Delphi Complete Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) E-Book

Algernon Charles Swinburne

• Herausgeber: Delphi Classics
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: Delphi Poets Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 5184

Beschreibung

A gifted poet, playwright, novelist, and critic, Algernon Charles Swinburne created late Victorian works that were controversial and groundbreaking, establishing his name as an imaginative innovator of his very own poetic forms, whilst achieving notoriety due to his scandalous lifestyle. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents the complete poetical works and plays of Swinburne, with beautiful illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Swinburne's life and works
* Concise introductions to the poetry and other texts
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Features rare posthumous poems available nowhere else
* the complete verse dramas, with individual contents tables
* Includes Swinburne's only complete novel, LOVE’S CROSS-CURRENTS
- appearing here for the first time on eReaders
* Features Gosse’s seminal 1917 biography on the great poet, available in no other collection - discover Swinburne's literary life
* A selection of non-fiction
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres

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CONTENTS:

The Poetry Collections
ATALANTA IN CALYDON
POEMS AND BALLADS (FIRST SERIES)
SONGS OF TWO NATIONS
SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE
ERECHTHEUS
POEMS AND BALLADS (SECOND SERIES)
POEMS AND BALLADS. (THIRD SERIES)
SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES
STUDIES IN SONG
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE
SONNETS
SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS (1590-1650)
A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY AND OTHER POEMS
A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS
ASTROPHEL AND OTHER POEMS
THE HEPTALOGIA
THE TALE OF BALEN
A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS
POSTHUMOUS AND UNCOLLECTED POEMS

The Poems
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

The Verse Dramas
THE QUEEN MOTHER
ROSAMOND
CHASTELARD
BOTHWELL
MARY STUART
MARINO FALIERO
LOCRINE
THE SISTERS
ROSAMUND, QUEEN OF THE LOMBARDS
THE DUKE OF GANDIA

The Novel
LOVE’S CROSS-CURRENTS

Selected Non-Fiction
WILLIAM BLAKE: A CRITICAL ESSAY
THE AGE OF SHAKESPEARE

The Biography
THE LIFE OF ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE by Edmund Gosse

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Leseprobe

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

(1837-1909)

Contents

The Poetry Collections

ATALANTA IN CALYDON

POEMS AND BALLADS (FIRST SERIES)

SONGS OF TWO NATIONS

SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE

ERECHTHEUS

POEMS AND BALLADS (SECOND SERIES)

POEMS AND BALLADS. (THIRD SERIES)

SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES

STUDIES IN SONG

TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE

SONNETS

SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS (1590-1650)

A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY AND OTHER POEMS

A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS

ASTROPHEL AND OTHER POEMS

THE HEPTALOGIA

THE TALE OF BALEN

A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS

POSTHUMOUS AND UNCOLLECTED POEMS

The Poems

LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

The Verse Dramas

THE QUEEN MOTHER

ROSAMOND

CHASTELARD

BOTHWELL

MARY STUART

MARINO FALIERO

LOCRINE

THE SISTERS

ROSAMUND, QUEEN OF THE LOMBARDS

THE DUKE OF GANDIA

The Novel

LOVE’S CROSS-CURRENTS

Selected Non-Fiction

WILLIAM BLAKE: A CRITICAL ESSAY

THE AGE OF SHAKESPEARE

The Biography

THE LIFE OF ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE by Edmund Gosse

© Delphi Classics 2013

Version 1

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

By Delphi Classics, 2013

NOTE

When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

The Poetry Collections

7 Chester Street, Grosvenor Place, London — Swinburne’s birthplace

The poet with his sisters, 1843

Sketch of Swinburne, aged 23 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

ATALANTA IN CALYDON

Algernon Charles Swinburne was born in London on 5 April 1837. He was the eldest of six children and the son of Captain Charles Henry Swinburne and Lady Jane Henrietta, daughter of the 3rd Earl of Ashburnham. He spent his childhood at East Dene in Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight and later attended Eton College, where he was inspired to start writing poetry. When attending Balliol College, Oxford, he was rusticated from the university for a brief spell in 1859 for having publicly supported the attempted assassination of Napoleon III by Felice Orsini.  However, he returned the following year, though he was never to receive his degree.

When spending his summer holidays at Capheaton Hall in Northumberland, Swinburne was inspired in his poetry by the many classical works he read in the house of his grandfather, Sir John Swinburne, 6th Baronet, who owned a famous library and was President of the Literary and Philosophical Society in Newcastle upon Tyne. Swinburne considered Northumberland to be his native county — an attachment that can be clearly seen in some of the poet’s most evocative and memorable works, including the emotionally charged and patriotic Northumberland and Grace Darling.

In 1857 Swinburne became a member of Lady Pauline Trevelyan’s intellectual circle at Wallington Hall, meeting new literary companions interested in his poetry.  Whilst studying at Oxford, he also met several Pre-Raphaelite artists, including Dante Gabriel Rossetti and William Morris. After leaving college he lived in London and started an active writing career, living for a time with Rossetti, who was delighted with his ‘little Northumbrian friend’, in reference to Swinburne’s small height of five foot four.

Swinburne’s first poetic publication was Atalanta in Calydon in 1865, of which one hundred copies were privately printed.  Although in essence a drama, the work is generally collected in poetry editions of Swinburne’s works. Atalanta in Calydon concerns the eponymous virgin huntress, who was unwilling to marry and beloved by the hero Meleager. The poetic drama recounts how Artemis was forgotten at a sacrifice by King Oineus. Intensely angered, Artemis sent the savage Calydonian Boar to ravage the land, men and cattle, preventing crops from being sown. Atalanta joined Meleager and many other famous heroes on a hunt for the boar. Many of the men were angry that a woman was joining them, but Meleager, though married, lusted for Atalanta, and so he persuaded them to include her. Several of the men were killed before Atalanta became the first to hit the boar and draw blood. After Meleager finally killed the boar with his spear, he awarded the skin to Atalanta. Meleager’s uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, were angry and tried to take the skin from her. In revenge, Meleager killed his uncles. Wild with grief, Meleager’s mother Althaea threw a charmed log on the fire, which consumed Meleager’s life as it burned.

Swinburne by William Bell Scott

Pauline, Lady Trevelyan, who was an early supporter of the young Swinburne’s poetry

Wallington Hall, near Morpeth, Northumberland. After Pauline Jermyn married the naturalist Sir Walter Calverley Trevelyan, they began hosting literary and scientific figures at the Hall. As a cultural centre, Wallington visitors included the members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the budding poet Swinburne.

CONTENTS

THE PERSONS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ATALANTA IN CALYDON.

The first edition of Swinburne’s first poetry book

‘Meleager, assisted by Cupid, presents Atalanta with the head of the Calydonian Boar’ by the studio of Rubens

ATALANTA IN CALYDON

TO THE MEMORY

OF

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

I NOW DEDICATE, WITH EQUAL AFFECTION, REVERENCE, AND REGRET, A POEM INSCRIBED TO HIM WHILE YET ALIVE IN WORDS WHICH ARE NOW RETAINED BECAUSE THEY WERE LAID BEFORE HIM; AND TO WHICH, RATHER THAN CANCEL THEM, I HAVE ADDED SUCH OTHERS AS WERE EVOKED BY THE NEWS OF HIS DEATH: THAT THOUGH LOSING THE PLEASURE I MAY NOT LOSE THE HONOUR OF INSCRIBING IN FRONT OF MY WORK THE HIGHEST OF CONTEMPORARY NAMES.

THE PERSONS.

CHIEF HUNTSMAN. CHORUS. ALTHAEA. MELEAGER OENEUS. ATALANTA. TOXEUS. PLEXIPPUS. HERALD. MESSENGER. SECOND MESSENGER.

THE ARGUMENT.

Althaea, daughter of Thestius and Eurythemis, queen of Calydon, being with child of Meleager her first-born son, dreamed that she brought forth a brand burning; and upon his birth came the three Fates and prophesied of him three things, namely these; that he should have great strength of his hands, and good fortune in this life, and that he should live no longer when the brand then in the fire were consumed: wherefore his mother plucked it forth and kept it by her. And the child being a man grown sailed with Jason after the fleece of gold, and won himself great praise of all men living; and when the tribes of the north and west made war upon Aetolia, he fought against their army and scattered it. But Artemis, having at the first stirred up these tribes to war against Oeneus king of Calydon, because he had offered sacrifice to all the gods saving her alone, but her he had forgotten to honour, was yet more wroth because of the destruction of this army, and sent upon the land of Calydon a wild boar which slew many and wasted all their increase, but him could none slay, and many went against him and perished. Then were all the chief men of Greece gathered together, and among them Atalanta daughter of Iasius the Arcadian, a virgin, for whose sake Artemis let slay the boar, seeing she favoured the maiden greatly; and Meleager having despatched it gave the spoil thereof to Atalanta, as one beyond measure enamoured of her; but the brethren of Althaea his mother, Toxeus and Plexippus, with such others as misliked that she only should bear off the praise whereas many had borne the labour, laid wait for her to take away her spoil; but Meleager fought against them and slew them: whom when Althaea their sister beheld and knew to be slain of her son, she waxed for wrath and sorrow like as one mad, and taking the brand whereby the measure of her son’s life was meted to him, she cast it upon a fire; and with the wasting thereof his life likewise wasted away, that being brought back to his father’s house he died in a brief space, and his mother also endured not long after for very sorrow; and this was his end, and the end of that hunting.

ATALANTA IN CALYDON.

CHIEF HUNTSMAN.

 Maiden, and mistress of the months and stars  Now folded in the flowerless fields of heaven,  Goddess whom all gods love with threefold heart,  Being treble in thy divided deity,  A light for dead men and dark hours, a foot  Swift on the hills as morning, and a hand  To all things fierce and fleet that roar and range  Mortal, with gentler shafts than snow or sleep;  Hear now and help and lift no violent hand,  But favourable and fair as thine eye’s beam  Hidden and shown in heaven, for I all night  Amid the king’s hounds and the hunting men  Have wrought and worshipped toward thee; nor shall man  See goodlier hounds or deadlier edge of spears,  But for the end, that lies unreached at yet  Between the hands and on the knees of gods,  O fair-faced sun killing the stars and dews  And dreams and desolation of the night!  Rise up, shine, stretch thine hand out, with thy bow  Touch the most dimmest height of trembling heaven,  And burn and break the dark about thy ways,  Shot through and through with arrows; let thine hair  Lighten as flame above that nameless shell  Which was the moon, and thine eyes fill the world  And thy lips kindle with swift beams; let earth  Laugh, and the long sea fiery from thy feet  Through all the roar and ripple of streaming springs  And foam in reddening flakes and flying flowers  Shaken from hands and blown from lips of nymphs  Whose hair or breast divides the wandering wave  With salt close tresses cleaving lock to lock,  All gold, or shuddering and unfurrowed snow;  And all the winds about thee with their wings,  And fountain-heads of all the watered world;  Each horn of Acheloüs, and the green  Euenus, wedded with the straitening sea.  For in fair time thou comest; come also thou,  Twin-born with him, and virgin, Artemis,  And give our spears their spoil, the wild boar’s hide.  Sent in thine anger against us for sin done  And bloodless altars without wine or fire.  Him now consume thou; for thy sacrifice  With sanguine-shining steam divides the dawn,  And one, the maiden rose of all thy maids,  Arcadian Atalanta, snowy-souled,  Fair as the snow and footed as the wind,  From Ladon and well-wooded Maenalus  Over the firm hills and the fleeting sea  Hast thou drawn hither, and many an armèd king,  Heroes, the crown of men, like gods in fight.  Moreover out of all the Aetolian land,  From the full-flowered Lelantian pasturage  To what of fruitful field the son of Zeus  Won from the roaring river and labouring sea  When the wild god shrank in his horn and fled  And foamed and lessened through his wrathful fords,  Leaving clear lands that steamed with sudden sun,  These virgins with the lightening of the day  Bring thee fresh wreaths and their own sweeter hair,  Luxurious locks and flower-like mixed with flowers,  Clean offering, and chaste hymns; but me the time  Divides from these things; whom do thou not less  Help and give honour, and to mine hounds good speed,  And edge to spears, and luck to each man’s hand.

CHORUS.

 When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces,    The mother of months in meadow or plain  Fills the shadows and windy places    With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;  And the brown bright nightingale amorous  Is half assuaged for Itylus,  For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,    The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.

 Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers.    Maiden most perfect, lady of light,  With a noise of winds and many rivers,    With a clamour of waters, and with might;  Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet,  Over the splendour and speed of thy feet;  For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers,    Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night.

 Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her,    Fold our hands round her knees, and cling?  O that man’s heart were as fire and could spring to her,    Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring!  For the stars and the winds are unto her  As raiment, as songs of the harp-player;  For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her,    And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing.

 For winter’s rains and ruins are over,    And all the season of snows, and sins;  The days dividing lover and lover,    The light that loses, the night that wins;  And time remembered is grief forgotten,  And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,  And in green underwood and cover    Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

 The full streams feed on flower of rushes,    Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot,  The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes    From leaf to flower and flower to fruit,  And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire,  And the oat is heard above the lyre,  And the hoofèd heel of a satyr crushes    The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.

 And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,    Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid,  Follows with dancing and fills with delight    The Maenad and the Bassarid;  And soft as lips that laugh and hide  The laughing leaves of the trees divide,  And screen from seeing and leave in sight    The god pursuing, the maiden hid.

 The ivy falls with the Bacchanal’s hair    Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes;  The wild vine slipping down leaves bare    Her bright breast shortening into sighs;  The wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves.  But the berried ivy catches and cleaves  To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare    The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies.

ALTHAEA.

What do ye singing? what is this ye sing?

CHORUS.

 Flowers bring we, and pure lips that please the gods,  And raiment meet for service: lest the day  Turn sharp with all its honey in our lips.

ALTHAEA.

 Night, a black hound, follows the white fawn day,  Swifter than dreams the white flown feet of sleep;  Will ye pray back the night with any prayers?  And though the spring put back a little while  Winter, and snows that plague all men for sin,  And the iron time of cursing, yet I know  Spring shall be ruined with the rain, and storm  Eat up like fire the ashen autumn days.  I marvel what men do with prayers awake  Who dream and die with dreaming; any god,  Yea the least god of all things called divine,  Is more than sleep and waking; yet we say,  Perchance by praying a man shall match his god.  For if sleep have no mercy, and man’s dreams  Bite to the blood and burn into the bone,  What shall this man do waking? By the gods,  He shall not pray to dream sweet things to-night,  Having dreamt once more bitter things than death.

CHORUS.

 Queen, but what is it that hath burnt thine heart?  For thy speech flickers like a brown-out flame.

ALTHAEA.

 Look, ye say well, and know not what ye say,  For all my sleep is turned into a fire,  And all my dreams to stuff that kindles it.

CHORUS.

Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.

ALTHAEA.

Yea, lest they smite us with some four-foot plague.

CHORUS.

But when time spreads find out some herb for it.

ALTHAEA.

And with their healing herbs infect our blood.

CHORUS.

What ails thee to be jealous of their ways?

ALTHAEA.

What if they give us poisonous drinks for wine?

CHORUS.

They have their will; much talking mends it not.

ALTHAEA.

And gall for milk, and cursing for a prayer?

CHORUS.

Have they not given life, and the end of life?

ALTHAEA.

 Lo, where they heal, they help not; thus they do,  They mock us with a little piteousness,  And we say prayers, and weep; but at the last,  Sparing awhile, they smite and spare no whit.

CHORUS.

 Small praise man gets dispraising the high gods:  What have they done that thou dishonourest them?

ALTHAEA.

 First Artemis for all this harried land  I praise not; and for wasting of the boar  That mars with tooth and tusk and fiery feet  Green pasturage and the grace of standing corn  And meadow and marsh with springs and unblown leaves,  Flocks and swift herds and all that bite sweet grass,  I praise her not, what things are these to praise?

CHORUS.

 But when the king did sacrifice, and gave  Each god fair dues of wheat and blood and wine,  Her not with bloodshed nor burnt-offering  Revered he, nor with salt or cloven cake;  Wherefore being wroth she plagued the land, but now  Takes off from us fate and her heavy things.  Which deed of these twain were not good to praise?  For a just deed looks always either way  With blameless eyes, and mercy is no fault.

ALTHAEA.

 Yea, but a curse she hath sent above all these  To hurt us where she healed us; and hath lit  Fire where the old fire went out, and where the wind  Slackened, hath blown on us with deadlier air.

CHORUS.

What storm is this that tightens all our sail?

ALTHAEA.

Love, a thwart sea-wind full of rain and foam.

CHORUS.

Whence blown, and born under what stormier star?

ALTHAEA.

Southward across Euenus from the sea.

CHORUS.

Thy speech turns toward Arcadia like blown wind.

ALTHAEA.

Sharp as the north sets when the snows are out.

CHORUS.

Nay, for this maiden hath no touch of love.

ALTHAEA.

 I would she had sought in some cold gulf of sea  Love, or in dens where strange beasts lurk, or fire,  Or snows on the extreme hills, or iron land  Where no spring is; I would she had sought therein  And found, or ever love had found her here.

CHORUS.

 She is holier than all holy days or things,  The sprinkled water or fume of perfect fire;  Chaste, dedicated to pure prayers, and filled  With higher thoughts than heaven; a maiden clean,  Pure iron, fashioned for a sword, and man  She loves not; what should one such do with love?

ALTHAEA.

 Look you, I speak not as one light of wit,  But as a queen speaks, being heart-vexed; for oft  I hear my brothers wrangling in mid hall,  And am not moved; and my son chiding them,  And these things nowise move me, but I know  Foolish and wise men must be to the end,  And feed myself with patience; but this most,  This moves me, that for wise men as for fools  Love is one thing, an evil thing, and turns  Choice words and wisdom into fire and air.  And in the end shall no joy come, but grief,  Sharp words and soul’s division and fresh tears  Flower-wise upon the old root of tears brought forth,  Fruit-wise upon the old flower of tears sprung up,  Pitiful sighs, and much regrafted pain.  These things are in my presage, and myself  Am part of them and know not; but in dreams  The gods are heavy on me, and all the fates  Shed fire across my eyelids mixed with night,  And burn me blind, and disilluminate  My sense of seeing, and my perspicuous soul  Darken with vision; seeing I see not, hear  And hearing am not holpen, but mine eyes  Stain many tender broideries in the bed  Drawn up about my face that I may weep  And the king wake not; and my brows and lips  Tremble and sob in sleeping, like swift flames  That tremble, or water when it sobs with heat  Kindled from under; and my tears fill my breast  And speck the fair dyed pillows round the king  With barren showers and salter than the sea,  Such dreams divide me dreaming; for long since  I dreamed that out of this my womb had sprung  Fire and a firebrand; this was ere my son,  Meleager, a goodly flower in fields of fight,  Felt the light touch him coming forth, and waited  Childlike; but yet he was not; and in time  I bare him, and my heart was great; for yet  So royally was never strong man born,  Nor queen so nobly bore as noble a thing  As this my son was: such a birth God sent  And such a grace to bear it. Then came in  Three weaving women, and span each a thread,  Saying This for strength and That for luck, and one  Saying Till the brand upon the hearth burn down,  So long shall this man see good days and live.  And I with gathered raiment from the bed  Sprang, and drew forth the brand, and cast on it  Water, and trod the flame bare-foot, and crushed  With naked hand spark beaten out of spark  And blew against and quenched it; for I said,  These are the most high Fates that dwell with us,  And we find favour a little in their sight,  A little, and more we miss of, and much time  Foils us; howbeit they have pitied me, O son,  And thee most piteous, thee a tenderer thing  Than any flower of fleshly seed alive.  Wherefore I kissed and hid him with my hands,  And covered under arms and hair, and wept,  And feared to touch him with my tears, and laughed;  So light a thing was this man, grown so great  Men cast their heads back, seeing against the sun  Blaze the armed man carven on his shield, and hear  The laughter of little bells along the brace  Ring, as birds singing or flutes blown, and watch,  High up, the cloven shadow of either plume  Divide the bright light of the brass, and make  His helmet as a windy and wintering moon  Seen through blown cloud and plume-like drift, when ships  Drive, and men strive with all the sea, and oars  Break, and the beaks dip under, drinking death;  Yet was he then but a span long, and moaned  With inarticulate mouth inseparate words,  And with blind lips and fingers wrung my breast  Hard, and thrust out with foolish hands and feet,  Murmuring; but those grey women with bound hair  Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed  Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul  Distaff and thread, intangible; but they  Passed, and I hid the brand, and in my heart  Laughed likewise, having all my will of heaven.  But now I know not if to left or right  The gods have drawn us hither; for again  I dreamt, and saw the black brand burst on fire  As a branch bursts in flower, and saw the flame  Fade flower-wise, and Death came and with dry lips  Blew the charred ash into my breast; and Love  Trampled the ember and crushed it with swift feet  This I have also at heart; that not for me,  Not for me only or son of mine, O girls,  The gods have wrought life, and desire of life,  Heart’s love and heart’s division; but for all  There shines one sun and one wind blows till night.  And when night comes the wind sinks and the sun,  And there is no light after, and no storm,  But sleep and much forgetfulness of things.  In such wise I gat knowledge of the gods  Years hence, and heard high sayings of one most wise,  Eurythemis my mother, who beheld  With eyes alive and spake with lips of these  As one on earth disfleshed and disallied  From breath or blood corruptible; such gifts  Time gave her, and an equal soul to these  And equal face to all things, thus she said.  But whatsoever intolerable or glad  The swift hours weave and unweave, I go hence  Full of mine own soul, perfect of myself,  Toward mine and me sufficient; and what chance  The gods cast lots for and shake out on us,  That shall we take, and that much bear withal.  And now, before these gather to the hunt,  I will go arm my son and bring him forth,  Lest love or some man’s anger work him harm.

CHORUS.

   Before the beginning of years      There came to the making of man    Time, with a gift of tears,      Grief, with a glass that ran;    Pleasure, with pain for leaven;      Summer, with flowers that fell;    Remembrance fallen from heaven,      And madness risen from hell;    Strength without hands to smite,      Love that endures for a breath,    Night, the shadow of light,      And life, the shadow of death.

   And the high gods took in hand      Fire, and the falling of tears,    And a measure of sliding sand      From under the feet of the years,    And froth and drift of the sea;      And dust of the labouring earth;    And bodies of things to be      In the houses of death and of birth;    And wrought with weeping and laughter,      And fashioned with loathing and love,    With life before and after      And death beneath and above,    For a day and a night and a morrow,      That his strength might endure for a span    With travail and heavy sorrow,      The holy spirit of man.

   From the winds of the north and the south      They gathered as unto strife;    They breathed upon his mouth,      They filled his body with life;    Eyesight and speech they wrought      For the veils of the soul therein,    A time for labour and thought,      A time to serve and to sin;    They gave him light in his ways,      And love, and a space for delight,    And beauty and length of days,      And night, and sleep in the night.    His speech is a burning fire;      With his lips he travaileth,    In his heart is a blind desire,      In his eyes foreknowledge of death;    He weaves, and is clothed with derision;      Sows, and he shall not reap,    His life is a watch or a vision      Between a sleep and a sleep.

MELEAGER.

 O sweet new heaven and air without a star,  Fair day, be fair and welcome, as to men  With deeds to do and praise to pluck from thee,  Come forth a child, born with clear sound and light,  With laughter and swift limbs and prosperous looks;  That this great hunt with heroes for the hounds  May leave thee memorable and us well sped.

ALTHAEA.

 Son, first I praise thy prayer, then bid thee speed;  But the gods hear men’s hands before their lips,  And heed beyond all crying and sacrifice  Light of things done and noise of labouring men.  But thou, being armed and perfect for the deed,  Abide; for like rain-flakes in a wind they grow,  The men thy fellows, and the choice of the world,  Bound to root out the tusked plague, and leave  Thanks and safe days and peace in Calydon.

MELEAGER.

 For the whole city and all the low-lying land  Flames, and the soft air sounds with them that come;  The gods give all these fruit of all their works.

ALTHAEA.

 Set thine eye thither and fix thy spirit and say  Whom there thou knowest; for sharp mixed shadow and wind  Blown up between the morning and the mist,  With steam of steeds and flash of bridle or wheel,  And fire, and parcels of the broken dawn,  And dust divided by hard light, and spears  That shine and shift as the edge of wild beasts’ eyes,  Smite upon mine; so fiery their blind edge  Burns, and bright points break up and baffle day.

MELEAGER.

 The first, for many I know not, being far off,  Peleus the Larissaean, couched with whom  Sleeps the white sea-bred wife and silver-shod,  Fair as fled foam, a goddess; and their son  Most swift and splendid of men’s children born,  Most like a god, full of the future fame.

ALTHAEA.

Who are these shining like one sundered star?

MELEAGER.

Thy sister’s sons, a double flower of men.

ALTHAEA.

 O sweetest kin to me in all the world,  O twin-born blood of Leda, gracious heads  Like kindled lights in untempestuous heaven,  Fair flower-like stars on the iron foam of fight,  With what glad heart and kindliness of soul,  Even to the staining of both eyes with tears  And kindling of warm eyelids with desire,  A great way off I greet you, and rejoice  Seeing you so fair, and moulded like as gods.  Far off ye come, and least in years of these,  But lordliest, but worth love to look upon.

MELEAGER.

 Even such (for sailing hither I saw far hence,  And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock  Nigh Sparta with a strenuous-hearted stream)  Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white,  The little Helen, and less fair than she  Fair Clytaemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns  Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles,  As one smitten with love or wrung with joy,  She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then  Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too,  And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks nought,  But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her,  Laughing; so fare they, as in their bloomless bud  And full of unblown life, the blood of gods.

ALTHAEA.

 Sweet days befall them and good loves and lords,  And tender and temperate honours of the hearth,  Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed.  But who shows next an eagle wrought in gold?  That flames and beats broad wings against the sun  And with void mouth gapes after emptier prey?

MELEAGER.

 Know by that sign the reign of Telamon  Between the fierce mouths of the encountering brine  On the strait reefs of twice-washed Salamis.

ALTHAEA.

 For like one great of hand he bears himself,  Vine-chapleted, with savours of the sea,  Glittering as wine and moving as a wave.  But who girt round there roughly follows him?

MELEAGER.

 Ancaeus, great of hand, an iron bulk,  Two-edged for fight as the axe against his arm,  Who drives against the surge of stormy spears  Full-sailed; him Cepheus follows, his twin-born,  Chief name next his of all Arcadian men.

ALTHAEA.

 Praise be with men abroad; chaste lives with us,  Home-keeping days and household reverences.

MELEAGER.

 Next by the left unsandalled foot know thou  The sail and oar of this Aetolian land,  Thy brethren, Toxeus and the violent-souled  Plexippus, over-swift with hand and tongue;  For hands are fruitful, but the ignorant mouth  Blows and corrupts their work with barren breath.

ALTHAEA.

 Speech too bears fruit, being worthy; and air blows down  Things poisonous, and high-seated violences,  And with charmed words and songs have men put out  Wild evil, and the fire of tyrannies.

MELEAGER.

Yea, all things have they, save the gods and love.

ALTHAEA.

Love thou the law and cleave to things ordained.

MELEAGER.

Law lives upon their lips whom these applaud.

ALTHAEA.

How sayest thou these? what god applauds new things?

MELEAGER.

Zeus, who hath fear and custom under foot.

ALTHAEA.

But loves not laws thrown down and lives awry.

MELEAGER.

Yet is not less himself than his own law.

ALTHAEA.

Nor shifts and shuffles old things up and down.

MELEAGER.

But what he will remoulds and discreates.

ALTHAEA.

Much, but not this, that each thing live its life.

MELEAGER.

Nor only live, but lighten and lift up higher.

ALTHAEA.

Pride breaks itself, and too much gained is gone.

MELEAGER.

Things gained are gone, but great things done endure.

ALTHAEA.

 Child, if a man serve law through all his life  And with his whole heart worship, him all gods  Praise; but who loves it only with his lips,  And not in heart and deed desiring it  Hides a perverse will with obsequious words,  Him heaven infatuates and his twin-born fate  Tracks, and gains on him, scenting sins far off,  And the swift hounds of violent death devour.  Be man at one with equal-minded gods,  So shall he prosper; not through laws torn up,  Violated rule and a new face of things.  A woman armed makes war upon herself,  Unwomanlike, and treads down use and wont  And the sweet common honour that she hath,  Love, and the cry of children, and the hand  Trothplight and mutual mouth of marriages.  This doth she, being unloved, whom if one love,  Not fire nor iron and the wide-mouthed wars  Are deadlier than her lips or braided hair.  For of the one comes poison, and a curse  Falls from the other and burns the lives of men.  But thou, son, be not filled with evil dreams,  Nor with desire of these things; for with time  Blind love burns out; but if one feed it full  Till some discolouring stain dyes all his life,  He shall keep nothing praiseworthy, nor die  The sweet wise death of old men honourable,  Who have lived out all the length of all their years  Blameless, and seen well-pleased the face of gods,  And without shame and without fear have wrought  Things memorable, and while their days held out  In sight of all men and the sun’s great light  Have gat them glory and given of their own praise  To the earth that bare them and the day that bred,  Home friends and far-off hospitalities,  And filled with gracious and memorial fame  Lands loved of summer or washed by violent seas,  Towns populous and many unfooted ways,  And alien lips and native with their own.  But when white age and venerable death  Mow down the strength and life within their limbs,  Drain out the blood and darken their clear eyes,  Immortal honour is on them, having past  Through splendid life and death desirable  To the clear seat and remote throne of souls,  Lands indiscoverable in the unheard-of west,  Round which the strong stream of a sacred sea  Rolls without wind for ever, and the snow  There shows not her white wings and windy feet,  Nor thunder nor swift rain saith anything,  Nor the sun burns, but all things rest and thrive;  And these, filled full of days, divine and dead,  Sages and singers fiery from the god,  And such as loved their land and all things good  And, best beloved of best men, liberty,  Free lives and lips, free hands of men free-born,  And whatsoever on earth was honourable  And whosoever of all the ephemeral seed,  Live there a life no liker to the gods  But nearer than their life of terrene days.  Love thou such life and look for such a death.  But from the light and fiery dreams of love  Spring heavy sorrows and a sleepless life,  Visions not dreams, whose lids no charm shall close  Nor song assuage them waking; and swift death  Crushes with sterile feet the unripening ear,  Treads out the timeless vintage; whom do thou  Eschewing embrace the luck of this thy life,  Not without honour; and it shall bear to thee  Such fruit as men reap from spent hours and wear,  Few men, but happy; of whom be thou, O son,  Happiest, if thou submit thy soul to fate,  And set thine eyes and heart on hopes high-born  And divine deeds and abstinence divine.  So shalt thou be toward all men all thy days  As light and might communicable, and burn  From heaven among the stars above the hours,  And break not as a man breaks nor burn down:  For to whom other of all heroic names  Have the gods given his life in hand as thine?  And gloriously hast thou lived, and made thy life  To me that bare thee and to all men born  Thankworthy, a praise for ever; and hast won fame  When wild wars broke all round thy father’s house,  And the mad people of windy mountain ways  Laid spears against us like a sea, and all  Aetolia thundered with Thessalian hoofs;  Yet these, as wind baffles the foam, and beats  Straight back the relaxed ripple, didst thou break  And loosen all their lances, till undone  And man from man they fell; for ye twain stood  God against god, Ares and Artemis,  And thou the mightier; wherefore she unleashed  A sharp-toothed curse thou too shalt overcome;  For in the greener blossom of thy life  Ere the full blade caught flower, and when time gave  Respite, thou didst not slacken soul nor sleep,  But with great hand and heart seek praise of men  Out of sharp straits and many a grievous thing,  Seeing the strange foam of undivided seas  On channels never sailed in, and by shores  Where the old winds cease not blowing, and all the night  Thunders, and day is no delight to men.

CHORUS.

 Meleager, a noble wisdom and fair words  The gods have given this woman, hear thou these.

MELEAGER.

 O mother, I am not fain to strive in speech  Nor set my mouth against thee, who art wise  Even as they say and full of sacred words.  But one thing I know surely, and cleave to this;  That though I be not subtle of wit as thou  Nor womanlike to weave sweet words, and melt  Mutable minds of wise men as with fire,  I too, doing justly and reverencing the gods,  Shall not want wit to see what things be right.  For whom they love and whom reject, being gods,  There is no man but seeth, and in good time  Submits himself, refraining all his heart.  And I too as thou sayest have seen great things;  Seen otherwhere, but chiefly when the sail  First caught between stretched ropes the roaring west,  And all our oars smote eastward, and the wind  First flung round faces of seafaring men  White splendid snow-flakes of the sundering foam,  And the first furrow in virginal green sea  Followed the plunging ploughshare of hewn pine,  And closed, as when deep sleep subdues man’s breath  Lips close and heart subsides; and closing, shone  Sunlike with many a Nereid’s hair, and moved  Round many a trembling mouth of doubtful gods,  Risen out of sunless and sonorous gulfs  Through waning water and into shallow light,  That watched us; and when flying the dove was snared  As with men’s hands, but we shot after and sped  Clear through the irremeable Symplegades;  And chiefliest when hoar beach and herbless cliff  Stood out ahead from Colchis, and we heard  Clefts hoarse with wind, and saw through narrowing reefs  The lightning of the intolerable wave  Flash, and the white wet flame of breakers burn  Far under a kindling south-wind, as a lamp  Burns and bends all its blowing flame one way;  Wild heights untravelled of the wind, and vales  Cloven seaward by their violent streams, and white  With bitter flowers and bright salt scurf of brine;  Heard sweep their sharp swift gales, and bowing bird-wise  Shriek with birds’ voices, and with furious feet  Tread loose the long skirts of a storm; and saw  The whole white Euxine clash together and fall  Full-mouthed, and thunderous from a thousand throats;  Yet we drew thither and won the fleece and won  Medea, deadlier than the sea; but there  Seeing many a wonder and fearful things to men  I saw not one thing like this one seen here,  Most fair and fearful, feminine, a god,  Faultless; whom I that love not, being unlike,  Fear, and give honour, and choose from all the gods.

OENEUS.

 Lady, the daughter of Thestius, and thou, son,  Not ignorant of your strife nor light of wit,  Scared with vain dreams and fluttering like spent fire,  I come to judge between you, but a king  Full of past days and wise from years endured.  Nor thee I praise, who art fain to undo things done;  Nor thee, who art swift to esteem them overmuch.  For what the hours have given is given, and this  Changeless; howbeit these change, and in good time  Devise new things and good, not one thing still.  Us have they sent now at our need for help  Among men armed a woman, foreign born,  Virgin, not like the natural flower of things  That grows and bears and brings forth fruit and dies,  Unlovable, no light for a husband’s house,  Espoused; a glory among unwedded girls,  And chosen of gods who reverence maidenhood.  These too we honour in honouring her; but thou,  Abstain thy feet from following, and thine eyes  From amorous touch; nor set toward hers thine heart,  Son, lest hate bear no deadlier fruit than love.

ALTHAEA.

 O king, thou art wise, but wisdom halts, and just,  But the gods love not justice more than fate,  And smite the righteous and the violent mouth,  And mix with insolent blood the reverent man’s,  And bruise the holier as the lying lips.  Enough; for wise words fail me, and my heart  Takes fire and trembles flamewise, O my son,  O child, for thine head’s sake; mine eyes wax thick,  Turning toward thee, so goodly a weaponed man,  So glorious; and for love of thine own eyes  They are darkened, and tears burn them, fierce as fire,  And my lips pause and my soul sinks with love.  But by thine hand, by thy sweet life and eyes,  By thy great heart and these clasped knees, O son,  I pray thee that thou slay me not with thee.  For there was never a mother woman-born  Loved her sons better; and never a queen of men  More perfect in her heart toward whom she loved.  For what lies light on many and they forget,  Small things and transitory as a wind o’ the sea,  I forget never; I have seen thee all thine years  A man in arms, strong and a joy to men  Seeing thine head glitter and thine hand burn its way  Through a heavy and iron furrow of sundering spears;  But always also a flower of three suns old,  The small one thing that lying drew down my life  To lie with thee and feed thee; a child and weak,  Mine, a delight to no man, sweet to me.  Who then sought to thee? who gat help? who knew  If thou wert goodly? nay, no man at all.  Or what sea saw thee, or sounded with thine oar,  Child? or what strange land shone with war through thee?  But fair for me thou wert, O little life,  Fruitless, the fruit of mine own flesh, and blind,  More than much gold, ungrown, a foolish flower.  For silver nor bright snow nor feather of foam  Was whiter, and no gold yellower than thine hair,  O child, my child; and now thou art lordlier grown,  Not lovelier, nor a new thing in mine eyes,  I charge thee by thy soul and this my breast,  Fear thou the gods and me and thine own heart,  Lest all these turn against thee; for who knows  What wind upon what wave of altering time  Shall speak a storm and blow calamity?  And there is nothing stabile in the world  But the gods break it; yet not less, fair son,  If but one thing be stronger, if one endure,  Surely the bitter and the rooted love  That burns between us, going from me to thee,  Shall more endure than all things. What dost thou,  Following strange loves? why wilt thou kill mine heart?  Lo, I talk wild and windy words, and fall  From my clear wits, and seem of mine own self  Dethroned, dispraised, disseated; and my mind,  That was my crown, breaks, and mine heart is gone,  And I am naked of my soul, and stand  Ashamed, as a mean woman; take thou thought:  Live if thou wilt, and if thou wilt not, look,  The gods have given thee life to lose or keep,  Thou shalt not die as men die, but thine end  Fallen upon thee shall break me unaware.

MELEAGER.

 Queen, my whole heart is molten with thy tears,  And my limbs yearn with pity of thee, and love  Compels with grief mine eyes and labouring breath:  For what thou art I know thee, and this thy breast  And thy fair eyes I worship, and am bound  Toward thee in spirit and love thee in all my soul.  For there is nothing terribler to men  Than the sweet face of mothers, and the might  But what shall be let be; for us the day  Once only lives a little, and is not found.  Time and the fruitful hour are more than we,  And these lay hold upon us; but thou, God,  Zeus, the sole steersman of the helm of things,  Father, be swift to see us, and as thou wilt  Help: or if adverse, as thou wilt, refrain.

CHORUS.

 We have seen thee, O Love, thou art fair, thou art goodly, O Love,  Thy wings make light in the air as the wings of a dove.  Thy feet are as winds that divide the stream of the sea;  Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the garment of thee.  Thou art swift and subtle and blind as a flame of fire;  Before thee the laughter, behind thee the tears of desire;  And twain go forth beside thee, a man with a maid;  Her eyes are the eyes of a bride whom delight makes afraid;  As the breath in the buds that stir is her bridal breath:  But Fate is the name of her; and his name is Death.

   For an evil blossom was born      Of sea-foam and the frothing of blood,        Blood-red and bitter of fruit,          And the seed of it laughter and tears,    And the leaves of it madness and scorn;      A bitter flower from the bud,        Sprung of the sea without root,          Sprung without graft from the years.

   The weft of the world was untorn      That is woven of the day on the night,      The hair of the hours was not white    Nor the raiment of time overworn,      When a wonder, a world’s delight,    A perilous goddess was born,      And the waves of the sea as she came    Clove, and the foam at her feet,        Fawning, rejoiced to bring forth      A fleshly blossom, a flame    Filling the heavens with heat        To the cold white ends of the north.

   And in air the clamorous birds,      And men upon earth that hear    Sweet articulate words        Sweetly divided apart,      And in shallow and channel and mere    The rapid and footless herds,        Rejoiced, being foolish of heart.

   For all they said upon earth,      She is fair, she is white like a dove,        And the life of the world in her breath    Breathes, and is born at her birth;      For they knew thee for mother of love,        And knew thee not mother of death.

   What hadst thou to do being born,      Mother, when winds were at ease,    As a flower of the springtime of corn,      A flower of the foam of the seas?    For bitter thou wast from thy birth,      Aphrodite, a mother of strife;    For before thee some rest was on earth,        A little respite from tears,      A little pleasure of life;    For life was not then as thou art,        But as one that waxeth in years      Sweet-spoken, a fruitful wife;        Earth had no thorn, and desire    No sting, neither death any dart;      What hadst thou to do amongst these,        Thou, clothed with a burning fire,    Thou, girt with sorrow of heart,      Thou, sprung of the seed of the seas    As an ear from a seed of corn,        As a brand plucked forth of a pyre,    As a ray shed forth of the morn,      For division of soul and disease,    For a dart and a sting and a thorn?    What ailed thee then to be born?

   Was there not evil enough,      Mother, and anguish on earth      Born with a man at his birth,    Wastes underfoot, and above      Storm out of heaven, and dearth    Shaken down from the shining thereof,        Wrecks from afar overseas      And peril of shallow and firth,        And tears that spring and increase      In the barren places of mirth,    That thou, having wings as a dove,      Being girt with desire for a girth,        That thou must come after these,    That thou must lay on him love?

   Thou shouldst not so have been born:      But death should have risen with thee,        Mother, and visible fear,          Grief, and the wringing of hands,    And noise of many that mourn;      The smitten bosom, the knee        Bowed, and in each man’s ear        A cry as of perishing lands,    A moan as of people in prison,      A tumult of infinite griefs;          And thunder of storm on the sands,        And wailing of wives on the shore;    And under thee newly arisen      Loud shoals and shipwrecking reefs,          Fierce air and violent light,        Sail rent and sundering oar,          Darkness; and noises of night;    Clashing of streams in the sea,      Wave against wave as a sword,        Clamour of currents, and foam,          Rains making ruin on earth,        Winds that wax ravenous and roam      As wolves in a wolfish horde;    Fruits growing faint in the tree,          And blind things dead in their birth        Famine, and blighting of corn,        When thy time was come to be born.

   All these we know of; but thee      Who shall discern or declare?    In the uttermost ends of the sea        The light of thine eyelids and hair.          The light of thy bosom as fire          Between the wheel of the sun      And the flying flames of the air?        Wilt thou turn thee not yet nor have pity,    But abide with despair and desire      And the crying of armies undone,          Lamentation of one with another        And breaking of city by city;      The dividing of friend against friend,          The severing of brother and brother;      Wilt thou utterly bring to an end?          Have mercy, mother!

   For against all men from of old      Thou hast set thine hand as a curse,        And cast out gods from their places.          These things are spoken of thee.    Strong kings and goodly with gold      Thou hast found out arrows to pierce,        And made their kingdoms and races          As dust and surf of the sea.    All these, overburdened with woes      And with length of their days waxen weak,        Thou slewest; and sentest moreover          Upon Tyro an evil thing,    Rent hair and a fetter and blows      Making bloody the flower of the cheek,        Though she lay by a god as a lover,          Though fair, and the seed of a king.    For of old, being full of thy fire,      She endured not longer to wear        On her bosom a saffron vest,          On her shoulder an ashwood quiver;    Being mixed and made one through desire      With Enipeus, and all her hair        Made moist with his mouth, and her breast          Filled full of the foam of the river.

ATALANTA

 Sun, and clear light among green hills, and day  Late risen and long sought after, and you just gods  Whose hands divide anguish and recompense,  But first the sun’s white sister, a maid in heaven,  On earth of all maids worshipped — hail, and hear,  And witness with me if not without sign sent,  Not without rule and reverence, I a maid  Hallowed, and huntress holy as whom I serve,  Here in your sight and eyeshot of these men  Stand, girt as they toward hunting, and my shafts  Drawn; wherefore all ye stand up on my side,  If I be pure and all ye righteous gods,  Lest one revile me, a woman, yet no wife,  That bear a spear for spindle, and this bow strung  For a web woven; and with pure lips salute  Heaven, and the face of all the gods, and dawn  Filling with maiden flames and maiden flowers  The starless fold o’ the stars, and making sweet  The warm wan heights of the air, moon-trodden ways  And breathless gates and extreme hills of heaven.  Whom, having offered water and bloodless gifts,  Flowers, and a golden circlet of pure hair,  Next Artemis I bid be favourable  And make this day all golden, hers and ours,  Gracious and good and white to the unblamed end.  But thou, O well-beloved, of all my days  Bid it be fruitful, and a crown for all,  To bring forth leaves and bind round all my hair  With perfect chaplets woven for thine of thee.  For not without the word of thy chaste mouth,  For not without law given and clean command,  Across the white straits of the running sea  From Elis even to the Acheloïan horn,  I with clear winds came hither and gentle gods,  Far off my father’s house, and left uncheered  Iasius, and uncheered the Arcadian hills  And all their green-haired waters, and all woods  Disconsolate, to hear no horn of mine  Blown, and behold no flash of swift white feet.

MELEAGER.

 For thy name’s sake and awe toward thy chaste head,  O holiest Atalanta, no man dares  Praise thee, though fairer than whom all men praise,  And godlike for thy grace of hallowed hair  And holy habit of thine eyes, and feet  That make the blown foam neither swift nor white  Though the wind winnow and whirl it; yet we praise  Gods, found because of thee adorable  And for thy sake praiseworthiest from all men:  Thee therefore we praise also, thee as these,  Pure, and a light lit at the hands of gods.

TOXEUS.

 How long will ye whet spears with eloquence,  Fight, and kill beasts dry-handed with sweet words?  Cease, or talk still and slay thy boars at home.

PLEXIPPUS.

 Why, if she ride among us for a man,  Sit thou for her and spin; a man grown girl  Is worth a woman weaponed; sit thou here.

MELEAGER.

Peace, and be wise; no gods love idle speech.

PLEXIPPUS.

Nor any man a man’s mouth woman-tongued.

MELEAGER.

For my lips bite not sharper than mine hands.

PLEXIPPUS.

Nay, both bite soft, but no whit softly mine.

MELEAGER.

Keep thine hands clean; they have time enough to stain.

PLEXIPPUS.

For thine shall rest and wax not red to-day.

MELEAGER.

Have all thy will of words; talk out thine heart.

ALTHAEA.

 Refrain your lips, O brethren, and my son,  Lest words turn snakes and bite you uttering them.

TOXEUS.

 Except she give her blood before the gods,  What profit shall a maid be among men?

PLEXIPPUS.

 Let her come crowned and stretch her throat for a knife,  Bleat out her spirit and die, and so shall men  Through her too prosper and through prosperous gods;  But nowise through her living; shall she live  A flower-bud of the flower-bed, or sweet fruit  For kisses and the honey-making mouth,  And play the shield for strong men and the spear?  Then shall the heifer and her mate lock horns,  And the bride overbear the groom, and men  Gods, for no less division sunders these;  Since all things made are seasonable in time,  But if one alter unseasonable are all.  But thou, O Zeus, hear me that I may slay  This beast before thee and no man halve with me  Nor woman, lest these mock thee, though a god,  Who hast made men strong, and thou being wise be held  Foolish; for wise is that thing which endures.

ATALANTA.

 Men, and the chosen of all this people, and thou,  King, I beseech you a little bear with me.  For if my life be shameful that I live,  Let the gods witness and their wrath; but these  Cast no such word against me. Thou, O mine,  O holy, O happy goddess, if I sin  Changing the words of women and the works  For spears and strange men’s faces, hast not thou  One shaft of all thy sudden seven that pierced  Seven through the bosom or shining throat or side,  All couched about one mother’s loosening knees,  All holy born, engrafted of Tantalus?  But if toward any of you I am overbold  That take thus much upon me, let him think  How I, for all my forest holiness,  Fame, and this armed and iron maidenhood,  Pay thus much also; I shall have no man’s love  For ever, and no face of children born  Or feeding lips upon me or fastening eyes  For ever, nor being dead shall kings my sons  Mourn me and bury, and tears on daughters’ cheeks  Burn, but a cold and sacred life, but strange,  But far from dances and the back-blowing torch,  Far off from flowers or any bed of man,  Shall my life be for ever: me the snows  That face the first o’ the morning, and cold hills  Full of the land-wind and sea-travelling storms  And many a wandering wing of noisy nights  That know the thunder and hear the thickening wolves —   Me the utmost pine and footless frost of woods  That talk with many winds and gods, the hours  Re-risen, and white divisions of the dawn,  Springs thousand-tongued with the intermitting reed  And streams that murmur of the mother snow —   Me these allure, and know me; but no man  Knows, and my goddess only. Lo now, see  If one of all you these things vex at all.  Would God that any of you had all the praise  And I no manner of memory when I die,  So might I show before her perfect eyes  Pure, whom I follow, a maiden to my death.  But for the rest let all have all they will;  For is it a grief to you that I have part,  Being woman merely, in your male might and deeds  Done by main strength? yet in my body is throned  As great a heart, and in my spirit, O men,  I have not less of godlike. Evil it were  That one a coward should mix with you, one hand  Fearful, one eye abase itself; and these  Well might ye hate and well revile, not me.  For not the difference of the several flesh  Being vile or noble or beautiful or base  Makes praiseworthy, but purer spirit and heart  Higher than these meaner mouths and limbs, that feed,  Rise, rest, and are and are not; and for me,  What should I say? but by the gods of the world  And this my maiden body, by all oaths  That bind the tongue of men and the evil will,  I am not mighty-minded, nor desire  Crowns, nor the spoil of slain things nor the fame;  Feed ye on these, eat and wax fat, cry out,  Laugh, having eaten, and leap without a lyre,  Sing, mix the wind with clamour, smite and shake  Sonorous timbrels and tumultuous hair,  And fill the dance up with tempestuous feet,  For I will none; but having prayed my prayers  And made thank-offering for prosperities,  I shall go hence and no man see me more.  What thing is this for you to shout me down,  What, for a man to grudge me this my life  As it were envious of all yours, and I  A thief of reputations? nay, for now,  If there be any highest in heaven, a god  Above all thrones and thunders of the gods  Throned, and the wheel of the world roll under him,  Judge he between me and all of you, and see  It I transgress at all: but ye, refrain  Transgressing hands and reinless mouths, and keep  Silence, lest by much foam of violent words  And proper poison of your lips ye die.

OENEUS.

 O flower of Tegea, maiden, fleetest foot  And holiest head of women, have good cheer  Of thy good words: but ye, depart with her  In peace and reverence, each with blameless eye  Following his fate; exalt your hands and hearts,  Strike, cease not, arrow on arrow and wound on wound,  And go with gods and with the gods return.

CHORUS.

 Who hath given man speech? or who hath set therein  A thorn for peril and a snare for sin?  For in the word his life is and his breath,    And in the word his death,  That madness and the infatuate heart may breed    From the word’s womb the deed  And life bring one thing forth ere all pass by,  Even one thing which is ours yet cannot die —   Death. Hast thou seen him ever anywhere,  Time’s twin-born brother, imperishable as he  Is perishable and plaintive, clothed with care    And mutable as sand,  But death is strong and full of blood and fair  And perdurable and like a lord of land?  Nay, time thou seest not, death thou wilt not see  Till life’s right hand be loosened from thine hand    And thy life-days from thee.  For the gods very subtly fashion    Madness with sadness upon earth:  Not knowing in any wise compassion,    Nor holding pity of any worth;  And many things they have given and taken,    And wrought and ruined many things;  The firm land have they loosed and shaken,    And sealed the sea with all her springs;  They have wearied time with heavy burdens    And vexed the lips of life with breath:  Set men to labour and given them guerdons,    Death, and great darkness after death:  Put moans into the bridal measure    And on the bridal wools a stain,  And circled pain about with pleasure,    And girdled pleasure about with pain;  And strewed one marriage-bed with tears and fire  For extreme loathing and supreme desire.

 What shall be done with all these tears of ours?    Shall they make watersprings in the fair heaven  To bathe the brows of morning? or like flowers  Be shed and shine before the starriest hours,    Or made the raiment of the weeping Seven?  Or rather, O our masters, shall they be  Food for the famine of the grievous sea,    A great well-head of lamentation  Satiating the sad gods? or fall and flow  Among the years and seasons to and fro,    And wash their feet with tribulation  And fill them full with grieving ere they go?    Alas, our lords, and yet alas again,  Seeing all your iron heaven is gilt as gold