Poems by George Meredith Volume I Part 12

Though all the singing days are done As in those climes that clasp the sun; Though the cuckoo in his throat Leaves to the dove his last twin note; Come to me with thy l.u.s.trous eye, Golden-dawning oriently, Come with all thy shining blooms, Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.

Though the cuckoo doth but sing 'cuk, cuk,'

And the dove alone doth coo; Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo - To the cuckoo's halting 'cuk.'

II

Sweet July, warm July!

Month when mosses near the stream, Soft green mosses thick and shy, Are a rapture and a dream.

Summer Queen! whose foot the fern Fades beneath while chestnuts burn; I welcome thee with thy fierce love, Gloom below and gleam above.

Though all the forest trees hang dumb, With dense leafiness o'ercome; Though the nightingale and thrush, Pipe not from the bough or bush; Come to me with thy l.u.s.trous eye, Azure-melting westerly, The raptures of thy face unfold, And welcome in thy robes of gold!

Tho' the nightingale broods--'sweet-chuck-sweet' - And the ouzel flutes so chill, Tho' the throstle gives but one shrilly trill To the nightingale's 'sweet-sweet.'

SONG

I would I were the drop of rain That falls into the dancing rill, For I should seek the river then, And roll below the wooded hill, Until I reached the sea.

And O, to be the river swift That wrestles with the wilful tide, And fling the briny weeds aside That o'er the foamy billows drift, Until I came to thee!

I would that after weary strife, And storm beneath the piping wind, The current of my true fresh life Might come unmingled, unimbrined, To where thou floatest free.

Might find thee in some amber clime, Where sunlight dazzles on the sail, And dreaming of our plighted vale Might seal the dream, and bless the time, With maiden kisses three.

SONG

Come to me in any shape!

As a victor crown'd with vine, In thy curls the cl.u.s.tering grape, - Or a vanquished slave: 'Tis thy coming that I crave, And thy folding serpent twine, Close and dumb; Ne'er from that would I escape; Come to me in any shape!

Only come!

Only come, and in my breast Hide thy shame or show thy pride; In my bosom be caressed, Never more to part; Come into my yearning heart; I, the serpent, golden-eyed, Twine round thee; Twine thee with no venomed test; Absence makes the venomed nest; Come to me!

Come to me, my lover, come!

Violets on the tender stem Die and wither in their bloom, Under dewy gra.s.s; Come, my lover, or, alas!

I shall die, shall die like them, Frail and lone; Come to me, my lover, come!

Let thy bosom be my tomb: Come, my own!

THE SHIPWRECK OF IDOMENEUS

Swept from his fleet upon that fatal night When great Poseidon's sudden-veering wrath Scattered the happy homeward-floating Greeks Like foam-flakes off the waves, the King of Crete Held lofty commune with the dark Sea-G.o.d.

His brows were crowned with victory, his cheeks Were flushed with triumph, but the mighty joy Of Troy's destruction and his own great deeds Pa.s.sed, for the thoughts of home were dearer now, And sweet the memory of wife and child, And weary now the ten long, foreign years, And terrible the doubt of short delay - More terrible, O G.o.ds! he cried, but stopped; Then raised his voice upon the storm and prayed.

O thou, if injured, injured not by me, Poseidon! whom sea-deities obey And mortals worship, hear me! for indeed It was our oath to aid the cause of Greece, Not unespoused by G.o.ds, and most of all By thee, if gentle currents, havens calm, Fair winds and prosperous voyage, and the Shape Impersonate in many a perilous hour, Both in the stately councils of the Kings, And when the husky battle murmured thick, May testify of services performed!

But now the seas are haggard with thy wrath, Thy breath is tempest! never at the sh.o.r.es Of hostile Ilium did thy stormful brows Betray such fierce magnificence! not even On that wild day when, mad with torch and glare, The frantic crowds with eyes like starving wolves Burst from their ports impregnable, a stream Of headlong fury toward the hissing deep; Where then full-armed I stood in guard, compact Beside thee, and alone, with brand and spear, We held at bay the swarming brood, and poured Blood of choice warriors on the foot-ploughed sands!

Thou, meantime, dark with conflict, as a cloud That thickens in the bosom of the West Over quenched sunset, circled round with flame, Huge as a billow running from the winds Long distances, till with black shipwreck swoln, It flings its angry mane about the sky.

And like that billow heaving ere it burst; And like that cloud urged by impulsive storm With charge of thunder, lightning, and the drench Of torrents, thou in all thy majesty Of mightiness didst fall upon the war!

Remember that great moment! Nor forget The aid I gave thee; how my ready spear Flew swiftly seconding thy mortal stroke, Where'er the press was hottest; never slacked My arm its duty, nor mine eye its aim, Though terribly they compa.s.sed us, and stood Thick as an Autumn forest, whose brown hair, l.u.s.trous with sunlight, by the still increase Of heat to glowing heat conceives like zeal Of radiance, till at the pitch of noon 'Tis seized with conflagration and distends Horridly over leagues of doom'd domain; Mingling the screams of birds, the cries of brutes, The wail of creatures in the covert pent, Howls, yells, and shrieks of agony, the hiss Of seething sap, and crash of falling boughs Together in its dull voracious roar.

So closely and so fearfully they throng'd, Savage with phantasies of victory, A sea of dusky shapes; for day had pa.s.sed And night fell on their darkened faces, red With fight and torchflare; shrill the resonant air With eager shouts, and hoa.r.s.e with angry groans; While over all the dense and sullen boom, The din and murmur of the myriads, Rolled with its awful intervals, as though The battle breathed, or as against the sh.o.r.e Waves gather back to heave themselves anew.

That night sleep dropped not from the dreary skies, Nor could the prowess of our chiefs oppose That sea of raging men. But what were they?

Or what is man opposed to thee? Its hopes Are wrecks, himself the drowning, drifting weed That wanders on thy waters; such as I Who see the scattered remnants of my fleet, Remembering the day when first we sailed, Each glad ship shining like the morning star With promise for the world. Oh! such as I Thus darkly drifting on the drowning waves.

O G.o.d of waters! 'tis a dreadful thing To suffer for an evil unrevealed; Dreadful it is to hear the perishing cry Of those we love; the silence that succeeds How dreadful! Still my trust is fixed on thee For those that still remain and for myself.

And if I hear thy swift foam-snorting steeds Drawing thy dusky chariot, as in The pauses of the wind I seem to hear, Deaf thou art not to my entreating prayer!

Haste then to give us help, for closely now Crete whispers in my ears, and all my blood Runs keen and warm for home, and I have yearning, Such yearning as I never felt before, To see again my wife, my little son, My Queen, my pretty nursling of five years, The darling of my hopes, our dearest pledge Of marriage, and our brightest prize of love, Whose parting cry rings clearest in my heart.

O lay this horror, much-offended G.o.d!

And making all as fair and firm as when We trusted to thy mighty depths of old, - I vow to sacrifice the first whom Zeus Shall prompt to hail us from the white seash.o.r.e And welcome our return to royal Crete, An offering, Poseidon, unto thee!

Amid the din of elemental strife, No voice may pierce but Deity supreme: And Deity supreme alone can hear, Above the hurricane's discordant shrieks, The cry of agonized humanity.

Not unappeased was He who smites the waves, When to his stormy ears the warrior's vow Entered, and from his foamy pinnacle Tumultuous he beheld the prostrate form, And knew the mighty heart. Awhile he gazed, As doubtful of his purpose, and the storm, Conscious of that divine debate, withheld Its fierce emotion, in the luminous gloom Of those so dark irradiating eyes!

Beneath whose wavering l.u.s.tre shone revealed The tumult of the purpling deeps, and all The throbbing of the tempest, as it paused, Slowly subsiding, seeming to await The sudden signal, as a faithful hound Pants with the forepaws stretched before its nose, Athwart the greensward, after an eager chase; Its hot tongue thrust to cool, its foamy jaws Open to let the swift breath come and go, Its quick interrogating eyes fixed keen Upon the huntsman's countenance, and ever Lashing its sharp impatient tail with haste: Prompt at the slightest sign to scour away, And hang itself afresh by the bleeding fangs, Upon the neck of some death-singled stag, Whose royal antlers, eyes, and stumbling knees Will supplicate the G.o.ds in mute despair.

This time not mute, nor yet in vain this time!

For still the burden of the earnest voice And all the vivid glories it revoked Sank in the G.o.d, with that absorbed suspense Felt only by the Olympians, whose minds Unbounded like our mortal brain, perceive All things complete, the end, the aim of all; To whom the crown and consequence of deeds Are ever present with the deed itself.

And now the pouring surges, vast and smooth, Grew weary of restraint, and heaved themselves Headlong beneath him, breaking at his feet With wild importunate cries and angry wail; Like crowds that shout for bread and hunger more.

And now the surface of their rolling backs Was ridged with foam-topt furrows, rising high And dashing wildly, like to fiery steeds, Fresh from the Thracian or Thessalian plains, High-blooded mares just tempering to the bit, Whose manes at full-speed stream upon the winds, And in whose delicate nostrils when the gust Breathes of their native plains, they ramp and rear, Frothing the curb, and bounding from the earth, As though the Sun-G.o.d's chariot alone Were fit to follow in their flashing track.

Anon with gathering stature to the height Of those colossal giants, doomed long since To torturous grief and penance, that a.s.sailed The sky-throned courts of Zeus, and climbing, dared For once in a world the Olympic wrath, and braved The electric spirit which from his clenching hand Pierces the dark-veined earth, and with a touch Is death to mortals, fearfully they grew!

And with like purpose of audacity Threatened t.i.tanic fury to the G.o.d.

Such was the agitation of the sea Beneath Poseidon's thought-revolving brows, Storming for signal. But no signal came.

And as when men, who congregate to hear Some proclamation from the regal fount, With eager questioning and anxious phrase Betray the expectation of their hearts, Till after many hours of fretful sloth, Weary with much delay, they hold discourse In sullen groups and cloudy ma.s.ses, stirred With rage irresolute and whispering plot, Known more by indication than by word, And understood alone by those whose minds Partic.i.p.ate;--even so the restless waves Began to lose all sense of servitude, And worked with rebel pa.s.sions, bursting, now To right, and now to left, but evermore Subdued with influence, and controlled with dread Of that inviolate Authority.

Then, swiftly as he mused, the impetuous G.o.d Seized on the pausing reins, his coursers plunged, His brows resumed the grandeur of their ire; Throughout his vast divinity the deeps Concurrent thrilled with action, and away, As sweeps a thunder-cloud across the sky In harvest-time, preluded by dull blasts; Or some black-visaged whirlwind, whose wide folds Rush, wrestling on with all 'twixt heaven and earth, Darkling he hurried, and his distant voice, Not softened by delay, was heard in tones Distinctly terrible, still following up Its rapid utterance of tremendous wrath With hoa.r.s.e reverberations; like the roar Of lions when they hunger, and awake The sullen echoes from their forest sleep, To speed the ravenous noise from hill to hill And startle victims; but more awful, He, Scudding across the hills that rise and sink, With foam, and splash, and cataracts of spray, Clothed in majestic splendour; girt about With Sea-G.o.ds and swift creatures of the sea; Their briny eyes blind with the showering drops; Their stormy locks, salt tongues, and scaly backs, Quivering in harmony with the tempest, fierce And eager with tempestuous delight; - He like a moving rock above them all Solemnly towering while fitful gleams Brake from his dense black forehead, which display'd The enduring chiefs as their distracted fleets Tossed, toiling with the waters, climbing high, And plunging downward with determined beaks, In lurid anguish; but the Cretan king And all his crew were 'ware of under-tides, That for the groaning vessel made a path, On which the impending and precipitous waves Fell not, nor suck'd to their abysmal gorge.

O, happy they to feel the mighty G.o.d, Without his whelming presence near: to feel Safety and sweet relief from such despair, And gushing of their weary hopes once more Within their fond warm hearts, tired limbs, and eyes Heavy with much fatigue and want of sleep!

Prayers did not lack; like mountain springs they came, After the earth has drunk the drenching rains, And throws her fresh-born jets into the sun With joyous sparkles;--for there needed not Evidence more serene of instant grace, Immortal mercy! and the sense which follows Divine interposition, when the shock Of danger hath been thwarted by the G.o.ds, Visibly, and through supplication deep, - Rose in them, chiefly in the royal mind Of him whose interceding vow had saved.

Tears from that great heroic soul sprang up; Not painful as in grief, nor smarting keen With shame of weeping; but calm, fresh, and sweet; Such as in lofty spirits rise, and wed The nature of the woman to the man; A sight most lovely to the G.o.ds! They fell Like showers of starlight from his steadfast eyes, As ever towards the prow he gazed, nor moved One muscle, with firm lips and level lids, Motionless; while the winds sang in his ears, And took the length of his brown hair in streams Behind him. Thus the hours pa.s.sed, and the oars Plied without pause, and nothing but the sound Of the dull rowlocks and still watery sough, Far off, the carnage of the storm, was heard.

For nothing spake the mariners in their toil, And all the captains of the war were dumb: Too much oppressed with wonder, too much thrilled By their great chieftain's silence, to disturb Such meditation with poor human speech.

Meantime the moon through slips of driving cloud Came forth, and glanced athwart the seas a path Of dusky splendour, like the Hadean brows, When with Elysian pa.s.sion they behold Persephone's complacent hueless cheeks.

Soon gathering strength and l.u.s.tre, as a ship That swims into some blue and open bay With bright full-bosomed sails, the radiant car Of Artemis advanced, and on the waves Sparkled like arrows from her silver bow The keenness of her pure and tender gaze.

Then, slowly, one by one the chiefs sought rest; The watches being set, and men to relieve The rowers at midseason. Fair it was To see them as they lay! Some up the prow, Some round the helm, in open-handed sleep; With casques unloosed, and bucklers put aside; The ten years' tale of war upon their cheeks, Where clung the salt wet locks, and on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s Beards, the thick growth of many a proud campaign; And on their brows the bright invisible crown Victory sheds from her own radiant form, As o'er her favourites' heads she sings and soars.

But dreams came not so calmly; as around Turbulent sh.o.r.es wild waves and swamping surf Prevail, while seaward, on the tranquil deeps, Reign placid surfaces and solemn peace, So, from the troubled strands of memory, they Launched and were tossed, long ere they found the tides That lead to the gentle bosoms of pure rest.

And like to one who from a ghostly watch In a lone house where murder hath been done, And secret violations, pale with stealth Emerges, staggering on the first chill gust Wherewith the morning greets him, feeling not Its balmy freshness on his bloodless cheek, - But swift to hide his midnight face afar, 'Mongst the old woods and timid-glancing flowers Hastens, till on the fresh reviving b.r.e.a.s.t.s Of tender Dryads folded he forgets The pallid witness of those nameless things, In renovated senses lapt, and joins The full, keen joyance of the day, so they From sights and sounds of battle smeared with blood, And shrieking souls on Acheron's bleak tides, And wail of execrating kindred, slid Into oblivious slumber and a sense Of satiate deliciousness complete.

Leave them, O Muse, in that so happy sleep!

Leave them to reap the harvest of their toil, While fast in moonlight the glad vessel glides, As if instinctive to its forest home.

O Muse, that in all sorrows and all joys, Rapturous bliss and suffering divine, Dwellest with equal fervour, in the calm Of thy serene philosophy, albeit Thy gentle nature is of joy alone, And loves the pipings of the happy fields, Better than all the great parade and pomp Which forms the train of heroes and of kings, And sows, too frequently, the tragic seeds That choke with sobs thy singing,--turn away Thy l.u.s.trous eyes back to the oath-bound man!

For as a shepherd stands above his flock, The lofty figure of the king is seen, Standing above his warriors as they sleep: And still as from a rock grey waters gush, While still the rock is pa.s.sionless and dark, Nor moves one feature of its giant face, The tears fall from his eyes, and he stirs not.

And O, bright Muse! forget not thou to fold In thy prophetic sympathy the thought Of him whose destiny has heard its doom: The Sacrifice thro' whom the ship is saved.

Haply that Sacrifice is sleeping now, And dreams of glad tomorrows. Haply now, His hopes are keenest, and his fervent blood Richest with youth, and love, and fond regard!

Round him the circle of affections blooms, And in some happy nest of home he lives, One name oft uttering in delighted ears, Mother! at which the heart of men are kin With reverence and yearning. Haply, too, That other name, twin holy, twin revered, He whispers often to the pa.s.sing winds That blow toward the Asiatic coasts; For Crete has sent her bravest to the war, And mult.i.tudes pressed forward to that rank, Men with sad weeping wives and little ones.

That other name--O Father! who art thou, Thus doomed to lose the star of thy last days?