Classic Poem

Callisthenes, a wild Athenian youth,
After a night in revelry misspent,
With faded ivy-garland round his hair,
Drew homewards, stumbling in the twilight dusk,
Himself—as was the twilight—wild and pale.
And as a servant through the gallery
Of statues lighted him towards his chamber,
Behold! before them in the torch-light's glare
The marble form of Bacchus, prince divine,
Framed by the artist's master-hand, stands out.
In bloom of youth the stately statue stands;
And through his full and downward-streaming locks
His rounded shoulders gleam, an ivory pair;
While 'neath the shade of a luxuriant wreath
Of vine-leaves and full purple clusters twined,
Peers out his rounded and full-blooming face.
Callisthenes in terror backward starts,
Seeing the vision's majesty and sheen.
It seemed to him as though the god in wrath
Had struck his temples with his thyrsus-staff—
As though in wrath the living mouth thus spake:
“Why hauntest thou this spot, thou reeling ghost,
Thou shade of Erebus, distraught in mind?
My sacred ivy thou hast dared profane,
And impiously dost call thyself my priest!
Hence from my sight! I know thee not for mine.
I am the Fulness of Creative Nature,
Who specially make known my godlike power
In the luxuriant vine's heart-gladdening juice.
If then thy senseless deeds desire a god,
Dare not to seek him on the vine-crowned slope,
But seek him rather in dark Hades' gloom!”
Here ceased the god—the torch's light expired;
Ashamed the youngster to his chamber slunk,
Snatched from his head the withered ivy-wreath,
And in the secret chambers of his heart
Sware solemnly a wise and sacred vow.