The Sirens.
Come to the land where none grows old, And none is rash or over-bold, Nor any noise there is nor war, Nor rumour from wild lands afar, Nor plagues, nor birth and death of kings; No vain desire of unknown things Shall vex you there, no hope or fear Of that which never draweth near; But in that lovely land and still Ye may remember what ye will, And what ye will, forget for aye. So while the kingdoms pass away, Ye sea-beat hardened toilers erst, Unresting, for vain fame athirst, Shall be at peace for evermore, With hearts fulfilled of Godlike lore, And calm, unwavering Godlike love, No lapse of time can turn or move. There, ages after your fair Fleece Is clean forgotten, yea, and Greece Is no more counted glorious, Alone with us, alone with us, Alone with us, dwell happily, Beneath our trembling roof of sea.
Orpheus.
Ah! do ye weary of the strife And long to change this eager life For shadowy and dull hopelessness, Thinking indeed to gain no less Than far from this grey light to lie, And there to die and not to die, To be as if ye ne'er had been, Yet keep your memory fresh and green, To have no thought of good or ill, Yet feed your fill or pleasure still? O idle dream! Ah, verily If it shall happen unto me That I have thought of anything, When o'er my bones the sea-fowl sing, And I lie dead, how shall I pine For those fresh joys that once were mine, On this green fount of joy and mirth, The ever young and glorious earth; Then, helpless, shall I call to mind Thoughts of the sweet flower-scented wind, The dew, the gentle rain at night, The wonder-working snow and white. The song of birds, the water's fall, The sun that maketh bliss of all; Yea, this our toil and victory, The tyrannous and conquered sea.
The Sirens.
Ah, will ye go, and whither then Will ye go from us, soon to die, To fill your three-score years and ten, With many an unnamed misery? And this the wretchedest of all, That when upon your lonely eyes The last faint heaviness shall fall Ye shall bethink you of our cries. Come back, nor grown old, seek in vain To hear us sing across the sea. Come back, come back, come back again, Come back, O fearful Minyæ!
Orpheus.
Ah, once again, ah, once again, The black prow plunges through the sea, Nor yet shall all your toil be vain, Nor yet forgot, O Minyæ. In such wise sang the Thracian, in such wise Out gushed the Sirens' deadly melodies; But long before the mingled song was done, Back to the oars the Minyæ, one by one, Slunk silently; though many an one sighed sore, As his strong fingers met the wood once more, And from his breast the toilsome breathing came. But as they laboured, some for very shame Hung down their heads, and yet amongst them some Gazed at the place whence that sweet song had come; But round the oars and Argo's shielded side The sea grew white, and she began to glide Swift through the waters of that deadly bay; But when a long wake now behind her lay, And still the whistle of the wind increased, Past shroud and mast, and all the song had ceased, Butes rose up, the fair Athenian man, And with wild eyes betwixt the rowers ran Unto the poop and leapt into the sea; Then all men rested on their oars, but he Rose to the top, and towards the shore swam fast; While all eyes watched him, who had well-nigh past The place where sand and water 'gan to meet In wreaths and ripples round the ivory feet, When sun-burnt swimmer, snow-white glancing limb, And yellow sand unto their eyes grew dim, Nor did they see their fellow any more. But when they once again beheld the shore The wind sung o'er the empty beach and bare, And by the cliff uprose into the air A delicate and glittering little cloud, That seemed some many-coloured sun to shroud; But as the rugged cliff it drew above The wondering Minyæ beheld it move Westward, toward Lilybæum and the sun. Then once more was their seaward course begun, And soon those deadly sands were far astern, Nor ever after could the heroes learn If Butes lived or died; but old tales tell That while the tumbling waves he breasted well, Venus beheld him, as unseen she drew From sunny Cyprus to the headland blue Of Lilybæum, where her temple is; She, with a mind his sun-burnt brows to kiss, E'en as his feet were dropping nigh the beach, And ere his hand the deadly hands could reach, Stooped, as the merlin stoops upon the dove, And snatched him thence to be awhile her love, Betwixt the golden pillars of her shrine, That those who pass the Ægades see shine From high-raised Lilybæum o'er the sea. But far away the sea-beat Minyæ Cast forth the foam, as through the growing night They laboured ever, having small delight In life all empty of that promised bliss, In love that scarce can give a dying kiss, In pleasure ending sweet songs with a wail, In fame that little can dead men avail, In vain toil struggling with the fateful stream, In hope, the promise of a morning dream. Yet as night died, and the cold sea and grey Seemed running with them toward the dawn of day, Needs must they once again forget their death, Needs must they, being alive and drawing breath, As men who of no other life can know In their own minds again immortal grow. But toward the south a little now they bent, And for a while o'er landless sea they went, But on the third day made another land At dawn of day, and thitherward did stand; And since the wind blew lightly from the shore, Somewhat abeam, they feared not with the oar To push across the shallowing sea and green, That washed a land the fairest they had seen, Whose shell-strewn beach at highest of the tide 'Twixt sea and flowery shore was nowise wide, And drawn a little backward from the sea There stood a marble wall wrought cunningly, Rosy and white, set thick with images, And over-topped with heavy-fruited trees, Which by the shore ran, as the bay did bend, And to their eyes had neither gap nor end; Nor any gate: and looking over this, They saw a place not made for earthly bliss, Or eyes of dying men, for growing there The yellow apple and the painted pear, And well-filled golden cups of oranges Hung amid groves of pointed cypress trees; On grassy slopes the twining vine-boughs grew, And hoary olives 'twixt far mountains blue, And many-coloured flowers, like as a cloud The rugged southern cliffs did softly shroud; And many a green-necked bird sung to his mate Within the slim-leaved, thorny pomegranate, That flung its unstrung rubies on the grass, And slowly o'er the place the wind did pass Heavy with many odours that it bore From thymy hills down to the sea-beat shore, Because no flower there is, that all the year, From spring to autumn, beareth otherwhere, But there it flourished; nor the fruit alone From 'twixt the green leaves and the boughs outshone, For there each tree was ever flowering. Nor was there lacking many a living thing Changed of its nature; for the roebuck there Walked fearless with the tiger; and the bear Rolled sleepily upon the fruit-strawn grass, Letting the conies o'er his rough hide pass, With blinking eyes, that meant no treachery. Careless the partridge passed the red fox by; Untouched the serpent left the thrushes brown, And as a picture was the lion's frown. But in the midst there was a grassy space, Raised somewhat over all the flowery place, On marble terrace-walls wrought like a dream; And round about it ran a clear blue stream, Bridged o'er with marble steps, and midmost there Grew a green tree, whose smooth grey boughs did bear Such fruit as never man elsewhere had seen, For 'twixt the sunlight and the shadow green Shone out fair apples of red gleaming gold. Moreover round the tree, in many a fold, Lay coiled a dragon, glittering little less Than that which his eternal watchfulness Was set to guard; nor yet was he alone, For from the daisied grass about him shone Gold raiment wrapping round two damsels fair, And one upon the steps combed out her hair, And with shut eyes sung low as in a dream; And one stood naked in the cold blue stream, While on the bank her golden raiment lay; But on that noontide of the quivering day, She only, hearing the seafarers' shout, Her lovely golden head had turned about, And seen their white sail flapping o'er the wall, And as she turned had let her tresses fall, Which the thin water rippling round her knee Bore outward from her toward the restless sea. Not long she stood, but looking seaward yet, From out the water made good haste to get, And catching up her raiment hastily, Ran up the marble stair, and 'gan to cry: "Wake, O my sisters, wake, for now are come The thieves of Æa to our peaceful home." Then at her voice they gat them to their feet, And when her raiment all her body sweet Once more had hidden, joining hand to hand, About the sacred apples did they stand, While coiled the dragon closer to the tree, And raised his head above them threateningly. Meanwhile, from Argo many a sea-beat face Gazed longingly upon that lovely place, And some their eager hands already laid Upon the gangway. Then Medea said:— "Get back unto the oars, O Minyæ, Nor loiter here, for what have such as we To do herein, where, 'mid undying trees, Undying watch the wise Hesperides, And where the while they watch, scarce can a God Set foot upon the fruit-besprinkled sod That no snow ever covers? therefore haste, Nor yet in wondering your fair lives waste; For these are as the Gods, nor think of us, Nor to their eyes can aught be glorious That son of man can do; would God that I Could see far off the misty headland lie, Where we the guilt of blood shall wash away, For I grow weary of the dashing spray, And ceaseless roll of interwoven seas, And fain were sitting 'neath the whispering trees In homely places, where the children play, Who change like me, grow old, and die some day." She ceased, and little soothly did they grieve, For all its loveliness, that land to leave, For now some God had chilled their hardihead, And in their hearts had set a sacred dread, They knew not why; but on their oars they hung, A little longer as the sisters sung. "O ye, who to this place have strayed, That never for man's eyes was made, Depart in haste, as ye have come, And bear back to your sea-beat home This memory of the age of gold, And for your eyes, grown over-bold, Your hearts shall pay in sorrowing, For want of many a half-seen thing. "Lo, such as is this garden green, In days past, all the world has been, And what we know all people knew, Save this, that unto worse all grew. "But since the golden age is gone, This little place is left alone, Unchanged, unchanging, watched of us, The daughters of wise Hesperus. "Surely the heavenly Messenger Full oft is fain to enter here, And yet without must he abide; Nor longeth less the dark king's bride To set red lips unto that fruit That erst made nought her mother's suit. Here would Diana rest awhile, Forgetful of her woodland guile, Among these beasts that fear her nought. Nor is it less in Pallas' thought, Beneath our trees to ponder o'er The wide, unfathomed sea of lore; And oft-kissed Citheræa, no less Weary of love, full fain would press These flowers with soft unsandalled feet. "But unto us our rest is sweet, Neither shall any man or God Or lovely Goddess touch the sod Where-under old times buried lie, Before the world knew misery. Nor will we have a slave or king, Nor yet will we learn anything But that we know, that makes us glad; While oft the very Gods are sad With knowing what the Fates shall do. "Neither from us shall wisdom go To fill the hungering hearts of men, Lest to them threescore years and ten Come but to seem a little day, Once given, and taken soon away. Nay, rather let them find their life Bitter and sweet, fulfilled of strife, Restless with hope, vain with regret, Trembling with fear, most strangely set 'Twixt memory and forgetfulness; So more shall joy be, troubles less, And surely when all this is past, They shall not want their rest at last. "Let earth and heaven go on their way, While still we watch from day to day, In this green place left all alone, A remnant of the days long gone." There in the wind they hung, as word by word The clear-voiced singers silently they heard; But when the air was barren of their song, Anigh the shore they durst not linger long, So northward turned forewearied Argo's head, And dipping oars, from that fair country sped, Fulfilled of new desires and pensive thought, Which that day's life unto their hearts had brought. Then hard they toiled upon the bitter sea, And in two days they did not fail to be In sight of land, a headland high and blue Which straight Milesian Erginus knew To be the fateful place which now they sought, Stormy Malea, so thitherward they brought The groaning ship, and, casting anchor, lay Beneath that headland's lee, within a bay, Wherefrom the more part landed, and their feet Once more the happy soil of Greece did meet. Therewith they failèd not to bring ashore Rich robes of price and of fair arms good store, And gold and silver, that they there might buy What yet they lacked for their solemnity; Then, while upon the highest point of land Some built an altar, Jason, with a band Of all the chiefest of the Minyæ, Turned inland from the murmur of the sea. Not far they went ere by a little stream Down in a valley they could see the gleam Of brazen pillars and fair-gilded vanes, And, dropping down by dank dark-wooded lanes From off the hill-side, reached a house at last Where in and out men-slaves and women passed, And guests were streaming fast into the hall, Where now the oaken boards were laid for all. With these the Minyæ went, and soon they were Within a pillared hall both great and fair, Where folk already sat beside the board, And on the dais was an ancient lord. But when these saw the fearless Minyæ Glittering in arms, they sprang up hastily, And each man turned about unto the wall To seize his spear or staff: then through the hall Jason cried out: "Laconians, fear ye not, Nor leave the flesh-meat while it reeketh hot For dread of us, for we are men as ye, And I am Jason of the Minyæ, And come from Æa to the land of Greece, And in my ship bear back the Golden Fleece, And a fair Colchian queen to fill my bed. And now we pray to share your wine and bread, And other things we need, and at our hands That ye will take fair things of many lands." "Sirs," said the ancient lord, "be welcome here, Come up and sit by me, and make such cheer As here ye can: glad am I that to me The first of Grecian men from off the sea Ye now are come." Therewith the great hall rang With joyful shouts, and as, with clash and clang Of well-wrought arms, up to the dais they went, All eyes upon the Minyæ were bent, Nor could they have enough of wondering At this or that sea-tossed victorious king. So with the strangers there they held high feast, And afterwards the slaves drove many a beast Down to the shore, and carried back again Great store of precious things in pack and wain; Wrought gold and silver, gems, full many a bale Of scarlet cloth, and fine silk, fit to veil The perfect limbs of dreaded Goddesses; Spices fresh-gathered from the outland trees, And arms well-wrought, and precious scarce-known wine, And carven images well-nigh divine. So when all folk with these were satisfied, Back went the Minyæ to the water-side, And with them that old lord, fain to behold Victorious Argo and the Fleece of Gold. And so aboard amid the oars he lay Throughout the night, and at the dawn of day Did all men land, nor spared that day to wear The best of all they had of gold-wrought gear, And every one, being crowned with olive grey, Up to the headland did they take their way, Where now already stood the crownèd priests About the altars by the gilt-horned beasts. There, as the fair sun rose, did Jason break Over the altar the thin barley-cake, And cast the salt abroad, and there were slain The milk-white bulls, and there red wine did rain On to the fire from out the ancient jar, And high rose up the red flame, seen afar From many another headland of that shore: But over all its crackling and its roar Uprose from time to time a joyous song, That on the summer morning lay for long, The mighty voices of the Minyæ Exulting o'er the tossing conquered sea, That far below thrust on by tide and wind The crumbling bases of the headland mined.