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IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
Cop3rright, 1914 
 By Desmond FitzGerald, Inc. 
 
 I'll* 
 
 MAY 23 1314 
 
 '©CI.A376080 
 
^0 
 
 GILES B. BOSWORTH 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 IDAS AND MARPESSA 3 
 
 RHODANTHE 53 
 
 SAPPHO AND PHAON ..... 101 
 
 CENONE 151 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 11 
 
 OW, once again, with lute of ivory 
 And lower'd eyes, I sing the olden tales 
 ^Of olden loves, of lovers who were lured 
 In other days more beautiful than these 
 By chilly Death from earth's bright winsome- 
 
 ness; 
 Who whisper now in his grey underworld 
 Of unforgotten kisses and vain sighs. 
 Of trembling hands that touch'd so tenderly 
 The dear, warm body in the Long Ago. 
 A little while and each of us must pass 
 Where these are waiting; where no homed 
 
 moon, 
 Star-foUow'd and benignant, pours o'er men 
 Her constant pity ; where no sun looks down 
 And mocks endeavor. In eternal hush 
 There meet the old-time lovers, and the air 
 [3] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Is fragrant with their whisper 'd memories, 
 With tales of Youth's pure passion and its 
 
 dreams. 
 And though men face with set and steely eyes 
 To-day's sheer glitter and inconsequence, 
 Or laugh despite its thunder, ye that knew 
 A dear one's presence, and have bent at dusk 
 Above her spirit's beauty, know full well 
 What lingers like the echoes of hush'd harps 
 As Age's shadow nears us. Iron men, 
 And they that weaken in adversity. 
 Are loved alike ; though Death be pitiless, 
 Love eyes us with compassion. Therefore he — 
 Blind to our faults but never to our charms — 
 Remember'd is as each of us goes down 
 Whence naught arises ; therefore, from the din 
 Of constant battle turning, here and there 
 A few there are who deem a holy thing 
 The laurell'd Past ; who fain would dream again 
 As others dream'd. The sickle laid aside, 
 I bind for them this sheaf of faint-heard song. 
 And leave it standing in the fields of Time 
 Till song and singer be alike forgot. 
 
 A GOLDEN thing is friendship ; holy is 
 That love whose other name is constancy. 
 Idas, the friend of Jason, found at last 
 In fair Marpessa peace, as most men find, 
 [4] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Or soon or late, serene companionship 
 In one whose lips hint more than may be told. 
 For woman's love, since erst the world began. 
 Is oft unutter'd; but like yonder blue 
 That swathes the rugged tops of solemn hills. 
 Proclaims itself by silence, by a glance 
 That lies like benediction on the soul. 
 The melody unheard, the airy song 
 Suggested by the silence, and the peace 
 Behind the moveless azure — these suggest 
 The love that bides behind a woman's lips. 
 For even when those lips proclaim their love. 
 And when her eyes shine promise, of her soul 
 Her love is silent fragrance, as its scent 
 The soul is of the love-desiring rose. 
 In olden days the tellers of these tales, 
 Who wove their fancies from the glinting webs 
 The gods blew earthward, or of memories 
 Robb'd the hush'd Past, have told how Idas won 
 The daughter of Evenus, racing him 
 With hot-soled feet ; and how he conquer'd him ; 
 And how the hoary runner plunged to death 
 Within the waters that assumed his name 
 And hid his body. But the victor claim'd 
 Her hand as prize and led her, happy-eyed. 
 From harsh ^tolia, where her grace was lost. 
 To his bright valleys in Messenia. 
 And she, Marpessa, in her husband found 
 
 [5] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Her girlhood's dream, and was most satisfied 
 To worship and be worship'd. In the dawn 
 She rose betimes to see him seek the woods 
 Before the deer were stirring; long ere noon, 
 Her household duties over, for her lord 
 She watch'd without the bronzen latticed gates 
 To lead him to their palace ; and when came 
 The softly-breathing Night with eyes of dream, 
 She raised her lips to him so brave and clean, 
 Who faced the stars as he had faced the sea. 
 Now, thinking back, it seems that in their woods 
 My lonely spirit saw them ; hand in hand. 
 Serene in silence, or with burning lips 
 Vowing their heart's indifference to time. 
 Their love and their eternal constancy. 
 Youth's roses had departed from her cheeks ; 
 His locks were not so brown as when the waves 
 Flung their pure mist upon them ; yet the gods 
 Still number 'd them with lovely things, with all 
 That laugh'd and look'd not backward, nor 
 
 surmised 
 The night behind the promise of the day. 
 And deeming each the other beautiful 
 They both were young; for Age no finger lays 
 On her who's loved ; and he whose lips receive 
 A heart's impassion'd murmurs, fears no more 
 The whisper'd warning from the lips of Death. 
 And even now she bade him weave for her 
 
 [6] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 In such embroidery as color'd words 
 Can hang upon the silence, all the tale 
 Of Jason and his heroes ; how the sea 
 Curl'd angrily around them, while the wind 
 Shrill'd through its teeth its heritage of hate ; 
 He told her of the heroes ; and at last 
 Of dark Medea, who had charm'd his lord, 
 Or so the heroes said, and married him. 
 And then he told her how the land was full 
 Of awful mutterings of unseen mouths 
 That said her hands were bloody. Thus he told 
 The day's new gossip much as we to-day 
 May gossip in the twilight. Now, as then. 
 The idlest tale, if one but whisper it, 
 Finds ears to give it welcome ; now, as then. 
 The wind is bearer of the distant deed 
 And Truth is ever that which is untold. 
 
 AND when she spoke it was of other things 
 ^That dearer seem'd to him than tales of 
 war. 
 For she a woman was, and dream'd again 
 Of that first night when o'er her blessed hand 
 He bent and said he loved and worship'd her. 
 That eve they linger'd by a marble fane 
 Whose stilly whiteness iill'd their hearts with 
 
 peace. 
 And watch'd the Dusk spread purple coverlets 
 [7] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Upon the mountains' summits. On the woods 
 Lay darker mantles, and the vales were black 
 With sleep that woo'd the cattle and the flowers. 
 They spoke no word, but watch'd with wonder- 
 ment 
 The many changes, knowing they were one 
 With stars and glory ; one with loveliness. 
 With hills and trees and all that graced the 
 
 vales. 
 Then, in her father's garden, he and she 
 That summer's night had wander'd. Far away 
 The heavy hills now slumber'd ; in the skies 
 The stars were gather'd, moving solemnly 
 Their order'd ways, expectant of the moon. 
 And now was heard the twitter of a bird. 
 And then a cricket's protest, else so still 
 The air about them that he caught the wind's 
 Soft whisper in her tresses ; and the while 
 She look'd away, his love o'erpower'd him 
 And he had touch'd those tresses with his lips. 
 But she was dreaming then of — ^Ah ! who knows ? 
 Perhaps of him. Perhaps unknown to him 
 She sensed his adoration, as the flower 
 May sense at noon the pity of the dusk. 
 Perhaps, although she never felt that kiss. 
 Night's stilly voices whisper'd : " Thou art 
 
 loved!"; 
 Perhaps the stars proclaim'd it, or the wind, 
 
 [8] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 The hopeless wind, whose love is long lament. 
 Perhaps she thought of whispers and of sighs, 
 Of cool-cheek'd roses brought on golden moms 
 With silv'ry words of greeting. Ah! who 
 
 knows ? 
 And wand'ring home beneath the risen moon 
 She lean'd to him a little, and his arm 
 Had almost dared to hold her prisoner. 
 But when at last they reach'd the shadow'd 
 
 porch. 
 By scented creepers shelter'd from the world, 
 Again love master'd him and, ere she knew, 
 His lips had seal'd his secret on her hands. 
 And though his eyes were hidden now from 
 
 her. 
 And though his voice was silent, she was 'ware 
 That this no passion was, no youthful heat 
 To pass ere morning with the icy moon 
 And all her chaste attendants. This was love, 
 That grows in silence, love that worship is ; 
 Whose constant flame burns constantly above 
 Life's grey illusion, and essays to light 
 The hopeless highways through the realms of 
 
 Death. 
 And then with face uplifted, that his eyes 
 Might seek her own eyes' solace, he had told 
 His love for her, and how, as in a net 
 The tangled bird may flutter, now his heart 
 
 [9] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Was caught for ever by that guileless charm 
 With which the gods had graced her. He was 
 
 one 
 Who lived for action ; and his speech was bare 
 As winter's dreamless branches ; but a sheen 
 Encircled him that evening, and his words 
 Seem'd golden like the heart-song of a bird 
 That sings its joyous message in the sun. 
 And he had won her, though the moon was gone 
 Before, all lily-like, she droop'd to him 
 And kiss'd his forehead, saying she was his ; 
 And kiss'd again, as if she knew that now 
 The gods would eye them through unkindly 
 
 lids 
 And wreck the flimsy fabric of their dream. 
 For they that sit in judgment love us not 
 Who dwell in Time, imprison'd, till we seek 
 The silence and the shadow. From their seats 
 They watch our vain endeavor, hear our sighs. 
 And note the eager groping of our hands 
 To hands that tremble uswards; through the 
 
 dusk 
 Our whispers rise and vanish, and they hear, 
 And hollow laughter thins the lips of them. 
 For human loves are holy ; our desire 
 Outflames their awful splendor; and although 
 They scorn us, who are hostages of Death, 
 They envy us, and hate us for our dreams. 
 [10] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 AND so the while they linger'd in the 
 Lwoods, 
 And Idas bade her whisper, to her love 
 Marpessa told that story. And it seem'd 
 Each time he heard it, it was ever new, 
 Or, like a jewel held against the sun. 
 Took unknown beauties to it. Through the 
 
 trees 
 Serenity beheld them, marvelling, 
 As Nature ever marvels at the fair, 
 At so much happiness in two so fond. 
 In two so pure and perfect. To the trees 
 They seem'd akin, and to the wind-swept hills 
 Array 'd in joyous colors; to the birds. 
 Singing from hearts so cramm'd with happiness 
 They never can outpour it, they were things 
 Half unsubstantial, with the tiny blooms 
 That smiled their stilly message of delight. 
 And when her voice was silent, and the tale 
 Was ended, he would question : " Even now 
 I know not how I won thee, I, whose arms 
 Have fear'd to clasp thy beauty." And she 
 
 smiled 
 And bade him wonder. " While I live," she 
 
 said, 
 " My love must needs be silent. When I die 
 I'll whisper thee its secret, and thy heart 
 Shall strain against the barriers of death 
 
 [11] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 To bring me solace." And he bent to her, 
 And said : " I love thee, and would e'er abide 
 Within the folded pinions of thy soul, 
 At peace and happy. If thou venturest 
 Where ghosts await us ere I go with thee. 
 Thy love shall draw me thither ; should I go, 
 I'll wait thy boat's still beaching, and assuage 
 Thy murmurs with the welcome of mine eyes." 
 " My love thou art," she whisper'd. " I am 
 
 thine. 
 Our day is at its morning; music fills 
 Our happy hearts as now the air is fill'd 
 With yon dear bird's impassion'd melody. 
 The noo^ ^hall follow with its sense of peace, 
 Then biessed evening with its memories 
 And all the sweet companionship of stars. 
 I gaze untroubled down the aisles of Time, 
 Because thy love shall guard me." Then he 
 
 kiss'd 
 The hand that touch'd ail-tenderly his hair. 
 " I only know I love thee," he replied. 
 " Thy words are music ; let my silence be 
 The air that would contain them. Hark! the 
 
 bird 
 Has pity on my dumbness, and to thee 
 Would sing the benediction in my heart." 
 And then they listen'd, and the woods became 
 Their temple, and the bird its feather'd priest 
 [12] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Whose wholesome adoration pleased the gods 
 And made the solemn eyes of them grow kind. 
 Then Idas press'd his dear one close to him. 
 " It loves," he said. " It loves, and therefore 
 
 sings. 
 But though I love, my worship must be mute. 
 My fond Marpessa, my beloved wife." 
 And then, perhaps, she raised to his her lips 
 And saw, with closed eyes, the olden dream 
 In all its purity. Oh ! never say 
 That love is aught but holy. From the dark 
 We journey to the darkness; love, the while, 
 Enswathes us in its utter spotlessness 
 And makes of poor, imperfect instruments 
 Things worth the What's-to-follow. Love is 
 
 all. 
 
 FOR two swift years the gods look'd care- 
 lessly 
 On Idas and Marpessa. There were wars 
 'Twixt god and god, intrigues and jealousies 
 To hold their bright attention ; otherwheres 
 Kings robed in purple, wearing crowns of gold, 
 Look'd at the stars perhaps too haughtily. 
 Or plann'd To-morrow's conquest; them the 
 
 gods 
 Smote silently and swiftly, laughing long 
 To see the pomp that foUow'd them to death, 
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 As if they thought their banners or their plumes 
 
 Might alter Death's enorme solemnity, 
 
 Or hint: These once were kings. For two 
 
 swift years 
 Those lovers, now long silent, dream'd their 
 
 dreams. 
 They laugh'd together in the morning's cool 
 And raised their babes. And then the gods 
 
 look'd down 
 And saw their fondness, and an arch'd surprise 
 Above their heavy eyes bode ill to them. 
 
 ^^^^S when great birds, white-plumaged in 
 
 IpJp^R the foam 
 
 la i^f^Sf JQf untrack'd seas from drowsiness 
 
 awake. 
 And make the bright air brighter with the flash 
 Of light-tipp'd wings, so now the shining 
 
 heavens 
 Wherein the gods gleam'd idly, seem'd awake 
 As, one by splendid one, they roused themselves. 
 Then moved among them a delightful boy. 
 The star-eyed Ganymedes, loved of Zeus, 
 Whose rounded limbs the winds kiss'd joyously 
 The while he slumber'd ; in his hand he bore 
 A crystal goblet topp'd with fragrant foam, 
 [14] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 And touch'd each snowy shoulder. And the 
 
 gods 
 Were glad to see his pretty artlessness 
 So drank and laugh'd, and, laughing, drank 
 
 again. 
 And then on golden platters, finely wrought, 
 Most rich in pictures of heroic deeds 
 And loves now sung by singers and the stars, 
 The curl-brow'd boy to each reclining god 
 Took honey-sweet ambrosia; and they ate. 
 And thus renew'd their youth. And being filPd 
 They look'd again to where the fair earth 
 
 gleam'd 
 As gleams a crystal river when the sun 
 Pours its hot love upon it. Saying naught 
 They gazed thereon in rapture, much as we 
 May watch the thing from which still Beauty's 
 
 breath 
 Has blown the grossness, asking of themselves 
 Why Zeus had made a toy so beautiful 
 For Time's dull tooth to gnaw at, and despoil. 
 Swiftly they saw with their all-seeing eyes 
 The mountains' majesty, the charm of vales, 
 The drowsy forest's beauty ; from the woods 
 Their gaze turned slowly to the silv'ry streams 
 That wound through gay and flower-enamell'd 
 
 meads 
 And laugh'd while Death allur'd them to the sea. 
 [15] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 They saw the city with its hordes of men 
 
 As blind and selfish as their sons to-day ; 
 
 Amassing wealth beyond the needs of them, 
 
 Disputing vainly in their ignorance 
 
 Of things as far beyond them as the stars. 
 
 They laugh'd to see the soldier's martial stride, 
 
 The condescension of the sated lord, 
 
 Who smiled on worth and frown'd on poverty 
 
 While Death stood silently beside his seat 
 
 And eyed him with grave patience. In their 
 
 hearts 
 They mock'd man's pride, and wish'd him bit- 
 terness. 
 They saw the hardy peasant at his task 
 Behind his straining oxen; on the hills 
 The piping boy with brown'd and sturdy 
 
 limbs 
 Beside his sheep ; and where the rocking sea 
 Responded to the wooing of the sun, 
 And gleam'd its pleasure, bearded fishermen 
 Whose eyes roved landward where their loved 
 
 ones were. 
 They saw the priests perform the sacrifice 
 On ancient altars hewn from gleaming stone, 
 While white-robed vestals watch'd the sacred 
 
 flames 
 And sang the solemn paeans ; in the fields 
 They saw the women bent above the grapes. 
 
 [16] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 The tranquil kine amused them, for they 
 
 thought 
 Of restless lo's heavy punishment; 
 And when a deer would raise its antler'd head, 
 Or the meek rabbit si^al its affright 
 With lifted ears alert to every sound. 
 Their bright eyes widen'd as they hoped to see 
 A shepherd's wooing of a willing nymph. 
 And loud they laugh'd to hear what vows he 
 
 made 
 Of lasting faith, or swore to cherish her 
 Despite her fault; for well the wise gods knew 
 The bees are fond while flowers are yet to 
 
 win. 
 But soon forget the flower that is despoil'd. 
 
 A PART from all the rest, Apollo sat, 
 xJiBut eyed the earth as idly. In his hair 
 Such glory linger'd that his face was bright 
 As is the sun itself, and yet his eyes 
 Were blacker than the gloom of wintry skies 
 Ere stars adventure from their hiding place. 
 One hand lay heavy on his marbled knee 
 As, forward bent, his gaze pierced fearlessly 
 The gulfs of blue ; the other held the lyre 
 With which at times he charm'd his grave com^ 
 
 peers 
 By dream-evoking music, strains as sad 
 
 [ 17] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 As Day's bright scorn or Night's sweet con- 
 stancy. 
 But now, though Zeus oft eyed him lovingly 
 As if in supplication, at his side 
 The lyre was mute ; for where the trees enclosed 
 A moveless pool on that revolving sphere 
 Where dreams are born that Fate may mock at 
 
 them. 
 He saw — Marpessa. And the joy in him 
 Became extinguish'd like a blown-out light 
 Because, ail-suddenly, he longed for her, 
 Who seem'd a thing of whitest ivory 
 Within an em' raid casket ; like a flame 
 His joy leap'd up and suddenly went out 
 And left his huge heart empty, as to-day 
 Our little joy as suddenly is gone 
 As is the fragrance of the fated rose. 
 But heedless of the ever-burning gaze 
 That flamed above her movements, in the 
 
 pool 
 Marpessa bathed, her black hair having bound 
 About her brows ail-tightly. By the reeds 
 Her garments lay, and though they snowy were 
 Yet she was whiter, for her purity 
 Herself was, as its pallor is the moon, 
 And though a wife yet was she innocent. 
 The pretty deer, with large and lustrous eyes 
 And hesitating hoofs, came from the trees 
 
 [ 18] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 And nosed the glinting water, eyeing her 
 
 As though she were a thing of woods and 
 
 hills, 
 A thing that knew and loved them; and anon, 
 When they had sensed the loveliness of her 
 And sipp'd their fill, they turn'd their heads 
 
 from her 
 And shyly sought the forest's shade again. 
 The birds, attired in brilliant liveries, 
 Consider'd her a sister, look'd at her, 
 And sang while looking; then, with wetted 
 
 wings, 
 Flew to their mates and woke the scented peace 
 With twitter'd gossip, till these others sought 
 The little pool that held the wonder-one. 
 Then, as he gazed, their swiftly-moving wings 
 Seem'd brighter to Apollo than the skies 
 When sunset tints them ; and he envied them 
 Their fondness for Marpessa. From his seat 
 He tower'd as suddenly as does the flame 
 The winds have tortured; and had sought her 
 
 then. 
 While yet his heart's Titanic passion-throb 
 Paled his bright face. But Zeus, the Father, 
 
 call'd. 
 And set him to a task that hinder'd him. 
 
 [19] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 AND once again, that same task being done, 
 Xm.He peer'd from out the shelter of a cloud 
 And saw Marpessa. It was Even now. 
 And they that mock the destinies of men 
 Sat solemnly together, knee by knee. 
 Beneath grave Zeus and his all- jealous spouse. 
 And while they whisper'd of the day to come. 
 The sad-eyed Dusk, with dreams in either hand, 
 Stepp'd from their midst and sought the weary 
 
 earth. 
 Before the gentle sorrow of her face 
 The light withdrew, to men whom Sleep still 
 
 bless'd 
 Bearing the day's illusion, and the hope 
 For that which, being granted, proves but vain. 
 And while he gazed upon the half-hush'd woods. 
 Where now the trees in blessed stillness 
 Exhaled their souls, all-grateful for the day, 
 From out their gardens to the greater peace 
 Marpessa came, and Idas. Lover-like, 
 His arm was still about her; and again 
 He charm'd her with the story of their love 
 In days that now seem'd days of golden dream. 
 And though so oft the story he had told. 
 Yet seem'd it ever new. In wonderment 
 She walk'd beside him, raising trustingly 
 Her eyes to his when he a deed recall'd 
 That brought the Past back, and its memories. 
 [20] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Above their heads, where arch'd the heavy 
 
 boughs, 
 The birds cheep'd faintly, knowing that the 
 
 night 
 Was drawing nigh, and soon the hateful owl 
 Would hoot its feud against all feather'd things 
 And furry creatures, while the heartless moon 
 Cross'd regally the heavens. Amid the leaves 
 In blest security they hid their heads 
 Beneath their wings, and then the woods were 
 
 still 
 As if with expectation. And the while 
 The darkness thicken'd, by a well-known path 
 The lovers sought a bower beloved of them, 
 And whisper'd there, as if the birds might hear, 
 About their love that still so wondrous seem'd. 
 Forgetting naught they lived their dream 
 
 again — 
 Their first sweet stammer'd vows; her first shy 
 
 kiss 
 When, so it seem'd, the gods had turn'd aside 
 In envy of a girl's pure tenderness; 
 The silence that was music; and the calm 
 That slowly flamed to passion — ^Ah ! if thou 
 Whose lids now droop above this halting line 
 Hast loved as they loved, let thy mem'ry paint 
 That perfect picture for thee. Having loved 
 Thou knowest all things perfect ; one thou art 
 [21 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 With Idas or Marpessa. Kingdoms change, 
 Stars wane and mountains vanish; love alone 
 Remains To-day what Yesterday it was, 
 And makes us kin to all that's turn'd to dust. 
 
 And while the Night enswathed the sleep- 
 i^^ing earth, 
 
 Asserting its dominion over men 
 Whose hearts were joyous, men whose hearts 
 
 were sad, 
 Where dream'd the gods, the ever-deathless 
 
 ones, 
 It darken'd too. Each splendid star now faced 
 Its sister orb in silv'ry sympathy 
 And left the high air widow'd ; but there glow'd 
 Where sat the gods, a steely after-light 
 In luminous suggestion, such as woos 
 The crystal fringes of the rolling sphere 
 Where white-furr'd bear tread heavily the snow. 
 The winds stroked rhymeless music from their 
 
 harps. 
 Intoning solemnly their airy chant 
 In praise of Zeus. " Supremest ! Thunderer ! 
 Whose glance is as the lightning; thou whose 
 
 breath 
 Titanic cedars bends submissively, 
 Heaps sea on sea, extinguishes the stars ! 
 Gather'd from far we kneel and worship thee 
 [ 22 ] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 In wild, unfetter'd music. We have seen 
 Man's pitiful endeavors, deeds and dreams 
 Beneath thy notice. Death makes mock of 
 
 them. 
 Whose little life is spent ere thou and thine 
 Are conscious of their being. Thee we praise, 
 Who art alone enduring; by whose will 
 We wake from nothing, by whose will we die." 
 But Zeus, with sad, impenetrable eyes. 
 Gazed into space, well-knowing that at last 
 Creator and created are as one — 
 Are doom'd as is the sunset's holy glow, 
 Are vain as are the hopes of yesterday. 
 And then the gods that sat at Zeus's feet 
 With half-hush'd voices answer'd : " Thou art 
 
 he 
 Whose eyes have dream'd all things of conse- 
 quence. 
 Before it came, thou knewest of To-day 
 And Destiny's decrees. We bend to thee 
 Who art the Father." And again the winds 
 Intoned their praise : " Thou only canst out- 
 stare 
 The eyes of Time. Death lays no hands on 
 
 thee ; 
 But crams his grey and echoless abode 
 With all that thou createst. Thou art he 
 To whom they wildly clamor ere they tread 
 [ 28 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The way that leads to silence and despair." 
 Then once again the gods' deep murmurs voiced 
 Their answ'ring adoration; but the eyes 
 Of Zeus were fix'd and moody. So the rock, 
 Unmindful of the passion of the sea, 
 Awaits its end; it scorns the sun's caress. 
 The wind's advances and the lightning's hate. 
 
 A ND now the heights were silent. Cloud on 
 -^"Vcloud, 
 
 With fleecy shoulders leaning each to each, 
 Took for the night their stations, while the 
 
 winds 
 Remain'd without and roam'd, disconsolate. 
 The starry highways. One by splendid one 
 The gods lay down to wait Aurora's call 
 To see the dawnburst, note with ecstasy 
 The modest flower's unfolding, and delight 
 In that first note with which the happy bird 
 Heralds the day and all its promises. 
 Austerely silent, at the feet of Zeus 
 They fell asleep, or gazed through half -closed 
 
 eyes 
 Upon the face that brooded over them. 
 And once again, like huge and moveless birds. 
 The watchers of the tragedies of men 
 Lay couch'd amid the cloud-mass stillily ; 
 Prepared to dream of flights against the sun, 
 [24] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Enormous circlings to the pleasant earth 
 
 Or swift descents through endless gulfs of 
 
 space. 
 But one was wakeful, one who lay apart 
 And strove to pierce with melancholy gaze 
 The heedless clouds — ^Apollo. At his side 
 His lyre still idle lay. No breathless tones 
 Lured fancies to the eyes of them that slept, 
 Or woke the others' musings. By himself 
 He lay and sufFer'd, anxious for the dawn 
 That he might see Marpessa, and, ere night, 
 Win her from Idas and the things she loved. 
 
 ^^^gHE morning dawn'd, a morn of joyous- 
 H^Swness, 
 
 t^wg^ Qf blue, bright skies ; a mom of wonder- 
 ment 
 So breathless that the ever-trilling lark 
 Outsung itself while mounting, flight by flight, 
 To where all space seem'd thirsty for its 
 
 song. 
 A first, faint breeze, fore-runner of the winds 
 That soon would follow, from the Caves of Pearl 
 Where homed the plaintive echoes of the deep 
 Came slowly forth, and fill'd the airy aisles 
 With sea-sweet fragrance. As the trees awoke 
 [25] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 They trembled slightly, and the whisp'ring 
 
 leaves 
 Greeted each other in the speech that is 
 More delicate than music. Moveless then, 
 Like virgins at the hour of sacrifice, 
 They stood and waited till with ruder hands 
 The winds should touch them, sway them to and 
 
 fro 
 In wildest dance, and leave them suddenly 
 To mourn their stripp'd and tatter'd dra- 
 peries. 
 And while a silence still possess'd the air 
 Save for the dwindling cadence of the lark, 
 To where the steps led downward Idas came 
 From out the palace with his shaggy hounds. 
 Marpessa follow'd with his trusted spear 
 And bow and arrows ; but her dragging feet 
 And smileless lips betoken'd she was sad 
 This golden morning; and had kept him there 
 To hear the first sweet prattle of their babes 
 Had he not seem'd so eager for the chase. 
 But when she laid his weapons at his feet, 
 And raised to his the question of her eyes, 
 He placed his arm about her, and his touch 
 Made her forget, who was so solely his. 
 " Nay, fear not, wife," he said. " Ere noon is 
 
 come 
 The hounds shall bay before the welcome gates, 
 
 [26] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 And call thee forth to greet me. Thou shalt 
 
 see 
 Mj shoulders hid beneath the hugest skin 
 That made a bear seem fearful ; but thy feet 
 This very night, when o'er thy heavy lids 
 Sleep draws the velvet solace of his plumes, 
 Shall tread it as thou goest to thy couch 
 To dream of him who loves thee." " Ah," said 
 
 she, 
 " Who goes away is ever free of care ; 
 Who stays is heavy-hearted. Thou and I 
 Are one, my husband ; when thou leavest me. 
 Though the blest sunshine trembles in my hair, 
 My heart becomes the darksome lair of fear. 
 I love thee, Idas." " And I love thee, too," 
 Her husband answer'd. " I have thought of 
 
 thee 
 When, call'd in Greece's service, I have dared 
 The swift, unerring dart of bitter Death. 
 Thy love has kept me scathless, and thy voice 
 Has whisper'd me in hours of loneliness 
 Such words as gave me courage. I have lived 
 Since first I loved thee ; and I love thee still, 
 And fain would live to win for thee and mine 
 Fresh honor and more glory. When I go 
 To fight for Greece, thou sayest not a word ; 
 Yet now I go to bring thee " Then he 
 
 laugh'd 
 
 [27] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And stroked the worry from her low, cool brow ; 
 Then bade her note how eager were the hounds 
 To prove their mettle. And she clung to him 
 And look'd at him in silence. Ah ! who knows 
 The thoughts behind a woman's trustful eyes, 
 Or senses all she suffers? Through the years 
 We take without a question all she gives, 
 But never know her. Infancy and age 
 Alike depend upon her; in his prime 
 Man strides alone to learn his destiny; 
 He crowns himself whenever he succeeds. 
 But turns to her for comfort when he fails. 
 So Idas laugh'd and kiss'd her. " Smile on 
 
 me," 
 He said at last, his weapons in his hand ; 
 " That when I venture where the woods are 
 
 dark 
 Thine eyes shall light me, and the memory 
 Of thy sweet face may hearten me against 
 What odds may wait me in the monster's cave." 
 And while the eager dogs leap'd noisily, 
 Or whined with noses pointed to the woods. 
 She kiss'd his forehead ; and he strode away. 
 The dogs beside him watchful of his eye 
 And silent now as he was. And while yet 
 Marpessa's hands were clasp'd against her 
 
 heart. 
 He pass'd within the menace of the woods. 
 [28] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 AND while her darlings slept, two pretty 
 "babes. 
 All pink and white and smiles and innocence, 
 To that same pool beyond the garden's walls 
 Marpessa went, unfearing. Now the woods 
 Were bright with promise, for the tallest trees 
 Beheld the first swift lances of the sun 
 Glint in the east, and drive in front of them 
 The last doom'd line of hesitating grey. 
 But still the grass, from which her sandals 
 
 brush'd 
 Uncounted dewdrops mirroring the world, 
 Was cool in shadow, and the leaves were wet 
 As if the fleeing Night had wept o'er them. 
 And while she sped beneath the whisp'ring trees. 
 From glade to glade where now the startled 
 
 hare 
 Look'd hurriedly upon her, and was gone, 
 She thought of Idas. Was it years ago 
 He woo'd and won her? Or but yester-morn 
 She said she loved him? For it seem'd her love 
 Was like the light, the golden light of day, 
 That grew each moment stronger; scarce she 
 
 knew 
 How much she loved him. Ah ! the gentle trees 
 That bent above the soil in sympathy 
 Would know her grief; and so she raised to 
 
 them 
 
 [29] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Her pleading hands; and though they silent 
 
 were, 
 She sensed their pity and was comforted. 
 But ere she came to where the shaded pool 
 Invited with its stillness, in her path 
 Stood one so splendid that the sun itself 
 Could make his face no brighter. Curling 
 
 locks, 
 That gleam'd above a forehead marble-pale. 
 Caught the descending glory, but his eyes 
 Were dark with mystery, black yet terrible 
 As passion is, that hungers for the thing 
 Beyond the fever'd reaching of its hand. 
 But though his face was flame, the form of him 
 So perfect was, so chastely wonderful. 
 That, awed to silence and astonishment, 
 Marpessa eyed him as a moment's dream, 
 Half -fearing he might vanish. Then a smile 
 Caress'd his lips, a smile so luminous 
 That glory seem'd to have its home in him, 
 And he was light itself — light radiant 
 In, of all forms, the form most beautiful. 
 Now, seeing he had charm'd her, as the flame 
 Ensnares the soft-wing'd priestess of the dark. 
 He spoke. " Marpessa ! " Just the name of 
 
 her. 
 But, oh! his voice was as the voice of one 
 Who deems his love for evermore removed 
 [30] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Beyond the bridgeless gulfs of hopeless death, 
 
 Beyond all winning. As the echoes died 
 
 The silence seem'd suggestive of a woe, 
 
 So heavily it lay upon the soul 
 
 Of her that listen'd. And the hand of her, 
 
 While still she faced him with untroubled eyes, 
 
 Was slowly lifted to her drooping lips 
 
 As if in question. But, before she spoke. 
 
 Again Apollo cried that airy name. 
 
 Again it echo'd till the glade was fill'd, 
 
 " Marpessa ! " Oh ! the tenderness of it. 
 
 And then he held his hand outstretch'd to her 
 
 And look'd his longing ; but as yet she thought 
 
 She dream'd by daylight, and the thing would 
 
 pass 
 As all dreams pass, however beautiful. 
 And still his beauty charm'd her, and, anon. 
 The air contain'd her hesitating hand 
 And heard her whisper : " Art thou Love itself. 
 Or Beauty's spirit.? Or art thou a man, 
 And made of that same perishable stuff 
 That waits for death to ease it of its pain.'* 
 Or do I dream and think thou gleamest there. 
 While naught's around me save the list'ning 
 
 trees 
 And shifting sunlight .? If a man thou art. 
 Whence comest thou ? What hero-bearing land 
 May claim thy service, and what mother's eyes 
 [ 31 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Have joy'd above thy beauty? " Then in tones 
 
 That thrill'd at times the purest silences 
 
 Of highest heaven, Apollo answer'd her: 
 
 " Man am I not, nor subject unto death; 
 
 But number'd am with those whose gaze serene 
 
 Watches the world from heights of amethyst 
 
 Where sits my father. I am he that hymns 
 
 The song of morning, and, when even's torch 
 
 Reddens the west, I sing the requiem 
 
 That mourns the sun's down-going. I am he 
 
 To whom the Muses listen, and the stars 
 
 Echo the songs that tremble from my lips. 
 
 My mother was Latona." While he spoke, 
 
 A startled cry escaped Marpessa's lips 
 
 As, fearing now his presence, she essay'd 
 
 To ease her eyes in darkness with her hand. 
 
 And still was silent. " Now thou knowest me," 
 
 The god continued, and his voice was soft 
 
 As that of waves on sands of drowsy isles. 
 
 " On sapphire moms of golden joyousness 
 
 Thy lips have sung my praises ; thou hast seen 
 
 The curling incense widen in its rise 
 
 To circle me with fragrance. Drop thy hands 
 
 That I may see the beauty of thine eyes, 
 
 O fair Marpessa ! " Then she look'd at him, 
 
 Unconscious of his purpose. " Brightest 
 
 god," 
 She whisper'd faintly as she lean'd to him ; 
 [ 32 ] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 *' Thou callest me Marpessa. What am I 
 
 That thou, in accents sweeter than the wind 
 
 On eves of pearl, shouldst call me by my name? 
 
 I am but mortal, and no more to thee 
 
 Than the doom'd flower that perishes with day." 
 
 And then he open'd wide his gleaming arms 
 
 And look'd at her, as he had often look'd 
 
 On other beauties willing to be won ; 
 
 And once again the forest heard him sigh : 
 
 " Marpessa ! fair Marpessa ! " Then at last 
 
 She sensed his love, and straightway shrank 
 
 from him 
 As from a thing unclean and dangerous. 
 But he continued with a swifter speech 
 To tell his passion. " Ah ! thou knowest now 
 Why thus I cry ' Marpessa ' ! As I gazed 
 From heaven's bright heights and saw thee, in 
 
 my heart 
 Love's sudden torch was lighted. Thee I love. 
 Unearthly splendors woo me when I pass 
 Those ways serene ; the nymphs' white loveliness 
 Awaits me where the fern nods dreamily 
 Its acquiescence to the wooing wind. 
 But thou art fairer than the whitest nymph 
 That trembles in the moonlight. I have seen 
 Thy fated beauty, and I yearn for thee 
 As one in hell may hunger for the light." 
 But closer now she drew her purple robe 
 [ SS ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Across her breast. " Thou lovest hopelessly, 
 
 flame-bright god," she said. " My love is his 
 Who won me from my father, who has spun 
 His golden dreams about me till to him 
 
 1 seem as lovely as the brightest star. 
 Two babes remind us of our mating time, 
 Of days when yet we whisper'd each to each 
 The pretty nothings that to lovers are 
 More dear than all the wisdom of the years. 
 And now that we are cooler, side by side 
 We go our way, believing in the gods 
 
 And one another, fearless of the end." 
 
 But now Apollo near'd her. " Thee and thine 
 
 One end awaits, Marpessa. Night by night 
 
 The silent Boatman bears to silent shores 
 
 The voiceless ghosts of lovers such as ye. 
 
 My loves become immortal. Time nor Change 
 
 Can touch those favor'd of the deathless gods. 
 
 If thou wilt love me thou shalt dwell with me 
 
 In everlasting splendor, and be praised 
 
 By men yet formless in the Future's womb." 
 
 But now Marpessa laugh'd. " Where Idas 
 
 goes. 
 My little ones must follow," she replied. 
 " Shall I forsake them in that bitter place. 
 And leave them lonely.? Could a poet's song 
 Make shame less shameful? Oh! thou knowest 
 
 not, 
 
 [34] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Bright god of morning, of the heart that is 
 A wife's and mother's. Could I stay with thee 
 And hear thee singing while mine own were 
 
 crouch'd 
 In misty hell? And would thy kisses make 
 My sorrow for their desolation less? 
 Supreme art thou and very beautiful ; 
 But though thy lips have quiver'd with the song 
 That thrills the holy cedars, in thy heart 
 Abides no love, nor aught of tenderness 
 If thus thou judgest women." And again 
 She laugh'd to think how Idas worship'd her, 
 And how she loved him. But, while yet sHe 
 
 laugh'd, 
 Apollo seized her. " Thou art mine," he cried. 
 And press'd his burning lips upon her own. 
 " Thy constancy shall vanish as the dew 
 Forsakes its love, the pallid asphodel. 
 When sunbeams woo it. When I sing to thee 
 Thy pulse shall quicken; when my heart shall 
 
 beat 
 Above thine own, thine eyes shall read in mine 
 Such dreams as force forgetfulness of all 
 Thy former dreamings. Thou shalt love me 
 
 yet. 
 Thy hand shall yet caress me, and thy lips 
 Shall cling to mine until all space shall seem 
 Too tiny for our swooning." And while yet 
 [35] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The forest echo'd with her bitter cry, 
 And all grew dark around her, in his arms 
 Apollo bore his burden from the g^lade. 
 
 IS listless dogs behind him, through the 
 
 woods 
 
 Strode Idas, singing. In a gloomy spot, 
 Where never satyr sprawl'd beneath the trees 
 Or teasing fauns dismay'd the restive deer. 
 The lip-raised bear had met him. Silently 
 They faced each other, and the waiting dogs 
 Whined to attack their ancient enemy. 
 Then from his bow the hunter shot a shaft 
 That whizz'd its song of death, and in the throat 
 Of it, the hunted, pitilessly lodged. 
 And while the brown brute lunged to challenge 
 
 them. 
 The dogs sprang forward; but the bear was 
 
 quick. 
 And smote with thick and danger-dealing paws 
 Its rash tormentors. One as suddenly 
 Yelp'd and was dead ; and then a second shaft. 
 By Idas sped from his complaining bow. 
 Smote the huge fury in its shaggy breast. 
 And now it gave no heed to snapping jaws. 
 But, dripping blood from not ignoble wounds, 
 [86] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 O'erlook'd the baser things and sought the man, 
 
 Its equal in the forest. With a roar 
 
 That cow'd the dogs, the bear, uprear'd and 
 
 straight. 
 Confronted Idas. But the spear was poised, 
 The spear long envied of the Argonauts, 
 And, loosed, it travell'd like a thunderbolt 
 And smote the bear and drove him back again. 
 Then through the vast and bloody cavity 
 Pale Death, rush'd in and chill'd its mighty 
 
 heart. 
 And closed its angry eyes against the woods. 
 And ere the hearten'd dogs could worry it 
 The noble beast crash'd down, and was as still 
 As is the fell'd tree, slaughter'd in its prime. 
 
 BUT when he reach'd his palace, and had cast 
 His shoulder's burden on the gleaming 
 stairs, 
 Marpessa did not greet him. Through the 
 
 halls 
 He strode and call'd her, but his children's cries 
 Apprised him she was absent. Then of them 
 That eyed him mutely, faithful servitors 
 Still proud to serve, he ask'd in curtest speech 
 If one had seen her. But they still were dumb 
 And shook their heads while looking on the 
 ground. 
 
 [37] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And though they search'd the palace, cried her 
 
 name 
 And sought the gardens over, not a sign 
 Of lost Marpessa brought the seekers joy. 
 But when, at fault, they turn'd to pray the gods 
 Reveal their secret; and with troubled eyes 
 Their master follow'd them, a blind old hound 
 Much favor'd of Marpessa bay'd the woods ; 
 And ever sniffing as she cross'd the grass 
 Went slowly forward, baying as she went. 
 Then Idas knew ; and shouting to the slaves 
 To guard his children as they would their lives. 
 He grasp'd his spear and follow'd. Yard by 
 
 yard 
 The hound went on, while Idas spoke to her, 
 Impatient, yet all-grateful for her aid. 
 And on and on, beneath the self -same pines 
 That saw on other days such happenings 
 As he might find delight in ; through such glades 
 Where Dian heard her moon-enamor'd maids 
 Relate the day's adventures; how the deer 
 Escaped their arrows, or a drowsy herd 
 Gazed at their limbs with unbelieving eyes 
 And fell asleep again. But Idas' thoughts 
 Were fix'd on his Marpessa, and his gaze 
 Was strain'd upon the distance. Bush and tree 
 Seem'd fraught with menace to the one he loved. 
 And therefore hateful ; so he hurried on 
 [38] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Behind the hound, and cheer'd her with his 
 
 voice. 
 And once she whined, and turn'd, then turn'd 
 
 again 
 And bay'd the louder; for her scent was keen 
 Although her eyes were useless. Overhead 
 The sun had cross'd the midline of the sky, 
 And slanting beams now fill'd the drowsy woods 
 With afternoon's still glory; bush and tree 
 Alike seem'd golden, and a golden sheen 
 Fell on the uptum'd faces of the flowers. 
 But little now reck'd Idas of the hour. 
 And little of its beauty. Ah ! what sight 
 Might blind his eyes when once the baying 
 
 ceased 
 That now seem'd Hope's own music? Had the 
 
 pool 
 Forever closed above her? Or would she. 
 With lilies far less white and delicate 
 Stare from its edge with fix'd unseeing eyes 
 Upon the blue above them? Then he thought 
 Of how the bear had almost conquer'd him. 
 And saw her bruised and mangled in the fern. 
 But on and on the blind hound, baying, went 
 With Idas close behind her. Nearing now 
 The shadow'd pool, his heart grew heavier; 
 But while he steel'd himself to learn the fate 
 Of all he loved and cherish'd, once again 
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The hound stood still and snifF'd uneasily 
 The air about her. Then she whined and slunk 
 To where her master waited, glooming now, 
 His eyes so useless. Then again she sniff'd 
 The air itself, unmindful of the grass. 
 And seem'd at fault ; but ever from the pool 
 Would turn her head. And Idas petted her ; 
 But though she knew his meaning, on the grass 
 She lay and whined with fine, uplifted head. 
 And would not move. Then Idas left her there 
 To seek behind the bushes, finding naught. 
 And so came back, and watch'd her. Now he 
 
 knew 
 That she was borne from that well-trodden path 
 That cleft the forest to the shelter'd pool 
 By some grim enemy, or beast or man; 
 And while his hands were eager to bequeath 
 Red death on aught that held her, in his heart 
 Her face alone was imaged, only hers. 
 But while he wonder'd at the hound's distress. 
 And bade her seek and find again the scent. 
 There came a first, faint puff of perfumed wind 
 From off the mountains, and the hound leap'd 
 
 up 
 Alert and silent; then she sniff^'d again 
 And ever grew more eager. And at last, 
 When sure she seem'd of something, something 
 
 hid 
 
 [40] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 From Idas' understanding, through the woods 
 Her full-mouth'd baying boom'd. Then on 
 
 again, 
 With head erect as if her eyes could see. 
 The faithful brute proceeded; ever on 
 Now whining and now baying. And behind 
 Strode eager Idas, firm-lipp'd, resolute, 
 And hard his hand embraced his trusted spear, 
 
 THE sun was setting ere he came on them. 
 While yet afar Marpessa heard the hound, 
 And cried to Idas, knowing he was near. 
 And he had leap'd to clasp her, calling her 
 In tones that voiced his anguish, asking not 
 Why thus he found her with the god of song; 
 But scorning him and hating. But the god 
 Still kept them parted, and had taunted him 
 With mocking words, the while confronting 
 
 him. 
 " Fly hence while yet thou mayst," he cried 
 
 to him. 
 " Thy wife is mine. Death holds his shroud 
 
 o'er thee ; 
 But she has turn'd her glances to the heights 
 Where I abide in splendor. Mine she is ; 
 And me she loves for my immortal song 
 And all that makes me god-like." Hearing him, 
 It seem'd to Idas that the gods had rock'd 
 [ 41 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The petty world, and that along with it 
 
 He totter'd to destruction. In his ears, 
 
 As booming seas may thunder in a cave, 
 
 A roaring menace sounded, and he clutch'd 
 
 The air about him wildly, giddily. 
 
 And could not speak ; could only clutch the air. 
 
 And stare at her whose name he could not say 
 
 Despite his heart's deep longing. But the voice 
 
 Of pale Marpessa cried across the dusk: 
 
 " I love thee, Idas ! In its constancy 
 
 My heart so steep'd is that it laughs at death. 
 
 The wolf will better rear our little ones 
 
 Than this bright Splendor who has threatened 
 
 us; 
 And, rather than be his, and dwell in light, 
 I'd feel once more thy lips upon mine eyes. 
 Hear once thy voice assure me of thy love, 
 And, with thine arm about me, seek the mists." 
 And though he could not answer her as yet. 
 He look'd his yearning, stunn'd and impotent 
 To cry his grief, but longing to unite 
 His iron hands around the marble throat 
 Of him who ever eyed him with disdain. 
 And still Apollo mock'd him : " She shall sit 
 With me in glory, and shall lean to me 
 When thou art long forgotten. At her feet 
 I heap my gifts of immortality 
 And love eternal. Go, while I am kind ; 
 [42] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Thy wife my love is. If I stare at thee 
 Thy days are ended." And again she cried, 
 As one who sees her loved one perishing: 
 " I love thee, Idas, who art all to me ; " 
 And fain had touch'd him with her trembling 
 
 hand. 
 But could not. And while yet she gazed at 
 
 him 
 With love and anguish in the eyes so dear. 
 He found his speech and thunder'd : " God thou 
 
 art. 
 But foul seducer also. In the woods 
 Are they that hate thee — Isse, Chione, 
 And Zephyrus, whom Hyacinthus scorn'd. 
 Despite thy splendor, and thy gift of song. 
 Loathsome thou art to things of purity, 
 Defiler and vain boaster. In the skies 
 Thy station is, to serve the Thunderer, 
 Lest, anger'd, he chastise thee. Sweet thy 
 
 hymns 
 In ears that still are strangers to the songs 
 Of earth's dear birds. The while thou gleamest 
 
 there 
 Thou art a menace, and the foe of all 
 That makes our short-year'd life seem bearable. 
 I hate thee, and would rid the woods of thee. 
 Now aid thou me, great Zeus, a simple man, 
 Yet righteous in my anger and my love. 
 
 [ ^ ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Guide thou my spear, and tip its point with 
 
 death 
 That I may slay this robber, win mine own. 
 And bless thee for thy succor." Swiftly then 
 He hurl'd the dart, but slipp'd and saw it pierce 
 An oak behind Apollo. And the god, 
 Now bright with anger, tore the quiv'ring shaft 
 From out the tree and posed to hurtle it 
 Against defenceless Idas. Even now 
 The mists were heavy in Marpessa's eyes. 
 And she was praying for the man she loved. 
 When lo ! the shades were scatter'd. In their 
 
 midst 
 Stood one of grave, majestic countenance. 
 As golden as Apollo, but serene 
 And conscious of his power. Then to the earth 
 The spear was lower'd, and Marpessa's hand 
 Was raised in supplication. But the eyes 
 Of him that stood there were the eyes of one 
 Who awed all men to silence, and her words 
 Remain'd unutter'd in her anguish'd breast. 
 Then, turning first to where Apollo gleam'd. 
 He eyed him gravely. " Is dissension sweet,'^ 
 He ask'd, and pointed to the lower'd spear, 
 " That thus ye fight when from the western 
 
 skies 
 My glory is departing? From the soil 
 Sweet incense rises, and the trees are still'd 
 [ 44 ] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 In solemn adoration. Even now 
 The stars prepare to smile upon the world, 
 And all is hush'd. The spear is in thy hand ; 
 Thy brow is anger'd. I await thy words." 
 And then Apollo storm'd. " The maid is mine, 
 I love her. She would share " But Idas 
 
 now 
 Strode hotly forward. " O great Zeus," he 
 
 cried, 
 " The bright god lies ! This woman is my wife, 
 My loved Marpessa. We are wed, are one. 
 Thy praise we sing together, and our babes 
 Await her in their cradle. She is mine." 
 And then the wroth Apollo f rown'd at him : 
 " If I but speak thou f allest at my feet, 
 And hell shall open to receive thy ghost. 
 Who, then, art thou to look me in the eyes 
 And say : ' Thou liest ' ? I can harass thee 
 And make thy days a torment. Thou shalt 
 
 learn 
 My awful vengeance ; thou shalt cry to me 
 As Jason cried when hurried to his death." 
 But Idas answer'd : " Nay, I fear thee not. 
 A man I am, and I can die but once. 
 Death has for me no terrors. Could I hold 
 Thy gleaming hair, I'd stand erect in hell 
 And deem my life well ended but to shout: 
 ' Behold Apollo, who would harm my wife ! ' " 
 [ 45 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And then again Apollo raised his spear, 
 But Zeus commanded and again it dropp'd. 
 And then he turn'd to where Marpessa stood, 
 All pale and trembling. " It shall rest with 
 
 thee 
 To choose thy lover," said the grave-eyed god. 
 " But ponder well before thou utterest 
 Thy heart's desire. Beneath these gentle trees 
 A hero claims thee, and a gleaming god. 
 To each thou art a treasure, but to one 
 Thyself thou givest. It shall rest with thee 
 To choose thy destiny — to dwell on high 
 Or on the earth that is a part of thee. 
 Who loves Apollo must be sometimes sad. 
 The song that trembles on his crimson lips 
 Is heard by many and of many loved. 
 The woods are his, the mountains. Where he 
 
 goes 
 All hearts adore him, but he passes on 
 To other conquests and to other loves. 
 Apollo says he loves thee. If with him 
 Thou goest hence, thou shalt immortal be; 
 Shalt watch the birth of worlds, the vanishing 
 Of all that now is bright and wonderful. 
 Beside me thou shalt sit when life is done. 
 The stars shall be thy children, and the winds 
 Shall sing thy praises ere the dusk descends. 
 And if thy choice be Idas, thou shalt know 
 
 [46] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 The even bliss of mortals and their griefs. 
 
 The dawn shall wake thee, and the night shall 
 
 bring 
 Thy head unto its pillow where lies his 
 Who shares with thee thy sorrow and thy 
 
 joy. 
 
 Thy babes will love thee, but shall sometime go 
 Beyond the silent longing of thine eyes, 
 Beyond thy hand's caresses. Even he. 
 Whose hair turns whiter while thou kissest it, 
 Must go at last; and thou must follow him, 
 And bid farewell to light and all that made 
 Thy little day seem perfect. Being gone 
 Thou soon shalt be forgotten. Few are they 
 Whose names are number'd with the names of 
 
 stars ; 
 Thy little pleasure must be had to-day. 
 For man is dust. His dreams are of the sky; 
 But all the toys that bring him happiness 
 Lie strewn between his cradle and his grave." 
 And while he spoke, Marpessa forward lean'd 
 As if to choose; but with commanding eyes 
 The grave god held her while he spoke again. 
 " Apollo's hand would raise thee to the heights ; 
 But Sorrow's face in airy solitudes 
 Is not unknown, for she is everywhere 
 Where hearts may beat. She, too, will follow 
 
 thee 
 
 [47] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 If thou with Idas goest. At her knees 
 
 Ye both must kneel when that dark moment 
 
 comes 
 That comes alike to those whom Love makes 
 
 one 
 And those whom Love ne'er blesses. Choose 
 
 thou now." 
 And while Apollo eyed her haughtily, 
 Too sure of conquest, Idas lean'd to her 
 With outstretch'd arms, still hungry for her 
 
 love 
 And fearful she might leave him. But his 
 
 doubt 
 Was vain and idle, as a man's doubt is — 
 Who learns what love is only when 't is lost; 
 For, laughing now, Marpessa ran to him. 
 Heedless of bright Apollo or of Zeus, 
 And with her arms close-twined about his neck 
 Cried: "Idas! O my Idas!" Thus they 
 
 gazed 
 In eyes where tears were welling; thus they 
 
 stood 
 To all oblivious save their happy selves, 
 And said no word, but gazed, and gazed 
 
 again. 
 And when at last they tum'd, it was to find 
 The gods had vanish'd and themselves alone. 
 Alone they stood amid the leafy peace, 
 [48] 
 
IDAS AND MARPESSA 
 
 Beneath the skies where now gleam'd won- 
 
 drously 
 The blessed star of Even ; in their hearts 
 The love that cares not what the future holds, 
 Nor ever dreams of death ; and at their feet 
 The blind old hound, awaiting their caress. 
 
 [49] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 N Ida's slopes, that faced the gleaming 
 
 sea, 
 
 The forest nymphs were gather'd. On 
 
 the grass 
 They lay and gossip'd, while above their heads 
 The trees sway'd gently in the constant wind 
 That troubled Ilium's hot and endless plain. 
 Their task it was, and well it suited them 
 Whose fair white limbs were tireless as the 
 
 deer's, 
 To follow white Diana. When the sound 
 Of winding horns awoke the solitudes 
 Of mountain crests or valleys, like a flash 
 They pass'd with her, their Mistress; in the 
 
 dusk 
 They hid with her in places where no man 
 Might dare to follow, places consecrate 
 
 [53] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 To loveliness and rapture. There they sang 
 
 Such songs as oft the solitary hears 
 
 On nights of blue and silver, songs that seem 
 
 Like whisp'ring waters or the sighs of leaves 
 
 Lamenting joyous day's impermanence. 
 
 But now alone they gossip'd. Where She 
 
 stray'd " 
 
 They knew not, nor might question; but, 
 
 perhaps, 
 If over-long the mystery puzzled them. 
 Pictured a dim retreat amid the fern, 
 A shepherd woo'd from duty, and Herself 
 Beside him list'ning to his youthful dreams. 
 Where lay the nymphs the grass was still as 
 
 cool 
 As when the sky first trembled, and the Night 
 In silent flight look'd backward fearfully, 
 Well knowing who was coming. For although 
 The sun was toiling upward steadily. 
 And all was hot around them, curtain-like 
 The trees were arch'd above these whisp'ring 
 
 nymphs, 
 Embow'ring them in shadow. At their feet 
 A little stream fuss'd noisily to sea. 
 Here splashing over bowlders, there at peace. 
 And everywhere most joyous. Now and then 
 A maid approach'd it, and with laughing eyes 
 Beheld her own sweet beauty mirror'd there; 
 [64] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Or cool'd her cheeks and dried them with her 
 
 hair, 
 Wherein the wind had left such fragrances 
 As flowers exhale in rivalry with trees; 
 Or quench'd her thirst and, turning, took her 
 
 place 
 Beside the one whose confidence she shared. 
 
 NOW, one there was in that chaste sisterhood 
 Whose face so fair was that the nymphs 
 themselves 
 Would gaze at her in wonder ; and the moths 
 Whose wings disturb'd the breathlessness of 
 
 night. 
 Would pause above her, thinking they had 
 
 found 
 A strange, new flower so constant to the dark 
 That only they might see it. She was one 
 Whose birth the sea had witness'd; with its 
 
 blue 
 Her eyes were dower'd; its constant restless- 
 ness 
 Possess'd her heart and made her sometimes sad 
 And sometimes joyous. But the face of her 
 Was perfect ever, and as luminous 
 As is the moon's on holy nights of June. 
 And this same maid, Rhodanthe, on a day 
 When, clapping hands beneath a smiling sun, 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The glinting waves raced shoreward, to the 
 
 sands 
 Had wander'd idly. Was it Fate that drew 
 Her white feet thither from the forest's shade, 
 From peace and green seclusion? For, the 
 
 while 
 Her eyes dream'd seaward, and herself seem'd 
 
 lost 
 In heaving splendor, foam-tipp'd and as blue 
 As was the sky above her, on the waves 
 Up-borne by weeds she saw a white-brow'd 
 
 youth 
 Whose eyes were closed apparently in death. 
 Half couch'd upon the mass of green-gold weeds 
 From monstrous gardens, where the awful swirl 
 Of dim, deep waters sways them to and fro, 
 And rends and heaves them upward, he was 
 
 borne 
 Above the hungry clamor of the waves 
 That threaten'd to engulf him. And the nymph 
 With upraised hands calPd loudly to the gods 
 To save so fair a thing, if in him burn'd 
 The fickle flame that warms us when alive. 
 And leaps away so suddenly at death. 
 Then, plunging in, she swam with him to shore 
 And laid the body on the warmer sand 
 And rubb'd it till the eyes ope'd wearily; 
 And closed again before the black of them 
 [56] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Inform'd him of the mercy of the gods — 
 
 Of all the love that brooded over him. 
 
 For never yet had pale Rhodanthe seen 
 
 So fair a thing in manhood. From afar 
 
 The nymph had eyed the shepherds on the hills 
 
 And thought them pleasing as they piped, or 
 
 sang 
 When dusk aroused their longings. Tall they 
 
 were 
 And strong of limb ; but he, above whose form 
 Her gaze now soften'd was a youth as fair 
 As the blown foam about her, and his hair 
 Was blacker than the panoply of Night. 
 And while she touch'd those ivory cheeks of his 
 A blush suffused them, as the tides of life 
 Flow'd slowly^ back and warm'd them. Then he 
 
 sigh'd. 
 And while he sigh'd, with fringed eyes still 
 
 closed 
 Against Rhodanthe's beauty, to his mouth 
 Her lips descended, drawn there by the pain 
 Those lips had music'd. But he knew it not, 
 Being as one who was not, one to whom 
 Life is as nothing, and desire of life ; 
 As one who dreaming not is fortunate. 
 And long she waited, tending him the while 
 With hands so eager and solicitous 
 He must have thrilPd beneath them, eyeing him 
 [ 57] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 With ardent looks, yet modest; half -afraid 
 That when he woke, the sea, his enemy, 
 Would lure him thence and leave her desolate. 
 For oft, while list'ning to the whisper'd tales 
 Of nymphs at sundown while she bound her 
 
 hair. 
 The maid had wonder'd why Diana frown'd 
 To hear them talk of shepherds, and of loves 
 In silent, leafy places. Like as not, 
 If still they whisper'd of forbidden things, 
 The Goddess bade them rise and follow her 
 From glade to glade, until the hopeless moon 
 Peep'd through its fleecy veil and bade them 
 
 sleep. 
 And sometimes when she near'd the haunts of 
 
 men. 
 While shelter'd by the olives, she had seen 
 A youth beside a maiden, looking not 
 At stars or flowers ; but ever, hand in hand, 
 Treading the path with eyes that gazed in eyes 
 To all oblivious save the loved one near. 
 And telling this to them that question'd her 
 When gleam'd the stars, they told her it was 
 
 love 
 That drew the twain together; and they sigh'd. 
 And thought, perhaps, of babes that should 
 
 have lain 
 In arms where naught might nestle, and of lips 
 
 [58] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Whose warmth might bring forgetfulness of 
 
 death. 
 And while she listen'd to the idle talk 
 Of nymphs as discontented as herself, 
 Her gaze roved elsewhere; for her years were 
 
 few, 
 And love to her was still a mystery. 
 Along with pale Diana's loveliness 
 And Pan's inconstant piping. Blest indeed 
 Had she but known it. Death is pitiless ; 
 But who shall say that Love is merciful 
 While hearts still suffer, and a lover's grief 
 Might draw compassion from the very stones ! 
 
 THE day still golden was when he awoke 
 And look'd at her in wonder. From his 
 
 side 
 She shrank dismay'd, and drew her wind-blown 
 
 hair 
 About her bosom, while her eyes were fix'd 
 Upon the sands beside him. But he lean'd 
 And touch'd her hand, " Oh! who art thou.'' " 
 
 he cried, 
 In tones so soft it seem'd to her that his 
 No voice of mortal was, but of a god 
 Who soon would leave her. " All I owe to 
 
 thee — 
 The air, this blessed sunshine, and the sight 
 [69] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Of thy chaste loveliness. Oh! who art thou? 
 Perhaps I dream? Perhaps thou art a thing 
 As frail and unsubstantial as the mist 
 That mocks me on the waters in the dawn? 
 Perhaps — Yet no. Oh! say not I am dead. 
 Thy flesh is warm; thy cheeks are delicate 
 As is the wild-rose, and thy gaze is kind. 
 I know this sea ; this wind has been my friend 
 Since erst the gentle Hours were 'ware of me — • 
 Oh! tell me that I live, and who thou art." 
 Then, looking up, she answer'd : " From the sea 
 I drew thee here, O thou, most beautiful. 
 The gods had envied thee thy loveliness 
 And wish'd thy youth to grace the underworld, 
 Where heavy Age and grey Unhappiness 
 Bemoan the vanish'd day. I drew thee here 
 And won thee back to living. In the woods 
 I am the nymph Rhodanthe. Night and day 
 I tend Diana. I — But say thy name " ; 
 (And now she whisper 'd in her eagerness) 
 " Oh ! let me hear the music of thy name 
 That I may know how loveliness is call'd. 
 And sing it softly when the stars are out. 
 And cedarn fragrances delight the woods 
 But make me conscious of my loneliness." 
 But he, who eyed her still as though she were 
 A frail white flower, new-risen from the sands, 
 Could only murmur as he gazed at her: 
 
 [60] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 " Rhodanthe ! " And if thou who readest this 
 Hast sadly mused o'er one name's melody 
 In desolation's slowly-creeping hour, 
 Thy heart shall tell thee all the thoughts of him 
 Who eyed that little maid so long ago. 
 " Rhodanthe ! " Oh 1 the tenderness of it. 
 So long ago it was. Yet see her there, 
 Awaken'd love's first wonder in her eyes 
 And love's first sorrow shadowing her mouth — 
 So small a thing when measured by its joy. 
 So drawn, so very drawn in wistfulness. 
 She fears him not, but closer leans to him 
 With hands half -hidden in the golden sand, 
 Unconscious in her flower-like innocence. 
 And while he whispers yet again her name, 
 The fickle sea that erst had menaced him 
 Now rolls in foamy worship at her feet 
 And charms her with its music. And at last, 
 When he had said that pretty name of hers 
 In all love's varied accents, and her sighs . 
 Recall'd him from his dreaming, of himself 
 He told the story. " Chromis call thou me. 
 The son of Polyclea. On the shore 
 Not far from Troy my hut is, and each morn 
 Beneath the ghostly draperies of the mist 
 I drag my nets upon the restless sea 
 For daily food. When I was but a babe 
 The waters lured my father to his death, 
 
 [61 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 A brother, too ; and I had f ollow'd them, 
 
 This very day had sigh'd where now they sigh, 
 
 But thou, Rhodanthe of the lower'd eyes 
 
 And wind-enamor'd tresses, savedst me 
 
 To wonder at thy beauty. Chromis holds 
 
 No note of magic; if thou sayest it 
 
 The stars shall note me and the gods look 
 
 down 
 To see who bears a name so musical." 
 And speaking thus he touch'd her hand again, 
 Yet ah ! so tenderly. And she look'd up 
 But eyed the sea, half -fearful of his gaze, 
 Though dreaming of him ever. Then again 
 He cried : " Rhodanthe ! " And the winds 
 
 withdrew 
 That Love's swift arrows might the straighter 
 
 fly. 
 
 For so the gods had will'd it. Then she turn'd, 
 And look'd at him who on his bended knees 
 Beheld no more the glory of the sea; 
 Who paid no heed to the descending sun 
 Or aught that was around him, seeing her 
 Who gleam'd beside him. And at last she 
 
 spoke. 
 And sad the voice was of the little maid : 
 " I hear thee speak, and yet I hear thee not. 
 Thy voice is softer than the call at night 
 Of dove to dove; and, hearing, I forget 
 [62] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Each treasur'd word. Oh ! say my name again, 
 For never yet has nymph so utter'd it; 
 And though Diana loves me, and has bound 
 These wanton tresses with her own cool hands, 
 Her voice is stern. Ah ! say my name again, 
 And I'll say thine. O Chromis, say my name ! " 
 And now, by that strange law that ever draws 
 Inconsequential stars to greater suns. 
 And drift upon the bosom of the deep 
 To other drift of greater magnitude. 
 So these two children of the woods and sea 
 Were drawn together. But as yet they sigh'd 
 And only look'd their longing. With her hand 
 She touch'd the locks that gloom'd above his 
 
 brow. 
 And whisper'd : " Chromis ! " ; and his own lay 
 
 soft 
 Upon her frail cheek's whiteness as he cried: 
 "Rhodanthe! O Rhodanthe ! "- Then she sigh'd 
 And lean'd away. " The wind in leafless trees 
 No sadder than thy voice is," she replied. 
 " The world is now most beautiful to me 
 Because the utter'd music of thy name 
 Has made me think of Spring; is mine so sad 
 That thus thou sayest it.? And yet, again. 
 Oh ! say ' Rhodanthe.' Thou hast charmed me 
 And taught me of a strange and honey'd pain 
 Whereof I suffer when thou silent art." 
 [63] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 But now he rose, and leaning over her, 
 Press'd her head backward till he saw her eyes. 
 Now wet with tears. " O tender nymph," he 
 
 cried, 
 " O white Rhodanthe ! If my voice is sad 
 Thine eyes are sadder. When thou worshipest 
 The laughing Spring, with white and leaping 
 
 lambs 
 And shy-eyed flowers and fresh-apparell'd trees. 
 Are thus thy blue eyes tear'd.f^ And is thy 
 
 mouth. 
 As now it is, a bow of wistfulness .'' " 
 But saying naught, she only closed her eyes 
 Against the yearning question of his face, 
 And dream'd in darkness. But he sensed her 
 
 dream 
 And kneel'd again beside her. And the while. 
 Loosed from its fringed nest, each exiled tear 
 Dropp'd to its doom, his arms had circled 
 
 her 
 And, cheek by cheek, they thought no more of 
 
 time. 
 " Rhodanthe ! " he had whisper'd. " Let thine 
 
 eyes 
 Behold my worship. Ah ! far bluer they 
 Than nodding corn-flowers or the hyacinths 
 That smell the sweetest when the stars are out. 
 Rhodanthe ! Thou my love art." As he spoke 
 
 [64] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 His voice became a whisper. Overhead 
 The sky was now as soft as were the hearts 
 That beat beneath it, for Day's chronicler 
 Had seen the crowning of Love's purposes 
 And now was hasting westward; and the sea 
 Had ceased its azure revelry, and lay 
 Expectant of Night's unimpassion'd kiss. 
 And then, as Chromis laid upon her hair 
 His trembling hand, half-fearful of its weight, 
 And sigh'd his longing, to his lips she placed 
 Her low, cool brow, and said, as one in prayer: 
 " I love thee too, O Chromis. Cherish me ! " 
 
 A ND fain had Chromis borne his love away 
 -ilLWhen dawn peep'd in upon their resting 
 
 place 
 Of shelt'ring fern. Throughout one fragrant 
 
 night. 
 They dream'd, as lovers may, of other things 
 Than we may dream of, who with hopeless eyes 
 Await To-morrow's verdicts, and the gifts 
 Too long delay'd to prove desirable. 
 For they were young; and then, they were in 
 
 love. 
 And though the sky was scintillant with stars, 
 Each eager to behold them; and the moon, 
 Late hasting on her ever-hopeless quest. 
 Held for their sakes her beauty from the world, 
 [ 66 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And seem'd no larger than a silvern leaf 
 L^pon the walks of heaven, of love alone 
 They thought that first, fleet night that made 
 
 them one. 
 But when the birds aroused them, and the light 
 Reminded of Diana, to his lips 
 Rhodanthe lean'd. " Beloved, it is day," 
 She whisper'd sadly, " and the woods awake ; 
 And I must hence before She seeks for me 
 Among my sisters. See! I kiss thy hair, 
 And place my hand upon thy crimson lips 
 That droop in sorrow. Should I perish now 
 I would not murmur; for my memories 
 Are mine forever, and the mists of hell 
 Would seem all-golden while I dream'd of thee. 
 Day bids me leave thee. But the night shall 
 
 find 
 Us twain together. Oh ! I'll come to thee 
 Though Styx's waters part us ; if the earth 
 Were strewn about with crystal-pointed stars 
 I'd pick my way across them just to see 
 Thy dear eyes' welcome and thy loveliness." 
 Then swiftly upward springing she was gone, 
 And Chromis, ere he knew it, was alone. 
 
 [66] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 UT Cos, the shepherd, brown and sap- 
 I ling-straight, 
 'Had loved Rhodanthe since he startled 
 
 her 
 One morning on the uplands. Where the winds 
 Danced wildest on the grasses, and the flowers 
 Nodded their heads to airs so fanciful 
 No pipe might play them, with her teasing hair 
 The nymph was busied. So she saw him not, 
 Who stood and wonder'd if so fair a thing 
 Were earth or sea-born, or if he but dream'd 
 Such dreams as sometimes haunt one in the day. 
 And when at last, that mad hair being held 
 In sweet subjection, from the wind she tum'd 
 To loiter woodsward, on his oaken staff 
 She saw him leaning, and had straightway fled 
 Had he not call'd her. Even then she stood 
 Alert for flight, as stands the fearful fawn 
 When first it hears the menace of the hound; 
 But when he spoke she eased her anxious foot 
 And fear'd him not. " Oh ! loose thy golden 
 
 hair," 
 The youth had cried. " No eyes save mine may 
 
 see 
 The sunbeams toss'd and tangled by the wind. 
 For thou a goddess art, about whose brows 
 Day's glory hovers, and the brows of thee 
 
 C 6T ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Are chaste as is the azure of the sea." 
 And she to tease this child of solitude, 
 This idler in the sunshine, laugh'd at him. 
 And gave the winds, the still desirous winds. 
 Her hair to wreak their will on. And again 
 They rush'd to where she waited, swaying her 
 As they might sway a lily, and on high 
 Swirl'd her bright hair until its golden sheen 
 Seem'd like the mist whence issue new-born suns. 
 Then Cos, the shepherd, dropp'd his oaken staff, 
 But could not voice his longings, and the 
 
 nymph 
 Had danced before him ; and while yet he stood 
 As one afraid of utter loveliness, 
 Had turn'd and vanish'd, laughing, down the 
 
 glade. 
 
 AND once again he saw her, as she bent 
 -t\One golden morning, o'er a daffodil, 
 Expectant of Diana. Through the pines 
 He spied upon her beauty, questioning 
 If aught so fair would ever kneel with him 
 Where violets breathed sweet fragrance on the 
 
 air; 
 Where lilies white and blue forget-me-nots 
 Whisper'd their dreams, while gaudy crocuses 
 Laugh'd at the shy and pale anemone. 
 And wond'ring thus, forgetful of his sheep, 
 [68] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 The shepherd sigh'd, a sigh so pitiful 
 
 It seem'd all grief was homed within his 
 
 heart. 
 And, half-afraid, Rhodanthe turn'd to him, 
 But laugh'd as suddenly. " silly Cos ! " 
 She cried across the sunshine ; " I can see 
 Thy mournful eyes behind the veil of green; 
 I see thy wolf's skin and thy shepherd's crook. 
 O gentle Cos, come forth. I fear thee not." 
 Then Cos came forth, but slowly ; and remain'd 
 Beside the trees that erst had shelter'd him; 
 And could not speak, until she ask'd of him 
 Why thus he sigh'd. " The morn is golden- 
 
 wing'd. 
 And yet thou sighest. Hast thou lost thy sheep 
 That thus thy cheek is hollow'd.? From thy 
 
 brow 
 Care drives what dreams should sit there, and 
 
 thine eyes 
 Like lanterns are that hold no friendly light." 
 And he had laid his shepherd's staff aside 
 And pull'd a reed from out his shaggy pouch, 
 Then eyed her shyly. " In the woods," he said, 
 " I hear sweet music. I will play for thee, 
 Because my mood is sadder than thine own. 
 The memories of autumn-sober' d trees." 
 But while he play'd, Rhodanthe laugh'd at him. 
 " What knowest thou of forest mysteries ? " 
 
 [ 69 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 She cried to him. " Thy sheep may list to 
 
 thee ; 
 But thou, a man, art dull-ear'd. I have heard 
 The bud's first whisper'd hopes; the songs of 
 
 leaves 
 In fullest summer when the air was bright 
 With golden promise. I have heard their sighs 
 When slowly falling to the lap of earth 
 They mourn'd their little hour, so quickly sped. 
 And I have seen the brown-robed multitudes 
 With winter's snows upon them, still'd at last, 
 And dreaming not of sorrows nor of joys. 
 Strange things I know ; but thou a shepherd art 
 With large, deaf ears, and eyes that nothing see 
 Except thy sheep. Thy limbs are brown and 
 
 strong ; 
 Thy hair is wilder than a Maenad's song 
 And golden as Apollo's in the dawn; 
 Then put thy pipe away and tell me why 
 Thy cheek so hollow is, thine eye so sad? " 
 And he, abash'd, and wounded by her mirth. 
 Had play'd no more; but stood with wistful 
 
 eyes 
 Beside the laurels that had shelter'd him; 
 And gazed at her. Thus dies a singer's song 
 When star-ward soaring in his eagerness 
 The singer hears the earth-chain'd mouthe at 
 
 him, 
 
 [70] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Hating his flights and envious of the song 
 That seeks to lead them upward to the free. 
 But soon he spoke. " Thy name Rhodanthe is. 
 Last night, ere yet the silver-horned moon 
 Slipp'd from her low-swung couch to climb the 
 
 skies 
 And count her stars, I wander'd in the woods, 
 Alone and heavy-hearted. On the air 
 I heard a music as of homing bees. 
 Each moment coming nearer; to the sound 
 I strain'd my ear, and lo ! two voices then 
 Were born of that sweet humming. In the fern 
 I threw me down, and scarce each startled frond 
 Resumed its calm when through the stilly dusk 
 Two figures flash'd. And one of them was 
 
 thine. 
 But ere ye vanish'd I, with eager eyes. 
 And beating heart and eagle-winged feet, 
 Was hasting after, fearless of the thorns 
 But fearful lest a stray, embitter'd twig 
 Might cry my presence to thy tiny ears. 
 But on ye sped, oft laughing; and at last, 
 When almost spent, as is the hound-heel'd stag, 
 I thought to run no longer, to a glade 
 Ye sudden came and dropp'd from out my 
 
 sight." 
 But now Rhodanthe, who had heard his tale 
 With eyes of mirth and mischief, cried to him 
 [71] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Across her gather'd daffodils : " O Cos ! 
 
 If Pan had caught thee he had sent lean wolves 
 
 To harm thy sheep ; had bound thee to an oak 
 
 With sappy creepers till Diana came 
 
 And chill'd thy pulses, turning thee to stone 
 
 To punish thy presumption." But the youth 
 
 Was dreaming now. " I only thought of 
 
 thee," 
 He almost whisper'd. " Now, most fearfully, 
 From tree to tree I glided, and at last 
 Through bushes peeping saw such loveliness 
 As stars may sing of, or the winds describe 
 When gods grow weary. Maids so beautiful 
 Were gather'd there, it seem'd the Night had 
 
 lured 
 Her chastest votaries from hidden dells. 
 Where naught beholds them save the things that 
 
 dream 
 In utter stilliness of forest loves." 
 But now he look'd with ardent eyes at her. 
 With eyes wherein Hope's eager light still 
 
 burn'd 
 And longing glisten'd. " On the grass," he 
 
 sigh'd, 
 " Thy sisters lay like lilies ; thou alone 
 Wert kneeling, and the blessed face of thee 
 Seem'd like a wistful star. And while I watch'd 
 With beating heart, one call'd thee by thy name, 
 [72] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 And all the trees around me, e'en the leaves 
 
 That press'd against my body seem'd to cry: 
 
 ' Rhodanthe ! ' And while yet I linger'd there 
 
 I heard afar the owl's portentous hoot 
 
 That tells Diana's coming; ere I fled 
 
 To where the blackest woods might hide from 
 
 me 
 All sights except my pictured dreams of thee, 
 I saw her face. But thine is lovelier ! " 
 And while she laugh'd, and hid her daff^odils 
 Beneath her golden tresses, he advanced 
 Still pleading dumbly with his outstretch'd 
 
 hands 
 For that which seems to youth the anodyne 
 For all this pain of living. But again 
 The nymph, retreating slowly, laugh'd at him. 
 Although less kindly. " Thou hast seen," she 
 
 said, 
 " Such things as are forbidden, silly Cos. 
 Hast thou not heard of uncontrolled men 
 With snowy hair belied by iron limbs, 
 Who nothing know of human fellowship. 
 But live alone till Death shall beckon them? 
 These men have seen Diana. They have long'd 
 For things beyond them as the wind 's beyond 
 Their fingers' idle clutching. Now they shock 
 The night with hollow laughter, or dismay 
 The bloodless snake with eyes that never close; 
 [73] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 They wake the woods with hard and hollow 
 
 song, 
 Or whisper vainly to the tree and star. 
 O silly Cos, thy secret lies with me ; 
 But go thou now, and let thy gentle eyes 
 Find otherwheres their pleasure. When thou 
 
 canst, 
 Forget Rhodanthe. On his moveless back 
 Old Atlas bears the burden of the world ; 
 But naught so heavy is as hopeless love — 
 And thou art but a shepherd." Then she fled. 
 
 BUT Cos stay'd on beneath the self-same 
 pines 
 That erst had heard her laughter. On the 
 
 sward 
 He crouch'd and brooded, dreaming still of 
 
 her — 
 As Night may dream of her evanish'd Day, 
 As hopeless men still dream of what is lost. 
 It almost seem'd she stood there, slimly white 
 Amid the leafy hush, and lily-straight; 
 Upon her breast the envied daffodils, 
 Shelter'd from truant breezes by her hair; 
 A maid in whom a god might find delight; 
 Whose presence lent a beauty to a world 
 Already lovely but already sad. 
 But e'en as dropp'd the unconcerned sun 
 
 [74] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Behind the purple mountains, and the skies 
 
 Turn'd ever blacker, so the loveliness 
 
 Of life became illusion unto Cos 
 
 And all his thoughts the thoughts of blighted 
 
 trees. 
 And still he crouch'd there like a thing of stone 
 Until all love had died within his heart 
 And his the torment was of one in hell. 
 And brooding thus there grew in him a hate 
 Of all fair things, of life, of love itself. 
 And even of Rhodanthe. In the dark 
 He crouch'd and gloom'd the while the Hours 
 
 pass'd 
 Above his awful silence; and at last 
 When Dawn was come, sprang quickly to his 
 
 feet, 
 Storm'd at the grey with horror-clutching 
 
 hands 
 And call'd the curses of the gods on her. 
 Then through the woods he stumbled, noting 
 
 not 
 The pensive ferns or that embroidery 
 With which the soil is cover'd, color'd leaves 
 -And modest creepers, and the woodsy blooms 
 With eyes still closed against morn's joyous- 
 
 ness. 
 For now it seem'd a more Titanic load 
 Than ever Atlas shoulder'd for his pride 
 [ 76 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Now bore him down. If wedged with meteors, 
 Cool'd constellations and all cosmic dust, 
 The heavy world in star-high balances 
 Be weigh'd against one woe-cramm'd human 
 
 heart, 
 That heart will swing those others to the skies 
 And crack the scales in falling. Through the 
 
 woods 
 He blindly stumbled, sometimes cursing her 
 Whose laughter he remember'd, whose rebuke 
 Seem'd hot as flame around him ; even now. 
 Though she was gone, and all alone he was 
 Save for the silent, mirthless ministrants 
 That sniff the steps of Madness and Despair. 
 
 AND though from dawn till dusk Rho- 
 -Tlidanthe flash'd 
 
 With white Diana through the greenery, 
 Stopping at times when lured by Pan's sweet 
 
 pipes 
 Or when the Huntress bade her maidens rest. 
 Night found her with her lover. In the woods 
 Are silent places where a whisper'd tale 
 Sounds sweeter far than music ; glades and dells 
 Wherein a constant bird may mourn its mate 
 With song that wakes our saddest memories 
 And hints its kinship with us. These they 
 
 knew, 
 
 [76] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 And hid there, heedless of the peeping stars, 
 Or roving winds; for stars and roving winds 
 Are lovers' friends, and mourn eternally 
 The hopes that are as fated as the leaves. 
 But what knows Youth of Fate ? The very bird 
 Whose heart is broken is a feather'd joy 
 To him whose heart is whole with happiness ; 
 An envied thing, at liberty to soar 
 In wide, blue fields of freedom. And the winds, 
 Whose mournful voices to our duller ears 
 Remind of what is over, unto her 
 Whose eyes dream upward sing of things to be. 
 And though the woods were ever beautiful 
 To Chromis and Rhodanthe, in themselves 
 Abode the charm that ever lured their eyes 
 To one another. As he lean'd to her, 
 Such words he murmur'd as can change the 
 
 night 
 To the blest dusk of lovers. " On thy cheeks 
 I see thy mournful lashes," he had said. 
 " So fair thy face, they lie there in dark peace, 
 Bearing thy white lids downward. Look at me, 
 
 sweet Rhodanthe, for they rest too long — 
 
 1 envy e'en thy lashes ! " But her hands 
 
 Now clasp'd his face, and she no more look'd 
 
 down. 
 " Though closed mine eyes," she whisper'd, 
 
 " thee I see, 
 
 [ 77 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Beloved Chromis. Thou art everywhere 
 Because thy face is pictured in my heart 
 Since first I saw thee. When Diana calls 
 In the cool hush of morning, by my side 
 Thou treadest lightly ; though I follow fast 
 Her horn's defiance to the hidden boar, 
 Thou runnest with me. Once I look'd behind, 
 Expectant of thy presence. Fickle one, 
 I see thee ever, though mine eyes be closed." 
 And he was happy. " In the dawn," he said, 
 " I sing new songs. The sea reminds of thee. 
 Thine eyes have languish'd in the happy waves, 
 Bequeathing them their color. White the foam 
 As is thy moon-bright body, and at times 
 My lilting boat is mesh'd in wondrous weeds 
 That gleam as does thy sun-enamor'd hair. 
 Should aught befall to sunder thee from me, 
 I could not live, Rhodanthe. From the skies 
 The stars might lean at Even breathlessly. 
 And lilies upward gaze expectantly; 
 But never more would song of mine disturb 
 The drowsy calm between the flower and star 
 If I no more possess'd thee. Speak to me ! " 
 " Thou wouldst but sing the better," she re- 
 plied. 
 " Thy song would tell the world thy constancy, 
 And many men would love thee. In thy heart 
 Thy love would turn to sympathy and song; 
 [78] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 And though a sorrow linger'd in thine eyes 
 Thy love would keep thee straight as is the fir, 
 And ever fragrant. Ah! When I am gone — " 
 But while she spoke he kiss'd her, silencing 
 Her drooping lips before the night was told 
 The woe she presaged. " Thou art all to me," 
 He breathed upon their crimson. " From the 
 
 woods 
 I soon shall take thee. Thou shalt come with 
 
 me 
 To where my seaward-looking hut awaits 
 Its perfect mistress. There no drunken Pan, 
 No stern Diana with the chilling eyes. 
 Can ever find thee. Thou shalt sing to me 
 And whisper of the one that is to be 
 While, mending nets, I kneel as now I kneel 
 Beside thee, sweet Rhodanthe." And again 
 He kiss'd and kiss'd her, till her cheeks, erst 
 
 pale. 
 Were warm as summer's roses; but her eyes, 
 That gazed beyond him, seeing but the dark. 
 Unknown to him were sadder than before. 
 And when she spoke it was as one who is 
 Too wise to be quite happy. " Thou and I " — 
 And oh! how now her eyes were fix'd on him — 
 " Are but the playthings of the older gods. 
 With them it rests to say what things shall be 
 Beyond the moment. Kiss me, my Belov'd, 
 [79] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And in thine arms' sure haven gather me. 
 I love thee well ; but thou and I must bow 
 To them that sit in judgment. Even now 
 Perhaps they mock us, and bid Death prepare 
 The bitter cup that cures all mortal ills, 
 But ends what joys we gather as we pass." 
 Then close she nestled to the lad she loved. 
 And he close held her, sighing in her ear 
 Such words as lovers utter while the world 
 Rolls on its course unheeding; while the Hours 
 AU-swiftly pass, and while the air is fill'd 
 With shimm'ring music, as of wings unseen, 
 Or faintest waves on far, uncharted shores. 
 
 O HALF-HEARD silences of holy Night, 
 Suggestive and appealing! Idle lie 
 Day's golden shawms that blare in wearied ears 
 Insistent pseans for the conquerors 
 Of stern and hard-eyed Fate ; and silent are 
 The herald trumpets of the scornful sun. 
 From airy heights ye tremble over us, 
 From heights wherein the unpretentious moon 
 Whispers pale prayer above all things that are. 
 Above all things that slumber while they pass 
 The common way and wait the common doom. 
 Your toneless music soothes the anguish'd 
 
 heart 
 Of hopeless love; like benediction's calm 
 
 [ 80 ] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 It falls upon earth's lovers, as they search 
 The starry fields of promise over them ; 
 It stills the voice of protest, and of grief. 
 O half -heard silences of holy Night, 
 Suggestive and appealing! From the skies 
 Drift, drift to us forever. Fill our hearts 
 With that sweet peace whereof the ancient trees 
 Have fullest understanding; in our ears 
 Whisper the soft and blessed harmonies 
 The fearless flowers rejoice in. Then when 
 
 flares 
 The crimson fire along the waken'd East, 
 And paling stars with backward glances go 
 Beyond our eyes' vain searching, we shall be 
 As men whose souls made strong by olden song 
 May bear To-day ; as men who having heard 
 Imperious music, feel that they are gods. 
 And go their way rejoicing, scorning death. 
 
 AND when their chosen bower seem'd all 
 -^J^a-shine 
 With filter'd moonlight, and the slumb'ring 
 
 blooms 
 Exhaled their faint, illusive fragrances, 
 On fem-hid elbows Chromis raised himself 
 And eyed the nymph, now utterly asleep. 
 And watching her he thought of how men said 
 Love's Goddess was of all things beautiful 
 [81] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The one most lovely ; but beholding now 
 The maid beside him, still and marbly-white, 
 Shook his dark locks above her and was glad. 
 Upon her arm her perfect head reclined, 
 Her golden tresses coil'd above a face 
 So fair, so fond, and yet so innocent 
 That he grew fearful lest he only dream'd, 
 So bent and kiss'd her. And while yet his lips 
 Lay warm on hers, like rose on willing rose. 
 She ope'd her eyes and drew him down to her 
 While murmurs proved love's sweet reality. 
 " I dream'd of thee," she whisper'd. " Thou 
 
 and I 
 On such an island that from milky cliffs 
 Rises all green and golden, palm'd and still 
 As the warm sea around it, lived and loved 
 Unheeded by and heedless of grey Time. 
 No chilling eyes, our kisses envying, 
 There chill'd our ardor; there no eager ears 
 Lean'd to our broken whispers; and the while 
 On morns of gold or eves of violet 
 We told our dreams, the air no echoes bore 
 Of iron laughter or of hopeless mirth. 
 And much we learn'd of lambs, and gentle ewes 
 And the dear stars above us ; and at last. 
 Grown old together, we prepared to sleep. 
 As trees prepare when hoary Winter blows 
 Ionian dirges on his sombre pipes." 
 [82] 
 
KHODANTHE 
 
 " I, too, have dream'd," the youth said tenderly. 
 " My dreams were such as men, despite day's 
 
 glare, 
 May dream with open eyes. On no such isle 
 As thy sweet fancy painted did we dwell, 
 But yonder where the sea beats noisily 
 By night and day. The woods have frighten'd 
 
 thee, 
 O sweet Rhodanthe, with their stilliness 
 That hints of death; the pale anemones 
 Are fearful of Diana, and the winds 
 Moan in the pines because she never loves. 
 But yonder — thou canst see them through the 
 
 trees — 
 My golden sands await thee. Never there 
 Comes stern Diana; but if thou wouldst hear, 
 Grown weary of the thunder of the sea. 
 Pan's lesser music, I will bring thee here. 
 And, hidden, thou shalt hear it. Thus I 
 
 dream'd 
 The while I watch'd thee." «' Thou art beau- 
 tiful," 
 The nymph replied, and drew him close to her. 
 " All else forget except that thou and I 
 Are now together. If the trees could tell 
 How oft I cry thy name, thy heart would grieve 
 For poor Rhodanthe, who, though loving thee, 
 Must sorrow ever." And the youth was still 
 [83] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 As was the night about them, knowing not 
 Why thus she grieved, or why, though loving 
 
 him. 
 The woods still kept his loved one from his arms. 
 " Thine eyes are wet, Beloved ! " Chromis 
 
 sigh'd ; 
 " Upon thy cheek I see the fallen tear 
 That tells a sorrow thou wouldst hide from me. 
 Thy voice is sadder than the hopeless note 
 Of the lone bird above us. For its mate 
 It mourns and mourns ; but I am close to thee 
 To whisper of To-morrow, of the years 
 That wait us with bright gifts and happiness." 
 Then closer still Rhodanthe clung to him. 
 " To-morrow is this moment's enemy. 
 Sweet Chromis," she had answer'd. " Ere the 
 
 moon 
 Enters her eastern wicket, thou and I 
 May hear no more the bird's sad melody, 
 Or with slow kisses kindle into flame 
 Our willing passion. When the dawn is come, 
 Amid what greyness may our whispers sound, 
 While the bright gods, who send us to our doom. 
 Forget that we existed." But the youth 
 Now kiss'd her eyes. " I only think of thee 
 And of thy tender beauty," whisper'd he. 
 " The Now and the To-morrow are as one ; 
 And Time is but a phantom when with thine 
 [84] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 My kisses mingle. But the gods are good, 
 
 Else had I sunk to silence and despair 
 
 That golden day which brought thee to my 
 
 arms." 
 " E'en now I hear that first, low sigh of thine," 
 Rhodanthe murmur'd. " On mine ear it fell 
 Like faintest music, and my heart awoke 
 Before thine eyes were open'd to the world." 
 " Thy love it was that lured me back," he cried ; 
 " My undecided spirit saw thy face. 
 And so I lived." " Then love me," she replied ; 
 " Ah ! dream not of To-morrow. Love me now. 
 The Hours are full of menace ; trust them not. 
 If sad I seem the while in thine embrace, 
 Or if I weep a little, pay no heed. 
 But love me, love me ever. Who shall say 
 Why woman's love is mainly mystery, 
 While man's is only passion? Love me, then. 
 Beneath this couch of asphodel and fern 
 What hopeless ones may wander, unto whom 
 No joy descends, no whispers warm as wine, 
 No murmurs of love's happy discontent. 
 Already elsewhere, Chromis, it is light, 
 And Day no friend is of unhappjj^ loves. 
 Too soon the woods shall waken. Thou shalt 
 
 hear, 
 While yet thou sailest seaward, winding horns. 
 Affrighted cries, shrill laughter, and the noise 
 
 [ 85 3 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Of red-mouth'd hounds ; but I, with flying feet 
 And heavy heart must follow where She leads, 
 Nor ever hope to hear thy voice again." 
 But Chromis dream'd above her. " With the 
 
 night 
 Thy feet shall lead thee hither, where I'll wait 
 With strained gaze thy gleaming through the 
 
 dusk. 
 The frighted birds, while yet thou art afar, 
 Shall sing: ' She comes.' The winds shall bear 
 
 to me 
 Thy hair's rare fragrance ; and, when overhead 
 The unimpassion'd moon on this sweet bower 
 Looks mildly down, thy sighs shall mix with 
 
 mine 
 And naught shall be remember'd but our love." 
 And then they kiss'd ; and she forgot a while. 
 As lovers may, the env}'^ of the gods 
 And Fate's fell purpose ; and the ruthlessness 
 That makes men eager for the end, and night. 
 
 y^ND one still dawn, when from the self- 
 xJLsame bower 
 
 Rhodanthe slipp'd to seek the other maids 
 Before Diana call'd them; while the woods 
 So silent were she heard her heart's quick beat 
 
 [86] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Whene'er she stopp'd, half-fearful, at her feet 
 There fell a grey, wild pigeon, wounded sore 
 And near to death. And wond'ring who would 
 
 slay 
 So soft a thing, she stoop'd and lifted it 
 From where it lay upon the dew-cool grass. 
 " Poor bird," she said, " thy mate now waits 
 
 for thee 
 Within her wind-rock'd nest ; but all alone 
 The risen moon shall find her. Through the 
 
 dusk 
 Her eyes shall peer, but thou shalt never hear 
 That low, sad cry of hers, nor shall she learn 
 Why never thou repliest." Then against 
 Her bosom once she held it, where it gasp'd, 
 And suddenly was still. Then looking up. 
 With eyes that match'd the sorrow of her 
 
 mouth. 
 She saw the shepherd Cos awaiting her, 
 And started back. Upon his matted hair 
 Strange weeds were heap'd in semblance of a 
 
 crown, 
 And flame disturb'd the peace of his mild eyes 
 And made their gaze appalling. Slowly then. 
 With arms upraised and brows of inward storm, 
 He moved upon her. " Merope ! " he cried, 
 " Lost star of heaven ! In dream last night it 
 
 seem'd 
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 I heard Orion thunder thou wert dead 
 
 And lost to us forever." And the nymph 
 
 Had drawn away, dismay'd and terrified. 
 
 " I know her not," she whisper'd. " I am she 
 
 Whose face once pleased thee; thou hast soon 
 
 forgot 
 Rhodanthe ! Let me pass thee." But the 
 
 youth 
 Laugh'd mirthlessly, advancing. " Thou," he 
 
 cried, 
 " That Pleiad art for which the heavens have 
 
 cast 
 Their nets of silver on impassion'd nights. 
 Yet ever vainly. Years I search for thee. 
 From Proserpine's grey gardens, thick with 
 
 griefs, 
 I have flown upward to the whirling stars 
 And sought thee on bright highways; I have 
 
 sail'd 
 Wide, restless seas ; have stagger'd under them 
 With all their heavy hate upon my back 
 And menaced by more awful things than ghosts. 
 And ever crying ' Merope ! ' I braved 
 The crack'd abysms of the Caucasus 
 Where Harpies hide by daylight. But of thee 
 No trace I gather'd. Yet — " (and now he 
 
 press'd 
 His heart, and gazed about him) " yet it seems 
 
 [88] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 That long ago, while yet the stars were young 
 And we could hear their singing, thou and I 
 Were met amid such leafery as this." 
 But now Rhodanthe stopp'd, and cried to him. 
 Grown fearful of his madness : " Cos ! dear Cos ! 
 Thou art an idle shepherd. In the woods 
 Thy sheep will wander if thou hastest not 
 To lead them to the uplands. I am she 
 Who teased thee once — Rhodanthe. See my 
 
 hair! 
 It gleams to-day as when I danced for thee 
 And left thee longing for forbidden things." 
 But Cos had f rown'd at her the while she spoke. 
 " This morning's star acclaim'd me Sisyphus, 
 Thy lord and master. On my head I wear 
 My kingly crown, and hid in yonder bush 
 My sceptre lies. O risen orb of Day ! 
 Scorner of weak mortality, of things 
 Transient as summer's gladness and the dreams 
 That light the thick'ning gloom of petty man, 
 Behold the beauty of my Merope ; 
 Burn through the blue of heaven so wide a track 
 That she and I this night may mount by it 
 To that high station where her sisters wait 
 And mourn these many aeons. See ! " he cried. 
 His eyes ablaze with madness, and his arms 
 Uplifted like sear'd branches to the blue, 
 " The sun arises from his couch of pearl 
 
 [89] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 To tell the world that Merope is here 
 And the swart face of Night shall gleam at last 
 As with a new-found glory. Fill, O Winds, 
 Titanic trumpets from your swollen cheeks 
 And blow the tale to where the outer spheres 
 Shiver with cold. Bright Merope is here ! 
 And thou, Orion, from thy gleaming belt 
 Pluck the bright gems whose flashes dazzle us, 
 And hold them for my darling. She shall sit 
 Splendid among bright splendors; she shall be 
 Crown'd by the stars to which men's eyes have 
 
 turn'd 
 In wonder and in yearning since they loved." 
 And now Rhodanthe cried to him again : 
 " O Cos, dear Cos, I pray thee let me go. 
 The first, faint sunshine means but woe to me; 
 For long ere this the nymphs were all astir 
 About Diana. She will call for me. 
 And who shall answer ? Oh ! I see them now 
 Like bees about a flower. O Cos, dear Cos, 
 I still can mingle with them if thine eyes 
 Will only gleam less fiercely, and thy heart 
 Will pity poor Rhodanthe." But the youth 
 Glared at her body's whiteness. " At thy feet 
 The asphodels of death, and o'er thy head 
 The morning's gold, O Merope ! " he cried. 
 Then looking up to where the stars had gleam'd, 
 But now was empty, he upraised his hands 
 [90] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 And cried again : " Await us, ye whose eyes 
 
 Behold enormous Night's magnificence, 
 
 The dream-drugg'd earth, the black, mysterious 
 
 sea, 
 Of dawn expectant. Loose your trumpeters. 
 The burly Winds, and bid them shout through 
 
 space 
 That with the sun's down-going there shall 
 
 gleam 
 So bright a thing that gods, with wond'ring 
 
 eyes, 
 Shall clamor on Olympus. Bid the moon 
 Prepare to grow in glory, like the flower 
 Love's kiss has made voluptuous, lest her light 
 Be dimm'd by that of new-found Merope 
 Whom I restore to heaven." Then to the 
 
 nymph 
 Who, while he raved, had stood with clasped 
 
 hands 
 And listen'd fearfully, the shepherd turn'd. 
 Advancing slowly. And, with backward steps 
 Retreating ever, from his grasp she shrank 
 Until she sensed a menace at her heel. 
 And, looking back, scream'd once, and then to 
 
 earth 
 Fell, as though lifeless as the bird she held. 
 For far below she saw the treacherous sea. 
 Its constant motion undiscernible 
 
 [ 91 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 From her chill height, a foot of pleasant soil 
 Between her footsteps and the dread abyss 
 Unsealed of aught save sea-gulls. Even now 
 She heard the rythmic beating of their wings, 
 Their shrilly-piping young, and far below 
 The dull, hoarse murmur of the rock-spent 
 
 waves 
 Like ghostly thunder, low but terrible. 
 And now Cos stood above her. " Hear," he 
 
 cried, 
 " Aurora's song of morning. O'er his lute 
 Apollo bends dejected when she plays. 
 And rosy Zephyrs wander down the skies 
 And cry her coming. In her chariot 
 She comes from out the crimson of the East 
 To wake the world. Arise, O Merope, 
 And greet Aurora lest she turn from thee 
 When thou art seated by Alcyone, 
 Beneath whose eyes she passes." To her feet 
 Then raised he tenderly the trembling girl, 
 But kept his arm about her. " Let me go, 
 O gentle Cos," she pleaded. " I will pray 
 By day and night the gods to cherish thee. 
 To lighten thine affliction, and at last 
 Pour from their vials such peace upon thy heart 
 That thou shalt bless Rhodanthe." And again 
 Her eyes beheld the still and frightful sea, 
 The sheer descent, and then the wild, wan face 
 
 [93] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Of him beside her, turn'd expectantly 
 Upon the sky above them. From his mouth 
 No sound now issued, but in dumb commune 
 With things unseen his lips would sometimes 
 
 move 
 And then be fix'd ; and then would move again 
 And stay half-parted. In her ears the boom 
 Of broken waves still sounded, and the whir 
 Of unseen wings and thin, unlovely cries — 
 Suggesting ghosts and Acheron's bleak shores. 
 And then he seem'd her presence to forget 
 And held her hand but lightly, gazing still 
 On dawn's illusive, short-lived mystery 
 With lenient eyes. But while Rhodanthe 
 
 schemed 
 How best to coax him let her go her way 
 And brave Diana's anger, questioning 
 If sudden flight would help her, in his eyes 
 The flames leap'd up. Then clasping her white 
 
 form 
 He stumbled seaward ; and while yet she saw 
 The woods, Diana, Chromis, and the joy 
 Of her few years go by as in a flash. 
 The air received them — and her dream was 
 
 done. 
 
 [93] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 AND all that morn beside his humble hut 
 -iXSat Chromis, dreaming. " She shall come 
 
 with me 
 This very night," he murmur'd. " In the dusk, 
 When the hush'd woods compose themselves to 
 
 sleep, 
 And inky bats patrol the shadow'd aisles 
 With noiseless wings, my love shall come with 
 
 me 
 And share the golden welcome of the sands. 
 And should she whisper of the vengeful nymphs 
 Or pitiless Diana, on her mouth 
 My lips shall press forgetfulness, my hand 
 Shall gently stroke the trouble from her brows, 
 My love shall comfort her." And then he gazed 
 Upon the endless waters, swinging now 
 With mighty movement outward, scintillant 
 And joyous-hearted. On the foam-capp'd 
 
 waves 
 The gulls rode lightly, piping drearily 
 Their harsh lament, well knowing that the deep 
 Is ever treacherous and never kind. 
 But Chromis laugh'd. " Thy hands are while," 
 
 he cried, 
 " O happy Sea ! The gods are fond of thee 
 When thus thou raisest them to where they sit 
 And curve their lips above thy joyousness. 
 Beneath thy breast the ocean beauties lie 
 [94] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 On weedy couches rooted in the sands 
 
 Or coral clusters ; in the eyes of them 
 
 Strange mem'ries linger, and their arms allure 
 
 Impcrill'd sailors to a death so sweet 
 
 It leaves them smiling. But more fair than they 
 
 Is she whose ivory shoulder bears the bow 
 
 Of slender Dian ; for her eyes are soft 
 
 With hope and longing. When I gaze in them 
 
 I seem no more a simple fisherman, 
 
 But one whose gifts are boundless, heir to stars. 
 
 O happy Sea! when thou behold'st my love, 
 
 My white Rhodanthe, thou shalt sing of her 
 
 Such splendid hymns that stars shall envy thee ; 
 
 And we will praise thee while the dawn grows 
 
 red 
 And when the holy stillness of the dusk 
 Hints to our hearts our own evanishing." 
 Then laughing softly as one laughs who dreams, 
 He rose and soon was busied with his nets. 
 Here knotting and there mending; noting well 
 If all the floats were perfect. While he work'd 
 His eyes were ever drawn to where the woods 
 Lay greenly still along the milky cliff's; 
 And once it seem'd faint echoes came to him 
 Of long-blown horns, and then despairing cries. 
 Suggesting death. And when the sounds had 
 
 ceased. 
 And once again the murmur of the sea 
 [95] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Told Chromis of his duty, he was glad 
 
 And bent above his slowly-drying nets, 
 
 And laugh'd again. For man has ever been 
 
 The victim of illusion. In the air 
 
 He sees bright visions, and his heart is fed 
 
 On hopes that are less tangible than mist. 
 
 The sea is wiser in its hopelessness; 
 
 The woods, in resignation; man alone — 
 
 A bubble blown from out the lips of Life 
 
 For bitter Death to shatter — man alone 
 
 Expects the meagre mercy of To-day, 
 
 The favor of To-morrow. But of this 
 
 What recks a tann'd and love-sick fisherman 
 
 When greybeards are no wiser.? O'er his nets 
 
 He bent and sang, such songs as ye may hear 
 
 If wand'ring by the melancholy sea 
 
 On fragrant nights ye listen, songs that tell 
 
 Of mermen's wooings and the vain pursuit 
 
 Of wave-borne beauty, pale beneath its green. 
 
 And then he sang an olden luUabye, 
 
 A simple thing of cradles and of stars 
 
 And mothers' arms, and of a drooping head 
 
 Whose lids were poppy-weighted. Thus the 
 
 Hours 
 Crept by unnoticed till the blessed Eve, 
 The regal Night's fore-runner, breathed on him 
 And still'd his song. For suddenly the dusk 
 Fell all around him, soft, compassionate, 
 
 [96] 
 
RHODANTHE 
 
 Solicitous and loving. And he rose 
 
 And sought his hut, where early he had strewn 
 
 Soft rushes, newly gather'd ; on his couch 
 
 He threw strange skins, long treasured, silEen 
 
 stuffs 
 Cast on his back by bearded sailor men 
 Who loved his beauty ; at the door he placed 
 A lighted lamp — and all to welcome her. 
 To welcome his Rhodanthe. And the while 
 He bound his leather sandals to his feet. 
 And dream'd of her who soon would enter there, 
 The Evening drew pale mists across the sea 
 As if in pity. For the waves now bore 
 To where the tender sands awaited her 
 His heart's desire ; and soon would lay her there 
 For him to find; for him to weep above 
 And dream of till his days had conquer'd him. 
 And gentle whispers from the patient earth 
 Bade him come home and ever be at rest. 
 
 [97] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 ? HEN Time was young and life so beau- 
 tiful 
 
 That, bending earthward from their 
 
 airy heights, 
 The scornful stars portentously look'd down 
 On happy men, there lived a poetess 
 In Mitylene, on the sea-swirl'd isle 
 Of fortune-favor'd Lesbos. Sister she 
 To those same breezes that to-day may stir 
 The shiv'ring olives, or the lusher leaves 
 Of purpling grapes on hills where Pan once 
 
 piped 
 Forgotten airs in ears long turn'd to dust. 
 There lies before me such a thumb-worn coin 
 As men have treasured for its loveliness, 
 From which I learn how fair a thing she was, 
 Brow, nose and chin pure Greek, with heavy lids 
 
 [ 101] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 To veil her eyes' chaste passion. On her head 
 The close-coil'd hair revealing modestly 
 A tiny ear, and an exquisite throat 
 Leading to greater beauties. This was she 
 Whose faint few notes withstand the centuries, 
 While volumes are forgotten. Though no more 
 We speak of emperors or dynasties, 
 Or India's gorgeous-jewell'd pageantry, 
 The fame of Sappho trembles like a star 
 Above life's doom'd illusions and the noise 
 That ever ends in silence. Dust is now 
 The hand that moulded for our eyes to see, 
 And wonder at, her beauty; dust is she, 
 And all her passion but a memory 
 Along with first-won kisses. But to those 
 Whose lips have sigh'd a promise, and whose 
 
 hearts 
 The fonder grow for life's impermanence. 
 She is not dead. On nights of amethyst 
 When eyes and souls dream starward, near to 
 
 them 
 She draws from out the Stygian silences, 
 Old loves rememb'ring. Then the dreamers 
 
 hear 
 The songs she sang while from the joyous sea 
 The wind came up and frolick'd in the wheat 
 On golden mornings. Lesbian melodies 
 Once piped by love-lorn shepherds, melodies 
 [ 102 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Suggested by the laughter of a god 
 
 A nymph at twilight wooing — these she sings 
 
 To them that listen ; and the voice of her 
 
 Is sad, as is the rustle of the leaves ; 
 
 Is soft, as summer's comfortable rain. 
 
 BENEATH the vine-hung porches of her 
 home, 
 Upon a couch be-spread with leopard skins 
 Lay Sappho, musing, list'ning to the sea 
 Whose lazy murmur pleased her. It was dawn. 
 And not a wind yet ventured forth to wreak 
 Its will upon the waters, strangely still, 
 A sling's cast from her gardens. Over-head 
 It seem'd one saw the bosom of a dove. 
 Serenely grey ; and yet a rosiness 
 Encroach'd upon its softness, heralding 
 The glad-eyed Day. And as when music nears 
 Through half-hush'd woods to dreams still dedi- 
 cate. 
 This rosiness grew brighter, till at last 
 A shouting glory seem'd to fill the void 
 'Twixt earth and sky, and then the constant 
 
 sun 
 Came to his own, supreme. Now Sappho rose, 
 And lifting slowly to the arch'd serene 
 White, wondrous arms, wherein no lover's head 
 Had yet found shelter for its weariness, 
 [ 103 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Thus hymn'd the morn's full-blown magnifi- 
 cence : 
 " Day, Day, bright Day ! I would I were like 
 
 thee. 
 For thou art everlasting. Thou dost see 
 Each impluse of the ever-patient world 
 And all its aspiration. In a glow 
 Thou passest through the mystery of dawn 
 To where new birth awaits thee. Old thou art, 
 Yet ever young ; and thee the grey Night sees. 
 And loves thee for thy scorning. Heeding not 
 The dewy sorrow of her haunting gaze 
 Thou passest on with glories in thy train 
 That seek to win and hold thee ; only She, 
 The troubled Night, adores thee and — abides." 
 Array'd in white she stood there, white without 
 And white within, as though the sea's own foam, 
 Incarnate, pulsed in mortal loveliness 
 To tell the sad, strange message of the sea. 
 For Nature uses oft such instruments 
 For her interpretation, lest the songs 
 Of winds and waters be forever lost 
 Amid our harsher singing. From the soil 
 Ascend soft murmurs, tales of days byegone 
 And loves long hopeless. These the poet hears 
 And tells again at sundown; from the stars 
 Descend the faint, illusive melodies 
 He sings at dawnburst when the hills are wet 
 [ 104 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 And consecration's light illumes the sky. 
 
 And though still young, too well fond Sappho 
 
 knew 
 Whence came those earth-sweet murmurs, from 
 
 what lips 
 Once curved and crimson. Well, too well she 
 
 knew 
 How short a while we linger in the light 
 That soon becomes a mem'ry ; well she knew 
 That all goes down, with laughter or with tears 
 To mingle with blown roses ; well she knew 
 That e'en the stars, despite their choruses 
 And solemn chants and gleaming bravery, 
 Must sometime pale, be silent, and anon 
 Must disappear as though they had not been. 
 
 AND while peace trembled over her, as light 
 AjLMay tremble o'er the flower so delicate 
 That dusk alone may woo it fearlessly, 
 She lean'd from out the vine's embroidery. 
 And sigh'd, and then was silent. In her heart 
 Strange fancies nestled, dreams as yet half- 
 
 form'd. 
 First longings and desires yet unexpress'd. 
 Except when from her soul the Muses drew 
 The first sweet strains of wing'd and poignant 
 
 song. 
 For erst when one has suffer'd, loved and lost, 
 
 [ 105 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Beheld all glory dimm'd, and those bright wings 
 Whereon all starry splendors lie enthroned 
 Beat darkly in the ebon solitudes ; 
 When dreams prove vain and hopes ridiculous, 
 And in our ears the laughter of the gods 
 Booms like portentous thunder, then perhaps 
 That cry may come at which the multitude 
 Shall gape and shout : " The Singer ! " But as 
 
 yet 
 Her loves were mostly dream-loves. In her ears 
 Old men, half-dead and wholly splendor-blind, 
 Had shrill'd their palsied passion, tending her 
 Their hoarded treasures for her loveliness. 
 Their rubies for her laughter ; at her side 
 Pale youths had stray'd when purple hyacinths 
 Breathed on the air a scent so odorous 
 That madness seized them, and in stammer'd 
 
 speech 
 They told their love; and others, graver-eyed, 
 But still desirous of a maid so fair, 
 Had sought to win her. But on each and all — 
 On men of purpose, as on wild-hair'd boys 
 And trembling dotards — Sappho turn'd an eye 
 Of equal favor, blue and passionless 
 As April's sky. Alcaeus, it is true. 
 Was ever with her. But she loved him not. 
 Or only loved his song ; while he, 't was said, 
 To-day loved her, to-morrow Cyane, 
 [ 106] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Or Poljphonta of the hopeless smile 
 
 And large, unhappy eyes. For love comes 
 
 easily 
 To one to whom all maids are beautiful 
 And worth at least the effort of a song. 
 And so while Sappho listen'd to his vows, 
 Or shook her head when dusk and fragrances 
 Upon the poet work'd their witchery 
 And roused the older longings of the man. 
 Her thoughts were elsewhere, e'en as now they 
 
 were 
 With that which still was wanting. And again 
 She sigh'd — whose loves, with Helen's, were to be 
 Eternity's one wonder — and again 
 The vine-leaves trembled while she cried through 
 
 them: 
 " The silence lays its charm upon my soul ; 
 And things of shadow, things impermanent, 
 Are shadow things no longer. In the skies 
 Mysterious processions form and greet, 
 O Day, thy bright enthronement ; and the air 
 Is quick as with the movements of the gods. 
 Imperious and splendid. Change nor Time 
 Can lay on them an unremitted toll. 
 Nor make them mock the flaming face of Hope 
 Or follow in the footsteps of Despair. 
 They suffer not who burn not with desire ; 
 Who wing beneath the azure vault of heaven 
 
 [ 10^ ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Their flight superb. 'T is we, star-enviers, 
 Dreamers of dreams no god may understand, 
 Whose little lives in their unhappy loves 
 Fly like a wind-borne fragrance, that decline 
 By ways of wreck'd ambition, steady griefs, 
 Into the night that gave us to the day. 
 I would I were not Sappho ! " And her eyes 
 Search'd the blue heaven's eteme serenity 
 In wistful question. But no answer came, 
 As none e'er comes from skies and from the sea 
 Or aught that notes the wistf ulness of man 
 Since first he wonder'd. And the while she 
 
 gazed. 
 Her favor'd slave had enter'd, in whose eyes 
 The dusk of Egypt brooded; one who was 
 As young as Sappho and as delicate. 
 Although her skin was tawny as the sands. 
 And Egypt's huge, unfathom'd mystery 
 Had made her joyless. On the silky rugs 
 Her arch'd foot stepp'd so lightly that no sound 
 Told Sappho of her presence ; and the slave 
 Was close beside her ere she slowly turn'd, 
 With yet that look of question in her eyes. 
 That mouth of sorrow. And the slave was wise 
 Beyond her years. " O Sappho, thou art pale," 
 She said, and laid cool fingers to her cheek ; 
 " The sunshine riots in thy golden hair 
 And bids thee hymn Apollo. But thy lips 
 
 C 108 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Are those of one who nevermore may sing 
 Save Autumn's dirges, or of hopeless winds 
 That roam wide wastes of melancholy sea. 
 Why art thou pale, O Sappho? " Then on her 
 The poetess smiled wanly. " Pale am I 
 Because all beauty pales before a sky 
 Of dawn enamor'd. Naught can rival it 
 Save the sweet flower that modestly looks up, 
 Unconscious of the dewy crown it wears, 
 To ask a blessing and delight the gods 
 With the mere sight of its tranquillity. 
 And yet I seem so very old to-day." 
 (Here sigh'd she and look'd seaward, sighing 
 
 still.) 
 " It cannot be I wrote but yester-eve," 
 She mused at last, " a few short hours ago, 
 That happy line about the nightingale — 
 I seem more fit for tragedy than song." 
 And then she held against her fever'd cheek 
 The vine's cool leaves, and drew her pretty slave 
 So close her lips might almost touch her ear. 
 " I dream'd, dear Nepthys, that my brows were 
 
 bound 
 With asphodel," she whisper'd. " In my hand 
 I clasp'd a lily, white — ^Ah! white as death. 
 The meaning tell me. I am grey at heart. 
 The dawn is wearisome; the very sea. 
 Clapping its hands to make me laugh with it, 
 [ 109 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Can comfort me no more." " Who dreams of 
 
 asphodels 
 Shall love," the slave said. " Lilies hint of 
 
 tears. 
 So say those wise in dreams. Ismenias, 
 Who reads the stars, may tell thee more than I, 
 Who fear that one great passion shall be thine 
 And thou shalt rue it till thy soul be weigh'd 
 Against the feather. Have I anger'd thee? 
 Thus mock us with their gifts the bitter gods, 
 Both thine and mine. A woman learns it soon." 
 But Sappho only turn'd to where the sea 
 Glinted and gleam'd, as though their silv'ry 
 
 spears 
 Ten thousand Tritons brandish'd from beneath 
 And pierced the flood. " Whom I shall love," 
 
 she said, 
 " I'll hold to me forever. Love like mine 
 Is such a gorgeous jewel it shall dart 
 In coruscating splendor, ray by ray. 
 Into the very soul of him I love. 
 There shall not be one darksome spot in him ; 
 But, lit by my true passion, he shall be 
 The faithful lantern in my firmament. 
 All mine,, forever, as yon constant sun 
 Bums with the gods' hot fire and worships 
 
 them." 
 " So have we dream'd since men first woke in us 
 [110] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 The fateful passion," Nepthys cried to her. 
 *' We are thei sands ; our lovers are the winds 
 That lift us from our deserts of despair 
 And swirl us starward; then they fly from 
 
 us, 
 As flies the wind, and in despair again 
 As falls the hopeless sand we fall to earth 
 And evermore mourn man's inconstancy." 
 So spoke she, slowly, as a child might say 
 A well-learn'd song. " O Nepthys, hast thou 
 
 loved? " 
 Cried Sappho, turning from the wind-stirr'd 
 
 vines, 
 Her hands upon her bosom. " Sad thy voice 
 As tender Memory's who leans to hear 
 The low flute's dirges, and above the soil 
 Breathes her lament for perish'd loveliness." 
 " My mother loved," the little slave replied ; 
 " And when I drew the first sweet milk of her 
 I learn'd the sorrow that, or soon or late. 
 Each woman learns. No wonder we are sad. 
 But come," she cried. " A thousand violets 
 With yellow roseleaves mix'd till odorous 
 The water seems, await thee in thy bath. 
 And while thou bathest I will sing to thee 
 A love song of the desert, sweetly strange 
 Because most happy. It shall hearten thee 
 To meet thy fate, O Sappho. Asphodels 
 
 [ 111 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And white-cheek'd lilies ! Oh ! " And then she 
 
 laugh'd, 
 And led her silent mistress from the porch. 
 
 I HAT noon she call'd the little slave to 
 
 her, 
 
 '" I still am weary of myself," she said. 
 " My tablets lie untouch'd. I cannot write. 
 There surely is some splendor in the heavens 
 For me to sing of ; has the world grown dark 
 That in it now no beauty I behold. 
 Nor find an inspiration? In ourselves 
 The trouble lies, for all is beautiful 
 Could we but see it. All is marvellous 
 From sun to flower, and a perfection crowns 
 Each thing about us. I am growing old. 
 I wrote my last poor verses yesterday." 
 But Nepthys mock'd her. " 'T was a week ago 
 The Muse forsook thee, and thy work was done. 
 So sure thou wert thou threwest in the sea, 
 
 moody one, thy Venus-praising hymn. 
 Yet Mitylene now is marvelling 
 About thy verses to the nightingale — 
 
 1 would I could repeat them." While she spoke, 
 Half-wistfully and slowly, on her couch 
 
 The restless Sappho, toying with a chain 
 
 C 112] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Of gleaming, brown-gold topaz, now reclined 
 And now was seated. " Nevermore," she 
 
 sigh'd, 
 " Shall I betray the Muse's confidence. 
 Or clothe in leaden words the fancies light 
 I sometimes hear in dreams. Let others sing; 
 My heart is over-heavy." And the slave 
 Laugh'd as one laughs who hears a child com- 
 plain 
 About a fancied grief. " Thou needest rest. 
 The sight of blood, methinks would do thee 
 
 good. 
 Oh! there's relief in combat." (Sappho raised 
 Her perfumed hands in protest) " When the 
 
 mind 
 Is sick or weary, let the lions slay 
 A mewling slave. 'T is splendid medicine 
 For sickly hearts." But Sappho silenced her. 
 Although the slave still laugh'd. " There 
 
 comes," she said. 
 The while she fann'd her mistress with a leaf, 
 " Of late a new admirer to thy door ; 
 He says he knows thy wonder-songs by heart. 
 And fain would see thee. Thou enslavest all 
 By songs of love and hopeless nightingales." 
 Then Sappho question'd idly : " To my door 
 He comes, thou sayest.? " " Yes," the slave re- 
 plied. 
 
 [ 113 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 " Three times he came, and three times went 
 
 away 
 Because I mock'd him. When he said thy name 
 I almost pitied him and let him in 
 To gaze a while upon thee from afar. 
 For never yet has one so said thy name, 
 O perfect Sappho; never could the wind 
 So breathe a hopeless passion as when he 
 Whisper'd his plea to see thee. ' Go,' I cried ; 
 ' Thy naked shoulders would offend her eye ; 
 Thy hands are rough with labor. At her feet 
 Kneel dream-fed poets; grey philosophers, 
 Whose flame of life is feeble, at her side 
 Long for their youth. But all are wearisome 
 To her whose eyes behold the beautiful 
 In lands of dream beyond the gaze of us 
 Who have our being here, and are no more.' " 
 " But Nepthys, Nepthys ! " cried the Poetess, 
 Now upright sitting. " Tell me more of him. 
 It was not kind to send him from my door,. 
 Him whom my song had lured there. Thou 
 
 hast said 
 * His naked shoulders,' ' Labor-harden'd 
 
 hands,' 
 Was he a slave .? The more should I be kind. 
 The poet should be rich in sympathy 
 And give, to them that need it, more^than song; 
 Too oft our singing makes us passionless, 
 [114] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Forgetful of our brothers that are mute." 
 But now the maid was busied with a bowl 
 Wherein bright fish with round, unwinking eyes 
 Gaped at the world in lazy unconcern, 
 Assured their food. " A free-man he ; a 
 
 Greek," 
 She answer'd slowly. " He is fair enough 
 To make a maid's heart heavy ; but for thee. 
 Thou hast too many thalj are noble born 
 To sing thy praise to need a ferry-man, 
 However fair and stalwart, in thy train." 
 "A ferry-man.?" cried Sappho. "One whose 
 
 boat 
 Is often idle, while he sits and dreams 
 Or mocks his busy fellows," Nepthys said. 
 " His name is Phaon, or he said it was 
 When I had told him you might com© one eve 
 And bid him use those splendid arms of his 
 To pull us to and fro beneath the stars. 
 A merry rogue I judged him by his eyes ; 
 And yet he sigh'd when * To thy boat ! ' I cried : 
 ' Command a trireme ere thou knockest here.' " 
 But Sappho now was musing. On the sea 
 Her gaze still center'd. " ' Phaon ' ! Such a 
 
 name 
 Suggests a grief," she whisper'd to herself. 
 " The breaking of light waves upon the sands 
 Is Melancholy's music. Phaon is 
 [ 115 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 A flame extinguish'd by the winds at night. 
 Ah! what so sweet as ' Phaon,' or so sad? " 
 And now she eyed that little slave of hers. 
 Who stood before her like a thing of stone 
 And ever wonder'd. " Shouldst thou love," she 
 
 said, 
 " And lose the one thou loVest, say that name 
 When the sad Night enswathes thee. More 
 
 than sighs 
 It shall express thy sorrow. When the wind 
 Wanders through gloomy caverns by the sea 
 That name it moans, and moans it on the hills 
 When skies are grey and all is desolate 
 As the grey world beneath us. In my heart 
 I know not what sad memory awakes 
 When I say * Phaon.' It is like the rain, 
 Fond Nature's pity, but it soothes me not 
 As is the soil soothed. ' Phaon ! ' Say it thou, 
 My night-eyed Nepthys." But the slave was 
 
 mute. 
 And shook her head. " He is the ferry-man," 
 She said at last. " The wantons laugh with 
 
 him. 
 They lay cool fingers on his full-blown lips 
 And deck his brows with garlands. In the 
 
 night 
 When thou art gazing at thy sister stars. 
 Dreaming the love that is most beautiful 
 [116] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Because a dream-love only, Phaon sits 
 With Cyprian Chloris in a cottage shunn'd 
 By all whom thou wouldst welcome — such a 
 
 house 
 As none dares enter in the glare of day. 
 ^T is calPd the House of Jasmines. When I 
 
 pass 
 I turn my head; but ever me pursues 
 The fragrance of the jasmine. It is said 
 He thanks white Venus for his comeliness. 
 Performing her a service, as reward 
 She made him the most beautiful of men — 
 I wonder thou, who knowest everything, 
 Hast not heard this." " It is an idle tale 
 Spun by an idler poet in his cups," 
 Said Sappho slowly. " Yet if he should come 
 Once more, good Nepthys, as thou lovest me 
 Be good to him. Who knows but words of 
 
 mine 
 May offset Chloris' arts ; may tell to him 
 The white foam's message? Wind-blown, pas- 
 sionless. 
 Child of the ever passion-tortured sea 
 And Titan turmoil, pure it ever is; 
 So pure it is, dear Nepthys. In the night 
 It makes me think of pale Eurydice 
 Moving so silently, so hopelessly 
 Beside the Styx's waters ; but at dawn, 
 
 [ 11^ ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 When through the air bright gods flash scorn- 
 
 fully, 
 The foam reminds me of true poetry — 
 Lost ere we grasp it. I must sing thereof. 
 My tablets, Nepthys. Hasten! Bring them 
 
 here." 
 Then mused the slave. " I thought — " But 
 
 ere she spoke 
 Her thought of Sappho's inconsistency. 
 The knock was heard upon the outer door 
 And, eager-eyed, she sped— to let him in. 
 
 AND soon he stood before her, bronzed, 
 xjL erect, 
 
 And conscious only of the one he saw. 
 His equal in sheer beauty. Well she knew — 
 And who in Mitylene knew it not ? — 
 The tale that link'd the fellow with the one 
 Whose wanton loveliness made moths of men ; 
 Whose eyes were lodestones till she cast them 
 
 off 
 And fed new lovers to her passion's flame. 
 And while she lay at ease upon her couch. 
 And watch'd him idly, yet expectantly, 
 She wish'd she knew the tale those lips could 
 
 tell; 
 And, wishing, was half-conquer'd. So she 
 
 spoke, 
 
 [118] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 And sweet that low voice sounded in his ears 
 Who kneel'd to hear it. "Who art thou?" 
 
 she ask'd; 
 " And what has drawn thee from the singing sea 
 To my abode ? Here I abide with dreams 
 And half -heard voices. Though I sleep or wake 
 I hear soft whispers, see pale presences 
 Of other eyes unseen. For thee it is 
 No place to kneel in; thou no poet art, 
 No sick philosopher who aims to mend 
 The sorry world he lives in. In thy hair 
 The sun has nestled, and thy lips are those 
 Of one who loves this life, but sings it not. 
 Nor argues much about it. Who art thou ? " 
 And he, still kneeling, lower'd now his eyes 
 To where stray petals strewn upon the floor 
 Hinted the wind's wild passion. " I am he," 
 He said at last, " of whom but ill report 
 Has reach'd to ears so delicate as thine. 
 Phaon am I, the boatman. When I stood 
 Without thy gate, thy slave upbraided me 
 With ' Sappho is not Chloris. Get thee gone 
 Where she awaits thee. Sappho and the stars 
 Tremble in heights where thou canst never be.' 
 And yet — O thou, who art love's poetess. 
 Whose wild, sweet song is love's interpreter, 
 Is passion's music, thou wilt pity me 
 Who, like a leprous beggar, come to thee, 
 
 [ 119 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Lured by the hymns that other lips than mine 
 Read in the market-place while, open-mouth'd, 
 We mute ones listen, deeming thee divine." 
 And Sappho smiled. " Thou pleadest well," 
 
 she said. 
 " But thou and I are of the self -same clay 
 That perishes so soon. The boatman thou. 
 And I the singer; both by tolerance 
 Are here at all. Upon the rocking sea 
 Thou dreamest daily — ^by thine eyes I know 
 Thou art a dreamer. I, beneath these vines, 
 Sit with closed lids and think I am at sea 
 Or where the gods are gather'd. But the night 
 May take me hence, O Phaon, to the dusk, 
 Where they that wear mortality's fair garb 
 Forever brood in silence o'er the past." 
 But Phaon's face now flamed above her own. 
 " Yet still art thou divine, O Sapphire-eyed ! " 
 His lips protested. " Thou as deathless art 
 As are all things of beauty. Music, flower, 
 The sea's imperious splendor, high-hung 
 
 cloud — 
 These change, but die not. Thou art part of 
 
 them. 
 And so shalt live forever. In the air 
 Each echo of thy far-resounding song 
 Shall ever quiver, as the lark's brave note 
 Forever quivers. Death may beckon thee; 
 [ 120 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 But still shall linger in the hearts of men 
 
 Thy memory, O Sappho ! " While he spoke 
 
 Her eyes grew tender as the sky itself, 
 
 And in its sanctuary, vaguely stirr'd, 
 
 Her young heart flutter'd. Yet her gaze was 
 
 fix'd 
 Upon a snowy, slightly-swaying sail, 
 That gleam'd an instant, and then dropp'd from 
 
 sight 
 Where the flat sea seem'd suddenly to end. 
 And though she was not quite aware of it. 
 Gazing beyond the thing she seem'd to see, 
 How oft in greyer years that snowy sail 
 Remember'd was — that golden afternoon. 
 How oft it seem'd, when the bright day was 
 
 done 
 And Memory stole forth with the chaste moon, 
 Itself a pale regret — how oft it seem'd 
 She heard that voice above her, passionate 
 And yet so sad. How oft to where the stars 
 Peep'd through the purple canopies of heaven 
 And hymn'd the Night, she raised her unkiss'd 
 
 eyes 
 And whisper'd : " Phaon ! " Ah ! the winds 
 
 could tell — 
 The viewless winds, so heavy with our griefs — 
 Would they but answer. But they tell us not 
 Of things so bitter as untimely death, 
 
 [ 121 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 So sad as misplaced love. They wander on, 
 With sorrow swollen, over sea and land. 
 And sigh forever and forever sigh. 
 Feeding on man's eterne unhappiness. 
 
 THEN, seeing he was silent, Sappho spoke ; 
 And low her voice was, as the dove's voice is 
 In half-hush'd woods at twilight. " Thou art 
 
 one 
 Of whom, indeed, men tell unhappy things 
 Beyond my understanding. Sings the sea 
 No stem reproof of that — thy wickedness ? 
 And do the stars, night's blessed comforters, 
 Utter no protest when thou shamest them? 
 Day loves thy manly beauty. Canst thou 
 
 stand 
 Erect amid its sunshine uncondemn'd .'^ 
 The very beauty that encircles us 
 Should keep us clean; for we are part of it — -■ 
 Of trees and flowers. Through not unkindly 
 
 eyes 
 They note our aspirations, our conceits. 
 Our struttings and our weakness. They behold 
 Thy beauty, Phaon ; they delight in mine, 
 And mourn, as we mourn, broken loveliness, 
 The lost ideal and barter'd purity." 
 Then Phaon cried, now kneeling at her side, 
 Yet looking down : " Lest in the treach'rous sea 
 [ 122 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 I hurl my soil'd self, pity I What am I 
 That thou shouldst waste thy starry thoughts 
 
 on me, 
 So far beneath thee? Sappho! I have sinn'd 
 As weak men sin. But once I gazed on thee — 
 It was the morn our runners proved their skill 
 O'er Phyxo of Methymna — and I ask'd 
 What flower it was that thus in human form 
 Made Mitylene famous. One replied: 
 ' Her name is Sappho. From the palace steps 
 She reads this noon her Hymn to Proserpine. 
 Who, then, art thou, that knowest Sappho not.^*' 
 But I was silent, for mine eyes on thee 
 Rested as on bright loveliness itself. 
 And thee I foUow'd with the murm'ring crowd 
 Until I saw thee halo'd by the great, 
 The brave, the thoughtful and the beautiful. 
 Thine eyes turn'd skyward. White thy gar- 
 ments were 
 And pale the face above them; but thy brows 
 Were violet-clasp'd ; and oh ! thy golden hair 
 That fell about thee as the sunshine falls 
 About a thing of loveliness in stone ! 
 I heard thee speak. Thy words were passion- 
 
 wing'd. 
 It seem'd I saw the hopeless Proserpine 
 With swirling ghosts about her, grey and cold, 
 Speechless and leaden-hearted. On her lips 
 [ 123 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 An awful sorrow quiver'd; from her eyes 
 Pale Death had blown the pity and the dream. 
 And when at last thy face was turn'd to earth 
 It seem'd that I still huddled in the hell 
 Thy fancy painted ; when at last I breathed 
 The sweet, warm air again, I found thee gone, 
 And gaping men around me. From that day. 
 My past is bitter ; for I dream of thee 
 And long for thee, O Sappho! I whose hands 
 Are set to oars, whose shoulders to the sun 
 Are ever bared ; whose bread is earn'd by toil — 
 Take pity, Sappho I " In the wind-stirr'd 
 
 vines 
 A bird had settled. With its head a-slant. 
 It weigh'd what harm this man might wreak on 
 
 it, 
 And feeling safe, commenced at last to sing, 
 Oblivious to his presence. And the song 
 Roused Sappho from her dreaming. " Art 
 
 thou come 
 To tell me this ? " she ask'd him. " It is praise 
 Beyond mere laurels." But he answer'd not, 
 Nor sought her eyes ; but ever look'd away. 
 Full conscious of his own unworthiness 
 And fearful of her anger. And at last 
 She rose and stood beside him where he kneel'd. 
 And touch'd his hair. " I, too, have dream'd," 
 
 she said, 
 
 [ IM ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 " Of other things than sunsets and the loves 
 Of long-dead lovers. I have dream'd of one 
 Whose hand might lead me down the ways of 
 
 life; 
 Whose voice might comfort me; whose eyes 
 
 might shine 
 With warmer sympathy than warms the stars 
 That share night's solemn silences with me. 
 I, too, have dream'd, O Phaon ! " Then she 
 
 cried 
 With sudden passion : " If thou lovest me. 
 And lovest truly as thine eyes declare, 
 Then win me, Phaon; win me! Where it will, 
 Love bursts in blossom. We the puppets are 
 Of them that watch us ever stonily. 
 And deem us children, as we doubtless are. 
 So thou art worthy of a woman's love 
 A woman still would love thee, though in 
 
 chains 
 The galleys held thee. Go thou to thy toil, 
 A singer I; but I am woman still; 
 And though thou toilest, thou a dreamer art, 
 And so a King. I'll come to thee at eve. 
 And we will look together on the stars 
 Above the silent waters. Go thou now. 
 The little bird has left us, fearing me 
 Who would not harm it, nor would harm the 
 
 hair 
 
 [ 125 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 I touch so gently. Leave me! Nepthys 
 comes." 
 
 HE days sped by. Time is as pitiless 
 To lovers as to dotards. One and all 
 Hasten, with backward glances, to the 
 
 shade 
 Deeper than that the tree casts ; there to wait 
 No first, faint flush of sombre-tijited skies ; 
 But unexpectant, in grey solitude, 
 Hopeless as is pale heartlessness itself. 
 To mourn the days that once were bright, were 
 
 sweet. 
 As flashing swords and clashing cymbalry. 
 But little heed gave Sappho to grey Time, 
 And little heed gave Phaon. In his boat. 
 When dusk had closed the flowers and hush'd the 
 
 town. 
 They sat within the shelter of the sail. 
 Forgetful of the inattentive slave 
 Whose eyes stared seaward. Ever on and on 
 The soft winds bore them ; and perhaps he sang 
 Songs long forgotten of forgotten things. 
 Dead loves and hopeless passions. Overhead 
 The stars that saw the tragedy of Troy 
 Travell'd their ways in utter unconcern 
 
 [ 126] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Of aught beneath them; and the sea was dark 
 With thoughts of secret and forbidding 
 
 things — 
 Of future tempests when the madden'd winds 
 Might scream their hatred, and the bulging 
 
 clouds 
 Like monstrous sheep, distracted, fill all space. 
 But now those winds were gentle as the breath 
 That sometimes warm'd him when she question'd 
 
 him 
 To make him answer ; for his voice to her 
 (Although she knew it not) was now as dear 
 As sunlight to the flower, as music is 
 To him most dear who soon no more shall hear. 
 Stories, half fact, half fancy, he had heard 
 From men whose feet had wander'd from the 
 
 tracks 
 Then known to few ; strange tales and stranger 
 
 myths 
 Of northern people whom the cold had chill'd 
 And made ferocious; monsters, mighty-wing'd. 
 Of these he told her, as she sat at ease 
 And watch'd his face, until his mood would 
 
 change 
 And he would paint the still'd sea's majesty 
 E'er rosy dawn's bright hands may ruffle it. 
 And ever crouch'd, all-silent, in the prow 
 The little Nepthys, thinking of the sands 
 
 [ 127 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Of that far home where softer stars beheld 
 The crawling caravan, the solemn palm, 
 And all the mute immensities in stone. 
 
 AND once it seem'd that he no more could 
 ^ speak, 
 Although she question'd ; could but gaze at her, 
 Grown mute in worship. In his boat they were. 
 Across the sea light breezes landward bore 
 The swirling sea-mists ; but the setting sun, 
 Its labors ended, made these travellers — 
 These pure, sweet mists — as golden as itself; 
 And while they slowly shimmer'd to the land, 
 To bless the trees and ever-silent hills. 
 And cool the purpling grapes on sun-parch'd 
 
 vines. 
 They swathed the lovers in a golden sheen. 
 And made the boat a thing of mystery, 
 A place for dreams to home in. And the dream 
 That sometimes comes to women came to her 
 Who lay amid that ghostly wonderment 
 Above that sapphire sea. The spoken word 
 Was still unutter'd. But his eyes proclaim'd 
 What language could not, what no words might 
 
 dare 
 Amid such glory; and as lower dropp'd 
 The gleaming ball that solaces the world 
 She lean'd to him, yet trembled ; questioning 
 [ 128 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Within herself the while she read his eyes, 
 
 If joy like hers, brought forth in golden haze. 
 
 Could last forever, or must sometime turn, 
 
 Like mists at night, to utter joylessness. 
 
 But when he spoke, her doubts were all dispell'd, 
 
 And it seem'd dawn again. " Dear love ! " he 
 
 cried, 
 " Pure as the sea-mist is my love of thee, 
 And thine is golden as its memory. 
 Bright Venus be my witness ! Thou art she 
 Whose song has won me from black infamies. 
 Thou knowest all. But if thou pitiest 
 One who because of his unworthiness 
 Now loves thee more; and if thou, too, canst 
 
 love 
 One who is but the toy of Destiny, 
 Its easy tool, lay once thy sea-sweet hand 
 Upon my brow." Then from her place she 
 
 lean'd — 
 All white and golden in the golden mists — 
 To where his face, like an impassion'd star, 
 Paled wistfully against her. In his hair 
 Her fingers shelter'd, and the voice of her 
 Reach'd to his soul as though a wind it were. 
 Breathed for his spirit's solace and his peace. 
 " My love thou art, else were I far from thee ; 
 And I am thine, or the bright-misted sea 
 Had never heard us whisper." While she spoke 
 
 [ 129 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 She press'd his fair face upward, reading it 
 With anxious eyes. " Ah ! never have I loved," 
 She sigh'd at last, " nor know if this be love 
 That seems half pain. And yet when thou art 
 
 near 
 Life's troubles fade, as now the near land fades 
 Behind the sweet compassion of the mist ; 
 And jagged rocks that frown o'er treach'rous 
 
 sands 
 Are hidden lest their menace frighten us. 
 Thou hast not liken'd me to things that pass. 
 Pale flowers, doom'd stars, inconsequential 
 
 things 
 That have not voice nor feeling. In his songs 
 Alcasus ever likens me to these. 
 And makes his love a moan ; in every rose 
 He sees me with'ring, and the winds intone 
 The death-song of poor Sappho." But her 
 
 hand 
 Was fast in Phaon's now — the little boat 
 Quite moveless on the waters. " Nay ! " he 
 
 cried, 
 " I am no singer. On the sea I live. 
 I scorn both stars and roses ; and the winds. 
 However hard they blow, dismay me not. 
 A flower is but a pretty thing to toss 
 At — " Phaon stopp'd, rememb'ring her whose 
 
 eyes 
 
 [ 130 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Still gleam'd behind the jasmines — " at thy 
 
 feet," 
 He said at last, " where I would ever lie 
 Heedless of fate, while thou shouldst weave for 
 
 me 
 Thy splendid dreams. Enswathed in Day's 
 
 bright haze 
 Or Night's imperial purple, we must wend 
 Our way to death. I love thee! All around 
 The mists are swirling; thus in hell they swirl 
 Who once were joyous, but forever now 
 Bemoan life's misspent moments. Thee I love. 
 Say once thou loves t me." And while the mists 
 Hid them from Nepthys and what gods might 
 
 stare 
 Un joyously above them, to his lips 
 Her own were nearing. All that threaten'd 
 
 her — 
 Grey gods and greyer future; even she. 
 The heavy-lidded woman of the night 
 Who sat behind the jasmines — ^was forgot 
 In that one moment. And with eyes half-closed 
 She murmur 'd : " Phaon ! " So the winds might 
 
 sigh 
 On drowsy nights when the bewilder'd stars 
 Grieve for earth's lovers ; so might sigh the sea 
 When Sorrow draws her sable cerements 
 About her mouth's compassion. Then his lips 
 
 [ 131 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 To hers descended; and while Nepthys dream'd 
 Of agon-weighted Egypt, and the dust 
 That mock'd the splendid hopes of petty men, 
 The lovers vow'd their love's immunity 
 From change or death. Then Silence sat with 
 
 them 
 The while again, and ever yet again 
 Each read the other's eyes; or gently touch'd 
 Hair black or golden and all-wonderful, 
 Because belov'd. And Sappho question'd him 
 Why he, then deem'd most perfect of all men, 
 Should find in her perfection ; but his words 
 Were vague, as words are ever when we seek 
 To tell what beauty is, or seems to us. 
 " I love," he said. " I cannot tell thee why. 
 The gods have stroked thy tresses with their 
 
 hands. 
 And left them brighter than the rays that dart 
 From sun-fed, straight Apollo; o'er thy head 
 Blue skies have linger'd till their loveliness 
 Lies lightly on thine eyes. No poet I. 
 I cannot thread my wonder-haunted words 
 To weave about thee. He whose trade it is 
 To sing of stars, of lovers' tragedies 
 And fairest things, can number thee with them, 
 And sing thy praises. Look thou in mine eyes 
 The while I tell thee in ill-chosen speech 
 How well I love thee. Thou art beautiful. 
 
 [ 13^ ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Thy throat, thy hands, thy feet are wonderful ; 
 Thy voice contains the pity of the hills, 
 The sea's deep sorrow and its joyousness. 
 Thou speakest, and the treachery of Time 
 Forgotten is. O Sappho ! speak to me." 
 But still the girl was dreaming. All around 
 The sea rock'd idly, while the golden mists 
 Fell lightly here, and there as lightly rose 
 And moved away ; for now from out the south 
 A breeze was puffing faintly, and ere long 
 Would lift the ghostly burden from the waves, 
 And let the gods behold these innocents. 
 Who loved despite the lasting enmity 
 'Twixt god and man; who dream'd and fear'd 
 
 them not. 
 Nor even thought about them. And at last 
 She spoke, whose eyes had long been fix'd on his. 
 Whose love he had awaken'd. " Love ! " she 
 
 said. 
 And low her voice was as the voice of one 
 Who knows that love is life's sweet mystery. 
 And death its sallow f oeman ; " though my 
 
 songs 
 Like dipping swallows leave me, and the speech 
 That slowly comes to thee to me is swift 
 As color'd wings upon the air of noon. 
 Yet must I stammer if I seek to tell 
 The love I bear thee. I can say ' I love ; ' 
 
 [ 133 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Can call thee by thy fragrance-laden name, 
 And watch thy lashes' shadow on thy cheek. 
 But how I love no words can ever tell. 
 Above the rose the bee dreams heavily ; 
 Above the sands, winds tremble; and the night 
 Presses the earth's cool beauty. Who can sing 
 Of silent passion? Phaon, thee I love. 
 To tell thee more my girl's heart knows not how, 
 Nor seeks t© learn. Ah ! hold me close to thee 
 And ask no questions. Love that silent is 
 Lasts ever longer than the love that's told. 
 I kiss thy lashes." " I, the mouth of thee," 
 Her lover answer'd ; " with thy dreams be mine 
 For ever mingled. When thou silent art 
 I'll know thou lovest, and I'll kneel by thee 
 Expecting naught save silence's caress, 
 Dropp'd from thine eyes of azure wonderment." 
 And now the breeze blew stronger, and the sail 
 Fill'd to its full and slowly landward bore 
 The happy-freighted bark. From where she 
 
 sat 
 The little slave, still singing to herself, 
 Beheld white Mitylene, with its walls 
 Sentried by whisp'ring lovers ; with its wharves. 
 Where ships, like weary pigeons, lay at rest ; 
 With gilded temples and white palaces, 
 Unconscious of their doom. Already now 
 The western skies were slowly crimsoning; 
 [ 134 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 And the still mists, their mission being done, 
 Crept from the sea and left it like a gem 
 Of wondrous color, purple, emerald, 
 Wine-red and partly golden. With the breeze 
 Came faint, sweet odors, as of flowers that 
 
 bloom 
 In distant gardens where pale Loveliness 
 Bends graciously above them; and soft hymns 
 Soothed the still air that erst was desolate. 
 And while they near'd the harbor, and the slave 
 Cool'd her small hand while singing, Phaon 
 
 lean'd 
 Once more to Sappho. " Thus our life shall be, 
 O ever-now Divinest! Golden be 
 ThjT^ coming years; and when Death summons 
 
 thee 
 May I go with thee, that my love may light 
 Thy footsteps in that melancholy home." 
 But Sappho now was sad as was the hour, 
 And wish'd it all were yet to say again. 
 And all to dream of. " Thee I trust," she said* 
 " My love is thine ; and though the silent mists 
 Have left me frighten'd, and the gods make 
 
 mock 
 Of human loves, say once thou lovest me. 
 Say once thou lovest me ; that when To-day 
 Lies slain upon Time's monstrous catafalque^ 
 And Night beholds us with great tenderness 
 
 [ 135 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And much compassion, I may dream of it, 
 And bless it, Phaon, for its gift of thee." 
 And Phaon trembled as he touch'd her cheek. 
 " I love thee, Sweet," he whisper'd. And the 
 
 while 
 The boat crept homeward, still he cried to her : 
 " I love thee, love thee ! " And the light was 
 
 gone 
 When they were come to where, with lower'd 
 
 sail. 
 Their boat was beach'd upon the golden sands 
 And Nepthys roused her mistress from her 
 
 dreams. 
 For still she heard him whisper, heard him cry : 
 " I love thee, Sappho ! " And throughout all 
 
 time 
 Those words shall tremble outward; for our 
 
 vows 
 Endure beyond the frailness of the lips 
 That give them utt'rance, as in dreams we see 
 The one most loved, though Fate's conspiracy 
 Deprives us of her presence and her love. 
 
 [136] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 ^^I^ND when, behind the jasmines, in the 
 ^^'^'^^^-^J Where true love never enter'd, Chloris 
 
 heard 
 Vague rumors of this wondrous love-affair. 
 She laugh'd, while heaved her bosom. " When 
 
 I will 
 I'll breathe his name upon the twilight air, 
 And he shall hear and come to me," she said. 
 " For when I sigh the moon grows passionate, 
 And, scornful of the virgin sisterhood. 
 Whose queen she is, looks longingly to earth 
 And yearns for dead Endymion. Who is she, 
 This untaught girl, this Sappho, to compete 
 With me whom men have crown'd the Cyprian; 
 Who let me scorn them while they burn for 
 
 me 
 And hunger for my kisses ? " And her slave 
 Bent low before her, fearful lest the glance 
 Behind that laughter kill her. " Sit," she said, 
 Rare ointments in the hollow of her hands, 
 " That I may bathe thine ivory-tinted feet 
 With these crush'd petals of faint hyacinths 
 And yellow roses. He shall come to thee 
 If thou but callest, for thy voice would wake 
 Diana's lover from his dreamless sleep. 
 Thy foot is bruised, O Chloris ! " But as yet 
 [ 137 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Such things unheeded were of her whose 
 
 thought 
 Was still of Phaon. In the chamber's floor 
 An onyx bath was f ashion'd. To its brim 
 With water fiU'd, this pool reflected her 
 Who stood beside it, show'd exquisitely 
 Her own perfection ; show'd such raven hair 
 As Night might envy, and a form so fair 
 That Day outstretch'd his happy arms to her, 
 All else forgetting. " I am beautiful," 
 She said at last. " The trembling nymph that 
 
 bends 
 Above the stilly waters in a wood 
 Of swaying cedars, is less white than I; 
 Above my brows a mystery lies coil'd; 
 And when I look, through half-closed eyes, at 
 
 men. 
 They sicken till I love them. I have heard 
 Much talk of Sappho and her gleaming hair; 
 Her eyes that never smoulder; and her songs 
 Of swallows and a love she never knew. 
 But I a woman am; I play on men. 
 Empress am I of passion; and the wind 
 Which sways the dust that breathed and found 
 
 delight 
 In olden seons, is less masterful 
 Than I who sway that dust while yet 't is 
 
 quick." 
 
 [ 138 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 And then she noted how the trembling slave 
 Was busied with her sandals. " Go ! " she said, 
 " And seal the wicket, that no foot may tread 
 My purple rugs till Phaon comes again, 
 Of love expectant. From my sight conceal 
 The golden sunlight ; let me hear no song, 
 And strew no roses on my leopard skins. 
 He loves me. I have charm'd him to his 
 
 soul; 
 So webb'd him in a net of witchery 
 That Hercules would falter at the task 
 Of freeing him. He loves me ! That says all. 
 I lured him from the wiles of Soprian 
 Whose shoulders were more beautiful than mine ; 
 Yet she, despite the magic of her smile. 
 Went to her death the day I beckon'd him. 
 Let Sappho have the plaudits of the world. 
 Fit praise for shallow rhymesters ; women's 
 
 lips 
 Mean more than gold or laurels. Phaon is 
 Man as gods make them, simple, primitive, 
 My one desire ; and till the chilling mists 
 Sober my passion and constrain my love, 
 I ask for naught but Phaon of the gods. 
 Behind the fragrance of my lattices 
 I'll breathe his name until he comes to me 
 To leave me never ; then, his lips on mine, 
 m fold him in the crimson of my love 
 [ 139 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And—Go! The wicket!" But she stood 
 
 alone 
 Amid the jasmine fragrance and the gloom. 
 
 AND so it happen'd. For as dreams are 
 -^~Vborn 
 
 For Fate to shatter, so this first, sweet love 
 That morning'd in the hush of Sappho's heart, 
 A place still virginal, was doom'd as is 
 The golden promise of impassion'd dawn. 
 Thus it has been since with her sister orbs 
 The earth was born to prove impermanence ; 
 And Death, far sterner than the gentler Sleep, 
 Became Life's lord and Fate's grim arbiter. 
 A little while on Phaon's heart reposed 
 The head of Sappho, as on other hearts 
 Fair heads have rested ; but no lips have told 
 A love as fond in words so delicate 
 That now we mourn the utter loss of them. 
 A little while the gods were merciful. 
 And Mitylene wonder'd. For by day 
 They walk'd together in the market-place, 
 And men were silent when they saw the light 
 Upon the lovers' faces ; and at night 
 Behind the vines upon her portico 
 They sat and whisper'd, while the moonlight 
 
 kiss'd 
 The still'd sea's tragic face. Then no man saw 
 
 [ 140 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Love's perfect flow'ring, or the mysteries 
 
 Of that rare hour when, with averted eyes 
 
 E'en Fate itself a little while is kind. 
 
 The short night through, while Time watch'd 
 
 wearily 
 The order'd march of the resplendant stars. 
 Well knowing what must follow, side by side 
 They sat and whisper'd ; and the dark about 
 Thrill'd as with music. In the moonlight 
 
 gleam'd 
 White Mitylene, but it seem'd to them 
 A ghostly city, where their dreams might home 
 But no man ever enter. Thus a while, 
 A little while, dear Joy abode with them, 
 And Sappho ask'd no more. In wonderment 
 Days came and went, and left such memories. 
 Such perfect petals of flower-like happenings. 
 As, fadeless on the highways of the Past, 
 Make dreamless Age less bitter. For at last, 
 Unknown to Sappho, who of Phaon's love 
 As sure was as a girl is ever sure, 
 What had to be crept in upon the dream. 
 The gods agreeing. Nature pays no heed. 
 Nor deems such matters of grave consequence 
 When Hybla's crest is daily to be bathed 
 In golden fire ; while her beloved trees 
 Are yet to nurture, and the holy grain 
 Forth from the solemn fields is yet to win. 
 
 [ 141 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The hopeless passion of the gustj wind, 
 Sea-tragedies and star-births, cataclysms 
 Li older constellations than our own — 
 These Nature heeds; our births and bitter 
 
 deaths. 
 And all the little loves that fly between, 
 Are naught to her ; ourselves but puppets are 
 Whose clamor vexes, but is soon forgot. 
 And so when Phaon, weary of a love 
 So pure as Sappho's, touch'd her hair no more, 
 (So fair the coin one cannot understand!) 
 Or touch'd it coldly, or sat moodily 
 The while she pour'd her soul out in a mist 
 Of musical endearment, on their seats 
 The gods sat stonily. Beneath the trees 
 That graced the palace gardens still were seen 
 The two I tell of ; where the gods were praised, 
 Or in the market places ; and again 
 All Mitylene wonder'd. For the light 
 Show'd Phaon moody, but reveal'd the love 
 Of their beloved Sappho. Night by night 
 He bore her seaward ; but the waters heard 
 No sighs or whisper'd love-words save her own. 
 And when at last his spirit sensed the call 
 Behind the jasmines, heard the cry of her 
 Who laugh'd the while she call'd him, sure of 
 
 him, 
 His heart leap'd up, as when, on tempests fed, 
 [ 14a ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 The awful flames from subterranean glooms 
 Leap up and out and, flaring fearfully. 
 Shock with red horror the repose of night. 
 And even then, aware how base he was, 
 He stopp'd his ears to that insidious call. 
 And strove to let the beauty of the dusk 
 Win him to chasteness. But a passion chill'd 
 Bleak as the moon is, which terrific suns 
 Warm not, nor waken; and his love was dead, 
 And soon that wicket open'd to his touch. 
 
 SWIFT-WING'D is news that brings unhap- 
 piness. 
 That very day a crone, a broken thing 
 Whom hate had aged and malice so deform'd 
 That none could deem her woman, hobbled up 
 And call'd for Sappho. She, with gold in 
 
 hand. 
 Bade Nepthys lead her to the portico 
 And bring her cakes and honey, fruit and milk, 
 A staff to walk with ; but the crone, when come, 
 So froze her welling kindness with an eye 
 Spared by the years, that Sappho shrank from 
 
 her 
 As from a horror. When the tale was told. 
 The crack'd lips mumbling over Phaon's fall 
 As though it were a very pleasantry. 
 She gave her gold and bade the bent thing go 
 [ 148 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 But never more ask alms, or aught, of her. 
 It was not yet high noon. Across the sky. 
 Bluer than rain-wash'd turquoise, fleecy clouds 
 Were slowly trailing, as when full-fed sheep 
 Wander the meadows over; on the sea 
 White, listless sails hung idly in the sun 
 Above as listless boats and fishermen. 
 A little while and teasing winds would drive 
 Their fleecy flocks the heaven's wide meadows 
 
 through ; 
 Would lift the waves, and fill those idle sails 
 And make the boats leap onward. Soon would 
 
 come 
 The men to Mitylene, with their catch, 
 And, showing finny beauties, would be told 
 The news of Phaon. They would laugh, 
 
 perhaps. 
 And soon forget ; or wonder what in him 
 Fair Sappho saw to waste her love on him. 
 But she, the blue-eyed, stood beside the vines 
 And watch'd the crone go dwindling down the 
 
 road. 
 For speech too heavy-hearted. It was done, 
 This first white hope; this first fair dream of 
 
 hers. 
 This golden expectation. To the gods 
 She raised no hands in protest, made no cry, 
 But ached in silence, as a woman will, 
 [ 144 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 While men uplift the anger of their arms 
 And curse the gods. And now the dusty road 
 Was rid of its bent burden ; and the town 
 Quiver'd beneath the noon-glare. By the vines 
 The girl still stood when Nepthys came to her 
 And touch'd her shoulder. To her cheek she 
 
 laid 
 Brown fingers of compassion. " Dear," she 
 
 said, 
 (How low the voice was of that little slave !) 
 " Dear Mistress, Sappho ! In my Egypt's 
 
 sands 
 Sleep many who have loved unhappily, 
 Yet now know peace. Thou, too, shalt know at 
 
 last 
 The sweet f orgetfulness that makes the dead 
 The envy of the living. All around 
 Life's irridescent bubbles tempt our grasp. 
 But shatter when we touch them. Ah! The 
 
 dead 
 That sleep within my Egypt envy not 
 The hunger of the living. He that dreams 
 Escapes much care, much sorrow ; far above 
 The petty disappointments of to-day, 
 To-morrow's fore-doom'd hopes, the dreamer 
 
 treads 
 Heights where the dawn is never night- 
 eclipsed." 
 
 [ 145 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 The while she spoke her mistress look'd away 
 To where the sails still gleam'd; but now she 
 
 turn'd 
 And fix'd such eyes of question on the slave 
 That Nepthys knew her thought, and answer'd 
 
 her. 
 " A child I am," she said, " but very wise. 
 I ask my gods for nothing, save to sleep 
 At last in Egypt where I first awoke. 
 The soundless deserts taught me long ago 
 That all illusion is except the dream. 
 And thou who dreamest, in such solemn things 
 As stars and starry chantings, in the flowers 
 Whose exhalations are more sweet than sighs 
 From lips that hint their own inconstancy, 
 Must find thy loves. The earth is beautiful. 
 Between the heedless sky and this sweet soil 
 Is much to hold thy wonder. In the trees 
 Is peace, is inspiration ; in the cloud — 
 That airy traveller to lands unknown — 
 Enough to fill thy heart with restlessness, 
 Thine eyes with longing. Ah ! so wonderful 
 The world about us. Love thou loveliness, 
 And thou shalt yet be happy. Leave to them 
 Whose hollow laughter shocks the universe 
 And mocks the gods, the loves that flare and 
 
 fall— 
 The loves of men. The thin-flank'd lioness 
 [ 146 ] 
 
SAPPHO AND PHAON 
 
 Is surer than is woman of her mate; 
 
 For he is brother to the bodiless wind, 
 
 Flies here, and there, and loves as winds may 
 
 love — 
 Heedless of aught so they but have their will." 
 But Sappho answer'd not. Against the vines 
 She lean'd her cheek and, gazing on the sea. 
 Stood as one stands above a buried hope 
 With eyes that see not. What the gods decree 
 Must be despite our wishes. Through the 
 
 years 
 Each bears his burden ; only Death may cut 
 The cord that binds us to our destiny 
 Of joy or sorrow. But she knew it not 
 Who gazed so sadly on the seas where now 
 The glory mock'd her ; knew not that in time 
 The ache would pass, and other dreams would 
 
 come 
 And end as dreams end. She was young; was 
 
 true; 
 As all that's young is true and beautiful 
 And very holy. And the setting sun, 
 When the frail boats were safely gather'd home 
 And splendor look'd its last upon the sea. 
 Still saw her standing there, all white and gold, 
 Longing for night, and silence, and the stars. 
 
 [147] 
 
CENONE 
 
CENONE 
 
 HE woods were waking. In the steely 
 
 light 
 
 Preceding dawn-flush, sympathetic trees 
 Trembled a little when the morning wind, 
 Itself just loosen'd from the Caves of Pearl, 
 Touch'd the still leaves, intoning fitfully 
 The advent of the splendor-f ollow'd Day. 
 The birds still silent were, save when the dove 
 Coo'd from a bough its thrice-repeated note 
 Of constant sorrow, or in airy nests 
 A hungry fledgling cheep'd its discontent. 
 The keepers of eternal mysteries. 
 The trees, had held their secrets through the 
 
 night. 
 Brooding perhaps in green solemnity 
 Above the ancient Mother, whence they rose 
 And where at last they must return again 
 [151] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 With all that made a noise beneath the stars, 
 With all that loved, with all that walk'd alone. 
 And now aware that from its monstrous urn 
 Day's glory soon would over-flood the world, 
 They waited with a grave expectancy 
 The daily wonder ; but their hearts were sad — 
 As all is sad except unthinking men. 
 As all is sad that truly understands. 
 
 THERE lay beneath the gravest of these 
 trees 
 Three graceful nymphs — ^the pale Ocyroe, 
 Whose love-tale was the wonder of the woods ; 
 Lanassa, not yet old enough to love, 
 And therefore happy, though she knew it not; 
 And Thornax of the unpersuaded eyes 
 And reedy laughter. At the feet of them 
 Wild roses clus-ter'd, screening them from all 
 That peer'd and pried at night-time ; save when 
 
 came 
 From out its own secluded hiding-place 
 The amber-color'd moth, a-fluttering 
 Along Night's ebon aisles, or from his bough 
 Look'd down the still'd and wond'ring night- 
 ingale. 
 And well it was the roses shelter'd them 
 While Dian slumber'd, or had wander'd far 
 To find Endymion ; for the satyrs roam'd 
 
 [ 152] 
 
GENONE 
 
 Those woods at night, and centaurs; and the 
 
 dark 
 Oft startled was by anguish-noted cries 
 That drove the dread wolf, slinking, to his lair. 
 And many a nymph, whose face in Dian's train 
 Show'd fairer than a lily's, answer 'd not 
 When the pale Huntress call'd her by her name 
 While yet the sun was rising, and the hounds 
 Bay'd the day's welcome and dismay'd the deer; 
 And many a nymph from that chaste sisterhood 
 Was sternly banish'd, and for evermore 
 Roam'd all alone the odor-breathing woods 
 And was as one that is accounted dead. 
 And now, just waken'd, on the sleeping twain 
 Lanassa gazed. One arm beneath her head, 
 Her bosom veil'd by silky loveliness 
 Spun from the gods' own looms, her smiling lips 
 Suggesting dreams as golden, Thomax lay 
 Beside her graver sister. Black her hair 
 As the soft eyes of the beloved Night 
 Whose child she was, and whose unhappiness 
 Had long become her heavy heritage. 
 What dreams, Lanassa wonder'd, now were 
 
 theirs, 
 The one so rosy and the one so pale. 
 So gentle and so silent? While she gazed 
 One laugh'd and murmur'd — Thomax; but the 
 
 face 
 
 [ 153] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Of her whose hair was dark, Ocyroe, 
 Grew ever sadder, as if Day had breathed 
 A message in the tiny ears of her, 
 And shock'd the soothing witchery of sleep. 
 Then droop'd Lanassa slowly over her. 
 And kiss'd her lashes. " Wake, Ocyroe ! " 
 She whisper'd fondly, as the other stirr'd 
 And open'd slowly eyes of weariness 
 Against the eyes above her. " It is day ! 
 Like vestals when the sacrifice is done 
 The morning mists have slowly pass'd away ; 
 The woods contain them till they disappear 
 Like music's spirit in the cool, clean air. 
 The grass is silver-gleaming ; but I see 
 As faint a blush upon the mountains' crest 
 As tints the brow of Venus, when, surprised 
 At dawn by Eros, she awakes from sleep 
 And smiles beneath her kisses. It is day ! " 
 And while with calm insistence brighter grew 
 The skies above them, and the golden flood 
 Still westward rolling, left the grey skies blue. 
 The waken'd nymph rose slowly to her knees 
 And kiss'd white hands to the departed night. 
 " Sweet Night, farewell ! " she whisper'd. 
 
 " Come thou soon 
 Behind the sober mystery of dusk 
 And bring to me, whose heart so heavy is, 
 Thy quietude and thy delicious rest. 
 [ 154 ] 
 
CENONE 
 
 Sweet Night, farewell ! " Then turn'd she to 
 
 the one 
 Whose eager face had sadden'd, kneeling there 
 So close beside her. " In my dreams I see," 
 Said she, " thy face, Lanassa. Be not sad 
 Because I love the mirror-holding Night 
 And not the Day. Upon that magic disc 
 Our loves are pictured. All that cannot be 
 Thereon enacted is; and, fancy-fed, 
 Sad hearts that else would sicken, else would 
 
 cease 
 Their unconsider'd beating, grow most strong." 
 Unknown to them, while yet Ocyroe 
 Was speaking thus, and fair Lanassa loosed 
 Her heavy hair, the third nymph, Thomax, 
 
 woke 
 And, saying nothing, listen'd ; and when turn'd 
 The sadder one to shake her tenderly 
 And bid her greet the morning, lo ! her eyes 
 Were bright with mischief. " I have heard," 
 
 she said, 
 " Thy pretty story. When I sleep I dream 
 Of others than Lanassa. There is one 
 That walks with Paris when he tends his sheep. 
 Whose eyes are joyous. I have foUow'd him 
 From tree to tree and berried bush to bush. 
 All fearful lest he see me. Once he sang 
 A song as wistful as a lover's is 
 [ 155] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Who knows that on his darhng ever glare 
 The lidless eyes of agate-hearted Time. 
 Of him I dream while thou, Ocyroe, 
 Dreamest of sweet Lanassa." Then she 
 
 laugh'd, 
 Until it seem'd a thousand birds awoke 
 And sang the morning and the joy of it, 
 Until the woods re-echo'd. In the east 
 The sun so high was now that one by one, 
 The trees received their blessing at its hands 
 And every dell grew golden. In the grass 
 The nymphs still lay, until the deer's low call 
 Should tell them they might venture to the pool 
 And bathe unseen. And now Lanassa spoke : 
 " I think that Paris would (Enone wed 
 Were she but kind," she said. " One droning 
 
 noon 
 I saw them standing where the wind-wreck'd oak 
 Bridges the stream that fills our favor'd pool. 
 And long they whisper'd. He impassion'd was. 
 He seem'd more king than shepherd, and the 
 
 skin 
 That hid his gleaming shoulders from the sun 
 Was worn as though a royal robe it were. 
 So close I crept, my pale Ocyroe, 
 I almost heard him woo her ; but I know 
 That what he said was very beautiful 
 Because CEnone's face was poppy-red, 
 
 [156] 
 
CENONE 
 
 Although she would not answer. In my mind 
 
 I heard him beg what Pan once begg'd of me — 
 
 That I would kiss that horrid mouth of his 
 
 And twine my fingers in his musty beard ; 
 
 But though the lips that ask'd so small a thing 
 
 Were very tempting, yet she turn'd from him 
 
 And fled the while he call'd her. In my heart 
 
 I pitied Paris." But Ocyroe 
 
 Now pale was as the lily, whose retreat 
 
 In deepest dells is, where by night and day 
 
 It droops above its sorrow. From the nymphs 
 
 She turn'd her face, and they, still fashioning 
 
 Their silky tresses to their own content, 
 
 Were thinking of CEnone. " With the stars," 
 
 Said Thomax, laughing, " she has held much 
 
 speech. 
 She reads the future. If thou pleasest her 
 She promises a husband ; anger her. 
 And thou art doom'd to press alone the fern 
 Until the leaves in pity cover thee. 
 Let Paris wed her. She will summon us 
 To bind their brows with garlands, sing to her, 
 And dance, perhaps, until our hair blows free, 
 While satyrs breathe on joyous-noted pipes 
 Airs as illusive as the thing we love." 
 And then she sigh'd. For Sorrow is the name 
 Of Joy's own shadow; and the gods know well 
 That sighs must follow laughter. In the woods 
 
 [167] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 These truths are known, as on the moody seas, 
 
 And where hot stars magnificently flame 
 
 Amid their colder sisters. Only we, 
 
 Puff'd specks of passion and inconsequence 
 
 On winds as unsubstantial — only we 
 
 Who enter into being with a cry 
 
 And crying leave it, deem us masterful 
 
 And curbless in our grasp for happiness. 
 
 AND while of him whose steps had never 
 -irVled 
 
 To where she waited, Thornax ever dream'd, 
 Lanassa tum'd to where Ocyroe 
 Was kneeling, silent. " Should (Enone wed. 
 Thy hands must weave the marriage wreaths," 
 
 she said. 
 " These many years her solemn eyes seek thine 
 Whene'er we meet; she loves thy gentleness, 
 Thy pale, pure beauty. Thornax lovely is. 
 But Thornax is the morning's ; thou and night 
 Belov'd are of QEnone. Should she wed 
 Thy voice must lead the golden marriage song 
 And chant the prayer to Venus; thou alone 
 Canst deck her bed with violet and fern." 
 But Thornax now had risen. " Come ! " she 
 
 said. 
 " I heard just then the deer's call. Let us 
 
 haste 
 
 [ 158 ] 
 
(ENONE 
 
 To where the pool lies gleaming. Thou shalt 
 
 see, 
 Demure Lanassa, how such pearls adorn 
 My body's whiteness when I plunge therein 
 And rise again to tease thee. Then I'll haste 
 To those same hills where Paris with his sheep 
 Wanders each mom in moody discontent ; 
 But if my heart's desire, the gentle youth 
 Of whom I dream while thou, Ocyroe, 
 Dreamest of us, if he be otherwheres 
 I'll pray the gods to scatter wide the flock 
 And keep him from CEnone." And before 
 The others knew it, she had slipp'd away ; 
 And soon that silv'ry laugh of hers was heard 
 Faint grown and then far fainter, down the 
 
 woods, 
 As free from care as is the light-wing'd lark's 
 Above contented meadows. Then again 
 Lanassa turn'd to pale Ocyroe 
 And touch'd her shoulder. " Thou hast said no 
 
 word 
 To still," she said, " my prattle. Thomax 
 
 sighs, 
 And laughs as quickly. Thou as silent art 
 As the dear trees around us. Art thou sad 
 Because CEnone would fair Paris wed? " 
 And even then the nymph no answer made, 
 But laid her fingers on the other's head 
 
 [ 159] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And press'd it slowly backward, till the eyes 
 So brown and innocent look'd back in hers. 
 And then she spoke. " The air is warm," she 
 
 said; 
 " And Thornax waits our coming. In thine 
 
 eyes 
 I see but happy trust and wonderment; 
 Thy lips are curved in childhood's pure de- 
 light; 
 Thy brow serene is. As thou growest old 
 With these our leafy sisters, be thy lot 
 As happy and as care-free as is theirs. 
 Their peace be thine. But question not again 
 Why I am sad." Then lower'd she her hand 
 And led the way beneath wide-reaching oaks 
 And gracious cedars till they saw the pool 
 Where Thornax now was bathing, " In my 
 
 heart 
 I think thou lovest him," Lanassa said, 
 And fain had tarried. But Ocyroe, 
 Her arms upraised to where the brooding gods 
 Sit and decree how loves shall ever end, 
 Ran swiftly forward past the startled deer 
 And left the little nymph still questioning. 
 
 [160] 
 
CENONE 
 
 l^^ra NNUMBER'D bees were humming o'er 
 
 |^||the fields 
 
 ^^^^^'^When Paris turn'd his footsteps to the 
 
 woods, 
 His tasks forgetting. He had left his sheep 
 With that same youth, whom Thomax from 
 
 afar 
 Still watch'd with eyes of longing ; sad at heart, 
 And thinking of GEnone, to himself 
 He breathed her name, nor noted at his feet 
 The forest's hued and yielding carpetry, 
 Nor aught about him. This was Priam's son. 
 And heir to Troy's huge tragedy. Ere birth 
 A child of menace to his father's house. 
 That father doom'd his innocence to death; 
 But he who should have put him to the sword 
 To Ida's slopes convey'd him, where at last 
 Rough shepherds found him and had made him 
 
 theirs. 
 Saving what else had perish'd. Thus the gods 
 Whose wills are adamant, whose hearts are 
 
 hard. 
 Prepared to use him as an instrument 
 To fill grey hell and ruin half a world. 
 But now he was still young, still innocent, 
 A youth whom oft a wayward nymph had loved, 
 And found unpractised in the arts of love 
 
 [161] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And constant to CEnone. Naught he knew 
 Of all the horror that must follow him 
 In later years, when Helen's treachery 
 Had drawn its bloody destiny to Troy ; 
 And naught he knew of how 'CEnone, too, 
 Would sometime pay the price of constancy 
 To one so doom'd as he ; would seek him out 
 In other silences and other glooms 
 To prove what love is when one loves so well. 
 
 PAST hoary oaks and pines whose fra- 
 grances 
 Are sweeter than the odors of the East, 
 Unmindful even of the choruses 
 Of happy birds above him, on he went 
 To where he knew the nymph awaited him, 
 A leafy place where oft the night had heard 
 Impassion'd pleas and whisper'd promises. 
 And utter'd dreams. For she, of all the maids 
 Whose beauty glimmer'd in the woods at dusk. 
 The fairest was, and much he worshipp'd her 
 And much she loved. And so, when her retreat 
 At last confronted him, and on her couch, 
 Sweet grasses weaving for a coronal. 
 He saw her seated, to his lips there came 
 Mad words of longing. " Never now may Sleep 
 Draw his soft plumes across my weary eyes, 
 CEnone, sweet CEnone! " Thus he cried 
 [ 162 ] 
 
CENONE 
 
 While slow her eyes were raised to welcome 
 
 him. 
 " My heart a-flame is, and I cannot rest 
 By night or day ; I would that I were dead 
 That Death's grey hands might cool my fever'd 
 
 heart." 
 And then (Enone teased him. " See ! " she 
 
 said; 
 " This crown I weave to place upon the brows 
 Of white Diana when she asks of me 
 Which way the surly boar went, or the deer 
 With splendid antlers press'd against his neck 
 And eyes of brown affright. If thou wilt smile 
 I'll place it on thy curl-enamor'd head 
 And wake Apollo's envy. If thou wilt 
 I'll crown myself, and thou shalt worship me 
 And kiss my pulses. See! My tawny hair 
 Is almost golden when I deck it thus." 
 And then she crown'd herself, and laugh'd at 
 
 him 
 WTiose eyes unhappy were. " Why standest 
 
 thou 
 Thus mute ? " she question'd. " In the night 
 
 there came 
 A satyr here who sang sweet songs to me 
 Of hush'd retreats in other woods than these, 
 And bade me seek them. He has promised me 
 Tall ferns and matchless grottoes, crystal pools 
 [163] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 By winds unruffled, comfortable swards 
 Circled by oaks and brooding cypresses. 
 There meets at dawn the forest sisterhood 
 To hymn the day ; and there at night comes Pan 
 Untutor'd Pan, whose airs so wondrous are 
 That coldest nymphs adore him. But at noon, 
 When the bright air is warm and tremulous, 
 And naught is stirring, all deserted are 
 Those em'rald stretches, and the gods gaze down 
 And find delight in their serenity." 
 But Paris now was seated at her side. 
 " Be kind ! " he cried. " I care for naught 
 
 but thee. 
 Thy talk is of the forest, of green swards 
 And shaggy satyrs ; whisper once * I love ' 
 That I may hearten'd be, may lift my lips 
 To thine for comfort ere I pale and die." 
 And still OEnone teased him. " In thy lips 
 The crimson tells me thou art far from 
 
 death;" 
 She said, and eyed him closely. " On my cheek 
 Thy hand is warm ; thy heart is riotous ; 
 The odor of thy hair is very sweet. 
 And shouldst thou come to-morrow to this place 
 And find me gone, the rising moon would hear 
 Thy vows of constancy to one more fair, 
 More kind than is CEnone. While he sang, 
 The satyr eyed me with such wistfulness 
 [ 164 ] 
 
OENONE 
 
 That, had he beckon'd, I — " But Paris now 
 
 Was red with anger. " Could I follow him 
 
 To where he hides," he said, " this very noon 
 
 His cries should teach thee that thy Paris is 
 
 Thy lover, cold CEnone." Then again 
 
 His anger left him. " That I love," he cried, 
 
 " Thou knowest well ; and that my passion is 
 
 Enduring as is Time. When nevermore 
 
 I breathe thy name amid the silences 
 
 Of blessed night, or when the glory warms 
 
 The void above us, from my lips no more 
 
 Shall whispers issue ; when no more I see 
 
 Thy fancied form beside me, to the light 
 
 And earth's fresh beauty shall these eyes be 
 
 closed. 
 CEnone! Love me! Perish'd loveliness 
 Is everywhere about us. From the woods 
 White nymphs have vanish'd; from the hills 
 
 have pass'd 
 Unnumber'd shepherds; and the loves of them, 
 Their whispers and their murmurs and their 
 
 dreams 
 Are futile as the sighs of yesterday. 
 A little while, CEnone, thou and I 
 May walk, as did those others, 'neath the skies 
 And talk of stars, companionable trees, 
 Of clouds and windy music ; but ere long. 
 With all that loved before us, we must go 
 
 C 165] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And leave the trees, the stars, the clouds behind 
 For others to delight in. I am thine! 
 I love thee ! Let the mystery of dusk 
 Behold thee mine, behold thee in these arms 
 For ever shelter'd ; that when come the stars 
 To guide the pensive moon along her way 
 To where her lover waits her, they may see 
 True love still heedless is of death and time." 
 
 HOW still the woods that morning! Deep 
 in fern 
 The deer reclined, while, heedless of the sun. 
 The noiseless rabbits watch'd them; from the 
 
 boughs 
 No song descended, for the birds were mute 
 In this one hour when everything was still 
 Save the clear brook, whose babbling was of 
 
 fields, 
 Sad willows and the majesty of hills. 
 The trees were moveless. Rich in memories 
 Of windy dawns and tempest-frenzied nights. 
 When angry lightnings split in twain the dark 
 And sear'd the rocks, they waited now, at peace. 
 Knowing the winds would quicken them again. 
 So still the woods ! When worn and comf ort- 
 
 Or weary of To-day's unloveliness 
 
 And hollow men, seek thou the blessed trees, 
 
 [ 166 ] 
 
GENONE 
 
 Our gentler sisters. Thou shalt see old Pan 
 A nymph pursuing ; thou shalt hear him play 
 Faint airs of days far fairer than our own, 
 Illusive airs that wander down the wind 
 Like fragrance of blown roses. O'er thy head 
 Shall fall the evanescent glories that were thine 
 In days of youth, and peace shall come to thee 
 And make thee envied of life's emperors. 
 
 AND now (Enone laid upon his hair 
 ^ White hands of comfort, but her eyes were 
 
 sad 
 Despite the happy curving of her lips. 
 " I love thee, Paris," almost whisper'd she, 
 Though no one else could hear her. " In the 
 
 dawn 
 I oft have watch'd thee following thy sheep 
 To stilly uplands where Aurora casts 
 Her gleaming greeting as the stars go down. 
 And oft I wish'd that I were with thee there, 
 To share thy dreams and such a destiny 
 As blesses men that ask not over-much. 
 But more I know than thou, to whom the 
 
 stars 
 Convey no message, in whose ears the wind 
 No promise whispers. I have read thy fate. 
 And mine, sweet Paris." But the youth was 
 
 fond. 
 
 [ 16^ ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 " To-day we love," he answer'd. " Let the 
 
 gods 
 To-morrow send me bitterness or woe, 
 This hour has made me equal unto them ; 
 Thy lips have bless'd me. Having won thy 
 
 love. 
 Naught else is in their giving; holding it, 
 I scorn their anger though they send me death. 
 Within these forests I would ever dwell 
 With thee, GEnone. Of ambitious men 
 The gods take note ; their lightnings search for 
 
 kings. 
 But overlook the shepherd." " Thou," she 
 
 said, 
 '' Art kingly, Paris." But he silenced her 
 And said again he loved her, telling her 
 Of days to be, of sunsets and of dawns 
 And stilly nights of moonlight and of peace. 
 And then she kiss'd him. " For thy dreams," 
 
 she said, 
 " I love thee, Paris. Many years I dream 
 With trees and flowers and the contented things 
 That love the sunlight. It is all that counts. 
 Dream, then, and love me. While thou may'st, 
 
 be true — 
 Nay ! lay not thus thy fingers on my lips ; 
 For more I know than I would weight thee with, 
 My own heart being heavy — and be kind 
 [168] 
 
GENONE 
 
 Until the gods shall draw thee otherwheres 
 And leave me grieving." Now the woods were 
 
 still, 
 Save when the bee droned softly in its flight 
 From flower to flower, unmindful of this pair 
 Whose dream was golden as the air itself; 
 And then there peer'd from out the bushes' 
 
 shade 
 Brown eyes upon them; but the stately doe 
 Saw nothing harmful, and so browsed a while 
 And pass'd away beneath as stately trees 
 To other dells as stilly. And at last, 
 Her perfect face still pale above his heart 
 And list'ning to its music, Paris spoke 
 That heart's own passion. " I am thine," he 
 
 cried. 
 *' Forever and forever. Read again 
 This night thy stars, when on thine eyes no 
 
 more 
 My fond lips linger. All is passing here. 
 Thy loveliness, my passion, both are doom'd 
 As are the leaves that tremble o'er our heads 
 When sighs the wind above them. Yesterday 
 Awaits the shrunken spectre of To-day, 
 And both shall mock To-morrow. All goes 
 
 down 
 To utter silence; and the hopes of men 
 Are vain as is their boasting. Love me, then, 
 
 [ 169 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 And make my love more perfect. To the hills 
 The dawn shall lead me. Thou shalt hear me 
 
 pipe, 
 My sheep around me, such illusive airs 
 As lure pale nymphs from shadowy retreats 
 To brave the sunlight; but the gentler dusk 
 Shall turn my footsteps homeward, unto thee. 
 My sweet CEnone." It was bravely said ; 
 For youth, with careless laughter, wind-blown 
 
 hair 
 And eyes whose eagerness is not yet dimm'd, 
 Heeds not the gods. It holds within its hands 
 Its gift of joy, its tail and flame-crown'd 
 
 torch. 
 And runs its race regardless of their frowns 
 Or distant thunder. Change concerns it not; 
 Dread Death is but a fancy when it loves. 
 And this (Enone knew ; for she was wise 
 As trees are wise, whose pretty leaves prepare 
 Earth's solemn couch for the eternal sleep 
 Awaiting trees and lovers. On her lips 
 The smile still trembled, but her e^^es were sad 
 As erst they were. " Day hastens to its close," 
 She said at last, and kiss'd again his hair. 
 '" A little while and from its lonely nest 
 The dove, the forest's hopeless melodist. 
 Shall raise its sad remonstrance to the stars 
 And win our hearts to pity. From the trees 
 
(ENONE 
 
 Long shadows steal, and soon sweet Night shall 
 
 lay 
 Her holy hands upon us. She will bless 
 The nestled birds and all whose mission is 
 To make the fair day fairer. To thy sheep 
 Go thou in haste, lest an unshelter'd ewe 
 Should miss its lamb at dawn-burst. Then to 
 
 me 
 Come thou, Beloved. See ! the shadows touch 
 Thy feet and mine. We whisper and we dream. 
 Surer of time than misers of their gold. 
 Yet life the while is passing ; in the dark 
 We tell our vows, and suddenly we find 
 Bleak age upon us. Then the dream is done. 
 The glory over; and the while we stand 
 Like wither'd sheaves on desolation's plain. 
 The joys we gather'd and the joys we miss'd 
 Haunt us like spectres. my love, make 
 
 haste ! 
 Afar I hear the melancholy horn 
 That calls another to the boat of doom 
 And the unsated Boatman. There at last 
 We both must go, and the dear things of day 
 Shall greet our eyes no longer. Therefore 
 
 haste 
 To where thy sheep are calling. Dawn must 
 
 find 
 Thine arm about me, and mine eyes so glad 
 
 [ 1^1 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 That, should the gods destroy us, e'en in hell 
 Their light may comfort thee and, comforting, 
 Forever and forever keep thee mine." 
 
 UT they tliat sit in judgment over all 
 Disturb'd them not, nor even noticed 
 them 
 
 For many years. With birds and gentle things 
 Whose sister is the forest, they were one. 
 And one with nymphs and lighter-hearted fauns 
 And speedy centaurs, swift as were the winds. 
 On morns of palest gold and lavender. 
 The grass still dew-drench'd, from their shelt'- 
 
 ring trees 
 They spied the virgin Huntress and her maids 
 Flashing with all the noiselessness of light 
 From dell to dell ; or, when the day was done, 
 The long chase ended, with less eager feet 
 And careless laughter homeward o'er the hills 
 By twos and threes returning. One by one 
 OC«none named them, mark'd this wondrous hair, 
 That alabaster bosom, or a brow 
 Imperiously perfect, chastely pale. 
 But Paris gazed serenely at the face 
 Beside his own, contented ; hers he deem'd 
 Far fairer than the fairest of the nymphs 
 [ 172 ] 
 
CENONE 
 
 Untouch'd as yet by Love's enflaming dart 
 Or humanizing kisses. To the streams 
 She led him in the dawn-hush, where they saw 
 The slant-eyed satyrs bathing, riotous 
 As children in the water ; through the woods 
 To where the fields encroach'd upon the wilds 
 They slipp'd at even and, themselves unseen, 
 Watch'd the brown tiller of the browner soil 
 Conclude his toil, the herdsman drive his kine 
 To peaceful waters or their night's repose. 
 And night by night they sought a hidden spot 
 Where nymph nor satyr ventured. Mighty 
 
 trees 
 Enclosed a pool of such sweet restfulness 
 That much they loved it, and would sit them 
 
 down 
 And tell their dreams there. " When thou leav- 
 
 est me^" 
 CEnone whisper'd, " I shall come by night 
 To this dear spot; and thou, where'er thou art, 
 Shalt know that I am constant." And he 
 
 laugh'd 
 And stroked her tresses ; but she sigh'd again, 
 And bade him promise to be true to her. 
 For them old Pan blew wistful melodies, 
 Or airs so joyous that they laugh'd and danced 
 Until the forest's silence chided them ; 
 And then they knelt beside him, while he sang 
 [ 173 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 What once had happen'd when the trees were 
 
 young 
 And gods made merry. When the tale was told 
 They wreathed his brows with laurel, and he 
 
 pass'd, 
 Still piping to the welcome of the trees. 
 The Seasons came, the woods re-visiting — 
 Spring, with her j oyous laughter ; Summer then 
 And sober Autumn ; and with sadder mien 
 The lagging Winter, with its brighter stars 
 To keep men hopeful. And the lovers dream'd 
 From dawn till eve regardless of the Hours, 
 Unmindful then, as e'en to-day they are. 
 Of love or death; and then they dream'd again 
 When Sleep, so wise and so compassionate, 
 So tender and so kind, because so old, 
 Breathed on their heavy eyelids from the dark. 
 
 I^^^UT love so perfect never long escapes 
 Pl^^The gods' attention. They were watch- 
 
 Of Paris and OEnone ; from the heights 
 Of crystal silence, coldly luminous, 
 They look'd upon them and devised a plan 
 To wreck this happiness, as one may wreck 
 The finish'd effort of the toiling ants 
 Or patient spider. Paris, they decreed, 
 Should judge who fairest was of goddesses 
 [174] 
 
CENONE 
 
 (Themselves too wise to solve the argument 
 Then stirring heaven) ; and bribed by promises 
 Of earth's most perfect woman for his wife, 
 His own forgetting, he, one gleaming morn, 
 Crown'd Venus queen. The greatest tragedies 
 Have ever small beginnings. Priam now 
 In distant Troy, the gods still furthering 
 Their fell designs, caused contests to be held 
 'Twixt youth and youth, his war-like sons and 
 
 all 
 Whose names then famous were for bravery 
 And man-like qualities — the prize to be 
 A Trojan bull, the best that paw'd the ground 
 Of Ida's summit or dismay'd the herds 
 In smiling meadows. And the slaves whose task 
 It was to seek it, found that Paris own'd 
 The lordly beast, and dragg'd it to the king 
 And were rewarded; but the shepherd swore 
 No hand should ever tame it save his own. 
 So arm'd himself for conquest. Naught avail'd 
 (Enone's tears and naught her wifely love. 
 And naught the thoughtless prattle of their 
 
 boy — 
 Their only darling. He was eager now; 
 And laugh'd and bade her love him till he came 
 With hard-won laurels. And she answer'd not ; 
 For woman pays with tears and bitterness 
 For man's ambitions. But before he went 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Still eager, from her presence, from the woods 
 Where nevermore their whispers were to sound. 
 And nevermore her laughter, on his hair 
 She laid her hands. " The gods be good to 
 
 thee," 
 She said, and kiss'd him. " I shall think of thee 
 When morning breaks upon my loneliness 
 And to the skies thy son uplifts his hands 
 In child-like adoration; in the dusk 
 I'll breathe thy name and winds shall carry it 
 To where thou sleepest, dreaming of my love. 
 A little while I still would cling to thee, 
 Would feel thy strong heart's beating. In the 
 
 night 
 When all alone I lie upon my fern 
 What anguish now awaits me ! But of thee 
 My thoughts shall be, and I shall pray for thee 
 When saddest is my heart, and heaviest. 
 I kiss thee, thus. For never shall we tread 
 These woods together, nor be mad again 
 In blessed twilights as we once were mad 
 With stars and fragrances, and happy things 
 That wot not of their own impermanence. 
 And yet I feel that thou shalt come to me 
 In death's dread hour, that I upon this brow 
 May place my hands before earth's heavy 
 
 weight 
 Lies heavily upon it, my love. 
 
 [176] 
 
CENONE 
 
 There lies thy road. Go, love, and look not 
 
 back. 
 My love thou art, my shepherd ; go thou now 
 As goes the hero. I shall follow thee 
 With eyes that look their last upon the sum 
 Of all most perfect, all that is belov'd 
 Beneath the skies. My heart is breaking. Go ! '' 
 And he was gone. Troy beckon'd, and he went. 
 As men have ever gone when Fortune call'd, 
 The one forgetting who must stay behind. 
 
 A ND now from time to time there reach'd 
 xJLthe woods 
 
 Faint echoes of his doings. One there was. 
 An idle goat-herd, whose delight it was 
 To woo Lanassa; while another sought 
 Love's favors of fair Thornax. When they met 
 These silly swains would tell them what they 
 
 knew. 
 And they in turn told pale Ocyroe, 
 Who told CEnone, e'en as maids to-day 
 Will ever gossip. Thus the woods soon heard 
 How Paris by his beauty conquer'd Troy 
 And made men wonder where a youth so fair 
 These many years had wander'd. Then the 
 
 news 
 Of how his valor proved invincible; 
 How Nestor, Cycnus and old Priam's sons 
 
 [m] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Had fled before him, warm'd (Enone's heart 
 Because she loved him and was proud of him. 
 But very pale was that Ocyroe 
 The while she heard CEnone's praise of him, 
 And oft she bent her head above the boy 
 Whose prattle naught could silence. What to 
 
 him 
 Were deeds of valor when the air contain'd 
 The dipping swallow and the butterfly, 
 The wayward thistle-drift and humming bee? 
 And soon the swains were telling of the fight 
 With steel-thew'd Hector who, though beaten 
 
 down, 
 Drove Paris, refuge seeking, to the fane 
 Whence incense upward curl'd to Jupiter, 
 And where no man might slaughter. There, 
 
 too, came 
 Cassandra, the far-seeing, unapprised 
 As yet of Troy's red ending and her own ; 
 Who, seeing Paris, and how like he was 
 To anger'd Hector, ask'd him who he was 
 And where the years had hid him. Unto her. 
 Pale Death beside him, Paris told the tale 
 Of his upbringing; and she wept with him. 
 And led him forth to Priam. To his breast 
 The old man clasp'd him, while the weight of 
 
 years 
 Fell from his shoulders Hke a heavy robe 
 
 [ 178] 
 
GENONE 
 
 And left him happy; and the sons came up 
 And call'd him brother and were glad to claim 
 With Paris kinship. Then all Troy rejoiced 
 And mighty torches made the night seem day. 
 But, hearing this, CEnone turn'd away 
 And left the teller of the tale alone. 
 For well she knew that Paris now must go 
 The ways of princes, and the woods no more 
 Might lure his footsteps ; never now the peace 
 Of meadows call him. He was one with kings 
 And kingly aspirations. Pomp and war 
 Would draw him ever from the arms of her. 
 And gleaming Glory lure him to the heights 
 Whence simple love is banish'd. To her breast 
 She press'd her boy; and when the nymphs 
 
 would come 
 With gifts of fruits and berries, golden corn 
 And fine, firm olives, bade them look at him 
 And note his chubby limbs, his curling hair, 
 His eyes and all the loveliness of him. 
 But oh ! the constant sorrow of her lips, 
 That told her heart's eternal heaviness. 
 And then the story of Hesione, 
 King Priam's sister, forced by Hercules 
 From home to wedlock travell'd to the woods 
 And thrill'd the nymphs ; for Paris, it was said, 
 By their enamor'd, faithful messengers, 
 Had built a fleet of triremes ; pack'd with men 
 [179] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Whose very shouts would terrify the stars, 
 Huge-handed, iron-muscled, they had sail'd 
 With Paris as their leader to her aid. 
 And once again, CEjione, having heard 
 This latest fable (for it was no more), 
 Had wept a little, but was proud of him. 
 And pray'd the gods to speed him on his way. 
 But Thornax, who was wise beyond her years, 
 Said nothing when the other nymphs extoll'd 
 (Ejione's lover. For the youth whose steps 
 Had f oUow'd Paris when he tended sheep 
 Was now in Troy, and, loving him, she knew 
 What maids might there allure him. Even now 
 She saw soft arms around him, heard him sigh 
 When whitest fingers bound his brows with 
 
 leaves 
 Of oak and fadeless laurel. Paris, too, 
 Would prove as fickle — ah ! she knew it well. 
 That little nymph whom never herd might win. 
 And then one day all Troy ran here and there. 
 While Priam clutch'd with marble hands his 
 
 throne 
 And glared in silence. For the tale was told 
 By one who sail'd with Paris, now return'd 
 To where his own were calling, that his lord 
 Had steer'd for Sparta, where of Menelaus 
 Fair Helen wife was, deem'd most beautiful 
 Of all earth's wondrous women. Under guise, 
 
 [ 180 ] 
 
OENONE 
 
 So said this man, of paying sacrifice 
 To bright Apollo, he had woo'd and won 
 The blue-eyed queen from husband and from 
 
 home, 
 And now was Troyward hasting. At his heels 
 Ten thousand ships with thrice ten thousand 
 
 men 
 And Greece's princes, eager for his blood. 
 Smote the curl'd waves asunder ; they would ask 
 Of Priam's hands before the month was gone 
 The bright-hair'd prince and his adulteress 
 Or leave the city level with the plain 
 For winds to scatter with the desert's dust. 
 Thus raved the bearded fellow, while his eyes 
 Roam'd from his pallid wife and little ones 
 To where the far hills' green security 
 Loom'd indistinctly. And he fled to them 
 With those he loved, and was not seen again, 
 Nor ever heard of. And the sun went down 
 Upon a silent city and a king 
 Whose doom was written though he knew it not, 
 Whose children were to perish by the sword 
 And he to follow by that bloody end. 
 All this was soon imparted to the nymphs, 
 Who told CEnone; and the later tale 
 Of how one golden dawn her Paris came. 
 The gleaming Helen with him, to the town 
 That f ear'd his coming ; how the aged king, 
 
 [ 181] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Himself a victim to a thing so fair, 
 Had scorn'd the stem ambassadors from Greece 
 And brought his woe upon him. Then no more 
 Might shepherds slip through closely-guarded 
 
 gates, 
 Past horrid engines and encircling camps 
 To where the pale ones trembled in the woods. 
 Their news awaiting. But at night they stole. 
 Those fearsome nymphs, to where by bushes 
 
 hid 
 They still might peer upon the fated town 
 And its grim menace. And the leaping flames 
 That sometimes rent the horror-stricken dark 
 Spoke to the breathless watchers of the slain, 
 Whose hands no more might grasp the javelin 
 In Troy's defence; whose eyes outstared the 
 
 stone ; 
 Whose dreams were over. And they crept 
 
 away — 
 Lanassa, Thomax and Ocyroe — 
 To quiet pools or thickets odorous 
 Where ne'er was heard the rasping engines' din 
 Or the lean jackals howling on the plain. 
 
 WEEKS pass'd, and months. Upon the 
 gentle trees 
 Time lays no weighty hand ; alone on men 
 It presses from the cradle to the grave 
 [ 182 ] 
 
CENONE 
 
 And crushes mad ambition. From a seed 
 The saphng springs, and is content to grow 
 With still insistence through the centuries, 
 Itself a part of beauty; heeding not 
 Its fair example, we, who deem us wise. 
 Clamor against the silence of the stars 
 And die before its life is well begun. 
 Months pass'd and years. The meadows were 
 
 as fair 
 As when the sun first woo'd them ; and the hills, 
 Aware of how their hearts for ever held 
 Impenetrable secrets, at the skies 
 As calmly stared as when no eye had seen 
 The first-laid stone of Troy's magnificence. 
 Years pass'd — and years ! Pale woe and paler 
 
 Death 
 And pitiless Destruction o'er the town 
 Had grinn'd and glared, while Desolation 
 
 stalk'd 
 Its batter'd walls, its horror-haunted streets 
 And fear-fiU'd palaces; but still the woods 
 Were greenly peaceful, and the song of birds 
 W^as all that sometimes broke their silences. 
 And though the shepherds long had wander'd 
 
 thence. 
 Too fearful to be constant, now and then 
 The nymphs would learn the sorrow of the town 
 And tell CEnone. Much they held from her ; 
 [ 183 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 For Paris now was hated of all men, 
 And all condemn'd him. In his palace lay 
 The one whose perfidy was cramming hell 
 With Troy's fair children; but her eyes were 
 
 cold 
 To all save Paris, and she watch'd them die 
 With unconcerned gaze and lips as firm 
 As was the archer's bow that guarded her. 
 And though men bade him send the harlot home 
 That war might cease, and Troy be glad again, 
 Her arms were magnets, and they drew him in, 
 And he forgot the anger'd multitude 
 Upon her peerless bosom. In their hearts 
 Men hated her and Paris ; yet so fair 
 This wondrous pair, these lovers of all time, 
 That each forgot his grievance, seeing them, 
 Yet cursed again when they had pass'd away. 
 These tales were told and somehow reach'd the 
 
 nymphs. 
 Now older and far sadder than of yore 
 When first they gather'd on the slanting hills 
 And laugh'd at love and lovers. But the years. 
 Those awful years of carnage, lessen'd not 
 CEnone's love for Paris. From the woods 
 She drew fresh courage, and her boy's clear eyes 
 Were stars of promise. Moments came to her 
 When the bright beauty that encircled her 
 Fill'd her with longing for the peace that is 
 
 [ 184] 
 
GENONE 
 
 True beauty's spirit, and she cried aloud 
 For Paris, Paris. Yet she doubted not 
 That he one day would part the greenery 
 And, like a splendor, greet her. Though no 
 
 more 
 She heard the faithful, pale Ocyroe 
 (Long gather'd to the comfort of the soil) 
 Re-tell his doings, she was sure of him, 
 And sure that soon her eyes should see again 
 The form so dear. To that sweet pool she 
 
 went — 
 The pool that heard their whispers — ^night by 
 
 night. 
 And dream'd of him. In her accustom'd place 
 One silv'ry night when she was seated there. 
 Her love should find her ; and her vows re-told, 
 Her lashes wet no longer, they would seek 
 Their sleeping boy. To-morrow ! If not then — 
 Ah ! many years her lips had f orm'd the word 
 As darkness closed about her ; many years 
 The dawn had found her, lifting quiet eyes 
 To where Hope smiled upon her loneliness. 
 
 SWEET Hope, most mild and most com- 
 passionate. 
 Life's kindest of companions. From the skies 
 Where gleaming stars attend thee, thou dost 
 bend 
 
 [ 185] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Earthward thy. gaze, and o'er despondent men 
 And those who scorn the hatred of the stars 
 Thou lookest benediction, smilest peace. 
 Thy mantle trails the darkness that lies furl'd 
 About the awful beauty of the worlds ; 
 But higher than the proudest of the orbs 
 Thy hands are lifted, and infinity 
 Rebounds the aspirations of thy soul. 
 Thus bursts the dawn above thee ; thus the light 
 From distances unthinkable is pour'd 
 To fill thee with a promise, as by day 
 The hearts of men are fill'd with purposes 
 Beyond the hand's performance. From the 
 
 heights 
 |Thou drawest thus the promise of the high. 
 The promise that is hinted by the hills. 
 And sung by surging waters ; then from down 
 The ardent skies thou steppest to the ways 
 Whereon men wander aimlessly, or with 
 Eyes set against the goal of their desire — 
 The ways whereon they suffer or are glad. 
 Thou shatterest the darkness; at thy gaze 
 The lone, the lost, the broken, and the host 
 That bend in doubt and tremble in despair 
 Look up, look out to hazy distances 
 Of pearl and promise, to the dawns that gild 
 The threshold of the Future. JEons hence. 
 With all their idols shatter'd, soulless creeds 
 [ 186] 
 
CENONE 
 
 Flung to the writhing turmoil of the winds, 
 And dreams long dead, men still shall follow 
 
 thee, 
 And lift pale hands above the moment's stress 
 Whene'er they see thy flaming face, Hope! 
 
 AND true it is that Paris, mark'd at last 
 jTm, For that grey place where greyer shadows 
 
 tell 
 Of life's illusions ; where the mists enfold 
 Alike pale lovers and applauded men. 
 Both king and shepherd, being near to death, 
 Forgot the gleaming Helen, and to her 
 Whose gentler beauty haunted him in dreams 
 Turn'd in his weakness and his spirit's stress. 
 Whom Fortune favors. Death eyes greedily; 
 The humble live until the shafts of Chance 
 Fulfill his minor purpose. On a day 
 When never life seem'd sweeter; when the air 
 Flash'd with the movement of a myriad wings 
 And hinted the protection of the gods, 
 Death stared at Paris. Then he left the world 
 Of spears and heroes, wounded mortally, 
 And sought the woods where once his sheep had 
 
 browsed 
 From dawn till dusk. " The end is near," he 
 
 sigh'd 
 To them that stood beside him where he lay, 
 
 [ 18T ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Of death expectant. " I can see no more 
 The setting sun nor the encrimson'd skies 
 Above our Troy ; the thunder of the stones 
 Against our walls is like the lap of waves 
 On shores of golden velvet. Bear me hence 
 From where I lie to her whose hands may cool 
 My burning forehead e'er it chills in death." 
 And one cried : " Master, we will bear thee 
 
 straight 
 To where, unconscious of the coming night 
 Which soon must be her portion, she awaits 
 Her lord's arrival. There she waits for thee 
 On carpets crimson as the solemn skies 
 Thine eyes can see no longer. Helen waits." 
 But Paris cried, as if in agony. 
 And they that served him listen'd. " Not to 
 
 her," 
 Said he, " I bid ye bear me. Let her bide 
 Amid her tapestries and see me not. 
 Whose life is wasted through mad love of her. 
 But bear me hence, trusted hearts of mine. 
 To where the woods in pity gaze on us 
 Doom-circled mortals. From the plain creeps 
 
 out 
 A straight lean path ; if ye but follow it 
 The line shall lead ye to an ancient tree. 
 The forest's outpost. There I'll tell ye more. 
 I fain would rest a little, being weak." 
 [ 188] 
 
GENONE 
 
 And then, ail-tenderly, they lifted him 
 
 And laid him in the hollow of his shield, 
 
 And raised it shoulder-high ; then look'd ahead 
 
 To find the matted path of long ago, 
 
 The path he well remember 'd. Then at once 
 
 The four stepp'd forward, heroes all of them. 
 
 And so, unnoticed, picked their way through 
 
 death 
 In utter silence. Now the sun had set, 
 And they that warr'd were gather'd in their 
 
 tents 
 Or Troy's wreck'd temples, where they pray'd. 
 
 the gods 
 For better fortune. Dogs ran here and there, 
 And nosed the dying. But nor dogs nor men 
 Beheld the bearers as they slipp'd away. 
 Their hearts as heavy as the thing they bore 
 Upon their shoulders. And they came at last 
 To where the oak gloom'd, and of Paris ask'd 
 Where they should bear him. And he spoke 
 
 again 
 (How faint his voice !) : " Go now to where the 
 
 sun — 
 I know not if it shine on ye or not — 
 Go now to where its splendor is last seen 
 By lovers' eyes, as watching it descend 
 They sit together, hand in trembling hand. 
 Ye soon shall find a thickly-shelter'd pool 
 
 [ 189] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 Where even now a deer may take its fill 
 Of blessed water. There I oft have sat 
 With one most dear beside me, in the days 
 Ere fickle Venus lured me to my doom 
 And this unhappy ending. Then I was 
 A simple shepherd ; but she loved me well, 
 And still would love me, though all men recoil'd 
 From one so base as Paris. Being come 
 To that same pool, I bid ye lay me down 
 And though I sleep, there leave me." And the 
 
 men 
 Had fear'd for Paris. " We would stay," they 
 
 cried, 
 " To guard thee in the shadows. In the night 
 Dread Horrors lurk amid those awesome trees, 
 And they may harm thee. Bid us stay by thee 
 Until the woods grow golden in the dawn." 
 But Paris sigh'd, earth-weary. "Lay me down 
 By that still pool," he whisper'd. " Though I 
 
 sleep, 
 I bid ye wake me not. Then go ye back 
 To Troy, my heroes. When they ask for me 
 Say I am happy with the one I love. 
 And, being happy, ask no more of Fame 
 Or hard-eyed Glory. When ye think of me, 
 Behold me in CEnone's constant arms. 
 At peace for ever." And they bore him on 
 To where they sensed the sun had disappear 'd, 
 [ 190 ] 
 
CENONE 
 
 And spoke no word. For a tremendous hush 
 Had settled now on bushes and on trees 
 And all that made the forest. Through the 
 
 dark 
 The black bat flitted, Pluto's messenger; 
 And subtle fragrances like incense rose 
 To where the gods were planning. Soon would 
 
 rise 
 The pallid guardian of men's destinies 
 Throughout the night; and little stars would 
 
 peep 
 From out the heaven's enormous draperies 
 On Troy's dejection and the forest's calm, 
 And wonder, wonder, wonder. But the men 
 Whose backs were bow'd beneath the sagging 
 
 shield 
 Look'd never up. On, on and on they went. 
 All-silent in the silence, e'en as ghosts 
 That flit along the unresounding floors 
 Of those vast chambers in the underworld 
 Where no one questions, no one makes reply. 
 And soon they came to where in darkness 
 
 gleam'd 
 The pool's still surface; and they laid him 
 
 down — 
 Now fast asleep upon that bier-like shield, 
 Asleep indeed, although they knew it not — 
 And gazed at him in silence. One by one 
 
 [ 191 ] 
 
IDYLLS OF GREECE 
 
 They touch'd his forehead, yet disturb'd him 
 
 not 
 Whose sleep was sounder than the dawn might 
 
 break ; 
 Or tears or kisses, or the clasp of arms 
 Or passion's pleading waken. One by one, 
 With hearts still heavy and with heads still 
 
 bow'd 
 They crept away through the portentous woods, 
 And left him there, his cheek upon his hand. 
 His eyes tight closed; and on his moveless lips 
 The hint of an unfathomable smile. 
 
 Here end the Idylls of Greece, 
 Written in New York, Santa 
 Barbara and Denver; in the 
 years 1900-1913. 
 
 [ 192 ] 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 PiililliliililH 
 
 015 873 911 2 •