Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HELLENICS: CATILLUS AND SALIA, by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR


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HELLENICS: CATILLUS AND SALIA, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Catillus left his spear upon the steps
Last Line: O anius, sounds for ever on that stream.
Subject(s): Piety


CATILLUS left his spear upon the steps
Of that old temple which from Ciminus
Looks o'er the lake and the dark ilexes.
Often his horse, standing alone before
The columns, starts at sights obscurely seen;
Sometimes at roar of raging beast, sometimes
At bark that bursts and crackles from the cork,
Or at the rapid whirl of withered leaves
Wafted and rattling on his bridle-bit.
"Voltumna!" pray'd the youth, "reject not thou
My vows! for Salia is my heart consumed;
Nor does the sire or maiden disapprove;
But there are ancient oracles that hold
The torch of Hymen back. Thou knowest well,
O Goddess! (for from thy own fane proceed
These oracles) what menaces impend.
So great an evil be it mine to ward
From both! Yet how? He who could all foresee,
Amphiaraus, he might have advised;
But earth before him opened, and with flames
Enveloping his chariot, drank it in.
Where in far regions, famed Ismenos flows
He left his children and the light of day.
"The Tuscan shore a race of fugitives
Alights on. O that they had come in guise
Of enemies! not (as they say) of friends;
Because old seers have seen, old prophets sung
That under this the royal house should fall
And royal bride be wedded, to her sire's
And people's ruin. Clearly I discern
What Fate before had hidden; nor retreat;
Nor arms, wherever they may lead, refuse;
Nor absence . . long, for ever; nor the gulph
Of Styx, which all must pass; nor, what is worse,
In other lands to wander; be but thou
Mine for one day, O Salia! no one's else
And least of any one an exile's bride!"
A hollow murmur shakes the beech-tree-tops;
A voice is heard;
"Of wretched father, child
More wretched! how wouldst thou have fled before,
If thou hadst ever known the curse to come!"
It ceases: loudly, as the portal closed,
Resounded in their depths the woods profound.
The youth is sunk in prayer, and all again
Is silent, in the sky, the grove, the fane,
Nor could he see above him any bird
Whose flight should comfort him; for right and left
Rose the huge branches, and after the swans
Shone out serenely on the lake serene,
Soothing the under-wing with neck reverst.
He wishes not for fields of waving vine,
He wishes not for olive-boundary,
Planted when first the blindfold boy had drawn
The lot of each Pelasgian from the win,
But he does wish for Salia, he does wish
To see Volsinii, blessed land, again.
Then of the king he thinks, and then revolves
Commands which both had given (and one with tears),
Unless Voltumna look with placid smile
Toward the couch of Hymen.
Evening came:
He threw him on the ground; he sought for dreams,
If haply sleep should calm his weariness,
Dreams that from sire and daughter may remove
The unknown peril that o'ershadows both.
Sharp was the splendour of the stars; all heaven
Seem'd moving as it never yet had moved;
To mortal power insuperable, fate
Bent easily before him; every word
Of oracles had now grown plain enough;
And he resolv'd to save at once the king
And the king's daughter, do they what they would
And fear'd they all that ever could be fear'd.
Amid these thoughts his yielding senses sleep
Impresses: in his dream he hears the arms
Of guest and ravisher: he sees (can sight
Deceive him?) Salia. With her own consent
Is she borne off? and, when her father calls
Pursuing her, disdains she to return?
He starts, he raves, strikes with his brow the ground,
Springs up, and, seizing on the bridle, leaps
Into the saddle, and before 'tis dawn
Reaches the city's outskirt.
Long the land
In peace had rested; scanty was its watch;
All knew the cordial youth who, strong of limb,
Joyous of countenance and prompt of speech
And large of liberality, and first
On foot or horseback, hurl'd the Argive spear;
Straight went he onward where the palace stood,
And stationed under its first turret found
The friendly Periphas.
"I haste," he cried,
"I haste to Salia. Help me. That is nigh,
That which she fears, her father more than she,
And never may perhaps by arms avert:
Voltumna threatens it. Her father's love
May blind his eyes, but my love opens mine.
I bring the Goddess's own words, and these
The dreams she breath'd into my breast confirm."
Ever to Dian at the break of day
Did Salia bear her sacrifice: the gate
Was this thro' which she past into her grove
And little chapel.
Thickly sound the hoofs
Of fretting horse beneath the turret's arch,
And the last light of lamp that hangs therefrom,
Crackling, now hides now shows the whiten'd iron.
When casts the hind, with broken sleep morose,
The wooden collar round his ox's neck
And rope athwart the horns, when one red line
Borders the dull horizon, and the fields
Under the drowsy skies lie indistinct,
There stands the royal maiden.
"Hence! fly hence!
O Salia!" cries Catillus, "and believe
The Gods are now propitious."
At the word
On his high steed he lifts her, with a leap
Mounts, and redoubles with a rapid spur
His courser's speed.
"Tremble not," cried the youth:
"A time there was indeed for fear, when flight
Was none, and hope uncertain. From her shrine
Dian inclining to thy prayers and vows
Would, if she ever uttered oracle,
Have bidden what Voltumna hath ordain'd.
The horse is quiet: see! he frets no more:
And none are following. Is my arm too tight?
Bends it unwelcome round thee? Fearest thou?
Wouldst thou prohibit, wouldst thou chide, my fears?
I loosen it. Why weep and sigh? why doubt?
In Tibur who should envy us a life
Of country peace? To what ferocious man
Canst thou be there a prey? what war molest
Thy father? For no realm we fight; we hold
The only realm we want. I leave behind
The Sabines and their ruler to enjoy
Untroubled peace. Instead of fields in dower,
Fields which suspicion everywhere surrounds
With the uncertain faith of hireling arms,
Be there for us the deep repose of woods,
Walls that have never heard the name of Mars,
Tibur, and those green pastures on the banks
Thro' which Pareusius winds his silvery stream.
Look back; how widely spreads the space behind
Volsinii how remote! the citadel
How reddening lower and lower with larger light
At this she raises up her eyes, not quite
Up to his eyes who speaks to her; then looks
Back on her father's city; then they fill
With gushing tears.
"Live, father! live in peace
Voltumna claims me; can then piety
Forbid, or any care obstruct my course?
Follow I must the Goddess's command.
The desert, the dense darkness of the woods,
The lake, with all their gloom and all its own,
I would thro' life inhabit, nor repine,
Let but the Fates grant tranquil days to thee!"
Moved at her tenderness, Catillus said,
"Behold them granted! and shall she whose prayers
Have won them for her parent, not rejoice?
Voltumna well might choose thee for her own,
But she was silent; nay, she gave commands
Right opposite; she bade thee leave thy home,
Thy father's house: thou wisely hast obey'd,
And child so duteous she from far will hear.
Meanwhile an aged priestess keeps the fane,
One only: such its holiness, no time
Will ever move it. Thou shalt see the dells
Of Tibur, the Albunean lake, its shades
And floating islands, and (what oft thy wish
Shuddering at all the terrors of the tale
Urged thee to see) the fissured rock, the rush
Of angry waters, and, where these subside,
Glens where is heard the song of Nymphs below.
There be our country, there our house, and there
Our early days and later! All thy life
Must thou be happy in a father saved
And faith saved too: and no less happy he,
Obedient to the dictate of the Fates,
In that he gave not (tho' he wisht to give)
Salia to him who holds her to his heart."
Salia now calmer, bids him to repeat
All that Voltumna said. The Goddess's
Behest she thinks obscure, the danger clear;
She sighs; but piety distrusts not love.
Scarce the first hour of flight had past away
Before the father knew it. Idle time
He lost not in complaint, nor idle threats
Threw at the fugitive: he gave command
Forthwith that chosen youths surround the woods
And moorlands of Capenus, occupy
Every hill-top, keep equal distances
At certain stations, and from each, right, left,
The subject land, wood, river, lake, survey.
He himself hastened onward, and before
Noontide he saw, not distant, to the east,
Eretus, its wide woodland overgrown
With speckled arbutus, and, farther on
And higher up, an ancient temple, white
In the sun's splendour, on its mound apart:
Beyond it the Nomentan hills retired.
And now, inclosed by mountains, he approacht
The steep red banks and turbid stream profound
Of Tiber. Never had that stream been crost
By bridge of stone convex, or mountain pine,
Nor level boats in surging series linkt
Made plain the way for horseman and for horse.
He bends, and raises in his hollow hand
The sacred water, and thus prays the God.
"O father Tiber! if thou hast preserv'd
Thy people quiet by religious awe;
If thou beholdest thy Apollo's hill
Soracte bound in duteous equity;
If the Faliscians, righteous race, impress
The burning ember with unflinching heel;
If, when the robber Cacus he had slain,
Alcides (which our sires have seen) washt off
That robber's blood in thy most cleansing lymph;
If stolen herds brought vengeance down on him
Whom none consorted with, no host receiv'd;
Shall I in vain implore thee for thy help
Against a wretch who robs his host of all,
Who carries off his child, his only child?
Avenge me: give me only ('tis enough)
To swim in safety o'er thy rapid stream."
Thus praying, his huge spear he threw across;
Whereat the steed which bore him shrilly neigh'd,
Rear'd, and with hoof inverted scraped the turf,
And, call'd by name and patted and cheer'd on,
Sprang bravely down and clove the surging waves:
They bent beneath his lusty neck, they broke
At every breath his widening nostril breath'd,
And his rich trappings flasht fresh light around.
In the late hour of eve the king surveys
The highths of Tibur; to the walls he wends
Alone; to Coras, and him only, cries
That he come out.
But Coras, when he knew
Afar Catillus by his burnisht arms,
Ran from the rampart to embrace the king,
And said "Where is my brother?"
Fiercelier burns
His rage at this, and
"Like a slave he fled;
Nor shall it now avail thee to conceal
His flight; thy walls shall show him in their flames.
Now let him arm..a father calls, a guest,
Despoil'd, dishonor'd..let him arm before
The hospitable the avenging Jove
He thinks he may affront, deceive, despise."
The brother stood astonisht: lifting up
Both hands to heaven,
"No brother is with me,
I swear, and therefor lay aside thy wrath,
O king! and under happy auspices
A wait in peace and patience his return."
He answered not, but rudely rusht away.
With angry looks the Argive nobles cried
"What, tyrant! dost thou threaten war? say first,
Proud as thy nation is of ancient fame,
Say when on Ciminus hath ever oak
Borne trophy? while the fatten'd hiefer shakes
The flowery fillet and salt-sprinkled crown,
Do their round cheeks, well form'd for puffing horns,
Turn into waxen whiteness at the approach
Of level'd spears. If (faith of Gods and men!)
Thou darest threaten us with fire or sword,
We will not wait thee in our walls, but show
Thy city, and all cities leagued with thee,
How the proud Tuscans first cried out for peace."
The last late sunbeam of the summer sky
Had fallen, and with dew far superfused
The fuming meadows of Pareusius paled,
Far as the Albula and Latian plain.
When Tibur's citadel had sunk to view
The king alighted from his horse, and spent
A weary night beneath a peasant's roof.
Near to Volsinii, with a clear cold stream
There runs a rivulet and intercepts
The little rills that trickle thro' the grove,
And falls into the Tiber where it looks
Into the glades of Umbria; 'twas this course
Catillus followed thro' its whole extent.
Here, where it join'd the Tiber, pusht he forth
A narrow skiff, tied with a twisted band
Of osier to the tree. The oar's smooth palm
Divided the broad water-leaves and won
An easy way. Now, while the waves it made
With gentle plash and pattering heav'd the bark,
Thou, Salia, sattest at thy lover's side
Stiller and calmer than that shady stream.
Catillus then would hoist his little sail,
That he might lay aside the oar, and hold
The rope which turn'd it as the river turn'd
Or the wind caught it, and that he might sit
On the same bench with Salia, and protect
From the hot sun her face beneath its shade.
He fear'd to pass where hinds might see and shout,
He fear'd all voices, most of all he fear'd
The irreverent Fescennine's immodest song.
Volsinii's firm allies, the Sabines held
That country where amid the flowers he rears
Runs Farfar, and that barrener wherefrom
Himella shrinks when Sirius strikes his stream.
So now he took the simple guise of hind
Who had gone early forth, and must return
To hail his household Deities at eve.
Rushes and reeds conceal'd his crest and spear.
Long was the way by land, by water long,
Nor would the youth, nor could he had he will'd,
Tell Salia how much farther they must go.
Her dread of any seeing her he calm'd,
Saying,
"Look up! behold what scanty light
Sheds Hesper, how he swings upon the stream
Alone of all the stars, and what calm gloom
Propitious sits upon the brow of heaven."
They both weave sleepless dreams. In days to come
What will their pleasure be, if touch of hand
Kindles such fires; if at one word, one glance,
Disperst is every doubt and every fear.
Ah! be not wise, ye young! but from bright days
Look into brighter: evermore believe:
Be this your wisdom. At the close of life,
We know too much; we know we are deceiv'd.
Needless the story were in what converse
Hour followed hour; what cultur'd lands, what wilds
Delighted them; how many were the spots
In whose retirement they could spend their lives:
Needless to mention how, amid the pause,
A bough impending o'er the stream sometimes
Swept, ere they were aware, the vessel's side,
Startling and reddening her with girlish fright.
The youth too had his fears, but held them in.
He fear'd if any silent matron stole
Down to the river-side, in quest of him
Her children cried for ere they went to bed:
He fear'd if suddenly a lamp-light burst
With long effulgence from some cot unseen
Across the water, or a fisherman
Had crown'd his net with flame, and, dipt in pitch,
The feathery cane its finny prey allured.
Onward they sail all night: when morn appears,
Seeing that friendly Tibur was behind,
He leaves (in view, though distant) on his right
Seven far-famed hills, where stood the residence
Of King Evander, sprung from Arcady;
Janus on one had rear'd a muniment,
And Saturn on another: he admired
How such vast works had ever been destroy'd.
Wonder may seize, but can not long detain,
And least the young and ardent. Rowing back,
Catillus rises on the oar and glides
Into his native land.
"O mine!" he cries,
"Mine surely now! come, Salia, come, enjoy
In safety and by right our freedom here:
No Gods oppose us: we are here at home."
And as he speaks, swifter he plies the oar.
Soon helmets blaze above the copse; men arm'd
And unarm'd welcome him; stout hinds belay
The laboring bark, tugging it where the wind
Baffles the sail; then, smoking from afield,
Laborious oxen and stout-hearted steeds.
But, tho' they aided, slower seem'd the hour
Than yesterday, when lay the oar athwart
And the loose sail flapt idly round the mast.
Both wisht to be alone again; nor long
Abstain'd Catillus (when the cliff began
To chafe the water and impede the way)
From ordering to haul the skiff ashore.
Alone then were they. He ascends the path,
The well-known path of the old wood; he stops,
Here, lest the stones should hurt her; here, because
The grass is softer than all grass beside;
Here, because sunny hazels most invite;
And here, because no serpent ever coils
Beneath the ashen shade. Such leisure-hour
Fatigue and sense of safety make more sweet.
"Up! Salia! one more hill we must ascend,
Whence Tibur, now thy own, thou mayst descry."
They reach the summit. What, across yon chasm,
Fixes the maid her eyes upon? A breeze
Whitens the waving willows as they bend,
And ancient elms cast shadows long and dark,
And the lithe tendril of the vine unpruned
Pats and springs up and pats again the stream.
What sees she from the summit there? why gaze?
Why tremble? why turn pale?
Behold! there stands
Her father!
You might have believ'd her knees
Had turn'd to marble.
"Wretched girl!" he cried,
"Whom dost thou fly from?"
At that voice she starts.
Swifter and swifter hurried she along
And thought each step was slower than the last.
Ambiguous was it from the fields or town
Whether she tore the youth away (her hand
Holding his spear through terror at the wrath
Of sire and prophet) or his arm made firm
Her step precipitous: but she was first
Where the road narrowed, fit for one alone,
And he where, leaning down for her, his spear
Protruded helpt her up the rock abrupt.
Indignant Anius saw them from below
Receiv'd into the city's double gate
With loud acclaim and trumpet's louder clang;
And from the aerial citadel the girls
One to another show'd him, and with taunts
Bade him begone.
He rushes to the wood
Resounding o'er the river: but not clash
Of cataract hears he, nor wild shout, nor dash
Roaring above, redoubled underneath,
And far away thro' cavern'd rocks prolong'd:
Nor rage impels him now nor tears dissolve,
He only presses with both hands his brow.
Ah! from what bitter source must flow the grief
Such scenes assuage not! There he stood, nor saw
Pareusius whirl his torrent deep below,
Whence watery dust eternal intercepts
The light of heaven. Dark ilex, bright-hair'd beech,
And, vainly fostering ever-fruitless vine,
The loftier elm, mass above mass, arise.
Among the branches thousand birds appear
To raise their little throats, but every song
Fast as it flows the roaring torrent drowns.
Some, by assiduous helpmate undetain'd,
Fly from the eternal thunder of the waves;
These . . leave them only sheltering bough, and moss
To soften for their young the nest they knit . .
Nor rains can chill nor thunders shake their love.
By rocks inclosed, sore fretting, and resolv'd
No force shall quell it, rushes the array
Of water, now united, scattered now,
Again to rally: pale is overhead
The mountain, pale and trembling; to its sides
The splasht herbs cling the closer: many a reed
Is there which never shall sigh forth the plaint
Of the lone shepherd, many a flower is there
On virgin bosom never to recline.
But numberless bright intermingled rays
Spring up, whence Jove and Phoebus raise an arch
Lofty and wide, and Iris dwells within.
Wrong, upon earth imperious, may o'erpower
And crush the mortal; Virtue may stand back
Nor help him; even the clemency of Heaven
May fail; the urn, the ashes laid within,
Violence may scatter; but on those who die
Thro' wretchedness, and undeservedly,
Compassionate and faithful verse attends
And drives oblivion from the wasted tomb.
O why, ye Gods! why, in such lands as these,
Fairest of earth, and where ye chose to dwell,
Should burst forth anguish from a father's breast?
Why from the guiltless Anius? Who brought gifts
More gladly to your altars? who more pure?
In part he uttered this, in part supprest;
Then added,
"Here is piety! and thus
Doth she requite her father! Duteous, chaste,
Benevolent, all thought her; and to all,
Excepting me, she was so; I alone
Less than a stranger merited her love.
Now know I what (Oh! lesson hard to learn
At all times! how much harder for the old!)
A daughter owes a father.
"O my wife!
If Libitina had allow'd thy stay,
To see me so far left behind in love
(Our fond contention) thou hadst surely griev'd.
I took the mother's place. When any pain,
However slight, she suffered, could I rest?
Or could I leave her couch?
"Go, snatch the torch
Of Hymen, run, mingle thy song with theirs,
From tranquil brow draw down the saffron veil,
And be thy children, if they can, like thee.
If every other rite thou hast disdain'd,
If scorn'd the dower a royal bride should bring,
If thro' three nations, shameless, thou hast fled,
Blame, blame thy parent for it. He provides
At least a victim for so blest a day."
He spake; and from the woody mountain-top,
Where by the eternal battery of the waves
A way is cloven, cast himself. From rock
To rock he fell; and all the dew that rose
Around was dimly reddened with his blood.
The fact is well recorded: while the name
Of old Pereusius few remember, thine
O Anius, sounds for ever on that stream.





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