In such a glen, on such a day,
On Pelion, on the grassy ground
Chiron, the aged Centaur, lay,
The young Achilles standing by.
The Centaur taught him to explore
The mountains; where the glens are dry,
And the tired Centaurs come to rest,
And where the soaking springs abound,
And the straight ashes grow for spears,
And where the hill-goats come to feed,
And the sea-eagles build their nest.
He showed him Phthia far away,
And said, “O boy, I taught this lore
To Peleus, in long-distant years!”
He told him of the gods, the stars,
The tides; and then of mortal wars,
And of the life which heroes lead
Before they reach the Elysian place,
And rest in the immortal mead;
And all the wisdom of his race.
The music below ceases, and Empedocles speaks, accompanying
himself in a solemn manner on his harp.
The out-spread world to span,
A cord the gods first slung,
And then the soul of man
There, like a mirror, hung,
And bade the winds through space impel the gusty toy.
Hither and thither spins
The wind-borne, mirroring soul;
A thousand glimpses wins,
And never sees a whole;
Looks once, and drives elsewhere, and leaves its last employ.
The gods laugh in their sleeve
To watch man doubt and fear,
Who knows not what to believe
Since he sees nothing clear,
And dares stamp nothing false where he finds nothing sure.
Is this, Pausanias, so?
And can our souls not strive,
But with the winds must go,
And hurry where they drive?
Is Fate indeed so strong, man’s strength indeed so poor?
I will not judge. That man,
Howbeit, I judge as lost,
Whose mind allows a plan,
Which would degrade it most;
And he treats doubt the best who tries to see least ill.
Be not, then, fear’s blind slave!
Thou art my friend; to thee,
All knowledge that I have,
All skill I wield, are free.
Ask not the latest news of the last miracle,—
Ask not what days and nights
In trance Pantheia lay,
But ask how thou such sights
May’st see without dismay;
Ask what most helps when known, thou son of Anchitus!
What! hate, and awe, and shame
Fill thee to see our time;
Thou feelest thy soul’s frame
Shaken and out of chime?
What! life and chance go hard with thee too, as with us;