Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,

Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,

No man hath walked along our roads with step

So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer climes

Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze

Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on

Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. 1846.

ON THE HELLENICS1

COME back, ye wandering Muses, come back home,

Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies: Come, let us walk upon the silent sands Of Simois, where deep footmarks show long strides ;

Thence we may mount, perhaps, to higher ground,

Where Aphrodite from Athene won
The golden apple, and from Herè too,
And happy Ares shouted far below.

Or would ye rather choose the grassy vale

Where flows Anapos thro' anemones, Hyacinths, and narcissuses, that bend To show their rival beauty in the

stream?

Bring with you each her lyre, and each in turn

Temper a graver with a lighter song.

1847.

THRASYMEDES AND EUNOE

WHO will away to Athens with me? who

Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers,

Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.

I promise ye, as many as are here,

1 Prefixed to the second edition of Landor's Hellenics, 1847. It is here given slightly out of the exact chronological order, that it may stand as an introduction to the chief poems from the Hellenics, those of 1846 as well as those of 1847.

Other poems of Landor's, such as The Death of Artemidora, Cleone to Aspasia, The Shades of Agamemnon and Iphigencia, etc., though originally published in other collections, and therefore not given here with the Hellenics, were ul timately included by Landor among them.

Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste

From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine Of a low vineyard or a plant ill-pruned, But such as anciently the Ægean isles Pour'd in libation at their solemn feasts: And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embossed

With no vile figures of loose languid boors,

But such as gods have lived with and have led.

The sea smiles bright before us. What white sail

Plays yonder? What pursues it? Like two hawks

Away they fly. Let us away in time To overtake them. Are they menaces We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak,

Enraged at her defender? Hippias! Art thou the man? Twas Hippias. He had found

His sister borne from the Cecropian port By Thrasymedes. And reluctantly? Ask, ask the maiden; I have no reply. Brother! O brother Hippias! O, if

66

love,

If pity, ever touch'd thy breast, forbear! Strike not the brave, the gentle, the beloved,

My Thrasymedes, with his cloak alone Protecting his own head and mine from harm."

"Didst thou not once before," cried Hippias,

Regardless of his sister, hoarse with wrath

At Thrasy medes, "didst not thou, dogeyed,

Dare, as she walk'd up to the Parthenon,
On the most holy of all holy days,
In sight of all the city, dare to kiss
Her maiden cheek?"

"Ay, before all the gods, Ay, before Pallas, before Artemis, Ay, before Aphrodite, before Here, I dared; and dare again. Arise, my spouse!

Arise! and let my lips quaff purity
From thy fair open brow."
The sword was up,
And yet he kiss'd her twice. Some God
withheld

The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seeth'd slower

And smote his breast less angrily; he laid [spake thus: His hand on the white shoulder, and

Pirate of virgin and of princely hearts! Before the people and before the Goddess Thou hadst evinced the madness of thy passion,

And now wouldst bear from home and plenteousness

To poverty and exile this my child." Then shuddered Thrasymedes, and exclaim'd,

"I see my crime; I saw it not before. The daughter of Peisistratos was born Neither for exile nor for poverty,

Ah! nor for me!" He would have wept. but one

Might see him, and weep worse. The prince unmoved

Strode on, and said, "To-morrow shall the people,

All who beheld thy trespasses, behold
The justice of Peisistratos, the love
He bears his daughter, and the reverence
In which he holds the highest law of
God."

He spake; and on the morrow they 1846.

were one.

When it was inarticulate as theirs, And the down deadened it within the nest?

He moved her gently from him, silent still,

And this, and this alone, brought tears from her.

Although she saw fate nearer : then with sighs,

I thought to have laid down my hair before

Benignant Artemis, and not have

dimmed

Her polished altar with my virgin blood; I thought to have selected the white flowers

To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each

By name, and with no sorrowful regret, Whether, since both my parents willed the change,

I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipped brow:

And (after those who mind us girls the most,)

Adore our own Athena, that she would Regard me mildly with her azure eyes, But father! to see you no more, and see Your love, O father! go ere I am gone..

Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,

Bending his lofty head far over hers, And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.

He turn'd away; not far, but silent still.

She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,

So long a silence seemed the approach of death,

And like it. Once again she raised her voice.

"O father! if the ships are now detained,

And all your vows move not the Gods above,

When the knife strikes me there will be

Of the pale maiden. She looked up and

saw

The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.

Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried

"O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail." 1846.

THE HAMADRYAD 1

RHAICOS was born amid the hills wherefrom

Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd, And small are the white-crested that play near,

And smaller onward are the purple

waves.

Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd

With rose and myrtle if they were inborn;

If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast

Where stern Athenè raised her citadel, Then olive was intwined with violets Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large. For various men wore various coronals; But one was their devotion; 'twas to her

Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws

The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,

And whom in his chill caves the mutable

Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,

And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath pray'd

To turn in pity the averted cheek
Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx

itself,

To give her daily more and sweeter flowers

Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell.

Rhaicos was looking from his father's

door

At the long trains that hastened to the town

From all the valleys, like bright rivulets

Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave,

1 Compare Lowell's poem, Rhocus, which gives a somewhat different version of the same story.

Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd

Berries of color like her lip so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth and wavering like the face
beneath.

"What dost thou here?" Echeion, halfafraid,

Half-angry cried. She lifted up her eyes, But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step

Backward, for fear came likewise over him,

But not such fear: he panted, gasp'd, drew in

His breath, and would have turn'd it into words,

But could not into one.

"O send away

That sad old man!" said she. The old man went

Without a warning from his master's

The oak to bleed.
Rhaicos.

Who art thou? whence? why here?

And whither wouldst thou go? Among the robed

In white or saffron, or the hue that most Resembles dawn or the clear sky, is none Array'd as thou art. What so beautiful As that gray robe which clings about thee close,

Like moss to stones adhering, leaves to trees,

Yet lets thy bosom rise and fall in turn, As, touch'd by zephyrs, fall and rise the boughs

Of graceful platan by the river-side? Hamad. Lovest thou well thy father's house?