And o’er that sea,
Bright, tepid, calm, the sunset breezes waft
A chant of sailors from a home-bound craft;
The white gulls flee
At its approach; while from the beach, where run
The tidings of return and riches won,
Come other chants to welcome distantly
The ship that seems to sail from out the sun.
Oh ply the oar,
Ye sun-tanned youths! does patient love not wait
With tight-strained heart, intent upon your fate?
The old loved shore
Is close, close, close! ye hear the lyre’s loud strings—
Ye almost hear the words that gladness sings.
Oh ply the oar with might, and each shall pour
Into Love’s lap the treasures that he brings!
MARSYAS.
Give ear—give ear!
From yonder grove in sudden gusts there comes
A sound of flutes, of cymbals and of drums;
And now I hear
Wild cries of Mænads who, with ivy crowned,
Toss their mad heads and whirl and leap and bound,
Brandishing snakes; while, in voluptuous fear,
The pale ecstatic votaries press around.
Whirl faster still,
Ye fierce flushed Mænads, lither than the asp,
Or gleaming adder writhing in your grasp!
The wild flutes fill
The air with madness! Let the hot shift slip,
And show the panting breast, the glistening hip!
Dance ever faster, though the dance should kill!
Whirl on, with flaming eye and quivering lip!
I come, I come,
O Cybele, great Cybele, that hast
Thy chief throne here, I come to thee at last!
From my far home
I bring at last to thy deep rustling grove
The wild pent fire that in my bosom strove;
I come to lift thy praise to heaven’s dome;
Perchance to die, on tasting thy dread love.
APOLLO.
Where sunshine clings
To Parian columns, what chaste marshalled throng
Brings thee, Athena, wreaths of flowers and song?
Thy pure fane rings
With measured chants; on horses small and fleet
Come stalwart youths; while with restrainèd feet
The troop of virgins climb the steps, that brings
The sacred olive and the sacred wheat.
Hark, never cease
The pure chaste hymns to hail the mighty child
Of the cleft brows of Zeus, all undefiled;
Armed friend of peace
From whose strong breastplate streams transcendent light,
Whose spear makes dim the meteors of the night;
Pure Patroness of plenty and increase,
Mistress of sunny cities walled and white!
And, oh, to-day,
Thou armed and placid Pallas, deadly foe
Of all things lewd and wild who once didst throw
In scorn away
The lewd wild flute, too base for thy pure breath,
And doom whoe’er should find it to slow death,
Come to my aid, and let my pure lyre play
Such bright chaste sounds as shall deserve the wreath!