LIST to this legend, which an antique poet Hath left among the musty tomes of eld, Like a flushed rosebud pressed between the leaves Of some worn, dark-hued volume. What a light Of healthful bloom about it! What an air Seems breathing round its delicate petals still! Wilt thou not take it, lady, -- thou, whose face Is lovely as a lost Arcadian dream, -- And place it next thy heart, and keep it fresh With balmy dews thy gentle spirit sends Up to the deep founts of the tenderest eyes That e'er have shone, I think, since in some dell Of Argos and enchanted Thessaly, The poet, from whose heart-lit brain it came, Murmured this record unto her he loved? THE STORY. Glaucus, a young Thessalian, while the dawn Of a fresh spring-tide brightened copse and lawn, Sauntered, with lingering steps and dreamy mood, Adown the fragrant pathway of a wood Which skirted his small homestead pleasantly, -- And there he saw a tall, majestic tree, An oak of untold summers, whose broad crown, Quivering as if in some slow agony, And trembling inch by inch forlornly down, Threatened, for want of a kind propping care, To leave its breezy realm of golden air, And from its leafy heights, with shriek and groan, Like some proud forest empire overthrown, Measure its vast bulk on the greensward lone. Glaucus beheld and pitied it. He saw The approaching ruin with a touch of awe, No less than genial sympathy, -- for men, In those old times, pierced with a wiser ken To the deep soul of Nature, and from thence Drew a serene and mystic influence, Which thrilled all life to music. Therefore he Called on his slaves, and bade them prop the tree. Musing he passed to a still lonelier place In the dim forest, by this act of grace Lightened and cheered, when, from the copse-wood nigh, There dawned upon his vision suddenly A shape more fair and lustrous than the star Which rides o'er Cloudland on her sapphire car When vesper winds are fluting solemnly. "Glaucus," she said, in tones whose liquid flow, Mellow, harmonious, passionately low, Stole o'er his spirit with a strange, wild thrill, "I am the Nymph of that fair tree thy will Hath saved from ruin; but for thee my breath Had vanished mistlike, -- my glad eyes in death Been sealed for evermore. Yes! but for thee I must have lost that half-divinity Whose secret essence, spiritually fine, Hath warmed my veins like Hebe's heavenly wine. No more, no more amid my rippling hair Could I have felt soft fingers of the air Dallying at dawn or twilight, -- on my cheek Have felt the sun rest with a rosy streak, Pulsing in languor; nor with pleasant pain Drooped in the cool arms of the loving Rain, That wept its soul out on my bosom fair. But now, in long, calm, blissful days to be, This life of mine shall lapse deliciously Through all the seasons of the bounteous year; Beneath my shade mortals shall sit, and hear Benignant whispers in the shimmering leaves; And sometimes, upon warm and odorous eves, Lovers shall bring me offerings of sweet things, -- Honey and fruit, -- and dream they mark the wings Of Cupids fluttering through the oak-boughs hoar. All this I owe thee, Glaucus, -- all, and more! Ask what thou wilt! -- thou shalt not ask in vain!" Then Glaucus, gazing in her glorious eyes, And rallying from his first unmanned surprise, Emboldened, too, by her soft looks, which drew A spell about his heart like fire and dew Mingled and melting in a love-charm bland, -- And by the twinkling of her moon-white hand, That seemed to beckon coyly to her side, And by her maiden sweetness deified, And something that he deemed a dear unrest Heaving the unveiled billows of her breast -- (As if her preternatural part, as free And wild as any nursling of the lea, Yearned wholly downward to humanity) -- Emboldened thus, I say, Glaucus replied: "O fairest vision! be my love, -- my bride!" Over her face there passed an airy flush, The roseate shade, the twilight of a blush, Ere the low-whispering answer pensively Stirred the dim silence in its tranced hush. "Thy suit is granted, Glaucus! though, perchance A peril broods o'er this, thy bright romance, Like a lone cloudlet o'er a lake that's fair. When the high noon, flaunting so hotly now Fades into evening, thou may'st meet me here, Just in the cool of this rill-shadowing bough; My favorite bee, my fairy of the flowers, Shall bid thee come to that pure tryst of ours." Who now so proud as Glaucus? "I have won," Lightly he said, "the marvellous benison Of love from her in whose soft-folding arms Gods might forget Elysium! O! her charms Are perfect, -- perfect heaven and perfect earth, Blest and commingled in one exquisite birth Of beauty, -- and for me! I know not why, But rosy Eros ever seems to fly Gayly before me, armed for victory, In every pleasant love-strife!" On this theme Deeply he dwelt, till a vain self-esteem Obscured his worthier spirit. Thus he went Out from the haunted wood, his nature toned Down to the common daylight, disenzoned Of all its rare, ethereal ravishment. Still in this mood, he sought the neighboring town, Met with some gay young comrades, and sat down To dice and wassail. All that morn he played, And quaffed, and sang, and feasted, till the shade Of evening o'er earth's forehead cast a gloom; And still he played, when on his ear the boom Of a swift, shining, yellow-breasted bee Rung out its small alarum. Teasingly The insect hummed about him, went and came, And like a tiny hell of circling flame And discord seemed to Glaucus, who at last Struck at the winged torment testily. The bee -- poor go-between! -- in either thigh Cruelly maimed, with feeble flutterings, passed Back to its home amid the foliaged bloom. At length, in two most fortunate throws, the game Was won by Glaucus! With triumphant smile He seized and pocketed a glittering pile Of new sestertii. "Ay! 'tis e'er the same," He muttered; "dice or women, I @3must@1 win! But hold! -- by Venus! 'twere a burning sin, And false to my fond wild flower of the wood Longer to dally here. O Fortune! good, Kind mistress, speed me still! Would that each heel Were plumed like happy Hermes'!" His late zeal Spurred the youth onward to the place of tryst, -- One final burst of sunset -- amethyst, Ruby, and topaz -- blazed among the boughs, Whence a sad voice, -- "@3Breaker of solemn vows@1, @3What dost thou here? Thine hour has past for aye!@1" Glaucus, with startled eyes, peered through the sway Of moistened fern and thicket, but his view Rested alone on vacancy, or caught, Swift as the shifting glamour of a thought, Only the golden and evanishing ray, Which, softened by cool sparkles of the dew, Flashed through the half-closed lids of weary Day. "Here am I," said the voice, so sadly sweet, The listener thrilled even to his pausing feet, -- "Here, right before thee, Glaucus!" Yet again The youth with straining eyeballs and hot brain, Searched the dense thickets, -- it was all in vain. "Alas! alas!" (and now a tremulous moan Sobbed through the voice, like a faint minor tone In mournful human music) -- "thou canst see My face no more, for sternly, drearily, A wildering cloud of sense, that shall not rise, Hath come between me and thy darkening eyes. O shallow-hearted! nevermore on thee Shall visions of that finer world above Dawn from the chaste auroras of their love; But common things, seen in a funeral haze Of earthiness, and sorrow, and mistrust, Weigh the soul down, and soil its hopes with dust; A hand like Fate's with cruel force shall press Thy spirit backward into heaviness, And the base realm of that forlorn abyss Wherein the serpent Passions writhe and hiss In savage desolation! Blind, blind, blind Art thou henceforth in heart, and hope, and mind! For he to whom my messenger of joy And soothing promise only brought annoy And sharp disquiet in his low-born lust, -- What, what to him @3Ideal Beauty's@1 kiss, The charm of lofty converse in the dells, Of divine meetings, musical farewells, And glimpses through the flickering leaves at night Of such fair mysteries in awe-hushing light That even I, who in these forests dwell Purely with innocent creatures, unto whom All Nature opes her innermost heart of bloom And blessedness, by some majestic spell Uplifted unto realms ineffable, Faint almost in the splendor large and clear? The winds have ceased their murmurings, -- on my ear The rill-songs melt to threads of delicate tune, And every small mote dancing in the moon Expands, and brightens to a spiritual eye, Luring me up to Immortality. O! then my earthly nature, loosening slips Down like a garment, and invisible lips Whisper the secrets of their happier sphere! This bliss, O youth! my soul had shared with one Worthy the gift! Alas! @3thou@1 art not he!" The voice died off toward the waning sun! Glaucus looked up, -- the gaunt, gray forest trees Seemed to close o'er him like a vault of stone. "@3Just Gods!@1" he sighed, "@3I am indeed alone!@1" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GENERAL by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE SECOND COMING by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MOTHER HEART by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER THE ADIEU, TO A FRIEND LEAVING SUFFOLK by BERNARD BARTON THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY: ACT 2, SCENE 1 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |