AMBERGRIS 
57 
 
 
 
FROM THE MOTHER’S TRAGEDY 
 
A Death in Thessaly 
 
Μόνος Θεών  γάρ Θάνατος οϋ δώρων έρά 
—ÆSCH., Fr. Niobe. 
 
Farewell !  O Light of day, O torch Althæan ! 
The strange fruits lure me of Persephone ; 
I raise the last, the memorable pæan, 
Storm-throated, mouthed as cave-rolling sea ; 
I lift the cup :  deep draughts of blue Lethean ! 
My wine to me. 
 
O lamentable season of Apollo, 
When swoops his glory to the golden wave ! 
As all his children, so their lord shall follow ! 
The flower he slew, the maiden he would save, 
As Itylus, light woven, tuned !  O swallow, 
Bewail their grave ! 
 
The gracious breast of Artemis may light me 
To men—yet loved I ever Artemis ? 
Surely the vine-song and the dance delight me, 
The sea-blue bowers where Aphrodite is. 
Terrible gods and destinies excite me, 
The strange sad kiss. 
 
Thus may no moon tell Earth my story after, 
No virgin sing my fame as virginal. 
Yet some night-leaves the southern stream may waft her, 
Some amorous nymph across the wood may call 
A loud made chant ;  love, tears, harsh sombre laughter. 
No more at all.