PUNCH SONG.

   (TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)

   On the mountain's breezy summit,
    Where the southern sunbeams shine,
   Aided by their warming vigor,
    Nature yields the golden wine.

   How the wondrous mother formeth,
    None have ever read aright;
   Hid forever is her working,
    And inscrutable her might.

   Sparkling as a son of Phoebus,
    As the fiery source of light,
   From the vat it bubbling springeth,
    Purple, and as crystal bright;

   And rejoiceth all the senses,
    And in every sorrowing breast
   Poureth hope's refreshing balsam,
    And on life bestows new zest.

   But their slanting rays all feebly
    On our zone the sunbeams shoot;
   They can only tinge the foliage,
    But they ripen ne'er the fruit.

   Yet the north insists on living,
    And what lives will merry be;
   So, although the grape is wanting,
    We invent wine cleverly.

   Pale the drink we now are offering
    On the household altar here;
   But what living Nature maketh,
    Sparkling is and ever clear.

   Let us from the brimming goblet,
    Drain the troubled flood with mirth;
   Art is but a gift of heaven,
    Borrowed from the glow of earth.

   Even strength's dominions boundless
    'Neath her rule obedient lie;
   From the old the new she fashions
    With creative energy.

   She the elements' close union
    Severs with her sovereign nod;
   With the flame upon the altar,
    Emulates the great sun-god.

   For the distant, happy islands
    Now the vessel sallies forth,
   And the southern fruits, all-golden,
    Pours upon the eager north.

   As a type, then,—as an image,
    Be to us this fiery juice,
   Of the wonders that frail mortals
    Can with steadfast will produce!

     THE COMPLAINT OF CERES. 29
   Does pleasant spring return once more?
    Does earth her happy youth regain?
   Sweet suns green hills are shining o'er;
    Soft brooklets burst their icy chain:
   Upon the blue translucent river
    Laughs down an all-unclouded day,
   The winged west winds gently quiver,
    The buds are bursting from the spray;
   While birds are blithe on every tree;
    The Oread from the mountain-shore
   Sighs, "Lo! thy flowers come back to thee—
    Thy child, sad mother, comes no more!"

   Alas! how long an age it seems
    Since all the earth I wandered over,
   And vainly, Titan, tasked thy beams
    The loved—the lost one—to discover!
   Though all may seek—yet none can call
    Her tender presence back to me
   The sun, with eyes detecting all,
    Is blind one vanished form to see.
   Hast thou, O Zeus! hast thou away
    From these sad arms my daughter torn?
   Has Pluto, from the realms of day,
    Enamored—to dark rivers borne?

   Who to the dismal phantom-strand
    The herald of my grief will venture?
   The boat forever leaves the land,
    But only shadows there may enter.—
   Veiled from each holier eye repose
    The realms where midnight wraps the dead,
   And, while the Stygian river flows,
    No living footstep there may tread!
   A thousand pathways wind the drear
    Descent;—none upward lead to-day;—
   No witness to the mother's ear
    The daughter's sorrows can betray.

   Mothers of happy human clay
    Can share at least their children's doom;
   And when the loved ones pass away,
    Can track—can join them—in the tomb!
   The race alone of heavenly birth
    Are banished from the darksome portals;
   The Fates have mercy on the earth,
    And death is only kind to mortals! 30   Oh, plunge me in the night of nights,
    From heaven's ambrosial halls exiled!
   Oh, let the goddess lose the rights
    That shut the mother from the child!

   Where sits the dark king's joyless bride,
    Where midst the dead her home is made;
   Oh that my noiseless steps might glide,
    Amidst the shades, myself a shade!
   I see her eyes, that search through tears,
    In vain the golden light to greet;
   That yearn for yonder distant spheres,
    That pine the mother's face to meet!
   Till some bright moment shall renew
    The severed hearts' familiar ties;
   And softened pity steal in dew,
    From Pluto's slow-relenting eyes!

   Ah, vain the wish, the sorrows are!
    Calm in the changeless paths above
   Rolls on the day-god's golden car—
    Fast are the fixed decrees of Jove!
   Far from the ever-gloomy plain,
    He turns his blissful looks away.
   Alas! night never gives again
    What once it seizes as its prey!
   Till over Lethe's sullen swell,
    Aurora's rosy hues shall glow;
   And arching through the midmost hell
    Shine forth the lovely Iris-bow!

   And is there naught of her; no token—
    No pledge from that beloved hand?
   To tell how love remains unbroken,
    How far soever be the land?
   Has love no link, no lightest thread,
    The mother to the child to bind?
   Between the living and the dead,
    Can hope no holy compact find?
   No! every bond is not yet riven;
    We are not yet divided wholly;
   To us the eternal powers have given
    A symbol language, sweet and holy.

   When Spring's fair children pass away,
    When, in the north wind's icy air,
   The leaf and flower alike decay,
    And leave the rivelled branches bare,
   Then from Vertumnus' lavish horn
    I take life's seeds to strew below—
   And bid the gold that germs the corn
    An offering to the Styx to go!
   Sad in the earth the seeds I lay—
    Laid at thy heart, my child—to be
   The mournful tokens which convey
    My sorrow and my love to thee!

   But, when the hours, in measured dance,
    The happy smile of spring restore,
   Rife in the sun-god's golden glance
    The buried dead revive once more!
   The germs that perished to thine eyes,
    Within the cold breast of the earth,
   Spring up to bloom in gentler skies,
    The brighter for the second birth!
   The stem its blossom rears above—
    Its roots in night's dark womb repose—
   The plant but by the equal love
    Of light and darkness fostered—grows!

   If half with death the germs may sleep,
    Yet half with life they share the beams;
   My heralds from the dreary deep,
    Soft voices from the solemn streams,—
   Like her, so them, awhile entombs,
    Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign,
   Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms
    With such sweet messages again,
   To tell,—how far from light above,
    Where only mournful shadows meet,
   Memory is still alive to love,
    And still the faithful heart can beat!

   Joy to ye children of the field!
    Whose life each coming year renews,
   To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield
    The purest of its nectar-dews!
   Steeped in the light's resplendent streams,
    The hues that streak the Iris-bow
   Shall trim your blooms as with the beams
    The looks of young Aurora know.
   The budding life of happy spring,
    The yellow autumn's faded leaf,
   Alike to gentle hearts shall bring
    The symbols of my joy and grief.

        THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL.

   Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
    With it, the Cyane 31 blue intertwine
   Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
    For the great queen is approaching her shrine,—
   She who compels lawless passions to cease,
    Who to link man with his fellow has come,
   And into firm habitations of peace
    Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home.

   Shyly in the mountain-cleft
    Was the Troglodyte concealed;
   And the roving Nomad left,
    Desert lying, each broad field.
   With the javelin, with the bow,
    Strode the hunter through the land;
   To the hapless stranger woe,
    Billow-cast on that wild strand!

   When, in her sad wanderings lost,
    Seeking traces of her child,
   Ceres hailed the dreary coast,
    Ah, no verdant plain then smiled!
   That she here with trust may stay,
    None vouchsafes a sheltering roof;
   Not a temple's columns gay
    Give of godlike worship proof.

   Fruit of no propitious ear
    Bids her to the pure feast fly;
   On the ghastly altars here
    Human bones alone e'er dry.
   Far as she might onward rove,
    Misery found she still in all,
   And within her soul of love,
    Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall.

   "Is it thus I find the man
    To whom we our image lend,
   Whose fair limbs of noble span
    Upward towards the heavens ascend?
   Laid we not before his feet
    Earth's unbounded godlike womb?
   Yet upon his kingly seat
    Wanders he without a home?"

   "Does no god compassion feel?
    Will none of the blissful race,
   With an arm of miracle,
    Raise him from his deep disgrace?
   In the heights where rapture reigns
    Pangs of others ne'er can move;
   Yet man's anguish and man's pains
    My tormented heart must prove."

   "So that a man a man may be,
    Let him make an endless bond
   With the kind earth trustingly,
    Who is ever good and fond
   To revere the law of time,
    And the moon's melodious song
   Who, with silent step sublime,
    Move their sacred course along."

   And she softly parts the cloud
    That conceals her from the sight;
   Sudden, in the savage crowd,
    Stands she, as a goddess bright.
   There she finds the concourse rude
    In their glad feast revelling,
   And the chalice filled with blood
    As a sacrifice they bring.

   But she turns her face away,
    Horror-struck, and speaks the while
   "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may
    Of a god the lips defile,
   He needs victims free from stain,
    Fruits matured by autumn's sun;
   With the pure gifts of the plain
    Honored is the Holy One!"

   And she takes the heavy shaft
    From the hunter's cruel hand;
   With the murderous weapon's haft
    Furrowing the light-strown sand,—
   Takes from out her garland's crown,
    Filled with life, one single grain,
   Sinks it in the furrow down,
    And the germ soon swells amain.

   And the green stalks gracefully
    Shoot, ere long, the ground above,
   And, as far as eye can see,
    Waves it like a golden grove.
   With her smile the earth she cheers,
    Binds the earliest sheaves so fair,
   As her hearth the landmark rears,—
    And the goddess breathes this prayer:

   "Father Zeus, who reign'st o'er all
    That in ether's mansions dwell,
   Let a sign from thee now fall
    That thou lov'st this offering well!
   And from the unhappy crowd
    That, as yet, has ne'er known thee,
   Take away the eye's dark cloud,
    Showing them their deity!"

   Zeus, upon his lofty throne,
    Harkens to his sister's prayer;
   From the blue heights thundering down,
    Hurls his forked lightning there,
   Crackling, it begins to blaze,
    From the altar whirling bounds,—
   And his swift-winged eagle plays
    High above in circling rounds.

   Soon at the feet of their mistress are kneeling,
    Filled with emotion, the rapturous throng;
   Into humanity's earliest feeling
    Melt their rude spirits, untutored and strong.
   Each bloody weapon behind them they leave,
    Rays on their senses beclouded soon shine,
   And from the mouth of the queen they receive,
    Gladly and meekly, instruction divine.

   All the deities advance
    Downward from their heavenly seats;
   Themis' self 'tis leads the dance,
    And, with staff of justice, metes
   Unto every one his rights,—
    Landmarks, too, 'tis hers to fix;
   And in witness she invites
    All the hidden powers of Styx.

   And the forge-god, too, is there,
    The inventive son of Zeus;
   Fashioner of vessels fair
    Skilled in clay and brass's use.
   'Tis from him the art man knows
    Tongs and bellows how to wield;
   'Neath his hammer's heavy blows
    Was the ploughshare first revealed.

   With projecting, weighty spear,
    Front of all, Minerva stands,
   Lifts her voice so strong and clear,
    And the godlike host commands.
   Steadfast walls 'tis hers to found,
    Shield and screen for every one,
   That the scattered world around
    Bind in loving unison.

   The immortals' steps she guides
    O'er the trackless plains so vast,
   And where'er her foot abides
    Is the boundary god held fast;
   And her measuring chain is led
    Round the mountain's border green,—
   E'en the raging torrent's bed
    In the holy ring is seen.

   All the Nymphs and Oreads too
    Who, the mountain pathways o'er,
   Swift-foot Artemis pursue,
    All to swell the concourse, pour,
   Brandishing the hunting-spear,—
    Set to work,—glad shouts uprise,—
   'Neath their axes' blows so clear
    Crashing down the pine-wood flies.

   E'en the sedge-crowned God ascends
    From his verdant spring to light,
   And his raft's direction bends
    At the goddess' word of might,—
   While the hours, all gently bound,
    Nimbly to their duty fly;
   Rugged trunks are fashioned round
    By her skilled hand gracefully.

   E'en the sea-god thither fares;—
    Sudden, with his trident's blow,
   He the granite columns tears
    From earth's entrails far below;—
   In his mighty hands, on high,
    Waves he them, like some light ball,
   And with nimble Hermes by,
    Raises up the rampart-wall.

   But from out the golden strings
    Lures Apollo harmony,
   Measured time's sweet murmurings,
    And the might of melody.
   The Camoenae swell the strain
    With their song of ninefold tone:
   Captive bound in music's chain,
    Softly stone unites to stone.

   Cybele, with skilful hand,
    Open throws the wide-winged door;
   Locks and bolts by her are planned,
    Sure to last forevermore.
   Soon complete the wondrous halls
    By the gods' own hands are made,
   And the temple's glowing walls
    Stand in festal pomp arrayed.

   With a crown of myrtle twined,
    Now the goddess queen comes there,
   And she leads the fairest hind
    To the shepherdess most fair.
   Venus, with her beauteous boy,
    That first pair herself attires;
   All the gods bring gifts of joy,
    Blessing their love's sacred fires.

   Guided by the deities,
    Soon the new-born townsmen pour,
   Ushered in with harmonies,
    Through the friendly open door.
   Holding now the rites divine,
    Ceres at Zeus' altar stands,—
   Blessing those around the shrine,
    Thus she speaks, with folded hands:—

   "Freedom's love the beast inflames,
    And the god rules free in air,
   While the law of Nature tames
    Each wild lust that lingers there.
   Yet, when thus together thrown,
    Man with man must fain unite;
   And by his own worth alone
    Can he freedom gain, and might."

   Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear!
    With it, the Cyane blue intertwine!
   Rapture must render each glance bright and clear,
    For the great queen is approaching her shrine,—
   She who our homesteads so blissful has given,
    She who has man to his fellow-man bound:
   Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven,
    Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!

    THE RING OF POLYCRATES. 32
        A BALLAD.

   Upon his battlements he stood,
   And downward gazed in joyous mood,
     On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway,
   "All this is subject to my yoke;"
   To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,—
     "That I am truly blest, then, say!"

   "The immortals' favor thou hast known!
   Thy sceptre's might has overthrown
     All those who once were like to thee.
   Yet to avenge them one lives still;
   I cannot call thee blest, until
     That dreaded foe has ceased to be."

   While to these words the king gave vent,
   A herald from Miletus sent,
     Appeared before the tyrant there:
   "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day,
   And with the laurel branches gay
     Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!"

   "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,—
   I'm sent to bear the glad news here,
     By thy true marshal Polydore"—
   Then from a basin black he takes—
   The fearful sight their terror wakes—
     A well-known head, besmeared with gore.

   The king with horror stepped aside,
   And then with anxious look replied:
     "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit.
   On faithless waves, bethink thee how
   Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now—
     How soon the storm may scatter it!"

   But ere he yet had spoke the word,
   A shout of jubilee is heard
     Resounding from the distant strand.
   With foreign treasures teeming o'er,
   The vessels' mast-rich wood once more
     Returns home to its native land.

   The guest then speaks with startled mind:
   "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind;
     But thou her fickleness shouldst fear:
   The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms,
   Now threaten thee with war's alarms;
     E'en now they are approaching here."

   And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips,
   A stir is seen amongst the ships,
     And thousand voices "Victory!" cry:
   "We are delivered from our foe,
   The storm has laid the Cretan low,
     The war is ended, is gone by!"

   The shout with horror hears the guest:
   "In truth, I must esteem thee blest!
     Yet dread I the decrees of heaven.
   The envy of the gods I fear;
   To taste of unmixed rapture here
     Is never to a mortal given."

   "With me, too, everything succeeds;
   In all my sovereign acts and deeds
     The grace of Heaven is ever by;
   And yet I had a well-loved heir—
   I paid my debt to fortune there—
     God took him hence—I saw him die."

   "Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free.
   Pray to each unseen Deity,
     For thy well-being, grief to send;
   The man on whom the Gods bestow
   Their gifts with hands that overflow,
     Comes never to a happy end."

   "And if the Gods thy prayer resist,
   Then to a friend's instruction list,—
     Invoke thyself adversity;
   And what, of all thy treasures bright,
   Gives to thy heart the most delight—
     That take and cast thou in the sea!"

   Then speaks the other, moved by fear:
   "This ring to me is far most dear
     Of all this isle within it knows—
   I to the furies pledge it now,
   If they will happiness allow"—
     And in the flood the gem he throws.

   And with the morrow's earliest light,
   Appeared before the monarch's sight
     A fisherman, all joyously;
   "Lord, I this fish just now have caught,
   No net before e'er held the sort;
     And as a gift I bring it thee."

   The fish was opened by the cook,
   Who suddenly, with wondering look,
     Runs up, and utters these glad sounds:
   "Within the fish's maw, behold,
   I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold!
     Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!"

   The guest with terror turned away:
   "I cannot here, then, longer stay,—
     My friend thou canst no longer be!
   The gods have willed that thou shouldst die:
   Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"—
     He spoke,—and sailed thence hastily.

     THE CRANES OF IBYCUS.

         A BALLAD.

   Once to the song and chariot-fight,
   Where all the tribes of Greece unite
   On Corinth's isthmus joyously,
   The god-loved Ibycus drew nigh.
   On him Apollo had bestowed
    The gift of song and strains inspired;
   So, with light staff, he took his road
    From Rhegium, by the godhead fired.

   Acrocorinth, on mountain high,
   Now burns upon the wanderer's eye,
   And he begins, with pious dread,
   Poseidon's grove of firs to tread.
   Naught moves around him, save a swarm
    Of cranes, who guide him on his way;
   Who from far southern regions warm
    Have hither come in squadron gray.

   "Thou friendly band, all hail to thee!
   Who led'st me safely o'er the sea!
   I deem thee as a favoring sign,—
   My destiny resembles thine.
   Both come from a far distant coast,
    Both pray for some kind sheltering place;—
   Propitious toward us be the host
    Who from the stranger wards disgrace!"

   And on he hastes, in joyous wood,
   And reaches soon the middle wood
   When, on a narrow bridge, by force
   Two murderers sudden bar his course.
   He must prepare him for the fray,
    But soon his wearied hand sinks low;
   Inured the gentle lyre to play,
    It ne'er has strung the deadly bow.

   On gods and men for aid he cries,—
   No savior to his prayer replies;
   However far his voice he sends,
   Naught living to his cry attends.
   "And must I in a foreign land,
    Unwept, deserted, perish here,
   Falling beneath a murderous hand,
    Where no avenger can appear?"

   Deep-wounded, down he sinks at last,
   When, lo! the cranes' wings rustle past.
   He hears,—though he no more can see,—
   Their voices screaming fearfully.
   "By you, ye cranes, that soar on high,
    If not another voice is heard,
   Be borne to heaven my murder-cry!"
    He speaks, and dies, too, with the word.

   The naked corpse, ere long, is found,
   And, though defaced by many a wound,
   His host in Corinth soon could tell
   The features that he loved so well.
   "And is it thus I find thee now,
    Who hoped the pine's victorious crown
   To place upon the singer's brow,
    Illumined by his bright renown?"

   The news is heard with grief by all
   Met at Poseidon's festival;
   All Greece is conscious of the smart,
   He leaves a void in every heart;
   And to the Prytanis 33 swift hie
    The people, and they urge him on
   The dead man's manes to pacify
    And with the murderer's blood atone.

   But where's the trace that from the throng
   The people's streaming crowds among,
   Allured there by the sports so bright,
   Can bring the villain back to light?
   By craven robbers was he slain?
    Or by some envious hidden foe?
   That Helios only can explain,
    Whose rays illume all things below.

   Perchance, with shameless step and proud,
   He threads e'en now the Grecian crowd—
   Whilst vengeance follows in pursuit,
   Gloats over his transgression's fruit.
   The very gods perchance he braves
    Upon the threshold of their fane,—
   Joins boldly in the human waves
    That haste yon theatre to gain.

   For there the Grecian tribes appear,
   Fast pouring in from far and near;
   On close-packed benches sit they there,—
   The stage the weight can scarcely bear.
   Like ocean-billows' hollow roar,
    The teaming crowds of living man
   Toward the cerulean heavens upsoar,
    In bow of ever-widening span.

   Who knows the nation, who the name,
   Of all who there together came?
   From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand
   From Phocis, from the Spartan land,
   From Asia's distant coast, they wend,
    From every island of the sea,
   And from the stage they hear ascend
    The chorus's dread melody.

   Who, sad and solemn, as of old,
   With footsteps measured and controlled,
   Advancing from the far background,
   Circle the theatre's wide round.
   Thus, mortal women never move!
    No mortal home to them gave birth!
   Their giant-bodies tower above,
    High o'er the puny sons of earth.

   With loins in mantle black concealed,
   Within their fleshless bands they wield
   The torch, that with a dull red glows,—
   While in their cheek no life-blood flows;
   And where the hair is floating wide
    And loving, round a mortal brow,
   Here snakes and adders are descried,
    Whose bellies swell with poison now.

   And, standing in a fearful ring,
   The dread and solemn chant they sing,
   That through the bosom thrilling goes,
   And round the sinner fetters throws.
   Sense-robbing, of heart-maddening power,
    The furies' strains resound through air
   The listener's marrow they devour,—
    The lyre can yield such numbers ne'er.

   "Happy the man who, blemish-free,
   Preserves a soul of purity!
   Near him we ne'er avenging come,
   He freely o'er life's path may roam.
   But woe to him who, hid from view,
    Hath done the deed of murder base!
   Upon his heels we close pursue,—
    We, who belong to night's dark race!"

   "And if he thinks to 'scape by flight,
   Winged we appear, our snare of might
   Around his flying feet to cast,
   So that he needs must fall at last.
   Thus we pursue him, tiring ne'er,—
    Our wrath repentance cannot quell,—
   On to the shadows, and e'en there
    We leave him not in peace to dwell!"

   Thus singing, they the dance resume,
   And silence, like that of the tomb,
   O'er the whole house lies heavily,
   As if the deity were nigh.
   And staid and solemn, as of old,
    Circling the theatre's wide round,
   With footsteps measured and controlled,
    They vanish in the far background.

   Between deceit and truth each breast.
   Now doubting hangs, by awe possessed,
   And homage pays to that dread might,
   That judges what is hid from sight,—
   That, fathomless, inscrutable,
    The gloomy skein of fate entwines,
   That reads the bosom's depths full well,
    Yet flies away where sunlight shines.

   When sudden, from the tier most high,
   A voice is heard by all to cry:
   "See there, see there, Timotheus!
   Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"
   The heavens become as black as night,
    And o'er the theatre they see,
   Far over-head, a dusky flight
    Of cranes, approaching hastily.

   "Of Ibycus!"—That name so blest
   With new-born sorrow fills each breast.
   As waves on waves in ocean rise,
   From mouth to mouth it swiftly flies:
   "Of Ibycus, whom we lament?
    Who fell beneath the murderer's hand?
   What mean those words that from him went?
    What means this cranes' advancing band?"

   And louder still become the cries,
   And soon this thought foreboding flies
   Through every heart, with speed of light—
   "Observe in this the furies' might!
   The poets manes are now appeased
    The murderer seeks his own arrest!
   Let him who spoke the word be seized,
    And him to whom it was addressed!"

   That word he had no sooner spoke,
   Than he its sound would fain invoke;
   In vain! his mouth, with terror pale,
   Tells of his guilt the fearful tale.
   Before the judge they drag them now
    The scene becomes the tribunal;
   Their crimes the villains both avow,
    When neath the vengeance-stroke they fall.

        THE PLAYING INFANT.

   Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle
   The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile;
   Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave,
   Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave.
   Play, loveliest innocence!—Thee yet Arcadia circles round,
   A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground;
   Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend,
   Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end.
   Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey.
   Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away!

          HERO AND LEANDER. 34
              A BALLAD.

   See you the towers, that, gray and old,
   Frown through the sunlight's liquid gold,
    Steep sternly fronting steep?
   The Hellespont beneath them swells,
   And roaring cleaves the Dardanelles,
    The rock-gates of the deep!
   Hear you the sea, whose stormy wave,
    From Asia, Europe clove in thunder?
   That sea which rent a world, cannot
    Rend love from love asunder!

   In Hero's, in Leander's heart,
   Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart
    Whose feather flies from love.
   All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek—
   And his the hunter's steps that seek
    Delight, the hills above!
   Between their sires the rival feud
    Forbids their plighted hearts to meet;
   Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf,
    By danger made more sweet.

   Alone on Sestos' rocky tower,
   Where upward sent in stormy shower,
    The whirling waters foam,—
   Alone the maiden sits, and eyes
   The cliffs of fair Abydos rise
    Afar—her lover's home.
   Oh, safely thrown from strand to strand,
    No bridge can love to love convey;
   No boatman shoots from yonder shore,
    Yet Love has found the way.—

   That love, which could the labyrinth pierce—
   Which nerves the weak, and curbs the fierce,
    And wings with wit the dull;—
   That love which o'er the furrowed land
   Bowed—tame beneath young Jason's hand—
    The fiery-snorting bull!
   Yes, Styx itself, that ninefold flows,
    Has love, the fearless, ventured o'er,
   And back to daylight borne the bride,
    From Pluto's dreary shore!

   What marvel then that wind and wave,
   Leander doth but burn to brave,
    When love, that goads him, guides!
   Still when the day, with fainter glimmer,
   Wanes pale—he leaps, the daring swimmer,
    Amid the darkening tides;
   With lusty arms he cleaves the waves,
    And strikes for that dear strand afar;
   Where high from Hero's lonely tower
    Lone streams the beacon-star.

   In vain his blood the wave may chill,
   These tender arms can warm it still—
    And, weary if the way,
   By many a sweet embrace, above
   All earthly boons—can liberal love
    The lover's toil repay,
   Until Aurora breaks the dream,
    And warns the loiterer to depart—
   Back to the ocean's icy bed,
    Scared from that loving heart.

   So thirty suns have sped their flight—
   Still in that theft of sweet delight
    Exult the happy pair;
   Caress will never pall caress,
   And joys that gods might envy, bless
    The single bride-night there.
   Ah! never he has rapture known,
    Who has not, where the waves are driven
   Upon the fearful shores of hell,
    Plucked fruits that taste of heaven!

   Now changing in their season are,
   The morning and the Hesper star;—
    Nor see those happy eyes
   The leaves that withering droop and fall,
   Nor hear, when, from its northern hall,
    The neighboring winter sighs;
   Or, if they see, the shortening days
    But seem to them to close in kindness;
   For longer joys, in lengthening nights,
    They thank the heaven in blindness.

   It is the time, when night and day,
   In equal scales contend for sway 35—
    Lone, on her rocky steep,
   Lingers the girl with wistful eyes
   That watch the sun-steeds down the skies,
    Careering towards the deep.
   Lulled lay the smooth and silent sea,
    A mirror in translucent calm,
   The breeze, along that crystal realm,
    Unmurmuring, died in balm.

   In wanton swarms and blithe array,
   The merry dolphins glide and play
    Amid the silver waves.
   In gray and dusky troops are seen,
   The hosts that serve the ocean-queen,
    Upborne from coral caves:
   They—only they—have witnessed love
    To rapture steal its secret way:
   And Hecate 36 seals the only lips
    That could the tale betray!

   She marks in joy the lulled water,
   And Sestos, thus thy tender daughter,
    Soft-flattering, woos the sea!
   "Fair god—and canst thou then betray?
   No! falsehood dwells with them that say
    That falsehood dwells with thee!
   Ah! faithless is the race of man,
    And harsh a father's heart can prove;
   But thee, the gentle and the mild,
    The grief of love can move!"

   "Within these hated walls of stone,
   Should I, repining, mourn alone,
    And fade in ceaseless care,
   But thou, though o'er thy giant tide,
   Nor bridge may span, nor boat may glide,
    Dost safe my lover bear.
   And darksome is thy solemn deep,
    And fearful is thy roaring wave;
   But wave and deep are won by love—
    Thou smilest on the brave!"

   "Nor vainly, sovereign of the sea,
   Did Eros send his shafts to thee
    What time the rain of gold,
   Bright Helle, with her brother bore,
   How stirred the waves she wandered o'er,
    How stirred thy deeps of old!
   Swift, by the maiden's charms subdued,
    Thou cam'st from out the gloomy waves,
   And in thy mighty arms, she sank
    Into thy bridal caves."

   "A goddess with a god, to keep
   In endless youth, beneath the deep,
    Her solemn ocean-court!
   And still she smooths thine angry tides,
   Tames thy wild heart, and favoring guides
    The sailor to the port!
   Beautiful Helle, bright one, hear
    Thy lone adoring suppliant pray!
   And guide, O goddess—guide my love
    Along the wonted way!"

   Now twilight dims the waters' flow,
   And from the tower, the beacon's glow
    Waves flickering o'er the main.
   Ah, where athwart the dismal stream,
   Shall shine the beacon's faithful beam
    The lover's eyes shall strain!
   Hark! sounds moan threatening from afar—
    From heaven the blessed stars are gone—
   More darkly swells the rising sea
    The tempest labors on!

   Along the ocean's boundless plains
   Lies night—in torrents rush the rains
    From the dark-bosomed cloud—
   Red lightning skirs the panting air,
   And, loosed from out their rocky lair,
    Sweep all the storms abroad.
   Huge wave on huge wave tumbling o'er,
    The yawning gulf is rent asunder,
   And shows, as through an opening pall,
    Grim earth—the ocean under!

   Poor maiden! bootless wail or vow—
   "Have mercy, Jove—be gracious, thou!
    Dread prayer was mine before!"
   What if the gods have heard—and he,
   Lone victim of the stormy sea,
    Now struggles to the shore!
   There's not a sea-bird on the wave—
    Their hurrying wings the shelter seek;
   The stoutest ship the storms have proved,
    Takes refuge in the creek.

   "Ah, still that heart, which oft has braved
   The danger where the daring saved,
    Love lureth o'er the sea;—
   For many a vow at parting morn,
   That naught but death should bar return,
    Breathed those dear lips to me;
   And whirled around, the while I weep,
    Amid the storm that rides the wave,
   The giant gulf is grasping down
    The rash one to the grave!

   "False Pontus! and the calm I hailed,
   The awaiting murder darkly veiled—
    The lulled pellucid flow,
   The smiles in which thou wert arrayed,
   Were but the snares that love betrayed
    To thy false realm below!
   Now in the midway of the main,
    Return relentlessly forbidden,
   Thou loosenest on the path beyond
    The horrors thou hadst hidden."

   Loud and more loud the tempest raves
   In thunder break the mountain waves,
    White-foaming on the rock—
   No ship that ever swept the deep
   Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep
    Unshattered by the shock.
   Dies in the blast the guiding torch
    To light the struggler to the strand;
   'Tis death to battle with the wave,
    And death no less to land!

   On Venus, daughter of the seas,
   She calls the tempest to appease—
    To each wild-shrieking wind
   Along the ocean-desert borne,
   She vows a steer with golden horn—
    Vain vow—relentless wind!
   On every goddess of the deep,
    On all the gods in heaven that be,
   She calls—to soothe in calm, awhile
    The tempest-laden sea!

   "Hearken the anguish of my cries!
   From thy green halls, arise—arise,
    Leucothoe the divine!
   Who, in the barren main afar,
   Oft on the storm-beat mariner
    Dost gently-saving shine.
   Oh,—reach to him thy mystic veil,
    To which the drowning clasp may cling,
   And safely from that roaring grave,
    To shore my lover bring!"

   And now the savage winds are hushing.
   And o'er the arched horizon, blushing,
    Day's chariot gleams on high!
   Back to their wonted channels rolled,
   In crystal calm the waves behold
    One smile on sea and sky!
   All softly breaks the rippling tide,
    Low-murmuring on the rocky land,
   And playful wavelets gently float
    A corpse upon the strand!

   'Tis he!—who even in death would still
   Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil;
    She looks—sees—knows him there!
   From her pale lips no sorrow speaks,
   No tears glide down her hueless cheeks;
    Cold-numbed in her despair—
   She looked along the silent deep,
    She looked upon the brightening heaven,
   Till to the marble face the soul
    Its light sublime had given!

   "Ye solemn powers men shrink to name,
   Your might is here, your rights ye claim—
    Yet think not I repine
   Soon closed my course; yet I can bless
   The life that brought me happiness—
    The fairest lot was mine!
   Living have I thy temple served,
    Thy consecrated priestess been—
   My last glad offering now receive
    Venus, thou mightiest queen!"

   Flashed the white robe along the air,
   And from the tower that beetled there
    She sprang into the wave;
   Roused from his throne beneath the waste,
   Those holy forms the god embraced—
    A god himself their grave!
   Pleased with his prey, he glides along—
    More blithe the murmured music seems,
   A gush from unexhausted urns
    His everlasting streams!

        CASSANDRA.

   Mirth the halls of Troy was filling,
    Ere its lofty ramparts fell;
   From the golden lute so thrilling
    Hymns of joy were heard to swell.
   From the sad and tearful slaughter
    All had laid their arms aside,
   For Pelides Priam's daughter
    Claimed then as his own fair bride.

   Laurel branches with them bearing,
    Troop on troop in bright array
   To the temples were repairing,
    Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway.
   Through the streets, with frantic measure,
    Danced the bacchanal mad round,
   And, amid the radiant pleasure,
    Only one sad breast was found.

   Joyless in the midst of gladness,
    None to heed her, none to love,
   Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness,
    To Apollo's laurel grove.
   To its dark and deep recesses
    Swift the sorrowing priestess hied,
   And from off her flowing tresses
    Tore the sacred band, and cried:

   "All around with joy is beaming,
    Ev'ry heart is happy now,
   And my sire is fondly dreaming,
    Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow
   I alone am doomed to wailing,
    That sweet vision flies from me;
   In my mind, these walls assailing,
    Fierce destruction I can see."

   "Though a torch I see all-glowing,
    Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand;
   Smoke across the skies is blowing,
    Yet 'tis from no votive brand.
   Yonder see I feasts entrancing,
    But in my prophetic soul,
   Hear I now the God advancing,
    Who will steep in tears the bowl!"

   "And they blame my lamentation,
    And they laugh my grief to scorn;
   To the haunts of desolation
    I must bear my woes forlorn.
   All who happy are, now shun me,
    And my tears with laughter see;
   Heavy lies thy hand upon me,
    Cruel Pythian deity!"

   "Thy divine decrees foretelling,
    Wherefore hast thou thrown me here,
   Where the ever-blind are dwelling,
    With a mind, alas, too clear?
   Wherefore hast thou power thus given,
    What must needs occur to know?
   Wrought must be the will of Heaven—
    Onward come the hour of woe!"

   "When impending fate strikes terror,
    Why remove the covering?
   Life we have alone in error,
    Knowledge with it death must bring.
   Take away this prescience tearful,
    Take this sight of woe from me;
   Of thy truths, alas! how fearful
    'Tis the mouthpiece frail to be!"

   "Veil my mind once more in slumbers
    Let me heedlessly rejoice;
   Never have I sung glad numbers
    Since I've been thy chosen voice.
   Knowledge of the future giving,
    Thou hast stolen the present day,
   Stolen the moment's joyous living,—
    Take thy false gift, then, away!"

   "Ne'er with bridal train around me,
    Have I wreathed my radiant brow,
   Since to serve thy fane I bound me—
    Bound me with a solemn vow.
   Evermore in grief I languish—
    All my youth in tears was spent;
   And with thoughts of bitter anguish
    My too-feeling heart is rent."

   "Joyously my friends are playing,
    All around are blest and glad,
   In the paths of pleasure straying,—
    My poor heart alone is sad.
   Spring in vain unfolds each treasure,
    Filling all the earth with bliss;
   Who in life can e'er take pleasure,
    When is seen its dark abyss?"

   "With her heart in vision burning,
    Truly blest is Polyxene,
   As a bride to clasp him yearning.
    Him, the noblest, best Hellene!
   And her breast with rapture swelling,
    All its bliss can scarcely know;
   E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling
    Envying not, when dreaming so."

   "He to whom my heart is plighted
    Stood before my ravished eye,
   And his look, by passion lighted,
    Toward me turned imploringly.
   With the loved one, oh, how gladly
    Homeward would I take my flight
   But a Stygian shadow sadly
    Steps between us every night."

   "Cruel Proserpine is sending
    All her spectres pale to me;
   Ever on my steps attending
    Those dread shadowy forms I see.
   Though I seek, in mirth and laughter
    Refuge from that ghastly train,
   Still I see them hastening after,—
    Ne'er shall I know joy again."

   "And I see the death-steel glancing,
    And the eye of murder glare;
   On, with hasty strides advancing,
    Terror haunts me everywhere.
   Vain I seek alleviation;—
    Knowing, seeing, suffering all,
   I must wait the consummation,
    In a foreign land must fall."

   While her solemn words are ringing,
    Hark! a dull and wailing tone
   From the temple's gate upspringing,—
    Dead lies Thetis' mighty son!
   Eris shakes her snake-locks hated,
    Swiftly flies each deity,
   And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated
    Thunder-clouds loom heavily!