Poems by Oscar Wilde Part 8

So turned they back, and feared to look behind, And told the timid swain how they had seen Amid the reeds some woodland G.o.d reclined, And no man dared to cross the open green, And on that day no olive-tree was slain, Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,

Save when the neat-herd's lad, his empty pail Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail, Hoping that he some comrade new had found, And gat no answer, and then half afraid Pa.s.sed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade

A little girl ran laughing from the farm, Not thinking of love's secret mysteries, And when she saw the white and gleaming arm And all his manlihood, with longing eyes Whose pa.s.sion mocked her sweet virginity Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.

Far off he heard the city's hum and noise, And now and then the shriller laughter where The pa.s.sionate purity of brown-limbed boys Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air, And now and then a little tinkling bell As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.

Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat, The gra.s.shopper chirped idly from the tree, In sleek and oily coat the water-rat Breasting the little ripples manfully Made for the wild-duck's nest, from bough to bough Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough.

On the faint wind floated the silky seeds As the bright scythe swept through the waving gra.s.s, The ouzel-c.o.c.k splashed circles in the reeds And flecked with silver whorls the forest's gla.s.s, Which scarce had caught again its imagery Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.

But little care had he for any thing Though up and down the beech the squirrel played, And from the copse the linnet 'gan to sing To its brown mate its sweetest serenade; Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen The b.r.e.a.s.t.s of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.

But when the herdsman called his straggling goats With whistling pipe across the rocky road, And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode Of coming storm, and the belated crane Pa.s.sed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain

Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose, And from the gloomy forest went his way Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close, And came at last unto a little quay, And called his mates aboard, and took his seat On the high p.o.o.p, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping sheet,

And steered across the bay, and when nine suns Pa.s.sed down the long and laddered way of gold, And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons To the chaste stars their confessors, or told Their dearest secret to the downy moth That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth

Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked As though the lading of three argosies Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked, And darkness straightway stole across the deep, Sheathed was Orion's sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep,

And the moon hid behind a tawny mask Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean's marge Rose the red plume, the huge and horned casque, The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!

And clad in bright and burnished panoply Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!

To the dull sailors' sight her loosened looks Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks, And, marking how the rising waters beat Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side

But he, the overbold adulterer, A dear profaner of great mysteries, An ardent amorous idolater, When he beheld those grand relentless eyes Laughed loud for joy, and crying out 'I come'

Leapt from the lofty p.o.o.p into the chill and churning foam.

Then fell from the high heaven one bright star, One dancer left the circling galaxy, And back to Athens on her clattering car In all the pride of venged divinity Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank, And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.

And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen, And the old pilot bade the trembling crew Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen Close to the stern a dim and giant form, And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.

And no man dared to speak of Charmides Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought, And when they reached the strait Symplegades They beached their galley on the sh.o.r.e, and sought The toll-gate of the city hastily, And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.

II.

BUT some good Triton-G.o.d had ruth, and bare The boy's drowned body back to Grecian land, And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand; Some brought sweet spices from far Araby, And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.

And when he neared his old Athenian home, A mighty billow rose up suddenly Upon whose oily back the clotted foam Lay diapered in some strange fantasy, And clasping him unto its gla.s.sy breast Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest!

Now where Colonos leans unto the sea There lies a long and level stretch of lawn; The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun Is not afraid, for never through the day Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.

But often from the th.o.r.n.y labyrinth And tangled branches of the circling wood The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away, Nor dares to wind his horn, or-else at the first break of day

The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball Along the reedy sh.o.r.e, and circ.u.mvent Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal For fear of bold Poseidon's ravishment, And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes, Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise.

On this side and on that a rocky cave, Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands, As though it feared to be too soon forgot By the green rush, its playfellow,-and yet, it is a spot

So small, that the inconstant b.u.t.terfly Could steal the h.o.a.rded money from each flower Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy Its over-greedy love,-within an hour A sailor boy, were he but rude enow To land and pluck a garland for his galley's painted prow,

Would almost leave the little meadow bare, For it knows nothing of great pageantry, Only a few narcissi here and there Stand separate in sweet austerity, Dotting the unmown gra.s.s with silver stars, And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.

Hither the billow brought him, and was glad Of such dear servitude, and where the land Was virgin of all waters laid the lad Upon the golden margent of the strand, And like a lingering lover oft returned To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,

Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust, That self-fed flame, that pa.s.sionate l.u.s.tihead, Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost Had withered up those lilies white and red Which, while the boy would through the forest range, Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.

And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand, Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied The boy's pale body stretched upon the sand, And feared Poseidon's treachery, and cried, And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.

Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be So dread a thing to feel a sea-G.o.d's arms Crushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in amorous tyranny, And longed to listen to those subtle charms Insidious lovers weave when they would win Some fenced fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin

To yield her treasure unto one so fair, And lay beside him, thirsty with love's drouth, Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair, And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade,

Returned to fresh a.s.sault, and all day long Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy, And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song, Then frowned to see how froward was the boy Who would not with her maidenhood entwine, Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine;

Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done, But said, 'He will awake, I know him well, He will awake at evening when the sun Hangs his red shield on Corinth's citadel; This sleep is but a cruel treachery To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea

Deeper than ever falls the fisher's line Already a huge Triton blows his horn, And weaves a garland from the crystalline And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn The emerald pillars of our bridal bed, For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crowned head,

We two will sit upon a throne of pearl, And a blue wave will be our canopy, And at our feet the water-snakes will curl In all their amethystine panoply Of diamonded mail, and we will mark The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark,

Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep His gla.s.sy-portaled chamber will unfold, And we will see the painted dolphins sleep Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous flocks.

And tremulous opal-hued anemones Will wave their purple fringes where we tread Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck, And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.'

But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun With gaudy pennon flying pa.s.sed away Into his brazen House, and one by one The little yellow stars began to stray Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed,

And cried, 'Awake, already the pale moon Washes the trees with silver, and the wave Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune, The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repa.s.s, And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky gra.s.s.

Nay, though thou art a G.o.d, be not so coy, For in yon stream there is a little reed That often whispers how a lovely boy Lay with her once upon a gra.s.sy mead, Who when his cruel pleasure he had done Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun.

Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still With great Apollo's kisses, and the fir Whose cl.u.s.tering sisters fringe the seaward hill Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar's silvery sheen.

Even the jealous Naiads call me fair, And every morn a young and ruddy swain Woos me with apples and with locks of hair, And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love; But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove

With little crimson feet, which with its store Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad Had stolen from the lofty sycamore At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had Flown off in search of berried juniper Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager

Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency So constant as this simple shepherd-boy For my poor lips, his joyous purity And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy A Dryad from her oath to Artemis; For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss;

His argent forehead, like a rising moon Over the dusky hills of meeting brows, Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse For Cytheraea, the first silky down Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and brown;

And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie, And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds Is in his homestead for the thievish fly To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed.

And yet I love him not; it was for thee I kept my love; I knew that thou would'st come To rid me of this pallid chast.i.ty, Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam Of all the wide aegean, brightest star Of ocean's azure heavens where the mirrored planets are!

I knew that thou would'st come, for when at first The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst To myriad mult.i.tudinous blossoming Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes' rapturous tunes

Startled the squirrel from its granary, And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane, Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood, And the wild winds of pa.s.sion shook my slim stem's maidenhood.