Nor drawn the bolt with who cried “Decadence!
And, after Sophokles, be nature dumb!” 160
Such, — and I see in it God Bacchos’ boon
To souls that recognized his latest child,
He who himself, born latest of the Gods,
Was stoutly held impostor by mankind, —
Such were in safety: any who could speak
A chorus to the end, or prologize,
Roll out a rhesis, wield some golden length
Stiffened by wisdom out into a line.
Or thrust and parry in bright monostich,
Teaching Euripides to Syracuse — 170
Any such happy man had prompt reward:
If he lay bleeding on the battle-field
They staunched his wounds and gave him drink and food;
If he were slave i’ the house, for reverence
They rose up, bowed to who proved master now,
And bade him go free, thank Euripides!
Ay, and such did so: many such, he said,
Returning home to Athens, sought him out,
The old bard in the solitary house,
And thanked him ere they went to sacrifice. 180
I say, we knew that story of last year!
Therefore, at mention of Euripides,
The Captain crowed out “Euoi, praise the God!
Oöp, boys, bring our owl-shield to the fore!
Out with our Sacred Anchor! Here she stands,
Balaustion! Strangers, greet the lyric girl!
Euripides? Babai! what a word there ‘scaped
Your teeth’s enclosure, quoth my grandsire’s song!
Why, fast as snow in Thrace, the voyage through,
Has she been falUng thick in flakes of him! 190
Frequent as figs at Kaunos, Kaunians said.
Balaustion, stand forth and confirm my speech!
Now it was some whole passion of a play;
Now, peradventure, but a honey-drop
That slipt its comb i’ the chorus. If there rose
A star, before I could determine steer
Southward or northward — if a cloud surprised
Heaven, ere I fairly hollaed ‘Furl the sail! — ’
She had at finger’s end both cloud and star;
Some thought that perched there, tame and tuneable, 200
Fitted with wings; and still, as off it flew,
‘So sang Euripides,’ she said, ‘so sang
The meteoric poet of air and sea,
Planets and the pale populace of heaven,
The mind of man, and all that’s made to soar!’
And so, although she has some other name,
We only call her Wild-pomegranate-flower,
Balaustion; since, where’er the red bloom burns
I’ the dull dark verdure of the bounteous tree,
Dethroning, in the Rosy Isle, the rose, 210
You shall find food, drink, odour, all at once;
Cool leaves to bind about an aching brow,
And, never much away, the nightingale.
Sing them a strophe, with the turn-again,
Down to the verse that ends all, proverb-like.
And save us, thou Balaustion, bless the name!”
But I cried “Brother Greek! better than so, —
Save us, and I have courage to recite
The main of a whole play from first to last;
That strangest, saddest, sweetest song of his, 220
Alkestis; which was taught, long years ago
At Athens, in Glaukinos’ archonship,
But only this year reached our Isle o’ the Rose.
I saw it at Kameiros; played the same,
They say, as for the right Lenean feast
In Athens; and beside the perfect piece —
Its beauty and the way it makes you weep, —
There is much honour done your own loved God
Herakles, whom you house i’ the city here
Nobly, the Temple wide Greece talks about! 230
I come a suppliant to your Herakles!
Take me and put me on his temple-steps.
To tell you his achievement as I may,
And, that told, he shall bid you set us free!”
Then, because Greeks are Greeks, and hearts are hearts,
And poetry is power, — they all outbroke
In a great joyous laughter with much love:
“Thank Herakles for the good holiday!
Make for the harbour! Row, and let voice ring.
‘In we row, bringing more Euripides!’ 240
All the crowd, as they lined the harbour now,
‘More of Euripides!’ — took up the cry.
We landed; the whole city, soon astir,
Came rushing out of gates in common joy
To the suburb temple; there they stationed me
O’ the topmost step: and plain I told the play,
Just as I saw it; what the actors said,
And what I saw, or thought I saw the while,
At our Kameiros theatre, clean-scooped
Out of a hill-side, with the sky above 250
And sea before our seats in marble row:
Told it, and, two days more, repeated it,
Until they sent us on our way again
With good words and great wishes.
Oh, for me —
A wealthy Syracusan brought a whole
Talent and bade me take it for myself;
I left it on the tripod in the fane,
— For had not Herakles a second time
Wrestled with Death and saved devoted ones? —
Thank-offering to the hero. And a band 260
Of captives, whom their lords grew kinder to
Because they called the poet countryman,
Sent me a crown of wild-pomegranate-flower:
So, I shall live and die Balaustion now.
But one — one man — one youth, — three days, each day,
(If, ere I lifted up my voice to speak,
I gave a downward glance by accident)
Was found at foot o’ the temple. When we sailed,
There, in the ship too, was he found as well,
Having a hunger to see Athens too. 270
We reached Peiraieus; when I landed — lo,
He was beside me. Anthesterion-month
Is just commencing: when its moon rounds full,
We are to marry. O Euripides!
I saw the master: when we found ourselves
(Because the young man needs must follow me)
Firm on Peiraieus, I demanded first
Whither to go and find him. Would you think?
The story how he saved us made some smile:
They wondered strangers were exorbitant 280
In estimation of Euripides.
He was not Aischulos nor Sophokles:
— “Then, of our younger bards who boast the bay,
Had I sought Agathon, or Iophon,
Or, what now had it been Kephisophon?
A man that never kept good company,
The most unsociable of poet-kind,
All beard that was not freckle in his face!”
I soon was at the tragic house, and saw
The master, held the sacred hand of him 290
And laid it to my lips. Men love him not:
How should they? Nor do they much love his friend
Sokrates: but those two have fellowship:
Sokrates often comes to hear him read,
And never misses if he teach a piece.
Both, being old, will soon have company,
Sit with their peers above the talk. Meantime,
He lives as should a statue in its niche;
Cold walls enclose him, mostly darkness there,
Alone, unless some foreigner uncouth 300
Breaks in, sits, stares an hour, and so departs,
Brain-stuffed with something to sustain his life,
Dry to the marrow mid much merchandize.
How should such know and love the man?
Why, mark!
Even when I told the play and got the praise,
There spoke up a brisk little somebody,
Critic and whippersnapper, in a rage
To set things right: “The girl departs from truth!
Pretends she saw what was not to be seen,
Making the mask of the actor move, forsooth! 310
‘Then a fear flitted o’er the wife’s white face,’ —
‘Then frowned the father,’ — ‘then the husband shook,’ —
‘Then from the festal forehead slipt each spray,
‘And the heroic mouth’s gay grace was gone;’ —
As she had seen each naked fleshly face.
And not the merely-painted mask it wore!”
Well, is the explanation difficult?
What’s poetry except a power that makes?
And, speaking to one sense, inspires the rest,
Pressing them all into its service; so 320
That who sees painting, seems to hear as well
The speech that ‘s proper for the painted mouth;
And who hears music, feels his solitude
Peopled at once — for how count heart-beats plain
Unless a company, with hearts which beat,
Come close to the musician, seen or no?
And who receives true verse at eye or ear,
Takes in (with verse) time, place, and person too,
So, links each sense on to its sister-sense,
Grace-like: and what if but one sense of three 330
Front you at once? The sidelong pair conceive
Thro’ faintest touch of finest finger-tips, —
Hear, see and feel, in faith’s simplicity,
Alike, what one was sole recipient of:
Who hears the poem, therefore, sees the play.
Enough and too much! Hear the play itself!
Under the grape-vines, by the streamlet-side,
Close to Baccheion; till the cool increase,
And other stars steal on the evening-star,
And so, we homeward flock i’ the dusk, we five! 340
You will expect, no one of all the words
O’ the play but is grown part now of my soul,
Since the adventure. ‘T is the poet speaks:
But if I, too, should try and speak at times,
Leading your love to where my love, perchance,
Climbed earlier, found a nest before you knew —
Why, bear with the poor climber, for love’s sake!
Look at Baccheion’s beauty opposite.
The temple with the pillars at the porch!
See you not something beside masonry? 350
What if my words wind in and out the stone
As yonder ivy, the God’s parasite?
Though they leap all the way the pillar leads,
Festoon about the marble, foot to frieze,
And serpentiningly enrich the roof,
Toy with some few bees and a bird or two, —
What then? The column holds the cornice up! There slept a silent palace in the sun,
With plains adjacent and Thessalian peace —
Pherai, where King Admetos ruled the land. 360
Out from the portico there gleamed a God,
Apollon: for the bow was in his hand,
The quiver at his shoulder, all his shape
One dreadful beauty. And he hailed the house,
As if he knew it well and loved it much:
“O Admeteian domes, where I endured,
Even the God I am, to drudge awhile,
Accepting the slave’s table thankfully.
Do righteous penance for a reckless deed!”
Then told how Zeus had been the cause of all, 370
Raising the wrath in him which took revenge
And slew those forgers of the thunderbolt
Wherewith Zeus blazed the life from out the breast
Of Phoibos’ son Asklepios (I surmise,
Because he brought the dead to life again)
And so, for punishment, must needs go slave
God as he was, with a mere mortal lord:
— Told how he came to King Admetos’ land,
And played the ministrant, was herdsman there,
Warding from him and his all harm away 380
Till now; “For, holy as I am,” said he,
“The lord I chanced upon was holy too:
Whence I deceived the Moirai, drew from death
My master, this same son of Pheres, — ay,
The Goddesses conceded him escape
From Hades, when the fated day should fall,
Could he exchange lives, find some friendly one
Ready, for his sake, to content the grave.
But trying all in turn, the friendly list,
Why, he found no one, none who loved so much, 390
Nor father, nor the aged mother’s self
That bore him, no, not any save his wife,
Willing to die instead of him and watch
Never a sunrise nor a sunset more:
And she is even now within the house,
Upborne by pitying hands, the feeble frame
Gasping its last of life out; since to-day
Destiny is accomplished, and she dies,
And I, lest here pollution light on me,
Leave, as ye witness, all my wonted joy 400
In this dear dwelling. Ay, — for here comes Death
Close on us of a sudden! who, pale priest
Of the mute people, means to bear his prey
To the house of Hades. The symmetric step!
How he treads true to time and place and thing,
Dogging day, hour and minute, for death’s-due!”
And we observed another Deity,
Half in, half out the portal, — watch and ward, —
Eyeing his fellow: formidably fixed,
Yet faultering too at who affronted him. 410
As somehow disadvantaged, should they strive.
Like some dread heapy blackness, ruffled wing,
Convulsed and cowering head that is all eye,
Which proves a ruined eagle who, too blind
Swooping in quest o’ the quarry, fawn or kid,
Descried deep down the chasm ‘twixt rock and rock,
Has wedged and mortised, into either wall
O’ the mountain, the pent earthquake of his power;
So lies, half hurtless yet still terrible,
Just when — who stalks up, who stands front to front, 420
But the great lion-guarder of the gorge,
Lord of the ground, a stationed glory there!
Yet he too pauses ere he try the worst
O’ the frightful unfamiliar nature, new
To the chasm, indeed, but elsewhere known enough,
Among the shadows and the silences
Above i’ the sky: so, each antagonist
Silently faced his fellow and forbore,
Till Death shrilled, hard and quick, in spite and fear:
“Ha, ha, and what may’st thou do at the domes, 430
Why hauntest here, thou Phoibos? Here again
At the old injustice, limiting our rights,
Baulking of honour due us Gods o’ the grave?
Was ‘t not enough for thee to have delayed
Death from Admetos, — with thy crafty art
Cheating the very Fates, — but thou must arm
The bow-hand and take station, press ‘twixt me
And Pelias’ daughter, who then saved her spouse, —
Did just that, now thou comest to undo, —
Taking his place to die, Alkestis here?” 440
But the God sighed “Have courage! All my arms,
This time, are simple justice and fair words.”
Then each plied each with rapid interchange:
&
nbsp; “What need of bow were justice arms enough?”
“Ever it is my wont to bear the bow.”
“Ay, and with bow, not justice, help this house!”
“I help it, since a friend’s woe weighs me too.”
“And now, — wilt force from me this second corpse?”
“By force I took no corpse at first from thee.”
“How then is he above ground, not beneath?” 450
“He gave his wife instead of him, thy prey.”
“And prey; this time at least, I bear below!”
“Go take her! — for I doubt persuading thee ...”
“To kill the doomed one? What my function else?”
“No! Rather, to despatch the true mature.”
“Truly I take thy meaning, see thy drift!”
“Is there a way then she may reach old age?”
“No way! I glad me in my honours too!”
“But, young or old, thou tak’st one life, no more!”
“Younger they die, greater my praise redounds!” 460
“If she die old, — the sumptuous funeral!”
“Thou layest down a law the rich would like.”
“How so? Did wit lurk there and ‘scape thy sense?”
“Who could buy substitutes would die old men.”
“It seems thou wilt not grant me, then, this grace?”
“This grace I will not grant: thou know’st my ways.”
“Ways harsh to men, hateful to Gods, at least!”
“All things thou canst not have: my rights for me!”
And then Apollon prophesied, — I think,
More to himself than to impatient Death, 470
Who did not hear or would not heed the while, —
For he went on to say “Yet even so,
Cruel above the measure, thou shalt clutch
No life here! Such a man do I perceive
Advancing to the house of Pheres now,
Sent by Eurustheus to bring out of Thrace,
The winter world, a chariot with its steeds!
He indeed, when Admetos proves the host,
And he the guest, at the house here, — he it is
Shall bring to bear such force, and from thy hands 480
Rescue this woman! Grace no whit to me
Will that prove, since thou dost thy deed the same,
And earnest too my hate, and all for nought!”
But how should Death or stay or understand?
Doubtless, he only felt the hour was come,
And the sword free; for he but flung some taunt —
“Having talked much, thou wilt not gain the more!
This woman, then, descends to Hades’ hall
Now that I rush on her, begin the rites
O’ the sword; for sacred to us Gods below, 490
That head whose hair this sword shall sanctify!”
And, in the fire-flash of the appalling sword,
The uprush and the outburst, the onslaught
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 140
