Collected Works (Vol. III)

LIBER TERTIUS VEL LABORIS 189 n amorous play, the ancient saws of eld And wisdom mystical From bearded lips must fall, Old eyes behold what young eyes ne’er beheld : Namely, the things beyond the triple veil Of space and time and cause, eternal woof Of misery overproof : And aged thoughts assail The younger hopes, and passion stands aloof, And silence takes possession, and the tale Of earth is told and done. Then from the Sire of all the Gods, from War And Love and Wisdom and the eternal Sun Worship is torn afar : While unto Thee, O Hades, turn we now, Awful of breast and brow, And hear thee in the sea, behold thee in the Star. Ant. 1 [Echo of the Damned). Ay! is the earth and upper ether gone, And all the joy of earth, and gathered close The darkness and the death-wind and the snows On us on whom the sun of air once shone. What souls are left alive Vainly lament and strive, For they. shall join the dead of utmost eld; The concourse mystical Who see the seasons fall Shall soon behold what all we have beheld :— The accursed stream, the intolerable veil Of night and death and hell, disastrous woof Of anguish overproof That fruitless wills assail Ever in vain: good fortune stands aloof And all kind gods : we, taking up the tale Of dead men past and done, Declare that ceaseless is the eternal war, And victory stedfast set against the Sun. Yet we perceive afar Even in Hades, at the end, not now, Some light upon his brow, Some comfort in the sea, some refuge in the Star. Str. 2. O thou! because thy chariot is golden, And beautiful thy coursers, and their manes Flecked with such foam as once upon the sea Bore Aphrodite, and thy face is olden, Worn with dim thought and unsuspected pains, And all thy soul fulfilled of majesty ; Because the silence of thy house is great, And thy word second spoken after Fate, And thy light stricken of thine own grim hand ; Because thy whisper exceedeth the command Of Zeus; thy dim light far outshines his glory ; Because, as He the first is, Thou the last :— Therefore I take up sorrow in my hands, And ply thine ear with my most doleful story, Asking a future, who have lost a past : A guerdon of my singing like the land’s When spring breaks forth from winter, and the blood Of the old earth laughs in every new-born bud. Ant, 2 [Echo of the Damned). O thou! because thy lyre is keen and golden And beautiful thy numbers through our veins Pouring delight, as on the starry sea Burn gems of rapture; though the houses olden Relax awhile their unredeeming pains, And through dead slaves thrill bounteous majesty ? Though the strong music of thy soul be great :— Shall thy desire avail to alter Tate? Or impious hands unloose the awful hand? Or futile words reverse the great command? Or what availeth? Though great Hades’ glory Stoop to thy prayer, and answer thee at last, Should Clotho catch weaving hands, the thread in