THE SINGING STONES
“Remember me, the Singing Stone ... for ... Phœbus ... laid on me his Delphic harp—thenceforth I am lyre-voiced; strike me lightly with a little pebble; and carry away witness of my boast.”—Greek Anthology.
Beyond brute Titan dissonance, black, bitter strains
Of Warfare; through the smitten fields of wheat;
Upon the bloody bridges, where the wains
Roll drone chords between marching soldier-feet;
Through mob-voice, robbed of cadence and of beat,
I hear the Stones of Sunion
Singing by the sea:
“Lift we on high our time-defying shafts!
Our white-wing on the promontory stays,
Our age-old glory from the Ancient wafts
Godward out of an old, blind, Pagan mood,
While in the surging blue the Islands brood
In dim, time-purpled haze.”
Out of the din of sociologic strife,
Of hoarse-voiced men, embruted by their work,
Of women, low-intoning lesser life,
From the rich Theme, which modern voices shirk,
Where all the forced, half-harmonizings lurk,—
I hear the stones of Delphi
Singing in the rain:
“Black swell the mountains, guarding well the Cleft,
Clear spills the water, o’er the fountain rim,
The worshipers are gone, the priests bereft.
Men keep no light upon the altar dim;
No Council meets, but ah, the hope is left,
The dream goes on, new voices chant the Hymn.”
To the soft twilight of Æsthetic ease,
Where a smile is no smile, a tear no tear;
Where the fruit has no seed, the wine no lees,
No strong song comes. Yet, faintly year by year,
’Mid those who listen, wistful, and in fear,
I hear the stones of Bassæ
Singing on the heights:
“Grey comes the dawn upon the mountain crest,
Warm lie the vines on the Phigalian Hill;
The deities are gone, their secrets rest
Hidden by time. But still the Sun-God smites
Altar and soil, and richly thus requites
The farmers’ faith, and all the fields fulfill.”
And everywhere my wistful head is bowed,
Pensive, absorbed, to find significance,
I hear stone chorus; the immortal crowd
Of pillars round some vocal radiance—
Chant Spirit-Song of new inheritance—
I hear all Pagan Temples
Singing in the dawn:
“Lift we on high our columns shining white!
Our broad wings on the promontories stay;
For us forever was the world’s first light,—
Ignorant God-seeking. Ye, that follow, may
Soar to a higher vision! ’mid the Pagan night.
We were the singers of a brighter Day.”