BUMfll ■PHna InHMHI ■^P^^HBHa IIIBB BUVHiRHHIr h^^hH ^H M tts ^^M ^SH ^B ^^^S ^^^^H ^ u ^H ^^9 ^^H H ^Hi ^^^B m m H ^H ^m pK ^^^^ ^^S ^^^^^B ^H 1 1 ^^p^^ ■ ^^^^^m ^H^l 9 $^^$ffflMP ^H ^H ^^ BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF 1891 A.i.aQO.9 f/s/mf olin.anx 3 1924 031 215 506 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031215506 TRANSLATED BY FRANCES HELLMAM EROM THf GERMAM or GOTTFRIED K1WKE:L ^^ Hanagra AN IDYL OF GREECE BY GOTTFRIED KINKEL TRANSLATED BY FRANCES HELLMAN WITH A MEMORIAL SKETCH OF GOTTFRIED KINKEL ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAVURKS FROM DESIGNS BY EDWIN H. BLASHFIELD G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK LONDON 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND ®^e ^mtkcibDchM ^Mss 1893 COPYRIGHT, 1893 BY FRANCES HELLMAN Entered at Stationers' Hall, London By G. p. Putnam's Sons Electrotyped. Printed, and Bound by Ubc Iftnfcfierbocbec ipress, Iftew jgoif? G. P, Putnam's Sons TO CARL SCHURZ ONCE freedom's ARDENT CHAMPION IN ' THE FATHERLAND AND EVER SINCE THE FAITHFUL SON OF THIS HIS ADOPTED COUNTRY, TO WHOSE SERVICE HE HAS CONSECRATED THE UNSWERVING LOYALTY OF A LONG, NOBLE, AND USEFUL LIFE Dear Mrs. Hellman : IVith great pleasure and cordial thanks I accept the honor you do me by dedicating to me your admir- able translation of Kinkel's '^ Tanagra." I have always regarded '^ Tanagra" as the most beautiful of Kinkel's epic productions, and it is no mere com- pliment when I say that your rendering of it is, in 7ny opinion, a rare work of art. Permit me to ex- press my personal gratitude to you for thus intro- ducing the teacher and friend of my youth to the English-reading public. Sincerely yours, C. SCHURZ. Lake George, Aug. 1 2th, i8g3. GOTTFRIED KINKEL. A MEMORIAL SKETCH. 'T'HE author of Tanagra was not only a poet of uncommon merit, but also a con- spicuous and highly interesting figure in one of the most stirring periods of recent German history. Gottfried Kinkel was born in 1815 in Obercassel on the Rhine, near Bonn. His father was an Evangelical clergyman, simple, learned and devout, who wished his son to follow the same calling. Young Gottfried therefore went through the usual course of study at the Gymnasium and the University, sat at the feet of the celebrated theologians Neander and Hengstenberg, and then, in 1836, viii Gottfried Kinkel. established himself at the University of Bonn as a " Privat-Docent," delivering lectures on ecclesiastical history, in the hope of attaining a professorship in the course of time. But even then he craved something beyond theology. His first ambitious poetical attempt, The Triumfih of the Cross, is of that period. In 1837 the condition of his health compelled him to travel southward. He visited Italy, where he, with great enthusiasm, devoted him- self to the study of art. After his return he was appointed assistant to an Evangelical pastor at Cologne, where the originality and rhetorical beauty of his sermons attracted great attention. At the same time he continued his lectures at the Bonn University, where his frequent intercourse with some of the distin- guished German poets of the period stimulated him to poetical production. It was also at this time that he made the acquaintance of Johanna, the divorced wife of a bookseller at Cologne, a A Memorial Sketch. ix woman of strong character, extraordinary men- tal gifts, and remarkable acquirements in litera- ture and music. On a boating excursion on the Rhine, when their skiff was capsized in a squall, he, a robust and expert swimmer, saved her from drowning. They confessed to one another their mutual attachment, and in 1843 they were joined in marriage. Their family life was most happy. Kinkel's mental development had, in the meanwhile, more and more drifted away from theology towards art and literature. His mar- riage rendered immediately necessary a step which for some time he had been contemplat- ing, — to give up his clerical position, and to devote himself wholly to aesthetic studies and literary production. He entered the " philo- sophical faculty " of the Bonn University, and was in 1846 appointed a "professor extraordi- nary " of the history of art and civilization. At that period he published an epic poem. X Gottfried Kinkel. Otto der Schtitz (Otto the Marksman), which at once was voted a classic by the reading public, and carried his name all over Germany. His lecture courses at the University, too, were uncommonly successful, for he joined to a thorough command of the subject a delivery of rare charm. When the revolutionary movements of 1848 broke out, Kinkel resolutely took position as an advocate of the people's rights. He was a Liberal by temperament, and nature seemed to have marked him for a popular leader. Over six foot tall, of herculean frame, and a fine, manly face, blessed with a voice commanding all the sweetness as well as the power of a church-organ, and with an eloquence as re- markable for force of plain statement as for humor, pathos, and poetic flight, he seemed to be fairly irresistible when speaking to a multi- tude. He organized the Democratic party in Bonn and its neighborhood, and became the A Memorial Sketch. xi chief editor of a Democratic journal, his assist- ant in his journalistic work, as well as in his activity as a political agitator, being a young student by the name of Carl Schurz. In the summer of 1848 Kinkel was elected to represent the Bonn district in the Prussian State Assembly which met at Berlin. As a member of the " extreme left," he delivered some speeches noted for the advanced views they expressed as well as for their great ora- torical power. After the dissolution of that Assembly he returned to Bonn to resume his professorial duties and also his work as a po- litical agitator. When in 1849 the insurrec- tionary movements in favor of the enforcement of the national Constitution, framed by the national Parliament at Frankfurt, met in the various parts of Germany, Kinkel and his friend Carl Schurz joined in an attempt to capture the arsenal at Siegburg near Bonn, and this having miscarried, both went to the Palatinate, xii Gottfried Kinkel. where the insurrection was organized on a large scale. On June 29th Kinkel was wounded and taken prisoner by the Prussians in an engagement near the fortress of Rastatt. After the sup- pression of the uprising, he was put before a court-martial composed of Prussian officers. His bearing before that court was so imposing and impressive that his judges, who had con- demned to death several other prisoners for the same offence, sentenced him only to confine- ment for life in a fortress. But the King of Prussia, Frederick William IV., irritated at the unexpected leniency of the court, changed the sentence into one of imprisonment for life at hard labor in a common penitentiary. Kinkel was taken to the penitentiary of Naugard in Pomerania, where he was clothed in convict's garb and set to spinning wool. Gottfried Kinkel, the poet, the University professor, the popular orator, the man of the A Memorial Sketch. xiii people, in a common penitentiary, clad in the garb of a convicted murderer or highway rob- ber, spinning wool in a bare country-prison cell, presented a spectacle that moved the sympathy even of his political opponents. He became the subject of romance. The cruel fate of the poet at the spinning-wheel was lamented over in verse and prose all through the Father- land. But the government would not relent. In the spring of 1850 Kinkel was transported to Cologne to be tried, together with several others, for the unfortunate attempt to capture the Salzburg arsenal. It looked as if the government still hoped to obtain a sentence of death against him. But he plead his own cause and that of his fellow-prisoners with such marvellous eloquence, that the judges on the bench, the jurymen in the box, the assembled multitude, even the policemen and the soldiers on guard broke out in sobs and tears, and the xiv Gottfried Kinkel. jury pronounced a verdict of "not guilty." Kinkel's companions were released, but he, him- self, having to serve his life-sentence for having taken part in the insurrection in the Palatinate and Baden, was conveyed to the penitentiary in Spandau, near Berlin. On the 7th of No- vember, 1850, the news flashed over the coun- try that Kinkel had disappeared from his prison cell, and soon it became known that he had been liberated by his pupil and friend, Carl Schurz, who, in 1849, when Kinkel was taken prisoner, had made his escape from the fortress of Rastatt through a sewer, had taken refuge in Switzerland, had secretly re-entered Germany, and then, after several unsuccessful efforts, had found one of the penitentiary-guards willing to aid him in getting Kinkel out of the prison walls. Kinkel and Schurz directed their flight to Rostock in Mecklenburg, and thence crossed the sea in a small schooner to England. Kinkel soon found congenial employment in A Memorial Sketch. xv London, where his family joined him, as a teacher of the German language and lecturer on German literature. But the hopes of the German Democrats for a turn of affairs in their Fatherland still being alive, he was induced to visit the United States in 185 1, for the purpose of obtaining material aid for the promotion of their cause. There he addressed German meet- ings in their own language in all the principal cities of the country, and was received with great respect and distinction'by President Fill- more and many public men, but the practical results of his mission were insignificant, as they were in Kossuth's case, who had the advantage of being able to address public audiences in English. After his return to England, Kinkel resumed his work as a teacher, and, as soon as he had acquired sufficient command of the English lan- guage, he was engaged to deliver courses of lec- tures on art, history, and German literature at xvi Gottfried Kinkel. the University of London. But fate had a cruel blow in store for him. His wife, Johanna, met with a tragic death. She had long suffered from heart-disease. One day, while she was in an upper-story room, a spasm seized her. She hastily opened a window for air, lost her balance, fell out, and was found dead on the stone pavement below. In 1866 Kinkel received from the Polytechnic College in Zurich an offer of the professorship of the history of art, which he accepted. In this position he spent the last sixteen years of his life, most loved and admired by his pupils, and honored by all who surrounded him. Although the amnesty for political offences proclaimed by the King of Prussia, after the victory over the Austrians in 1866, and the formation of the North-German Confederacy, permitted Kinkel to visit the Fatherland again without danger of prosecution, he was never restored to his right of domicile in Germany and could appear there A Memorial Sketch. xvii only as a temporary sojourner. This he did repeatedly, delivering addresses on subjects of literature and art to enthusiastic audiences. He retained his manly beauty and robustness to his old age. He died, after a short illness, in Zurich, in November, 1882. Although Kinkel took a lively interest and an active part in political movements, espe- cially during the j^ears of revolutionary up- heaval, his poems are, with few exceptions, free from political subjects, doctrines, or ten- dencies. The exceptions consist in a drama, Nimrod, which Kinkel himself suspected to be a failure, and a few smaller poems, which directly sprang from important situations in his life or incidents of his career, and are full of vitality and pathetic force. On the whole, his muse deals with those human affections, joys, and sorrows, and those conditions and circumstances of human exist- ence which have always been the favorite sub- xviii Gottfried Kinkel. jects of poetry ; but his poems receive an individual stamp from an abundance of that cheery, jovial, optimistic light-heartedness, that capacity for hilarious enjoyment which is char- acteristic of the Rhenish people, and of which he possessed an enviable share. His greatest success he achieved, however, in the epic, the poetic story, in which his genius knew how to join animating vivacity of narration to copious breadth of description. Otto der Schiitz has already been mentioned. Another epic, Dcr GrobscJimied von Antwerpen (the Blacksmith of Antwerp) is even stronger in its grasp of characters and situations, although it did not attain the same popularity. He wrote a novel in prose, Margaret a Rhenish story, which takes rank among the best of its kind in German literature. His last work, Tanagra, written when he was beginning to be an old man, his powers unweakened, but mellowed, his heart at peace with the A Memorial Sketch. xix world, is like a brilliant but placid evening- glow after a day full of storm and trial. Not only to the classic beauty of its theme does this poem owe its charm, but also to the music of its language, than which there is nothing more melodious in German literature. ILLUSTRATIONS. On Korinth's gulf a Greek ship speeds its way ' PAGE 4 " When on the march his hehmet sorely pressed him, His thoughts flew to the art that erst had blessed him " 12 " The market's lofty halls filled with a throng" . , 20 a blooming maiden, tall and slim, Sits on a bench, close by the fountain's rim " 32 Helena doth stir The tender mass with motion swift, and then She paints with it the little image " 62 Then, as with festive strain, their souls are thrilled With sense of coming bliss, deep, awe-instilled " . 74 TANAGRA. AN IDYL OF GREECE. "V X riTHIN my soul a mighty grief abides. ' ' Death took my youngest born ; his dark grave hides All happiness that in my old age lay, And wearily I wander on my way. Hope droops its wings and courage grows faint- hearted, My faith in great achievements has departed. And all the prizes left in life to gain Seem now so vain. Oh ! poet-heart, let grief not deaden thee, While all in nature smiles so temptingly ! Tanagra. From my high balcony I gaze upon The fair Swiss meadows in the evening sun : The vineyards, far outstretched before my view, Exhale their perfumes, wooed by early dew : With ceaseless murmuring the blue streams twine, Thro' gently sloping vales, towards the Rhine ; The Alps' high crests, by golden breezes kiss'd, Gleam thro' the mist. And thou, man ! would'st renounce the world — resign The place assigned thee in its serried line ? Too much of sorrow hast thou overcome That, like a coward, thou should'st now suc- cumb ; Thou art too strong to sink in hopeless gloom, And carve, thyself, the headstone for thy tomb. Thy pulses throb too high with love and scorn That thou should'st bleed to death from this one thorn ; Tanagra. 3 Tho' life's fair garden now lie desolate, A glorious destiny awaits thee yet. Then, break not, heart ! for reparation may Yet come some day. By cruel sufferings this world is tried. Each little wave in time's swift-ebbing tide Swept 07ie heart's happiness far out from shore Relentlessly, — and gave it back no more ! And man has ever borne, from earliest hours, A burden that is heavier than ours. Yet, as she clasp'd her eldest-born, each mother Has tasted joy more sweet than any other. And he whose daily task was rightly done, Nor fate, nor death did he thereafter shun. The darkest woe dissolves, like mist, at last, Beneath the gentle radiance of the past. And melts into earth's bosom when we face The common lot that rules the human race. He who sees all that was, with vision clear, Bears in his heart a comfort sweet and dear. 4 Tanagra. How often has, in hours of desolation, This outlook on the All been my salvation. Thus rise before my inner eye to-day All ages that have long since passed away ; To spread its wings anew my soul is burning. And I am seized with a resistless yearning To turn upon the ancient world's green shore My gaze once more. " On KorintK s gulf a Greek ship speeds its way." 5- I. ON Korinth's gulf a Greek ship speeds its way. Here isles, there reef-bound headlands mark the bay ; As 'round the rock the fleet gull wings its flight, Thus flits the ship with sails like bird-wings white. The starlight sparkles thro' the dusky blue, The silv'ry flood sleeps 'neath the balmy dew. And merry as the vessel is the freight That loads a thousand baskets with its weight. Out to Boeotia's hills by fogs o'erlaid, Are from Achaia early grapes conveyed, Where they are touched by a more ardent heat, And soon grow sweet. 5 Tanagra. Now breaks the day. Across the slumb'ring deep Cool ripples, stirred by morning breezes, creep ; Far in the West, Parnassus stands out bold, With both its summits, like twin stars of gold. Sea-wonders loom up from their dark recesses, As tho' awakened by the dawn's caresses. Day's crimson fills the sky ; beneath its light Morn's early vapors from the waves take flight. The emerald sea beats up in gentle play And laves the vessel's bow with snowy spray. Kingfisher's nest, that light waves gently rock, To-day, from swelling flood, need fear no shock, And only then is swayed with livelier motion When passing dolphins leap up from the ocean. And e'en the Nautilus braves fearlessly The open sea. The near coast glistened in the crimson light While yet the hill-tops hid the sun from sight. Into the little port the vessel bore. And gladly haste the happy crew to shore. Tanagra. A youth surveys the distance to the strand And with an agile bound leaps down to land. His country this! Home's joys he seeks once more, Now that long years of wandering are o'er. A sculptor once was he, and well was known What skill his clever hand betimes had shown. But in his veins the hot young blood was surging, Out to the wars his fiery spirit urging. In front of many a town and battlement He with Antigonos had pitched his tent. His courage favor found : for years a band Of spearsmen he, as captain, did command. Luck smiled upon the brave one ; oft his toils Won richest spoils. But weary of this bloody work, he turned. At last, towards the home for which he yearned. When on the march his helmet sorely pressed him, 8 Tanagra. His thoughts flew to the art that erst had blessed him ; And once, at night, as near the fire he lay, A victor, resting from the battle's fray. The twilight glimmered soft on Ida's crest, But moans of dying men disturbed his rest. The pale, cold moonlight then came downwards streaming. On corpses weird of friends and foemen gleaming. This pierced his soul like to a thorny dart. And manly wrath awoke within his heart Against those hounds, that, snarling now and biting, To rend the great dead lion's prey are fighting. Oh ! Alexander, had thy life been spared. Accomplished were the task thou hast prepared, — Hellas and Asia peacefully were blending, — But now the dogs thy mighty work are rend- ing ! Tanazra. Those who were brothers, now as enemies stand, And rush to battle for a scrap of land. 'T was this that he was made, that night to see ; And then his wrath turned 'gainst himself, for he. Proud Hellas' son, had sold himself to them. Those envious wranglers for a diadem ! Deep loathing seized him, and resolve grew clear That he must leave the din of shield and spear. And, as a free man, to his workshop then, Return again. And when he had regained his native shore He knelt and kissed the cherished ground, and swore From his dear country nevermore to fly. Then up he sprang and raised his glance on high. 10 Tanagra. Where in the sunhght gleams the rock's bare brow, And where Cithaeron's meadow shines below. Across his breast the easy knapsack hung, A merry tune, half whistled and half sung. Thus walks he, while the morn's brisk wind sweeps o'er him, Ascending swift the dewy path before him, That winds about the leaping torrent's rim. And soon is lost within the forest dim. His steps, braced by the shade green beeches throw, Ne'er weary grow. Noon found him near the mountain's summit ; here The last tall trees their crowns to heaven rear, On high, the weather-beaten fir alone Stands with its roots wedged firmly in the stone, And braves upon this lonely, storm-swept place Both Libya's breezes and the gales from Thrace. Tanagra. 1 1 Upon the steep decline, that cleaves the mazes Of gloomy firs, where but the wild goat grazes, A few dry blades of scanty grass yet grow ; The fragrant herbs bloom on the mead below. But high above them all the hoary peak Looms in the scorching sunlight, bare and bleak. The wanderer's soles are burning as they tread The rock-ribbed bed. The youth now leaning 'gainst the outmost tree, Rests on the forest's border, cosily, And soon prepares his meal. The knapsack bore Of bread, dried meat, and wine a goodly store. His leather flask cooled at the fountain first. He mixes wine with water; thus his thirst Is quenched ; and as he feasts, his glad eyes stray Down to the vale whence he has climbed the way. 12 Tanagra. So near the harbor seemed, his hand, he thought. Might wave a farewell to the ship that brought Him here to-day, and, scarce its voyage o'er. Has homeward spread its bird-like sails once more. The blue gulf slumbers in the fragrant air, The coasts lie dreaming in the midday glare ; Then melts into a far haze, soft and tender, Fair Korinth's citadel, in shimmering splendor. At length, dim-eyed with too much light, he turns ; For a soft spot to rest and sleep he yearns. Within the woods, upon a mossy bed. In Mother Earth's kind lap he lays his head ; And there, close-nestled to her tender breast, Is lulled to rest. " When on the march his helmet sorely pressed him, His thoughts fleiv to the art that erst had blessed him." See pages 7 and S. >.i ^vu\ .V, AV, II. ' I ^HE great All sleeps. With fir-trees' spicy scent The quivering, sultry air is redolent, And drowsily floats o'er the arid hills The sweet narcotic that wild thyme distils. The cricket, even now with chirping tired, Hides in the grass, its shrill song has expired. Within the sheltering cave the goat takes flight, The butterfly slips 'neath a leaf from sight ; The clear, cold brook, that bubbles through the stone. Now wakes alone. But towards the West the day its course now takes ; To life renewed great Pan all Nature wakes. 13 14 Tanagra. A fox's bark, the foe's alarm resounds, And through the ferns the deer, affrighted, bounds. A thousand-throated chorus then rings out, Like golden sparks the wild bees dart about ; The red grasshopper, that resumes its springing. With rustling sound its short-lived flight is winging. Now upwards whirs the beetle's glittering throng ; The green woodpecker chips and hacks among The firs ; their black shoots they thrust forth repelling ; Then lifts the youth his head ; still he is dwelling In dreamland, where amidst his hosts he fights, Called forth to battle by the bugle clear : But as his hand upon his staff alights When he had quickly sought to grasp his spear, He starts and smiles, — for by that staff now all Doth he recall. Tanagra. 1 5 He quickly has disposed his kit aright. The path grows steeper near the topmost height, It shuns the very sharpest edges now And soon goes rambling o'er the rock's wide brow. But where in gentle slopes it turns and twines It disappears within the wood's confines. Then suddenly, a jagged cliff up-towers, Too steep for forest green or mountain flowers. It juts out naked from the pines below, And on it streams the sunlight's dazzling glow. But as his steps to loftier summits rise The wand'rer halts in speechless, rapt surprise, — The plain gleams yonder, thro' the forest's night, In sunny light. The youth on all this glory bends his glance. Before him lies Boeotia's smooth expanse Where many a place, renowned for deeds of glory. Recalls the great forefathers' brave, sad story. 1 6 Tanagra. Plataea yonder, with its walls laid low, Grey spots that mourn on fields with bloom aglow ; Here Charonaea, where the final fray Was waged by freedom 'gainst the tyrant's sway. And where the civic host of Athens sank Beneath the phalanx' closely serried rank. That dismal spot in mourning now is shrouded. On sun-lit mead by gloomy shadows clouded. But on past grief the youth dwells not to-day; He gladly lets his glances eastward stray, For there, serene beneath the evening skies. The cornfield, bathed in crimson splendor, lies. Throughout the vale, o'er gently swelling land, ^sopus twines its golden, glittering band. And many a hamlet, from yon sunny height. Sends to the vale below its greeting bright. The yellow shingle roofs grow dim and dimmer. As higher mounts the sunlight's parting shim- mer ; Tanagra. 17 But on the last blue mountain ridge, afar, A small town glistens like the evening star. A golden point upon the hill 't is burning ; His soul then spreads its wings with eager yearning, His heart swells high, — for there it greets him, ah ! His Tanagra ! Oh ! Hellas, thou wert fair when evening's glow Shone on that life by gods for thee appointed, When with the crown of deeds they decked that brow So graciously from beauty's font annointed ! Thine Alexander sent by Jove to thee, All thou hast willed, he did triumphantly : At last he shattered Asia's brutal power And crowned thee victor in the final hour. Thou 'rt weary now ; night wooes to slumber sweet, Thy work was done with mastery complete, 1 8 Tanagra. Thou hast obeyed the World-Soul's great behest, And thou may'st rest. But ere thou sleep'st the rich world bids thee share Those joys with which thou 'st made its face so fair. Wherever roams the eye, its glance is met By works no other land has fashioned yet ; Each temple, though in bronze or marble planned. Reveals the imprint of a master-hand. All trace of war has vanished ; on the plain The richest blessings of abundance reign ; The poppy only, with its brilliant red, Recalls the valiant blood that here was shed. Gone is the envy that to war constrained. But joy remained. Enough of dreams! He hastened down the road, And to the vale on wider pathways strode. Tanagra. 19 There, with a countryman, he sought for rest, Imploring nightly shelter as his guest. Within the hut, while high the hearth-flames mounted. Full many an adventure he recounted : How far he journeyed over sea and land, Out to Paktolus' golden, glittering sand. And then the host, his humble offerings. Bread newly baked, and goat's cheese gladly brings. Dark wine from cellar cool, the meal to flavor, And salty olives with their spicy savor. And spreads, with dry hay, for the weary head, A fragrant bed. " The market's lofty halls filled with a throng." See page 2j. i III. T T E rose betimes and bade his host good bye. ■*■ *■ Where through the fields ^sopus winds, now fly His nimble footsteps to the vale below, And past wide stubble-fields, ere long, they go. On dewy lea, close by the river's side, The early meadow-saffrons opened wide. By spreading maple often was he shaded When 'neath the summer's heat his foot grew jaded ; But his impatient heart would grant no rest. Still on he pressed. And when he from the last grove has descended, He sudden sees, in golden light extended. His native dale. With windings serpentine The road goes climbing up the hill's incline ; Tanazra. The river skirts the rock with louder sweep- ing, A brook shoots from the crag, with sportive leaping. But far above, upon the rugged height, Is set a Httle city, trim and bright. The temple's roof gleams to the vale below In golden glow. He takes the shorter path, that well he knows From childhood's days. The trellis-hedge there grows And upwards to the rock the vineyards climb Whereon the green fruit ripens in good time. Along the crag, o'erspread by scanty grasses, He sees the grazing goats in motley masses ; Black tongues they thrust athwart the latticed hedges To lick the acrid grape-leaves' pointed edges. Ah ! All is as of yore ! In headlong flight He scales the height. Tanagra. 23 He standeth at the gate. The hour is this When banished are the sun's hot darts ; the bliss Of evening's freshness blood and soul has filled, And all, with life renewed, appears instilled. Down from Olympus sweeps a cooling breeze, It casts grey ripples o'er the distant seas, And from the houses, where still broods the heat, Both young and old are lured out to the street. The market's lofty halls fill with a throng Of maids that chatting stroll in pairs along. While some — each with a pitcher on her head — Are moving to the spring with nimble tread. And bare-armed urchins toss, upon the square. With shouts of joy, their bright balls in the air. But soon these lads disperse to either side, For now young men draw near, with lordly stride, 24 Tanagra. Broad shoulders, swelling- chests, and all the bearing Of youths for evening's wrestling-match pre- paring. Wrapped in their mantles only, they advance Like demi-gods : the while their every glance Shoots darts of flame, by Cupid winged with fleetness. Returned by girlish eyes of roguish sweetness. Good-fellowship reigns everywhere : and only The wand'rer's breast, 'midst all this joy, is lonely. He too is young, but sad and void of cheer, A stranger here. When, after years, thou seek'st thy home again. Endeavor not thy tears then to restrain. The court-house, temple, market, and the streets That saw thy childish games and smiles and tears. Tanagra. 25 The same world thou hast left, thy gaze now meets, Thou only, thou hast changed ! How small appears All that the boy once deemed so grand, so glorious ! Yet, though thou wert defeated or victorious. Thy spirit has acquired a larger sight. Gained on the seas, through war, and time's swift flight. This warm, sweet nest has grown so cramped and small Before the busy, jostling world. By all The littleness which once thy life has blessed, Thou 'rt now oppressed. This is it that to-day the wand'rer feels : A chill, disheartening tremor o'er him steals. Bronzed grew the cheek that erst was soft and fair, A curly beard now shades the chin once bare ; 26 Tanagra. In war and on the march his frame grew strong, With rapid, sinewy steps he moves along, When, sudden at the corner he doth face The ancient cobbler, in his wonted place, More shrunk and pinched than he had been before. With beard and hair still whiter than of yore. The wand'rer greets the aged man, but he Looks sideways up, and then nods carelessly. Yes ! he is strange ! Ah, he remembers all — None him recall ! His eye grows dim. Too long has he so- journed, And now home greets him not as he had yearned. He cannot bear the market's merry throng But turns into a lane, and gains, ere long. The suburbs through the portals at the rear. He scarcely knows the place ; when he left here Tanagra. 27 A barren, swampy land stretched far and wide : And now trim villas rise on either side, Immersed within a sea of fragrant bowers, Whence floats the perfume of exotic flowers. Far in the west now fades the sunshine bright. Athwart the trees fall crimson bars of light. He sees, through gardens, from the streets on high, The far blue sea ; and from a roof near by. Comes floating downward, with the zither's strain, A soft refrain. The wand'rer marvels at this beauteous sight, That seems to have sprung up here overnight. When, suddenly, appears before his view A villa's open gate. An avenue Of blooming myrtles tempts his entrance here. Far at the end, a statue stands out clear In evening-red, as if with life aglow, Contrasting brightly with the leaves below. 28 Tanagra. To by-gone days then turns his yearning thought, When his hands too such noble statues wrought. The image lures him, and his radiant glance Sees Artemis, attired for the dance, Her shoe laced to the ankle daintily : The tunic, that descends but to the knee. She fastens to her shoulder ; and her look Bends down to see if rightly fits the hook. The parted, silken hair lies smooth and neat, The brow is pure, the eye most chaste and sweet ; A tender grace that lovely form reveals, And to the heart with magic strength ap- peals. True woman, and yet goddess ; at one time Mild and sublime. The youthful sculptor asks in rapt surprise What master wrought here in such cunning wise ? Tanagra. 29 And lives on earth that maid whose form so grand Has served as model to the artist's hand ? Was 't Artemis, who from the grove descended, Clad for the dance, on dewy mead attended By swarming nymphs ? And did she to him show Her arm, steeled in the practice of the bow, Her strong, swift foot which scales the mountain height, Sure to outstrip the hind in dizzy flight. That like a song, with festive music fraught, This form he wrought. He lists a moment, then resumes his way For from afar he hears a fountain play. Deep in this blooming paradise he strays. Scarce audibly his steps the pebbles graze. The splashing of the fountain drowns all sound Made by the youth's light tread upon the ground. 30 Tanagra. His path curves 'round the bright pomegranate- tree, When lo ! the statue's model suddenly Appears : a blooming maiden, tall and slim. Sits on a bench, close by the fountain's rim ; About her youthful form at present cling Her flowing draperies — chaste covering ! Beside her, on the seat of stone are laid, Her mantle and the hat that gave her shade Against the sultriness of noon-day glare ; Now, in eve's balmy breeze, her dusky hair Waves unconfined ; there lie upon her knee Fair garden-flowers ; he can but partly see Her half-averted face : her fingers braid Gay wreaths with dainty touch : a mortal maid. Not from Olympus, yet, in form and face, Of godlike grace. But now the sun's last rays, in parting glow, His shadow on the marble basin throw. Tanagra. 3 1 She starts, and, looking up, beholds, quite near, A stranger ! Both are seized with sudden fear. She mutely gathers wreaths and flowers all. And lets her mantle chastely 'round her fall. Then takes her hat, preparing to proceed ; But for a word his glances seem to plead. And soft he says : " Forgive if here, too free I ventured, maiden, thus affrighting thee." Silent at first, she slightly bows her head, Her slender foot would past him fain have sped. But when she looks into his honest face. She kindly says : " Strange art thou in this place. And far hast strayed ; rest at the fountain, pray. For hospitable is this house ; and may Kind gods, if thou deserv'st it, with thee bide." He dares not now detain her at his side As, rising from the bench with motion light. She fades from sight. 32 Tanagra. Her footsteps die away. He standeth there Confused. The crickets' chirping fills the air, The flowers exhale a sweeter, softer scent ; The evening dew from rosy clouds is spent And kisses from his brow the glare of day. Stretched near the basin's edge he dreams away, His head upon his wand'rer's staff inclined, How long he knows it not : for from his mind The bliss of finding her all else has banished, And time and space before her form have vanished. Here does she dwell. She breathes this very air. The flowers' perfume he with her may share ! All that e'er blessed or wounded him is past, One thing alone remains : that now, at last. The town which stared to-day with eye so dim. Is home to him. "• • ■ • • a blooming maiden, tall and slim, Sits on a bench, close by the fountain' s rim." See page JO. IV. nPHE night had come. The world, calm and * serene, Lay softly lighted by the stars' blue sheen. And from afar the sea's wild surge was breaking. Now, with an effort from his day-dreams waking, He slowly through the garden made his way Down to the gate that lured him here to-day. Then straight towards the town he sped on lightly ; Each window, through the darkness, gleamed out brightly. He passed the gate, crossed market-place and square, To find still seated in the doorways there The chatting maids. At last for rest he yearned, And, curious, to the lower suburb turned, 3 33 34 Tanagra. Where, set on high, a distant view commanding, His workshop on the hill's steep brow was standing Ere he, adventure-seeking, went away. There his parental home adjacent lay. How dreary, thought he, all therein must be : But he's surprised : a light now suddenly Breaks through the peep-hole of the chamber where The porter lives, who has this house in care. He hastes to knock, and from the chamber glances A shifting light that nearer now advances. An ancient steward opes the door and raises On high the lamp as in his face he gazes. " Whence com'st thou," asks he, " at this hour of rest, W^hat may thy name be, wand'rer, and thy quest ? " The other frowns, and sharply then laughs he : " 'T is I who should that question put to thee ; Tanagra. 35 What dost thou in this house that 's not thine own, 'T is mine." " Then welcome, for now art thou known. As Praxias." " I 'm he." " Then, master dear. Step in this house and find sweet shelter here. Praise be to Ares, who has spared thy head To us, who long ago had thought thee dead. Now, cheerfully, take drink and food and rest, As thine own guest." They entered. In the dear old home he stood Where first he dreamed the dreams of baby- hood, Where oft upon his mother's knee he danced, From childish games to boyhood soon ad- vanced. And where his father, just and virtuous man, Taught him, from Homer, how to read and scan, 36 Tmiagra. And how to mould in clay. He sits once more Upon the stool carved by his hands of yore ; Ere long the old man all for him has spread That cave and kitchen yield ; roast kid and bread Of snowy meal, blue figs, gold honey-comb And native wine. How much he feels at home When he the mixing-vessel sees at last That cheered the boy at many a glad repast. Unto his parents' hallowed shades he drinks His cup's first draught. So savory, he thinks. Ne'er tasted food and wine to him before In all the countries that he wandered o'er. And as he feasts upon this home-like fare, The old man watches him with happy air, Nor, till the end, to fill his goblet wearies. But, turning to his host, the guest then queries : " How comes it, tell me, that thou here abidest, For me, a stranger o'er my home presidest .? Tanagra. 37 Full is this house, which, when I went from here, Was void and drear." "That," said the old man, "will I willingly To thee impart. From Athens journeyed we, My master and myself. This city will Erect anew upon yon vine-clad hill A temple unto Dionysos ; and To hew the marble god with skilful hand. By one accord, a man was designated As sculptor and as founder celebrated Throughout the land, — old Agathon." " Lives he " Exclaims the youth ; his face beams radiantly. " Am I once more upon that man to gaze Whom I so high esteemed in boyhood's-days? Where is he? " " Master he will soon return : To Paros sailed he, for a brief sojourn, 38 Tanagra. Himself to choose the block, as is his way. Thus came we hither. And the Prytans, — pray Reproach them not, thou wert so long from home. In years did neither news nor message come, — Took thy estate, husbanded it with care, And let it also serve the town, — for there Was none to claim it — till thou should'st draw nigh, And once again thy workshop occupy. They lent it us. At last is safely ended Thy voyage ; but our stay will be extended Until our work is done, if such may be Thy wish, if not — " " Most welcome guests are ye To me indeed," exclaimed the youth en- chanted, ' May long such honor to my house be granted. Tanagra. 39 But now upon mine eyelids slumber weighs, And see, obscured have grown thy lamp's bright rays; Show me my couch, upon my native shore To sleep once more." The steward nods ; the way he would have led, But without light the youth storms on ahead. As tho' on wings upborne, he scales the flight Of stairs ; each step he recollects aright, For oft he measured them with daring bound. His own bed-chamber he, at last, has found, Arranged to-day and decked in colors bright, Wherein the honored guest may spend the night. He sees prepared for him a cleanly bed, With purple woollen covers overspread. Lit by his own lamp's radiance, soft and clear, The ancient water-jug is standing near. 40 Tanagra. The old man bade good-night and then with- drew ; The youth flung off soiled robe and burning shoe And on the couch his weary limbs stretched he Delightedly. V. T I OW sweet is slumber when our wandering's o'er, And morning, in our own home, dawns once more ! The day is dark ; the rain in gentle spray Descends ; within the court the old trees sway As through their boughs the morning-wind now streams And lull him, as of old, in childhood's dreams. He hears the fountain splashing, low and soft, To which, in wakeful nights, he hearkened oft ; Far in the morn his sleep lasts peacefully. Until the dream-god vanishes, — and he. Leaps from the bed, where has been passed the night. Refreshed and bright. 41 42 Tanagra. The steward greets him ; breakfast stands pre- pared, But little time for food by him is spared ; He 's curious now, on sandals soft, to roam From one room to the other of his home, And any master might be glad to see His house attended to so faithfully. He never cared for ornament at all ; To-day fresh colors glow upon the wall ; Each room its polished stone-floor now dis- plays. Each dish reflects the early sun's bright rays. All that which he left old, dilapidated. Is trim and fresh, as though anew created. A mold'ring odor he had feared to find In these void chambers ; but the morning-wind Sweeps through the halls, that wear a friendly air, As if a woman's hand were busy there. That sheds on all which lies about her way Of her own loveliness a sunny ray, Tanagra. 43 Whose still, glad work adorns each thing and place With tender grace. At last he steps into his workshop, where Floats in the scent and gleam of roses fair That 'round the courtyard's pillars upward creep. And in the rain are nodding, half asleep. And while, outdoors, the stream pours from the sky. He feels himself at home so snug and dry. Upon a pedestal, in mid-room stands The mould of clay, by Agathon's deft hands. In damp cloths swathed, that 'round about it fall; Yet may he not unveil it. On the wall. In many rows are to the glance displayed The drafts, that he, himself, as boy has made. Since then, with keen eye has he contemplated The greatest master-pieces e'er created ; 44 Tanagra. His own work, half forgot, he scans to-day With riper judgment ; and although he may Oft shake his head, he finds a few things there That please him and that still the test will bear. " I too could once create," with pride cries he, " My hand grew rough in war, but let us see If, over it, the soul will not to-day Assert its sway." Clean tools upon the table lie spread out ; He throws his mantle off and sets about His work at once. There is the soft, white clay ; He kneads some handfuls, for without delay Has he decided how he will proceed. If in a small work he can now succeed 'T will prove he was not duped by his desire. Upon the board, a mound of clay, scarce higher Than a mere span, he has at once erected ; He moulds it then, and that it be perfected. Tmiagra. 45 Takes up the sticks. Success does not attend The work at once ; his stiff joints must he bend, And blames himself for having stayed away And lost so many years in foreign pay. But soon he has regained the touch of yore, His hand moves nimbly and adroit once more ; And fresh delight in work now strangely sways The man experienced in worldly ways. The hours, in this retreat, speed noiselessly. But time stands still for him ; 't is late when he Goes, with the steward, to the evening meal. Scarce do the rays of morning o'er him steal Ere he already at his work is seated. And image after image is completed ; And brightly, while outdoor still weep the skies, His spirits rise. Oh ! who tastes joy such as the artist may. When o'er his work fade time and space away ; 46 Tanagra. When from the hush that on his spirit lies Fair images to sudden life arise ! The shapeless clay before him, dead and cold, His hand transforms it all to precious gold. He sees in all the perfect form ; he knows None else ; for him an Aphrodite glows In each fair maid — though greater be, or less, Her loveliness. VI. 'T'HREE nights had passed ere came the sun ■■■ again. Broad noonday shone upon the meadows, when Within the court barked lustily the hound, And cattle shook their neck with tinkling sound. Throughout the house were mingled voices swarming, Like to the merry bees, when they are forming Their cells, within the sunny hives, in spring. For now unloaded is the block that bring Eight panting oxen uphill from the sea, — The mighty block from Paros' quarries. He Heard this, where in his workshop now he stood, But wished not on that welcome to intrude. 47 48 Tanagra He would unto the aged man grant rest Till he himself should come to greet his guest. So all day long, as he before had done, He labored on. 'T was towards evening when, at last, stood "there The venerable man ; his snowy hair, Held by a golden fillet, framed his face ; The lofty brow of wrinkles showed no trace, The visage firm, as though in bronze 't were founded Was priest-like, by a flowing beard surrounded. He greets him kindly : " Praxias, hail to thee. Who didst not for mere fame and victory Forget our noble art. To me 't was told By comrades, in the Lesche, how, of old. Thy valiant labors gained thee much renown. Ere for the sword thy chisel was laid down. I learned it,. too, from works of thine own hand Which still, as sketches, in thy dwelling stand. Tanagra. 49 That, till my task be done, thou art inclined To keep with thee thy comrade old, is kind. And truly thank I thee. To glorify The god whom I shall hew, this wine have I Brought with me from his holy Naxos, where His hallowed foot once wandered. We shall share It, both of us ; now let us test its flavor, 'T will meet thy favor." The ancient steward with the wine comes up, And mixing it with water, fills the cup. " But now," exclaims the aged sculptor, " lest Our host here should ignore who is his guest. Let him behold the god I wrought. Unshroud The form ! " 'T was done. As through a dusky cloud At times a star shines out with gentle ray. The god's bright form rose from its veil of gray. A hero, guiding his fierce panther span. As when great India once he overran. 4 So Tanagra. A mighty lion skin was round him flung, Down to his loins in shaggy folds it hung. 'T is not the youth — Praxiteles' creation Who lies outstretched in first intoxication, Propped 'gainst the sturdy Satyr languidly. Where lost in waking dreams he seems to be ; — No, bare of charms effeminately sweet. And yet for altar and for temple meet, A man matured, upright, and firm stands here ; His lips are close-compressed, his eye is clear, A thinker, whose great spirit's force restrains The spirit poured by grapes into his veins. Whose brow has, by the wine, been warmed but lightly. That, 'neath it, thought may spring and bloom more brightly, When, o'er the cups, in manly talk, he wakes Till daylight breaks. The youth beholds the form with rapt surprise. " Oh ! blessed man," he then, exultant, cries, Tanagra. 5 1 " Who can'st, like to the great old masters, set Such works within our sanctuary yet. The noble head, the limbs' majestic strength. So grand was ne'er the god conceived. At length That glorious era is revived with thee When Hellas tasted its young liberty, When from dark clouds, fraught with the light- ning's glare. Appeared great Zeus, to answer Phidias' prayer. And when the gods, the Persian wars to crown On earth came down." The aged master smiled. " Well, let that be ; Our work seems not so excellent to me ; But may we be the first disciples here To whom my god shall offer bounteous cheer ; Come, at his feet now merrily to drink ; The goblets wink." 52 Tanagra. They seat themselves. The cup anew is filled, And with the wine's sweet fire they both are thrilled. But o'er the master's visage steals a cloud ; He looks down silently, then says aloud : " Youth, on the sculptor's soul weigh heavily These times. Although, across the isle-gemmed sea, In Asia new-made cities proudly smile, Their walls with paintings decked for many a mile, And giant-groups within the market stand, — The spark divine is dead. The artist's hand' To servile work for princes is degraded, All veneration for the gods has faded. What once a golden palace seemed, is now Naught but the snowy crest on Ida's brow. Great Zeus from thunder-clouds no longer flashes. The storm-tossed ocean no Poseidon lashes, Tanagra. 5 3 On white steeds rides no more the orb of day, And Kypris now has melted into spray. Yes, we ourselves, grow weak and feeble-hearted Since faith in our own labor has departed ; Our hearts have ceased to glow ; when witlings jeered Gods disappeared." But now the other lifts the cup and says : " No, no ! by Helios' eternal rays, — Forgive thy pupil if he dare deny — The gods still live and they can never die ! They dwell no more in their aerial home, But earthwards nov/ they graciously have come, In youthful bloom forever incarnated. In beauteous human form anew created. See, as I through the town, the other day. With idle glances roamed, before me lay Olympus, in its fullest splendor glowing, Its gods' rich blood through man and woman flowing. 54 Tanagra. The youth, for game and battle strong in nerve, There steered his chariot with skilful curve ; A sun-god, not less beauteous to the sight Than was Apollo, in his azure height. Not lovelier than Tanagra's own maid Was Aphrodite, when Anchises bade Her welcome. And if Charis thou would'st form, A young child take, such as here hundreds swarm. Then shape the maid as she appears to thee. Would she, if called a goddess, fairer be ? She glows with her own joyous life's perfection ; Why give her bow and arrow ? Cool reflection May banish high Olympus from our gaze. Yet Beauty stays." " But," says the master, " would'st thou know The perfect, seek it not on earth below. Our spirit yearns for what is never given By man or woman — for it comes from heaven. Tanagra. 5 5 And even if a fitting model we Would fashion into perfect symmetry, How rarely do we now an image find That in our temple we would see enshrined. Though Beauty to our life its grace impart, Where is true art ? " And now the other laughs out gleefully : " Dear Master, do not let that trouble thee. Why statues for the temple only? No, Let art into the humblest dwelling go. See what, a short time since, I compassed here, To thee I '11 show my secret without fear ; Though I e'er shunned the bungler's judgment, — now Before the perfect master will I bow, Who e'en in unripe labor sees revealed The beauties which the pupil's mind concealed. 'T is true, no godlike forms will now appear. But, pray, look here." 56 Tanagra. He lifts the cloth that o'er his figures lay : " The maiden, see, who from the spring her way, With pitcher on her head, now homeward traces. And with one arm her burden lightly braces, The while her left hand gathers up in folds The mantle, which on high the girdle holds. Is she not like the palm, swayed by the air, Whose slender boughs the heavy date-fruit bear? Now see these urchins here : at ball they play, Firm on their sturdy little legs stand they And look above ; one of them, threw the ball. And now all slyly v/atch it in its fall. Mark how each little hand is outstretched there To catch the fugitive still in the air. But when it falls, their ardor knows no bound, They clutch at it, and roll upon the ground. And see the aged hunchback here, who bears His tray before, weighed down with petty wares ; Tanagra. 57 On tott'ring limbs he goes, but none the less, Proclaims his wares with loud-mouthed eager- ness. And many other forms you there may view. For pastime made, yet serious not a few. All, as I saw it, living, animated, I imitated." The aged master smiled : " These works be- token That thou indeed can'st prove what thou hast spoken. How oft saw I the maid ascend just so The rocky stairway from the spring below ; These boys, who please me, have I, on the square, Observed at play a hundred times, — and there, Yon fellow, who goes strolling through the land. Is as familiar as my own right hand. Though all these shifting forms gave me delight As they passed ever on before my sight, 5 8 - Tanagra The thought that they in clay might fashioned be Ne'er dawned on me." " If thou can'st smile, oh ! master," says the youth, " My works will please the people too, forsooth. Those who nor bronze nor marble can procure Are thus provided for ; e'en he that 's poor, When home he brings the heavy sheaves at night. Shall find his hearth of charms not empty quite. This merry plaything is his very own. With other treasures in the shrine 't is shown, And all are with the pretty toy elated ; When death has claimed the wife, 't is conse- crated Unto her grave ; but in their progeny Its charm lives on and greets him tenderly. Now, for complete success, one thing is wanted ; That to the poorest home such joys be granted, Tanagra. 59 See what I still have found : I poured the clay Around one form, and from that mould straight- way Were twenty dainty images created, All with the mother's likeness impregnated. My pointed stick must do the tracing now, Each little head with separate life endow. Then must it bake so that it may endure. One obolus, and it is thine ! So poor Are none, who may not, if they but desire, These ornaments for their small homes acquire. Now help me, master ; if thou must not hence, Then share my labor and its recompense. Such blessed, beauteous work, by thee helped on. Shall yet be done." The master on the small forms bends awhile His happy glance ; then with a kindly smile : " My son, this is a treasure-trove that will Bring with the gold a richer guerdon still. 6o Tanagra. This I foresee : that in the years' swift flight Thy works will be unearthed from gloomy night, And future nations will delight to know How fair the world once bloomed in Hellas' glow. My marble god will long have lain dismem- bered When, by these forms, we still shall be remem- bered. Though hundreds vanish, one will hidden lie To charm the world when ages have rolled by. I am with thee, for thou my heart hast won, To-morrow's dawn shall see our work begun, But of these pieces, which shall we select First to perfect ? " The youth smiled, hesitated, and then turned Where, in a corner, still could be discerned A form more finely wrought than all ; it swayed The gazer's soul with tender charm ; the maid Tanag-ra. It was, who in the garden rose before him ! Her image, day and night, still hovered o'er him ; By memory alone his hand was led ; The slender, supple frame, the noble head. As he beheld her so she sits — inclining Her visage o'er the wreath which she is twin- ing. This form the master forthwith recognized ; ' A miracle is here," cried he, surprised, " This maiden lives, thou saw'st her ne'er, — then how Dost know her now ? " The youthful sculptor smiled : " Think'st thou to thee Alone the gods are kind ? Also to me Descended Artemis from Latmos' height, Revealing her young beauty to my sight. To form a goddess was thy avocation. The while an earth-born maid was my creation. 62 Tanagra. The pure, cold virgin, thou, who would refuse E'en demigods ; and I, the fair maid, whose Sweet love, — if Eros grant him happiness — Some man will bless." The master shakes his head : " So lovely is Thy tale, one would believe it fain. But this Is true : the gods do not dwell far away, In human shape 'midst us they gladly stray. From those deep waters which our shores en- close In radiant loveliness once Grace arose Upon this flowery isle ; she 's faithful ever. Barbarians from the land can drive her never! But come, that Beauty is our Nation's own Shall now be shown." Helena doth stir The tender mass with motion swift, and then She paints with it the little image." See page jr. VII. T_T E takes the image. Past the rose-walk then He leads his guest, 'neath pillared arch- way, when A chamber he unlocks ; this was of yore A dismal place, where broken household store For years, 'neath rusty lock, was hid away. A brilliant glow lit up the place, to-day, Wherein Etruscan candelabras twinkled ; With fragrant moisture was the stone-floor sprinkled, The wax with balmy scent perfumed the air. Two cushions lay close to a table where. For supper, precious vessels stood arrayed, And drinking-cups were daintily displayed. But scarcely glancing at this splendor all The youth intently gazes at the wall 63 64 Tanagra. Where mighty pictures gleam— in number four — Illumined by the lamplight. 'T is the war That, to the fathers' mingled joy and woe, They once were privileged to undergo : Now wrapped in legendary haze, it still Can all Greek hearts with exultation thrill. How Asia fell 'neath Alexander's sway Who to its far oases forced his way ; Granikos — where, with tightened curb, into The seething mountain-stream himself he threw, While the barbarians, in wild affright. Before the demigod swift take to flight. And Issos here, where past the spearsmen leaping, He, in their van, is on the Persian sweeping Whose fiery, sable steeds refuse to bear Him o'er the warriors lying prostrate there. Then in the royal hall, that frenzied day. When Thai's on his breast, voluptuous, lay ; Tanagra. 65 She pressed the torch into his hand anon, He swung it — and Persepolis was gone. At length one sees him, crowned with roses, when Roxane at the feast appeared, and then By Asia's dusky beauty overcome. He dreamt no longer of his northern home. All clearly, and with master-hand displayed, And truthfully, as it occurred, portrayed ; A painted song, meet for the hero bold Whom it extolled. Amazed, the youth beholds this wondrous sight. The old man then : " I 'm pleased with thy delight ; Much rubbish found we in this place one day, All that is thine was safely stored away. This room, turned from the sun, and thus pro- tected, This cool one, was for our repasts selected. s 66 Tanazra. And therefore had I wall and ceiling here Renewed ; and, o'er the cups, our eye to cheer My Helena has truly pictured all As it, long since, in Asia did befall. Dost marvel that a maid such work could do ? From youth hers was the art that deftly knew How forms of light and color could be spun. While in unyielding stone we labor on. Her mind within my workshop quickly grew ; I led her then to Ephesos, unto The great Apelles who, with kindly grace. Taught her his noble art. Here, in this place, Thy image shall be set, and she shall say If it find favor in her eyes. To-day Thou 'It see her, since to share our supper here She will appear." The door now opes — the maiden enters there, A flood of sunshine seems to fill the air ; He looks on her, 't is she — his bosom glows — She whom he knows! Tanagra. 6"] About her form a snowy gown is flowing That youthful bloom and ardent life reveals, From breast to belt 't is drawn, its tense folds showing. In softest outlines, that which it conceals. A gentle curve joins head to shoulder where. With golden clasp, the mantle is made tight Whose saffron folds, drawn backwards, thus lay bare The arms that move with motion free and light. The locks, held by a crown of starry splendor, About her noble head in clusters lie ; Thus on a night in springtime, dark and tender. Are seen the lights that gleam fore'er on high. Despite restraint of gown, triumphantly Shines forth the woman's fair maturity. Down from its height has stepped the marble form, Alive and warm. 68 Tanazra. She lifts her head. Her eyes on him alight, She, too, knows him at once, starts and turns white While bowing low ; but quickly she collects Herself, and to the table she directs Her steps, and fills with mead the goblet bright. " Welcome here, Praxias, as our guest to-night And host. Thy kindness unto us shall be Requited, and my first draught pledged td thee." Unto her warm lips now the cup she raises, He takes it, — as his touch her cool hand grazes He feels how towards his heart the blood, on fire. Mounts high and higher. The goblet he restores to her, and when She turns to set it on the board, — but then Does she perceive the little image, quite Close to her seat, placed in the brightest light. Tanagra. 69 She sees herself, — no need to question here, For in this form is all to her made clear. So deep within his heart was she enfolded, So true to life had she by him been moulded ! A flaming glance — its meaning who can trace, — If shame or anger? — flashed into her face ! Then heaves her breast, the eyelids droop, she flushes. Suffused with blushes. The men recline upon their cushions ; she Sits down within an arm-chair modestly. Old Agathon on past days fondly dwells And on the ancient Masters. Praxias tells How Asia ever grew in pride and might The while fair Hellas' star waxed dim and dimmer, And how, as monuments, where raged the fight. Now rise young cities bright with marble shimmer. 70 Tanagra. The maid anon lures them from cruel war And leads them back to happy times that are. They ponder over what may still be wrought When that which they have planned shall be perfected ; The maid nods to a servant ; then are brought The other figures all ; some are selected For praise, for merry laughter not a few ; These searchingly on every side they turn ; Because to life they know them to be true, Resemblances they gaily would discern. Then Helena begins : " But I can tell One thing that 's lacking, though you model well. Dost, father, thou recall the day when we Went to the little Thespian shrine to see Eros, the youthful god, who there doth stand Carved by Praxiteles' most hallowed hand ? Not pure white marble was 't — the ripe lips seemed To bloom, and from the jewelled eye there gleamed Tanagra. y i A fiery, earnest glance ; the youthful form Was all aglow with tints light-brown and warm. Before the god I knelt with trembling heart ; As though he were alive I feared his dart. A painter, throughout all Greece celebrated, 'T was he who to the stone the colors mated So deftly, that in undimmed force to-day The glowing form exerts its magic sway And thrills us with its agony of love. Great Nixias, you see, was not above The task of pouring life's warm blood into The frigid marble of his friend ; and you. E'en you, if you would see your work perfected. Must by the painter's lesson be directed. Thus to your form I '11 wed the color now, If you allow." The servant has been standing near to her With brush and dishes : Helena doth stir The tender mass with motion swift, and then She paints with it the little image ; when Tanagra. The clay has scarce absorbed the Hquid, lo ! See how it shines with soft and silv'ry glow, And how the color which at first it hated It now drinks in with love and greed unsated. The mantle's soft blue folds hang gently down, A belt of purple clasps the rosy gown, With gold-brown locks the rounded cheeks are wreathed Whereon fair roses have been lightly breathed. The lips seem stirred by gentle respiration, And through the color breaks life's animation ! " Ready," she cries, half glad, half timidly. And like a child whose work is finished, she, The gracious artist, laughs aloud, and says : " On this now gaze." And quickly from the couch arise both men And hasten gladly to the maiden. Then, With goblet filled anew is celebrated Their future work, which she has consecrated. Tanagra. 73 The father says, as he bends o'er her now, And kisses, smiHngly, her pure, white brow : " A happy hour has heaven granted me ; As comrade, Helena, we welcome thee." But on the youth's flushed face the glow mounts higher, For with him in the workshop she may dwell ; He reads bright visions in her dark eyes' fire, A flow'ry springtime they to him foretell. When their united skill and work shall tend Towards one end. Oh, youth ! oh, golden hour ! when at repast Across the hall the lamps their radiance cast ; When held in sway by woman's tact refined The merry jest incites the youthful mind. And when the maiden to thy heart most dear Appears as gracious hostess, full of cheer ! The future, bright with blest expectancy, Then dawns on thee. VIII. 13 UT, travel-worn, the old man, in his chair ^"^ At last falls soft asleep. The youthful pair Step out upon the balcony before them. Night's dark-blue canopy lies outspread o'er them. The ocean's endless song resounds afar, High in the firmament gleams star on star. Then, as with festive strain, their, souls are thrilled With sense of coming bliss, deep, awe-instilled ; And although not a word their lips may part Each hears the throbbing of the other's heart ; Though silent they, their pulses thus reveal All that they feel. 75 76 Tanagra. Who heeds in new-born bliss the hours' swift flight ? They whisper on, nor ever cease. The light Of stars now waxes dim and has expired, But their hearts wake, their eyelids grow not tired. The earliest peep of new-awakened day Saw how her head upon his shoulder lay. And how her liquid glance his gaze enraptured As to his manly breast he held her captured ; While, through their veins the young blood wildly flowing. Heart rested upon heart in beauty glowing. You 've lived through it, or through it hope to live ; And surely you the poet will forgive. If this sweet mystery that o'er them came He does not name. Before the poet's eye naught is concealed ; All future things are unto him revealed Tanagra. 'j'j Ere yet they spring to life. When fantasy Has lent to him her azure pinions, he Soars upwards on her golden hem, thence viewing In bright-hued visions all that men are doing. The world beneath, in scenes that change each day, Rolls on. His is the power these to portray, Not real, and yet true. And thus has he To-day recounted to you, faithfully. How, late in Hellas, thanks to Eros' aid, The tree of art a fresh young shoot displayed ; And what in Tanagra did once befall You know it all. ' I "HANKS, fantasy! The aged, man once more Hast felt thy presence, like the youth of yore. Thou hast, with balmy dreams of long ago, To tender sadness changed his bitter woe. Though merged into the Infinite again. What once has lived, immortal must remain ! Thus, glorified, do I behold to-day What I possessed, what then was snatched away. On crimson-bordered clouds, young, fair and mild, Greets me, from azure heights, my darling child ; A rosy evening breath, it fades from sight In golden light. 79