"From Ithaca, my home, I came, And Achemenides my name,
The comrade of Ulysses' woes:
For Troy I left my father's door,
Poor Adamastus; both were poor;
Ah! would these fates had been as those!
Me, in their eager haste to fly
The scene of hideous butchery,
My unreflecting countrymen
Left in the Cyclops' savage den.
All foul with gore that banquet room
Immense and dreadful in its gloom.
He, lofty towering, strikes the skies
(Snatch him, ye Gods, from mortal eyes!):
No kindly look e'er crossed his face,
Ne'er oped his lips in courteous grace:
The limbs of wretches are his food:
He champs their flesh, and quaffs their blood.
I saw, when his enormous hand
Plucked forth two victims from our band,
Swung round, and on the threshold dashed,
While all the floor with blood was splashed:
I saw him grind them, bleeding fresh,
And close his teeth on quivering flesh:
Not unrequited: such a wrong
My wily chieftain brooked not long:
E'en in that dire extreme of ill
Ulysses was Ulysses still.
For when o'ercome with sleep and wine
Along the cave he lay supine,
Ejecting from his monstrous maw
Wine mixed with gore and gobbets raw,
We pray to Heaven, our parts dispose,
And in a circle round him close.
With sharpened point that eyeball pierce
Which 'neath his brow glared lone and fierce,
Like Argive shield or sun's broad light,
And thus our comrades' death requite.
But fly, unhappy, fly, and tear
Your anchors from the shore:
For vast as Polyphemus there
Guards, feeds, and milks his fleecy care,
On the sea's margin make their home
And o'er the lofty mountains roam
A hundred Cyclops more.
Three moons their circuit nigh have made,
Since in wild den or woodland shade
My wretched life I trail,
See Cyclops stalk from rock to rock,
And tremble at their footsteps' shock,
And at their voices quail.
Hard cornel fruits that life sustain,
And grasses gathered from the plain.
Long looking round, at last I scanned
Your vessels bearing to the strand.
Whate'er you proved, I vowed me yours:
Enough, to 'scape these bloody shores.
Become yourselves my slayers, and kill
This destined wretch which way you will."
E'en as he spoke, or e'er we deem,
Down from the lofty rock
We see the monster Polypheme
Advancing 'mid his flock,
In quest the well-known shore to find,
Huge, awful, hideous, ghastly, blind.
A pine tree, plucked from earth, makes strong
His tread, and guides his steps along.
His sheep upon their master wait,
Sole joy, sole solace of his fate.
Soon as he touched the ocean waves
And reached the level flood,
Groaning and gnashing fierce, he laves
His socket from the blood,
And through the deepening water strides,
While scarce the billows bathe his sides.
With wildered haste we speed our flight,
Admit the suppliant, as of right,
And noiseless loose the ropes;
Our quick oars sweep the blue profound:
The giant hears, and towards the sound
With outstretched hands he gropes.
But when he grasps and grasps in vain,
Still headed by the Ionian main,
To heaven he lifts a monstrous roar.
Which sends a shudder through the waves,
Shakes to its base the Italian shore,
And echoing runs through Ætna's caves.
From rocks and woods the Cyclop host
Rush startled forth, and crowd the coast.
There glaring fierce we see them stand
In idle rage, a hideous band,
The sons of Etna, carrying high
Their towering summits to the sky:
So on a height stand clustering trees,
Tall oaks, or cone-clad cypresses,
The stately forestry of Jove,
Or Dian's venerable grove.
Fierce panic bids us set our sail,
And stand to catch the first fair gale.
But stronger e'en than present fear
The thought of Helenus the seer,
Who counseled still those seas to fly
Where Scylla and Charybdis lie:
That path of double death we shun,
And think a backward course to run.
When lo! from out Pelorus' strait
The northern breezes blow:
We pass Pantagia's rocky gate,
And Megara, where vessels wait,
And Thapsus, pillowed low.
So, measuring back familiar seas,
Land after land before us shows
The rescued Achemenides,
The comrade of Ulysses' woes.
THE RETURN OF THE GOLDEN AGE.
(Translated by Sir Charles Bowen.)
COME is the last of the ages, in song Cumæan foretold. Now is the world's grand cycle begun once more from of old.
Justice the Virgin comes, and the Saturn kingdom again; Now from the skies is descending a new generation of men. Thou to the boy in his birth, upon whose first opening
The iron age shall close, and a race that is golden arise,
Chaste Lucina be kindly! He reigns-thy Phoebus-to-day!
Thine to be Consul, thine, at a world's bright ushering in,
Pollio, when the procession of nobler month 3 shall begin,
Under thy rule all lingering races of Italy's sin,
Fading to naught, shall free us from fear's perpetual sway
Life of the gods shall be his, to behold with the gods in their might
Heroes immortal mingled, appear himself a their sight,
Rule with his Father's virtues a world at peace from the sword.
Boy, for thine infant presents the earth unlabored shall bring
Ivies wild with foxglove around thee wreathing, and fling
Mixed with the laughing acanthus the lotus ieaf on the sward;
Homeward at eve untended the goat shall come from the mead
Swelling with milk; flocks fearless of monstrous lions shall feed,
Even thy cradle blossom with tender flowers, and be gay
Every snake shall perish; the treacherous poison weed
Die. and Assyrian spices arise unsown by the way.
When thou art apie to read of the heroes' glories, the bright
Deeds of thy sire, and to know what is manhood's valor and might,
Plains will be turning golden, and wave with ripening corn;
Purple grapes shall blush on the tangled wilderness thorn;
Honey from hard-grained oaks be distilling pure as the dew;
Though of our ancient folly as yet shall linger a few
Traces, to bid us venture the deep, with walls to surround
Cities, and, restless ever, to cleave with furrows the ground.
Then shall another Tiphys, a later Argo to sea
Sail, with her heroes chosen; again great battles shall be;
Once more the mighty Achilles be sent to a second Troy.
Soon when strengthening years shall have made thee man from a boy,
Trader himself shall aban on the deep; no trafficking hull
Barter her wares; all regions of all things fair shall be full.
Glebe shall be free from the harrow, the vine no pruner fear
Soon will the stalwart plowman release unneeded the steer.
Varied hues no longer the wool shall falsely assume.
Now to a blushing purple and row to the saffron's bloom,
Cropping the meadow, the ram snall change his fleece at his need:
Crimsoning grasses color the lambs themselves as they feed.
"Ages blest, roll onward!" the Sisters of Destiny cried
Each to her spindle, agreeing by Fate's firm will to abide.
Come to thy godlike honors; the time well-nigh is begun;
Offspring loved of immortals, of Jove great scion and sor.!
Lo, how the universe totters beneath heaven's dome and its weight,
Land and the wide waste waters, the depths of the firmament great!
Lo, a nature rejoices to see this glorious day!
Ah, may the closing years of my life enduring be found,-
Breath sufficient be mine thy deeds of valor to sound; -
Orpheus neither nor Linus shall ever surpass my lay;
One with mother immortal, and one with sire, at his side,
To Orpheus Calliopeia, to Linus Apollo allied.
Pan, were he here competing, did all Arcadia see,
Pan, by Arcadia's voice, should allow him vanquished of me.
Baby, begin thy mother to know, and to meet with a smile;
Ten long moons she has waited, and borne her burden the while.
Smile, my babe; to his feast no god has admitted the child,
Goddess none to his kisses, on whom no parent has smiled.
A SACRED ECLOGUE IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S "POLLIO."
[ALEXANDER POPE: An English poet; born May 22, 1688. His whole career was one of purely poetic work and the personal relations it brought him into. He published the "Essay on Criticism" in 1710, the "Rape of the Lock" in 1711, the "Messiah" in 1712, his translation of the Iliad in 17181720, and of the Odyssey in 1725. His "Essay on Man," whose thoughts were mainly suggested by Bolingbroke, appeared in 1733. His "Satires," modeled on Horace's manner, but not at all in his spirit, are among his best-known works. He died May 30, 1744.]
YE Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heav'nly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more O thou my voice inspire
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the Bard begun:
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies:
Th' Æthereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic Dove.
Ye Heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale;
|