear the fame
Of deeds unparallel'd. And is the woe
Which fills Mycene's halls with ceaseless sighs
To thee a secret still?--And know'st thou not
That Clytemnestra, with 'gisthus' aid,
Her royal consort artfully ensnar'd,
And murder'd on the day of his return?--
The monarch's house thou honourest! I perceive
Thy heaving bosom vainly doth contend
With tidings fraught with such unlook'd-for woe
Art thou the daughter of a friend? or born
Within the circuit of Mycene's walls?
Do not conceal it, nor avenge on me
That here the horrid crime I first announc'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.
PYLADES.
The day of his return, as from the bath
Arose the monarch, tranquil and refresh'd.
His robe demanding from his consort's hand,
A tangl'd garment, complicate with folds.
She o'er his shoulders flung and noble head;
And when, as from a net, he vainly strove
To extricate himself, the traitor, base
'gisthus, smote him, and envelop'd thus
Great Agamemnon sought the shades below.
IPHIGENIA.
And what reward receiv'd the base accomplice?
PYLADES.
A queen and kingdom he possess'd already.
IPHIGENIA.
Base passion prompted, then, the deed of shame?
PYLADES.
And feelings, cherish'd long, of deep revenge.
IPHIGENIA.
How had the monarch injured Clytemnestra?
PYLADES.
By such a dreadful deed, that if on earth
Aught could exculpate murder, it were this.
To Aulis he allur'd her, when the fleet
With unpropitious winds the goddess stay'd;
And there, a victim at Diana's shrine,
The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks,
Her eldest daughter doom'd. And this, 'tis said,
Planted such deep abhorrence in her heart,
That to 'gisthus she resign'd herself,
And round her husband flung the web of death.
IPHIGENIA. (veiling herself).
It is enough! Thou wilt again behold me.
PYLADES, alone.
The fortune of this royal house, it seems,
Doth move her deeply. Whosoe'er she be,
She must herself have known the monarch well;--
For our good fortune, from a noble house,
She hath been sold to bondage. Peace, my heart!
And let us steer our course with prudent zeal
Toward the star of hope which gleams upon us.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
IPHIGENIA. ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds
In token of a still severer doom.
The freedom which the sanctuary imparts,
Like the last life-gleam o'er the dying face,
But heralds death. I cannot, dare not say
Your doom is hopeless; for, with murd'rous hand,
Could I inflict the fatal blow myself?
And while I here am priestess of Diana,
None, be he who he may, dare touch your heads.
But the incensed king, should I refuse
Compliance with the rites himself enjoin'd,
Will choose another virgin from my train
As my successor. Then, alas! with nought,
Save ardent wishes, can I succour you,
Much honour'd countryman! The humblest slave,
Who had but near'd our sacred household hearth,
Is dearly welcome in a foreign land;
How with proportion'd joy and blessing, then,
Shall I receive the man who doth recall
The image of the heroes, whom I learn'd
To honour from my parents, and who cheers
My inmost heart with flatt'ring gleams of hope!
ORESTES.
Does prudent forethought prompt thee to conceal
Thy name and race? or may I hope to know
Who, like a heavenly vision, meets me thus?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, thou shalt know me. Now conclude the tale
Of which thy brother only told me half:
Relate their end, who coming home from Troy,
On their own threshold met a doom severe
And most unlook'd for. I, though but a child
When first conducted hither, well recall
The timid glance of wonder which I cast
On those heroic forms. When they went forth,
it seem'd as though Olympus from her womb
Had cast the heroes of a by-gone world,
To frighten Ilion; and, above them all,
Great Agamemnon tower'd pre-eminent!
Oh tell me! Fell the hero in his home,
Though Clytemnestra's and 'gisthus' wiles?
ORESTES.
He fell!
IPHIGENIA.
Unblest Mycene! Thus the sons
Of Tantalus, with barbarous hands, have sown
Curse upon curse; and, as the shaken weed
Scatters around a thousand poison-seeds,
So they assassins ceaseless generate,
Their children's children ruthless to destroy.--
Now tell the remnant of thy brother's tale,
Which horror darkly hid from me before.
How did the last descendant of the race,--
The gentle child, to whom the Gods assign'd
The office of avenger,--how did he
Escape that day of blood? Did equal fate
Around Orestes throw Avernus' net?
Say, was he saved? and is he still alive?
And lives Electra, too?
ORESTES.
They both survive.
IPHIGENIA.
Golden Apollo, lend thy choicest beams!
Lay them an offering at the throne of Jove!
For I am poor and dumb.
ORESTES.
If social bonds
Or ties more close connect thee with this house,
As this thy joy evinces, rein thy heart;
For insupportable the sudden plunge
From happiness to sorrow's gloomy depth.
As yet thou only know'st the hero's death.
IPHIGENIA.
And is not this intelligence enough?
ORESTES.
Half of the horror yet remains untold,
IPHIGENIA.
Electra and Orestes both survive,
What have I then to fear?
ORESTES.
And fear'st thou nought
For Clytemnestra?
IPHIGENIA.
Her, nor hope nor fear
Have power to save.
ORESTES.
She to the land of hope
Hath bid farewell.
IPHIGENIA.
Did her repentant hand
Shed her own blood?
ORESTES.
Not so; yet her own blood
Inflicted death.
IPHIGENIA.
Speak less ambiguously.
Uncertainty around my anxious head
Her dusky, thousand-folded, pinion waves.
ORESTES.
Have then the powers above selected me
To be the herald of a dreadful deed,
Which, in the drear and soundless realms of night,
I fain would hide for ever? 'Gainst my will
Thy gentle voice constrains me; it demands,
And shall receive, a tale of direst woe.
Electra, on the day when fell her sire,
Her brother from impending doom conceal'd;
Him Strophius, his father's relative,
With kindest care receiv'd, and rear'd the child
With his own son, named Pylades, who soon
Around the stranger twin'd the bonds of love.
And as they grew, within their inmost souls
There sprang the burning longing to revenge
The monarch's death. Unlookd for, and disguis'd,
They reach Mycene, feigning to have brought
The mournful tidings of Orestes' death,
Together with his ashes. Them the queen
Gladly receives. Within the house they enter;
Orestes to Electra shows himself:
She fans the fires of vengeance into flame,
Which in the sacred presence of a mother
Had burn'd more dimly. Silently she leads
Her brother to the spot where fell their sire;
Where lurid blood-marks, on the oft-wash'd floor,
With pallid streaks, anticipate revenge.
With fiery eloquence she pictures forth
Each circumstance of that atrocious deed,--
Her own oppress'd and miserable life,
The prosperous traitor's insolent demeanour,
The perils threat'ning Agamemnon's race
From her who had become their stepmother;
Then in his hand the ancient dagger thrusts,
Which often in the house of Tantalus
With savage fury rag'd,--and by her son
Is Clytemnestra slain.
IPHIGENIA.
Immortal powers!
Whose pure and blest existence glides away
'Mid ever shifting clouds, me have ye kept
So many years secluded from the world,
Retain'd me near yourselves, consign'd to me
The childlike task to feed the sacred fire,
And taught my spirit, like the hallow'd flame,
With never-clouded brightness to aspire
To your pure mansions,--but at length to feel
With keener woe the misery of my house?
Oh tell me of the poor unfortunate!
Speak of Orestes!
ORESTES.
Would that he were dead!
Forth from his mother's blood her ghost arose,
And to the ancient daughters of the night
Cries,--"Let him not escape,--the matricide!
Pursue the victim, dedicate to you!"
They hear, and glare around with hollow eyes,
Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens
They stir themselves, and from the corners creep
Their comrades, dire Remorse and pallid Fear;
Before them fumes a mist of Acheron;
Perplexingly around the murderer's brow
The eternal contemplation of the past
Rolls in its cloudy circles. Once again
The grisly band, commissioned to destroy,
Pollute earth's beautiful and heaven-sown fields,
From which an ancient curse had banish'd them.
Their rapid feet the fugitive pursue;
They only pause to start a wilder fear.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy one; thy lot resembles his,
Thou feel'st what he, poor fugitive, must suffer.
ORESTES.
What say'st thou? why presume my fate like his?
IPHIGENIA.
A brother's murder weighs upon thy soul;
Thy younger brother told the mournful tale.
ORESTES.
I cannot suffer that thy noble soul
Should be deceiv'd by error. Rich in guile,
And practis'd in deceit, a stranger may
A web of falsehood cunningly devise
To snare a stranger;--between us be truth.
I am Orestes! and this guilty head
Is stooping to the tomb, and covets death;
It will be welcome now in any shape.
Whoe'er thou art, for thee and for my friend
I wish deliverance;--I desire it not.
Thou seem'st to linger here against thy will;
Contrive some means of flight, and leave me here:
My lifeless corpse hurl'd headlong from the rock,
My blood shall mingle with the dashing waves,
And bring a curse upon this barbarous shore!
Return together home to lovely Greece,
With joy a new existence to commence.
[ORESTES retires.
IPHIGENIA.
At length Fulfilment, fairest child of Jove,
Thou dost descend upon me from on high!
How vast thine image! scarce my straining eye
Can reach thy hands, which, fill'd with golden fruit
And wreaths of blessing, from Olympus' height
Shower treasures down. As by his bounteous gifts
We recognize the monarch (for what seems
To thousands opulence is nought to him),
So you, ye heavenly Powers, are also known
By bounty long withheld, and wisely plann'd.
Ye only know what things are good for us;
Ye view the future's wide-extended realm;
While from our eye a dim or starry veil
The prospect shrouds. Calmly ye hear our prayers,
When we like children sue for greater speed.
Not immature ye pluck heaven's golden fruit;
And woe to him, who with impatient hand,
His date of joy forestalling, gathers death.
Let not this long-awaited happiness,
Which yet my heart hath scarcely realiz'd,
Like to the shadow of departed friends,
Glide vainly by with triple sorrow fraught!
ORESTES, returning.
Dost thou for Pylades and for thyself
Implore the gods, blend not my name with yours;
Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join,
But wilt participate his curse and woe.
IPHIGENIA.
My destiny is firmly bound to thine.
ORESTES.
No, say not so; alone and unattended
Let me descend to Hades. Though thou shouldst
In thine own veil enwrap the guilty one.
Thou couldst not shroud him from his wakeful foes;
And e'en thy sacred presence, heavenly maid,
Drives them aside, but scares them not away.
With brazen impious feet they dare not tread
Within the precincts of this sacred grove:
Yet in the distance, ever and anon,
I hear their horrid laughter, like the howl
Of famish'd wolves, beneath the tree wherein
The traveller hides. Without, encamp'd they lie,
And should I quit this consecrated grove,
Shaking their serpent locks, they would arise,
And, raising clouds of dust on every side,
Ceaseless pursue their miserable prey.
IPHIGENIA.
Orestes, canst thou hear a friendly word?
ORESTES.
Reserve it for one favour'd by the gods.
IPHIGENIA.
To thee they give anew the light of hope.
ORESTES.
Through clouds and smoke I see the feeble gleam
Of the death-stream which lights me down to hell.
IPHIGENIA.
Hast thou one sister only, thy Electra?
ORESTES.
I knew but one: yet her kind destiny,
Which seem'd to us so terrible, betimes
Removed an elder sister from the woe
That dogs the race of Pelops. Cease, oh cease
Thy questions, maiden, nor thus league thyself
With the Eumenides, who blow away,
With fiendish joy, the ashes from my soul,
Lest the last spark of horror's fiery brand
Should be extinguish'd there. Must then the fire,
Deliberately kindl'd and supplied
With hellish sulphur, never cease to sear
My tortur'd bosom?
IPHIGENIA.
In the flame I throw
Sweet incense. Let the gentle breath of love,
Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow.
Orestes, fondly lov'd,--canst thou not hear me?
Hath the terrific Furies' grisly band
Completely dried the life-blood in thy veins?
Creeps there, as from the Gorgon's direful head,
A petrifying charm through all thy limbs?
If hollow voices, from a mother's blood,
Call thee to hell, may not a sister's word
With benediction pure ascend to heaven,
And summon thence some gracious power to aid thee?
ORESTES.
She calls! she calls!--Thou too desir'st my death?
Is there a fury shrouded in thy form?
Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA.
Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she,
Iphigenia,--look on me, Orestes!
ORESTES.
Thou!
IPHIGENIA.
My own brother!
ORESTES.
Hence, away, begone!
Touch not these locks, I counsel thee; from me,
As from Creusa's bridal robe, proceeds
An unextinguishable fire. Depart!
Like Hercules, an ignominious death,
Unworthy wretch, look'd in myself, I'll die.
IPHIGENIA.
Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implor'd so long.
A wheel of joy and sorrow in my heart
Ceaseless revolves. With shy reserve I turn
From one unknown; but unto thee, my brother,
My inmost heart resistlessly impels me.
ORESTES.
Is this Ly'us' temple? Doth the glow
Of holy rage unbridl'd thus possess
The sacred priestess?
IPHIGENIA.
Hear me, oh, look up!
See how my heart, which hath been clos'd so long,
Doth open to the bliss of seeing thee,
The dearest treasure that the world contains,--
Of falling on thy neck, and folding thee
Within my longing arms, which have till now
Met the embraces of the empty wind.
Do not repulse me,--the eternal spring,
Whose crystal waters from Parnassus flow,
Bounds not more gaily on from rock to rock,
Down to the golden vale, than from my heart
The waters of affection freely gush,
And round me form a circling sea of bliss.
Orestes! Oh, my brother!
ORESTES.
Lovely nymph!
Nor thy caresses, nor thyself I trust;
Diana claims attendants more severe,
And doth avenge her desecrated fane.
Remove thy circling arm! and if thou wilt
Safety and love upon a youth bestow,
Unto my friend, more worthy than myself,
Impart thy gifts; among yon rocks he roves;
Go seek him, guide him hence, and heed not me.
IPHIGENIA.
Brother, command thyself, and better know
Thy new-found sister, nor misconstrue thus
Her pure and heav'nly joy. Ye Gods, remove
From his fix'd eye delusion, lest this hour
Of highest bliss should make us trebly wretched!
Oh she is here, thine own, thy long-lost sister,
Whom great Diana from the altar snatch'd,
And safely plac'd here in her sacred fane.
A captive thou, prepar'd for sacrifice,
And findest here a sister in the priestess.
ORESTES.
Accursed race! Now may the sun behold
Your final doom. Is not Electra here?
That she with us may perish, nor her life
For heavier doom and deeper woe reserve.
'Tis well,--I follow, priestess! Fratricide
Is an old custom of our ancient house;
And you, ye Gods, I thank, that ye resolve
Childless to root me hence. Thee let me counsel
To view too fondly neither sun nor stars.
Come follow to the gloomy realms below!
As dragons, gender'd in the sulphur pool,
Swallow each other with voracious rage,
So our accurs'd race destroys itself.
Childless and guiltless come below with me!
There's pity in thy look! oh, gaze not so,--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierc'd.
His mother fell!--Appear, indignant shade!
Within the circle step, ye fiends of hell,
Be present at the welcome spectacle,
The last, most horrible, that ye prepare!
Nor hate, nor vengeance, whets the poignard now,
A sister is constrain'd to deal the blow.
Weep not! Thy guiltless soul is free from crime.
From earliest infancy I nought have lov'd,
As thee I could have lov'd, my sister. Come,
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams!
(He sinks exhausted.)
IPHIGENIA.
Alone I cannot bear this bliss and woe.
Where art thou, Pylades? Thine aid I need.
(Iphigenia retires.)
SCENE II.
ORESTES,
Recovering from his swoon and standing up.
Give yet another! reach from Lethe's stream
The last reviving draught of cool refreshment!
Soon shall its waters in my bosom still
Life's fitful fever; and my spirit then
Adown oblivion's stream shall glide to you,
Ye spirits, shrouded in eternal mist.
With tranquil pleasure in your deep repose
A weary son of earth may lave his soul!--
What whisp'ring sounds pervade the dreary grove?
What hollow murmurs haunt its twilight gloom?--
They gather round to view the stranger guest!
Who are yon troop in high communion met,
Like an assembl'd family of princes?
They mingle peacefully, of every age,
And either sex, yet are their godlike forms
Cast in a kindred mould. 'Tis they, 'tis they,
The fathers of my race! With Atreus,
In friendly converse glides Thyestes' shade,
And children playfully around them sport.
Is there no enmity among you now?
And is revenge extinguish'd with the sun?
I then am welcome, and may hope to join
Your solemn company. My fathers, hail!
Orestes, last descendant of your race,
Salutes you. What ye sow'd, that hath he reap'd
Laden with curses he descends to you.
But burdens here are lighter far to bear.
Receive him, oh, receive him in your circle!
Thee, Atreus, I revere, and thee, Thyestes:
Here all are free from enmity and hate.--
Show me my father, whom I only once
In life beheld.--Art thou my father, thou,
My mother leading thus familiarly?
Dares Clytemnestra reach her hand to thee;
Then may Orestes also draw near her,
And say, behold thy son!--My ancestors,
Behold your son, and bid him welcome here,
Among the sons of ancient Tantalus,
A kind salute on earth was murder's watchword,
And all their joys commence beyond the grave.
Ye welcome me! Ye bid me join your circle!
Oh, lead me to my honour'd ancestor!
Where is the aged hero? that I may
Behold the dear, the venerable head,
Of him, who with the gods in council sat.
You seem to shudder and to turn away?
What may this mean? Suffers the godlike man?
Alas! the mighty gods, with ruthless hate,
To his heroic breast, with brazen chains,
Have cruel pangs indissolubly bound.
SCENE III.
ORESTES. IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
ORESTES.
How! are ye come already? Sister, welcome.
Electra still is missing: some kind god
With gentle arrow send her quickly hither.
Thee, my poor friend, I must compassionate!
Come with me, come to Pluto's gloomy throne.
There to salute our hosts like stranger guests.
IPHIGENIA.
Celestial pair, who from the realms above
By night and day shed down the beauteous light
To cheer mankind, but who may not illume
Departed spirits, save a mortal pair!
A brother's and a sister's anguish pity!
For thou, Diana, lov'st thy gentle brother
Beyond what earth and heaven can offer thee
And dost, with quiet yearning, ever turn
Thy virgin face to his eternal light.
Let not my only brother, found so late,
Rave in the darkness of insanity!
And is thy will, when thou didst here conceal me,
At length fulfill'd,--would'st thou to me through him,
To him through me, thy gracious aid extend,--
Oh, free him from the fetters of this curse,
Lest vainly pass the precious hours of safety.
PYLADES.
Dost thou not know us, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Dost thou not feel thy sister and thy friend,
Who hold thee living in their firm embrace?
Grasp us! we are not shadows. Mark my words!
Collect thyself,--each moment now is precious,
And our return hangs on a slender thread,
Which, as it seems, some gracious fate doth spin.
ORESTES to IPHIGENIA.
My sister, let me for the first time taste,
With open heart, pure joy within thine arms!
Ye gods, who charge the heavy clouds with dread,
And sternly gracious send the long-sought rain
With thunder and the rush of mighty winds,
A horrid deluge on the trembling earth;
Yet dissipate at length man's dread suspense,
Exchanging timid wonder's anxious gaze
For grateful looks and joyous songs of praise,
When in each sparkling drop which gems the leaves,
Apollo, thousand-fold, reflects his beam,
And Iris colours with a magic hand
The dusky texture of the parting clouds;
Oh, let me also in my sister's arms,
And on the bosom of my friend, enjoy
With grateful thanks the bliss ye now bestow
My heart assures me that your curses cease.
The dread Eumenides at length retire,
The brazen gates of Tartarus I hear
Behind them closing with a thund'ring clang.
A quick'ning odour from the earth ascends,
Inviting me to chase, upon its plains,
The joys of life and deeds of high emprise.
PYLADES.
Lose not the moments which are limited!
The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
IPHIGENIA.
When the Powers on high decree
For a feeble child of earth
Dire perplexity and woe,
And his spirit doom to pass
With tumult wild from joy to grief,
And back again from grief to joy,
In fearful alternation;
They in mercy then provide,
In the precincts of his home,
Or upon the distant shore,
That to him may never fail
Ready help in hours of need,
A tranquil, faithful friend.
Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades,
And every project that his mind may form!
In combat his the vigorous arm of youth,
And in the counsel his the eye of age.
His soul is tranquil; in his inner mind
He guards a sacred, undisturb'd repose,
And from its silent depths a rich supply
Of aid and counsel draws for the distress'd.
He tore me from my brother, upon whom,
With fond amaze, I gaz'd and gaz'd again;
I could not realize my happiness,
Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not
The danger's near approach that threatens us.
To execute their project of escape,
They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
Their comrades in the vessel lie conceal'd
And wait a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers, should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Alas! I see
I must consent to follow like a child.
I have not learn'd deception, nor the art
To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.
Detested falsehood! it doth not relieve
The breast like words of truth: it comforts not,
But is a torment in the forger's heart,
And, like an arrow which a god directs,
Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart
One fear doth chase another; perhaps with rage,
Again on the unconsecrated shore,
The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.
Perchance they are surpris'd? Methinks I hear
The tread of armed men. A messenger
Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.
How throbs my heart, how troubl'd is my soul
Now that I see the countenance of one,
Whom with a word untrue I must encounter!
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice,
Impatiently the king and people wait.
IPHIGENIA.
I had perform'd my duty and thy will,
Had not an unforeseen impediment
The execution of my purpose thwarted.
ARKAS.
What is it that obstructs the king's commands?
IPHIGENIA.
Chance, which from mortals will not brook control.
ARKAS.
Possess me with the reason, that with speed
I may inform the king, who hath decreed
The death of both.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods have not decreed it.
The elder of these men doth bear the guilt
Of kindred murder; on his steps attend
The dread Eumenides. They seiz'd their prey
Within the inner fane, polluting thus
The holy sanctuary. I hasten now,
Together with my virgin-train, to bathe
Diana's image in the sea, and there
With solemn rites its purity restore.
Let none presume our silent march to follow!
ARKAS.
This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce:
Do not commence the rite till he permit.
IPHIGENIA.
The priestess interferes alone in this.
ARKAS.
An incident so strange the king should know.
IPHIGENIA.
Here, nor his counsel nor command avails.
ARKAS.
Oft are the great consulted out of form.
IPHIGENIA.
Do not insist on what I must refuse.
ARKAS.
A needful and a just demand refuse not.
IPHIGENIA.
I yield, if thou delay not.
ARKAS.
I with speed
Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon
Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.
There is a message I would gladly bear him:
'Twould quickly banish all perplexity:
Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.
IPHIGENIA.
I willingly have done whate'er I could.
ARKAS.
E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy mind.
IPHIGENIA.
To do so is, alas, beyond our power.
ARKAS.
What thou wouldst shun, thou deem'st impossible.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.
ARKAS.
Wilt thou so calmly venture everything?
IPHIGENIA.
My fate I have committed to the gods.
ARKAS.
The gods are wont to save by human means.
IPHIGENIA.
By their appointment everything is done.
ARKAS.
Believe me, all doth now depend on thee.
The irritated temper of the king
Alone condemns these men to bitter death.
The soldiers from the cruel sacrifice
And bloody service long have been disused;
Nay, many, whom their adverse fortunes cast
In foreign regions, there themselves have felt
How godlike to the exil'd wanderer
The friendly countenance of man appears.
Do not deprive us of thy gentle aid!
With ease thou canst thy sacred task fulfil:
For nowhere doth benignity, which comes
In human form from heaven, so quickly gain
An empire o'er the heart, as where a race,
Gloomy and savage, full of life and power,
Without external guidance, and oppress'd
With vague forebodings, bear life's heavy load.
IPHIGENIA.
Shake not my spirit, which thou canst not bend
According to thy will.
ARKAS.
While there is time
Nor labour nor persuasion shall be spar'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy labour but occasions pain to me;
Both are in vain; therefore, I pray, depart.
ARKAS.
I summon pain to aid me. 'tis a friend
Who counsels wisely.
IPHIGENIA.
Though it shakes my soul,
It doth not banish thence my strong repugnance.
ARKAS.
Can then a gentle soul repugnance feel
For benefits bestow'd by one so noble?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, when the donor, for those benefits,
Instead of gratitude, demands myself.
ARKAS.
Who no affection feels doth never want
Excuses. To the king I'll now relate
All that has happen'd. Oh, that in thy soul
Thou wouldst revolve his noble conduct, priestess,
Since thy arrival to the present day!
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
These words at an unseasonable hour
Produce a strong revulsion in my breast;
I am alarm'd!--For as the rushing tide
In rapid currents eddies o'er the rocks
Which lie among the sand upon the shore;
E'en so a stream of joy o'erwhelm'd my soul.
I grasp'd what had appear'd impossible.
It was as though another gentle cloud
Around me lay, to raise me from the earth,
And rock my spirit in the same sweet sleep
Which the kind goddess shed around my brow,
What time her circling arm from danger snatch'd me.
My brother forcibly engross'd my heart;
I listen'd only to his friend's advice;
My soul rush'd eagerly to rescue them,
And as the mariner with joy surveys
The less'ning breakers of a desert isle,
So Tauris lay behind me. But the voice
Of faithful Arkas wakes me from my dream,
Reminding me that those whom I forsake
Are also men. Deceit doth now become
Doubly detested. O my soul, be still!
Beginn'st thou now to tremble and to doubt?
Thy lonely shelter on the firm-set earth
Must thou abandon? and, embark'd once more,
At random drift upon tumultuous waves,
A stranger to thyself and to the world?
SCENE IV.
IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
PYLADES.
Where is she? that my words with speed may tell
The joyful tidings of our near escape!
IPHIGENIA.
Oppress'd with gloomy care, I much require
The certain comfort thou dost promise me.
PYLADES.
Thy brother is restor'd! The rocky paths
Of this unconsecrated shore we trod
In friendly converse, while behind us lay,
Unmark'd by us, the consecrated grove;
And ever with increasing glory shone
The fire of youth around his noble brow.
Courage and hope his glowing eye inspir'd;
And his free heart exulted with the joy
Of saving thee, his sister, and his friend.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods shower blessings on thee, Pylades!
And from those lips which breathe such welcome news,
Be the sad note of anguish never heard!
PYLADES.
I bring yet more,--for Fortune, like a prince,
Comes not alone, but well accompanied.
Our friends and comrades we have also found.
Within a bay they had conceal'd the ship,
And mournful sat expectant. They beheld
Thy brother, and a joyous shout uprais'd,
Imploring him to haste the parting hour.
Each hand impatient long'd to grasp the oar,
While from the shore a gently murmuring breeze,
Perceiv'd by all, unfurl'd its wing auspicious.
Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane,
That I may tread the sanctuary, and seize
With sacred awe the object of our hopes.
I can unaided on my shoulder bear
Diana's image: how I long to feel
The precious burden!
[While speaking the last words, he approaches the Temple,
without perceiving that he is not followed by
Iphigenia: at length he turns round.]
Why thus ling'ring stand.
Why art thou silent? wherefore thus confus'd?
Doth some new obstacle oppose our bliss?
Inform me, hast thou to the king announc'd
The prudent message we agreed upon?
IPHIGENIA.
I have, dear Pylades; yet wilt thou chide.
Thy very aspect is a mute reproach.
The royal messenger arriv'd, and I,
According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech.
He seem'd surpris'd, and urgently besought,
That to the monarch I should first announce
The rite unusual, and attend his will.
I now await the messenger's return.
PYLADES.
Danger again doth hover o'er our heads!
O priestess, why neglect to shroud thyself
Within the veil of sacerdotal rites?
IPHIGENIA.
I never have employ'd them as a veil.
PYLADES.
Pure soul! thy scruples will destroy alike
Thyself and us. Why did I not foresee
Such an emergency, and tutor thee
This counsel also wisely to elude?
IPHIGENIA.
Chide only me, for mine alone the blame.
Yet other answer could I not return
To him, who strongly and with reason urg'd
What my own heart acknowledg'd to be right.
PYLADES.
The danger thickens; but let us be firm,
Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves;
Calmly await the messenger's return,
And then stand fast, whatever his reply:
For the appointment of such sacred rites
Doth to the priestess, not the king belong.
Should he demand the stranger to behold
Who is by madness heavily oppress'd,
Evasively pretend, that in the fane,
Securely guarded, thou retain'st us both.
Thus you secure us time to fly with speed,
Bearing the sacred treasure from this race,
Unworthy its possession. Phoebus sends
Auspicious omens, and fulfils his word,
Ere we the first conditions have perform'd.
Free is Orestes, from the curse absolv'd!
Oh, with the freed one, to the rocky isle
Where dwells the god, waft us, propitious gales!
Thence to Mycene, that she may revive;
That from the ashes of the extinguish'd hearth,
The household gods may joyously arise,
And beauteous fire illumine their abode!
Thy hand from golden censers first shall strew
The fragrant incense. O'er that threshold thou
Shalt life and blessing once again dispense,
The curse atone, and all thy kindred grace
With the fresh bloom of renovated life.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,
Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,
Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.
How dear the counsel of a present friend,
Lacking whose godlike power, the lonely one
In silence droops! for, lock'd within his breast,
Slowly are ripen'd purpose and resolve,
Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matur'd.
PYLADES.
Farewell! I haste to re-assure our friends,
Who anxiously await us: then with speed
I will return, and, hid within the brake,
Attend thy signal.--Wherefore, all at once,
Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?
IPHIGENIA.
Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun,
So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.
PYLADES.
Oh, banish fear! With danger it hath form'd
A close alliance,--they are constant friends.
IPHIGENIA.
It is an honest scruple, which forbids
That I should cunningly deceive the king,
And plunder him who was my second sire.
PYLADES.
Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother.
IPHIGENIA.
To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.
PYLADES.
What Fate commands is not ingratitude.
IPHIGENIA.
Alas! it still remains ingratitude;
Necessity alone can justify it.
PYLADES.
Thee, before gods and men it justifies.
IPHIGENIA.
But my own heart is still unsatisfied.
PYLADES.
Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.
IPHIGENIA.
I cannot argue, I can only feel.
PYLADES.
Conscious of right, thou shouldst respect thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Then only doth the heart know perfect ease,
When not a stain pollutes it.
PYLADES.
In this fane
Pure hast thou kept thy heart. Life teaches us
To be less strict with others and ourselves;
Thou'lt learn the lesson too. So wonderful
Is human nature, and its varied ties
Are so involv'd and complicate, that none
May hope to keep his inmost spirit pure,
And walk without perplexity through life.
Nor are we call'd upon to judge ourselves;
With circumspection to pursue his path,
Is the immediate duty of a man.
For seldom can he rightly estimate,
Or his past conduct or his present deeds.
IPHIGENIA.
Almost thou dost persuade me to consent.
PYLADES.
Needs there persuasion when no choice is granted?
To save thyself, thy brother, and a friend,
One path presents itself, and canst thou ask
If we shall follow it?
IPHIGENIA.
Still let me pause,
For such injustice thou couldst not thyself
Calmly return for benefits receiv'd.
PYLADES.
If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,
Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.
It seems thou art not used to suffer much,
When, to escape so great calamity,
Thou canst refuse to utter one false word.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, that I bore within a manly heart!
Which, when it hath conceiv'd a bold resolve,
'Gainst every other voice doth close itself.
PYLADES.
In vain thou dost refuse; with iron hand
Necessity commands; her stern decree
Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves
Must yield submission. In dread silence rules
The uncounsell'd sister of eternal fate.
What she appoints thee to endure,--endure;
What to perform,--perform. The rest thou know'st.
Ere long I will return, and then receive
The seal of safety from thy sacred hand.
SCENE V.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
I must obey him, for I see my friends
Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate
Doth with increasing anguish move my heart.
May I no longer feed the silent hope
Which in my solitude I fondly cherish'd?
Shall the dire curse eternally endure?
And shall our fated race ne'er rise again
With blessings crown'd?--All mortal things decay!
The noblest powers, the purest joys of life
At length subside: then wherefore not the curse?
And have I vainly hop'd that, guarded here,
Secluded from the fortunes of my race,
I, with pure heart and hands, some future day
Might cleanse the deep defilement of our house?
Scarce was my brother in my circling arms
From raging madness suddenly restor'd,
Scarce had the ship, long pray'd for, near'd the strand,
Once more to waft me to my native shores,
When unrelenting fate, with iron hand,
A double crime enjoins; commanding me
To steal the image, sacred and rever'd,
Confided to my care, and him deceive
To whom I owe my life and destiny.
Let not abhorrence spring within my heart!
Nor the old Titan's hate, toward you, ye gods,
Infix its vulture talons in my breast!
Save me, and save your image in my soul!
An ancient song comes back upon mine ear--
I had forgotten it, and willingly--
The Parc''s song, which horribly they sang,
What time, hurl'd headlong from his golden seat,
Fell Tantalus. They with their noble friend
Keen anguish suffer'd; savage was their breast
And horrible their song. In days gone by,
When we were children, oft our ancient nurse
Would sing it to us, and I mark'd it well.
Oh, fear the immortals,
Ye children of men!
Eternal dominion
They hold in their hands.
And o'er their wide empire
Wield absolute sway.
Whom they have exalted
Let him fear them most!
Around golden tables,
On cliffs and clouds resting
The seats are prepar'd.
If contest ariseth;
The guests are hurl'd headlong,
Disgrac'd and dishonour'd,
And fetter'd in darkness,
Await with vain longing,
A juster decree.
But in feasts everlasting,
Around the gold tables
Still dwell the immortals.
From mountain to mountain
They stride; while ascending
From fathomless chasms,
The breath of the Titans,
Half stifl'd with anguish,
Like volumes of incense
Fumes up to the skies.
From races ill-fated,
Their aspect joy-bringing,
Oft turn the celestials,
And shun in the children
To gaze on the features
Once lov'd and still speaking
Of their mighty sire.
Thus sternly the Fates sang
Immur'd in his dungeon.
The banish'd one listens,
The song of the Parc',
His children's doom ponders,
And boweth his head.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
THOAS. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
I own I am perplex'd, and scarcely know
'Gainst whom to point the shaft of my suspicion,
Whether the priestess aids the captives' flight,
Or they themselves clandestinely contrive it.
'Tis rumour'd that the ship which brought them here
Is lurking somewhere in a bay conceal'd.
This stranger's madness, these new lustral rites,
The specious pretext for delay, excite
Mistrust, and call aloud for vigilance.
THOAS.
Summon the priestess to attend me here!
Then go with speed, and strictly search the shore,
From yon projecting land to Dian's grove:
Forbear to violate its sacred depths;
A watchful ambush set, attack and seize,
According to your wont, whome'er ye find.
[Arkas retires.
SCENE II.
THOAS, alone.
Fierce anger rages in my riven breast,
First against her, whom I esteem'd so pure;
Then 'gainst myself, whose foolish lenity
Hath fashion'd her for treason. Man is soon
Inur'd to slavery, and quickly learns
Submission, when of freedom quite depriv'd.
If she had fallen in the savage hands
Of my rude sires, and had their holy rage
Forborne to slay her, grateful for her life,
She would have recogniz'd her destiny.
Have shed before the shrine the stranger's blood,
And duty nam'd what was necessity.
Now my forbearance in her breast allures
Audacious wishes. Vainly I had hop'd
To bind her to me; rather she contrives
To shape an independent destiny.
She won my heart through flattery; and now
That I oppose her, seeks to gain her ends
By fraud and cunning, and my kindness deems
A worthless and prescriptive property.
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
IPHIGENIA.
Me hast thou summon'd? wherefore art thou here?
THOAS.
Wherefore delay the sacrifice? inform me.
IPHIGENIA.
I have acquainted Arkas with the reasons.
THOAS.
From thee I wish to hear them more at large.
IPHIGENIA.
The goddess for reflection grants thee time.
THOAS.
To thee this time seems also opportune.
IPHIGENIA.
If to this cruel deed thy heart is steel'd,
Thou shouldst not come! A king who meditates
A deed inhuman, may find slaves enow,
Willing for hire to bear one half the curse,
And leave the monarch's presence undefil'd.
Enwrapt in gloomy clouds he forges death,
Whose flaming arrow on his victim's head
His hirelings hurl; while he above the storm
Remains untroubl'd, an impassive god.
THOAS.
A wild song, priestess, issued from thy lips.
IPHIGENIA.
No priestess, king! but Agamemnon's daughter;
While yet unknown, thou didst respect my words:
A princess now,--and think'st thou to command me
From youth I have been tutor'd to obey,
My parents first, and then the deity;
And thus obeying, ever hath my soul
Known sweetest freedom. But nor then nor now
Have I been taught compliance with the voice
And savage mandates of a man.
THOAS.
Not I,
An ancient law doth claim obedience from thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Our passions eagerly catch hold of laws
Which they can wield as weapons. But to me
Another law, one far more ancient, speaks,
And doth command me to withstand thee, king!
That law declaring sacred every stranger.
THOAS.
These men, methinks, lie very near thy heart.
When sympathy with them can lead thee thus
To violate discretion's primal law,
That those in power should never be provok'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Speaking or silent, thou canst always know
What is, and ever must be, in my heart.
Doth not remembrance of a common doom,
To soft compassion melt the hardest heart?
How much more mine! in them I see myself.
I trembling kneel'd before the altar once.
And solemnly the shade of early death
Environ'd me. Aloft the knife was rais'd
To pierce my bosom, throbbing with warm life;
A dizzy horror overwhelm'd my soul;
My eyes grew dim;--I found myself in safety.
Are we not bound to render the distress'd
The gracious kindness from the gods receiv'd?
Thou know'st we are, and yet wilt thou compel me?
THOAS.
Obey thine office, priestess, not the king.
IPHIGENIA.
Cease! nor thus seek to cloak the savage force
Which triumphs o'er a woman's feebleness.
Though woman, I am born as free as man.
Did Agamemnon's son before thee stand,
And thou requiredst what became him not,
His arm and trusty weapon would defend
His bosom's freedom. I have only words
But it becomes a noble-minded man
To treat with due respect the words of woman.
THOAS.
I more respect them than a brother's sword.
IPHIGENIA.
Uncertain ever is the chance of arms,
No prudent warrior doth despise his foe;
Nor yet defenceless 'gainst severity
Hath nature left the weak; she gives him craft
And wily cunning: artful he delays,
Evades, eludes, and finally escapes.
Such arms are justified by violence.
THOAS.
But circumspection countervails deceit.
IPHIGENIA.
Which a pure spirit doth abhor to use.
THOAS.
Do not incautiously condemn thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul,
Courageously to ward the first attack
Of an unhappy doom, which threatens me!
Do I then stand before thee weaponless?
Prayer, lovely prayer, fair branch in woman's hand,
More potent far than instruments of war,
Thou dost thrust back. What now remains for me
Wherewith my inborn freedom to defend?
Must I implore a miracle from heaven?
Is there no power within my spirit's depths?
THOAS.
Extravagant thy interest in the fate
Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are,
For whom thy heart is thus so deeply mov'd.
IPHIGENIA.
They are--they seem at least--I think them Greeks.
THOAS.
Thy countrymen; no doubt they have renew'd
The pleasing picture of return.
IPHIGENIA, after a pause,
Doth man
Lay undisputed claim to noble deeds?
Doth he alone to his heroic breast
Clasp the impossible? What call we great?
What deeds, though oft narrated, still uplift
With shudd'ring horror the narrator's soul,
But those which, with improbable success,
The valiant have attempted? Shall the man
Who all alone steals on his foes by night,
And raging like an unexpected fire,
Destroys the slumbering host, and press'd at length
By rous'd opponents or his foemen's steeds,
Retreats with booty--be alone extoll'd?
Or he who, scorning safety, boldly roams
Through woods and dreary wilds, to scour the land
Of thieves and robbers? Is nought left for us?
Must gentle woman quite forego her nature,--
Force against force employ,--like Amazons,
Usurp the sword from man, and bloodily
Revenge oppression? In my heart I feel
The stirrings of a noble enterprize;
But if I fail--severe reproach, alas!
And bitter misery will be my doom.
Thus on my knees I supplicate the gods.
Oh, are ye truthful, as men say ye are,
Now prove it by your countenance and aid;
Honour the truth in me! Attend, O king!
A secret plot is laid; 'tis vain to ask
Touching the captives; they are gone, and seek
Their comrades who await them on the shore.
The eldest,--he whom madness lately seiz'd,
And who is now recover'd,--is Orestes,
My brother, and the other Pylades,
His early friend and faithful confidant.
From Delphi, Phoebus sent them to this shore
With a divine command to steal away
The image of Diana, and to him
Bear back the sister, promising for this
Redemption to the blood-stain'd matricide.
I have deliver'd now into thy hands
The remnants of the house of Tantalus.
Destroy us--if thou canst.
THOAS.
And dost thou think
The savage Scythian will attend the voice
Of truth and of humanity, unheard
By the Greek Atreus?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis heard by all,
Whate'er may be their clime, within whose breast
Flows pure and free the gushing stream of life.--
What silent purpose broods within thy soul?
Is it destruction? Let me perish first!
For now, deliv'rance hopeless, I perceive
The dreadful peril into which I have
With rash precipitancy plung'd my friends.
Alas! I soon shall see them bound before me!
How to my brother shall I say farewell?
I, the unhappy author of his death.
Ne'er can I gaze again in his dear eyes!
THOAS.
The traitors have contriv'd a cunning web,
And cast it round thee, who, secluded long,
Giv'st willing credence to thine own desires.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no! I'd pledge my life these men are true.
And shouldst thou find them otherwise, O king,
Then let them perish both, and cast me forth,
That on some rock-girt island's dreary shore
I may atone my folly. Are they true,
And is this man indeed my dear Orestes,
My brother, long implor'd,--release us both,
And o'er us stretch the kind protecting arm,
Which long hath shelter'd me. My noble sire
Fell through his consort's guilt,--she by her son;
On him alone the hope of Atreus' race
Doth now repose. Oh, with pure heart and hands
Let me depart to expiate our house.
Yes, thou wilt keep thy promise; thou didst swear,
That were a safe return provided me,
I should be free to go. The hour is come.
A king doth never grant like common men,
Merely to gain a respite from petition;
Nor promise what he hopes will ne'er be claim'd.
Then first he feels his dignity complete
When he can make the long-expecting happy.
THOAS.
As fire opposes water, and doth seek
With hissing rage to overcome its foe,
So doth my anger strive against thy words.
IPHIGENIA.
Let mercy, like the consecrated flame
Of silent sacrifice, encircl'd round
With songs of gratitude, and joy, and praise,
Above the tumult gently rise to heaven.
THOAS.
How often hath this voice assuag'd my soul!
IPHIGENIA.
Extend thy hand to me in sign of peace.
THOAS.
Large thy demand within so short a time.
IPHIGENIA.
Beneficence doth no reflection need.
THOAS.
'Tis needed oft, for evil springs from good.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis doubt which good doth oft to evil turn.
Consider not: act as thy feelings prompt thee.
SCENE IV.
ORESTES (armed). IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
ORESTES, addressing his followers.
Redouble your exertions! hold them back!
Few moments will suffice; retain your ground,
And keep a passage open to the ship
For me and for my sister.
To IPHIGENIA, without perceiving THOAS.
Come with speed!
We are betray'd,--brief time remains for flight.
THOAS.
None in my presence with impunity
His naked weapon wears.
IPHIGENIA.
Do not profane
Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood.
Command your people to forbear awhile,
And listen to the priestess, to the sister.
ORESTES.
Say, who is he that threatens us?
IPHIGENIA.
In him
Revere the king, who was my second father.
Forgive me, brother, that my childlike heart
Hath plac'd our fate thus wholly in his hands.
I have betray'd your meditated flight,
And thus from treachery redeem'd my soul.
ORESTES.
Will he permit our peaceable return?
IPHIGENIA.
Thy gleaming sword forbids me to reply.
ORESTES, sheathing his sword.
Then speak! thou seest I listen to thy words.
SCENE V.
ORESTES. IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
Enter PYLADES, soon after him ARKAS, both with
drawn swords.
PYLADES.
Do not delay! our friends are putting forth
Their final strength, and yielding step by step,
Are slowly driven backward to the sea.--
A conference of princes find I here?
Is this the sacred person of the king?
ARKAS.
Calmly, as doth become thee, thou dost stand,
O king, surrounded by thine enemies.
Soon their temerity shall be chastis'd;
Their yielding followers fly.--their ship is ours.
Speak but the word, and it is wrapt in flames.
THOAS.
Go, and command my people to forbear!
Let none annoy the foe while we confer. (Arkas retires.)
ORESTES.
I willingly consent. Go, Pylades!
Collect the remnant of our friends, and wait
The appointed issue of our enterprize.
(Pylades retires.)
SCENE VI.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS. ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA.
Believe my cares ere ye begin to speak.
I fear contention, if thou wilt not hear
The voice of equity, O king,--if thou
Wilt not, my brother, curb thy headstrong youth.
THOAS.
I, as becomes the elder, check my rage.
Now answer me: how dost thou prove thyself
The priestess' brother, Agamemnon's son?
ORESTES.
Behold the sword with which the hero slew
The valiant Trojans. From his murderer
I took the weapon, and implor'd the Gods
To grant me Agamemnon's mighty arm,
Success, and valour, with a death more noble.
Select one of the leaders of thy host,
And place the best as my opponent here.
Where'er on earth the sons of heroes dwell,
This boon is to the stranger ne'er refus'd.
THOAS.
This privilege hath ancient custom here
To strangers ne'er accorded.
ORESTES.
Then from us
Commence the novel custom! A whole race
In imitation soon will consecrate
Its monarch's noble action into law.
Nor let me only for our liberty,--
Let me, a stranger, for all strangers fight.
If I should fall, my doom be also theirs;
But if kind fortune crown me with success,
Let none e'er tread this shore, and fail to meet
The beaming eye of sympathy and love,
Or unconsol'd depart!
THOAS.
Thou dost not seem
Unworthy of thy boasted ancestry.
Great is the number of the valiant men
Who wait upon me; but I will myself,
Although advanc'd in years, oppose the foe,
And am prepar'd to try the chance of arms.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no! such bloody proofs are not requir'd.
Unhand thy weapon, king! my lot consider;
Rash combat oft immortalizes man;
If he should fall, he is renown'd in song;
But after ages reckon not the tears
Which ceaseless the forsaken woman sheds;
And poets tell not of the thousand nights
Consum'd in weeping, and the dreary days,
Wherein her anguish't soul, a prey to grief,
Doth vainly yearn to call her lov'd one back.
Fear warn'd me to beware lest robber's wiles
Might lure me from this sanctuary, and then
Betray me into bondage. Anxiously
I question'd them, each circumstance explor'd,
Demanded signs, and now my heart's assur'd.
See here, the mark as of three stars impress'd
On his right hand, which on his natal day
Were by the priest declar'd to indicate
Some dreadful deed by him to be perform'd.
And then this scar, which doth his eyebrow cleave,
Redoubles my conviction. When a child,
Electra, rash and inconsiderate,
Such was her nature, loos'd him from her arms.
He fell against a tripos. Oh, 'tis he!--
Shall I adduce the likeness to his sire,
Or the deep rapture of my inmost heart,
In further token of assurance, king?
THOAS.
E'en though thy words had banish'd every doubt,
And I had curb'd the anger in my breast,
Still must our arms decide. I see no peace.
Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess,
Was to deprive me of Diana's image.
And think ye that I'll look contented on?
The Greeks are wont to cast a longing eye
Upon the treasures of barbarians,
A golden fleece, good steeds, or daughters fair;
But force and guile not always have avail'd
To lead them, with their booty, safely home.
ORESTES.
The image shall not be a cause of strife!
We now perceive the error which the God,
Our journey here commanding, like a veil,
Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implor'd,
To free me from the Furies' grisly band.
He answer'd, "Back to Greece the sister bring,
Who in the sanctuary on Tauris' shore
Unwillingly abides; so ends the curse!"
To Phoebus' sister we applied the words,
And he referr'd to thee! The bonds severe,
Which held thee from us, holy one, are rent,
And thou art ours once more. At thy blest touch,
I felt myself restor'd. Within thine arms,
Madness once more around me coil'd its folds,
Crushing the marrow in my frame, and then
For ever, like a serpent, fled to hell.
Through thee, the daylight gladdens me anew.
The counsel of the Goddess now shines forth
In all its beauty and beneficence.
Like to a sacred image, unto which
An oracle immutably hath bound
A city's welfare, thee Diana took,
Protectress of our house, and guarded here
Within this holy stillness, to become
A blessing to thy brother and thy race.
Now when each passage to escape seems clos'd,
And safety hopeless, thou dost give us all.
O king, incline thine heart to thoughts of peace!
Let her fulfil her mission, and complete
The consecration of our father's house.
Me to their purified abode restore,
And place upon my brow the ancient crown!
Requite the blessing which her presence brought thee,
And let me now my nearer right enjoy!
Cunning and force, the proudest boast of man,
Fade in the lustre of her perfect truth;
Nor unrequited will a noble mind
Leave confidence, so childlike and so pure.
IPHIGENIA.
Think on thy promise; let thy heart be mov'd
By what a true and honest tongue hath spoken!
Look on us, king! an opportunity
For such a noble deed not oft occurs.
Refuse thou canst not,--give thy quick consent.
THOAS.
Then go!
IPHIGENIA.
Not so, my king! I cannot part
Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee.
Banish us not! the sacred right of guests
Still let us claim: so not eternally
Shall we be sever'd. Honour'd and belov'd
As mine own father was, art thou by me:
And this impression in my soul remains.
Should e'en the meanest peasant of thy land
Bring to my ear the tones I heard from thee
Or should I on the humblest see thy garb,
I will with joy receive him as a god,
Prepare his couch myself, beside our hearth
Invite him to a seat, and only ask
Touching thy fate and thee. Oh, may the gods
To thee the merited reward impart
Of all thy kindness and benignity!
Farewell! Oh, do not turn away, but give
One kindly word of parting in return!
So shall the wind more gently swell our sails,
And from our eyes with soften'd anguish flow
The tears of separation. Fare thee well!
And graciously extend to me thy hand,
In pledge of ancient friendship.
THOAS, extending his hand.
Fare thee well!
| PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS, King of the Taurians.
ORESTES. PYLADES. ARKAS.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
A Grove before the Temple of Diana.
IPHIGENIA.
Beneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughs
Of this old, shady, consecrated grove,
As in the goddess' silent sanctuary,
With the same shudd'ring feeling forth I step,
As when I trod it first, nor ever here
Doth my unquiet spirit feel at home.
Long as the mighty will, to which I bow,
Hath kept me here conceal'd, still, as at first,
I feel myself a stranger. For the sea
Doth sever me, alas! from those I love,
And day by day upon the shore I stand,
My soul still seeking for the land of Greece.
But to my sighs, the hollow-sounding waves
Bring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply.
Alas for him! who friendless and alone,
Remote from parents and from brethren dwells;
From him grief snatches every coming joy
Ere it doth reach his lip. His restless thoughts
Revert for ever to his father's halls,
Where first to him the radiant sun unclos'd
The gates of heav'n; where closer, day by day,
Brothers and sisters, leagu'd in pastime sweet,
Around each other twin'd the bonds of love.
I will not judge the counsel of the gods;
Yet, truly, woman's lot doth merit pity.
Man rules alike at home and in the field,
Nor is in foreign climes without resource;
Possession gladdens him, him conquest crowns,
And him an honourable death awaits.
How circumscrib'd is woman's destiny!
Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord,
Her duty, and her comfort; sad her fate,
Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote:
Thus I, by noble Thoas, am detain'd,
Bound with a heavy, though a sacred chain.
Oh! with what shame, Diana, I confess
That with repugnance I perform these rites
For thee, divine protectress! unto whom
I would in freedom dedicate my life.
In thee, Diana, I have always hop'd,
And still I hope in thee, who didst infold
Within the holy shelter of thine arm
The outcast daughter of the mighty king.
Daughter of Jove! hast thou from ruin'd Troy
Led back in triumph to his native land
The mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict,
His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding,--
Hast thou for him, the godlike Agamemnon,
Who to thine altar led his darling child,
Preserv'd his wife, Electra, and his son.
His dearest treasures?--then at length restore
Thy suppliant also to her friends and home,
And save her, as thou once from death didst save,
So now, from living here, a second death.
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
The king hath sent me hither, and commands
To hail Diana's priestess. This the day,
On which for new and wonderful success,
Tauris her goddess thanks. The king and host
Draw near,--I come to herald their approach.
IPHIGENIA.
We are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting;
Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye
The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.
ARKAS.
Oh, priestess, that thine eye more mildly beam'd,--
Thou much-rever'd one,--that I found thy glance,
O consecrated maid, more calm, more bright,
To all a happy omen! Still doth grief,
With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind;
Still, still, through many a year we wait in vain
For one confiding utt'rance from thy breast.
Long as I've known thee in this holy place,
That look of thine hath ever made me shudder;
And, as with iron bands, thy soul remains
Lock'd in the deep recesses of thy breast.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth become the exile and the orphan.
ARKAS.
Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?
IPHIGENIA.
Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
ARKAS.
Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals.
In early youth, when first my soul, in love,
Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd,
A group of tender germs, in union sweet,
We sprang in beauty from the parent stem,
And heavenward grew. An unrelenting curse
Then seiz'd and sever'd me from those I lov'd,
And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands.
It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth,
The simple gladness of life's early dawn;
Though sav'd, I was a shadow of myself,
And life's fresh joyance bloom'd in me no more.
ARKAS.
If thus thou ever dost lament thy fate,
I must accuse thee of ingratitude.
IPHIGENIA.
Thanks have you ever.
ARKAS.
Not the honest thanks
Which prompt the heart to offices of love;
The joyous glance, revealing to the host
A grateful spirit, with its lot content.
When thee a deep mysterious destiny
Brought to this sacred fane, long years ago.
To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven,
With reverence and affection, Thoas came.
Benign and friendly was this shore to thee,
Which had before each stranger's heart appall'd,
For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm
But fell, according to an ancient rite,
A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.
IPHIGENIA.
Freely to breathe alone is not to live.
Say, is it life, within this holy fane,
Like a poor ghost around its sepulchre
To linger out my days? Or call you that
A life of conscious happiness and joy,
When every hour, dream'd listlessly away,
Leads to those dark and melancholy days,
Which the sad troop of the departed spend
In self-forgetfulness on Lethe's shore?
A useless life is but an early death;
This, woman's lot, is eminently mine.
ARKAS.
I can forgive, though I must needs deplore,
The noble pride which underrates itself
It robs thee of the happiness of life.
And hast thou, since thy coming here, done nought?
Who cheer'd the gloomy temper of the king?
Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd,
From year to year, the usage of our sires,
By which, a victim at Diana's shrine,
Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain death
Sending so oft the rescued captive home?
Hath not Diana, harbouring no revenge
For this suspension of her bloody rites,
In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?
On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host,
Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?
And feels not every one a happier lot,
Since Thoas, who so long hath guided us
With wisdom and with valour, sway'd by thee,
The joy of mild benignity approves,
Which leads him to relax the rigid claims
Of mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou,
Thou, from whose being o'er a thousand hearts,
A healing balsam flows? when to a race.
To whom a god consign'd thee, thou dost prove
A fountain of perpetual happiness,
And from this dire inhospitable shore
Dost to the stranger grant a safe return?
IPHIGENIA.
The little done doth vanish to the mind,
Which forward sees how much remains to do.
ARKAS.
Him dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?
IPHIGENIA.
Who estimates his deeds is justly blam'd.
ARKAS.
We blame alike, who proudly disregard
Their genuine merit, and who vainly prize
Their spurious worth too highly. Trust me, priestess,
And hearken to the counsel of a man
With honest zeal devoted to thy service:
When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee,
Lend to his purpos'd words a gracious ear.
IPHIGENIA.
The well-intention'd counsel troubles me:
His offer studiously I've sought to shun.
ARKAS.
Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh.
Since the king lost his son, he trusts but few,
Nor those as formerly. Each noble's son
He views with jealous eye as his successor;
He dreads a solitary, helpless age,
Or rash rebellion, or untimely death.
A Scythian studies not the rules of speech,
And least of all the king. He who is used
To act and to command, knows not the art,
From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse
Through many windings to its destin'd goal.
Do not embarrass him with shy reserve
And studied misconception: graciously,
And with submission, meet the royal wish.
IPHIGENIA.
Shall I then speed the doom that threatens me?
ARKAS.
His gracious offer canst thou call a threat?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis the most terrible of all to me.
ARKAS.
For his affection grant him confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
If he will first redeem my soul from fear.
ARKAS.
Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?
IPHIGENIA.
A priestess secrecy doth well become.
ARKAS.
Nought to our monarch should a secret be;
And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine,
His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels,
That studiously thou hid'st thyself from him.
IPHIGENIA.
Displeasure doth he harbour 'gainst me, then?
ARKAS.
Almost it seems so. True, he speaks not of thee.
But casual words have taught me that the wish
To call thee his hath firmly seiz'd his soul;
Oh, do not leave the monarch to himself!
Lest his displeasure, rip'ning in his breast,
Should work thee woe, so with repentance thou
Too late my faithful counsel shalt recall.
IPHIGENIA.
How! doth the monarch purpose what no man
Of noble mind, who loves his honest name,
Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains,
Would ever think of? Will he force employ
To tear me from this consecrated fane?
Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee,
Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me;
Thyself a virgin, thou'lt a virgin shield,
And succour to thy priestess gladly yield.
ARKAS.
Be tranquil! Passion, and youth's fiery blood
Impel not Thoas rashly to commit
A deed so lawless. In his present mood,
I fear from him another harsh resolve,
Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmov'd,)
He then will execute without delay.
Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more,
At least be grateful--give thy confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh tell me what is further known to thee.
ARKAS.
Learn it from him. I see the king approach;
Thou honour'st him, and thy own heart will prompt thee
To meet him kindly and with confidence.
A noble man by woman's gentle word
May oft be led.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
I see not how I can
Follow the counsel of my faithful friend.
But willingly the duty I perform
Of giving thanks for benefits receiv'd,
And much I wish that to the king my lips
With truth could utter what would please his ear.
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
IPHIGENIA.
Her royal gifts the goddess shower on thee!
Imparting conquest, wealth, and high renown,
Dominion, and the welfare of thy house,
With the fulfilment of each pious wish,
That thou, who over numbers rul'st supreme,
Thyself may'st be supreme in happiness!
THOAS.
Contented were I with my people's praise;
My conquests others more than I enjoy.
Oh! be he king or subject, he's most blest,
Who in his home finds happiness and peace.
Thou shar'dst my sorrow, when a hostile sword
Tore from my side my last, my dearest son;
Long as fierce vengeance occupied my heart,
I did not feel my dwelling's dreary void;
But now, returning home, my rage appeas'd,
My foes defeated, and my son aveng'd,
I find there nothing left to comfort me.
The glad obedience, which I used to see
Kindling in every eye, is smother'd now
In discontent and gloom; each, pond'ring, weighs
The changes which a future day may bring,
And serves the childless king, because compell'd.
To-day I come within this sacred fane,
Which I have often enter'd to implore
And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast
I bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish.
To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger;
Thee, maid, a blessing to myself and realm,
I hope, as bride, to carry to my home.
IPHIGENIA.
Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown;
Abash'd the fugitive before thee stands,
Who on this shore sought only what thou gav'st,
Safety and peace.
THOAS.
Thus still to shroud thyself
From me, as from the lowest, in the veil
Of mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here,
Would in no country be deem'd just or right.
Strangers this shore appall'd; 'twas so ordain'd
Alike by law and stern necessity.
From thee alone--a kindly welcom'd guest,
Who hast enjoy'd each hallow'd privilege,
And spent thy days in freedom unrestrain'd--
From thee I hop'd that confidence to gain
Which every faithful host may justly claim.
IPHIGENIA.
If I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race,
'Twas fear that prompted me, and not mistrust.
For didst thou know who stands before thee now,
And what accursed head thy arm protects,
A shudd'ring horror would possess thy heart;
And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,
Thou, ere the time appointed, from thy realm
Wouldst banish me perchance, and thrust me forth,
Before a glad reunion with my friends
And period to my wand'rings is ordain'd,
To meet that sorrow, which in every clime,
With cold, inhospitable, fearful hand,
Awaits the outcast, exil'd from his home.
THOAS.
Whate'er respecting thee the gods decree,
Whate'er their doom for thee and for thy house,
Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'd
The privilege the pious stranger claims,
To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from Heaven;
And to persuade me, that protecting thee
I shield a guilty head, were hard indeed.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy bounty, not the guest, draws blessings down.
THOAS.
The kindness shown the wicked is not blest.
End then thy silence, priestess; not unjust
Is he who doth demand it. In my hands
The goddess plac'd thee; thou hast been to me
As sacred as to her, and her behest
Shall for the future also be my law.
If thou canst hope in safety to return
Back to thy kindred, I renounce my claims:
But is thy homeward path for ever clos'd--
Or doth thy race in hopeless exile rove,
Or lie extinguish'd by some mighty woe--
Then may I claim thee by more laws than one.
Speak openly, thou know'st I keep my word.
IPHIGENIA.
Its ancient bands reluctantly my tongue
Doth loose, a long-hid secret to divulge;
For once imparted, it resumes no more
The safe asylum of the inmost heart,
But thenceforth, as the powers above decree,
Doth work its ministry of weal or woe.
Attend! I issue from the Titan's race.
THOAS.
A word momentous calmly hast thou spoken.
Him nam'st thou ancestor whom all the world
Knows as a sometime favourite of the gods?
Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himself
Drew to his council and his social board?
On whose experienc'd words, with wisdom fraught,
As on the language of an oracle,
E'en gods delighted hung?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis even he;
But gods should not hold intercourse with men
As with themselves. Too weak the human race,
Not to grow dizzy on unwonted heights.
Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer;
To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great:
To be his friend and comrade,--but a man.
His crime was human, and their doom severe;
For poets sing, that treachery and pride
Did from Jove's table hurl him headlong down,
To grovel in the depths of Tartarus.
Alas, and his whole race their hate pursues.
THOAS.
Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'?
IPHIGENIA.
The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame
Was his descendant's certain heritage;
But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass.
Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,
He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd;
In them each passion grew to savage rage,
And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son,
The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride,
Hippodamia, child of OEnomaus,
Through treachery and murder; she ere long
Bore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes;
With envy they beheld the growing love
Their father cherish'd for a first-born son
Sprung from another union. Bound by hate,
In secret they contrive their brother's death.
The sire, the crime imputing to his wife,
With savage fury claim'd from her his child,
And she in terror did destroy herself--
THOAS.
Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative!
Do not repent thy confidence--say on!
IPHIGENIA.
How blest is he who his progenitors
With pride remembers, to the list'ner tells
The story of their greatness, of their deeds,
And, silently rejoicing, sees himself
Link'd to this goodly chain! For the same stock
Bears not the monster and the demigod:
A line, or good or evil, ushers in
The glory or the terror of the world.--
After the death of Pelops, his two sons
Rul'd o'er the city with divided sway.
But such an union could not long endure.
His brother's honour first Thyestes wounds.
In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.
Thyestes, planning horrors, long before
Had stealthily procur'd his brother's son,
Whom he in secret nurtur'd as his own.
Revenge and fury in his breast he pour'd,
Then to the royal city sent him forth,
That in his uncle he might slay his sire,
The meditated murder was disclos'd,
And by the king most cruelly aveng'd,
Who slaughter'd, as he thought, his brother's son.
Too late he learn'd whose dying tortures met
His drunken gaze; and seeking to assuage
The insatiate vengeance that possess'd his soul,
He plann'd a deed unheard of. He assum'd
A friendly tone, seem'd reconcil'd, appeas'd.
And lur'd his brother, with his children twain,
Back to his kingdom; these he seiz'd and slew;
Then plac'd the loathsome and abhorrent food
At his first meal before the unconscious sire.
And when Thyestes had his hunger still'd
With his own flesh, a sadness seiz'd his soul;
He for his children ask'd,--their steps, their voice,
Fancied he heard already at the door;
And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,
Threw in the members of the slaughter'd boys.--
Shudd'ring, O king, thou dost avert thy face:
So did the sun his radiant visage hide,
And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.
These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors,
And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,
And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,
Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,
Or shroud in gloomy twilight.
THOAS.
Hidden there
Let them abide. A truce to horror now,
And tell me by what miracle thou sprang'st
From race so savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Atreus' eldest son
Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire:
But I may say with truth, that, from a child,
In him the model of a perfect man
I witness'd ever. Clytemnestra bore
To him, myself, the firstling of their love,
Electra then. Peaceful the monarch rul'd,
And to the house of Tantalus was given
A long-withheld repose. A son alone
Was wanting to complete my parent's bliss;
Scarce was this wish fulfill'd, and young Orestes,
The household's darling, with his sisters grew,
When new misfortunes vex'd our ancient house.
To you hath come the rumour of the war,
Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,
The force united of the Grecian kings
Round Ilion's walls encamp'd. Whether the town
Was humbl'd, and achiev'd their great revenge
I have not heard. My father led the host
In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale
They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,
Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,
Through Chaleas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.
They lur'd me with my mother to the camp,
And at Diana's altar doom'd this head.--
She was appeas'd, she did not wish my blood,
And wrapt me in a soft protecting cloud;
Within this temple from the dream of death
I waken'd first. Yes, I myself am she;
Iphigenia,--I who speak to thee
Am Atreus' grandchild, Agamemnon's child,
And great Diana's consecrated priestess.
THOAS.
I yield no higher honour or regard
To the king's daughter than the maid unknown;
Once more my first proposal I repeat;
Come, follow me, and share what I possess.
IPHIGENIA.
How dare I venture such a step, O king?
Hath not the goddess who protected me
Alone a right to my devoted head?
'Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary,
Where she perchance reserves me for my sire,
By my apparent death enough chastis'd,
To be the joy and solace of his age.
Perchance my glad return is near; and how
If I, unmindful of her purposes,
Had here attach'd myself against her will?
I ask'd a signal, did she wish my stay.
THOAS.
The signal is that still thou tarriest here.
Seek not evasively such vain pretexts.
Not many words are needed to refuse,
By the refus'd the no alone is heard.
IPHIGENIA.
Mine are not words meant only to deceive;
I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd.
And doth no inward voice suggest to thee,
How I with yearning soul must pine to see
My father, mother, and my long-lost home?
Oh let thy vessels bear me thither, king!
That in the ancient halls, where sorrow still
In accents low doth fondly breathe my name,
Joy, as in welcome of a new-born child,
May round the columns twine the fairest wreath.
Thou wouldst to me and mine new life impart.
THOAS.
Then go! the promptings of thy heart obey;
Despise the voice of reason and good counsel.
Be quite the woman, sway'd by each desire,
That bridleless impels her to and fro.
When passion rages fiercely in her breast,
No sacred tie withholds her from the wretch
Who would allure her to forsake for him
A husband's or a father's guardian arms;
Extinct within her heart its fiery glow,
The golden tongue of eloquence in vain
With words of truth and power assails her ear.
IPHIGENIA.
Remember now, O king, thy noble words!
My trust and candour wilt thou thus repay?
Thou seem'dst, methought, prepar'd to hear the truth.
THOAS.
For this unlook'd-for answer not prepar'd.
Yet 'twas to be expected; knew I not
That 'twas with woman I had now to deal?
IPHIGENIA.
Upbraid not thus, O king, our feeble sex!
Though not in dignity to match with yours,
The weapons woman wields are not ignoble.
And trust me, Thoas, in thy happiness
I have a deeper insight than thyself.
Thou thinkest, ignorant alike of both,
A closer union would augment our bliss;
Inspir'd with confidence and honest zeal
Thou strongly urgest me to yield consent;
And here I thank the gods, who give me strength
To shun a doom unratified by them.
THOAS.
'Tis not a god, 'tis thine own heart that speaks.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis through the heart alone they speak to us.
THOAS.
To hear them have I not an equal right?
IPHIGENIA.
The raging tempest drowns the still, small voice.
THOAS.
This voice no doubt the priestess hears alone.
IPHIGENIA.
Before all others should the prince attend it.
THOAS.
Thy sacred office, and ancestral right
To Jove's own table, place thee with the gods
In closer union than an earth-born savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Thus must I now the confidence atone
Thyself extorted from me!
THOAS.
I'm a man,
And better 'tis we end this conference.
Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still
Of the great goddess who selected thee;
And may she pardon me, that I from her,
Unjustly and with secret self-reproach,
Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld.
From olden times no stranger near'd our shore
But fell a victim at her sacred shrine.
But thou, with kind affection (which at times
Seem'd like a gentle daughter's tender love,
At times assum'd to my enraptur'd heart
The modest inclination of a bride),
Didst so inthral me, as with magic bonds,
That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock
My senses in a dream: I did not hear
My people's murmurs: now they cry aloud,
Ascribing my poor son's untimely death
To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake
Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd,
Who urgently demand the sacrifice.
IPHIGENIA.
For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee.
Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood
Do misconceive their nature, and impute
To them their own inhuman dark desires.
Did not Diana snatch me from the priest,
Preferring my poor service to my death?
THOAS.
'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds,
Lightly to guide and construe rites divine.
Perform thy duty; I'll accomplish mine.
Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore
We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here
Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power.
With them thy goddess may once more resume
Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites!
I send them here,--thy duty not unknown. [Exit.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
Gracious protectress! thou hast clouds
To shelter innocence distress'd,
And genial gales from Fate's rude grasp,
Safely to waft her o'er the sea,
O'er the wide earth's remotest realms,
Where'er it seemeth good to thee.
Wise art thou,--thine all-seeing eye
The future and the past surveys,
And doth on all thy children rest,
E'en as thy pure and guardian light
Keeps o'er the earth its silent watch,
The beauty and the life of night.
O Goddess! keep my hands from blood!
Blessing it never brings, nor peace;
And still in evil hours the form
Of the chance-murder'd man appears
To fill the unwilling murderer's soul
With horrible and gloomy fears.
For fondly the Immortals view
Man's widely-scatter'd, simple race;
And the poor mortal's transient life
Gladly prolong, that he may raise
Awhile to their eternal heavens
His sympathetic joyous gaze.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
ORESTES. PYLADES.
ORESTES.
It is the path of death that now we tread:
At every step my soul grows more serene.
When I implor'd Apollo to remove
The grisly band of Furies from my side,
He seem'd, with hope-inspiring, godlike words,
To promise aid and safety in the fane
Of his lov'd sister, who o'er Tauris rules.
Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,
That with my life shall terminate my woe.
How easy 'tis for me, whose heart is crush'd,
Whose sense is deaden'd by a hand divine,
Thus to renounce the beauteous light of day!
And must the son of Atreus not entwine
The wreath of conquest round his dying brow--
Must I, as my forefathers, as my sire,
Bleed like a victim,--an ignoble death--
So be it! Better at the altar here,
Than in a nook obscure, where kindred hands
Have spread assassination's wily net.
Yield me this brief repose, infernal Powers!
Ye, who, like loosen'd hounds, still scent the blood,
Which, trickling from my feet, betrays my path.
Leave me! ere long I come to you below.
Nor you, nor I, should view the light of day.
The soft green carpet of the beauteous earth
Is no arena for unhallow'd fiends.
Below I seek you, where an equal fate
Binds all in murky, never-ending night.
Thee only, thee, my Pylades, my friend,
The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,
Thee am I loath, before thy time, to take
To yonder cheerless shore! Thy life or death
Alone awakens in me hope or fear.
PYLADES.
Like thee, Orestes, I am not prepar'd
Downwards to wander to yon realm of shade.
I purpose still, through the entangl'd paths,
Which seem as they would lead to blackest night,
Again to guide our upward way to life.
Of death I think not; I observe and mark
Whether the gods may not perchance present
Means and fit moment for a joyful flight.
Dreaded or not, the stroke of death must come;
And though the priestess stood with hand uprais'd,
Prepar'd to cut our consecrated locks,
Our safety still should be my only thought:
Uplift thy soul above this weak despair;
Desponding doubts but hasten on our peril.
Apollo pledg'd to us his sacred word,
That in his sister's' holy fane for thee
Were comfort, aid, and glad return prepar'd.
The words of Heaven are not equivocal,
As in despair the poor oppress'd one thinks.
ORESTES.
The mystic web of life my mother spread
Around my infant head, and so I grew,
An image of my sire; and my mute look
Was aye a bitter and a keen reproof
To her and base 'gisthus[1]. Oh, how oft,
When silently within our gloomy hall
Electra sat, and mus'd beside the fire,
Have I with anguish'd spirit climb'd her knee,
And watch'd her bitter tears with sad amaze!
Then would she tell me of our noble sire:
How much I long'd to see him--be with him!
Myself at Troy one moment fondly wish'd,
My sire's return, the next. The day arrived--
(Transcriber's Note 1: Original text read "Egisthus".)
PYLADES.
Oh, of that awful hour let fiends of hell
Hold nightly converse! Of a time more fair
May the remembrance animate our hearts
To fresh heroic deeds. The gods require
On this wide earth the service of the good,
To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee;
For in thy father's train they sent thee not,
When he to Orcus went unwilling down.
ORESTES.
Would I had seiz'd the border of his robe.
And follow'd him!
PYLADES.
They kindly car'd for me
Who here detain'd thee; for if thou hadst died
I know not what had then become of me;
Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone,
Have from my childhood liv'd, and wish to live.
ORESTES.
Do not remind me of those tranquil days,
When me thy home a safe asylum gave;
With fond solicitude thy noble sire
The half-nipp'd, tender flow'ret gently rear'd;
While thou, a friend and playmate always gay,
Like to a light and brilliant butterfly
Around a dusky flower, didst around me
Still with new life thy merry gambols play,
And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul,
Until, my cares forgetting, I with thee
Was lur'd to snatch the eager joys of youth.
PYLADES.
My very life began when thee I lov'd.
ORESTES.
Say, then thy woes began, and thou speak'st truly.
This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot,
That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear
Death and destruction hid within my breast;
That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot,
Ere long the blooming faces round betray
The writhing features of a ling'ring death.
PYLADES.
Were thy breath venom, I had been the first
To die that death, Orestes. Am I not,
As ever, full of courage and of joy?
And love and courage are the spirit's wings
Wafting to noble actions.
ORESTES.
Noble actions?
Time was, when fancy painted such before us!
When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam'd
O'er hill and valley; hoping that ere long
With club and weapon arm'd, we so might track
The robber to his den, or monster huge.
And then at twilight, by the glassy sea,
We peaceful sat, reclin'd against each other
The waves came dancing to our very feet.
And all before us lay the wide, wide world.
Then on a sudden one would seize his sword,
And future deeds shone round us like the stars,
Which gemm'd in countless throngs the vault of night.
PYLADES.
Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul
Burns to accomplish. We would every deed
At once perform as grandly as it shows
After long ages, when from land to land
The poet's swelling song hath roll'd it on.
It sounds so lovely what our fathers did,
When, in the silent evening shade reclin'd,
We drink it in with music's melting tones;
And what we do is, as their deeds to them,
Toilsome and incomplete!
Thus we pursue what always flies before;
We disregard the path in which we tread,
Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires,
Or heed the trace of their career on earth.
We ever hasten on to chase their shades,
Which godlike, at a distance far remote,
On golden clouds reclin'd, the mountains crown.
The man I prize not who esteems himself
Just as the people's breath may chance to raise him.
But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks,
That they have done so much through thee already.
ORESTES.
When they ordain a man to noble deeds,
To shield from dire calamity his friends,
Extend his empire, or protect its bounds,
Or put to flight its ancient enemies,
Let him be grateful! For to him a god
Imparts the first, the sweetest joy of life.
Me have they doom'd to be a slaughterer,
To be an honour'd mother's murderer,
And shamefully a deed of shame avenging.
Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelm'd.
Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom'd;
Nor may his last descendant leave the earth,
Or crown'd with honour or unstain'd by crime.
PYLADES.
The gods avenge not on the son the deeds
Done by the father. Each, or good or bad,
Of his own actions reaps the due reward.
The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends.
ORESTES.
Methinks their blessing did not lead us here.
PYLADES.
It was at least the mighty gods' decree.
ORESTES.
Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.
PYLADES.
Perform what they command, and wait the event.
Do thou Apollo's sister bear from hence,
That they at Delphi may united dwell,
Rever'd and honour'd by a noble race:
Thee, for this deed, the heav'nly pair will view
With gracious eye, and from the hateful grasp
Of the infernal Powers will rescue thee.
E'en now none dares intrude within this grove.
ORESTES.
So shall I die at least a peaceful death.
PYLADES.
Far other are my thoughts, and not unskill'd
Have I the future and the past combin'd
In quiet meditation. Long, perchance,
Hath ripen'd in the counsel of the gods
The great event. Diana wish d to leave
This savage region foul with human blood.
We were selected for the high emprize; | To us it is assign'd, and strangely thus
We are conducted to the threshold here.
ORESTES.
My friend, with wondrous skill thou link'st thy wish
With the predestin'd purpose of the gods.
PYLADES.
Of what avail is prudence, if it fail
Heedful to mark the purposes of Heaven?
A noble man, who much hath sinn'd, some god
Doth summon to a dangerous enterprize,
Which to achieve appears impossible.
The hero conquers, and atoning serves
Mortals and gods, who thenceforth honour him.
ORESTES.
Am I foredoom'd to action and to life,
Would that a god from my distemper'd brain
Might chase this dizzy fever, which impels
My restless steps along a slipp'ry path,
Stain'd with a mother's blood, to direful death;
And pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood,
For ever spouting from a mother's wounds,
Eternally defiles me!
PYLADES.
Wait in peace!
Thou dost increase the evil, and dost take
The office of the Furies on thyself.
Let me contrive,--be still! And when at length
The time for action claims our powers combin'd,
Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride,
With cautious boldness to achieve the event.
ORESTES.
I hear Ulysses speak!
PYLADES.
Nay, mock me not.
Each must select the hero after whom
To climb the steep and difficult ascent
Of high Olympus. And to me it seems
That him nor stratagem nor art defile
Who consecrates himself to noble deeds.
ORESTES.
I most esteem the brave and upright man.
PYLADES.
And therefore have I not desir'd thy counsel.
One step is ta'en already: from our guards
I have extorted this intelligence.
A strange and godlike woman now restrains
The execution of that bloody law:
Incense, and prayer, and an unsullied heart,
These are the gifts she offers to the gods.
Her fame is widely spread, and it is thought
That from the race of Amazon she springs,
And hither fled some great calamity.
ORESTES.
Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power
At the approach of one so criminal,
Whom the dire curse enshrouds in gloomy night.
Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood
Again unchains the ancient cruel rite:
The monarch's savage will decrees our death;
A woman cannot save when he condemns.
PYLADES.
That 'tis a woman is a ground for hope!
A man, the very best, with cruelty
At length may so familiarize his mind,
His character through custom so transform,
That he shall come to make himself a law
Of what at first his very soul abhorr'd.
But woman doth retain the stamp of mind
She first assum'd. On her we may depend
In good or evil with more certainty.
She comes; leave us alone. I dare not tell
At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide
Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile,
And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again.
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
IPHIGENIA.
Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
(She unbinds his chains.)
The freedom that I give is dangerous:
The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
PYLADES.
Delicious music! dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land!
With joy my captive eye once more beholds
The azure mountains of my native coast.
Oh, let this joy that I too am a Greek
Convince thee, priestess! How I need thine aid,
A moment I forget, my spirit wrapt
In contemplation of so fair a vision.
If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips.
From which of our illustrious races, say,
Dost thou thy godlike origin derive?
IPHIGENIA.
A priestess, by the Goddess' self ordain'd
And consecrated too, doth speak with thee.
Let that suffice: but tell me, who art thou,
And what unbless'd o'erruling destiny
Hath hither led thee with thy friend?
PYLADES.
The woe,
Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps,
I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou
Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us
One ray of cheering hope! We are from Crete,
Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born,
Named Cephalus; my eldest brother, he,
Laodamus. Between us two a youth
Of savage temper grew, who oft disturb'd
The joy and concord of our youthful sports.
Long as our father led his powers at Troy,
Passive our mother's mandate we obey'd;
But when, enrich'd with booty, he return'd,
And shortly after died, a contest fierce
For the succession and their father's wealth,
Parted the brothers. I the eldest joined;
He slew the second; and the Furies hence
For kindred murder dog his restless steps.
But to this savage shore the Delphian god
Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope, commanding us
Within his sister's temple to await
The blessed hand of aid. We have been ta'en,
Brought hither, and now stand for sacrifice.
My tale is told.
IPHIGENIA
Tell me, is Troy o'erthrown?
Assure me of its fall.
PYLADES.
It lies in ruins.
But oh, ensure deliverance to us!
Hasten, I pray, the promis'd aid of heav'n.
Pity my brother, say a kindly word;
But I implore thee, spare him when thou speakest.
Too easily his inner mind is torn
By joy, or grief, or cruel memory.
A feverish madness oft doth seize on him,
Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free,
A prey to furies.
IPHIGENIA.
Great as is thy woe,
Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while,
Till I am satisfied.
PYLADES.
The stately town,
Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host,
Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again;
Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall
Our sad remembrance to that barbarous shore;
There lies Achilles and his noble friend.
IPHIGENIA.
And are ye, godlike forms, reduc'd to dust!
PYLADES.
Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, ere again
The daylight of their native land behold.
IPHIGENIA.
He speaks not of my father, doth not name
Him with the fallen. He may yet survive!
I may behold him! still hope on, my heart!
PYLADES.
Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd
Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand!
For terror wild, and end most tragical,
Some hostile, angry, deity prepar'd,
Instead of triumph, for the home-returning.
Do human voices never reach this shore?
Far as their sound extends, they bear the fame
Of deeds unparallel'd. And is the woe
Which fills Mycene's halls with ceaseless sighs
To thee a secret still?--And know'st thou not
That Clytemnestra, with 'gisthus' aid,
Her royal consort artfully ensnar'd,
And murder'd on the day of his return?--
The monarch's house thou honourest! I perceive
Thy heaving bosom vainly doth contend
With tidings fraught with such unlook'd-for woe
Art thou the daughter of a friend? or born
Within the circuit of Mycene's walls?
Do not conceal it, nor avenge on me
That here the horrid crime I first announc'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.
PYLADES.
The day of his return, as from the bath
Arose the monarch, tranquil and refresh'd.
His robe demanding from his consort's hand,
A tangl'd garment, complicate with folds.
She o'er his shoulders flung and noble head;
And when, as from a net, he vainly strove
To extricate himself, the traitor, base
'gisthus, smote him, and envelop'd thus
Great Agamemnon sought the shades below.
IPHIGENIA.
And what reward receiv'd the base accomplice?
PYLADES.
A queen and kingdom he possess'd already.
IPHIGENIA.
Base passion prompted, then, the deed of shame?
PYLADES.
And feelings, cherish'd long, of deep revenge.
IPHIGENIA.
How had the monarch injured Clytemnestra?
PYLADES.
By such a dreadful deed, that if on earth
Aught could exculpate murder, it were this.
To Aulis he allur'd her, when the fleet
With unpropitious winds the goddess stay'd;
And there, a victim at Diana's shrine,
The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks,
Her eldest daughter doom'd. And this, 'tis said,
Planted such deep abhorrence in her heart,
That to 'gisthus she resign'd herself,
And round her husband flung the web of death.
IPHIGENIA. (veiling herself).
It is enough! Thou wilt again behold me.
PYLADES, alone.
The fortune of this royal house, it seems,
Doth move her deeply. Whosoe'er she be,
She must herself have known the monarch well;--
For our good fortune, from a noble house,
She hath been sold to bondage. Peace, my heart!
And let us steer our course with prudent zeal
Toward the star of hope which gleams upon us.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
IPHIGENIA. ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds
In token of a still severer doom.
The freedom which the sanctuary imparts,
Like the last life-gleam o'er the dying face,
But heralds death. I cannot, dare not say
Your doom is hopeless; for, with murd'rous hand,
Could I inflict the fatal blow myself?
And while I here am priestess of Diana,
None, be he who he may, dare touch your heads.
But the incensed king, should I refuse
Compliance with the rites himself enjoin'd,
Will choose another virgin from my train
As my successor. Then, alas! with nought,
Save ardent wishes, can I succour you,
Much honour'd countryman! The humblest slave,
Who had but near'd our sacred household hearth,
Is dearly welcome in a foreign land;
How with proportion'd joy and blessing, then,
Shall I receive the man who doth recall
The image of the heroes, whom I learn'd
To honour from my parents, and who cheers
My inmost heart with flatt'ring gleams of hope!
ORESTES.
Does prudent forethought prompt thee to conceal
Thy name and race? or may I hope to know
Who, like a heavenly vision, meets me thus?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, thou shalt know me. Now conclude the tale
Of which thy brother only told me half:
Relate their end, who coming home from Troy,
On their own threshold met a doom severe
And most unlook'd for. I, though but a child
When first conducted hither, well recall
The timid glance of wonder which I cast
On those heroic forms. When they went forth,
it seem'd as though Olympus from her womb
Had cast the heroes of a by-gone world,
To frighten Ilion; and, above them all,
Great Agamemnon tower'd pre-eminent!
Oh tell me! Fell the hero in his home,
Though Clytemnestra's and 'gisthus' wiles?
ORESTES.
He fell!
IPHIGENIA.
Unblest Mycene! Thus the sons
Of Tantalus, with barbarous hands, have sown
Curse upon curse; and, as the shaken weed
Scatters around a thousand poison-seeds,
So they assassins ceaseless generate,
Their children's children ruthless to destroy.--
Now tell the remnant of thy brother's tale,
Which horror darkly hid from me before.
How did the last descendant of the race,--
The gentle child, to whom the Gods assign'd
The office of avenger,--how did he
Escape that day of blood? Did equal fate
Around Orestes throw Avernus' net?
Say, was he saved? and is he still alive?
And lives Electra, too?
ORESTES.
They both survive.
IPHIGENIA.
Golden Apollo, lend thy choicest beams!
Lay them an offering at the throne of Jove!
For I am poor and dumb.
ORESTES.
If social bonds
Or ties more close connect thee with this house,
As this thy joy evinces, rein thy heart;
For insupportable the sudden plunge
From happiness to sorrow's gloomy depth.
As yet thou only know'st the hero's death.
IPHIGENIA.
And is not this intelligence enough?
ORESTES.
Half of the horror yet remains untold,
IPHIGENIA.
Electra and Orestes both survive,
What have I then to fear?
ORESTES.
And fear'st thou nought
For Clytemnestra?
IPHIGENIA.
Her, nor hope nor fear
Have power to save.
ORESTES.
She to the land of hope
Hath bid farewell.
IPHIGENIA.
Did her repentant hand
Shed her own blood?
ORESTES.
Not so; yet her own blood
Inflicted death.
IPHIGENIA.
Speak less ambiguously.
Uncertainty around my anxious head
Her dusky, thousand-folded, pinion waves.
ORESTES.
Have then the powers above selected me
To be the herald of a dreadful deed,
Which, in the drear and soundless realms of night,
I fain would hide for ever? 'Gainst my will
Thy gentle voice constrains me; it demands,
And shall receive, a tale of direst woe.
Electra, on the day when fell her sire,
Her brother from impending doom conceal'd;
Him Strophius, his father's relative,
With kindest care receiv'd, and rear'd the child
With his own son, named Pylades, who soon
Around the stranger twin'd the bonds of love.
And as they grew, within their inmost souls
There sprang the burning longing to revenge
The monarch's death. Unlookd for, and disguis'd,
They reach Mycene, feigning to have brought
The mournful tidings of Orestes' death,
Together with his ashes. Them the queen
Gladly receives. Within the house they enter;
Orestes to Electra shows himself:
She fans the fires of vengeance into flame,
Which in the sacred presence of a mother
Had burn'd more dimly. Silently she leads
Her brother to the spot where fell their sire;
Where lurid blood-marks, on the oft-wash'd floor,
With pallid streaks, anticipate revenge.
With fiery eloquence she pictures forth
Each circumstance of that atrocious deed,--
Her own oppress'd and miserable life,
The prosperous traitor's insolent demeanour,
The perils threat'ning Agamemnon's race
From her who had become their stepmother;
Then in his hand the ancient dagger thrusts,
Which often in the house of Tantalus
With savage fury rag'd,--and by her son
Is Clytemnestra slain.
IPHIGENIA.
Immortal powers!
Whose pure and blest existence glides away
'Mid ever shifting clouds, me have ye kept
So many years secluded from the world,
Retain'd me near yourselves, consign'd to me
The childlike task to feed the sacred fire,
And taught my spirit, like the hallow'd flame,
With never-clouded brightness to aspire
To your pure mansions,--but at length to feel
With keener woe the misery of my house?
Oh tell me of the poor unfortunate!
Speak of Orestes!
ORESTES.
Would that he were dead!
Forth from his mother's blood her ghost arose,
And to the ancient daughters of the night
Cries,--"Let him not escape,--the matricide!
Pursue the victim, dedicate to you!"
They hear, and glare around with hollow eyes,
Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens
They stir themselves, and from the corners creep
Their comrades, dire Remorse and pallid Fear;
Before them fumes a mist of Acheron;
Perplexingly around the murderer's brow
The eternal contemplation of the past
Rolls in its cloudy circles. Once again
The grisly band, commissioned to destroy,
Pollute earth's beautiful and heaven-sown fields,
From which an ancient curse had banish'd them.
Their rapid feet the fugitive pursue;
They only pause to start a wilder fear.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy one; thy lot resembles his,
Thou feel'st what he, poor fugitive, must suffer.
ORESTES.
What say'st thou? why presume my fate like his?
IPHIGENIA.
A brother's murder weighs upon thy soul;
Thy younger brother told the mournful tale.
ORESTES.
I cannot suffer that thy noble soul
Should be deceiv'd by error. Rich in guile,
And practis'd in deceit, a stranger may
A web of falsehood cunningly devise
To snare a stranger;--between us be truth.
I am Orestes! and this guilty head
Is stooping to the tomb, and covets death;
It will be welcome now in any shape.
Whoe'er thou art, for thee and for my friend
I wish deliverance;--I desire it not.
Thou seem'st to linger here against thy will;
Contrive some means of flight, and leave me here:
My lifeless corpse hurl'd headlong from the rock,
My blood shall mingle with the dashing waves,
And bring a curse upon this barbarous shore!
Return together home to lovely Greece,
With joy a new existence to commence.
[ORESTES retires.
IPHIGENIA.
At length Fulfilment, fairest child of Jove,
Thou dost descend upon me from on high!
How vast thine image! scarce my straining eye
Can reach thy hands, which, fill'd with golden fruit
And wreaths of blessing, from Olympus' height
Shower treasures down. As by his bounteous gifts
We recognize the monarch (for what seems
To thousands opulence is nought to him),
So you, ye heavenly Powers, are also known
By bounty long withheld, and wisely plann'd.
Ye only know what things are good for us;
Ye view the future's wide-extended realm;
While from our eye a dim or starry veil
The prospect shrouds. Calmly ye hear our prayers,
When we like children sue for greater speed.
Not immature ye pluck heaven's golden fruit;
And woe to him, who with impatient hand,
His date of joy forestalling, gathers death.
Let not this long-awaited happiness,
Which yet my heart hath scarcely realiz'd,
Like to the shadow of departed friends,
Glide vainly by with triple sorrow fraught!
ORESTES, returning.
Dost thou for Pylades and for thyself
Implore the gods, blend not my name with yours;
Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join,
But wilt participate his curse and woe.
IPHIGENIA.
My destiny is firmly bound to thine.
ORESTES.
No, say not so; alone and unattended
Let me descend to Hades. Though thou shouldst
In thine own veil enwrap the guilty one.
Thou couldst not shroud him from his wakeful foes;
And e'en thy sacred presence, heavenly maid,
Drives them aside, but scares them not away.
With brazen impious feet they dare not tread
Within the precincts of this sacred grove:
Yet in the distance, ever and anon,
I hear their horrid laughter, like the howl
Of famish'd wolves, beneath the tree wherein
The traveller hides. Without, encamp'd they lie,
And should I quit this consecrated grove,
Shaking their serpent locks, they would arise,
And, raising clouds of dust on every side,
Ceaseless pursue their miserable prey.
IPHIGENIA.
Orestes, canst thou hear a friendly word?
ORESTES.
Reserve it for one favour'd by the gods.
IPHIGENIA.
To thee they give anew the light of hope.
ORESTES.
Through clouds and smoke I see the feeble gleam
Of the death-stream which lights me down to hell.
IPHIGENIA.
Hast thou one sister only, thy Electra?
ORESTES.
I knew but one: yet her kind destiny,
Which seem'd to us so terrible, betimes
Removed an elder sister from the woe
That dogs the race of Pelops. Cease, oh cease
Thy questions, maiden, nor thus league thyself
With the Eumenides, who blow away,
With fiendish joy, the ashes from my soul,
Lest the last spark of horror's fiery brand
Should be extinguish'd there. Must then the fire,
Deliberately kindl'd and supplied
With hellish sulphur, never cease to sear
My tortur'd bosom?
IPHIGENIA.
In the flame I throw
Sweet incense. Let the gentle breath of love,
Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow.
Orestes, fondly lov'd,--canst thou not hear me?
Hath the terrific Furies' grisly band
Completely dried the life-blood in thy veins?
Creeps there, as from the Gorgon's direful head,
A petrifying charm through all thy limbs?
If hollow voices, from a mother's blood,
Call thee to hell, may not a sister's word
With benediction pure ascend to heaven,
And summon thence some gracious power to aid thee?
ORESTES.
She calls! she calls!--Thou too desir'st my death?
Is there a fury shrouded in thy form?
Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA.
Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she,
Iphigenia,--look on me, Orestes!
ORESTES.
Thou!
IPHIGENIA.
My own brother!
ORESTES.
Hence, away, begone!
Touch not these locks, I counsel thee; from me,
As from Creusa's bridal robe, proceeds
An unextinguishable fire. Depart!
Like Hercules, an ignominious death,
Unworthy wretch, look'd in myself, I'll die.
IPHIGENIA.
Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implor'd so long.
A wheel of joy and sorrow in my heart
Ceaseless revolves. With shy reserve I turn
From one unknown; but unto thee, my brother,
My inmost heart resistlessly impels me.
ORESTES.
Is this Ly'us' temple? Doth the glow
Of holy rage unbridl'd thus possess
The sacred priestess?
IPHIGENIA.
Hear me, oh, look up!
See how my heart, which hath been clos'd so long,
Doth open to the bliss of seeing thee,
The dearest treasure that the world contains,--
Of falling on thy neck, and folding thee
Within my longing arms, which have till now
Met the embraces of the empty wind.
Do not repulse me,--the eternal spring,
Whose crystal waters from Parnassus flow,
Bounds not more gaily on from rock to rock,
Down to the golden vale, than from my heart
The waters of affection freely gush,
And round me form a circling sea of bliss.
Orestes! Oh, my brother!
ORESTES.
Lovely nymph!
Nor thy caresses, nor thyself I trust;
Diana claims attendants more severe,
And doth avenge her desecrated fane.
Remove thy circling arm! and if thou wilt
Safety and love upon a youth bestow,
Unto my friend, more worthy than myself,
Impart thy gifts; among yon rocks he roves;
Go seek him, guide him hence, and heed not me.
IPHIGENIA.
Brother, command thyself, and better know
Thy new-found sister, nor misconstrue thus
Her pure and heav'nly joy. Ye Gods, remove
From his fix'd eye delusion, lest this hour
Of highest bliss should make us trebly wretched!
Oh she is here, thine own, thy long-lost sister,
Whom great Diana from the altar snatch'd,
And safely plac'd here in her sacred fane.
A captive thou, prepar'd for sacrifice,
And findest here a sister in the priestess.
ORESTES.
Accursed race! Now may the sun behold
Your final doom. Is not Electra here?
That she with us may perish, nor her life
For heavier doom and deeper woe reserve.
'Tis well,--I follow, priestess! Fratricide
Is an old custom of our ancient house;
And you, ye Gods, I thank, that ye resolve
Childless to root me hence. Thee let me counsel
To view too fondly neither sun nor stars.
Come follow to the gloomy realms below!
As dragons, gender'd in the sulphur pool,
Swallow each other with voracious rage,
So our accurs'd race destroys itself.
Childless and guiltless come below with me!
There's pity in thy look! oh, gaze not so,--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierc'd.
His mother fell!--Appear, indignant shade!
Within the circle step, ye fiends of hell,
Be present at the welcome spectacle,
The last, most horrible, that ye prepare!
Nor hate, nor vengeance, whets the poignard now,
A sister is constrain'd to deal the blow.
Weep not! Thy guiltless soul is free from crime.
From earliest infancy I nought have lov'd,
As thee I could have lov'd, my sister. Come,
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams!
(He sinks exhausted.)
IPHIGENIA.
Alone I cannot bear this bliss and woe.
Where art thou, Pylades? Thine aid I need.
(Iphigenia retires.)
SCENE II.
ORESTES,
Recovering from his swoon and standing up.
Give yet another! reach from Lethe's stream
The last reviving draught of cool refreshment!
Soon shall its waters in my bosom still
Life's fitful fever; and my spirit then
Adown oblivion's stream shall glide to you,
Ye spirits, shrouded in eternal mist.
With tranquil pleasure in your deep repose
A weary son of earth may lave his soul!--
What whisp'ring sounds pervade the dreary grove?
What hollow murmurs haunt its twilight gloom?--
They gather round to view the stranger guest!
Who are yon troop in high communion met,
Like an assembl'd family of princes?
They mingle peacefully, of every age,
And either sex, yet are their godlike forms
Cast in a kindred mould. 'Tis they, 'tis they,
The fathers of my race! With Atreus,
In friendly converse glides Thyestes' shade,
And children playfully around them sport.
Is there no enmity among you now?
And is revenge extinguish'd with the sun?
I then am welcome, and may hope to join
Your solemn company. My fathers, hail!
Orestes, last descendant of your race,
Salutes you. What ye sow'd, that hath he reap'd
Laden with curses he descends to you.
But burdens here are lighter far to bear.
Receive him, oh, receive him in your circle!
Thee, Atreus, I revere, and thee, Thyestes:
Here all are free from enmity and hate.--
Show me my father, whom I only once
In life beheld.--Art thou my father, thou,
My mother leading thus familiarly?
Dares Clytemnestra reach her hand to thee;
Then may Orestes also draw near her,
And say, behold thy son!--My ancestors,
Behold your son, and bid him welcome here,
Among the sons of ancient Tantalus,
A kind salute on earth was murder's watchword,
And all their joys commence beyond the grave.
Ye welcome me! Ye bid me join your circle!
Oh, lead me to my honour'd ancestor!
Where is the aged hero? that I may
Behold the dear, the venerable head,
Of him, who with the gods in council sat.
You seem to shudder and to turn away?
What may this mean? Suffers the godlike man?
Alas! the mighty gods, with ruthless hate,
To his heroic breast, with brazen chains,
Have cruel pangs indissolubly bound.
SCENE III.
ORESTES. IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
ORESTES.
How! are ye come already? Sister, welcome.
Electra still is missing: some kind god
With gentle arrow send her quickly hither.
Thee, my poor friend, I must compassionate!
Come with me, come to Pluto's gloomy throne.
There to salute our hosts like stranger guests.
IPHIGENIA.
Celestial pair, who from the realms above
By night and day shed down the beauteous light
To cheer mankind, but who may not illume
Departed spirits, save a mortal pair!
A brother's and a sister's anguish pity!
For thou, Diana, lov'st thy gentle brother
Beyond what earth and heaven can offer thee
And dost, with quiet yearning, ever turn
Thy virgin face to his eternal light.
Let not my only brother, found so late,
Rave in the darkness of insanity!
And is thy will, when thou didst here conceal me,
At length fulfill'd,--would'st thou to me through him,
To him through me, thy gracious aid extend,--
Oh, free him from the fetters of this curse,
Lest vainly pass the precious hours of safety.
PYLADES.
Dost thou not know us, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Dost thou not feel thy sister and thy friend,
Who hold thee living in their firm embrace?
Grasp us! we are not shadows. Mark my words!
Collect thyself,--each moment now is precious,
And our return hangs on a slender thread,
Which, as it seems, some gracious fate doth spin.
ORESTES to IPHIGENIA.
My sister, let me for the first time taste,
With open heart, pure joy within thine arms!
Ye gods, who charge the heavy clouds with dread,
And sternly gracious send the long-sought rain
With thunder and the rush of mighty winds,
A horrid deluge on the trembling earth;
Yet dissipate at length man's dread suspense,
Exchanging timid wonder's anxious gaze
For grateful looks and joyous songs of praise,
When in each sparkling drop which gems the leaves,
Apollo, thousand-fold, reflects his beam,
And Iris colours with a magic hand
The dusky texture of the parting clouds;
Oh, let me also in my sister's arms,
And on the bosom of my friend, enjoy
With grateful thanks the bliss ye now bestow
My heart assures me that your curses cease.
The dread Eumenides at length retire,
The brazen gates of Tartarus I hear
Behind them closing with a thund'ring clang.
A quick'ning odour from the earth ascends,
Inviting me to chase, upon its plains,
The joys of life and deeds of high emprise.
PYLADES.
Lose not the moments which are limited!
The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
IPHIGENIA.
When the Powers on high decree
For a feeble child of earth
Dire perplexity and woe,
And his spirit doom to pass
With tumult wild from joy to grief,
And back again from grief to joy,
In fearful alternation;
They in mercy then provide,
In the precincts of his home,
Or upon the distant shore,
That to him may never fail
Ready help in hours of need,
A tranquil, faithful friend.
Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades,
And every project that his mind may form!
In combat his the vigorous arm of youth,
And in the counsel his the eye of age.
His soul is tranquil; in his inner mind
He guards a sacred, undisturb'd repose,
And from its silent depths a rich supply
Of aid and counsel draws for the distress'd.
He tore me from my brother, upon whom,
With fond amaze, I gaz'd and gaz'd again;
I could not realize my happiness,
Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not
The danger's near approach that threatens us.
To execute their project of escape,
They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
Their comrades in the vessel lie conceal'd
And wait a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers, should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Alas! I see
I must consent to follow like a child.
I have not learn'd deception, nor the art
To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.
Detested falsehood! it doth not relieve
The breast like words of truth: it comforts not,
But is a torment in the forger's heart,
And, like an arrow which a god directs,
Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart
One fear doth chase another; perhaps with rage,
Again on the unconsecrated shore,
The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.
Perchance they are surpris'd? Methinks I hear
The tread of armed men. A messenger
Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.
How throbs my heart, how troubl'd is my soul
Now that I see the countenance of one,
Whom with a word untrue I must encounter!
SCENE II.
IPHIGENIA. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice,
Impatiently the king and people wait.
IPHIGENIA.
I had perform'd my duty and thy will,
Had not an unforeseen impediment
The execution of my purpose thwarted.
ARKAS.
What is it that obstructs the king's commands?
IPHIGENIA.
Chance, which from mortals will not brook control.
ARKAS.
Possess me with the reason, that with speed
I may inform the king, who hath decreed
The death of both.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods have not decreed it.
The elder of these men doth bear the guilt
Of kindred murder; on his steps attend
The dread Eumenides. They seiz'd their prey
Within the inner fane, polluting thus
The holy sanctuary. I hasten now,
Together with my virgin-train, to bathe
Diana's image in the sea, and there
With solemn rites its purity restore.
Let none presume our silent march to follow!
ARKAS.
This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce:
Do not commence the rite till he permit.
IPHIGENIA.
The priestess interferes alone in this.
ARKAS.
An incident so strange the king should know.
IPHIGENIA.
Here, nor his counsel nor command avails.
ARKAS.
Oft are the great consulted out of form.
IPHIGENIA.
Do not insist on what I must refuse.
ARKAS.
A needful and a just demand refuse not.
IPHIGENIA.
I yield, if thou delay not.
ARKAS.
I with speed
Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon
Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.
There is a message I would gladly bear him:
'Twould quickly banish all perplexity:
Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.
IPHIGENIA.
I willingly have done whate'er I could.
ARKAS.
E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy mind.
IPHIGENIA.
To do so is, alas, beyond our power.
ARKAS.
What thou wouldst shun, thou deem'st impossible.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.
ARKAS.
Wilt thou so calmly venture everything?
IPHIGENIA.
My fate I have committed to the gods.
ARKAS.
The gods are wont to save by human means.
IPHIGENIA.
By their appointment everything is done.
ARKAS.
Believe me, all doth now depend on thee.
The irritated temper of the king
Alone condemns these men to bitter death.
The soldiers from the cruel sacrifice
And bloody service long have been disused;
Nay, many, whom their adverse fortunes cast
In foreign regions, there themselves have felt
How godlike to the exil'd wanderer
The friendly countenance of man appears.
Do not deprive us of thy gentle aid!
With ease thou canst thy sacred task fulfil:
For nowhere doth benignity, which comes
In human form from heaven, so quickly gain
An empire o'er the heart, as where a race,
Gloomy and savage, full of life and power,
Without external guidance, and oppress'd
With vague forebodings, bear life's heavy load.
IPHIGENIA.
Shake not my spirit, which thou canst not bend
According to thy will.
ARKAS.
While there is time
Nor labour nor persuasion shall be spar'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy labour but occasions pain to me;
Both are in vain; therefore, I pray, depart.
ARKAS.
I summon pain to aid me. 'tis a friend
Who counsels wisely.
IPHIGENIA.
Though it shakes my soul,
It doth not banish thence my strong repugnance.
ARKAS.
Can then a gentle soul repugnance feel
For benefits bestow'd by one so noble?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, when the donor, for those benefits,
Instead of gratitude, demands myself.
ARKAS.
Who no affection feels doth never want
Excuses. To the king I'll now relate
All that has happen'd. Oh, that in thy soul
Thou wouldst revolve his noble conduct, priestess,
Since thy arrival to the present day!
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
These words at an unseasonable hour
Produce a strong revulsion in my breast;
I am alarm'd!--For as the rushing tide
In rapid currents eddies o'er the rocks
Which lie among the sand upon the shore;
E'en so a stream of joy o'erwhelm'd my soul.
I grasp'd what had appear'd impossible.
It was as though another gentle cloud
Around me lay, to raise me from the earth,
And rock my spirit in the same sweet sleep
Which the kind goddess shed around my brow,
What time her circling arm from danger snatch'd me.
My brother forcibly engross'd my heart;
I listen'd only to his friend's advice;
My soul rush'd eagerly to rescue them,
And as the mariner with joy surveys
The less'ning breakers of a desert isle,
So Tauris lay behind me. But the voice
Of faithful Arkas wakes me from my dream,
Reminding me that those whom I forsake
Are also men. Deceit doth now become
Doubly detested. O my soul, be still!
Beginn'st thou now to tremble and to doubt?
Thy lonely shelter on the firm-set earth
Must thou abandon? and, embark'd once more,
At random drift upon tumultuous waves,
A stranger to thyself and to the world?
SCENE IV.
IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.
PYLADES.
Where is she? that my words with speed may tell
The joyful tidings of our near escape!
IPHIGENIA.
Oppress'd with gloomy care, I much require
The certain comfort thou dost promise me.
PYLADES.
Thy brother is restor'd! The rocky paths
Of this unconsecrated shore we trod
In friendly converse, while behind us lay,
Unmark'd by us, the consecrated grove;
And ever with increasing glory shone
The fire of youth around his noble brow.
Courage and hope his glowing eye inspir'd;
And his free heart exulted with the joy
Of saving thee, his sister, and his friend.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods shower blessings on thee, Pylades!
And from those lips which breathe such welcome news,
Be the sad note of anguish never heard!
PYLADES.
I bring yet more,--for Fortune, like a prince,
Comes not alone, but well accompanied.
Our friends and comrades we have also found.
Within a bay they had conceal'd the ship,
And mournful sat expectant. They beheld
Thy brother, and a joyous shout uprais'd,
Imploring him to haste the parting hour.
Each hand impatient long'd to grasp the oar,
While from the shore a gently murmuring breeze,
Perceiv'd by all, unfurl'd its wing auspicious.
Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane,
That I may tread the sanctuary, and seize
With sacred awe the object of our hopes.
I can unaided on my shoulder bear
Diana's image: how I long to feel
The precious burden!
[While speaking the last words, he approaches the Temple,
without perceiving that he is not followed by
Iphigenia: at length he turns round.]
Why thus ling'ring stand.
Why art thou silent? wherefore thus confus'd?
Doth some new obstacle oppose our bliss?
Inform me, hast thou to the king announc'd
The prudent message we agreed upon?
IPHIGENIA.
I have, dear Pylades; yet wilt thou chide.
Thy very aspect is a mute reproach.
The royal messenger arriv'd, and I,
According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech.
He seem'd surpris'd, and urgently besought,
That to the monarch I should first announce
The rite unusual, and attend his will.
I now await the messenger's return.
PYLADES.
Danger again doth hover o'er our heads!
O priestess, why neglect to shroud thyself
Within the veil of sacerdotal rites?
IPHIGENIA.
I never have employ'd them as a veil.
PYLADES.
Pure soul! thy scruples will destroy alike
Thyself and us. Why did I not foresee
Such an emergency, and tutor thee
This counsel also wisely to elude?
IPHIGENIA.
Chide only me, for mine alone the blame.
Yet other answer could I not return
To him, who strongly and with reason urg'd
What my own heart acknowledg'd to be right.
PYLADES.
The danger thickens; but let us be firm,
Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves;
Calmly await the messenger's return,
And then stand fast, whatever his reply:
For the appointment of such sacred rites
Doth to the priestess, not the king belong.
Should he demand the stranger to behold
Who is by madness heavily oppress'd,
Evasively pretend, that in the fane,
Securely guarded, thou retain'st us both.
Thus you secure us time to fly with speed,
Bearing the sacred treasure from this race,
Unworthy its possession. Phoebus sends
Auspicious omens, and fulfils his word,
Ere we the first conditions have perform'd.
Free is Orestes, from the curse absolv'd!
Oh, with the freed one, to the rocky isle
Where dwells the god, waft us, propitious gales!
Thence to Mycene, that she may revive;
That from the ashes of the extinguish'd hearth,
The household gods may joyously arise,
And beauteous fire illumine their abode!
Thy hand from golden censers first shall strew
The fragrant incense. O'er that threshold thou
Shalt life and blessing once again dispense,
The curse atone, and all thy kindred grace
With the fresh bloom of renovated life.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,
Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,
Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.
How dear the counsel of a present friend,
Lacking whose godlike power, the lonely one
In silence droops! for, lock'd within his breast,
Slowly are ripen'd purpose and resolve,
Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matur'd.
PYLADES.
Farewell! I haste to re-assure our friends,
Who anxiously await us: then with speed
I will return, and, hid within the brake,
Attend thy signal.--Wherefore, all at once,
Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?
IPHIGENIA.
Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun,
So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.
PYLADES.
Oh, banish fear! With danger it hath form'd
A close alliance,--they are constant friends.
IPHIGENIA.
It is an honest scruple, which forbids
That I should cunningly deceive the king,
And plunder him who was my second sire.
PYLADES.
Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother.
IPHIGENIA.
To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.
PYLADES.
What Fate commands is not ingratitude.
IPHIGENIA.
Alas! it still remains ingratitude;
Necessity alone can justify it.
PYLADES.
Thee, before gods and men it justifies.
IPHIGENIA.
But my own heart is still unsatisfied.
PYLADES.
Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.
IPHIGENIA.
I cannot argue, I can only feel.
PYLADES.
Conscious of right, thou shouldst respect thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Then only doth the heart know perfect ease,
When not a stain pollutes it.
PYLADES.
In this fane
Pure hast thou kept thy heart. Life teaches us
To be less strict with others and ourselves;
Thou'lt learn the lesson too. So wonderful
Is human nature, and its varied ties
Are so involv'd and complicate, that none
May hope to keep his inmost spirit pure,
And walk without perplexity through life.
Nor are we call'd upon to judge ourselves;
With circumspection to pursue his path,
Is the immediate duty of a man.
For seldom can he rightly estimate,
Or his past conduct or his present deeds.
IPHIGENIA.
Almost thou dost persuade me to consent.
PYLADES.
Needs there persuasion when no choice is granted?
To save thyself, thy brother, and a friend,
One path presents itself, and canst thou ask
If we shall follow it?
IPHIGENIA.
Still let me pause,
For such injustice thou couldst not thyself
Calmly return for benefits receiv'd.
PYLADES.
If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,
Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.
It seems thou art not used to suffer much,
When, to escape so great calamity,
Thou canst refuse to utter one false word.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, that I bore within a manly heart!
Which, when it hath conceiv'd a bold resolve,
'Gainst every other voice doth close itself.
PYLADES.
In vain thou dost refuse; with iron hand
Necessity commands; her stern decree
Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves
Must yield submission. In dread silence rules
The uncounsell'd sister of eternal fate.
What she appoints thee to endure,--endure;
What to perform,--perform. The rest thou know'st.
Ere long I will return, and then receive
The seal of safety from thy sacred hand.
SCENE V.
IPHIGENIA, alone.
I must obey him, for I see my friends
Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate
Doth with increasing anguish move my heart.
May I no longer feed the silent hope
Which in my solitude I fondly cherish'd?
Shall the dire curse eternally endure?
And shall our fated race ne'er rise again
With blessings crown'd?--All mortal things decay!
The noblest powers, the purest joys of life
At length subside: then wherefore not the curse?
And have I vainly hop'd that, guarded here,
Secluded from the fortunes of my race,
I, with pure heart and hands, some future day
Might cleanse the deep defilement of our house?
Scarce was my brother in my circling arms
From raging madness suddenly restor'd,
Scarce had the ship, long pray'd for, near'd the strand,
Once more to waft me to my native shores,
When unrelenting fate, with iron hand,
A double crime enjoins; commanding me
To steal the image, sacred and rever'd,
Confided to my care, and him deceive
To whom I owe my life and destiny.
Let not abhorrence spring within my heart!
Nor the old Titan's hate, toward you, ye gods,
Infix its vulture talons in my breast!
Save me, and save your image in my soul!
An ancient song comes back upon mine ear--
I had forgotten it, and willingly--
The Parc''s song, which horribly they sang,
What time, hurl'd headlong from his golden seat,
Fell Tantalus. They with their noble friend
Keen anguish suffer'd; savage was their breast
And horrible their song. In days gone by,
When we were children, oft our ancient nurse
Would sing it to us, and I mark'd it well.
Oh, fear the immortals,
Ye children of men!
Eternal dominion
They hold in their hands.
And o'er their wide empire
Wield absolute sway.
Whom they have exalted
Let him fear them most!
Around golden tables,
On cliffs and clouds resting
The seats are prepar'd.
If contest ariseth;
The guests are hurl'd headlong,
Disgrac'd and dishonour'd,
And fetter'd in darkness,
Await with vain longing,
A juster decree.
But in feasts everlasting,
Around the gold tables
Still dwell the immortals.
From mountain to mountain
They stride; while ascending
From fathomless chasms,
The breath of the Titans,
Half stifl'd with anguish,
Like volumes of incense
Fumes up to the skies.
From races ill-fated,
Their aspect joy-bringing,
Oft turn the celestials,
And shun in the children
To gaze on the features
Once lov'd and still speaking
Of their mighty sire.
Thus sternly the Fates sang
Immur'd in his dungeon.
The banish'd one listens,
The song of the Parc',
His children's doom ponders,
And boweth his head.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
THOAS. ARKAS.
ARKAS.
I own I am perplex'd, and scarcely know
'Gainst whom to point the shaft of my suspicion,
Whether the priestess aids the captives' flight,
Or they themselves clandestinely contrive it.
'Tis rumour'd that the ship which brought them here
Is lurking somewhere in a bay conceal'd.
This stranger's madness, these new lustral rites,
The specious pretext for delay, excite
Mistrust, and call aloud for vigilance.
THOAS.
Summon the priestess to attend me here!
Then go with speed, and strictly search the shore,
From yon projecting land to Dian's grove:
Forbear to violate its sacred depths;
A watchful ambush set, attack and seize,
According to your wont, whome'er ye find.
[Arkas retires.
SCENE II.
THOAS, alone.
Fierce anger rages in my riven breast,
First against her, whom I esteem'd so pure;
Then 'gainst myself, whose foolish lenity
Hath fashion'd her for treason. Man is soon
Inur'd to slavery, and quickly learns
Submission, when of freedom quite depriv'd.
If she had fallen in the savage hands
Of my rude sires, and had their holy rage
Forborne to slay her, grateful for her life,
She would have recogniz'd her destiny.
Have shed before the shrine the stranger's blood,
And duty nam'd what was necessity.
Now my forbearance in her breast allures
Audacious wishes. Vainly I had hop'd
To bind her to me; rather she contrives
To shape an independent destiny.
She won my heart through flattery; and now
That I oppose her, seeks to gain her ends
By fraud and cunning, and my kindness deems
A worthless and prescriptive property.
SCENE III.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
IPHIGENIA.
Me hast thou summon'd? wherefore art thou here?
THOAS.
Wherefore delay the sacrifice? inform me.
IPHIGENIA.
I have acquainted Arkas with the reasons.
THOAS.
From thee I wish to hear them more at large.
IPHIGENIA.
The goddess for reflection grants thee time.
THOAS.
To thee this time seems also opportune.
IPHIGENIA.
If to this cruel deed thy heart is steel'd,
Thou shouldst not come! A king who meditates
A deed inhuman, may find slaves enow,
Willing for hire to bear one half the curse,
And leave the monarch's presence undefil'd.
Enwrapt in gloomy clouds he forges death,
Whose flaming arrow on his victim's head
His hirelings hurl; while he above the storm
Remains untroubl'd, an impassive god.
THOAS.
A wild song, priestess, issued from thy lips.
IPHIGENIA.
No priestess, king! but Agamemnon's daughter;
While yet unknown, thou didst respect my words:
A princess now,--and think'st thou to command me
From youth I have been tutor'd to obey,
My parents first, and then the deity;
And thus obeying, ever hath my soul
Known sweetest freedom. But nor then nor now
Have I been taught compliance with the voice
And savage mandates of a man.
THOAS.
Not I,
An ancient law doth claim obedience from thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Our passions eagerly catch hold of laws
Which they can wield as weapons. But to me
Another law, one far more ancient, speaks,
And doth command me to withstand thee, king!
That law declaring sacred every stranger.
THOAS.
These men, methinks, lie very near thy heart.
When sympathy with them can lead thee thus
To violate discretion's primal law,
That those in power should never be provok'd.
IPHIGENIA.
Speaking or silent, thou canst always know
What is, and ever must be, in my heart.
Doth not remembrance of a common doom,
To soft compassion melt the hardest heart?
How much more mine! in them I see myself.
I trembling kneel'd before the altar once.
And solemnly the shade of early death
Environ'd me. Aloft the knife was rais'd
To pierce my bosom, throbbing with warm life;
A dizzy horror overwhelm'd my soul;
My eyes grew dim;--I found myself in safety.
Are we not bound to render the distress'd
The gracious kindness from the gods receiv'd?
Thou know'st we are, and yet wilt thou compel me?
THOAS.
Obey thine office, priestess, not the king.
IPHIGENIA.
Cease! nor thus seek to cloak the savage force
Which triumphs o'er a woman's feebleness.
Though woman, I am born as free as man.
Did Agamemnon's son before thee stand,
And thou requiredst what became him not,
His arm and trusty weapon would defend
His bosom's freedom. I have only words
But it becomes a noble-minded man
To treat with due respect the words of woman.
THOAS.
I more respect them than a brother's sword.
IPHIGENIA.
Uncertain ever is the chance of arms,
No prudent warrior doth despise his foe;
Nor yet defenceless 'gainst severity
Hath nature left the weak; she gives him craft
And wily cunning: artful he delays,
Evades, eludes, and finally escapes.
Such arms are justified by violence.
THOAS.
But circumspection countervails deceit.
IPHIGENIA.
Which a pure spirit doth abhor to use.
THOAS.
Do not incautiously condemn thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul,
Courageously to ward the first attack
Of an unhappy doom, which threatens me!
Do I then stand before thee weaponless?
Prayer, lovely prayer, fair branch in woman's hand,
More potent far than instruments of war,
Thou dost thrust back. What now remains for me
Wherewith my inborn freedom to defend?
Must I implore a miracle from heaven?
Is there no power within my spirit's depths?
THOAS.
Extravagant thy interest in the fate
Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are,
For whom thy heart is thus so deeply mov'd.
IPHIGENIA.
They are--they seem at least--I think them Greeks.
THOAS.
Thy countrymen; no doubt they have renew'd
The pleasing picture of return.
IPHIGENIA, after a pause,
Doth man
Lay undisputed claim to noble deeds?
Doth he alone to his heroic breast
Clasp the impossible? What call we great?
What deeds, though oft narrated, still uplift
With shudd'ring horror the narrator's soul,
But those which, with improbable success,
The valiant have attempted? Shall the man
Who all alone steals on his foes by night,
And raging like an unexpected fire,
Destroys the slumbering host, and press'd at length
By rous'd opponents or his foemen's steeds,
Retreats with booty--be alone extoll'd?
Or he who, scorning safety, boldly roams
Through woods and dreary wilds, to scour the land
Of thieves and robbers? Is nought left for us?
Must gentle woman quite forego her nature,--
Force against force employ,--like Amazons,
Usurp the sword from man, and bloodily
Revenge oppression? In my heart I feel
The stirrings of a noble enterprize;
But if I fail--severe reproach, alas!
And bitter misery will be my doom.
Thus on my knees I supplicate the gods.
Oh, are ye truthful, as men say ye are,
Now prove it by your countenance and aid;
Honour the truth in me! Attend, O king!
A secret plot is laid; 'tis vain to ask
Touching the captives; they are gone, and seek
Their comrades who await them on the shore.
The eldest,--he whom madness lately seiz'd,
And who is now recover'd,--is Orestes,
My brother, and the other Pylades,
His early friend and faithful confidant.
From Delphi, Phoebus sent them to this shore
With a divine command to steal away
The image of Diana, and to him
Bear back the sister, promising for this
Redemption to the blood-stain'd matricide.
I have deliver'd now into thy hands
The remnants of the house of Tantalus.
Destroy us--if thou canst.
THOAS.
And dost thou think
The savage Scythian will attend the voice
Of truth and of humanity, unheard
By the Greek Atreus?
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis heard by all,
Whate'er may be their clime, within whose breast
Flows pure and free the gushing stream of life.--
What silent purpose broods within thy soul?
Is it destruction? Let me perish first!
For now, deliv'rance hopeless, I perceive
The dreadful peril into which I have
With rash precipitancy plung'd my friends.
Alas! I soon shall see them bound before me!
How to my brother shall I say farewell?
I, the unhappy author of his death.
Ne'er can I gaze again in his dear eyes!
THOAS.
The traitors have contriv'd a cunning web,
And cast it round thee, who, secluded long,
Giv'st willing credence to thine own desires.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no! I'd pledge my life these men are true.
And shouldst thou find them otherwise, O king,
Then let them perish both, and cast me forth,
That on some rock-girt island's dreary shore
I may atone my folly. Are they true,
And is this man indeed my dear Orestes,
My brother, long implor'd,--release us both,
And o'er us stretch the kind protecting arm,
Which long hath shelter'd me. My noble sire
Fell through his consort's guilt,--she by her son;
On him alone the hope of Atreus' race
Doth now repose. Oh, with pure heart and hands
Let me depart to expiate our house.
Yes, thou wilt keep thy promise; thou didst swear,
That were a safe return provided me,
I should be free to go. The hour is come.
A king doth never grant like common men,
Merely to gain a respite from petition;
Nor promise what he hopes will ne'er be claim'd.
Then first he feels his dignity complete
When he can make the long-expecting happy.
THOAS.
As fire opposes water, and doth seek
With hissing rage to overcome its foe,
So doth my anger strive against thy words.
IPHIGENIA.
Let mercy, like the consecrated flame
Of silent sacrifice, encircl'd round
With songs of gratitude, and joy, and praise,
Above the tumult gently rise to heaven.
THOAS.
How often hath this voice assuag'd my soul!
IPHIGENIA.
Extend thy hand to me in sign of peace.
THOAS.
Large thy demand within so short a time.
IPHIGENIA.
Beneficence doth no reflection need.
THOAS.
'Tis needed oft, for evil springs from good.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis doubt which good doth oft to evil turn.
Consider not: act as thy feelings prompt thee.
SCENE IV.
ORESTES (armed). IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
ORESTES, addressing his followers.
Redouble your exertions! hold them back!
Few moments will suffice; retain your ground,
And keep a passage open to the ship
For me and for my sister.
To IPHIGENIA, without perceiving THOAS.
Come with speed!
We are betray'd,--brief time remains for flight.
THOAS.
None in my presence with impunity
His naked weapon wears.
IPHIGENIA.
Do not profane
Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood.
Command your people to forbear awhile,
And listen to the priestess, to the sister.
ORESTES.
Say, who is he that threatens us?
IPHIGENIA.
In him
Revere the king, who was my second father.
Forgive me, brother, that my childlike heart
Hath plac'd our fate thus wholly in his hands.
I have betray'd your meditated flight,
And thus from treachery redeem'd my soul.
ORESTES.
Will he permit our peaceable return?
IPHIGENIA.
Thy gleaming sword forbids me to reply.
ORESTES, sheathing his sword.
Then speak! thou seest I listen to thy words.
SCENE V.
ORESTES. IPHIGENIA. THOAS.
Enter PYLADES, soon after him ARKAS, both with
drawn swords.
PYLADES.
Do not delay! our friends are putting forth
Their final strength, and yielding step by step,
Are slowly driven backward to the sea.--
A conference of princes find I here?
Is this the sacred person of the king?
ARKAS.
Calmly, as doth become thee, thou dost stand,
O king, surrounded by thine enemies.
Soon their temerity shall be chastis'd;
Their yielding followers fly.--their ship is ours.
Speak but the word, and it is wrapt in flames.
THOAS.
Go, and command my people to forbear!
Let none annoy the foe while we confer. (Arkas retires.)
ORESTES.
I willingly consent. Go, Pylades!
Collect the remnant of our friends, and wait
The appointed issue of our enterprize.
(Pylades retires.)
SCENE VI.
IPHIGENIA. THOAS. ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA.
Believe my cares ere ye begin to speak.
I fear contention, if thou wilt not hear
The voice of equity, O king,--if thou
Wilt not, my brother, curb thy headstrong youth.
THOAS.
I, as becomes the elder, check my rage.
Now answer me: how dost thou prove thyself
The priestess' brother, Agamemnon's son?
ORESTES.
Behold the sword with which the hero slew
The valiant Trojans. From his murderer
I took the weapon, and implor'd the Gods
To grant me Agamemnon's mighty arm,
Success, and valour, with a death more noble.
Select one of the leaders of thy host,
And place the best as my opponent here.
Where'er on earth the sons of heroes dwell,
This boon is to the stranger ne'er refus'd.
THOAS.
This privilege hath ancient custom here
To strangers ne'er accorded.
ORESTES.
Then from us
Commence the novel custom! A whole race
In imitation soon will consecrate
Its monarch's noble action into law.
Nor let me only for our liberty,--
Let me, a stranger, for all strangers fight.
If I should fall, my doom be also theirs;
But if kind fortune crown me with success,
Let none e'er tread this shore, and fail to meet
The beaming eye of sympathy and love,
Or unconsol'd depart!
THOAS.
Thou dost not seem
Unworthy of thy boasted ancestry.
Great is the number of the valiant men
Who wait upon me; but I will myself,
Although advanc'd in years, oppose the foe,
And am prepar'd to try the chance of arms.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no! such bloody proofs are not requir'd.
Unhand thy weapon, king! my lot consider;
Rash combat oft immortalizes man;
If he should fall, he is renown'd in song;
But after ages reckon not the tears
Which ceaseless the forsaken woman sheds;
And poets tell not of the thousand nights
Consum'd in weeping, and the dreary days,
Wherein her anguish't soul, a prey to grief,
Doth vainly yearn to call her lov'd one back.
Fear warn'd me to beware lest robber's wiles
Might lure me from this sanctuary, and then
Betray me into bondage. Anxiously
I question'd them, each circumstance explor'd,
Demanded signs, and now my heart's assur'd.
See here, the mark as of three stars impress'd
On his right hand, which on his natal day
Were by the priest declar'd to indicate
Some dreadful deed by him to be perform'd.
And then this scar, which doth his eyebrow cleave,
Redoubles my conviction. When a child,
Electra, rash and inconsiderate,
Such was her nature, loos'd him from her arms.
He fell against a tripos. Oh, 'tis he!--
Shall I adduce the likeness to his sire,
Or the deep rapture of my inmost heart,
In further token of assurance, king?
THOAS.
E'en though thy words had banish'd every doubt,
And I had curb'd the anger in my breast,
Still must our arms decide. I see no peace.
Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess,
Was to deprive me of Diana's image.
And think ye that I'll look contented on?
The Greeks are wont to cast a longing eye
Upon the treasures of barbarians,
A golden fleece, good steeds, or daughters fair;
But force and guile not always have avail'd
To lead them, with their booty, safely home.
ORESTES.
The image shall not be a cause of strife!
We now perceive the error which the God,
Our journey here commanding, like a veil,
Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implor'd,
To free me from the Furies' grisly band.
He answer'd, "Back to Greece the sister bring,
Who in the sanctuary on Tauris' shore
Unwillingly abides; so ends the curse!"
To Phoebus' sister we applied the words,
And he referr'd to thee! The bonds severe,
Which held thee from us, holy one, are rent,
And thou art ours once more. At thy blest touch,
I felt myself restor'd. Within thine arms,
Madness once more around me coil'd its folds,
Crushing the marrow in my frame, and then
For ever, like a serpent, fled to hell.
Through thee, the daylight gladdens me anew.
The counsel of the Goddess now shines forth
In all its beauty and beneficence.
Like to a sacred image, unto which
An oracle immutably hath bound
A city's welfare, thee Diana took,
Protectress of our house, and guarded here
Within this holy stillness, to become
A blessing to thy brother and thy race.
Now when each passage to escape seems clos'd,
And safety hopeless, thou dost give us all.
O king, incline thine heart to thoughts of peace!
Let her fulfil her mission, and complete
The consecration of our father's house.
Me to their purified abode restore,
And place upon my brow the ancient crown!
Requite the blessing which her presence brought thee,
And let me now my nearer right enjoy!
Cunning and force, the proudest boast of man,
Fade in the lustre of her perfect truth;
Nor unrequited will a noble mind
Leave confidence, so childlike and so pure.
IPHIGENIA.
Think on thy promise; let thy heart be mov'd
By what a true and honest tongue hath spoken!
Look on us, king! an opportunity
For such a noble deed not oft occurs.
Refuse thou canst not,--give thy quick consent.
THOAS.
Then go!
IPHIGENIA.
Not so, my king! I cannot part
Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee.
Banish us not! the sacred right of guests
Still let us claim: so not eternally
Shall we be sever'd. Honour'd and belov'd
As mine own father was, art thou by me:
And this impression in my soul remains.
Should e'en the meanest peasant of thy land
Bring to my ear the tones I heard from thee
Or should I on the humblest see thy garb,
I will with joy receive him as a god,
Prepare his couch myself, beside our hearth
Invite him to a seat, and only ask
Touching thy fate and thee. Oh, may the gods
To thee the merited reward impart
Of all thy kindness and benignity!
Farewell! Oh, do not turn away, but give
One kindly word of parting in return!
So shall the wind more gently swell our sails,
And from our eyes with soften'd anguish flow
The tears of separation. Fare thee well!
And graciously extend to me thy hand,
In pledge of ancient friendship.
THOAS, extending his hand.
Fare thee well! | free_verse |
Hilaire Belloc | On Torture: A Public Singer | Torture will give a dozen pence or more
To keep a drab from bawling at his door.
The public taste is quite a different thing
Torture is positively paid to sing. | Torture will give a dozen pence or more | To keep a drab from bawling at his door.
The public taste is quite a different thing
Torture is positively paid to sing. | quatrain |
Walter Savage Landor | There Falls With Every Wedding Chime | There falls with every wedding chime
A feather from the wing of Time.
You pick it up, and say 'How fair
To look upon its colors are!'
Another drops day after day
Unheeded; not one word you say.
When bright and dusky are blown past,
Upon the hearse there nods the last. | There falls with every wedding chime
A feather from the wing of Time. | You pick it up, and say 'How fair
To look upon its colors are!'
Another drops day after day
Unheeded; not one word you say.
When bright and dusky are blown past,
Upon the hearse there nods the last. | octave |
William Cowper | To William Hayley, Esq. | Dear architect of fine chateaux in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear!
O for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!
But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled birth!
But what his commentator's happiest praise?
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.
| Dear architect of fine chateaux in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear! | O for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!
But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled birth!
But what his commentator's happiest praise?
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise. | sonnet |
William Butler Yeats | Aedh Tells Of A Valley Full Of Lovers | I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream 'O women bid the young men lay
'Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your hair,
'Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
'Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.' | I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood; | And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream 'O women bid the young men lay
'Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your hair,
'Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
'Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.' | octave |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXVIII - Reflections | Grant, that by this unsparing hurricane
Green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away,
And goodly fruitage with the mother spray;
'Twere madness, wished we, therefore, to detain,
With hands stretched forth in mollified disdain,
The "trumpery" that ascends in bare display
Bulls, pardons, relics, cowls black, white, and grey
Upwhirled, and flying o'er the ethereal plain
Fast bound for Limbo Lake. And yet not choice
But habit rules the unreflecting herd,
And airy bonds are hardest to disown;
Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred
Unto itself, the Crown assumes a voice
Of reckless mastery, hitherto unknown. | Grant, that by this unsparing hurricane
Green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away,
And goodly fruitage with the mother spray;
'Twere madness, wished we, therefore, to detain, | With hands stretched forth in mollified disdain,
The "trumpery" that ascends in bare display
Bulls, pardons, relics, cowls black, white, and grey
Upwhirled, and flying o'er the ethereal plain
Fast bound for Limbo Lake. And yet not choice
But habit rules the unreflecting herd,
And airy bonds are hardest to disown;
Hence, with the spiritual sovereignty transferred
Unto itself, the Crown assumes a voice
Of reckless mastery, hitherto unknown. | sonnet |
Walter Savage Landor | On Living Too Long | Is it not better at an early hour
In its calm cell to rest the weary head,
While birds are singing and while blooms the bower,
Than sit the fire out and go starv'd to bed? | Is it not better at an early hour | In its calm cell to rest the weary head,
While birds are singing and while blooms the bower,
Than sit the fire out and go starv'd to bed? | quatrain |
Jonathan Swift | The Duke's Answer | BY DR. SWIFT (Dean Smedley's Petition To The Duke Of Grafton)
Dear Smed, I read thy brilliant lines,
Where wit in all its glory shines;
Where compliments, with all their pride,
Are by their numbers dignified:
I hope to make you yet as clean
As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean.
I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall,
And may be something else withal;
And, were you not so good a writer,
I should present you with a mitre.
Write worse, then, if you can - be wise-
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy nest:
Ah! never lay thy head to rest!
That head so well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains,
You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your dean'ry now repair,
And build a castle in the air.
I'm sure a man of your fine sense
Can do it with a small expense.
There your dear spouse and you together
May breathe your bellies full of ether,
When Lady Luna[1] is your neighbour,
She'll help your wife when she's in labour,
Well skill'd in midwife artifices,
For she herself oft falls in pieces.
There you shall see a raree show
Will make you scorn this world below,
When you behold the milky-way,
As white as snow, as bright as day;
The glittering constellations roll
About the grinding arctic pole;
The lovely tingling in your ears,
Wrought by the music of the spheres -
Your spouse shall then no longer hector,
You need not fear a curtain-lecture;
Nor shall she think that she is undone
For quitting her beloved London.
When she's exalted in the skies,
She'll never think of mutton-pies;
When you're advanced above Dean Viz,
You'll never think of Goody Griz;
But ever, ever live at ease,
And strive, and strive your wife to please;
In her you'll centre all your joys,
And get ten thousand girls and boys;
Ten thousand girls and boys you'll get,
And they like stars shall rise and set.
While you and spouse, transform'd, shall soon
Be a new sun and a new moon:
Nor shall you strive your horns to hide,
For then your horns shall be your pride. | BY DR. SWIFT (Dean Smedley's Petition To The Duke Of Grafton)
Dear Smed, I read thy brilliant lines,
Where wit in all its glory shines;
Where compliments, with all their pride,
Are by their numbers dignified:
I hope to make you yet as clean
As that same Viz, St. Patrick's dean.
I'll give thee surplice, verge, and stall,
And may be something else withal;
And, were you not so good a writer,
I should present you with a mitre.
Write worse, then, if you can - be wise-
Believe me, 'tis the way to rise.
Talk not of making of thy nest:
Ah! never lay thy head to rest!
That head so well with wisdom fraught,
That writes without the toil of thought!
While others rack their busy brains, | You are not in the least at pains.
Down to your dean'ry now repair,
And build a castle in the air.
I'm sure a man of your fine sense
Can do it with a small expense.
There your dear spouse and you together
May breathe your bellies full of ether,
When Lady Luna[1] is your neighbour,
She'll help your wife when she's in labour,
Well skill'd in midwife artifices,
For she herself oft falls in pieces.
There you shall see a raree show
Will make you scorn this world below,
When you behold the milky-way,
As white as snow, as bright as day;
The glittering constellations roll
About the grinding arctic pole;
The lovely tingling in your ears,
Wrought by the music of the spheres -
Your spouse shall then no longer hector,
You need not fear a curtain-lecture;
Nor shall she think that she is undone
For quitting her beloved London.
When she's exalted in the skies,
She'll never think of mutton-pies;
When you're advanced above Dean Viz,
You'll never think of Goody Griz;
But ever, ever live at ease,
And strive, and strive your wife to please;
In her you'll centre all your joys,
And get ten thousand girls and boys;
Ten thousand girls and boys you'll get,
And they like stars shall rise and set.
While you and spouse, transform'd, shall soon
Be a new sun and a new moon:
Nor shall you strive your horns to hide,
For then your horns shall be your pride. | free_verse |
Thomas Bailey Aldrich | A Dedication | Take these rhymes into thy grace,
Since they are of thy begetting,
Lady, that dost make each place
Where thou art a jewel's setting.
Some such glamour lend this Book:
Let it be thy poet's wages
That henceforth thy gracious look
Lies reflected on its pages. | Take these rhymes into thy grace,
Since they are of thy begetting, | Lady, that dost make each place
Where thou art a jewel's setting.
Some such glamour lend this Book:
Let it be thy poet's wages
That henceforth thy gracious look
Lies reflected on its pages. | octave |
David Rorie M.D. | The Lum Hat Wantin' The Croon. | The burn was big wi' spate,
An' there cam' tum'lin' doon
Tapsalteerie the half o' a gate,
Wi' an auld fish-hake an' a great muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
The auld wife stude on the bank
As they gaed swirlin' roun',
She took a gude look an' syne says she:
"There's food an' there's firin' gaun to the sea,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!"
Sae she gruppit the branch o' a saugh,
An' she kickit aff ane o' her shoon,
An' she stuck oot her fit-but it caught in the gate,
An' awa' she went wi' the great muckle skate,
An' the lum hat wantin' the croon!
She floatit fu' mony a mile,
Past cottage an' village an' toon,
She'd an awfu' time astride o' the gate,
Though it seemed to gree fine wi' the great muckle skate,
An' the lum hat wantin' the croon!
A fisher was walkin' the deck,
By the licht o' his pipe an' the mune,
When he sees an auld body astride o' a gate,
Come bobbin' alang in the waves wi' a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
"There's a man overboord!" cries he,
"Ye leear!" says she, "I'll droon!
A man on a boord! It's a wife on a gate,
It's auld Mistress Mackintosh here wi' a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!"
Was she nippit to death at the Pole?
Has India bakit her broon?
I canna tell that, but whatever her fate,
I'll wager ye'll find it was shared by a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
There's a moral attached to my sang,
On greed ye should aye gie a froon,
When ye think o' the wife that was lost for a gate,
An' auld fish-hake an' a great muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon! | The burn was big wi' spate,
An' there cam' tum'lin' doon
Tapsalteerie the half o' a gate,
Wi' an auld fish-hake an' a great muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
The auld wife stude on the bank
As they gaed swirlin' roun',
She took a gude look an' syne says she:
"There's food an' there's firin' gaun to the sea,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!"
Sae she gruppit the branch o' a saugh,
An' she kickit aff ane o' her shoon,
An' she stuck oot her fit-but it caught in the gate, | An' awa' she went wi' the great muckle skate,
An' the lum hat wantin' the croon!
She floatit fu' mony a mile,
Past cottage an' village an' toon,
She'd an awfu' time astride o' the gate,
Though it seemed to gree fine wi' the great muckle skate,
An' the lum hat wantin' the croon!
A fisher was walkin' the deck,
By the licht o' his pipe an' the mune,
When he sees an auld body astride o' a gate,
Come bobbin' alang in the waves wi' a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
"There's a man overboord!" cries he,
"Ye leear!" says she, "I'll droon!
A man on a boord! It's a wife on a gate,
It's auld Mistress Mackintosh here wi' a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!"
Was she nippit to death at the Pole?
Has India bakit her broon?
I canna tell that, but whatever her fate,
I'll wager ye'll find it was shared by a skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon!
There's a moral attached to my sang,
On greed ye should aye gie a froon,
When ye think o' the wife that was lost for a gate,
An' auld fish-hake an' a great muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' the croon! | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCXXXIV. Riddles. | When I went up sandy hill,
I met a sandy boy;
I cut his throat, I sucked his blood,
And left his skin a hanging-o. | When I went up sandy hill, | I met a sandy boy;
I cut his throat, I sucked his blood,
And left his skin a hanging-o. | quatrain |
Abram Joseph Ryan | Out of the Depths | Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The clouds hung low:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds;
The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
Out of the foam of the surge,
And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the air, or the sky;
And the lifted faces were wan and white,
There was nothing without them but storm and night
And nothing within but fear.
But far to a Father's ear:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Floated the wail of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Out of the depths of the sea --
Out of the night and the sea;
And the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed,
And the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed.
Saved! Saved! Saved!
And a calm and a joyous cry
Floated up through the starry sky,
In the dark -- in the storm -- "Our Father" is nigh. | Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The clouds hung low:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds; | The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
Out of the foam of the surge,
And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the air, or the sky;
And the lifted faces were wan and white,
There was nothing without them but storm and night
And nothing within but fear.
But far to a Father's ear:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Floated the wail of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Out of the depths of the sea --
Out of the night and the sea;
And the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed,
And the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed.
Saved! Saved! Saved!
And a calm and a joyous cry
Floated up through the starry sky,
In the dark -- in the storm -- "Our Father" is nigh. | free_verse |
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson | "Belshazzar Had A Letter," | Belshazzar had a letter, --
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondent
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall. | Belshazzar had a letter, --
He never had but one; | Belshazzar's correspondent
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall. | octave |
John Clare | Lassie, I Love Thee | Lassie, I love thee!
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee,
And prove my love true.
My arms round thy waist, love,
My head on thy breast, love;
By a true man caressed love,
Ne'er bid me adieu.
Thy cheek's full o' blushes,
Like the rose in the bushes,
While my love ardent gushes
With over delight.
Though clouds may come o'er thee,
Sweet maid, I'll adore thee,
As I do now before thee:
I love thee outright.
It stings me to madness
To see thee all gladness,
While I'm full of sadness
Thy meaning to guess.
Thy gown is deep blue, love,
In honour of true love:
Ever thinking of you, love,
My love I'll confess.
My love ever showing,
Thy heart worth the knowing,
It is like the sun glowing,
And hid in thy breast.
Thy lover behold me;
To my bosom I'll fold thee,
For thou, love, thou'st just told me,
So here thou may'st rest. | Lassie, I love thee!
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee,
And prove my love true.
My arms round thy waist, love,
My head on thy breast, love;
By a true man caressed love,
Ne'er bid me adieu.
Thy cheek's full o' blushes,
Like the rose in the bushes, | While my love ardent gushes
With over delight.
Though clouds may come o'er thee,
Sweet maid, I'll adore thee,
As I do now before thee:
I love thee outright.
It stings me to madness
To see thee all gladness,
While I'm full of sadness
Thy meaning to guess.
Thy gown is deep blue, love,
In honour of true love:
Ever thinking of you, love,
My love I'll confess.
My love ever showing,
Thy heart worth the knowing,
It is like the sun glowing,
And hid in thy breast.
Thy lover behold me;
To my bosom I'll fold thee,
For thou, love, thou'st just told me,
So here thou may'st rest. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Bunce. Epig. | Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day
For payment promis'd, though thou never pay:
Let it be Dooms-day; nay, take longer scope;
Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope. | Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day | For payment promis'd, though thou never pay:
Let it be Dooms-day; nay, take longer scope;
Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope. | quatrain |
Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton) | Wallabi Joe | (Air: 'The Mistletoe Bough.')
The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
For there never was seen such a regular screw
As Wallabi Joe, of Bunnagaroo;
Whilst the shearers all said, as they say, of course,
That Wallabi Joe's a fine lump of a horse;
But the stockmen said, as they laughed aside,
He'd barely do for a Sunday's ride.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
O'oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
'I'm weary of galloping now,' he cried,
'I wish I were killed for my hide, my hide;
For my eyes are dim, and my back is sore,
And I feel that my legs won't stand much more.'
Now stockman Bill, who took care of his nag,
Put under the saddle a soojee bag,
And off he rode with a whip in his hand
To look for a mob of the R.J. brand.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.
Now stockman Bill camped out that night,
And he hobbled his horse in a sheltered bight;
Next day of old Joe he found not a track,
So he had to trudge home with his swag on his back.
He searched up and down every gully he knew,
But he found not a hair of his poor old screw,
And the stockmen all said as they laughed at his woe,
'Would you sell us the chance of old Wallabi Joe.'
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.
Now as years sped by, and as Bill grew old,
It came into his head to go poking for gold;
So away he went with a spade in his fist,
To hunt for a nugget among the schist.
One day as a gully he chanced to cross,
He came on the bones of his poor old horse;
The hobbles being jammed in a root below
Had occasioned the death of poor Wallabi Joe.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c. | (Air: 'The Mistletoe Bough.')
The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
For there never was seen such a regular screw
As Wallabi Joe, of Bunnagaroo;
Whilst the shearers all said, as they say, of course,
That Wallabi Joe's a fine lump of a horse;
But the stockmen said, as they laughed aside,
He'd barely do for a Sunday's ride.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
O'oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
'I'm weary of galloping now,' he cried, | 'I wish I were killed for my hide, my hide;
For my eyes are dim, and my back is sore,
And I feel that my legs won't stand much more.'
Now stockman Bill, who took care of his nag,
Put under the saddle a soojee bag,
And off he rode with a whip in his hand
To look for a mob of the R.J. brand.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.
Now stockman Bill camped out that night,
And he hobbled his horse in a sheltered bight;
Next day of old Joe he found not a track,
So he had to trudge home with his swag on his back.
He searched up and down every gully he knew,
But he found not a hair of his poor old screw,
And the stockmen all said as they laughed at his woe,
'Would you sell us the chance of old Wallabi Joe.'
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.
Now as years sped by, and as Bill grew old,
It came into his head to go poking for gold;
So away he went with a spade in his fist,
To hunt for a nugget among the schist.
One day as a gully he chanced to cross,
He came on the bones of his poor old horse;
The hobbles being jammed in a root below
Had occasioned the death of poor Wallabi Joe.
Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c. | free_verse |
Ella Wheeler Wilcox | Perfection | The leaf that ripens only in the sun
Is dull and shrivelled ere its race is run.
The leaf that makes a carnival of death
Must tremble first before the north wind's breath.
The life that neither grief nor burden knows
Is dwarfed in sympathy before its close.
The life that grows majestic with the years
Must taste the bitter tonic found in tears. | The leaf that ripens only in the sun
Is dull and shrivelled ere its race is run. | The leaf that makes a carnival of death
Must tremble first before the north wind's breath.
The life that neither grief nor burden knows
Is dwarfed in sympathy before its close.
The life that grows majestic with the years
Must taste the bitter tonic found in tears. | octave |
Robert Herrick | To His Maid, Prew. | These summer-birds did with thy master stay
The times of warmth, but then they flew away,
Leaving their poet, being now grown old,
Expos'd to all the coming winter's cold.
But thou, kind Prew, did'st with my fates abide
As well the winter's as the summer's tide;
For which thy love, live with thy master here,
Not one, but all the seasons of the year. | These summer-birds did with thy master stay
The times of warmth, but then they flew away, | Leaving their poet, being now grown old,
Expos'd to all the coming winter's cold.
But thou, kind Prew, did'st with my fates abide
As well the winter's as the summer's tide;
For which thy love, live with thy master here,
Not one, but all the seasons of the year. | octave |
Vachel Lindsay | Rhymes for Gloriana - I. The Doll upon the Topmost Bough | This doll upon the topmost bough,
This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress,
Was taken down and brought to me
One sleety night most comfortless.
Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash
Was gray brocade, most good to see.
The dear toy laughed, and I forgot
The ill the new year promised me. | This doll upon the topmost bough,
This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress, | Was taken down and brought to me
One sleety night most comfortless.
Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash
Was gray brocade, most good to see.
The dear toy laughed, and I forgot
The ill the new year promised me. | octave |
John Dryden | Upon Young Mr Rogers Of Gloucestershire. | Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure,
Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provision for so short a race;
More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date,
Too early fitted for a better state;
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way. | Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, | Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provision for so short a race;
More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date,
Too early fitted for a better state;
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way. | octave |
Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson) | Request | Give me your self one hour; I do not crave
For any love, or even thought, of me.
Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave
And then forget for ever, utterly.
Come! as west winds, that passing, cool and wet,
O'er desert places, leave them fields in flower
And all my life, for I shall not forget,
Will keep the fragrance of that perfect hour! | Give me your self one hour; I do not crave
For any love, or even thought, of me. | Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave
And then forget for ever, utterly.
Come! as west winds, that passing, cool and wet,
O'er desert places, leave them fields in flower
And all my life, for I shall not forget,
Will keep the fragrance of that perfect hour! | octave |
Thomas Moore | Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXVII. | Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
The wealth of Amalthea's horn;
Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;[1]
To totter through his train of years,
The victim of declining fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity! | Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
The wealth of Amalthea's horn; | Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;[1]
To totter through his train of years,
The victim of declining fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity! | octave |
John McCrae | The Harvest Of The Sea | The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep. | The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves | Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep. | octave |
Archibald Lampman | A Night Of Storm. | Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round thy towers of stone.
Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veil'd agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat,
Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet,
Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty. | Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none, | Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round thy towers of stone.
Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veil'd agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat,
Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet,
Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty. | sonnet |
Robert Herrick | To Dianeme | Give me one kiss,
And no more:
If so be, this
Makes you poor
To enrich you,
I'll restore
For that one, two-
Thousand score. | Give me one kiss,
And no more: | If so be, this
Makes you poor
To enrich you,
I'll restore
For that one, two-
Thousand score. | octave |
Henry John Newbolt, Sir | Fond Counsel | O youth, beside thy silver-springing fountain,
In sight and hearing of thy father's cot,
These and the morning woods, the lonely mountain,
These are thy peace, although thou know'st it not.
Wander not yet where noon's unpitying glare
Beats down the toilers in the city bare;
Forsake not yet, not yet, the homely plot,
O Youth, beside thy silver-springing fountain. | O youth, beside thy silver-springing fountain,
In sight and hearing of thy father's cot, | These and the morning woods, the lonely mountain,
These are thy peace, although thou know'st it not.
Wander not yet where noon's unpitying glare
Beats down the toilers in the city bare;
Forsake not yet, not yet, the homely plot,
O Youth, beside thy silver-springing fountain. | octave |
Oliver Wendell Holmes | Under The Washington Elm, Cambridge | April 27,1861
Eighty years have passed, and more,
Since under the brave old tree
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore
They would follow the sign their banners bore,
And fight till the land was free.
Half of their work was done,
Half is left to do, -
Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington!
When the battle is fought and won,
What shall be told of you?
Hark! - 't is the south-wind moans, -
Who are the martyrs down?
Ah, the marrow was true in your children's bones
That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones
Of the murder-haunted town!
What if the storm-clouds blow?
What if the green leaves fall?
Better the crashing tempest's throe
Than the army of worms that gnawed below;
Trample them one and all!
Then, when the battle is won,
And the land from traitors free,
Our children shall tell of the strife begun
When Liberty's second April sun
Was bright on our brave old tree! | April 27,1861
Eighty years have passed, and more,
Since under the brave old tree
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore
They would follow the sign their banners bore,
And fight till the land was free.
Half of their work was done,
Half is left to do, - | Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington!
When the battle is fought and won,
What shall be told of you?
Hark! - 't is the south-wind moans, -
Who are the martyrs down?
Ah, the marrow was true in your children's bones
That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones
Of the murder-haunted town!
What if the storm-clouds blow?
What if the green leaves fall?
Better the crashing tempest's throe
Than the army of worms that gnawed below;
Trample them one and all!
Then, when the battle is won,
And the land from traitors free,
Our children shall tell of the strife begun
When Liberty's second April sun
Was bright on our brave old tree! | free_verse |
Alfred Lichtenstein | Spring | All men are now greedy,
All women are shouting,
Hide yourself in your hump,
Remain alone - | All men are now greedy, | All women are shouting,
Hide yourself in your hump,
Remain alone - | quatrain |
Hilaire Belloc | The Statue | When we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass
And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass
And grey with age: but having seen that stone
(Which was your image), ride more slowly on. | When we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass | And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass
And grey with age: but having seen that stone
(Which was your image), ride more slowly on. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXXV. Love And Matrimony. | Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down, and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after. | Jack and Jill went up the hill, | To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down, and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after. | quatrain |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. DLXXII. Natural History. | On Christmas eve I turn'd the spit,
I burnt my fingers, I feel it yet;
The cock sparrow flew over the table;
The pot began to play with the ladle. | On Christmas eve I turn'd the spit, | I burnt my fingers, I feel it yet;
The cock sparrow flew over the table;
The pot began to play with the ladle. | quatrain |
Walter De La Mare | The Lamplighter | When the light of day declineth,
And a swift angel through the sky
Kindleth God's tapers clear,
With ashen staff the lamplighter
Passeth along the darkling streets
To light our earthly lamps;
Lest, prowling in the darkness,
The thief should haunt with quiet tread,
Or men on evil errands set;
Or wayfarers be benighted;
Or neighbours bent from house to house
Should need a guiding torch.
He is like a needlewoman
Who deftly on a sable hem
Stitches in gleaming jewels;
Or, haply, he is like a hero,
Whose bright deeds on the long journey
Are beacons on our way.
And when in the East cometh morning,
And the broad splendour of the sun,
Then, with the tune of little birds
Ringing on high, the lamplighter
Passeth by each quiet house,
And putteth out the lamps. | When the light of day declineth,
And a swift angel through the sky
Kindleth God's tapers clear,
With ashen staff the lamplighter
Passeth along the darkling streets
To light our earthly lamps;
Lest, prowling in the darkness,
The thief should haunt with quiet tread, | Or men on evil errands set;
Or wayfarers be benighted;
Or neighbours bent from house to house
Should need a guiding torch.
He is like a needlewoman
Who deftly on a sable hem
Stitches in gleaming jewels;
Or, haply, he is like a hero,
Whose bright deeds on the long journey
Are beacons on our way.
And when in the East cometh morning,
And the broad splendour of the sun,
Then, with the tune of little birds
Ringing on high, the lamplighter
Passeth by each quiet house,
And putteth out the lamps. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Kisses Loathsome. | I abhor the slimy kiss,
Which to me most loathsome is.
Those lips please me which are placed
Close, but not too strictly laced:
Yielding I would have them; yet
Not a wimbling tongue admit:
What should poking-sticks make there,
When the ruffe is set elswhere? | I abhor the slimy kiss,
Which to me most loathsome is. | Those lips please me which are placed
Close, but not too strictly laced:
Yielding I would have them; yet
Not a wimbling tongue admit:
What should poking-sticks make there,
When the ruffe is set elswhere? | octave |
Henry Lawson | For He Was A Jolly Good Fellow | They cheered him from the wharf, it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf, his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was 'Jolly Good', they sang it long and loud,
The money lender stood unknown amongst the crowd.
He'd taken him aside, while trembling fit to fall,
No friendly eye espied the last farewell of all!
He held a peevish kid, another at his knee;
The wife whom he could bid farewell, eternally
Stood nagging at his side in tones that none could hear,
And deared him, tender eyed, when passengers came near
(The cabin waits below the row and children's squall,
And not a soul to know the bitter farce of all).
Their hearts were good as gold, each pocket spared a 'tray',
They pooled them as of old to drink him on his way.
His pile of luggage rose, as bravely as the best,
He had two suits of clothes, his wife and kids the rest.
He'd 'stood 'em up' a sov., for fear of seeming small,
And he was thinking of that worst farewell of all.
They cheered from cargo ways and ballast heap and pile,
To last him all his days, they sent him off in style.
(He only took his book.) He only turned his head
In one last hopeless look towards a cargo shed
Where one stood brimming eyed in silence by the wall,
No jealous eyes espied that last farewell of all.
The ship is out of sight and out of memory clean,
He's rolling through the Bight on board the All Serene.
His heart's like half a brick, the voice of hope is dumb,
He's handicapped and sick with fear of what's to come.
They're passing Cape Leuwin, the half-brick starts to fall,
But with a fiendish grin, he curses land and all. | They cheered him from the wharf, it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf, his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was 'Jolly Good', they sang it long and loud,
The money lender stood unknown amongst the crowd.
He'd taken him aside, while trembling fit to fall,
No friendly eye espied the last farewell of all!
He held a peevish kid, another at his knee;
The wife whom he could bid farewell, eternally
Stood nagging at his side in tones that none could hear,
And deared him, tender eyed, when passengers came near | (The cabin waits below the row and children's squall,
And not a soul to know the bitter farce of all).
Their hearts were good as gold, each pocket spared a 'tray',
They pooled them as of old to drink him on his way.
His pile of luggage rose, as bravely as the best,
He had two suits of clothes, his wife and kids the rest.
He'd 'stood 'em up' a sov., for fear of seeming small,
And he was thinking of that worst farewell of all.
They cheered from cargo ways and ballast heap and pile,
To last him all his days, they sent him off in style.
(He only took his book.) He only turned his head
In one last hopeless look towards a cargo shed
Where one stood brimming eyed in silence by the wall,
No jealous eyes espied that last farewell of all.
The ship is out of sight and out of memory clean,
He's rolling through the Bight on board the All Serene.
His heart's like half a brick, the voice of hope is dumb,
He's handicapped and sick with fear of what's to come.
They're passing Cape Leuwin, the half-brick starts to fall,
But with a fiendish grin, he curses land and all. | free_verse |
Robert Herrick | Upon Spokes. | Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all. | Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears | Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all. | quatrain |
Robert Browning | Bad Dreams I | Last night I saw you in my sleep:
And how your charm of face was changed!
I asked, 'Some love, some faith you keep?'
You answered, 'Faith gone, love estranged.'
Whereat I woke, a twofold bliss:
Waking was one, but next there came
This other: 'Though I felt, for this,
My heart break, I loved on the same.' | Last night I saw you in my sleep:
And how your charm of face was changed! | I asked, 'Some love, some faith you keep?'
You answered, 'Faith gone, love estranged.'
Whereat I woke, a twofold bliss:
Waking was one, but next there came
This other: 'Though I felt, for this,
My heart break, I loved on the same.' | octave |
George MacDonald | A Better Thing | I took it for a bird of prey that soared
High over ocean, battled mount, and plain;
'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored
The invisibly obstructing window-pane!
Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve
But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye,
Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve
Thee, little angel of a lower sky! | I took it for a bird of prey that soared
High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; | 'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored
The invisibly obstructing window-pane!
Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve
But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye,
Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve
Thee, little angel of a lower sky! | octave |
Friedrich Schiller | Germany And Her Princes. | Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy,
For the obedient alone make him who governs them great.
But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it
Harder as kings to be great, easier, though, to be men! | Thou hast produced mighty monarchs, of whom thou art not unworthy, | For the obedient alone make him who governs them great.
But, O Germany, try if thou for thy rulers canst make it
Harder as kings to be great, easier, though, to be men! | quatrain |
Muriel Stuart | Lady Hamilton. | Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
So rich, so strange, so all unlike my sea.
After the temper of my sails, my lean
Tall masts, you were the lure of harbour hours, -
A sleepy landscape warm and very green,
Where browsing creatures stare above still flowers.
These salt hands holding sweetness, the leader led,
A slave, too happy and too crazed to rule,
Sea land-locked, brine and honey in one bed,
And England's man your servant and your fool!
My banqueting eyes foreswore my waiting ships;
I was a silly landsman at your lips.
| Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
So rich, so strange, so all unlike my sea. | After the temper of my sails, my lean
Tall masts, you were the lure of harbour hours, -
A sleepy landscape warm and very green,
Where browsing creatures stare above still flowers.
These salt hands holding sweetness, the leader led,
A slave, too happy and too crazed to rule,
Sea land-locked, brine and honey in one bed,
And England's man your servant and your fool!
My banqueting eyes foreswore my waiting ships;
I was a silly landsman at your lips. | sonnet |
Theodosia Garrison | A Love Song | My love it should be silent, being deep--
And being very peaceful should be still--
Still as the utmost depths of ocean keep--
Serenely silent as some mighty hill.
Yet is my love so great it needs must fill
With very joy the inmost heart of me,
The joy of dancing branches on the hill,
The joy of leaping waves upon the sea. | My love it should be silent, being deep--
And being very peaceful should be still-- | Still as the utmost depths of ocean keep--
Serenely silent as some mighty hill.
Yet is my love so great it needs must fill
With very joy the inmost heart of me,
The joy of dancing branches on the hill,
The joy of leaping waves upon the sea. | octave |
Percy Bysshe Shelley | Song From The Wandering Jew. | See yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast;
It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale - is fast.
Paler is yon maiden;
Faster is her heart's decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away. | See yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast; | It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale - is fast.
Paler is yon maiden;
Faster is her heart's decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away. | octave |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CCXXXVII. Charms. | Cushy cow bonny, let down thy milk,
And I will give thee a gown of silk;
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If thou wilt let down thy milk to me.
| Cushy cow bonny, let down thy milk, | And I will give thee a gown of silk;
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If thou wilt let down thy milk to me. | quatrain |
Thomas Hardy | The Sweet Hussy | In his early days he was quite surprised
When she told him she was compromised
By meetings and lingerings at his whim,
And thinking not of herself but him;
While she lifted orbs aggrieved and round
That scandal should so soon abound,
(As she had raised them to nine or ten
Of antecedent nice young men)
And in remorse he thought with a sigh,
How good she is, and how bad am I! -
It was years before he understood
That she was the wicked one he the good. | In his early days he was quite surprised
When she told him she was compromised
By meetings and lingerings at his whim,
And thinking not of herself but him; | While she lifted orbs aggrieved and round
That scandal should so soon abound,
(As she had raised them to nine or ten
Of antecedent nice young men)
And in remorse he thought with a sigh,
How good she is, and how bad am I! -
It was years before he understood
That she was the wicked one he the good. | free_verse |
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) | Sonnet CLXXI. | Anima, che diverse cose tante.
HE REJOICES AT BEING ON EARTH WITH HER, AS HE IS THEREBY ENABLED BETTER TO IMITATE HER VIRTUES.
Soul! with such various faculties endued
To think, write, speak, to read, to see, to hear;
My doting eyes! and thou, my faithful ear!
Where drinks my heart her counsels wise and good;
Your fortune smiles; if after or before,
The path were won so badly follow'd yet,
Ye had not then her bright eyes' lustre met,
Nor traced her light feet earth's green carpet o'er.
Now with so clear a light, so sure a sign,
'Twere shame to err or halt on the brief way
Which makes thee worthy of a home divine.
That better course, my weary will, essay!
To pierce the cloud of her sweet scorn be thine,
Pursuing her pure steps and heavenly ray.
MACGREGOR. | Anima, che diverse cose tante.
HE REJOICES AT BEING ON EARTH WITH HER, AS HE IS THEREBY ENABLED BETTER TO IMITATE HER VIRTUES.
Soul! with such various faculties endued
To think, write, speak, to read, to see, to hear;
My doting eyes! and thou, my faithful ear! | Where drinks my heart her counsels wise and good;
Your fortune smiles; if after or before,
The path were won so badly follow'd yet,
Ye had not then her bright eyes' lustre met,
Nor traced her light feet earth's green carpet o'er.
Now with so clear a light, so sure a sign,
'Twere shame to err or halt on the brief way
Which makes thee worthy of a home divine.
That better course, my weary will, essay!
To pierce the cloud of her sweet scorn be thine,
Pursuing her pure steps and heavenly ray.
MACGREGOR. | free_verse |
William Wordsworth | Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part III. - XXXIII - Regrets | Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave
Less scanty measure of those graceful rites
And usages, whose due return invites
A stir of mind too natural to deceive;
Giving to Memory help when she would weave
A crown for Hope! I dread the boasted lights
That all too often are but fiery blights,
Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.
Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,
The counter Spirit found in some gay church
Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch
In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,
Merry and loud and safe from prying search,
Strains offered only to the genial Spring. | Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave
Less scanty measure of those graceful rites
And usages, whose due return invites
A stir of mind too natural to deceive; | Giving to Memory help when she would weave
A crown for Hope! I dread the boasted lights
That all too often are but fiery blights,
Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.
Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,
The counter Spirit found in some gay church
Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch
In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,
Merry and loud and safe from prying search,
Strains offered only to the genial Spring. | sonnet |
Thomas Moore | Should Those Fond Hopes. (Portuguese Air.) | Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ:
Should the cold world come to wake thee
From all thy visions of youth and joy;
Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish
Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,
And leave thy winter unheeded and lone;--
Oh! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted
Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er;
Then the truant, lost and blighted,
Would to his bosom be taken once more.
Like that dear bird we both can remember,
Who left us while summer shone round,
But, when chilled by bleak December,
On our threshold a welcome still found. | Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,
Which now so sweetly thy heart employ:
Should the cold world come to wake thee
From all thy visions of youth and joy;
Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish | Him who once thought thy young heart his own,
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish,
And leave thy winter unheeded and lone;--
Oh! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted
Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er;
Then the truant, lost and blighted,
Would to his bosom be taken once more.
Like that dear bird we both can remember,
Who left us while summer shone round,
But, when chilled by bleak December,
On our threshold a welcome still found. | free_verse |
Madison Julius Cawein | Rome | Above the circus of the world she sat,
Beautiful and base, a harlot crowned with pride:
Fierce nations, upon whom she sneered and spat,
Shrieked at her feet and for her pastime died. | Above the circus of the world she sat, | Beautiful and base, a harlot crowned with pride:
Fierce nations, upon whom she sneered and spat,
Shrieked at her feet and for her pastime died. | quatrain |
William Wordsworth | Greenock | 'We' have not passed into a doleful City,
We who were led to-day down a grim dell,
By some too boldly named "the Jaws of Hell:"
Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity?
These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty:
As from the hive where bees in summer dwell,
Sorrow seems here excluded; and that knell,
It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty.
Alas! too busy Rival of old Tyre,
Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones;
Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire
To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde
Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones,
The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride. | 'We' have not passed into a doleful City,
We who were led to-day down a grim dell,
By some too boldly named "the Jaws of Hell:"
Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity? | These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty:
As from the hive where bees in summer dwell,
Sorrow seems here excluded; and that knell,
It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty.
Alas! too busy Rival of old Tyre,
Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones;
Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire
To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde
Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones,
The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride. | sonnet |
Paul Laurence Dunbar | Roses And Pearls | Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet,
The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound.
How lavish nature is about your feet,
To scatter flowers and jewels both around.
Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows,
Softly the white strings trickle down and shine.
Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.
Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine. | Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet,
The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound. | How lavish nature is about your feet,
To scatter flowers and jewels both around.
Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows,
Softly the white strings trickle down and shine.
Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.
Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine. | octave |
Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell | Unto Us A Son Is Given | Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn - once sent -
This Infant of mankind, this One,
Is still the little welcome Son.
New every year,
New-born and newly dear,
He comes with tidings and a song,
The ages long, the ages long.
Even as the cold
Keen winter grows not old;
As childhood is so fresh, foreseen,
And spring in the familiar green;
Sudden as sweet
Come the expected feet.
All joy is young, and new all art,
And He, too, Whom we have by heart. | Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn - once sent -
This Infant of mankind, this One,
Is still the little welcome Son.
New every year, | New-born and newly dear,
He comes with tidings and a song,
The ages long, the ages long.
Even as the cold
Keen winter grows not old;
As childhood is so fresh, foreseen,
And spring in the familiar green;
Sudden as sweet
Come the expected feet.
All joy is young, and new all art,
And He, too, Whom we have by heart. | free_verse |
Charles Hamilton Musgrove | Zoroaster. | I.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Out of the dark he raised his voice and sung
The high Messiah who should overthrow
The gods that Superstition crowned with might
And set above the world,--the coming Christ
Whose unshed blood should be the holy tryst
'Twixt man and his lost Eden, washing white
From his rebellious soul the serpent's blight.
II.
The fire that on the Magi's altars glowed
Spake to his soul in symbols and expressed
The immortal purity that without rest
Strives with the mortal grossness whose abode
Is in the heart. Their symboled fire showed One
Whose spirit on the altar of the world
Burns ceaselessly,--where, if all vice be hurled,
It shall be purged with fire that shall atone,--
Christ's love the flame, man's sin th' alchemic stone.
III.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Above the old Chaldean myths he sung
The message of the peace that men should know
Through God's own Son. Out of the hopeless night
He saw the star of Bethlehem arise,
And o'er the wasted gates of Paradise
Beheld it mount, and heard, to hail its light,
The everlasting groan of hell's despite. | I.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Out of the dark he raised his voice and sung
The high Messiah who should overthrow
The gods that Superstition crowned with might
And set above the world,--the coming Christ
Whose unshed blood should be the holy tryst
'Twixt man and his lost Eden, washing white
From his rebellious soul the serpent's blight. | II.
The fire that on the Magi's altars glowed
Spake to his soul in symbols and expressed
The immortal purity that without rest
Strives with the mortal grossness whose abode
Is in the heart. Their symboled fire showed One
Whose spirit on the altar of the world
Burns ceaselessly,--where, if all vice be hurled,
It shall be purged with fire that shall atone,--
Christ's love the flame, man's sin th' alchemic stone.
III.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Above the old Chaldean myths he sung
The message of the peace that men should know
Through God's own Son. Out of the hopeless night
He saw the star of Bethlehem arise,
And o'er the wasted gates of Paradise
Beheld it mount, and heard, to hail its light,
The everlasting groan of hell's despite. | free_verse |
John Greenleaf Whittier | Red Riding-Hood | On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,
Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap;
The wind that through the pine-trees sung
The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung;
While, through the window, frosty-starred,
Against the sunset purple barred,
We saw the sombre crow flap by,
The hawk's gray fleck along the sky,
The crested blue-jay flitting swift,
The squirrel poising on the drift,
Erect, alert, his broad gray tail
Set to the north wind like a sail.
It came to pass, our little lass,
With flattened face against the glass,
And eyes in which the tender dew
Of pity shone, stood gazing through
The narrow space her rosy lips
Had melted from the frost's eclipse
'Oh, see,' she cried, 'the poor blue-jays!
What is it that the black crow says?
The squirrel lifts his little legs
Because he has no hands, and begs;
He's asking for my nuts, I know
May I not feed them on the snow?'
Half lost within her boots, her head
Warm-sheltered in her hood of red,
Her plaid skirt close about her drawn,
She floundered down the wintry lawn;
Now struggling through the misty veil
Blown round her by the shrieking gale;
Now sinking in a drift so low
Her scarlet hood could scarcely show
Its dash of color on the snow.
She dropped for bird and beast forlorn
Her little store of nuts and corn,
And thus her timid guests bespoke
'Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,
Come, black old crow, come, poor blue-jay,
Before your supper's blown away
Don't be afraid, we all are good;
And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!'
O Thou whose care is over all,
Who heedest even the sparrow's fall,
Keep in the little maiden's breast
The pity which is now its guest!
Let not her cultured years make less
The childhood charm of tenderness,
But let her feel as well as know,
Nor harder with her polish grow!
Unmoved by sentimental grief
That wails along some printed leaf,
But, prompt with kindly word and deed
To own the claims of all who need,
Let the grown woman's self make good
The promise of Red Riding-Hood | On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,
Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap;
The wind that through the pine-trees sung
The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung;
While, through the window, frosty-starred,
Against the sunset purple barred,
We saw the sombre crow flap by,
The hawk's gray fleck along the sky,
The crested blue-jay flitting swift,
The squirrel poising on the drift,
Erect, alert, his broad gray tail
Set to the north wind like a sail.
It came to pass, our little lass,
With flattened face against the glass,
And eyes in which the tender dew
Of pity shone, stood gazing through
The narrow space her rosy lips
Had melted from the frost's eclipse | 'Oh, see,' she cried, 'the poor blue-jays!
What is it that the black crow says?
The squirrel lifts his little legs
Because he has no hands, and begs;
He's asking for my nuts, I know
May I not feed them on the snow?'
Half lost within her boots, her head
Warm-sheltered in her hood of red,
Her plaid skirt close about her drawn,
She floundered down the wintry lawn;
Now struggling through the misty veil
Blown round her by the shrieking gale;
Now sinking in a drift so low
Her scarlet hood could scarcely show
Its dash of color on the snow.
She dropped for bird and beast forlorn
Her little store of nuts and corn,
And thus her timid guests bespoke
'Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,
Come, black old crow, come, poor blue-jay,
Before your supper's blown away
Don't be afraid, we all are good;
And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!'
O Thou whose care is over all,
Who heedest even the sparrow's fall,
Keep in the little maiden's breast
The pity which is now its guest!
Let not her cultured years make less
The childhood charm of tenderness,
But let her feel as well as know,
Nor harder with her polish grow!
Unmoved by sentimental grief
That wails along some printed leaf,
But, prompt with kindly word and deed
To own the claims of all who need,
Let the grown woman's self make good
The promise of Red Riding-Hood | free_verse |
Emily Pauline Johnson | Autumn's Orchestra | (INSCRIBED TO ONE BEYOND SEAS)
Know by the thread of music woven through
This fragile web of cadences I spin,
That I have only caught these songs since you
Voiced them upon your haunting violin.
THE OVERTURE
October's orchestra plays softly on
The northern forest with its thousand strings,
And Autumn, the conductor wields anon
The Golden-rod - The baton that he swings.
THE FIRS
There is a lonely minor chord that sings
Faintly and far along the forest ways,
When the firs finger faintly on the strings
Of that rare violin the night wind plays,
Just as it whispered once to you and me
Beneath the English pines beyond the sea.
MOSSES
The lost wind wandering, forever grieves
Low overhead,
Above grey mosses whispering of leaves
Fallen and dead.
And through the lonely night sweeps their refrain
Like Chopin's prelude, sobbing 'neath the rain.
THE VINE
The wild grape mantling the trail and tree,
Festoons in graceful veils its drapery,
Its tendrils cling, as clings the memory stirred
By some evasive haunting tune, twice heard.
THE MAPLE
I
It is the blood-hued maple straight and strong,
Voicing abroad its patriotic song.
II
Its daring colours bravely flinging forth
The ensign of the Nation of the North.
HARE-BELL
Elfin bell in azure dress,
Chiming all day long,
Ringing through the wilderness
Dulcet notes of song.
Daintiest of forest flowers
Weaving like a spell -
Music through the Autumn hours,
Little Elfin bell.
THE GIANT OAK
And then the sound of marching armies 'woke
Amid the branches of the soldier oak,
And tempests ceased their warring cry, and dumb
The lashing storms that muttered, overcome,
Choked by the heralding of battle smoke,
When these gnarled branches beat their martial drum.
ASPENS
A sweet high treble threads its silvery song,
Voice of the restless aspen, fine and thin
It trills its pure soprano, light and long -
Like the vibretto of a mandolin.
FINALE
The cedar trees have sung their vesper hymn,
And now the music sleeps -
Its benediction falling where the dim
Dusk of the forest creeps.
Mute grows the great concerto - and the light
Of day is darkening, Good-night, Good-night.
But through the night time I shall hear within
The murmur of these trees,
The calling of your distant violin
Sobbing across the seas,
And waking wind, and star-reflected light
Shall voice my answering. Good-night, Good-night. | (INSCRIBED TO ONE BEYOND SEAS)
Know by the thread of music woven through
This fragile web of cadences I spin,
That I have only caught these songs since you
Voiced them upon your haunting violin.
THE OVERTURE
October's orchestra plays softly on
The northern forest with its thousand strings,
And Autumn, the conductor wields anon
The Golden-rod - The baton that he swings.
THE FIRS
There is a lonely minor chord that sings
Faintly and far along the forest ways,
When the firs finger faintly on the strings
Of that rare violin the night wind plays,
Just as it whispered once to you and me
Beneath the English pines beyond the sea.
MOSSES
The lost wind wandering, forever grieves
Low overhead,
Above grey mosses whispering of leaves
Fallen and dead.
And through the lonely night sweeps their refrain | Like Chopin's prelude, sobbing 'neath the rain.
THE VINE
The wild grape mantling the trail and tree,
Festoons in graceful veils its drapery,
Its tendrils cling, as clings the memory stirred
By some evasive haunting tune, twice heard.
THE MAPLE
I
It is the blood-hued maple straight and strong,
Voicing abroad its patriotic song.
II
Its daring colours bravely flinging forth
The ensign of the Nation of the North.
HARE-BELL
Elfin bell in azure dress,
Chiming all day long,
Ringing through the wilderness
Dulcet notes of song.
Daintiest of forest flowers
Weaving like a spell -
Music through the Autumn hours,
Little Elfin bell.
THE GIANT OAK
And then the sound of marching armies 'woke
Amid the branches of the soldier oak,
And tempests ceased their warring cry, and dumb
The lashing storms that muttered, overcome,
Choked by the heralding of battle smoke,
When these gnarled branches beat their martial drum.
ASPENS
A sweet high treble threads its silvery song,
Voice of the restless aspen, fine and thin
It trills its pure soprano, light and long -
Like the vibretto of a mandolin.
FINALE
The cedar trees have sung their vesper hymn,
And now the music sleeps -
Its benediction falling where the dim
Dusk of the forest creeps.
Mute grows the great concerto - and the light
Of day is darkening, Good-night, Good-night.
But through the night time I shall hear within
The murmur of these trees,
The calling of your distant violin
Sobbing across the seas,
And waking wind, and star-reflected light
Shall voice my answering. Good-night, Good-night. | free_verse |
Unknown | Nursery Rhyme. CXXVI. Scholastic. | Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And mussels all a row. | Mistress Mary, quite contrary, | How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And mussels all a row. | quatrain |
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