| |
| “WITH sacrifice, before the rising morn, | |
| Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired; | |
| And from th’ infernal gods, ’mid shades forlorn | |
| Of night, my slaughtered lord have I required; | |
| Celestial pity I again implore; | 5 |
| Restore him to my sight—great Jove, restore!” | |
| |
| So speaking, and by fervent love endowed | |
| With faith, the suppliant heavenward lifts her hands; | |
| While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, | |
| Her countenance brightens and her eye expands; | 10 |
| Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows; | |
| And she expects the issue in repose. | |
| |
| Oh terror! what hath she perceived?—oh joy! | |
| What doth she look on?—whom doth she behold? | |
| Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy? | 15 |
| His vital presence? his corporeal mould? | |
| It is—if sense deceive her not—’t is he! | |
| And a god leads him—wingèd Mercury! | |
| |
| Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand | |
| That calms all fear: “Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, | 20 |
| Laodamia! that at Jove’s command | |
| Thy husband walks the paths of upper air; | |
| He comes to tarry with thee three hours’ space; | |
| Accept the gift, behold him face to face!” | |
| |
| Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord to clasp; | 25 |
| Again that consummation she essayed; | |
| But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp | |
| As often as that eager grasp was made. | |
| The phantom parts—but parts to reunite, | |
| And reässume his place before her sight. | 30 |
| |
| “Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone! | |
| Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice: | |
| This is our palace,—yonder is thy throne! | |
| Speak! and the floor thou tread’st on will rejoice. | |
| Not to appal me have the gods bestowed | 35 |
| This precious boon, and blest a sad abode.” | |
| |
| “Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave | |
| His gifts imperfect: spectre though I be, | |
| I am not sent to scare thee or deceive; | |
| But in reward of thy fidelity. | 40 |
| And something also did my worth obtain; | |
| For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. | |
| |
| “Thou know’st, the Delphic oracle foretold | |
| That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand | |
| Should die; but me the threat could not withhold— | 45 |
| A generous cause a victim did demand; | |
| And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain; | |
| A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain.” | |
| |
| “Supreme of heroes! bravest, noblest, best! | |
| Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, | 50 |
| Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest | |
| By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore; | |
| Thou found’st—and I forgive thee—here thou art— | |
| A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. | |
| |
| “But thou, though capable of sternest deed, | 55 |
| Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave; | |
| And he whose power restores thee hath decreed | |
| Thou shouldst elude the malice of the grave; | |
| Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair | |
| As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. | 60 |
| |
| “No spectre greets me,—no vain shadow this; | |
| Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! | |
| Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss | |
| To me, this day a second time thy bride!” | |
| Jove frowned in heaven; the conscious Parcæ threw | 65 |
| Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. | |
| |
| “This visage tells thee that my doom is past; | |
| Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys | |
| Of sense were able to return as fast | |
| And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys | 70 |
| Those raptures duly—Erebus disdains; | |
| Calm pleasures there abide—majestic pains. | |
| |
| “Be taught, O faithful consort, to control | |
| Rebellious passion: for the gods approve | |
| The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul; | 75 |
| A fervent, not ungovernable, love. | |
| Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn | |
| When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—” | |
| |
| “Ah, wherefore? Did not Hercules by force | |
| Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb | 80 |
| Alcestis, a reanimated corse, | |
| Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom? | |
| Medea’s spells dispersed the weight of years, | |
| And Æson stood a youth ’mid youthful peers. | |
| |
| “The gods to us are merciful; and they | 85 |
| Yet further may relent; for mightier far | |
| Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway | |
| Of magic potent over sun and star, | |
| Is love, though oft to agony distrest, | |
| And though its favorite seat be feeble woman’s breast. | 90 |
| |
| “But if thou goest, I follow—” “Peace!” he said; | |
| She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered; | |
| The ghastly color from his lips had fled; | |
| In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared | |
| Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, | 95 |
| Brought from a pensive, though a happy place. | |
| |
| He spake of love, such love as spirits feel | |
| In worlds whose course is equable and pure; | |
| No fears to beat away—no strife to heal— | |
| The past unsighed for, and the future sure; | 100 |
| Spake of heroic arts in graver mood | |
| Revived, with finer harmony pursued; | |
| |
| Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there | |
| In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, | |
| An ampler ether, a diviner air, | 105 |
| And fields invested with purpureal gleams; | |
| Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day | |
| Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. | |
| |
| Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned | |
| That privilege by virtue—“Ill,” said he, | 110 |
| “The end of man’s existence I discerned, | |
| Who from ignoble games and revelry | |
| Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight, | |
| While tears were thy best pastime, day and night; | |
| |
| “And while my youthful peers before my eyes | 115 |
| (Each hero following his peculiar bent) | |
| Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise | |
| By martial sports,—or, seated in the tent, | |
| Chieftains and kings in council were detained, | |
| What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. | 120 |
| |
| “The wished-for wind was given; I then revolved | |
| The oracle, upon the silent sea; | |
| And, if no worthier led the way, resolved | |
| That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be | |
| The foremost prow in pressing to the strand— | 125 |
| Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. | |
| |
| “Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang | |
| When of thy loss I thought, belovèd wife! | |
| On thee too fondly did my memory hang, | |
| And on the joys we shared in mortal life— | 130 |
| The paths which we had trod—these fountains, flowers— | |
| My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. | |
| |
| “But should suspense permit the foe to cry, | |
| ‘Behold they tremble!—haughty their array, | |
| Yet of their number no one dares to die’? | 135 |
| In soul I swept th’ indignity away, | |
| Old frailties then recurred; but lofty thought, | |
| In acts embodied, my deliverance wrought. | |
| |
| “And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak | |
| In reason, in self-government too slow; | 140 |
| I counsel thee by fortitude to seek | |
| Our blest reunion in the shades below. | |
| The invisible world with thee hath sympathized; | |
| Be thy affections raised and solemnized. | |
| |
| “Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, | 145 |
| Seeking a higher object. Love was given, | |
| Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end; | |
| For this the passion to excess was driven, | |
| That self might be annulled—her bondage prove | |
| The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.” | 150 |
| |
| Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears! | |
| Round the dear shade she would have clung,—’t is vain; | |
| The hours are past,—too brief had they been years; | |
| And him no mortal effort can detain. | |
| Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, | 155 |
| He through the portal takes his silent way, | |
| And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay. | |
| |
| Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, | |
| She perished; and, as for a wilful crime, | |
| By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved, | 160 |
| Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, | |
| Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers | |
| Of blissful quiet ’mid unfading bowers. | |
| |
| —Yet tears to human suffering are due; | |
| And mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown | 165 |
| Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, | |
| As fondly he believes.—Upon the side | |
| Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) | |
| A knot of spiry trees for ages grew | |
| From out the tomb of him for whom she died; | 170 |
| And ever, when such stature they have gained | |
| That Ilium’s walls were subject to their view, | |
| The trees’ tall summits withered at the sight, | |
| A constant interchange of growth and blight! | |
| |
