Sitting in his cart He makes his meal; before him, for long miles, Alive with bright green lizards, The track, a straight black line, Furrows the rich soil; here and there Clusters of lonely mounds Topp'd with rough-hewn, Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer The sunny waste. They see the ferry On the broad, clay-laden Lone Chorasmian stream;-thereon, With snort and strain, Two horses, strongly swimming, tow The ferry-boat, with woven ropes Firm-harness'd by the mane; a chief, With shout and shaken spear, Stands at the prow, and guides them; but astern The cowering merchants in long robes Sit pale beside their wealth Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops, Of gold and ivory, Of turquoise-earth and amethyst, Jasper and chalcedony, And milk-barr'd onyx-stones. The loaded boat swings groaning In the yellow eddies; The Gods behold them. They see the Heroes Sitting in the dark ship On the foamless, long-heaving, Violet sea, At sunset nearing But oh, what labour ! They too can see Tiresias; but the Gods, Who give them vision, That they should bear too His groping blindness, His dark foreboding, His scorn'd white hairs; Bear Hera's anger Through a life lengthen'd To seven ages. They see the Centaurs On Pelion; then they feel, They too, the maddening wine Swell their large veins to bursting; in wild pain They feel the biting spears Of the grim Lapithæ, and Theseus, drive, Drive crashing through their bones; they feel High on a jutting rock in the red stream Alcmena's dreadful son Ply his bow;-such a price The Gods exact for song: To become what we sing. They see the Indian On his mountain lake;-but squalls Make their skiff reel, and worms In the unkind spring have gnawn Their melon-harvest to the heart. They see The Scythian;-but long frosts Parch them in winter-time on the bare stepp, Till they too fade like grass; they crawl They see the merchants On the Oxus stream;-but care Must visit first them too, and make them pale. A cloud of desert robber-horse have burst In the wall'd cities the way passes through, On some great river's marge, Mown them down, far from home. They see the Heroes Near harbour;-but they share Their lives, and former violent toil in Thebes, Seven-gated Thebes, or Troy ; Or where the echoing oars Of Argo first Startled the unknown sea. The old Silenus Came, lolling in the sunshine, From the dewy forest-coverts, Sitting by me, while his Fauns But I, Ulysses, Sitting on the warm steps, Looking over the valley, All day long, have seen, Ah, cool night-wind, tremulous stars! Ah, glimmering water, Fitful earth-murmur, Dreaming woods! Ah, golden-hair'd, strangely smiling Goddess, And thou, proved, much enduring, Wave-toss'd Wanderer! Who can stand still? Ye fade, ye swim, ye waver before me The cup again ! Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train, The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through my soul! FRAGMENT OF AN ANTIGONE. The Chorus. WELL hath he done who hath seized happiness! Though opulent, freely give. Declines her ministry, and carves his own; And, justice not infringed, Makes his own welfare his unswerved-from law. He does well too, who keeps that clue the mild A country for him, kinsfolk, and a home, Till the Fates come again, this time with death. In little companies, And, our own place once left, Ignorant where to stand, or whom to avoid, shocks Our order heaven-ordain'd Must every day endure: Voyages, exiles, hates, dissensions, wars. |