Andromeda, and Other Poems. Charles Kingsley

Andromeda, and Other Poems - Charles Kingsley


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in the wave-worn halls, as they champed at the roots of the mountain.

      Hour after hour in the darkness the wind rushed fierce to the landward,

      Drenching the maiden with spray; she shivering, weary and drooping,

      Stood with her heart full of thoughts, till the foam-crests gleamed in the twilight,

      Leaping and laughing around, and the east grew red with the dawning.

         Then on the ridge of the hills rose the broad bright sun in his glory,

      Hurling his arrows abroad on the glittering crests of the surges,

      Gilding the soft round bosoms of wood, and the downs of the coastland;

      Gilding the weeds at her feet, and the foam-laced teeth of the ledges,

      Showing the maiden her home through the veil of her locks, as they floated

      Glistening, damp with the spray, in a long black cloud to the landward.

      High in the far-off glens rose thin blue curls from the homesteads;

      Softly the low of the herds, and the pipe of the outgoing herdsman,

      Slid to her ear on the water, and melted her heart into weeping.

      Shuddering, she tried to forget them; and straining her eyes to the seaward,

      Watched for her doom, as she wailed, but in vain, to the terrible Sun-god.

         ‘Dost thou not pity me, Sun, though thy wild dark sister be ruthless;

      Dost thou not pity me here, as thou seest me desolate, weary,

      Sickened with shame and despair, like a kid torn young from its mother?

      What if my beauty insult thee, then blight it: but me—Oh spare me!

      Spare me yet, ere he be here, fierce, tearing, unbearable!  See me,

      See me, how tender and soft, and thus helpless!  See how I shudder,

      Fancying only my doom.  Wilt thou shine thus bright, when it takes me?

      Are there no deaths save this, great Sun?  No fiery arrow,

      Lightning, or deep-mouthed wave?  Why thus?  What music in shrieking,

      Pleasure in warm live limbs torn slowly?  And dar’st thou behold them!

      Oh, thou hast watched worse deeds!  All sights are alike to thy brightness!

      What if thou waken the birds to their song, dost thou waken no sorrow;

      Waken no sick to their pain; no captive to wrench at his fetters?

      Smile on the garden and fold, and on maidens who sing at the milking;

      Flash into tapestried chambers, and peep in the eyelids of lovers,

      Showing the blissful their bliss—Dost love, then, the place where thou smilest?

      Lovest thou cities aflame, fierce blows, and the shrieks of the widow?

      Lovest thou corpse-strewn fields, as thou lightest the path of the vulture?

      Lovest thou these, that thou gazest so gay on my tears, and my mother’s,

      Laughing alike at the horror of one, and the bliss of another?

      What dost thou care, in thy sky, for the joys and the sorrows of mortals?

      Colder art thou than the nymphs: in thy broad bright eye is no seeing.

      Hadst thou a soul—as much soul as the slaves in the house of my father,

      Wouldst thou not save?  Poor thralls! they pitied me, clung to me weeping,

      Kissing my hands and my feet—What, are gods more ruthless than mortals?

      Worse than the souls which they rule?  Let me die: they war not with ashes!’

         Sudden she ceased, with a shriek: in the spray, like a hovering foam-bow,

      Hung, more fair than the foam-bow, a boy in the bloom of his manhood,

      Golden-haired, ivory-limbed, ambrosial; over his shoulder

      Hung for a veil of his beauty the gold-fringed folds of the goat-skin,

      Bearing the brass of his shield, as the sun flashed clear on its clearness.

      Curved on his thigh lay a falchion, and under the gleam of his helmet

      Eyes more blue than the main shone awful; around him Athené

      Shed in her love such grace, such state, and terrible daring.

      Hovering over the water he came, upon glittering pinions,

      Living, a wonder, outgrown from the tight-laced gold of his sandals;

      Bounding from billow to billow, and sweeping the crests like a sea-gull;

      Leaping the gulfs of the surge, as he laughed in the joy of his leaping.

      Fair and majestic he sprang to the rock; and the maiden in wonder

      Gazed for a while, and then hid in the dark-rolling wave of her tresses,

      Fearful, the light of her eyes; while the boy (for her sorrow had awed him)

      Blushed at her blushes, and vanished, like mist on the cliffs at the sunrise.

      Fearful at length she looked forth: he was gone: she, wild with amazement,

      Wailed for her mother aloud: but the wail of the wind only answered.

      Sudden he flashed into sight, by her side; in his pity and anger

      Moist were his eyes; and his breath like a rose-bed, as bolder and bolder,

      Hovering under her brows, like a swallow that haunts by the house-eaves,

      Delicate-handed, he lifted the veil of her hair; while the maiden

      Motionless, frozen with fear, wept loud; till his lips unclosing

      Poured from their pearl-strung portal the musical wave of his wonder.

         ‘Ah, well spoke she, the wise one, the gray-eyed Pallas Athené,—

      Known to Immortals alone are the prizes which lie for the heroes

      Ready prepared at their feet; for requiring a little, the rulers

      Pay back the loan tenfold to the man who, careless of pleasure,

      Thirsting for honour and toil, fares forth on a perilous errand

      Led by the guiding of gods, and strong in the strength of Immortals.

      Thus have they led me to thee: from afar, unknowing, I marked thee,

      Shining, a snow-white cross on the dark-green walls of the sea-cliff;

      Carven in marble I deemed thee, a perfect work of the craftsman.

      Likeness of Amphitrité, or far-famed Queen Cythereia.

      Curious I came, till I saw how thy tresses streamed in the sea-wind,

      Glistening, black as the night, and thy lips moved slow in thy wailing.

      Speak again now—Oh speak!  For my soul is stirred to avenge thee;

      Tell me what barbarous horde, without law, unrighteous and heartless,

      Hateful to gods and to men, thus have bound thee, a shame to the sunlight,

      Scorn and prize to the sailor: but my prize now; for a coward,

      Coward and shameless were he, who so finding a glorious jewel

      Cast on the wayside by fools, would not win it and keep it and wear it,

      Even as I will thee; for I swear by the head of my father,

      Bearing thee over the sea-wave, to wed thee in Argos the fruitful,

      Beautiful, meed of my toil no less than this head which I carry,

      Hidden here fearful—Oh speak!’

         But the maid, still dumb with amazement,

      Watered her bosom


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