God Apollo
I.
The convent is built on a rock that rears
From the Rhine running swift below.
The young nun sits at the window and peers,
And watches the waters flow.
In the crimson dusk, like a fairy dream,
The vessel goes sailing by;
Its garlands of flowers and laurel gleam,
And the pennons of taffeta fly.
In the middle there stands a youth most fair,
His locks are golden and curled,
His mantle is fashioned of purple rare,
In the mode of an antique world.
Nine women, as lovely as statues all,
Lie prone at his gracious feet;
Their tunics are girdled high, and fall
Over slender limbs and sweet.
And the golden-haired one sails along,
And sings as he smites his lyre,
And, piercing the heart of the nun, the song
Flames hot as burning fire.
She crosses herself in horror and fear,
She crosses herself again;
But she cannot allay the torment dear.
Or banish the blissful pain.
II.
" I am the God of Song divine,
The nations all adore me;
On Mount Parnassus stood my shrine,
'Twas there they bowed before me.
" In Greece how many a time and oft,
Beside Castalia's fountain,
I've sat 'neath cypress shadows soft
On green Parnassus mountain;
" While seated round, in chorus sang
My fair melodious daughters;
La-la! la-la! their laughter rang
Beside Castalia's waters.
" And from the grove, tra-ra! tra-ra!
The winding bugle sounded,
When, chased by Artemisia,
The panting quarry bounded.
" I know not why, but so it fell:
To tune my lips for singing
I needed but to touch the well,
And taste the waters springing.
" I sang — and into music burst
My golden lyre unbidden;
I felt as when sweet Daphne erst
I found in laurels hidden.
" I sang — and scents ambrosial streamed,
And fragrant wings unfurled;
An aureole of splendour gleamed,
And circled all the world.
" A thousand years ago from Greece
They drove me forth to wander,
But ah, my heart is still in Greece!
Oh, still my heart is yonder! "
III.
Blackly habited and muffled
In the garb of the Beguines
Goes the nun; her hood and mantle
Are of serge the coarsest, roughest.
And she speeds and presses forward
By the Rhine, along the high-road,
Bound for Holland, asking eager
Of each passer-by the question: —
" Have you chanced to see Apollo?
Have you seen my lovely idol
In his cloak of scarlet playing
On the lyre, and singing sweetly? "
But an answer none will give her;
Many turn their backs in silence.
Many stare upon her smiling,
Others sigh, and say, " Poor child! "
But along the highway jogging
Comes a slovenly old creature, —
Moves his fingers as if counting,
Through his nose a ditty crooning.
On his back a tattered wallet,
On his head a hat three-cornered;
To the questioning nun he listens,
Leers with cunning little eyes.
" Have you chanced to see Apollo?
Have you seen my lovely idol
In his cloak of scarlet playing
On the lyre, and singing sweetly? "
And the queer old creature answers,
While he comically waggles
To and fro his head, and drolly
At his pointed beard keeps tugging:
" Have I chanced to see Apollo?
Of a surety I have seen him:
Oft at Amsterdam have seen him
In the German synagogue.
" For 'twas there he led the singing,
And was known as Rabbi Faibisch,
Which is High-Dutch for Apollo;
But he never was my idol.
" Cloak of scarlet? Yes, that also
I remember — genuine scarlet,
And the price per ell, eight florins;
To this day not fully paid for
" I have often met his father,
Moses Jitscher — circumciser
To the Portuguese, and clipper,
I have heard, of sovereigns also.
" Why, his mother is a cousin
Of my brother (kin by marriage),
And she deals in pickled gherkins
And old trousers on the Gracht.
" In their son they have no comfort;
Though he plays the lyre not badly,
He can play a great deal better
At the games, taroc and ombre.
" He is one of your freethinkers,
Ate of pork, and lost his office.
Then he toured about the country
With a troupe of low comedians.
" In the booths and at the markets
He has often played Jack-pudding,
Holofernes and King David —
As the latter much applauded;
" For he sang the psalms of David
In the king's own mother-tongue,
With the shakes and with the quavers
Of the ancient Hebrew music.
" And he took some wenches lately
From the Amsterdam Casino,
And is touring with these muses
Round the country as Apollo.
" There is one of them, a fat one,
Who is christened " the green sow,"
From her speaking and her grunting
And her chaplet of green laurel. "
The convent is built on a rock that rears
From the Rhine running swift below.
The young nun sits at the window and peers,
And watches the waters flow.
In the crimson dusk, like a fairy dream,
The vessel goes sailing by;
Its garlands of flowers and laurel gleam,
And the pennons of taffeta fly.
In the middle there stands a youth most fair,
His locks are golden and curled,
His mantle is fashioned of purple rare,
In the mode of an antique world.
Nine women, as lovely as statues all,
Lie prone at his gracious feet;
Their tunics are girdled high, and fall
Over slender limbs and sweet.
And the golden-haired one sails along,
And sings as he smites his lyre,
And, piercing the heart of the nun, the song
Flames hot as burning fire.
She crosses herself in horror and fear,
She crosses herself again;
But she cannot allay the torment dear.
Or banish the blissful pain.
II.
" I am the God of Song divine,
The nations all adore me;
On Mount Parnassus stood my shrine,
'Twas there they bowed before me.
" In Greece how many a time and oft,
Beside Castalia's fountain,
I've sat 'neath cypress shadows soft
On green Parnassus mountain;
" While seated round, in chorus sang
My fair melodious daughters;
La-la! la-la! their laughter rang
Beside Castalia's waters.
" And from the grove, tra-ra! tra-ra!
The winding bugle sounded,
When, chased by Artemisia,
The panting quarry bounded.
" I know not why, but so it fell:
To tune my lips for singing
I needed but to touch the well,
And taste the waters springing.
" I sang — and into music burst
My golden lyre unbidden;
I felt as when sweet Daphne erst
I found in laurels hidden.
" I sang — and scents ambrosial streamed,
And fragrant wings unfurled;
An aureole of splendour gleamed,
And circled all the world.
" A thousand years ago from Greece
They drove me forth to wander,
But ah, my heart is still in Greece!
Oh, still my heart is yonder! "
III.
Blackly habited and muffled
In the garb of the Beguines
Goes the nun; her hood and mantle
Are of serge the coarsest, roughest.
And she speeds and presses forward
By the Rhine, along the high-road,
Bound for Holland, asking eager
Of each passer-by the question: —
" Have you chanced to see Apollo?
Have you seen my lovely idol
In his cloak of scarlet playing
On the lyre, and singing sweetly? "
But an answer none will give her;
Many turn their backs in silence.
Many stare upon her smiling,
Others sigh, and say, " Poor child! "
But along the highway jogging
Comes a slovenly old creature, —
Moves his fingers as if counting,
Through his nose a ditty crooning.
On his back a tattered wallet,
On his head a hat three-cornered;
To the questioning nun he listens,
Leers with cunning little eyes.
" Have you chanced to see Apollo?
Have you seen my lovely idol
In his cloak of scarlet playing
On the lyre, and singing sweetly? "
And the queer old creature answers,
While he comically waggles
To and fro his head, and drolly
At his pointed beard keeps tugging:
" Have I chanced to see Apollo?
Of a surety I have seen him:
Oft at Amsterdam have seen him
In the German synagogue.
" For 'twas there he led the singing,
And was known as Rabbi Faibisch,
Which is High-Dutch for Apollo;
But he never was my idol.
" Cloak of scarlet? Yes, that also
I remember — genuine scarlet,
And the price per ell, eight florins;
To this day not fully paid for
" I have often met his father,
Moses Jitscher — circumciser
To the Portuguese, and clipper,
I have heard, of sovereigns also.
" Why, his mother is a cousin
Of my brother (kin by marriage),
And she deals in pickled gherkins
And old trousers on the Gracht.
" In their son they have no comfort;
Though he plays the lyre not badly,
He can play a great deal better
At the games, taroc and ombre.
" He is one of your freethinkers,
Ate of pork, and lost his office.
Then he toured about the country
With a troupe of low comedians.
" In the booths and at the markets
He has often played Jack-pudding,
Holofernes and King David —
As the latter much applauded;
" For he sang the psalms of David
In the king's own mother-tongue,
With the shakes and with the quavers
Of the ancient Hebrew music.
" And he took some wenches lately
From the Amsterdam Casino,
And is touring with these muses
Round the country as Apollo.
" There is one of them, a fat one,
Who is christened " the green sow,"
From her speaking and her grunting
And her chaplet of green laurel. "
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