From 1820 to 1843 Dion was classed among the "Poems of Sentiment and
Reflection." In the edition of 1845 it was placed next to Laodamia
among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
VARIANT:
I
Serene, and fitted to embrace,
Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace
[175]Of haughtiness without pretence,
And to unfold a still magnificence,
5
Was princely Dion, in the power
And beauty of his happier hour.
And what pure homage then did wait
On Dion's virtues, while the lunar beam
[176]Of Plato's genius, from its lofty sphere,
10
Fell round him in the grove of Academe,
Softening their inbred dignity austere—
That he, not too elate
With self-sufficing solitude,
But with majestic lowliness endued,
15
Might in the universal bosom reign,
And from affectionate observance gain
Help, under every change of adverse fate.
[177]
II
Five thousand warriors—O the rapturous day!
[178]Each crowned with flowers, and armed with spear and shield,
20
Or ruder weapon which their course might yield,
[179]To Syracuse advance
[180] in bright array.
Who leads them on?—The anxious people see
Long-exiled Dion marching at their head,
He also crowned with flowers of Sicily,
25
And in a white, far-beaming, corselet clad!
Pure transport undisturbed by doubt or fear
The gazers feel; and, rushing to the plain,
Salute those strangers as a holy train
Or blest procession (to the Immortals dear)
30
That brought their precious liberty again.
Lo! when the gates are entered, on each hand,
Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine
In seemly order stand,
On tables set, as if for rites divine;—
35
And, as the great Deliverer marches by,
He looks on festal ground with fruits bestrown;
And flowers are on his person thrown
[181]In boundless prodigality;
Nor doth
[182] the general voice abstain from prayer,
Invoking Dion's tutelary care,
As if a very Deity he were!
III[CA]
Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and mourn
Ilissus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
44
Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades!
For him who to divinity aspired,
Not on the breath
[183] of popular applause,
But through dependence on the sacred laws
Framed in the schools where Wisdom dwelt retired,
50
Intent to trace the ideal path of right
(More fair than heaven's broad causeway paved with stars)
Which Dion learned to measure with sublime delight;—
[184]But He hath overleaped
[185] the eternal bars;
And, following guides whose craft holds no consent
55
With aught that breathes the ethereal element,
Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood,
Unjustly shed, though for the public good.
Whence doubts that came too late, and wishes vain,
Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain;
60
And oft his cogitations sink as low
As, through the abysses of a joyless heart,
The heaviest plummet of despair can go—
But whence that sudden check? that fearful start!
He hears an uncouth sound—
65
Anon his lifted eyes
Saw, at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound,
A Shape
[186] of more than mortal size
And hideous aspect, stalking round and round!
A woman's garb the Phantom wore,
70
And fiercely swept the marble floor,—
Like Auster whirling to and fro,
[187]His force on Caspian foam to try;
Or Boreas when he scours the snow
That skins the plains of Thessaly,
75
Or when aloft on Mænalus he stops
His flight, 'mid eddying pine-tree tops!
IV
So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping,
The sullen Spectre to her purpose bowed,
Sweeping—vehemently sweeping—
80
No pause admitted, no design avowed!
"Avaunt, inexplicable Guest!—avaunt,"
Exclaimed the Chieftain
[188]—"let me rather see
The coronal that coiling vipers make;
The torch that flames with many a lurid flake,
85
And the long train of doleful pageantry
Which they behold,
[189] whom vengeful Furies haunt;
Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee,
Move where the blasted
[190] soil is not unworn,
And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!"
V
90
But Shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid;
Lords of the visionary eye whose lid,
Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall!
Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement
95
Obeys a mystical intent!
Your Minister would brush away
The spots that to my soul adhere;
But should she labour night and day,
They will not, cannot disappear;
100
Whence angry perturbations,—and that look
Which no philosophy can brook!
VI
Ill-fated Chief! there are
[191] whose hopes are built
Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;
[192]Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt,
105
Pursue thee with their deadly aim!
[193]O matchless perfidy!
[194] portentous lust
Of monstrous crime!—that horror-striking blade,
Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid
The noble Syracusan low in dust!
110
Shudder'd
[195] the walls—the marble city wept—
And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh;
But
[196] in calm peace the appointed Victim slept,
As he had fallen in magnanimity;
Of spirit too capacious to require
115
That Destiny her course should change; too just
To his own native greatness
[197] to desire
That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust.
So
[198] were the hopeless troubles, that involved
The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved.
120
Released from life and cares of princely state,
He left this moral grafted on his Fate;
"Him only pleasure leads, and peace attends,
Him, only him, the shield of Jove defends,
Whose means are fair and spotless as his ends."
VARIANTS:
The following suggested variations of text also exist in MS.—Ed.
Mourn, olive bowers of Attica! and Thou,
Partake the sadness of the groves,
Famed hill Hymettus, round whose fragrant brow,
Industrious bees, each seeking what she loves,
Or fraught with treasure which she best approves,
Their murmurs blend { in choral elevation }
{ with choral animation }
Not wholly lost upon the abstracted ear
Of unambitious men who wander near
Immersed in lonely contemplation.
Mourn, sunny Hill, and shady Grove! and mourn
Ilyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
Lament the fall of him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades!
For He, who to divinity aspired,
Not on the wings of popular applause,
But through dependence on the sacred laws
Framed in the schools where Wisdom dwelt retired,
Meek Wisdom tracing with a steady hand
The path which she alone hath scann'd—
The ideal path of right—
More fair than heaven's broad causeway paved with stars,
Which Dion learned to gaze on with delight;—
But he hath overleap'd the eternal bars,
And following guides whose craft holds no consent
With aught that breathes the ethereal element,
Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood,
Unjustly shed, though for the public good.
Blind choice—for since that day, the chief, the sage,
Prime boast and envy of a glorious age,
Droops, the slave of fear and sorrow;
For since that hour the studious walks and shades,
Whose once sweet memory her Spirit dreads,
Depress'd to-day, and unrelieved to-morrow,
Hath Dion pined with sharp regret and sorrow.
Lament, ye studious walks and shades,
The fall of Him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory—and mourn
Ilyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn,
For him who . . . . . .
Mourn, { sunny hills and groves } of Attica! and mourn
{ olive bowers }
Ilyssus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads
Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades,
For him who . . . . . .
. . . where Wisdom dwelt retired
{ Tracing with steady hand the path of right }
{ Intent to trace the ideal path of right }
. . . where Wisdom dwelt retired
Tracing assiduously the path of right.
That path which Dion travelled { in } delight.
{with}
Which Dion learned to travel with delight.
Ever since that hour, ye studious walks and shades,
Whose once sweet Memory now his spirit dreads,
Hath Dion pined with sharp regret and sorrow.
Blind choice—for since that word was given, the Sage,
Prime boast and envy of a glorious age,
{Hath droop'd and pined with sharp regret and sorrow, }
{Droops with a burthen of repentant sorrow, }
Depress'd to-day, and unrelieved to-morrow.
Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood,
Unjustly shed—albeit to prevent
Manifold tumults and incessant strife,
That seemed to hang upon a single life
To whom the calm of general content,
The stedfastness of public good,
Was tiresome as the weight
That presses down the minds of mariners,
When not a billow stirs
On the wide surface of the ocean flood.
{ Untractable disturber of the State, }
{ Strong is he—and concessions have proved vain, }
{ And pardon { only makes } him more elate, }
{ doth but make }}
{ And bolder to transgress again. }
{ Untractable disturber of the State,}
{ Of popularity the giddy thrall,}
{ Ever aspiring to the topmost height, }
{ His ears he shuts against the call }
{ Of reason—therefore let him fall. }
Infirm decision, slowly won
From Dion's mind—to authorize a deed
Which when the word was uttered—with the speed
Of lightning hurrying through the heav'ns—is done.
{But} since that fatal hour—the chief, the sage,
{For}
That hung upon a single life
{Presumptuous, }
{Bold, } fickle, envious, turbulent,
{Ambitious, }
Ever aspiring to the topmost height;
To whom the calm of general content,
Diffused when order reigned for public good,
Was tiresome ...
Repeated pardons make him more elate,
And bolder to offend again.
He hath provoked his fate;
Deliberative sadness ratifies
The offender's doom, and solemn be his obsequies!
Yes, let him fall, decision slowly won
From Dion's mind, to authorize a deed
Which when the word was uttered—with the speed
Of lightning hurrying through the heav'ns—is done.
But since that fated word the {princely } sage,
{chief—the}
Prime boast and envy of a glorious age,
Droops, under burthen of repentant sorrow,
Depress'd to-day, and unrelieved to-morrow.
He hath provoked his fate:
Ever aspiring to the topmost height,
He shuts his ear against the call
Of Reason, therefore let him fall. ms.
Some years ago I was inclined to assign this poem to the year 1814,
because Wordsworth himself gave it that date in one of the notes which
he dictated to Miss Fenwick in 1843. I now assign it to the year 1816.
Wordsworth gave it that date in the year 1837, and if written in 1814, I
think it would have been included in the edition of 1815.
Dion, the Ode to Lycoris, and the translation of part of Virgil's
Æneid, belong to a time when Wordsworth had reverted to the subjects
of ancient classical literature while preparing his eldest son for the
University.
Charles Lamb wrote thus to Dorothy Wordsworth in 1820:—"The story of
Dion is divine—the genius of Plato falling on him like moonlight—the
finest thing ever expressed." (The Letters of Charles Lamb, edited by
Alfred Ainger, vol. ii. p. 56.)
I am indebted to the Headmaster of Fettes College, the Rev. W. A. Heard,
for the following notes on the poem, with special reference to Plutarch.
They reveal, as Mr. Heard remarks, "Wordsworth's method of work upon the
authors he had read and studied, and show upon what a solid structure of
fact he always wrote." It will be observed that he invariably appended
to the title of this poem "(See Plutarch)."
"When Dion, the pupil of Plato, became the autocrat of Syracuse, it
seemed as if the moment had come for the rule of a philosopher. But the
gardens of the Academy knew nothing of the methods by which alone
intrigue could be met and unscrupulousness baffled. The murder of
Heracleides became a political necessity; but when this was conceded,
the charm was once and for ever broken—the career was done. Plutarch's
biography deals mainly with the external conditions, and is overlaid
with so much historical detail that the personality of Dion stands out
in insufficient relief. Wordsworth gives us a study of the internal
struggle, showing us the failure of an ideal, not in its external
aspect, but as closing the aspirations, and desolating the conscience,
of a truly noble mind. He accepts Plutarch's general conception of the
life, incorporating much of the details and adopting some of the
language, but over and above the fresh emphasis he gives to critical
moments, the imaginative insight with which all the detail is treated
makes the poem an original presentation.
. . . . a swan-like grace
Of haughtiness without pretence.
ὑψηλὀς τῷ ἠθει καὶ μεγαλόφρων.—'He was lofty in his
disposition and large-minded.' Again, Plutarch speaks of the "σεμνότης"—the
'still magnificence' of his nature, coupled with "τὸ γενναίον
καἰ ἁπλότης," nobility and simplicity.
Softening their inbred dignity austere.
βουλομένου τοῡ Πλάτωνος ὁμιλἰα χάριν ἐχούση καὶ παιδιᾱς
εμμελοῡς κατὰ καιρὸν ἁπτομένη κεραννύυμενον ἀφηδύνεσθαι τοῡ Δίωνος
τὸ ἦθος. Plato tried to soften the harshness of his disposition by the
delights of intercourse, and the grace of seasonable wit.
That he, not too elate
With self-sufficing solitude.
This refers to a warning of Plato, ἡ αὐθάδεια ὲρημία
σύνοικος—Arrogance is the house-mate of solitude.
Each crowned with flowers ...
και θεασἁμενοι τὸν Δίωνα διὰ τἡν θυσίαν ἐστεφανωμένον οι
παρόντες ἀπὸ μιᾶς ὁρμῆς ἐστεφανοῦντο πάντες.—And seeing Dion wearing
a garland on account of the sacrifice, those that were present with one
impulse put on garlands one and all.
Or ruder weapon which their course might yield.
ὡπλισμένοι δὲ φαυλως ἐκ τοῦ προστυχόντος.—Poorly armed, as
chance enabled them.
Δίων προσερχόμενος ῆδη καταφανἡς ἡν πρῶτος αὐτὸς ὡπλισμένος
λαμπρῶς ... ἐστεφανωμένος.—Dion himself was already in sight,
advancing at their head, clad in gleaming armour and wearing a garland.
Salute those strangers as a holy train
Or blest procession (to the Immortals dear)
That brought their precious liberty again.
τῶν Συρακουσίων δεχομένων ὥσπερ ἱεράν τινα καὶ θεοπρεπῆ
πομπὴν ἐλευθερίας καὶ δημοκρατίας δι' ἐτῶν ὀκτὼ καὶ τεσσαράκοντα
κατιούσης εἰς τὴν πόλιν.—The Syracusans receiving them as a holy
procession beseeming the Gods ('to the Immortals dear'), escorting
freedom and democracy back to the city after an exile of forty-seven
years.
Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine
In seemly order stand.
ἑκατέρωθεν παρὰ τὴν ὁδὸν τῶν Συρακουσίων ἱερεῖά τινα καὶ
τραπέζας καὶ κρατῆρας ἱστάντων καὶ καθ' ὁῧς γένοιτο προχύταις τε
βαλλόντων καὶ προστρεπομένων ὡσπερ θεὸν κατευχαῖις.—The people
setting, on either side the way, victims and tables and bowls of
wine, and as he came opposite, casting flowers upon him, and
supplicating him with prayers as though he were a God.
Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and mourn
Ilissus, bending o'er thy classic urn!
Cf. Milton, Paradise Regained, iv. 244:—
See there the olive-grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
Perhaps the idea of Ilissus bending over the urn is taken from the
western pediment of the Parthenon. At one angle there is a recumbent
figure of the Kephissus, at the other of the llissus; originally there
seems to have been a ὑδρια attached to one of them. See Guide
to Sculptures of the Parthenon, published at the British Museum.[CB]
And, following guides whose craft holds no consent
With aught that breathes the ethereal element,
Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood,
Unjustly shed, though for the public good.
Dion was anxious to give Syracuse a constitution, but he found
Heracleides an incessant opponent in spite of the long forbearance he
had shown him. Feeling that the one obstacle to a settlement must at all
costs be removed, he yielded to advisers whom he had long withstood, and
allowed them to put Heracleides to death. He gave him, however, a public
funeral, and persuaded the people that it was impossible for the State
to have peace on any other conditions.
But whence that sudden check?...
ἐτύγχανε μὲν γὰρ ὀψὲ τῆς ἡμέρας καθεζόμενος ἐν παστάδι τῆς
οἰκίας μόνος ὥν πρὸς ἑαυτῷ τὴν διάνοιαν' ἐξαίφνης δὲ ψόφου
γενομένου πρὸς θατέρῳ πέρατι τῆς στοᾶς, ἀποβλέψας ἕτι φωτὸς
ὅντὸς εἶδε γυναῖκα μεγάλην στολῇ μὲν καὶ προσώπῳ μηδὲν Ἑριννύος
τραγικῆς παραλλάττουσαν, σαίρουσαν δὲ καλλύντρω τινὶ τὴν
οἰκίαν.—He happened to be sitting late in the evening in a
corridor of the house in solitary meditation: suddenly a sound was
heard in the further end of the portico, and looking up, he saw in
the lingering light the form of a majestic woman, in dress and face
like the Fury as she appears in tragedy—sweeping the house with
a brush.
In Plutarch, the apparition is simply ominous of coming evil, his son, a
few days afterwards, throwing himself in a fit of petulance from the
roof of the palace, and his own death shortly following: the moral
significance assigned to it in the poem is Wordsworth's own
interpretation.
And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!
In Plutarch, Dion calls his attendants, dreading to be left alone for
fear the spectre should return (παντἀπασιν ἐκστατικῶς ἕχων καὶ
δεδοικὼς μὴ πάλιν εἰς ὅψιν αὐτῷ μονωθέν τὸ τέρας ἀφίκηται).
Wordsworth seems to have taken a hint from this passage, and to have
added a tragic intensity by representing the horror as one which he
could share with no one, a supernatural doom in which he must be
absolutely solitary.