Poems, third period | Page 7

the road is long;
And the knife, well sharpened,
That, with slashes three,
Scalp and
skin from foeman's head
Tore off skilfully.
And to paint his body, place
Dyes within his hand;
Let him shine
with ruddy grace
In the Spirit-land!
THE FEAST OF VICTORY.
Priam's castle-walls had sunk,
Troy in dust and ashes lay,
And each
Greek, with triumph drunk,
Richly laden with his prey,
Sat upon his
ship's high prow,
On the Hellespontic strand,
Starting on his
journey now,
Bound for Greece, his own fair land.
Raise the glad
exulting shout!
Toward the land that gave them birth
Turn they now
the ships about,
As they seek their native earth.
And in rows, all mournfully,
Sat the Trojan women there,--
Beat
their breasts in agony,
Pallid, with dishevelled hair.
In the feast of
joy so glad
Mingled they the song of woe,
Weeping o'er their
fortunes sad,
In their country's overthrow.
"Land beloved, oh, fare
thee well!
By our foreign masters led,
Far from home we're doomed
to dwell,--
Ah, how happy are the dead!"
Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
On the altar heavenward smokes;

Pallas, by whom towns are built
And destroyed, the priest invokes;

Neptune, too, who all the earth
With his billowy girdle laves,--

Zeus, who gives to terror birth,
Who the dreaded Aegis waves.
Now
the weary fight is done,
Ne'er again to be renewed;
Time's wide
circuit now is run,

And the mighty town subdued!
Atreus' son, the army's head,
Told the people's numbers o'er,
Whom
he, as their captain, led
To Scamander's vale of yore.
Sorrow's black
and heavy clouds
Passed across the monarch's brow:
Of those vast

and valiant crowds,
Oh, how few were left him now!
Joyful songs
let each one raise,
Who will see his home again,
In whose veins the
life-blood plays,
For, alas! not all remain!
"All who homeward wend their way,
Will not there find peace of
mind;
On their household altars, they
Murder foul perchance may
find.
Many fall by false friend's stroke,
Who in fight immortal
proved:"--
So Ulysses warning spoke,
By Athene's spirit moved.

Happy he, whose faithful spouse
Guards his home with honor true!

Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
Ever loves she what is new.
And Atrides glories there
In the prize he won in fight,
And around
her body fair
Twines his arms with fond delight.
Evil works must
punished be.
Vengeance follows after crime,
For Kronion's just
decree
Rules the heavenly courts sublime.
Evil must in evil end;

Zeus will on the impious band
Woe for broken guest-rights send,

Weighing with impartial hand.
"It may well the glad befit,"
Cried Olleus' valiant son, [24]
"To
extol the Gods who sit
On Olympus' lofty throne!
Fortune all her
gifts supplies,
Blindly, and no justice knows,
For Patroclus buried
lies,
And Thersites homeward goes!
Since she blindly throws away

Each lot in her wheel contained,
Let him shout with joy to-day

Who the prize of life has gained."
"Ay, the wars the best devour!
Brother, we will think of thee,
In the
fight a very tower,
When we join in revelry!
When the Grecian
ships were fired,
By thine arm was safety brought;
Yet the man by
craft inspired [25]
Won the spoils thy valor sought.
Peace be to
thine ashes blest!
Thou wert vanquished not in fight:
Anger 'tis
destroys the best,--
Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"
Neoptolemus poured then,
To his sire renowned [26] the wine--

"'Mongst the lots of earthly men,
Mighty father, prize I thine!
Of

the goods that life supplies,
Greatest far of all is fame;
Though to
dust the body flies,
Yet still lives a noble name.
Valiant one, thy
glory's ray
Will immortal be in song;
For, though life may pass
away,
To all time the dead belong!"
"Since the voice of minstrelsy
Speaks not of the vanquished man,
I
will Hector's witness be,"--
Tydeus' noble son [27] began:
"Fighting
bravely in defence
Of his household-gods he fell.
Great the victor's
glory thence,
He in purpose did excel!
Battling for his altars dear,

Sank that rock, no more to rise;
E'en the foemen will revere
One
whose honored name ne'er dies."
Nestor, joyous reveller old,
Who three generations saw,
Now the
leaf-crowned cup of gold
Gave to weeping Hecuba.
"Drain the
goblet's draught so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus'
gifts are wonderful,--
Balsam for a broken heart.
Drain the goblet's
draught so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus' gifts are
wonderful,--
Balsam for a broken heart.
"E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven
Loved in wrath to persecute,
Respite
from her pangs was given,
Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit.
Whilst
the thirsty lip we lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Buried deep in
Lethe's wave
Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
Whilst the thirsty lip we
lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Swallowed up in Lethe's wave

Is all grief, all sorrowing!"
And the Prophetess [28] inspired

By her God, upstarted now,--

Toward the smoke of homesteads fired,
Looking from the lofty prow.

"Smoke is each thing here below;
Every worldly greatness dies,

As the vapory columns go,--
None are fixed but Deities!
Cares
behind the horseman sit--
Round about the vessel play;
Lest the
morrow hinder it,
Let us, therefore, live to-day."
PUNCH SONG.

(TO BE SUNG IN NORTHERN COUNTRIES.)
On the mountain's breezy summit,
Where the southern sunbeams
shine,
Aided by their warming vigor,
Nature yields the golden
wine.
How the wondrous mother formeth,
None have ever read aright;

Hid forever is her working,
And inscrutable her might.
Sparkling as a son of Phoebus,
As the fiery source of light,
From
the vat it bubbling springeth,
Purple, and as crystal bright;
And rejoiceth all the senses,
And in every sorrowing breast
Poureth
hope's refreshing