Читать книгу Poems - Edward Dowden - Страница 10

She stood upon the wall of windy Troy,

And lifted high both arms, and cried aloud

With no man near:—

“Troy-town and glory of Greece

Strive, let the flame aspire, and pride of life

Glow to white heat! Great lords be strong, rejoice,

Lament, know victory, know defeat—then die;

Fair is the living many-coloured play

Of hates and loves, and fair it is to cease,

To cease from these and all Earth’s comely things.

I, Helena, impatient of a couch

Dim-scented, and dark eyes my face had fed,

And soft captivity of circling arms,

Come forth to shed my spirit on you, a wind

And sunlight of commingling life and death.

City and tented plain behold who stands

Betwixt you! Seems she worth a play of swords,

And glad expense of rival hopes and hates?

Have the Gods given a prize which may content,

Who set your games afoot,—no fictile vase,

But a sufficient goblet of great gold,

Embossed with heroes, filled with perfumed wine?

How! doubt ye? Thus I draw the robe aside

And bare the breasts of Helen.

Yesterday

A mortal maiden I beheld, the light

Tender within her eyes, laying white arms

Around her sire’s mailed breast, and heard her chide

Because his cheek was blood-splashed,—I beheld

And did not wish me her. O, not for this

A God’s blood thronged within my mother’s veins!

For no such tender purpose rose the swan

With ruffled plumes, and hissing in his joy

Flashed up the stream, and held with heavy wings

Leda, and curved the neck to reach her lips,

And stayed, nor left her lightly. It is well

To have quickened into glory one supreme,

Swift hour, the century’s fiery-hearted bloom,

Which falls,—to stand a splendour paramount,

A beacon of high hearts and fates of men,

A flame blown round by clear, contending winds,

Which gladden in the contest and wax strong.

Cities of Greece, fair islands, and Troy town,

Accept a woman’s service; these my hands

Hold not the distaff, ply not at the loom;

I store from year to year no well-wrought web

For daughter’s dowry; wide the web I make,

Fine-tissued, costly as the Gods desire,

Shot with a gleaming woof of lives and deaths,

Inwrought with colours flowerlike, piteous, strange.

Oblivion yields before me: ye winged years

Which make escape from darkness, the red light

Of a wild dawn upon your plumes, I stand

The mother of the stars and winds of heaven,

Your eastern Eos; cry across the storm!

Through me man’s heart grows wider; little town

Asleep in silent sunshine and smooth air,

While babe grew man beneath your girdling towers,

Wake, wonder, lift the eager head alert,

Snake-like, and swift to strike, while altar-flame

Rises for plighted faith with neighbour town

That slept upon the mountain-shelf, and showed

A small white temple in the morning sun.

Oh, ever one way tending you keen prows

Which shear the shadowy waves when stars are faint

And break with emulous cries unto the dawn,

I gaze and draw you onward; splendid names

Lurk in you, and high deeds, and unachieved

Virtues, and house-o’erwhelming crimes, while life

Leaps in sharp flame ere all be ashes grey.

Thus have I willed it ever since the hour

When that great lord, the one man worshipful,

Whose hands had haled the fierce Hippolyta

Lightly from out her throng of martial maids,

Would grace his triumph, strengthen his large joy

With splendour of the swan-begotten child,

Nor asked a ten years’ siege to make acquist

Of all her virgin store. No dream that was,—

The moonlight in the woods, our singing stream,

Eurotas, the sleek panther at my feet,

And on my heart a hero’s strong right hand.

O draught of love immortal! Dastard world

Too poor for great exchange of soul, too poor

For equal lives made glorious! O too poor

For Theseus and for Helena!

Yet now

It yields once more a brightness, if no love;

Around me flash the tides, and in my ears

A dangerous melody and piercing-clear

Sing the twin siren-sisters, Death and Life;

I rise and gird my spirit for the close.

Last night Cassandra cried ‘Ruin, ruin, and ruin!’

I mocked her not, nor disbelieved; the gloom

Gathers, and twilight takes the unwary world.

Hold me, ye Gods, a torch across the night,

With one long flare blown back o’er tower and town,

Till the last things of Troy complete themselves:

—Then blackness, and the grey dust of a heart.”

“Milanion, seven years ago this day

You overcame me by a golden fraud,

Traitor, and see I crown your cup with flowers,

With violets and white sorrel from dim haunts,—

A fair libation—ask you to what God?

To Artemis, to Artemis my Queen.

Not by my will did you escape the spear

Though piteous I might be for your glad life,

Husband, and for your foolish love: the Gods

Who heard your vows had care of you: I stooped

Half toward the beauty of the shining thing

Through some blind motion of an instant joy,—

As when our babe reached arms to pluck the moon

A great, round fruit between dark apple-boughs,—

And half, marking your wile, to fling away

Needless advantage, conquer carelessly,

And pass the goal with one light finger-touch

Just while you leaned forth the bent body’s length

To reach it. Could I guess I strove with three,

With Aphrodite, Eros, and the third—

Milanion? There upon the maple-post

Your right hand rested: the event had sprung

Complete from darkness, and possessed the world

Ere yet conceived: upon the edge of doom

I stood with foot arrested and blind heart,

Aware of nought save some unmastered fate

And reddening neck and brow. I heard you cry

‘Judgment, both umpires!’ saw you stand erect,

Panting, and with a face so glad, so great

It shone through all my dull bewilderment

A beautiful uncomprehended joy,

One perfect thing and bright in a strange world.

But when I looked to see my father shamed,

A-choke with rage and words of proper scorn,

He nodded, and the beard upon his breast

Pulled twice or thrice, well-pleased, and laughed aloud,

And while the wrinkles gathered round his eyes

Cried ‘Girl, well done! My brother’s son retain

Shrewd head upon your shoulders! Maidens ho!

A veil for Atalanta, and a zone

Male fingers may unclasp! Lead home the bride,

Prepare the nuptial chamber!’ At his word

My life turned round: too great the shame had grown

With all men leagued to mock me. Could I stay,

Confront the vulgar gladness of the world

At high emprise defeated, a free life

Tethered, light dimmed, a virtue singular

Subdued to ways of common use and wont?

Must I become the men’s familiar jest,

The comment of the matron-guild? I turned,

I sought the woods, sought silence, solitude,

Green depths divine, where the soft-footed ounce

Lurks, and the light deer comes and drinks and goes,

Familiar paths in which the mind might gain

Footing, and haply from a vantage-ground

Drive this new fate an arm’s-length, hand’s-breadth off

A little while, till certitude of sight

And strength returned.

At evening I went back,

Walked past the idle groups at gossipry,

Sought you, and laid my hand upon your wrist,

Drew you apart, and with no shaken voice

Spoke, while the swift, hard strokes my heart out-beat

Seemed growing audible, ‘Milanion,

I am your wife for freedom and fair deeds:

Choose: am I such an one a man could love?

What need you? Some soft song to soothe your life,

Or a clear cry at daybreak?’ And I ceased.

How deemed you that first moment? That the Gods

Had changed my heart? That I since morn had grown

Haunter of Aphrodite’s golden shrine,

Had kneeled before the victress, vowed my vow,

Besought her pardon, ‘Aphrodite, grace!

Accept the rueful Atalanta’s gifts,

Rose wreaths and snow-white doves’?

In the dim woods

There is a sacred place, a solitude

Within their solitude, a heart of strength

Within their strength. The rocks are heaped around

A goblet of great waters ever fed

By one swift stream which flings itself in air

With all the madness, mirth and melody

Of twenty rivulets gathered in the hills

Where might escapes in gladness. Here the trees

Strike deeper roots into the heart of earth,

And hold more high communion with the heavens;

Here in the hush of noon the silence broods

More full of vague divinity; the light

Slow-changing and the shadows as they shift

Seem characters of some inscrutable law,

And one who lingers long will almost hope

The secret of the world may be surprised

Ere he depart. It is a haunt beloved

Of Artemis, the echoing rocks have heard

Her laughter and her lore, and the brown stream

Flashed, smitten by the splendour of her limbs.

Hither I came; here turned, and dared confront

Pursuing thoughts; here held my life at gaze,

If ruined at least to clear loose wrack away,

Study its lines of bare dismantlement,

And shape a strict despair. With fixed hard lips,

Dry-eyed, I set my face against the stream

To deal with fate; the play of woven light

Gleaming and glancing on the rippled flood

Grew to a tyranny; and one visioned face

Would glide into the circle of my sight,

Would glide and pass away, so glad, so great

The imminent joy it brought seemed charged with fear.

I rose, and paced from trunk to trunk, brief track

This way and that; at least my will maintained

Her law upon my limbs; they needs must turn

At the appointed limit. A keen cry

Rose from my heart—‘Toils of the world grow strong,

‘Yield strength, yield strength to rend them to my hands;

‘Be thou apparent, Queen! in dubious ways

‘Lo my feet fail; cry down the forest glade,

‘Pierce with thy voice the tangle and dark boughs,

‘Call, and I follow thee.’

What things made up

Memorial for the Presence of the place

Thenceforth to hold? Only the torrent’s leap

Endlessly vibrating, monotonous rhythm

Of the swift footstep pacing to and fro,

Only a soul’s reiterated cry

Under the calm, controlling, ancient trees,

And tutelary ward and watch of heaven

Felt through steep inlets which the upper airs

Blew wider.

On the grass at last I lay

Seized by a peace divine, I know not how;

Passive, yet never so possessed of power,

Strong, yet content to feel not use my strength

Sustained a babe upon the breasts of life

Yet armed with adult will, a shining spear.

O strong deliverance of the larger law

Which strove not with the less! impetuous youth

Caught up in ampler force of womanhood!

Co-operant ardours of joined lives! the calls

Of heart to heart in chase of strenuous deeds!

Virgin and wedded freedom not disjoined,

And loyal married service to my Queen!

Husband, have lesser gains these seven good years

Been yours because you chose no gracious maid

Whose hands had woven in the women’s room

Many fair garments, while her dreaming heart

Had prescience of the bridal; one whose claims,

Tender exactions feminine, had pleased

Fond husband, one whose gentle gifts had pleased,

Soft playful touches, little amorous words,

Untutored thoughts that widened up toward yours,

With trustful homage of uplifted eyes,

And sweetest sorrows lightly comforted?

Have we two challenged each the other’s heart

Too highly? Have our joys been all too large,

No gleaming gems on finger or on neck

A man may turn and touch caressingly,

But ampler than this heaven we stand beneath—

Wide wings of Presences august? Our lives,

Were it not better they had stood apart

A little space, letting the sweet sense grow