Not for silky tiara nor amice gustily floating
Recks she at all any more; thee, Theseus, ever her earnest
70 Heart, all clinging thought, all chained fancy requireth.
Ah unfortunate! whom with miseries ever crazing,
Thorns in her heart deep planted, affray'd Erycina to madness,
From that earlier hour, when fierce for victory Theseus
Started alert from a beach deep-inleted of Piræus,
75 Gain'd Gortyna's abode, injurious halls of oppression.
Once, 'tis sung in stories, a dire distemper atoning
Death of an ill-blest prince, Androgeos, angrily slaughter'd,
Taxed of her youthful array, her maidenly bloom fresh-glowing,
Feast to the monster bull, Cecropia, ransom-laden.
80 Then, when a plague so deadly, the garrison undermining,
Spent that slender city, his Athens dearly to rescue,
Sooner life Theseus and precious body did offer,
Ere his country to Crete freight corpses, a life in seeming.
So with a ship fast-fleeted, a gale blown gently behind him,
85 Push'd he his onward journey to Minos' haughty dominion.
Him for very delight when a virgin fondly desiring
Gazed on, a royal virgin, in odours silkily nestled,
Pure from a maiden's couch, from a mother's pillowy bosom,
Like some myrtle, anear Eurotas' water arising,
90 Like earth's myriad hues, spring's progeny, rais'd to the breezes;
Droop'd not her eyes their gaze unquenchable, ever-burning
Save when in each charm'd limb to the depths enfolded, a sudden
Flame blazed hotly within her, in all her marrow abiding.
O thou cruel of heart, thou madding worker of anguish,
95 Boy immortal, of whom joy springs with misery blending,
Yea, thou queen of Golgi, of Idaly leaf-embower'd,
O'er what a fire love-lit, what billows wearily tossing,
Drave ye the maid, for a guest so sunnily lock'd deep sighing.
What most dismal alarms her swooning fancy did echo!
100 Oft what a sallower hue than gold's cold glitter upon her!
Whiles, heart-hungry in arms that monster deadly to combat,
Theseus drew towards death or victory, guerdon of honour.
Yet not lost the devotion, or offer'd idly the virgin's
Gifts, as her unvoic'd lips breathed incense faintly to heaven.
105 As on Taurus aloft some oak agitatedly waving
Tosses his arms, or a pine cone-mantled, oozily rinded,
When as his huge gnarled trunk in furious eddies a whirlwind
Riving wresteth amain; down falleth he, upward hoven,
Falleth on earth; far, near, all crackles brittle around him,
110 So to the ground Theseus his fallen foeman abasing,
Slew, that his horned front toss'd vainly, a sport to the breezes.
Thence in safety, a victor, in height of glory returned,
Guiding errant feet to a thread's impalpable order.
Lest, upon egress bent thro' tortuous aisles labyrinthine,
115 Walls of blindness, a maze unravell'd ever, elude him.
Yet, for again I come to the former story, beseems not
Linger on all done there; how left that daughter a gazing
Father, a sister's arms, her mother woefully clinging,
Mother, who o'er that child moan'd desperate, all heart-broken;
120 How not in home that maid, in Theseus only delighted;
How her ship on a shore of foaming Dia did harbour;
How, when her eyes lay bound in slumber's shadowy prison,
He forsook, forgot her, a wooer traitorous-hearted:
Oft, say stories, at heart with frenzied fantasy burning,
125 Pour'd she, a deep-wrung breast, clear-ringing cries of oppression;
Sometimes mournfully clomb to the mountain's rugged ascension,
Straining thence her vision across wide surges of ocean;
Now to the brine ran forth, upsplashing freshly to meet her,
Lifting raiment fine her thighs which softly did open;
130 Last, when sorrow had end, these words thus spake she lamenting,
While from a mouth tear-stain'd chill sobs gushed dolorous ever.
'Look, is it here, false heart, that rapt from country, from altar,
Household altar ashore, I wander, falsely deserted?
Ah! is it hence, Theseus, that against high heaven a traitor
135 Homeward thou thy vileness, alas thy perjury bearest?
Might not a thought, one thought, thy cruel counsel abating
Sway thee tender? at heart rose no compassion or any
Mercy, to bend thy soul, or me for pity deliver?
Yet not this thy promise of old, thy dearly remembered
140 Voice, not these the delights thou bad'st thy poor one inherit;
Nay, but wedlock happy, but envied joy hymeneal;
All now melted in air, with a light wind emptily fleeting.