COME, I beseech ye, Muses! who, retired Deep in the shady glens by Helicon, Yet know the realms of Ocean, know the laws Of his wide empire, and throughout his court Know every Nymph, and call them each by name; Who from your sacred mountain see afar O'er earth and heaven, and hear and memorise The crimes of men and counsels of the Gods; Sing of those crimes and of those counsels, sing Of Gades sever'd from the fruitful main, And what befell, and from what mighty hand, Chrysaor, wielder of the golden sword. 'Twas when the high Olympus shook with fear, Lest all his temples, all his groves, be crusht By Pelion piled on Ossa: but the sire Of mortals and immortals waved his arm Around, and all below was wild dismay: Again, 'twas agony: again, 'twas peace. Chrysaor still in Gades tarrying, Hurl'd into ether, tinging, as it flew, With sudden fire the clouds round Saturn's throne, No pine surrendered by retreating Pan, Nor ash, nor poplar pale: but swoln with pride Stood towering from the citadel; his spear One hand was rested on, and one with rage Shut hard, and firmly fixt against his side; His frowning visage, flusht with insolence, Rais'd up oblique to heaven. "O thou," he cried, "Whom nations kneel to, not whom nations know, Hear me, and answer, if indeed thou canst, The last appeal I deign thee or allow. Tell me, and quickly, why should I adore, Adored myself by millions? why invoke, Invoked with all thy attributes? Men wrong By their prostrations, prayers, and sacrifice, Either the Gods, their rulers, or themselves: But flame and thunder fright them from the Gods; @3Themselves@1 they can not, dare not, they are ours; @3Us@1, dare they, can they, @3us?@1 But triumph, Jove! Man for one moment hath engaged his lord, Henceforth let merchants value him, not kings. No! lower thy sceptre, and hear Atrobal, And judge aright to whom men sacrifice. 'My children,' said the sage and pious priest, 'Mark there the altar! though the fumes aspire Twelve cubits ere a nostril they regale, 'Tis myrrh for Titans, 'tis but air for Gods.' Time changes, Nature changes, I am changed! Fronting the furious lustre of the sun, I yielded to his piercing swift-shot beams Only when quite meridan, then abased These orbits to the ground, and there survey'd My shadow: strange and horrid to relate! My very shadow almost disappear'd! Restore it, or by earth and hell I swear With blood enough will I refascinate The cursed incantation: thou restore, And largely; or my brethren, all combined, Shall rouse thee from thy lethargies, and drive Far from thy cloud-soft pillow, minion-prest, Those leering lassitudes that follow Love." The smile of disappointment and disdain Sat sallow on his pausing lip half-closed; But, neither headlong importunity Nor gibing threat of reed-propt insolence Let loose the blast of vengeance: heaven shone bright, And proud Chrysaor spurn'd the prostrate land. But the triumphant Thunderer, now mankind (Criminal mostly for enduring crimes) Provoked his indignation, thus besought His trident-sceptred brother, triton-borne. "O Neptune! cease henceforward to repine. They are not cruel, no; the Destinies Intent upon their loom, unoccupied With aught beyond its moody murmuring sound, Will neither see thee weep nor hear thee sigh: And wherefore weep, O Neptune, wherefore sigh! Ambition? 'tis unworthy of a God, Unworthy of a brother! I am Jove, Thou Neptune: happier in uncitied realms, In coral hall or grotto samphire-ceil'd, Amid the song of Nymphs and ring of shells Thou smoothest at thy will the pliant wave Or liftest it to heaven. I also can Whatever best beseems me, nor for aid Unless I loved thee, Neptune, would I call. Though absent, thou hast heard and hast beheld The profanation of that monstrous race, That race of earth-born giants; one survives; The rapid-footed Rhodan mountain-rear'd Beheld the rest defeated; still remain Scatter'd throughout interminable fields, Sandy and sultry, and each hopeless path Choakt up with crawling briars and bristling thorns, The flinty trophies of their foul disgrace. Chrysaor, wielder of the golden sword, Still hails as brethren men of stouter heart, But, wise confederate, shuns Phlegraean fields. No warrior he, yet who so fond of war, Unfeeling, scarce ferocious; flattery's dupe, He fancies that the Gods themselves are his; Impious, but most in prayer. Now re-assert Thy friendship, raise thy trident, strike the rock, Sever him from mankind." Then thus replied The Nymph-surrounded monarch of the main. "Empire bemoan I not, however shared, Nor Fortune frail, nor stubborn Fate, accuse: No! mortals I bemoan! when Avarice, Ploughing these fruitless furrows, shall awake The basking Demons and the dormant Crimes, Horrible, strong, resistless, and transform Meekness to Madness, Patience to Despair. What is Ambition? what but Avarice? But Avarice in richer guise array'd, Stalking erect, loud-spoken, lion-mien'd, Her brow uncrost by care, but deeply markt, And darting downward 'twixt her eyes hard-lasht The wrinkle of command. Could ever I So foul a fiend, so fondly too, caress? Judge me not harshly, judge me by my deeds." Though seated then on Afric's further coast, Yet sudden at his voice, so long unheard, (For he had grieved and treasured up his grief) With short kind greeting meet from every side The Triton herds, and warm with melody The azure concave of their curling shells. Swift as an arrow, as the wind, as light, He glided through the deep, and now arrived, Leapt from his pearly beryl-studded car. Earth trembled: the retreating tide, black-brow'd Gather'd new strength, and rushing on, assail'd The promontory's base: but when the God Himself, resistless Neptune, struck one blow, Rent were the rocks asunder, and the sky Was darken'd with their fragments ere they fell. Lygeia vocal, Zantho yellow-hair'd, Spio with sparkling eyes, and Beroe Demure, and sweet Ione, youngest-born, Of mortal race, but grown divine by song. Had ye seen playing round her placid neck The sunny circles, braidless and unbound, O! who had call'd them boders of a storm! These, and the many sister Nereids, Forgetful of their lays and of their loves, All unsuspicious of the dread intent, Stop suddenly their gambols, and with shrieks Of terror plunge amid the closing wave; Yet, just above, one moment more appear Their darken'd tresses floating in the foam. Thrown prostrate on the earth, the Sacrilege Rais'd up his head astounded, and accurst The stars, the destinies, the gods; his breast Panted from consternation and dismay, And pride untoward on himself o'erthrown. From his distended nostrils issued gore At intervals, wherewith his wiry locks, Huge arms, and bulky bosom, shone beslimed: And thrice he call'd his brethren, with a voice More dismal than the blasts from Phlegethon Below, that urge along ten thousand ghosts Wafted loud-wailing o'er the fiery tide. But answer heard he none: the men of might Who gather'd round him formerly, the men Whom frozen at a frown, a smile revived, Were far: enormous mountains interposed, Nor ever had the veil-hung pine out-spred O'er Tethys then her wandering leafless shade: Nor could he longer under winter stars Suspend the watery journey nor repose Whole nights on Ocean's billowy restless bed; No longer, bulging through the tempest, rose That bulky bosom; nor those oarlike hands, Trusted ere mortal's keenest ken conceived The bluest shore, threw back opposing tides. Shrunken mid brutal hair his violent veins Subsided, yet were hideous to behold As dragons panting in the noontide brake. At last, absorbing deep the breath of heaven, And stifling all within his deadly grasp, Struggling and tearing up the glebe to turn, And from a throat that, as it throbb'd and rose, Seem'd shaking ponderous links of dusky iron, Uttering one anguish-forced indignant groan, Fired with infernal rage, the spirit flew. Nations of fair Hesperia! lo, o'erthrown Your peace-embracing war-inciting king! Ah! thrice twelve years and longer ye endured, Without one effort to rise higher, one hope That heaven would wing the secret shaft aright, The abomination: hence 'twas Jove's command That many hundred, many thousand more, Freed from one despot, yet from one unfreed, Ye crouch unblest at Superstition's feet. Her hath he sent among ye; her the pest Of men below and curse of Gods above: Hers are the last, worst tortures they inflict On all who bend to any king but them. Born of Sicanus in the vast abyss Where never light descended, she survived Her parent; he omnipotence defied, But thunderstruck fell headlong from the clouds; She, though the radiant ether overpower'd Her eyes, accustom'd to the gloom of night, And quencht their lurid orbs, Religion's helm Assuming, vibrated her Stygian torch, Till thou, Astraea! though behind the sire's Broad egis, trembledst on thy heavenly throne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HABEAS CORPUS by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 38. THE MORROW'S MESSAGE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE COLLAR-BONE OF A HARE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MUSIC; AND THE SAVAGE BREAST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS VACANT STALL by ELIZABETH WILCOX BEASLEY DAY AND NIGHT by RUPERT BROOKE SUBLIME ILLUSION by FLORENCE BROOKS |