THE RE-CHRISTENING OF THE BOSPHORUS.
Not the less apart for ever,
Europe's coast, and Asia's shore,
Though two continents to sever,
Scarce a mile of sea doth roar;
Though, whene'er that ocean-music
Sinks upon the summer air.
You may near Sultanieh's bulbuls
Answering those of Buyukdère.
To that belt of rolling water,
In the early Grecian age,
Came the Argive king's fair daughter
Fleeing Juno's jealous rage.
Zeus had wrought the maid dishonour;
And to hide her from his spouse,
Working foul defeature on her,
Changed her fair form to a cow's.
But the lynx-eyed wife discovering
What the heifer's form concealed,
As a gad-fly quickly hovering,
Stung her rival from the field;
Driving on that hapless maiden—
Mad with pain and flecked with gore—
Till she staggered, sorrow-laden,
To the far Propontid shore.
Pausing there, perforce, to breathe her,
Faint, and frenzied, and foredone,
She beheld the sea beneath her
Basking lucid in the sun.
In she dashed—the grateful chillness
Brought assuagement to her pain,
Gave her throbbing pulses stillness,
Calmed the fever of her brain.
Juno then her chase arrested,
And the gad-fly stung no more;
On swam Io, unmolested,
Till she reached the Asian shore,
Hence that strait, the poets tell us,
Took the name it bears till now,
"Bosporus," in tongue of Hellas,
Meaning "Passage of the Cow."
Age on age has since passed over
Those wild waters in their flow—
They have seen the Carian rover,
Seeking wealth with sling and bow—
Seen the sun in his meridian
Glinted back from countless arms,
When to Greece the turbaned Median
Led his hosts, like locust-swarms.
For the lordship of that region
Every race hath drawn the sword—
Grecian phalanx, Roman legion,
Norse Vikinger, Vandal horde.
Still, through all, that strait retaineth
Its old name in Hellas' song;
"Bosporus" it still remaineth,
"Bosporus" it shall be long.
But from this our day the meaning
Of the word we cast anew,
Now that Russia's Czar o'erweening,
His war-vultures doth unmew.
Onward like a base marauder
Threatening force, when foiled in sleight,
He hath crossed the Turkish border
In contempt of law and right.
While the Turk, in force unequal,
But with heart that scorns to flee,
Dauntlessly awaits the sequel
Of the war, if war must be.
Of the West he claims alliance;
France and England meet the call,
And their flags in proud defiance
Soon may float by Stamboul's wall.
In the outraged cause of nations,
Turk and Christian will be one;
When the fleets are at their stations—
Every man beside his gun.
But our place must be the vanward,
Other leading brook not we—
Bearing England's banner onward,
The Britannia cleaves the sea.
When defiant but unvaunting—
Hull by hull, slow surging on—
Tricolor and red cross flaunting,
Euxine-wards the fleet hath gone.
Bosporus! thine ancient glory,
This thy new renown shall dull;
"Passage of the Cow," in story,
Changing to "Passage of John Bull."