The Gift of Eos
Not in a mist of loveless eyes dies he,
Who loveth truly nobler light than theirs;
To him, nor weariness nor agony,
Purblind appeals, nor prayers;
To him, the priceless boon
To watch from heights divine till all be done;
Calm in each dreamy rising of the Moon,
Glad in each glorious coming of the Sun.
CHORUS OF HOURS .
1.
L O ! here at the portal, awaiting new light,
We linger with pinions dripping dew-light.
Our faces shadow'd, our heads inclining,
The bright star-frost on our tresses shining;
Our eyes turn'd earthward in vigil holy,
Sinking our voices and singing slowly.
2.
The dark Earth sleepeth to our intoning,
The Ocean only is gleaming and moaning;
Our eyelids droop in a still devotion,
Yet we see the skies in the glass of Ocean, —
The void, star-lighted, is mirror'd faintly,
Slow slides the shade of Selene saintly.
3.
Eos! Eos! thou canst not hear us,
Yet we feel thee breathing in slumber near us:
Dark is thy cloud-roof'd temple solemn,
Shadows deepen round arch and column;
But a quiet light streams round thee, lying
In the feeble arms of thy love undying.
4.
Eos! Eos! thy cheek faint-gleaming
Sendeth a joy through the old man's dreaming;
His white hair poureth in frosty showers
Round a wreath fresh-woven of lily flowers,
And the flowers are fading and earthward snowing,
Save those thou breathest against unknowing!
TITHONOS .
What low, strange music throbs about my brain?
I hear a motion as of robes — a moaning.
EOS .
'Tis the three sisters and their shadowy train,
Beating the right foot solemnly, and intoning.
Ah! weary one, and have thy dreams been ill,
That thou upheavest thus a face so pale?
TITHONOS .
Methought that I was dead, and cold, and still,
Deep in the navel of a charmid dale!
Ah, love, thy gift doth heavy burthen bring,
Now I grow old, grow old,
And these weird songs the sisters nightly sing
Haunt me with memories strange and manifold;
For every eve, when Phoibos fades away
Yonder across Parnassos' snow-tipt height,
These halls feel empty, and the courts grow gray,
The sisters lose the radiance of the day,
And thy bright hair fades to a silvern light;
And nothing seems that is not sad though sweet!
But Heaven, this East, yea, and the earth below
Are silenced to the ditties these repeat,
Sinking their voices sad and singing slow:
Yea, Ocean moans with many waters! sleep
Is troublous even upon eyes that weep!
The monsters of the earth are in their lairs
Moonlit and cold; the owl sits still and stares
Through woody nooks with round white eye; the wind
Breatheth and gropeth blind;
The burthen and the mystery and the dream,
The sense of things that are and yet may be.
The strife between what is and what doth seem,
Is weary then on all, and most on me!
EOS .
It is enough to know thou canst not die,
Like those of whom thou 'plainest, drowsy one!
TITHONOS .
The seasons come and go, the moments fly
Like snow-flakes falling, melting in the sun.
Nothing abideth — all must change-the earth
Puts on fresh raiment every dawn of day —
What seems most precious turns to little worth —
Our love, whose face was an auroral birth,
Steps in the shade an instant, — and is clay.
Is it enough to know I cannot die?
Further than deathless life, can I implore?
Ah, but to know, as the slow years sweep by,
That life is worthy to be lived, is more.
Wherefore the burthen and the dream below?
Wherefore the happiness, the hope, the woe?
Wherefore the slimy sense of evil things
That draws the adder round the young man's eyes?
Wherefore the yearnings and imaginings,
The songs of bards, the broodings of the wise?
Have the gods written only on their scroll:
" Man striveth merely for a little space, —
Then there is slumber, and the death-bells toll,
The children cry, the widow hides her face,
The foolish dream is o'er,
And all is done for ever evermore?"
Oh, wherefore life at all, if life be such, —
A joy, a weariness, a growing gray!
If life be more, how may man live too much?
EOS .
Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass away.
HOURS .
Crow's-nest on a yew-tree, swing slow in sad weather,
A lock o' wet hair pastes thy brown sides together! —
Blood-red were her lips till she paled and grew thin,
As the pink under-eyelid of snakes was her skin.
Crow's-nest on a yew-tree that grows on a tomb,
The little black fledglings croak low in the gloom;
O maiden below, canst thou hear how they cry?
Dost thou stir in thy sleep as the adder goes by?
A worm crawl'd away with the little gold ring
He placed on thy finger that summer morning;
Then thy hand became bone, then was turn'd into clay,
While thy heart wither'd slowly; but cheerly, to-day
Thy fingers are leaves on the tree, in whose shade
He sits with as tender a maid!
TITHONOS .
Of death, corruption, change, and mystery,
They chant their chime to which the old world sleeps!
Why not for ever stand they bright and free,
Flinging a glad song over dales and deeps,
As morn by morn they do, when from my breast
With rosy footsteps thou dost bright'ning go,
Blue-wingid, to Parnassos?
EOS .
Be at rest!
The sense of things is dark on these also!
And e'en immortal gods grow pale at times
To hear their world-old rhymes.
Yea, Zeus the Sire himself beholds and hears,
Stares vacantly into the blue profound,
What time a rainbow drawn from all earth's tears
Fades on Olumpos with a weeping sound!
TITHONOS .
What then remains, my soul, if this be so?
EOS .
Around my neck I wind thy beard of gray,
And kiss thy quivering eyelids till they glow,
And thy face lightens on me, and I say,
" Look in mine eyes and know!"
HOURS .
O clod of green mould, that wast lately a man,
Time was thou wert footsore and weary and wan,
When thy brain was as fire, when thine eyes were as lead,
When thy hair was as white as the bones of the dead!
Dust in the urn, on a shelf, in a shrine,
Hast thou ears, hast thou eyes, canst thou feel, or divine?
Bones in the ground, can ye guess what ye be?
Brain, in the midst of the bones, canst thou see?
Corse, in a clod-gown clammy with dew,
Skull, with a hole where the arrow went through,
Do ye dream, are ye troubled, remember ye there
The life and the light that ye were?
TITHONOS .
Thine eyes are lit with passion strong enew
To melt a mortal's heart to fiery dew!
The burthen and the wonder and the dream,
Yea, all I am or was, and all I seem,
Are dwarf'd within these liquid orbs of thine
To the blue shadow of a love divine!
Yea, sweetest, love is surest, truest, best!
And dearest, knowing it must last for long!
EOS .
Now, close thine eyes, lean heavy on my breast,
And let my lips rain over thee in song! —
Thou wert a mortal who with fearless eyes
Dared seek the love of an immortal thing;
Plead low thou didst, and strive and agonise,
Yet time ebb'd on, and little peace did bring;
And the immortal joy seem'd far away,
Lessening and lessening to a speck of gold
Against the gates of sunrise, — till that day
I came upon thee where thou sleeping lay,
Breathed smoothness on thy wrinkled forehead old,
And woke thee to these wondrous halls, from whence
Thou seest the glimmering tract of earth below,
And trancid thee to nuptials so intense
Thy flesh and blood seem'd melting off like snow,
Leaving thy soul in its eternal hues
Clear, strong, and pale, as yonder crystal sphere
That swings above my threshold, sprinkling dews
Immortal over all who enter here! —
And still thy corporal semblance ages on,
Thy hair dries up, thy bones grow chill and bare.
A little while, my love, and all is gone,
Drunk by the lips of a diviner air!
TITHONOS .
Ah woe! ah woe! — and I am lost for aye!
EOS .
Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass away!
And nothing suffers loss if love remains!
The motion of mine air consumes thy clay,
My breath dries up the moisture of thy veins;
Yet have I given thee immortal being,
Thereto immortal love, immortal power,
Consuming thy base substance till thy seeing
Grows clearer, brighter, purer, hour by hour; —
Immortal honour, too, is thine, for thou
Hast sought the highest meed the gods can give —
Immortal Love hath stoop'd to kiss thy brow!
Immortal Love hath smiled, and bade thee live!
Wherefore the gods have given thee mighty meed,
And snatch'd thee from the death-pyres of thy race,
To wear away these weary mortal weeds
In a serener and a purer place, —
Not amid warriors on a battle plain,
Not by the breath of pestilence or woe,
But here, at the far edge of earth and main,
Whence light and love and resurrection flow —
And I upon thy breast, to soothe the pain!
Immortal life assured, what mattereth
That it be not the old fond life of breath!
Immortal life assured, the soul is free —
It is enough to be!
For lo! the love, the dream, to which is given
Divine assurance by a mortal peace,
Mix with the wonders of supremest heaven,
Become a part of that which cannot cease,
And being eternal must be beauteous too,
And being beauteous, surely must be glad!
O love, my love, thy wildest dreams were true,
Though thou were footsore in thy quest, and sad!
Not in a mist of hungry eyes dies he
Who loveth purely nobler light than theirs;
For him nor weariness nor agony,
Purblind appeals, nor prayers;
But circled by the peace serene and holy
Of that divinest thought he loved so long,
Pensive, not melancholy,
He mingles with those airs that made him strong, —
A little loath to quit
The old familiar dwelling-house of clay,
Yet calm, as the warm wind dissolveth it,
And leaf by leaf it droppeth quite away.
To him the priceless boon
To watch from heights serene till all be done;
Calm in each dreamy rising of the Moon,
Glad in each glorious coming of the Sun!
HOURS .
The stars are fading away in wonder,
Small sounds are stirring around and under,
Far away, from beneath the ocean,
We hear a murmur of wheels in motion,
And the wind that brings it along rejoices, —
Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices!
EOS .
It is Apollo! Hitherward he urges
His four steeds, steaming odorous fumes of day;
Along his chariot-wheels the white sea surges,
As up he drives his fiery-footed way.
TITHONOS .
Ye brighten, O ye columns round about!
Ye melt in purple shades, arches and towers!
Cloud-roof, thou partest, and white hands slip out,
Scattering pearls and flowers!
Brighter and brighter, blazing red and gold,
Purple and amethyst, that float and fly! —
While, creeping in, a dawn-wind fresh and cold
Pours silver o'er the couch whereon I lie!
Afar the coming of Apollo grows!
His breath lifts up my hair! my pulses beat!
My beard is moist with dews divinely sweet,
My lap is fill'd with sparkling leaves of rose,
Wherein my fingers, witherid and sere,
Grope palsiedly in joy! — Afar I hear
The low, quick breathing that the earth is making —
Eastward she turns her dewy side, awaking.
But thou! but thou!
Insufferably brightening!
Thy feet yet bathed in moist still shade, thy brow
Glistening and lightening,
Thy luminous eyes enlarging, ring in ring
Of liquid azure, and thy golden hair
Unfolding downward, curl on curl, to cling
Around thy naked feet rose-tipt and bare!
Thy hands stretch'd out to catch the flowers down-flowing,
Thy blushing look on mine, thy light green vest
In balmy airs of morning backward blowing
From one divine white breast!
The last star melts above thee in the blue,
The cold moon shrinks her horn, as thou dost go
Parnassos-ward, flower-laden, dripping dew,
Heralding him who cometh from below!
HOURS
1.
Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices,
The east grows golden, the earth rejoices,
White clouds part with a radiant motion,
Moist sails glimmer beneath on Ocean,
And downward tripping, the sweet Immortal
Blushingly pauses without the portal!
2.
Eos! Eos the sound from under
Deepens in music and might and wonder:
Thou standest now on Parnassos' mountain,
Thy feet drip pearls from the sacred fountain,
And the Sisters nine, to thy bright skirt clinging,
Greet thee with smiling and mystic singing!
3.
Eos! Eos! all earth beholds thee,
The light of the sunrise there infolds thee,
A cry comes up from the earth below thee,
Mountains and forests and waters know thee,
Fresh airs thy robe are backward blowing,
Under thy footprints flowers are growing!
4.
Eos! Eos! the sound is louder!
Behinds reams radiance fiercer and prouder!
A moment thou blushest, and glad we view thee,
Then Apollo the Fire-God speeds unto thee,
Speeding by with a smile he hails thee, —
And the golden cloud of his breathing veils thee!
Who loveth truly nobler light than theirs;
To him, nor weariness nor agony,
Purblind appeals, nor prayers;
To him, the priceless boon
To watch from heights divine till all be done;
Calm in each dreamy rising of the Moon,
Glad in each glorious coming of the Sun.
CHORUS OF HOURS .
1.
L O ! here at the portal, awaiting new light,
We linger with pinions dripping dew-light.
Our faces shadow'd, our heads inclining,
The bright star-frost on our tresses shining;
Our eyes turn'd earthward in vigil holy,
Sinking our voices and singing slowly.
2.
The dark Earth sleepeth to our intoning,
The Ocean only is gleaming and moaning;
Our eyelids droop in a still devotion,
Yet we see the skies in the glass of Ocean, —
The void, star-lighted, is mirror'd faintly,
Slow slides the shade of Selene saintly.
3.
Eos! Eos! thou canst not hear us,
Yet we feel thee breathing in slumber near us:
Dark is thy cloud-roof'd temple solemn,
Shadows deepen round arch and column;
But a quiet light streams round thee, lying
In the feeble arms of thy love undying.
4.
Eos! Eos! thy cheek faint-gleaming
Sendeth a joy through the old man's dreaming;
His white hair poureth in frosty showers
Round a wreath fresh-woven of lily flowers,
And the flowers are fading and earthward snowing,
Save those thou breathest against unknowing!
TITHONOS .
What low, strange music throbs about my brain?
I hear a motion as of robes — a moaning.
EOS .
'Tis the three sisters and their shadowy train,
Beating the right foot solemnly, and intoning.
Ah! weary one, and have thy dreams been ill,
That thou upheavest thus a face so pale?
TITHONOS .
Methought that I was dead, and cold, and still,
Deep in the navel of a charmid dale!
Ah, love, thy gift doth heavy burthen bring,
Now I grow old, grow old,
And these weird songs the sisters nightly sing
Haunt me with memories strange and manifold;
For every eve, when Phoibos fades away
Yonder across Parnassos' snow-tipt height,
These halls feel empty, and the courts grow gray,
The sisters lose the radiance of the day,
And thy bright hair fades to a silvern light;
And nothing seems that is not sad though sweet!
But Heaven, this East, yea, and the earth below
Are silenced to the ditties these repeat,
Sinking their voices sad and singing slow:
Yea, Ocean moans with many waters! sleep
Is troublous even upon eyes that weep!
The monsters of the earth are in their lairs
Moonlit and cold; the owl sits still and stares
Through woody nooks with round white eye; the wind
Breatheth and gropeth blind;
The burthen and the mystery and the dream,
The sense of things that are and yet may be.
The strife between what is and what doth seem,
Is weary then on all, and most on me!
EOS .
It is enough to know thou canst not die,
Like those of whom thou 'plainest, drowsy one!
TITHONOS .
The seasons come and go, the moments fly
Like snow-flakes falling, melting in the sun.
Nothing abideth — all must change-the earth
Puts on fresh raiment every dawn of day —
What seems most precious turns to little worth —
Our love, whose face was an auroral birth,
Steps in the shade an instant, — and is clay.
Is it enough to know I cannot die?
Further than deathless life, can I implore?
Ah, but to know, as the slow years sweep by,
That life is worthy to be lived, is more.
Wherefore the burthen and the dream below?
Wherefore the happiness, the hope, the woe?
Wherefore the slimy sense of evil things
That draws the adder round the young man's eyes?
Wherefore the yearnings and imaginings,
The songs of bards, the broodings of the wise?
Have the gods written only on their scroll:
" Man striveth merely for a little space, —
Then there is slumber, and the death-bells toll,
The children cry, the widow hides her face,
The foolish dream is o'er,
And all is done for ever evermore?"
Oh, wherefore life at all, if life be such, —
A joy, a weariness, a growing gray!
If life be more, how may man live too much?
EOS .
Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass away.
HOURS .
Crow's-nest on a yew-tree, swing slow in sad weather,
A lock o' wet hair pastes thy brown sides together! —
Blood-red were her lips till she paled and grew thin,
As the pink under-eyelid of snakes was her skin.
Crow's-nest on a yew-tree that grows on a tomb,
The little black fledglings croak low in the gloom;
O maiden below, canst thou hear how they cry?
Dost thou stir in thy sleep as the adder goes by?
A worm crawl'd away with the little gold ring
He placed on thy finger that summer morning;
Then thy hand became bone, then was turn'd into clay,
While thy heart wither'd slowly; but cheerly, to-day
Thy fingers are leaves on the tree, in whose shade
He sits with as tender a maid!
TITHONOS .
Of death, corruption, change, and mystery,
They chant their chime to which the old world sleeps!
Why not for ever stand they bright and free,
Flinging a glad song over dales and deeps,
As morn by morn they do, when from my breast
With rosy footsteps thou dost bright'ning go,
Blue-wingid, to Parnassos?
EOS .
Be at rest!
The sense of things is dark on these also!
And e'en immortal gods grow pale at times
To hear their world-old rhymes.
Yea, Zeus the Sire himself beholds and hears,
Stares vacantly into the blue profound,
What time a rainbow drawn from all earth's tears
Fades on Olumpos with a weeping sound!
TITHONOS .
What then remains, my soul, if this be so?
EOS .
Around my neck I wind thy beard of gray,
And kiss thy quivering eyelids till they glow,
And thy face lightens on me, and I say,
" Look in mine eyes and know!"
HOURS .
O clod of green mould, that wast lately a man,
Time was thou wert footsore and weary and wan,
When thy brain was as fire, when thine eyes were as lead,
When thy hair was as white as the bones of the dead!
Dust in the urn, on a shelf, in a shrine,
Hast thou ears, hast thou eyes, canst thou feel, or divine?
Bones in the ground, can ye guess what ye be?
Brain, in the midst of the bones, canst thou see?
Corse, in a clod-gown clammy with dew,
Skull, with a hole where the arrow went through,
Do ye dream, are ye troubled, remember ye there
The life and the light that ye were?
TITHONOS .
Thine eyes are lit with passion strong enew
To melt a mortal's heart to fiery dew!
The burthen and the wonder and the dream,
Yea, all I am or was, and all I seem,
Are dwarf'd within these liquid orbs of thine
To the blue shadow of a love divine!
Yea, sweetest, love is surest, truest, best!
And dearest, knowing it must last for long!
EOS .
Now, close thine eyes, lean heavy on my breast,
And let my lips rain over thee in song! —
Thou wert a mortal who with fearless eyes
Dared seek the love of an immortal thing;
Plead low thou didst, and strive and agonise,
Yet time ebb'd on, and little peace did bring;
And the immortal joy seem'd far away,
Lessening and lessening to a speck of gold
Against the gates of sunrise, — till that day
I came upon thee where thou sleeping lay,
Breathed smoothness on thy wrinkled forehead old,
And woke thee to these wondrous halls, from whence
Thou seest the glimmering tract of earth below,
And trancid thee to nuptials so intense
Thy flesh and blood seem'd melting off like snow,
Leaving thy soul in its eternal hues
Clear, strong, and pale, as yonder crystal sphere
That swings above my threshold, sprinkling dews
Immortal over all who enter here! —
And still thy corporal semblance ages on,
Thy hair dries up, thy bones grow chill and bare.
A little while, my love, and all is gone,
Drunk by the lips of a diviner air!
TITHONOS .
Ah woe! ah woe! — and I am lost for aye!
EOS .
Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass away!
And nothing suffers loss if love remains!
The motion of mine air consumes thy clay,
My breath dries up the moisture of thy veins;
Yet have I given thee immortal being,
Thereto immortal love, immortal power,
Consuming thy base substance till thy seeing
Grows clearer, brighter, purer, hour by hour; —
Immortal honour, too, is thine, for thou
Hast sought the highest meed the gods can give —
Immortal Love hath stoop'd to kiss thy brow!
Immortal Love hath smiled, and bade thee live!
Wherefore the gods have given thee mighty meed,
And snatch'd thee from the death-pyres of thy race,
To wear away these weary mortal weeds
In a serener and a purer place, —
Not amid warriors on a battle plain,
Not by the breath of pestilence or woe,
But here, at the far edge of earth and main,
Whence light and love and resurrection flow —
And I upon thy breast, to soothe the pain!
Immortal life assured, what mattereth
That it be not the old fond life of breath!
Immortal life assured, the soul is free —
It is enough to be!
For lo! the love, the dream, to which is given
Divine assurance by a mortal peace,
Mix with the wonders of supremest heaven,
Become a part of that which cannot cease,
And being eternal must be beauteous too,
And being beauteous, surely must be glad!
O love, my love, thy wildest dreams were true,
Though thou were footsore in thy quest, and sad!
Not in a mist of hungry eyes dies he
Who loveth purely nobler light than theirs;
For him nor weariness nor agony,
Purblind appeals, nor prayers;
But circled by the peace serene and holy
Of that divinest thought he loved so long,
Pensive, not melancholy,
He mingles with those airs that made him strong, —
A little loath to quit
The old familiar dwelling-house of clay,
Yet calm, as the warm wind dissolveth it,
And leaf by leaf it droppeth quite away.
To him the priceless boon
To watch from heights serene till all be done;
Calm in each dreamy rising of the Moon,
Glad in each glorious coming of the Sun!
HOURS .
The stars are fading away in wonder,
Small sounds are stirring around and under,
Far away, from beneath the ocean,
We hear a murmur of wheels in motion,
And the wind that brings it along rejoices, —
Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices!
EOS .
It is Apollo! Hitherward he urges
His four steeds, steaming odorous fumes of day;
Along his chariot-wheels the white sea surges,
As up he drives his fiery-footed way.
TITHONOS .
Ye brighten, O ye columns round about!
Ye melt in purple shades, arches and towers!
Cloud-roof, thou partest, and white hands slip out,
Scattering pearls and flowers!
Brighter and brighter, blazing red and gold,
Purple and amethyst, that float and fly! —
While, creeping in, a dawn-wind fresh and cold
Pours silver o'er the couch whereon I lie!
Afar the coming of Apollo grows!
His breath lifts up my hair! my pulses beat!
My beard is moist with dews divinely sweet,
My lap is fill'd with sparkling leaves of rose,
Wherein my fingers, witherid and sere,
Grope palsiedly in joy! — Afar I hear
The low, quick breathing that the earth is making —
Eastward she turns her dewy side, awaking.
But thou! but thou!
Insufferably brightening!
Thy feet yet bathed in moist still shade, thy brow
Glistening and lightening,
Thy luminous eyes enlarging, ring in ring
Of liquid azure, and thy golden hair
Unfolding downward, curl on curl, to cling
Around thy naked feet rose-tipt and bare!
Thy hands stretch'd out to catch the flowers down-flowing,
Thy blushing look on mine, thy light green vest
In balmy airs of morning backward blowing
From one divine white breast!
The last star melts above thee in the blue,
The cold moon shrinks her horn, as thou dost go
Parnassos-ward, flower-laden, dripping dew,
Heralding him who cometh from below!
HOURS
1.
Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices,
The east grows golden, the earth rejoices,
White clouds part with a radiant motion,
Moist sails glimmer beneath on Ocean,
And downward tripping, the sweet Immortal
Blushingly pauses without the portal!
2.
Eos! Eos the sound from under
Deepens in music and might and wonder:
Thou standest now on Parnassos' mountain,
Thy feet drip pearls from the sacred fountain,
And the Sisters nine, to thy bright skirt clinging,
Greet thee with smiling and mystic singing!
3.
Eos! Eos! all earth beholds thee,
The light of the sunrise there infolds thee,
A cry comes up from the earth below thee,
Mountains and forests and waters know thee,
Fresh airs thy robe are backward blowing,
Under thy footprints flowers are growing!
4.
Eos! Eos! the sound is louder!
Behinds reams radiance fiercer and prouder!
A moment thou blushest, and glad we view thee,
Then Apollo the Fire-God speeds unto thee,
Speeding by with a smile he hails thee, —
And the golden cloud of his breathing veils thee!
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