Georgian Poetry 1911-1912 Part 15

Damon:

He is an elder brother to the lad.

Cydilla:

Nay, nay, hide nothing, speak the worst at once.

Damon:

I meant no hint of ill; A G.o.d in love with young Amyntas might Look as he did; fathers alone feel like him: Could I convey his calm and happy speech Thy last suspicion would be laid to rest.

Cydilla:

Damon, see, my glad tears have drowned all fear; Think'st thou he may come back and win renown, And fill his father's place?

Not as his father filled it, But with an inward spirit correspondent To that contained and high imposing mien Which made his father honoured before men Of greater wisdom, more integrity.

Damon:

And loved before men of more kindliness!

Cydilla:

O Damon, far too happy am I now To grace thy naughtiness by showing pain.

My Delphis 'owns the brains and presence too That make a Pericles!' ... (the words are thine) Had he but the will; and has he now?

Good Damon, tell me quick?

Damon:

He dreams not of the court, and city life Is what he rails at.

Cydilla:

Well, if he now be wise and sober-souled And loved for goodness, I can rest content.

Damon:

My brain lights up to see thee happy! wait, It may be I can give some notion how Our poet spoke: 'Damon, the best of life is in thine eyes-- Worship of promise-laden beauty. Seems he not The G.o.d of this fair scene?

Those waves claim such a master as that boy; And these green slopes have waited till his feet Should wander them, to prove they were not spread In wantonness. What were this flower's prayer Had it a voice? The place behind his ear Would brim its cup with bliss and overbrim; Oh, to be worn and fade beside his cheek!'-- 'In love and happy, Delphis; and the boy?'-- 'Loves and is happy'-- You hale from?'-- 'aetna; We have been out two days and crossed this ridge, West of Mount Mycon's head. I serve his father, A farmer well-to-do and full of sense, Who owns a gra.s.s-farm cleared among the pines North-west the cone, where even at noon in summer, The slope it falls on lengthens a tree's shade.

To play the lyre, read and write and dance I teach this lad; in all their country toil Join, nor ask better fare than cheese, black bread, b.u.t.ter or curds, and milk, nor better bed Than litter of dried fern or lentisk yields, Such as they all sleep soundly on and dream, (If e'er they dream) of places where it grew,-- Where they have gathered mushrooms, eaten berries, Or found the sheep they lost, or killed a fox, Or snared the kestrel, or so played their pipes Some maid showed pleasure, sighed, nay even wept.

There to be poet need involve no strain, For though enough of coa.r.s.eness, dung--nay, nay, And suffering too, be mingled with the life, 'Tis wedded to such air, Such water and sound health!

What else might jar or fret chimes in attuned Like satyr's cloven hoof or lorn nymph's grief In a choice ode. Though l.u.s.t, disease and death, As everywhere, are cruel tyrants, yet They all wear flowers, and each sings a song Such as the hilly echo loves to learn.'

'At last then even Delphis knows content?'

'Damon, not so: This life has brought me health but not content.

That boy, whose shouts ring round us while he flings Intent each stone toward yon shining object Afloat insh.o.r.e ... I eat my heart to think How all which makes him worthy of more love Must train his ear to catch the siren croon That never else had reached his upland home!

And he who failed in proof, how should he arm Another against perils? Ah, false hope And credulous enjoyment! How should I, Life's fool, while wakening ready wit in him, Teach how to shun applause and those bright eyes Of women who pour in the lap of spring Their whole year's substance? They can offer To fill the day much fuller than I could, And yet teach night surpa.s.s it. Can my means Prevent the ruin of the thing I cherish?

What cares Zeus for him? Fate despises love.

Why, lads more exquisite, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with promise, A thousand times have been lost for the lack Of just the help a watchful G.o.d might give; But which the best of fathers, best of mothers, Of friends, of lovers cannot quite supply.

Powers, who swathe man's virtue up in weakness, Then plunge his delicate mind in hot desire, Preparing pleasure first and after shame To bandage round his eyes,--these G.o.ds are not The friends of men.'

The Delphis of old days before me stood, Pa.s.sionate, stormy, teeming with black thought, His back turned on that sparkling summer sea, His back turned on his love; and wilder words And less coherent thought poured from him now.

Hipparchus waking took stock of the scene.

I watched him wend down, rubbing sleepy lids, To where the boy was busy throwing stones.

He joined the work, but even his stronger arm And heavier flints he hurled would not suffice To drive that floating object nearer sh.o.r.e: And, ere the rebel Delphis had expressed Enough of anger and contempt for G.o.ds, (Who, he a.s.serted, were the dreams of men), I saw the stone-throwers both take the water And swimming easily attain their end.

The way they held their noses proved the thing A tunny, belly floating upward, dead; Both towed it till the current caught and swept it Out far from that sweet cove; they laughing watched: Then, suddenly, Amyntas screamed and Delphis Turned to see him sink Locked in Hipparchus' arms.

The G.o.d Apollo never Burst through a cloud with more ease than thy son Poured from his homespun garb The rapid glory of his naked limbs, And like a streak of lightning reached the waves:-- Wherein his thwarted speed appeared more awful As, brought within the scope of comprehension, Its progress and its purpose could be gauged.

Spluttering Amyntas rose, Hipparchus near him Who cried 'Why coy of kisses, lovely lad?

I ne'er would harm thee; art thou not ashamed To treat thy conquest thus?'

He shouted partly to drown the sea's noise, chiefly The nearing Delphis to disarm.

His voice lost its a.s.surance while he spoke, And, as he finished, quick to escape he turned; Thy son's eyes and that steady coming on, As he might see them over ruffled crests, Far better helped him swim Than ever in his life he swam before.

Delphis pa.s.sed by Amyntas; Hipparchus was o'ertaken, Cuffed, ducked and shaken; In vain he clung about his angry foe; Held under he perforce let go: I, fearing for his life, set up a whoop To bring cause and effect to thy son's mind, And in dire rage's room his sense returned.

He towed Hipparchus back like one he'd saved From drowning, laid him out upon that ledge Where late Amyntas stood, where now he kneeled Shivering, alarmed and mute.

Delphis next set the drowned man's mouth to drain; We worked his arms, for I had joined them; soon His breathing recommenced; we laid him higher On sun-warmed turf to come back to himself; Then we climbed to the cart without a word.

The sun had dried their limbs; they, putting on Their clothes, sat down; at length, I asked the lad What made him keen to pelt a stinking fish.

Blushing he said, 'I wondered what it was.

But that man, when he came to help, declared 'Twould prove a dead sea-nymph, and we might see, By swimming out, how finely she was made.

I did not half believe, yet when we found That foul stale fish, it made us laugh.' He smiled And watched Hipparchus spit and cough and groan.

I moved to the car and unpacked bread and meat, A cheese, some fruit, a skin of wine, two bowls.

Amyntas was all joy to see such things; Ran off and pulled acanthus for our plates; Chattering, he helped me set all forth,--was keen To choose rock basin where the wine might cool; Approved, was full as happy as I to praise: And most he pleased me, when he set a place For poor Hipparchus. Thus our eager work, While Delphis, in his thoughts retired, sat frowning, Grew like a home-conspiracy to trap The one who bears the brunt of outside cares Into the glow of cheerfulness that bathes The children and the mother,--happy not To foresee winter, short-commons or long debts, Since they are busied for the present meal,-- Too young, too weak, too kind, to peer ahead, Or probe the dark horizon bleak with storms.

Oh! I have sometimes thought there is a G.o.d Who helps with lucky accidents when folk Join with the little ones to chase such gloom.

That chance which left Hipparchus with no clothes, Surely divinity was ambushed in it?

When he must put on Chloe's, Amyntas rocked With laughter, and Hipparchus, quick to use A favourable gust, pretends confusion Such as a farmer's daughter red-faced shows If in the dance her dress has come unpinned.

She suddenly grows grave; yet, seeing there Friends only, stoops behind a sister-skirt.

Then, having set to rights the small mishap, Holding her screener's elbows, round her shoulder Peeps, to bob back meeting a young man's eye.

All, grateful for such laughs, give Hermes thanks.

And even Delphis at Hipparchus smiled When, from behind me, he peeped bashful forth; Amyntas called him Baucis every time, Laughing because he was or was not like Some wench ...

Why, Delphis, in the name of Zeus How come you here?

Cydilla:

What can have happened, Delphis?

Be brief for pity!

Delphis:

Nothing, mother, nothing That has not happened time on time before To thee, to Damon, when the life ye thought With pride and pleasure yours, has proved a dream.

They strike down on us from the top of heaven, Bear us up in their talons, up and up, Drop us: we fall, are crippled, maimed for life.

'Our dreams'? nay, we are theirs for sport, for prey, And life is the King Eagle, The strongest, highest flyer, from whose clutch The fall is fatal always.