II2
THE ARGONAUTS
Just by the Maenad-haunted hill
Songs rise into the air, and thrill,
Like clustered birds at evening
When love outlingers rain and spring.
Faint faces of strange dancers spill
Their dewy scent ; and sweet and chill
The wind comes faintly whispering
On wanton wing.
Between the islands sheer and steep
Our craft treads noiseless o’er the deep,
Turned to the gold heart of the west,
The sun’s last sigh of love expressed
Ere the lake glimmer, borrow sleep
From clouds and tinge their edges; weep
That night brings love not to his breast,
But only rest.
We move toward the golden track
Shed in the water: we look back
Eastward, where rose is set to warn
Promise and prophecy of dawn
Reflected, lest the ocean lack
In any space serene or slack
Some colour, blushing o’er the fawn
Dim-lighted lawn.
At grave harmonious intervals.
The grand voice of some seaman calls,
Just as the picture fades, aware
How it was fair.
JASON.
A thousand victories bring us to the shore
Whence we set out: look forth ! The people
come
Moving with lights about the anchorage
‘To greet the heroes of the Golden Fleece.
My Queen ! Medea! Welcome unto Greece |
EXPLICIT ACTUS QUARTUS.
ARGONAUTAE.
ACTUS QUINTUS.
ARES.
Jason, Mrvea, PELIAs, ACASTUS, AL-
CKSTIS and her Sisters, MADNESS.
And under all the shadowy shapes
Of steep and silent bays and capes
The water takes its darkest hue ;
Catches no laughter from the blue ;
No purple ray or gold escapes,
But dim green shadow comes and drapes
Its lustre: thus the night burns through
Tall groves of yew.
ScENE: Zhe Palace at Jolchus.
MADNESS.
Black Ares hath called
Me forth from the deep !
Blind and appalled,
Shall the palace high-walled
Shake as I leap
Over the granite,
The marble over,
One step to span it,
One flight to hover,
Like a moon round a planet,
A dream round a lover !
Thither, ah thither! Hollow vales
Trembling with early nightingales !
Languish, O sea of sleep ! Young moon!
Dream on above in maiden swoon !
None daring to invoke the gales
To shake our sea, and swell our sails.
Not song, but silence, were a boon—
Save for this tune. 1 The legend is grotesque, and the poet's
power is strained—-perhaps overstrained—to
be faithful without being ridiculous. Only the
tragic necessity of avenging the indignity done
to Ares compelled this conclusion of the
drama, ind the somewhat fantastic and unreal
machinery of the catastrophe. ..
Round capes grown darker as night falls,
We see at last the splendid walls
That ridge the bay ; the town lies there
Lighted (the temple’s hour for prayer)