Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1593

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From Rhegium to the Isthmus, long

Hallow'd to steeds and glorious song,

Where, link'd awhile in holy peace,

Meet all the sons of martial Greece—

Wends Ibycus-whose lips the sweet

And ever-young Apollo fires;

The staff supports the wanderer's feet—

The God the Poet's soul inspires!

Soon from the mountain-ridges high,

The tower-crown'd Corinth greets his eye;

In Neptune's groves of darksome pine,

He treads with shuddering awe divine;

Nought lives around him, save a swarm

Of CRANES, that still pursued his way.

Lured by the South, they wheel and form

In ominous groups their wild array.

And "Hail! beloved Birds!" he cried;

"My comrades on the ocean tide,

Sure signs of good ye bode to me;

Our lots alike would seem to be;

From far, together borne, we greet

A shelter now from toil and danger;

And may the friendly hearts we meet

Preserve from every ill—the Stranger!"

His step more light, his heart more gay,

Along the mid-wood winds his way,

When, where the path the thickets close,

Burst sudden forth two ruffian foes;

Now strife to strife, and foot to foot!

Ah! weary sinks the gentle hand;

The gentle hand that wakes the lute

Has learn'd no lore that guides the brand.

He calls on men and Gods—in vain!

His cries no blest deliverer gain;

Feebler and fainter grows the sound,

And still the deaf life slumbers round—

"In the far land I fall forsaken,

Unwept and unregarded, here;

By death from caitiff hands o'ertaken,

Nor ev'n one late avenger near!"

Down to the earth the death-stroke bore him—

Hark, where the Cranes wheel dismal o'er him!

He hears, as darkness veils his eyes,

Near, in hoarse croak, their dirge-like cries.

"Ye whose wild wings above me hover,

(Since never voice, save yours alone,

The deed can tell)—the hand discover—

Avenge!"—He spoke, and life was gone.

Naked and maim'd the corpse was found—

And, still through many a mangling wound,

The sad Corinthian Host could trace

The loved—too well-remember'd face.

"And must I meet thee thus once more?

Who hoped with wreaths of holy pine,

Bright with new fame—the victory o'er—

The Singer's temples to entwine!"

And loud lamented every guest

Who held the Sea-God's solemn feast—

As in a single heart prevailing,

Throughout all Hellas went the wailing.

Wild to the Council Hall they ran—

In thunder rush'd the threat'ning Flood—

"Revenge shall right the murder'd man,

The last atonement-blood for blood!"

Yet 'mid the throng the Isthmus claims,

Lured by the Sea-God's glorious games—

The mighty many-nation'd throng—

How track the hand that wrought the wrong?—

How guess if that dread deed were done,

By ruffian hands, or secret foes?

He who sees all on earth—the SUN—

Alone the gloomy secret knows.

Perchance he treads in careless peace,

Amidst your Sons, assembled Greece;

Hears with a smile revenge decreed;

Gloats with fell joy upon the deed.

His steps the avenging gods may mock

Within the very Temple's wall,

Or mingle with the crowds that flock

To yonder solemn scenic[9] hall.

Wedg'd close, and serried, swarms the crowd—

Beneath the weight the walls are bow'd—

Thitherwards streaming far, and wide,

Broad Hellas flows in mingled tide tide—

A tide like that which heaves the deep

When hollow-sounding, shoreward driven;

On, wave on wave, the thousands sweep

Till arching, row on row, to heaven!

The tribes, the nations, who shall name,

That guest-like, there assembled came?

From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand—

From Phocis, from the Spartans' land—

From Asia's wave-divided clime,

The Isles that gem the Ægean Sea,

To hearken on that Stage Sublime,

The Dark Choir's mournful melody!

True to the awful rites of old,

In long and measured strides, behold

The Chorus from the hinder ground,

Pace the vast circle's solemn round.

So this World's women never strode—

Their race from Mortals ne'er began;

Gigantic, from their grim abode,

They tower above the Sons of Man!

Across their loins the dark robe clinging,

In fleshless hands the torches swinging,

Now to and fro, with dark red glow—

No blood that lives the dead cheeks know!

Where flow the locks that woo to love

On human temples—ghastly dwell The serpents, coil'd the brow above, And the green asps with poison swell.

Thus circling, horrible, within

That space—doth their dark hymn begin,

And round the sinner as they go,

Cleave to the heart their words of woe.

Dismally wails, the senses chilling,

The hymn—the FURIES' solemn song;

And froze the very marrow thrilling

As roll'd the gloomy sounds along.

And weal to him—from crime secure—

Who keeps his soul as childhood's pure;

Life's path he roves, a wanderer free—

We near him not-THE AVENGERS, WE,

But woe to him for whom we weave

The doom for deeds that shun the light:

Fast to the murderer's feet we cleave,

The fearful Daughters of the Night.

"And deems he flight from us can hide him?

Still on dark wings We sail beside him!

The murderer's feet the snare enthralls—

Or soon or late, to earth he falls!

Untiring, hounding on, we go;

For blood can no remorse atone I

On, ever—to the Shades below,

And there—we grasp him, still our own!"

So singing, their slow dance they wreathe,

And stillness, like a silent death,

Heavily there lay cold and drear,

As if the Godhead's self were near.

Then, true to those strange rites of old,

Pacing the circle's solemn round,

In long and measured strides—behold,

They vanish in the hinder ground!

Confused and doubtful—half between

The solemn truth and phantom scene,

The crowd revere the Power, presiding

O'er secret deeps, to justice guiding—

The Unfathom'd and Inscrutable

By whom the web of doom is spun,

Whose shadows in the deep heart dwell,

Whose form is seen not in the sun!

Just then, amidst the highest tier,

Breaks forth a voice that starts the ear;

"See there—see there, Timotheus,

Behold the Cranes of Ibycus!"

A sudden darkness wraps the sky;

Above the roofless building hover

Dusk, swarming wings; and heavily

Sweep the slow Cranes, hoarse-murmuring, over!

"Of Ibycus?"—that name so dear

Thrills through the hearts of those who hear!

Like wave on wave in eager seas,

From mouth to mouth the murmur flees—

"Of Ibycus, whom we bewail!

The murder'd one! What mean those words?

Who is the man—knows he the tale? Why link that name with those wild birds?"

Questions on questions louder press—

Like lightning flies the inspiring guess—

Leaps every heart—"The truth we seize;

Your might is here, EUMENIDES!

The murderer yields himself confest—

Vengeance is near—that voice the token—

Ho!-him who yonder spoke, arrest!

And him to whom the words were spoken!"

Scarce had the wretch the words let fall,

Than fain their sense he would recall

In vain; those whitening lips—behold!

The secret have already told.

Into their Judgment Court sublime

The Scene is changed;—their doom is seal'd!

Behold the dark unwitness'd Crime,

Struck by the lightning that reveal'd!

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