No pilgrim to the Pythian shrine
But marked the spot with decent awe,
In presence of a power divine,
O'erruling human will and law :
And to some thoughtful hearts that scene,
Those paths, that mound, those browsing herds,
Were more than e'er that tale had been,
Arrayed in Sophoclean words.
So is it yet, -no time or space
That ancient anguish can assuage,
For sorrow is of every race,
And suffering due from every age;
That awful legend falls to us,
With all the weight that Greece could feel,
And every man is ŒŒdipus,
Whose wounds no mortal skill can heal.
O, call it Providence or fate,
The Sphinx propounds the riddle still,
That man must bear and expiate
Loads of involuntary ill :
So shall endurance ever hold
The foremost rank mid human needs, Not without faith that God can mould
To good the dross of evil deeds.
HAVE seen Delphi: I no more shall see it:
I go contented, having seen it once;
Yet here awhile remain, prisoner well-pleased
Of reboant winds. Within this mountain cove
Their sound alone finds entrance. Lightly the waves,
Rolled from the outer to the inner bay,
Dance in blue silver o'er the silver sands;
While, like a chain-bound antelope by some child
Mocked oft with tempting hand and fruit upheld,
Our quick caique vaults up among the reeds,
The ripples that plunge past it upward sending
O'er the gray margin matted with sea-pink
Ripplings of light. The moon is veiled; a mile
Below the mountain's eastern range it hangs :
Yon gleam is but its reflex, from white clouds
Scattered along Parnassian peaks of snow.
I see but waves and snows. Memory alone
Fruition hath of what this morn was mine:
O'er many a beauteous scene at once she broods,
And feeds on joys without confusion blent
Like mingling sounds or odors. Now she rests
On that serene expanse (the confluence
Of three long vales) in sweetness upward heaved,
Ample and rich as Juno's breast what time
The Thunderer's breath in sleep moves over it:
Bathes in those runnels now, that raced in light
This morn as at some festival of streams,
Through arbutus and ilex, wafting each
Upon its glassy track a several breeze,
Each with its tale of joy or playful sadness.
Fair nymphs, by great Apollo's fall untouched!
Sing, sing forever! When did golden Phoebus
Look sad one moment for a fair nymph's fall?
A still, black glen; below, a stream-like copse
Of hoary olives; rocks like walls beside,
Never by Centaur trod, though these fresh gales
Give man the Centaur's strength. Again I mount,
From cliff to cliff, from height to height ascend;
Glitters Castalia's Fount; I see, I touch it!
That rift once more I reach, the oracular seat,
Whose arching rocks half meet in air suspense;
"Twixt them is one blue streak of heaven; hard by
Dim temples hollowed in the stone, for rites
Mysterious shaped, or mansions of the dead:
Released, I turn, and see, far, far below,
A vale so rich in floral garniture,
And perfume from the orange and the sea,
So girt with white peaks flashing from sky chasms,
So lighted with the vast blue dome of heaven,
So lulled with music from the winds and waves,
The guest of Phoebus claps his hands and shouts,
"There is but one such spot; from heaven Apollo
Beheld; and chose it for his earthly shrine!"
NAR through the Delphian shades
An Eastern trumpet rung!
And the startled eagle rushed on high,
With sounding flight through the fiery sky,
And banners o'er the shadowy glades
To the sweeping winds were flung.
Banners, with deep-red gold
All waving, as a flame,
And a fitful glance from the bright spear-head
On the dim wood-paths of the mountain shed,
And a peal of Asia's war-notes told
That in arms the Persian came.
He came, with starry gems
On his quiver and his crest;
With starry gems, at whose heart the day
Of the cloudless orient burning lay,
And they cast a gleam on the laurel-stems,
As onward his thousands pressed.
But a gloom fell o'er their way,
And a heavy moan went by!
A moan, yet not like the wind's low swell,
When its voice grows wild amidst cave and dell,
But a mortal murmur of dismay,
Or a warrior's dying sigh!
A gloom fell o'er their way!
"T was not the shadow cast
By the dark pine-boughs as they passed the blue
Of the Grecian heavens with their solemn hue;
The air was filled with a mightier sway,
But on the spearmen passed!
And hollow to their tread,
Came the echoes of the ground,
And banners drooped, as with dews o'erborne,
And the wailing blast of the battle-horn
Had an altered cadence, dull and dead,
Of strange foreboding sound.
But they blew a louder strain,
When the steep defiles were passed! And afar the crowned Parnassus rose, To shine through heaven with his radiant snows, And in golden light the Delphian fane Before them stood at last!
In golden light it stood,
Midst the laurels gleaming lone,
For the sun-god yet, with a lovely smile,
O'er its graceful pillars looked awhile,
Though the stormy shade on cliff and wood
Grew deep, round its mountain-throne.
And the Persians gave a shout!
But the marble walls replied,
With a clash of steel, and a sullen roar
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