GREEK SONGS
THE STORM OF DELPHI.[246]
Far through the Delphian shades
An Eastern trumpet rung!
And the startled eagle rush’d on high,
With a 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 press’d.
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!
’Twas not the shadow cast
By the dark pine-boughs, as they cross’d the blue
Of the Grecian heavens with their solemn hue;
The air was fill’d with a mightier sway—
But on the spearmen pass’d!
And hollow to their tread
Came the echoes of the ground;
And banners droop’d, as with dews o’erborne,
And the wailing blast of the battle-horn
Had an alter’d cadence, dull and dead,
Of strange foreboding sound.
But they blew a louder strain,
When the steep defiles were pass’d!
And afar the crown’d 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 look’d 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
Like heavy wheels on the ocean-shore,
And a savage trumpet’s note peal’d out,
Till their hearts for terror died!
On the armour of the god
Then a viewless hand was laid;
There were helm and spear, with a clanging din,
And corslet brought from the shrine within,
From the inmost shrine of the dread abode,
And before its front array’d.
And a sudden silence fell
Through the dim and loaded air!
On the wild-bird’s wing and the myrtle spray,
And the very founts in their silvery way:
With a weight of sleep came down the spell,
Till man grew breathless there.
But the pause was broken soon!
’Twas not by song or lyre;
For the Delphian maids had left their bowers,
And the hearths were lone in the city’s towers,
But there burst a sound through the misty noon—
That battle-noon of fire!
It burst from earth and heaven!
It roll’d from crag and cloud!
For a moment on the mountain-blast
With a thousand stormy voices pass’d;
And the purple gloom of the sky was riven,
When the thunder peal’d aloud.
And the lightnings in their play
Flash’d forth, like javelins thrown:
Like sun-darts wing’d from the silver bow,
They smote the spear and the turban’d brow;
And the bright gems flew from the crests like spray,
And the banners were struck down!
And the massy oak-boughs crash’d
To the fire-bolts from on high,
And the forest lent its billowy roar,
While the glorious tempest onward bore,
And lit the streams, as they foam’d and dash’d,
With the fierce rain sweeping by.
Then rush’d the Delphian men
On the pale and scatter’d host.
Like the joyous burst of a flashing wave,
They rush’d from the dim Corycian cave;
And the singing blast o’er wood and glen
Roll’d on, with the spears they toss’d.
There were cries of wild dismay,
There were shouts of warrior-glee,
There were savage sounds of the tempest’s mirth,
That shook the realm of their eagle-birth;
But the mount of song, when they died away,
Still rose, with its temple, free!
And the Pæan swell’d ere long,
Io Pæan! from the fane;
Io Pæan! for the war-array
On the crown’d Parnassus riven that day!
—Thou shalt rise as free, thou mount of song!
With thy bounding streams again.
[246] See the account cited from Herodotus, in Mitford’s Greece.
THE BOWL OF LIBERTY.[247]
Before the fiery sun—
The sun that looks on Greece with cloudless eye,
In the free air, and on the war-field won—
Our fathers crown’d the Bowl of Liberty.
Amidst the tombs they stood,
The tombs of heroes! with the solemn skies,
And the wide plain around, where patriot-blood
Had steep’d the soil in hues of sacrifice.
They call’d the glorious dead,
In the strong faith which brings the viewless nigh,
And pour’d rich odours o’er their battle-bed,
And bade them to their rite of Liberty.
They call’d them from the shades—
The golden-fruited shades, where minstrels tell
How softer light th’ immortal clime pervades,
And music floats o’er meads of asphodel.
Then fast the bright-red wine
Flow’d to their names who taught the world to die,
And made the land’s green turf a living shrine,
Meet for the wreath and Bowl of Liberty.[248]
So the rejoicing earth
Took from her vines again the blood she gave,
And richer flowers to deck the tomb drew birth
From the free soil, thus hallow’d to the brave.
We have the battle-fields,
The tombs, the names, the blue majestic sky,
We have the founts the purple vintage yields;
—When shall we crown the Bowl of Liberty?
[247] This and the following piece appeared originally in the New Monthly Magazine.
[248] For an account of this ceremony, anciently performed in commemoration of the battle of Platæa, see Potter’s Antiquities of Greece, vol. i. p. 389.