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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24191-8.txt b/24191-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7129b0c --- /dev/null +++ b/24191-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5830 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Life Immovable, by Kostes Palamas + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Life Immovable + First Part + +Author: Kostes Palamas + +Translator: Aristides E. Phoutrides + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [EBook #24191] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES + +Punctuation, spelling and obvious printer's errors have been corrected. +Footnotes from the original text have been collated at the end of this +e-book and references to them have been amended according to the new +footnote numbering used in this e-book. + + + + +[Illustration: Kostes Palamas] + + + + +KOSTES PALAMAS + +LIFE IMMOVABLE +_FIRST PART_ + + +TRANSLATED BY ARISTIDES E. PHOUTRIDES + + +WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR + + +CAMBRIDGE +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1919 +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS + + + + +TO MRS. EVELETH WINSLOW + +THIS VOLUME OF TRANSLATIONS IS DEDICATED AS A TOKEN OF HER +APPRECIATION OF THE POET'S WORK + + + + +PREFACE + + +The translations contained in the present volume were undertaken since +the beginning of the great war when communication with Greece and +access to my sources of information were always difficult and at times +impossible. In hastening to present them to the English speaking +public before discussing them with the poet himself and my friends in +Athens, I am only yielding to the urgent requests of friends on both +sides of the Atlantic who have regarded my delay with justifiable +impatience. I am thoroughly conscious of the shortcomings that were +bound to result from the above difficulties and from the interruption +caused by my two years' service in the American army; and were it not +for the encouragement and loyal assistance of those interested in my +work it would have been impossible for me to bring it at all before +the public. My earnest effort has been to be as faithful to the poet +as possible, and for this reason I have not attempted to render rime, +a dangerous obstacle to a natural expression of the poet's thought and +diction. But I hope that the critics will judge my work as that of a +mere pioneer. I know there is value in the theme; and if this value is +made sufficiently evident to arouse the interest of poetry lovers in +the achievements of contemporary Greece I shall have reaped my best +reward. + +I wish to express my thanks to Dr. Christos N. Lambrakis of Athens +for the information which he has always been willing to furnish me +regarding various dark points in the work translated; to Mrs. Eveleth +Winslow of Washington for many valuable suggestions and criticisms; +and above all to Professor Clifford H. Moore of Harvard University +for the interest he has shown in the work and the readiness with which +he has found time in the midst of his duties to take charge of my +manuscript in my absence and to assist in seeing it through the press. + +ARISTIDES E. PHOUTRIDES. + +WASHINGTON, D.C. +July 7, 1919. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + KOSTES PALAMAS, A NEW WORLD-POET + LIFE IMMOVABLE, FIRST PART + + +TRANSLATIONS + + LIFE IMMOVABLE,--INTRODUCTORY POEM + + +FATHERLANDS + + FATHERLANDS, I-XII + THE SONNETS + EPIPHANY + MAKARIA + THE MARKET PLACE + LOVES + WHEN POLYLAS DIED + TO PETROS BASILIKOS + SOLDIER AND MAKER + THE ATHENA RELIEF + THE HUNTRESS RELIEF + A FATHER'S SONG + TO THE POET L. MAVILES + IMAGINATION + MAKARIA'S DEATH + TO PALLIS FOR HIS "ILIAD" + HAIL TO THE RIME + + +THE RETURN + + DEDICATION + THE TEMPLE + THE HUT + THE RING + THE CORD GRASS FESTIVAL + THE FAIRY + OUT IN THE OPEN LIGHT + FIRST LOVE + THE MADMAN + OUR HOME + THE DEAD + THE COMRADE + RHAPSODY + IDYL + AT THE WINDMILL + WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS + PINKS + RUINS + PENELOPE + A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS + + +FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN + + IMAGINATION + THE GODS + MY GOD + HELEN + THE LYRE + GIANTS' SHADOWS + THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL + SUNRISE + DOUBLE SONG + THE SUN-BORN + ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE + THE STRANGER + AN ORPHIC HYMN + THE POET + KRISHNA'S WORDS + THE TOWER OF THE SUN + A MOURNING SONG + PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN + THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN + MOLOCH + ALL THE STARS + ARROWS + + +VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE + + THE BEGINNING + THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK + THE SIMPLE SONG + THREE KISSES + ISMENE + THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN + TO A MAIDEN WHO DIED + TO THE SINNER + A TALK WITH THE FLOWERS + TO MY WIFE + THE ANSWER + THOUGHT + THE SINNER + THE END + + +THE PALM TREE + + THE PALM TREE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + + + +KOSTES PALAMAS[1] + +A NEW WORLD-POET + + _And then I saw that I am the poet, surely a poet among many + a mere soldier of the verse, but always the poet who desires + to close within his verse the longings and questionings of the + universal man, and the cares and fanaticism of the citizen. I + may not be a worthy citizen; but it cannot be that I am the + poet of myself alone. I am the poet of my age and of my race. + And what I hold within me cannot be divided from the world + without._ + + KOSTES PALAMAS, Preface to _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_. + + _Kostes Palamas ... is raised not only above other poets of + Modern Greece but above all the poets of contemporary Europe. + Though he is not the most known ... he is incontestably the + greatest._ + + EUGÈNE CLEMENT, _Revue des Études Grecques_. + + +I +THE STRUGGLE + +Kostes Palamas! A name I hated once with all the sincerity of a young +and blind enthusiast as the name of a traitor. This is no exaggeration. +I was a student in the third class of an Athenian Gymnasion in 1901, +when the Gospel Riots stained with blood the streets of Athens. The +cause of the riots was a translation of the New Testament into the +people's tongue by Alexandros Pallis, one of the great leaders of the +literary renaissance of Modern Greece. The translation appeared in +series in the daily newspaper _Akropolis_. The students of the +University, animated by the fiery speeches of one of their Professors, +George Mistriotes, the bulwark of the unreconcilable Purists, who would +model the modern language of Greece after the ancient, regarded this +translation as a treacherous profanation both of the sacred text and of +the national speech. The demotikists, branded under the name of [Greek: +Malliaroi] "the hairy ones," were thought even by serious people to be +national traitors, the creators of a mysterious propaganda seeking to +crush the aspirations of the Greek people by showing that their language +was not the ancient Greek language and that they were not the heirs of +Ancient Greece. + +Three names among the "Hairy Ones" were the object of universal +detestation: John Psicharis, the well known Greek Professor in Paris, +the author of many works and of the first complete Grammar of the +people's idiom; Alexandros Pallis, the translator of the Iliad and of +the New Testament; and Kostes Palamas, secretary of the University of +Athens, the poet of this "anti-nationalistic" faction. Against them the +bitterest invectives were cast. The University students and, with them, +masses of people who joined without understanding the issue, paraded +uncontrollable through the streets of Athens, broke down the +establishment of the _Akropolis_, in which Pallis' vulgate version +appeared, and demanded in all earnestness of the Metropolitan that he +should renew the medieval measure of excommunication against all +followers of the "Hairy Ones." + +Fortunately, the head of the Greek Church in Athens saved the +Institution which he represented from an indelible shame by resisting +the popular cries to the end. But the rioters became so violent that +arms had to be used against them, resulting in the death of eight +students and the wounding of about sixty others. This was utilized by +politicians opposing the government: fiery speeches denouncing the +measures adopted were heard in Parliament; the victims were eulogized as +great martyrs of a sacred cause; and popular feeling ran so high that +the Cabinet had to resign and the Metropolitan was forced to abdicate +and die an exile in a monastery on the Island of Salamis. It was then +that I first imbibed hatred against the "Hairy Ones" and Palamas. + +About two years later, I had entered the University of Athens when +another riot was started by the students after another fiery speech +delivered by our puristic hero, Professor Mistriotes, against the +performance of Aeschylus' _Oresteia_ at the Royal Theatre in a popular +translation made by Mr. Soteriades and considered too vulgar for +puristic ears. This time, too, the riot was quelled, but not until one +innocent passer-by had been killed. I am ashamed to confess that on that +occasion I was actually among the rioters. It was the day after the riot +that I first saw Palamas himself. He was standing before one of the side +entrances to the University building when my companion showed him to me +with a hateful sneer: + +"Look at him!" + +"Who is it?" + +"The worst of them all, Palamas!" + +I paused for a moment to have a full view of this notorious criminal. +Rather short and compact in frame, he stood with eyes directed towards +the sunlight streaming on the marble covered ground of the yard. He held +a cane with both his hands and seemed to be thinking. Once or twice he +glanced at the wall as if he were reading something, but again he turned +towards the sunlight with an expression of sorrow on his face. There was +nothing conspicuous about him, nothing aggressive. His rather pale face, +furrowed brow, and meditative attitude were marks of a quiet, retiring, +modest man. Do traitors then look so human? From the end of the +colonnade, I watched him carefully until he turned away and entered the +building. Then I followed him and walked up to the same entrance; on the +wall, an inscription was scratched in heavy pencil strokes: + + "Down with Palamas! the bought one! the traitor!" + +At last my humanity was aroused, and the first rays of sympathy began to +dispel my hatred. That remorseless inscription could not be true of this +man, I thought, and I hurried to the library to read some of his work +for the first time that I might form an opinion about him myself. +Unfortunately, the verses on which I happened to come were too deep for +my intellect, and I had not the patience to read them twice. I was so +absolutely sure of the power of my mind that I ascribed my lack of +understanding to the poet. Then his poems were so different from the +easy, rhythmic, oratorical verses on which I had been brought up. In +Palamas, I missed those pleasant trivialities which attract a boy's mind +in poetry. One thing, however, was clear to me even then. Dark and +unintelligible though his poems appeared, they were certainly full of a +deep, passionate feeling, a feeling that haunted my thoughts long after +I had closed his book in despair. From that day, I condescended to think +of him as of a sincere follower of a wrong cause, as of a sheep that had +been led astray. + +Years went by. I was no more in Greece. I had come to another country, +where a new language, a new history, a new literature opened before me. +Here, at last, I began to assume a reasonable attitude towards the +question of the language of my old country, and here first I could read +Palamas with understanding. Gradually, his greatness began to dawn on +me, and, finally, my admiration for him had grown so much that when on +April, 1914, I reached Greece as a travelling fellow from Harvard +University, I had decided to concentrate my studies during the five +months I was planning to spend there upon him and his work. With his +work, I did spend many long and pleasant hours. But him I visited only +once. The man from whom I had once shrunk as from a monster of evil, now +I shunned for fear I had not yet learned to admire in accordance with +his greatness. Owing to the urgent demand of an old classmate, Dr. Ch. +N. Lambrakis, who knew the poet, I went to see him one April afternoon +in his office at the University with my friend and fellow traveller, Mr. +Francis P. Farquhar. Mr. Palamas was sitting at his official desk; but +as soon as we entered he rose to receive us and then sat modestly in the +corner of a sofa. He had changed very little in appearance since the +time of the riots, and the more I looked at him the more I recognized +the very same image which I had kept in my mind from the first encounter +I had with him in the University colonnade ten years before. Perhaps, +the furrows of his brow had now become deeper; the white hairs, more +numerous. His eyes were still the same fiery eyes penetrating wherever +they lit beneath the surface of things and often turning away from the +present into the world of thought. His hands moved quietly; his voice +was clear and sonant; his words were few and polite. Unassuming in his +manner, he seemed more eager to receive knowledge than to talk about +himself and his work. He asked us questions about America and its +literary life: Is Poe read and appreciated? Is Walt Whitman still +popular? He admired them both; he had a great craving for the new; and +to read things about America fascinated him. When we rose to leave, we +realized that we had been doing the talking, but on both of us the +personality of the man, reserved and unobstrusive though he was, had +made a deep and lasting impression. + +This was the only visit I had with him. But I saw him more than once +walk in the streets of Athens and among the plane trees of Zappeion by +the banks of Ilissus, or sitting alone at a table of some unfrequented +coffeehouse, always far from the crowd. It was only after I had returned +to America that I wrote to him for permission to translate some of his +works. The answer came laden with the same modesty which is so prominent +a characteristic of the man. He is afraid I am exaggerating the value of +his work, and he calls himself a mere laborer of the verse. Certainly he +has been a faithful laborer for a cause which a generation ago seemed +hopeless. But through his faith and power, he has snatched the crown of +victory from the hands of Time, and he may now be acclaimed as a new +World-Poet. + +"The poetic work of Kostes Palamas," says Eugène Clement, a French +critic, in a recent article on the poet, "presents itself today with an +imposing greatness. Without speaking about his early collections, in +which already a talent of singular power is revealed, we may say that +the four or five volumes of verse, which he has published during the +last ten years raise him beyond comparison not only above all poets of +Modern Greece but above all poets of contemporary Europe. Though he is +not the most famous--owing to his overshadowing modesty and to the +language he writes, which is little read beyond the borders of +Hellenism--_he is incontestably the greatest_. The breadth of his views +on the world and on humanity, on the history and soul of his race, in +short, on all problems that agitate modern thought, places him in the +first rank among those who have had the gift to clothe the philosophic +idea in the sumptuous mantle of poetry. On the other hand, the vigor and +richness of his imagination, the penetrating warmth of his feeling, the +exquisite perfection of his art, and his gifted style manifest in him a +poetic temperament of an exceptional fulness that was bound to give +birth to great masterpieces." + + +II +LIFE INFLUENCES + +PATRAS + +Kostes Palamas was born in Patras sixty years ago. Patras is one of the +most ancient towns in Greece, known even in mythical times as Aroe, the +seat of King Eumelus, "rich in flocks." It became especially prominent +after the reign of Augustus as a centre of commerce and industry. Its +factories of silk were renowned in Byzantine times, and its commanding +position attracted the Crusaders and the Venetians as a military base +for the conquest of the Peloponnesus. The citadel walls that crown the +hill, on the slopes of which the modern city descends amphitheatrically +into the sea, are remnants of Venetian fortifications. In the history of +Modern Greece, it is a hallowed spot; for it was here that on April 4, +1821, the standard of the War of Liberation was first raised before a +band of warriors kneeling before the altar of Hagia Laura, while +Germanos, the archbishop of the city, prayed for the success of their +arms. The view which the city commands over the sapphire spaces of the +Corinthian Gulf and the purple shadows of the mountains rising from its +waters in all directions are superb, and the sunsets, that evening after +evening revel in colors there, are among the most magnificent in Greece. +A beauty worthy of life dwells over the vine-clad hills, while the +mountain kings that rise about are hoary with age and fame. The eye +wanders from the purple-laden cliffs of Kylene to the opal mantles of +the sea and from the peaks of Parnassus to the lofty range of Kiona. +This is the background of one of Palamas' "Hundred Voices," a collection +of short lyrics in the volume entitled _Life Immovable_: + + Far glimmered the sea, and the harvest darkened the threshing + floors; + I cared not for the harvest and looked not on the threshing floors; + For I stood on the end of the sea, and thee I beheld from afar, + O white, ethereal Liakoura, waiting that from thy midst + Parnassus, the ancient, shine forth and the Nine Fair Sisters of + Song. + Yet, what if the fate of Parnassus is changed? What if the Nine Fair + Sisters are gone? + Thou standest still, O Liakoura, young and for ever one, + O thou Muse of a future Rhythm and a Beauty still to be born. + +To his birth place, the poet dedicates one of his collection of sonnets +entitled "Fatherlands" and contained in the same volume. It is the first +of the series: + + Where with its many ships the harbor moans, + The land spreads beaten by the billows wild, + Remembering not even as a dream + Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth. + + The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich; + And on her brow, an aged crown she wears, + A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks, + Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might. + + O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch; + And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far + Aloft with midland Zygos at his side. + + Here I first opened to the day mine eyes; + And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born, + An image faint, half-vanished, fair--a mother. + + +MISSOLONGHI + +But in Patras, the child did not stay long. His early home seems to have +been broken up by the death of his mother, and we find him next in +Missolonghi, another glorious spot in the history of Modern Greece. It +does not pride itself on its antiquity. It developed late in the Middle +Ages from a fishing hamlet colonized by people who were attracted by the +abundance of fish in the lagoon separating the town from the sea. This +lagoon lies across the Corinthian Gulf to the northwest of Patras, +hardly an hour's sail from it. Its shallow waters, which can be +traversed only by small flat-bottomed dories propelled with poles, +extend between the mouths of the Phidaris and the Acheloös, and are +studded with small islets just emerging above the face of the lagoon and +covered with rushes. Two of these islets, Vassiladi and Kleisova, +attained great fame by the heroic resistance of their garrisons against +the forces of Kioutachi and Imbrahim, Pashas in the War of Liberation. +The town itself is a shrine of patriotism for modern Greeks. For from +1822 to 1826, with its humble walls hardly stronger than fences, it +sustained the attacks of very superior forces, and its ground was +hallowed by the blood of many national heroes. Just outside its walls +lies the "Heroes' Garden" or "Heroön," where under the shadows of +eucalyptus and cypress trees, Marcos Bozzaris, Mavromichalis, the +philhellene General Coreman, and Lord Byron's heart are buried. It was +during the second siege that Byron died here in the midst of his noble +efforts for the freedom of Greece. The fall of the city brought about by +famine is the most glorious defeat in the history of the Greek +Revolution. The garrison of three thousand soldiers with six thousand +unarmed persons including women and children, unwilling to surrender, +attempted to break through the Turkish lines. But only one-sixth managed +to escape. The rest were driven back and mercilessly cut down by their +pursuers. Many took refuge in the powder magazines of the city and +waited until the Turks drew up in great numbers; then they set fire to +the powder and blew up friends and foes alike. The second sonnet of +Palamas' "Fatherlands" is devoted to this lagoon city: + + Upon the lake, the island-studded, where + The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs + The seashore strewn with seaweed far away, + The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan. + + 'Tis there the northwind battles mightily + Upon the southwind; and the high tide on + The low; and far into the main's abyss + The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking. + + There stands Varassova, the triple-headed; + And from her heights, a lady from her tower, + The moon bends o'er the waters lying still. + + But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's, + Not even there I knew; but only sorrow + And, what is now a fire--the spirit's spark. + +Here then, "the spirit's spark" was first kindled, and here, in the city +of his ancestors, the poet was born. The swampy meadows overgrown with +rushes and surrounded with violet mountains, the city with its narrow +crooked streets and low-roofed houses, the lagoon with its still shallow +waters and modest islets, the life of townsmen and peasants with their +humbles occupations, passions, and legends, above all, the picturesque +distinctness of this somewhat isolated place, secluded, as it seems, in +an atmosphere laden with national lore--these were the incentives which +stirred Palamas in his quest of song. They have stamped their image on +all his work, but their most distinct reflection is found in _The +Lagoon's Regrets_, which is filled with memories of the poet's early +life in a world he always remembers with affection: + + Imagination flies to hells and stars, + A witch beguiling, an enchantress strange; + But ours the Heart remains and binds both life + And love with the native soil, nor seems to die. + + Peaks, depths, I sought Eurydice of old: + "What longing moans within me now, new-born? + Would that I were a fisherman at work, + Waking thy sleeping waters with my oar, + O Missolonghi!" + +Humble but natural in feeling is the appeal to a friend of his childhood +days: + + The peasant's huts in Midfield + For us, old friend, are waiting: + Come as of old to eat + The fresh-made cheese, and taste + The hard-made loaf of cornbread. + + Come, and drink the milk drawn pure; + And filled with dew and gladness, + Stir up the hunger of the youth + Beside you, buxom lasses. + +Here, too, he sings of the "crystal salt that is drawn snow-white from +the lake"; of the rain "that always weeps" and of the conquering tides. +Here he listens to the whispers of the waves while they murmur with each +other with restrained pride; and here over Byron's grave he dreams of +the great poet of Greece, who will come to ride on Byron's winged horse. +The poems of this collection are short but exquisitely wrought in verse +and language, full of life and of feeling. They are especially marked +with Palamas' attachment to the little and humble, which he loves to +raise into music and rhythm, and for which he always has sympathy and +even admiration. + + +ATHENS, THE VIOLET-CROWNED + +Missolonghi nurtured the poet in his youth and led him to the threshold +of manhood. But when he had graduated from the provincial "gymnasion," +he naturally came to Athens in order to complete his education in the +University of that city, the only University in Greece. This brought him +to the place which was destined to develop his greatness to its zenith. +The quiet, retired, and humble life of the Lagoon with its air filled +with legend was suddenly exchanged for the shining rocks of Attica and +its great city, flooded with dazzling light and roofed with a sky that +keeps its azure even in the midst of night. Life here is full, restless, +and tumultuous as in the days of Athens of old. The violet shadows of +the mountains enclosing the silver olive groves of the white plain are +still the makers of the violet crown of Athens. + +The poet in one of his "Hundred Voices" pictures a clear Attic afternoon +in February: + + Even in the winter's heart, the almonds are ablossom! + And lo, the angry month is gay with sunshine laughter, + While to this beauty round about a crown you weave, + O naked rocks and painted mountain slopes of Athens. + + Even the snow on Parnes seems like fields in bloom; + A timid greenish glow caresses like a dream + The Heights of Corydallus; white Pentele smiles upon + The Sacred Rock of Pallas; and old Hymettus stoops + To listen to the love-song of Phaleron's sea. + +It is its scanty vegetation that makes the southwestern region of Attica +look like a mountain lake of light. The nakedness of the mountain ranges +and the whiteness of the plains are vaulted over by a brilliant sky and +surrounded by a sea of a splendid sapphire glow. Even the olive trees, +which still grace the fields about Athens are bunches of silver rather +than of green. In "The Satyr, or the Naked Song," taken from the volume +of _Town and Wilderness_ we may detect the very spirit which, springing +from the same soil thousands of years ago, created the song which +gradually rose from primitive sensuousness to the heights of the Greek +Tragedy: + + All about us naked! + All is naked here! + Mountains, fields, and heavens wide! + The day reigns uncontrolled; + The world, transparent; and pellucid + The thrice-deep palaces. + Eyes, fill yourselves with light + And ye, O Lyres, with rhythm! + + Here, the trees are stains + Out of tune and rare; + The world is wine unmixed; + And nakedness, a mistress. + Here, the shade is but a dream; + And even on the night's dim lips + A golden laughter dawns! + + Here all are stripped of cover + And revel lustfully; + The barren rock, a star! + The body is a flame! + Rubies here and things of gold, + Priceless pearls and things of silver, + Scatter, O divinely naked Land, + Scatter, O thrice-noble Attica! + + Here manhood is enchanting, + And flesh is deified; + Artemis is virginity, + And Longing is a Hermes; + And here, and every hour, + Aphrodite rises bare, + A marvel to the Sea-Things, + And to the world, a wonder! + + Come, lay aside thy mantle! + Clothe thee with nakedness, + O Soul, that art its priestess! + For lo, thy body is thy temple. + Pass unto me a magnet's stream, + O amber of the flesh, + And let me drink of nectar drawn + From Nakedness Olympian! + + Tear thy veil, and throw away + Thy robe that flows discordantly! + With nature only match thy form, + With nature match thy plastic image. + Loosen thy girdle! Cross + Thy hands upon thy heart! + Thy hair is purple royal, + A mantle fairly flowing. + + And be a tranquil statue; + And let thy body take + Of Art's perfection chiseled + Upon the shining stone; + And play, and sing, and mimic + With thoughtful nakedness + Lithe beasts and snakes and birds + That dwell in wilderness. + + And play, and sing, and mimic + All things of joy, all things of beauty; + And let thy nakedness + Pale into light of living thought. + Forms rounded and forms flat, + Soft down, lines curved and straight, + O shiverings divine, + Dance on your dance of gladness! + + Forehead, and eyes, and waves + Of hair, and loins, ... + And secret dales and places! + Roses of love and myrtles! + Ye feet that bind with chains! + Hands, Fountains of caress, + And Doves of longing sweet, + And falcons of destruction! + + Whole hearted are thy words, + And bold, O mouth, O mouth, + Like wax of honey bees, + Like pomegranates in bloom. + The alabaster lilies, + April's own fragrant censers, + Envy thy breast's full cups! + Oh, let me drink from them! + + Drink from the rosy tinged, + Erect, enameled, fresh, + The milk I dreamed and dreamed + Of happiness. Thee! + I am thy mystic priest, + And altars are thy knees; + And in thy warm embrace + Gods work their miracles! + + Away, all tuneless things! + Hidden and covered things, away! + Away, all crippled, shapeless things, + And things profane and strange! + Erect and naked all, and guileless, + Bodies and breasts and earth and skies! + Nakedness, too, is truth, + And nakedness is beauty! + + * * * * * + + In nakedness, with sunshine graced, + That fills the Attic day, + If thou beholdest stand before thee + Something like a monster bare, + Something that like a leafless tree + Stands stripped of shadow's grace, + And like a stone unwrought, + His body is rough and gaunt, + + Something that naked, bare, and nude + Roams in the thrice-wide spaces, + Something whose life is told in flames + That light beneath his eyelids, + Akin to the old Satyrs' breed + And tameless like a beast, + A singer silver-voiced, + Flee not in fear! 'Tis I! + + The Satyr! I have taken here + Roots like an olive tree, + And with my flute deep-sounding, + I make the breezes languish. + I play and lo, all things are mated, + Love giving, love receiving. + I play and lo, all things are dancing, + All: Men and beasts and spirits! + + +ATHENS, THE CENTRE OF GREECE + +So much of the natural atmosphere of Athens and Attica. But the +Athenians themselves, their thoughts, life, and dreams have not proved +less important nor less effective for the poet's growth. The spiritual +and intellectual currents moving the Greek nation of today start from +this city. Here politics, poetry, and philosophy are still discussed in +the old way at the various shops, the coffee houses, and under the plane +trees by the banks of Ilissus. The "boulé" is the centre of the +political activity of the state. The University with its democratic +faculty and still more democratic student body is certainly a "flaming" +hearth of culture. Only, its flames are sometimes so ventilated by +current events and political developments that the students often assume +the functions of the old Athenian Assembly. In the riotous expression of +their temporary feelings, the students are not very different from the +ancient demesmen. In my days, at least, the most frequent greeting +among students was "How is politics today?", with the word "politics" +used in its ancient meaning. Any question of general interest might +easily be regarded as a national issue to be treated on a political +basis. Thus it happened that when the question of language was brought +to the foreground by Pallis' vernacular translation of the New +Testament, the students took up arms rather than argument. + +Into this world, the poet came to finish his education. In one of his +critical essays (_Grammata_, vol. i), he tells us of the literary +atmosphere prevailing in Athens at that time, about 1879. That year, +Valaorites, the second great poet of the people's language, died, and +his death renewed with vigor the controversy that had continued even +after the death of Solomos, the earliest great poet of Modern Greece. +The passing away of Valaorites left Rangabes, the relentless purist, the +monarch of the literary world. He was considered as the master whom +every one should aspire to imitate. His language, ultra-puristic, had +travelled leagues away from the people without approaching at all the +splendor of the ancient speech. But the purists drew great delight from +reading his works and clapped their hands with satisfaction on seeing +how near Plato and Aeschylus they had managed to come. + +Young and susceptible to the popular currents of the literary world, +Palamas, too, worshipped the established idol, and offered his +frankincense in verses modelled after Rangabean conceptions. In the same +essay to which I have just referred, he tells us of the life he led with +another young friend, likewise a literary aspirant, during the years of +his attendance at the University. The two lived and worked together. +They wrote poems in the puristic language and compared their works in +stimulating friendliness. But soon they realized the truth that if +poetry is to be eternal, it must express the individual through the +voice of the world to which the individual belongs and through the +language which the people speak. + +This truth took deep roots in the mind of Palamas. His conviction grew +into a religion permeated with the warmth, earnestness, and devotion +that martyrs only have shown to their cause. Believing that purism was +nothing but a blind attempt to drown the living traditions of the people +and to conceal its nature under a specious mantle of shallow +gorgeousness, he has given his talent and his heart to save his nation +from such a calamity. In this great struggle, he has suffered not a +little. When the popular fury rose against his cause, and he was +blackened as a traitor and a renegade, he wrote in words illustrating +his inner agony: + + I labored long to create the statue for the Temple + Of stone that I had found, + To set it up in nakedness, and then to pass; + To pass but not to die. + + And I created it. But narrow men who bow + To worship shapeless wooden images, ill clad, + With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear, + Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily. + + My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile! + To foreign lands I led my restless wanderings; + But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered: + I dug a pit, and in the pit I laid my statue. + + And then I whispered: "Here, lie low unseen and live + With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins + Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art! + A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!" + + And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets, + The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light! + In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O maker! + Better for ever lost in these unlighted depths. + + "Its hour may never come! And if it come, and if + Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant + With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish, + And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable. + + "To-day was soon for thee; to-morrow will be late. + Thy dream is vain; the dawn thou longest will not dawn; + Thus, burning for eternities thou mayest not reach, + Remain, Cloud-Hunter and Praxiteles of shadows! + + "To-morrow and to-day for thee are snares and seas. + All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false. + Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden! + And thou shalt pass away; hear this, and thou shalt die!" + + And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die! + Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind; + Let pits devour my work. Of all eternal things, + My restless wandering may have the greatest worth." + +The same idea, though expressed in a more familiar figure, is found in +another poem published among _The Lagoon's Regrets_. + + THE GUITAR + + In the old attic of the humble house, + The guitar hangs in cobwebs wrapped: + Softly, oh, softly touch her! Listen! + You have awaked the sleeping one! + + She is awake, and with her waking, + Something like distant humming bees + Creeps far away and weeps about her; + Something that lives while ruins choke it. + + Something like moans, like humming bees, + Thy sickened children, old guitar, + Thy words and airs. What evil pest, + What blight is eating thine old age! + + In the old attic of the humble house, + Thou hast awaked; but who will tend thee? + O Mother, wilderness about thee! + Thy children, withering; and something, + Like humming bees, sounds far away! + +A distinct note of pessimism is found in the lines of both these poems. +In the latter, it becomes a helpless cry of anguish. But despair seems +to cure the poet rather than drown his faith in hopelessness. As a +critic, he encourages every initiate of the cause. As a "soldier of the +verse," he himself fights his battles of song in every field. In short +story, in drama, in epic poetry, and above all in lyrics, he creates +work after work. From the _Songs of my Country_, the _Hymn to Athena_, +the _Eyes of my Soul_ and the _Iambs and Anapaests_, he rises gradually +and steadily to the tragic drama of the _Thrice Noble-One_, to the epic +of _The King's Flute_, and to the splendid lyrics of _Life Immovable_ +and _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_ which are his masterpieces. + +Nor does he always meet adversity with songs of resignation. At times, +he faces indignantly the hostile world with a satire as stinging as that +of Juvenal. He dares attack with Byronic boldness every idol that his +enemies worship. Often he strikes at the whole people with Archilochean +bitterness and parries blow for blow like Hipponax. At times, he even +seems to approach the rancor of Swift. But then he immediately throws +away his whip and transcends his satire with a loftier thought, a +soothing moral, a note of lyricism, and above all with an unshaken faith +in the new day for which he works. The eighth and ninth poems of the +first book of his "Satires" are good illustrations of this side of his +work: + + 8 + + The lazy drones! The frogs! The locusts! + Big men! Politicians! Men who draw + Their learning from the thoughtless journals! + + A crowd of stupid, haughty blockheads! + Unworthily, thy name is set + By each as target for blind blows; + + But forward still thy steps thou leadest, + Up toward the high bell-tower above, + And climbest: Spaces spread about thee, + + And at thy feet, a world of scorners. + Though thou rainest not the godsent manna, + A great Life-giver still, thou tollest + + With a new bell a new-born creed. + + + 9 + + Aye! Break the tyrant's hated chains! + But with their breaking go not drunk! + The world is always slaves and lords: + + Though free, chain-bound your life must be; + Other kinds of chains are there + For you: Kneel down! For lo, I bring them! + + They fit you, redeemers or redeemed! + Bind with these chains your golden youth; + I bring you cares and sacrifices. + + And you shall call them Truth and Beauty, + Modesty, Knowledge, Discipline! + To one command obey last, first, + + The world's great laws, and men, and nations. + +One of his "Hundred Voices" has something of this satiric note. It is a +blow against a worthless pretender of the art of verse, who courts +popularity with strains not worthy of the sacred Muse. Palamas, acting +with greater wisdom than Pope, does not give the name of this unknown +pretender: + + Bad? Would that thou wert bad; but something worse thou art: + Thou stretchedst an unworthy hand to the sacred lyre, + And the untaught mob took thy reeling in the dust + For the true song of golden wings; and thou didst take + Thy seat close by the poet's side so thoughtlessly, + And none dared rise and come to drag thee thence away. + And see, instead of scorning thee, the just was angry; + Yet, even his verse's arrow is for thee a glory! + + +_The Grave_ + +In tracing the great life influences of our poet, we must not pass over +the loss of his third child, "the child without a peer," as he says +in one of his poems addressed to his wife, "who changed the worldly +air about us into divine nectar, a worthy offering to the spotless-white +light of Olympus." To this loss, the poet has never reconciled himself. +The sorrow finds expression in direct or covert strains in every work he +has written. But its lasting monument was created soon after the child's +death. A collection of poems, entitled _The Grave_, entirely devoted +to his memory, is overflowing with an unique intensity of feeling. +The poems are composed in short quatrains of a slowly moving rhythm +restrained by frequent pauses and occasional metrical irregularities, +and thus they reflect with faithfulness the paternal agony with which +they are filled. They belong to the earlier works of the poet, but they +disclose great lyric power and are the first deep notes of the poet's +genius. A few lines from the dedication follow: + + Neither with iron, + Nor with gold, + Nor with the colors + That the painters scatter, + + Nor with marble + Carved with art, + Your little house I built + For you to dwell for ever; + + With spirit charms alone + I raised it in a land + That knows no matter nor + The withering touch of Time. + + With all my tears, + With all my blood, + I founded it + And built its vault.... + +In another poem, in similar strains, he paints the ominous tranquility +with which the child's birth and parting were attended: + + Tranquilly, silently, + Thirsting for our kisses, + Unknown you glided + Into our bosom; + + Even the heavy winter + Suddenly smiled + Tranquilly, silently, + But to receive you; + + Tranquilly, silently, + The breeze caressed you, + O Sunlight of Night + And Dream of the Day; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Our home was gladdened + With sweetness of amber + With your grace magnetic; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Our home beheld you, + Beauty of the morning star, + Light of the star of evening; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Little moons, mouth and eyes, + One dawn you vanished + Upon a cruel deathbed; + + Tranquilly, silently, + In spite of all our kisses, + Away you wandered + Torn from our bosom; + + Tranquilly, silently, + O word, O verse, O rime, + Your witherless flowers + Sow on his grave faith-shaking. + +In another poem reminiscent of Tibullean tenderness, the corners of the +deserted home, in which the child, during his life, had lingered to +play, laugh, or weep, converse with each other about their absent guest: + + Things living weep for you, + And lifeless things are mourning; + The corners, too, forlorn, + Remember you with longing: + + "One evening, angry here he sat, + And slept in bitterness." + "Here, often he sat listening + Enchanted to the tale." + + "Here, I beheld with pride + The grace of Love half-naked; + An empty bed and stripped + Is all that now is left me." + + "I always looked for him; + He held a book; how often + He sat by me to read + With singing tongue its pages!" + + "What is this pile of toys? + Why are they piled before me + As if I were a grave? + Are they his little playthings? + + "The little man comes not; + For death with early frost + Has nipped his little dreams + And chilled his little doings." + + "His little sword is idle, + And here has come to rest." + "And here his little ship + Without its captain waits." + + "To me, they brought him sick + And took him away extinguished." + "They watered me with tears + And perfumed me with incense." + + "The dead child's taper burns + Consuming and consumed." + "The tempest wildly beats + Upon the doors and windows, + And deep into our breasts + The tempest's moan is echoed." + + And all the house about + For thee, my child, is groaning ... + + +THE WORLD BEYOND GREECE + +Greece seems to encompass the physical world with which Palamas has come +in contact. He does not seem to have travelled beyond its borders, and +even within them, he has moved little about. With him scenery must grow +with age before it speaks to his heart. Fleeting impressions are of +little value, and the appearance of things without the forces of +tradition and experience behind it does not attract him: + + Others, who wander far in distant lands may seek + On Alpine Mountains high the magic Edelweis; + I am an Element Immovable; each year, + April delights me in my garden, and the May + In my own village. + O lakes and fiords, O palaces of France and shrines + And harbors, Northern Lights and tropic flowers and forests, + O wonders of art, and beauties of the world unthought,-- + A little Island here I love that always lies before me. + +We must not think, however, that the spirit of Palamas rests within the +narrow confines of his native land. On the contrary, it knows no chains +and travels freely about the earth. He is a faithful servant of +"Melete," the Muse of contemplative study, a service which is very +seldom liked by Modern Greeks. In his preface to his collection of +critical essays entitled _Grammata_ he rebukes his fellow countrymen for +this: "On an old attic vase," he says, "stand the three original Muses, +the ones that were first worshipped, even before the Nine, who are now +world-known: Mneme, Melete, Aoide--Memory, Study, Song. With the first +and last, we have cultivated our acquaintance; and never must we show +any contempt for the fruit of our love for them. Only with the middle +one, we are not on good terms. She seems to be somewhat inaccessible, +and she does not fill our eyes enough to attract us. We have always +looked, and now still we look, for what is easiest or handiest. Is that, +I wonder, a fault of our race or of our age? And is the French +philosopher Fouillée somewhat right when in his book on the _Psychology +of Races_ he counts among our defects our aversion to great and above +all endless labors?" That Palamas is not subject to this fault, one has +only to glance at his works to be convinced. There is hardly an +important force in the world's thought and expression whether past or +present, to which Palamas is a stranger. The literatures of Europe, +America, or Asia are an open book for him. The pulses of the world's +artists, the intellectual battles of the philosophers, the fears and +hopes of the social unrest, the religious emancipation of our day, the +far reaching conflict of individual and state, in short, all events of +importance in the social, political, spiritual, literary, and artistic +life are familiar sources of inspiration for him. With all, he shows the +lofty spirit of a worshipper of greatness and depth wherever he finds +them. Tolstoi or Aeschylus, Goethe or Dante, Ibsen or Poe, Swinburne or +Walt Whitman, Leopardi or Rabelais, Hugo or Carlyle, Serbian Folk Lore +or the Bible, Hindu legends or Italian songs, Antiquity or Middle Ages, +Renaissance or Modernity, any nation or any lore are objects worthy of +study and stores of wisdom for him. Indeed, very few living poets could +be compared with him in scholarship and learning. + +Nor does he lift his voice only for individual or national throbbings. +He sings of the great and noble whenever he sees it. One of his best +lyric creations is a song of praise to the valor of the champions of +Transvaal's freedom, his "Hymn to the Valiant," the first of the +collection entitled "From the Hymns and Wraths," a paean that has been +most highly lauded by Professor D.C. Hesseling of the University of +Leyden (_Nederlandsche Spectator_, March, 1901). Here is a fragment of +it, the words which the Muse addresses to the poet: + + ... Awake! Thou art not maker of statues! + Awake! For songs thou singest! + And song is not for ever + The heart's lament + To fading leaves of autumn, + Nor the secret speech thou speakest, + A Soul of Dream, to the shadows of Night. + + For suddenly there is a clash and groaning! + The joy of birds sea-beaten, + In storms of Elements + And storms of Nations! + Song is, too, + The Marathonian Triumpher! + Over the ashes of Sodoma, + It is blown by the mouth of wrath! + + Something great and something beautiful, + Something from far away, + Travelling Glory brings thee + On her sky-wandering pinions. + + Glory has come! On her wings and on her feet, + Signs of her wanderings are shown, + Dust gold-loaded and distant; + And she brings aloes blossoming, first-seen, + From the land that feeds the Kaffir's flocks. + + In your aged summers, + A new-born spring has spread! + From North to South, + The Atlantic Dragon groans a groan first-heard; + To the African lakes and forests, + His groan has spread and echoed; + From the Red Sea, a Lamia's palace, + To the foam-shaped breast of the White Sea, + A Nereid's realm. + + Thinly the plants were growing + On the bosom of the ancient Motherland; + Winds carried away the seed + And brought it to the Libyan fields + And scattered it into deep ravines + And on the lofty mountain lawns. + + A new blood filled the herbs, + And even the strong-stemmed plants + Waxed stronger. + Men war-glad are risen! + And the waterfalls roar + In the mountain's heart; + Men war-glad are risen + Like diamonds rare to behold + That the earth begets! + + You know them, heights, winds, horizons, + High tides and murmurings of restless waters, + Golden fountains, that shall become + Their crowns! + And you, O gold-built mountain passes, + Castles fit for them, you know them; + Their fame, thou heraldest with pride + From thy verdant distant country + To Europe Imperial, + O Africa, O slave unknown! + + And first of all thou knowest, + O heartless tamer of continents and races, + Rider of Ocean's Bucephaluses, + Thou knowest the worth of the few, + Who dare live free ... + +Within the limits of a general introduction it would be difficult to +enter every nook and corner of the poet's world. We must even pass over +some of the most potent influences of his life. The national dreams of +the Modern Greeks have a splendid dwelling in the thought of Palamas, +who follows with restlessness his people's woes and exults in their +joys. A group of poems dedicated to the "Land that Rose in Arms" and +published in the last volume of the poet's work, the _Town and +Wilderness_, form his noblest patriotic expression. The present +world-conflict has naturally stirred him to new compositions, of which +his "Europe" is preëminently noteworthy as illustrating faithfully the +various aspects of the poet's genius. This poem appeared first in the +_Noumas_, an Athenian periodical, and was then published in the last +volume of the poet's works, the _Altars_.[2] + + EUROPE + + I. THE WAR + + Deer-like the East pants terror-struck! The West, + A flame ablaze that leaps amid the skies! + Nations are wolves! and Hatreds are afoot, + Whetting their bayonets! + + With force gigantic, lo, the bursting forth + Of the barbarian sweeps on, age-wrought; + Oceans are cleft and swallow Gorgon-ships, + Castles of might afloat! + + What sorcerers, in Earth's deep bosom buried, + Beat into shape the metal? For what kings + Slave they? What crowns forge they? The tower-ships, + The ports, the oceans quake! + + Lovingly the dream born of dream flies high + Air wandering amid the eagles; yet + O victory! Lord of the azure, man + Spreads horror even there. + + Methinks the Niebelungen of the Night + Startle sun's radiance ... And ye, the Rhine's + Water-born Nymphs, are lashed and swept away + By monstrous hurricanes. + + Siegfried, the hero of the golden hair, + Makes men and elements before him kneel. + War is the arbiter of rising worlds; + And Violence, arbitress. + + Franks, Anglo-Saxons, Alemanni, Hungars! + Europe, a viper! And the armies, dragons! + Here, Uhlans are destroyers pitiless; + And there, the Cossacks' bands! + + From endless sweeps of steppes, the Slav blows forth + An endless squall, the havoc's ruthless vow! + Liberty is the phantom; and the slave, + The stern reality. + + Helvetians, Scandinavians, Latins, Russians, + The martyr Pole, heroic Flanders' land, + All, small and great, forward to battle rush + With one man's violence! + + Beating thy breast, thou clingest to thy throne, + Storm-wrapped, O worshipper of gods that fade, + Hypatia thou, the Frenchman's ruling queen, + Blood-bred Democracy! + + The Vosgic towers tremble! And God's wrath, + Valkyrie, the awful Nymph, wind-ridden sweeps, + A rider pitiless that threatens thee, + O Paris noble-born! + + Our age's honored prophet, Tamerlan! + A shadow's dream, Messiah of sweet Peace! + Enthroned in judgment stands America. + While from far Asia's depths, + + The Indian hermits and gold-gatherers + With yellow Mongols are afoot! With them, + The sons of Oceania, Kerman, + And Africa; Semites, + + War-glad Turanians and Aryans, + Lands that the Adriatic kisses, Rumans, + Our brother Serb, a wall!--Let Austria's + Cataract burst and roar! + + Vosges and Carpathians and Balkans quake! + Ridges and mountains tremble! The oceans roar! + Five Continents' passionate wraths and hatreds + Revel in festival! + + But lo, the Briton with sea-battling sceptre + That binds the restless waves to his command-- + What Caesars' fetters forges he anew + Upon the island rock? + + And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth + And makes of thee a valley of sad tears, + O paradisial land of old Ionia; + And here, our Mother Greece, + + Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths + Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king! + Wax-pale, the world stands listening and holds + Its breath, benumbed with fright! + + + II. THE THINKER + + But lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, + Whatever race has given him his blood, + Watches from his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped + And he stirs not. + + With pity's quivering and terror's chill, + In tears and ruins, he plucks a fruitful joy + From the great Drama, watching thoughtfully + The hidden law. + + And lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, + Whatever race has given him his blood, + Abides in his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped + And meditates: + + Old age? No! Nor the youth of a new life. + All is the same, Europe and Law, the shark! + And never changes--hear ye not?--the march + Of history. + + A splinter in the powerful's hands, O powerless, + Yet sometimes--comfort thee--his mate and friend! + The powerful's blind hand even thou, O Science, + Often shalt be. + + Is War the Father of all things? And is + The lava messenger of lusty growth? + How can the creature grow from monster seed? + Who knows? Pass on! + + Even if some great dream be born of flesh + And the wroth tempest fling a new world forth, + Even if over the tumult Europe stand + United, one; + + And if the state of a new people rise + Founded upon the ruins of the world, + Still always thou wilt burn, O Fury's torch, + Amid the darkness. + + Even if thou wilt come to states in ruins + And empty thrones, O power of juster race, + Always the tender and the harsh shall be; + Shepherd and flocks! + + Unless, O man, something is destined thee + That thou, O History, foretellest not: + An evolution unbelievable + To gazing worlds. + + + III. THE POET + + The poet: Miracle-working lo, the seed + Of blessed dreams, sown in his heart, takes roots; + He is like mind entranced in ecstasy, + Born upon wings! + + Under his wings, all things are images + Of creatures beautiful for him to sing, + Whether they are roses April-born + Or warring legions! + + And neither the war's roaring gun nor yet + The river of red blood swift-flowing on + Can make the flower fade that fills my breast + With fragrances! + + I am the faithful friend of song; therefore, + I tremble not like child before a blackman; + Midst blood and flames and lashings horrible, + I bring thee, Love! + + Thy footprints mark a shining trail of lights + New-risen, guiding with their gleams my steps; + The restless gambol of thy fire, Dawn's smile + Upon my night. + + Thine eyes, O Fountainhead of Beauty's stream, + Mirror within them all things beautiful: + And lo, the eagles of the Czars, on wings + Sky-roaming, sail. + + The war, when thine eyes look on it, becomes + Under the magic of thy glance pure wine + Of holiness. The German is the wonder + Of deed and thought; + + Where Tolstoi lived, all things are justly blessed; + Where Goethe dwelt all things are light and wisdom; + And yet my heart's pure love flows now for thee, + For thee, O France! + + Though first I sucked my god-sprung mother's milk, + Still thou wert later manna unto me, + Desert-born, joy of mine and guide and teacher, + My second mother. + + On thy world-trodden earth, I have not stood; + Nor didst thou bathe me, Seine, in thy cold waters; + Yet is thy vision light unto my song, + O second mother! + + O Celtic oak-trees and Galatian-born + White lilies in lyric Paris blossoming, + With Hugo and with thee, O Lamartine, + Revels and wings! + + Dante and Nietzsche, Ibsen, Shakespeare, all, + Poured wine for me with their thrice-holy hands + Into thy gleaming cup of gold and bade + Me rise on high. + + A child: And thou didst flash before me first, + Tearing the maps of dazzled Europe's lands + With the world's Mirabeaus and with the world's + Napoleons. + + Thou art not for the gnawing worm of graves. + Thy gods still live with thee, Hypatia! + Glory and Victory may dwell with thee, + Democracy! + +From the number of the life influences which we have scantily traced in +Palamas' work we may conclude that he is a true representative of the +great world and of the age in which he lives. Loving and true to his +immediate surroundings, he does not localize himself in them, nor does +he shut his thought within his personal feelings and experiences, but he +travels far and wide with the thought and action of the universal man +and fills his life with the life of his age. + +It is exactly this universalism that makes _The Twelve Words of the +Gypsy_ his best expression and at the same time the most difficult to +understand thoroughly. The poem is reflective both of the growth of the +poet himself and of the development of the human spirit throughout the +ages with the history and land of Hellas as its natural background. +Consequently, its message is both subjective and objective. Although +differently treated, the theme is the same as that of the "Ascrean" +which appears in the latter part of _Life Immovable_ and which may be +considered as a prelude to _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_. There is a +flood of feeling and a cosmic imagery throughout, but they only form the +gorgeous palace within which Thought dwells in full magnificence and +mystic dimness. "As the thread of my song," says the poet in his +preface, "unrolled itself, I saw that my heart was full of mind, that +its pulses were of thought, that my feeling had something musical and +difficult to measure, and that I accepted the rapture of contemplation +just as a lad accepts his sweetheart's kiss. And then I saw that I am +the poet, surely a poet among many--a mere soldier of the verse, but +always the poet who desires to close within his verse the longings and +questions of the universal man and the cares and fanaticism of the +citizen. I may not be a worthy citizen. _But it cannot be that I am the +poet of myself alone; I am the poet of my age and of my race; and what I +hold within me cannot be divided from the world without._" + +WASHINGTON, D.C. +July 5, 1919. + + + + +LIFE IMMOVABLE + +FIRST PART + + _In Palamas, we have found every trait of the Greek character: + He is religious and superstitious; a skeptic, a pagan, and a + pantheist.... He is a poet and a philosopher.... He abandons + himself to every impulse of the Greek soul. But he is always + fond of drawing back, of concentrating, of trying to encompass + in a general form the sensations and ideas which sway him. His + principal and latent care is to analyze himself and his world. + A poet and a thinker, Palamas does not attract the multitudes.... + With him everything is a mingling of lights and shadows.... But + through his work Greece of today is most clearly set forth._ + + TIGRANE YERGATE, "Le Mouvement litteraire grec; La Poesie." + _La Revue_, June, 1903, vol. xlv, p. 717 f. + + +With _Life Immovable_, the poetic genius of Kostes Palamas reaches its +full strength. The poet, who, from his very first work, _The Songs of my +Country_, had shown his power in selecting his sources of inspiration +and in weaving the essence of purely national airs into his "light +sketches of sea and olive groves and the various sunlit aspects of Greek +life,"[3] continues to broaden his vision and art through an +unquenchable eagerness for knowledge, for an understanding of things +beautiful, whether present or past, concrete or abstract. He makes broad +strides from his _Hymn to Athena_, to _The Eyes of My Soul_, _Iambs and +Anapests_, and _The Grave_. In all "the pathetic and the common meet +inseparably with an art exact and full of grace, an art that knows its +purpose."[4] But in _Life Immovable_ Palamas rises above the Hellenic +horizon, and strikes the strings of the universal heart in the same +degree as the towns of Patras, Missolonghi, and Athens expand into +Greece and Greece into the world. After all there is both realism and +symbolism in the fact that the first poem of the volume reflects the +atmosphere of the poet's native town while one of the latter ones "The +Ascrean" is filled with an all-including world-vision. + +The present volume contains only the first half of _Life Immovable_. It +consists of five collections of poems: The "Fatherlands," "The Return," +"Fragments from the Song to the Sun," "Verses of a Familiar Tune," and +"The Palm Tree." On the whole, a careful study of these collections +would furnish the key to an adequate understanding of the rest of the +poet's works for which these poems are faithful preludes. For this +reason I am tempted to give an analysis of the translated parts as a +guide to their understanding. But it is by no means my wish to lay down +a fast rule; poetry is no exact science and there should be always ample +room for freedom of suggestion and of view. + + +1. FATHERLANDS + +A series of sonnets, the "Fatherlands," make the opening of the book +and, at the same time, symbolize most clearly the growth of our poet. +Each sonnet describes a fatherland, adding another link to a chain of +worlds that dawn, one after another, upon the poet's being. The first is +Patras, his birthplace. Then follows Missolonghi with its calm lagoon +and the haunts of his boyhood. The splendor of the violet-crowned city +of Athens is succeeded by the island of Corfu, the cradle of the +literary renaissance of Modern Hellenism, which again fades before the +vision of Egypt, whence the earliest lights of civilization shone upon +the land of the Greeks. Christianity in its extreme form of asceticism +is brought forth from one of its strong citadels, Mt. Athos, the holy +mountain of Greece, and a contrast is made between the "gleaming +beauties of the world" and the utter absorption of the ascetic by the +intangible world beyond. The vision of "Queen Hellas," the classic age +of Greece, is followed by the conquering spirit of Hellenism spreading +triumphantly from the democracies of Athens and Sparta to the Golden +Gate of imperial Byzantium. + +But "imagination, like the Phaeacians' ship, rolls on," and the poet +sings: + + In my soul's depths loom many lands ... + And where the heavens mingle with the sea, + A path I seek for a sphere beyond ... + +Oceans are crossed, ages are brought forth from the past, and continents +are joined in making the poet's spirit. Finally even Earth becomes too +narrow and the greater universe opens its gates to the ultimate +fatherland, the elements of the world which will at the end absorb the +being of the poet: + + Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water, + Elements indestructible, beginning + And end of life, first joy and last of mine, + You I shall find again when I pass on + To the grave's calm. The people of the dreams + Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass; + My reason, firelike, unto lasting fire; + My passions' craze unto the billows' madness. + + Even my dust-worn body, unto dust; + And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water; + And from the air of dreams, and from the flame + Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust, + + And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise + A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint. + + +2. THE RETURN + +The second collection of _Life Immovable_, entitled "The Return," is +dedicated to the poet's country. It bears under its title the +significant date of 1897, the year of the unfortunate Greco-Turkish war +which ended disastrously for Greece and plunged the nation into despair. +After the defeat, almost the whole world spoke of the Greeks as of a +degenerate people beyond the hope of redemption. The sensitiveness of +the race helped in rendering the gloom of disaster most depressing. For +some time, even the Greeks began to resign themselves to their fate as a +hopeless one. Palamas is one of the first to sound the reveille. He +conceives of his collection of songs as an expression of faith in the +country's future. With perfect love and assurance "he comes to place the +crowns of Art" "dream-made and dream-engraved" upon her shattered +throne.... + + Only with harmony sublime and pure, + Which, though it rises over time and space, + Turns the world's ears to his native land, + The poet is the greatest patriot. + +Nevertheless even the poet's spirit cannot help reflecting the gloom +through which it tries to rise. The general depression about him weighs +upon him, too, in spite of his effort. This shadow haunts him +constantly. Life becomes a Fairy, with a Fairy's dangerous charms and +fearful mysteries. "Something like a madman pursues life." The poet +hears this madman's falling steps and is horror-haunted: + + And lo, blood of my blood the madman was! + A past, ancestral, long-forgotten sin, + That bursting forth upon me, vampire-like, + Snatched from my hand the dewy crown of joy! + +This madman grows from within the individual's and the nation's life. +The wings of joys and dreams are clipped. One feels like a night-owl +upon glorious ruins, the beauty of which makes the night even darker. +Tradition, like a majestic temple, seems to choke life by its solemnity. +The present, which seems to be symbolized by the little hut, is in the +relentless grip of "a monstrous vision, the Fairy Illness, stripped in +the silver glimmer of the moon." There is always the mingling of +gleaming beauty and of bitter sorrow. There is always before us a +"cord-grass festival," the amber fragrant flowers budding upon the +piercing spikes of the cord-grass and luring man to the deadly bog where +there is no redemption. One might say that the poet verges on morbidity. + +But such an assumption would be unjust. Palamas may have a clear vision +of the tragedy of life. But in the light of this revelation, with his +unfettered contemplation, he builds, like Bertram Russell, a "shining +citadel in the very centre of the enemy's country, on the very summit of +his highest mountain; from its impregnable watch-towers, his camps and +arsenals, his columns and forts, are all revealed; within its walls, the +free life continues while the legions of Death and Pain and Despair and +all the servile captains of tyrant Fate afford the burghers of that +dauntless city new spectacles of beauty." In like manner, the world of +Greece, in which Palamas lives, "our home," as he calls it, may have its +dreadful silences that are "full of moans," moans vague and muffled as +if coming from a distant world + + Of bygone ages and of times unborn. + +But he does not lose sight of that + + Harmony fit for the chosen few, ... + A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam + From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds + Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre, conversing + In the star-spangled darkness of the night. + +At times the poet even raises his song to rapture. Certainly the past +becomes a source of happiness in his "Rhapsody," and life is agleam with +joy in his "Idyl." But most reflective of this power of the poet to +conquer darkness with light and to turn ruins into gleaming palaces of +beauty and of song, is the poem entitled "At the Windmill." + +The local color which is by no means a rare characteristic of the poetry +of Palamas is particularly rich in this collection. Many of its songs +are vivid and clear pictures of Greek life. Yet with the touch of +symbolism, he makes such local flashes world-flames. In "The Dead," we +have a faithful description of the Greek custom of exposing the open +coffin with the body in a room whence all furniture is removed. Friends +and relatives are gathered about the dead; even children are not +excluded from paying this last honor to the departed. The windows are +closed, and in the gloom tapers and candles are burning before the +images of the saints and over the flower-covered body, while the smoke +of the incense and the fragrance of the wreaths fill the air. Yet +somehow in the verses of the song one catches the moving sounds of +mourning humanity, the image of death against life. + + +3. FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN + +"The Fragments from the Song to the Sun" contain some of the noblest +lines of Palamas' poetry. We cannot have a complete understanding of the +symbolism with which this part of _Life Immovable_ is filled. For, after +all, from the great hymn to the light-god, we have here only fragments. +But these fragments remind one of the gold-stained ruins of the +_Akropolis_ against the bright Attic sky. Throughout, we are aware of a +striking duality. The key to these sunlit melodies is probably found in +the "Giants' Shadows." Among the shadows whose voices ascend from +darkness "like moanings of the sea," the poet discovers Telamonian Ajax, +the giant who is utterly absorbed in the world within him, the source of +his light and life, and Goethe, the Teutonic poet, who turns to the +world about himself as a flower to the sun, and whose heart "longs and +thirsts for light." Here then, we detect the doubleness of the sun of +Palamas, a sun within, the source of his inner life and thought, and a +sun without, the source of all external beauty and growth. + +Thus without detracting from the charm and power of the day-star, he +ensouls it with a higher meaning and transforms a fiery globe into a +light-clad Olympian divinity, a giver of life and death, a healer and a +slayer. In "The Tower of the Sun," we find mighty princes, sons of +kings, who had gone thither in their desire to hunt for the light, +turned into stones by the "giant merciless." Motionless they stand, a +world of voiceless statues while + + From their deep and smothered eyes, + Something like living glance + Struggles to peep through its stone-veil! + +Then the fair redeemer, a princess beautiful, comes from far away--the +light, it seems, of inner knowledge and inspiration--and the Sun's tower + + Gleamed forth as if the light + Of a new dawn embraced its walls! + +She knows where the fountain of life flows and with its waters wakes up +the sons of kings, shining + + ... with transcending gleam + Like a far greater Sun. + +This is, then, the sun whom Palamas worships as a god. It is a sun who +possesses all the beauty and power of the actual source of light, but +who, at the same time, by the spell of mystic symbolism rises to the +splendor of a thrice-fair and almighty divinity containing all that is +beautiful and noble and powerful in the world. Upon such a sun he seeks +to find a light-flooded palace for his child in the "Mourning Song." To +such a sun he offers his hymns and prayers; and such a sun he conceives +as a vengeful blood-fed Moloch or a muse of light. He is a fair Phoebus, +who rises from pure Olympus' heights to play as a fountain of flowing +harmonies or to smite as "an archer of fiery arrows" all living things. + + +4. VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE + +In the "Verses of a Familiar Tune" the poet conceives of himself as of a +wedding guest who travels far away to join the festival. The bride, +"thrice-beautiful" seems to be Earth; and the bridegroom, the Sun. The +journey to the festival is the span of mortal life. The poet, who must +travel over this path, endeavors to brighten it with dreams and shorten +his way's weary length + + With sounds that like sweet longings wake in him + Old sounds familiar, low whisperings + Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows ... + The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses + That the waves squander on the sandy beach, + And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips! + +The second poem of this group, "The Paralytic on the River's Bank," +recalls the notes verging on despair which we have found in "The +Return." Again the gleaming past, appearing here as the other bank of +the river, revels + + In lustful growth and endless mirth + With leafy slopes and forests glistening. + +At the sight of such splendor, the poet lies palsy-stricken on this bank +of the river, the "graceless, barren, and desert bank" unable to rise +and sing. Then Life, like a merciful Fairy, takes him into the humble +hut of the present and makes him forget the other bank and nourishes him +until, at last, waking into the new world, he weaves the whole day long +with master hand all kinds of laurel crowns and pours into the +unaccustomed air a flute's soft-flown complaint. But again from his bed +he raises his eyes and sees once more the world beyond the river, +nodding luringly at him; and even there, in the midst of the new life, +he falls palsy-stricken, "the paralytic of the river bank." + +This note of hopelessness is immediately counteracted by the "Simple +Song," in which Life opens again her gorgeous gardens of the past to +pluck the fairest of flowers; and when he weeps over the newly reaped +blossoms that fill his basket, Life rebukes him by facing them unmoved +"a life agleam!" With like wholesomeness he greets the early dawn that +brings him "thought, light, and sound, his sacred Trinity," and enters +the chapel's garden + + To see the children beautiful, + Children that make the grassy beds a heaven + And rise like miracles among the flowers. + +But on the whole, man, the wedding guest, must travel on while the winds +of uncertainty blow about him. Riddles face him everywhere; questions +stern and unanswerable spring before him; and the life of the whole +human race seems to be that of Thought likened to "an angel ever +wrestling with a strong giant flinging his hundred hands about the +angel's neck to strangle him." For who knows if a good act unknown +shines more than the most splendid monuments of marble or verse? Who +knows if vice is wiser than virtue? Is Fair Art, War's Triumphs, and +great Thoughts expressed costlier in the Temple of the Universe than the +mute Thought and Glory of the flower, + + ... at whose birth + The dawn rejoices and whose early death + The saddened evening silently laments? + + The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates + Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx; + Yet who knows if the soldier with no will, + Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth? + + O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures + The measureless and creates the great? + Is it the matchless thought of the endowed, + Or the dim soul of the multitude that bursts, + Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows? + +We know not "whether the holy man's blessing" is the best, nor whether +there is more light of Truth in the Law, "that is all eyes," or in some +blind love. Thus entangled in the meshes of life's sphinx-like wonders, +we spend our day, little particles of the great world-struggle, wedding +guests at Life's strange festival! + + +5. THE PALM TREE + +In tenderness and delicacy of thought and expression, no part of _Life +Immovable_ can be compared with the smoothly flowing stanzas of "The +Palm Tree." There is no ruggedness in the meter, no violence in the +stream of images. We are led without knowing it into a modest garden. A +few flowers, a palm tree, some bushes, and the sky make our world, a +world, it seems, of things small and common and trivial. But the poet +passes by, listens to the humble flowers of dark and light blue, and +puts their talk into rhythms. + +At once, the flowers become a world of beauty, life, and thought. They +are our kin, sons of the same parent Earth, and dreamers of strangely +similar dreams. The Palm tree over them becomes a great mystery of +power and grace lifting it to the realm of gods. The flowers, like +little mortals, wonder at the things they see about them. Their own +existence beneath the palm tree's shade is full of riddles, and they +face the world with questionings. In the very midst of a clear sky's +festival that succeeds a rain, the little flowers suffer the first blows +of pain, dealt by the last drops that fall from the palm leaves, and +they feel the agony of sorrow until they come to realize that even pain +brings its reward, knowledge, which makes them glory, like victors, over +death. Their being expands and they sing a song which is the essence of +the world's humanity: + + Though small we are, a great world hides in us; + And in us clouds of care and dales of grief + You may descry: the sky's tranquility; + The heaving of the sea about the ships + At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks; + And something else inexplicable. Oh, + What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it? + One, damned and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought! + +Thus their song continues carrying them from thought to thought, from +dream to dream, from joy to joy, and from sorrow to sorrow. Swept away +by the charms of life, they raise to their strange god a hymn of +exultation. At the sight of the thrice-fair rose, they sing a song of +love and admiration. Their experiences stimulate their minds, and they +seek to solve the dark problems that teem about them. With the eagerness +of living beings they listen to the tales of new worlds and miracles +brought to them by bees and lizards. Illness and night frighten them +with fearful images; and, at last, they pass away with a song of hope +and regret: + + We shall die, + Nor will there be a monument for us + That might retain the phantom of our passing! + Only about thee will a robe of light + Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam: + And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime! + And in the eyes of an astonished world, + Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star; + Yet neither thou nor others will know of us! + +HARVARD UNIVERSITY, +June 3, 1917. + + + + +TRANSLATIONS + + + + +LIFE IMMOVABLE + +INTRODUCTORY POEM + + _And now the columns stand a forest speechless + And motionless; and among them, the rhythms + And thoughts move in slow measures constantly; + And in their depths, light-written images + Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him._ + + From the "Thoughts of Early Dawn." + + +_I labored long to create the statue for the Temple +On stone that I had found +And set it up in nakedness; and then to pass; +To pass but not to die. + +And I created it. But narrow men who bow +To worship shapeless wooden images, ill-clad, +With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear, +Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily. + +My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile! +To foreign lands, I led my restless wanderings. +But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered: +I dug a pit; and in the pit I laid my statue. + +And then I whispered: "Here lie low unseen and live +With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins +Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art! +A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!" + +And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets, +The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light! +In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O Maker! +Better forever lost in the unlighted depths! + +"Its hour may never come! and if it come, and if +Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant +With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish, +And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable! + +"Today, was soon for thee; tomorrow will be late! +Thy dream is vain! The dawn thou longest will not dawn; +Thus burning for eternities thou mayest not reach, +Remain cloud-hunter and Praxiteles of shadows! + +"Tomorrow and today for thee are snares and seas! +All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false! +Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden! +And thou shalt pass away--hear this!--and thou shalt die!" + +And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die! +Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind! +Let pits devour my work! Of all eternal things, +My restless wandering may have the greatest worth!"_ + + + + +FATHERLANDS + + _To the blessed shade of Tigrane Yergate who loved my Fatherlands._ + + + + +FATHERLANDS + + +I[5] + +Where with its many ships the harbor moans, +The land spreads beaten by the billows wild, +Remembering not even as a dream +Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth. + +The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich; +And on her brow, an aged crown she wears, +A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks, +Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might. + +O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch; +And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far +Aloft with midland Zygos at his side. + +Here I first opened to the day mine eyes; +And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born, +An image faint, half-vanished, fair--a mother. + + +II[6] + +Upon the lake, the island-studded, where +The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs +The seashore strewn with seaweed far away, +The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan. + +'Tis there the northwind battles mightily +Upon the southwind; and the high tide on +The low; and far into the main's abyss +The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking. + +There stands Varassova, the triple-headed; +And from her heights, a lady from her tower, +The moon bends o'er the waters lying still. + +But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's, +Not even there I knew; but only sorrow +And, what is now a fire, the spirit's spark. + + +III + +Sky everywhere; and sunbeams on all sides; +Something about like honey from Hymettus; +The lilies grow of marble witherless; +Pentele shines, birthgiver of Olympus. + +The digging pick on Beauty stumbles still; +Cybele's womb bears gods instead of mortals; +And Athens bleeds with violet blood abundant +Each time the Afternoon's arrows pour on her. + +The sacred olive keeps its shrines and fields; +And in the midst of crowds that slowly move +Like caterpillars on a flower white, + +The people of the relics lives and reigns +Myriad-souled; and in the dust, the spirit +Glitters; I feel it battling in me with Darkness. + + +IV[7] + +Where the Homeric dwellers of Phaeacia +Still live, and with a kiss meet East and West; +Where with the olive tree the cypress blooms, +A dark robe in the azure infinite, + +E'en there my soul has longed to dwell in peace +With towering visions of the land of Pyrrhus; +There dream-born beauties pour their flood, Dawn's mother +Lighting the fountain of sweet Harmony. + +The rhapsodies of the Immortal Blind +In the new voice of Greece are echoed there;[8] +The shade of Solomos[9] in fields Elysian + +Breathes rose-born fragrance; and master of the lyre, +A new bard sings,[10] like old Demodocus, +The glories of the Fatherland and Crete. + + +V[11] + +Lo, dreams strange-born among my dreams are mingling; +A lake, the ancient Mareotis, where +The Goddess spreads with ever hidden face +Her wedding couch to greet Osiris Lord. + +As if from graves, from laughless depths, before me +Life brightly glitters with her gentle smile; +A Libyan thirst burns in my heart; and Ra, +The fiery archer, battles everywhere. + +Something sow-like before me gnashed its teeth, +The slavish soul and savage of the Arab; +World-nourishing the Nile rolled on its waters; + +And lotus-crowned, in the cool shade of palms, +I loved as beasts that dwell in wilderness +A Fellah lass full-breasted and sphinx-faced. + + +VI[12] + +A sinner hermit on the Holy Mountain, +I burn in Satan's fire and pine in hell; +My soul is ruins and woe; and in a stream +Deep-flowing, I sink, a traveller beguiled. + +The blue Aegean spreads a sapphire treasure; +Like Daphnis and his Chloe stand sky and earth; +Quivering, lo, the seed of life blooms forth; +In swarms, the living beings suck the sap + +Of all. Olympus, Ossa, Pelion, +And every lap of sea, and every tongue +Of land, lake-like Cassandra, Thrace's shores + +Are clad in wedding garb; and I? "O Lord, +Be my Redeemer!" and with floods of tears +I bathe the god-child Panselenus[13] wrought. + + +VII[14] + +Rumele is a royal crown of ruby; +Moreas is a glow of emerald; +The Seven Isles,[15] a jasmine sevenfold; +And every Cyclad, a Nereid sea-born. + +Even the chains of rugged Epirus laugh; +And Thessaly spreads far her golden charms. +Hidden beneath her present waves of woe, +Methinks I look on Hellas, Queen of lands. + +For still the ancient fir of valor blooms; +And from the pangs and sighs of ages risen, +The breath of Digenes[16] fills all the land + +Breeding a race of heroes strong and new; +And in the depths of green and golden Night +Sings on Colonus Hill the nightingale. + + +VIII + +From Danube to the cape of Taenaron, +From Thunder Mountain's End to Chalcedon, +Thou passest now a mermaid of the sea +And now a statue of marble Parian. + +Now with the laurel bough from Helicon +And now with sword barbarian, thou sweepest; +And on the fields of thy great labarum, +I see a double headed image drawn. + +The sacred Rock gleams like a topaz here; +And virgins basket-bearing, clad in white, +March in a dance and shake Athena's veil; + +But far the sapphires shine of Bosporus; +And through the Golden Gate exulting pass +Victors Imperial triumphantly. + + +IX + +Like the Phaeacians' ship, Imagination +Without the help of sail or mariner +Rolls on; in my soul's depths loom many lands: +Thrice-ancient, motionless like Asia, + +And others five-minded and bold like Europe's realms; +Despair like Africa's black earth holds me; +Within me a savage Polynesia spreads; +And always I trail some path Columbian. + +All monstrous things of life, the fields aflame +Under a tropic sun, I knew; I wore +The shrouds of the poles; and on a thousand paths, + +I saw the world unfurled before my eyes. +And what am I? Grass on a clod of earth +Scorned even by the passing reaper's scythe. + + +X + +A traveller, I found in waveless seas +Calypso and Helena thrice-beautiful; +And on the Lotus Eaters' shores, I drank +The blissful waters of oblivion. + +In the sun-flooded land, I stood by him, +The god of the Hyperborean race; +One night--in strange and peerless radiance-- +The Magi showed to me the mystic star. + +I saw the Queen of Sheba on her throne, +O Soul, light flowing from her fingers' touch; +My eyes beheld Atlantis Isle, that seemed + +An Ocean flower beyond a mortal's dreams; +And now the care and memory of all +These things are rhythm to me and verse and song. + + +XI + +About the chariot of the Seven Stars, +Sky-racers numberless, whole worlds of giants +And beasts: Ocean of suns, the Milky Way, +Orion, and the monsters of the spheres-- + +The fearful Zodiac. The Lion roars +Amidst the wilderness ethereal; +The Lyre plays; and trophy-like, the Lock +Of Berenice gleams; and rhythms and laws + +Fade in the space of mysteries. Sun, Cronus, +Mars, Earth, and Venus sweep in swift pursuit +Towards the world magnet of great Hercules. + +Only my soul like polar star awaits +Immovable, yet filled with dreamful longings; +And knows not whence it comes nor where it goes. + + +XII + +Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water! +Elements indestructible, beginning +And end of life, first joy and last of mine! +You I shall find again when I pass on + +To the graves' calm. The people of the dreams +Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass; +My reason, fire-like, unto lasting fire; +My passions' craze unto the billows' madness; + +Even my dust-born body, unto dust; +And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water; +And from the air of dreams, and from the flames + +Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust, +And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise +A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint. + + + + +THE SONNETS + + +From their foreign land and precious, +From their nest in green, I took +Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them +In a cage of woven gold. + +And the cage of woven gold +Then became a second nest; +On our shores the birds have found +A new, precious fatherland. + +Softly here they shake their feathers; +Swiftly sing of worlds and souls +Deep and spacious; or they mingle + +Lightning-like their tears and smiles. +And though small and as of coral, +Yet they sing with accents loud. + + _1896._ + + + + +EPIPHANY + + +With chariot drawn by star-plumed peacocks, lo, +The goddess of desires before her people +Is revealed! She passes on, youth's joyful shout +And torture, dragging my eighteen years behind. + +Snowflakes became a world; and, taking life +As substance, made her body and her thought. +Upon her royal brow, birds strange and wild, +Scorn's breed, have built their nest and there abide. + +Upon her path, in vain I build the palace +Of virgin dreams with virgin gold for her, +Raising a throne of diamonds in its midst. + +She passes on her starlit chariot; +And as if filled with golden dreams divine, +She does not even look upon my palace! + + _1895._ + + + + +MAKARIA[17] + + +To you, who dawned before me, offspring of +The great abyss and flower of foaming billows! +To you, whom with their love all things embrace, +And who stir tempests in a statue's depths! + +To you, O woman and O virgin, myrrhs, +Fruit, frankincense, I offer recklessly! +To you, the music of the world! To you, +My songs' pure foam, songs that your vision fills! + +For you can love, remember, understand. +Before I saw you in the world's great night, +You shone upon my mother's lighted face. + +Your worshipper into the world I came; +Your name I knew not, and in love's sweet font +I called you with the name _Makaria_! + + _1895._ + + + + +THE MARKET PLACE + + +Just as dry summers pant for the first rain, +So thou art thirsty for a happy home +And for a life remote, like hermit's prayer, +A corner of forgetting and of love. + +And thirsty for the ship upon the sea +That ever onward sails with birds and sea-things, +Filling its life with our great planet's light. +But unto thee both ship and home said: "No! + +"Look neither for the happiness remote +That never moves, nor for the life that ever finds +In each new land and harbor a new soul! + +"Only the panting of a toiling slave +For thee! Drag in the market place thy body's +Nakedness, strange to the strangers and thine own!" + + _1896._ + + + + +LOVES + + +Some people love things modest and things small, +And like to feed in cages little birds; +They deck themselves with garden violets +And drink the singing waters of the brooks. + +Others delight in tales told by the embers +Of the home hearth or listen to the songs +Of the nightbirds with rapture; others, slaves +Of a great pain, burn incense to the stars + +Of beauty. And some thirst for the forest shades +And for a nacreous dawn, and for a sunset +Dipped in red blood, a barren wilderness + +Light-burned. But thee no love with nature binds; +And where the heavens mingle with the sea, +A path thou seekest for a sphere beyond. + + _1896._ + + + + +WHEN POLYLAS DIED[18] + + +With wings and hands ethereal, rhythms and thoughts +Lifted thy soul, redeemed from its dust frame, +And led it straightway to the stars; and there +The sacred escort halts and ends its journey. + +In summers paradisiac beyond, +Where on the Lyre's star the bards and makers, +Like doves with breath immortal, dwell in gleams, +The shade of Solomos like magnet draws thee, + +And leading thee before a double Tabor, +Thus speaks to thee: "Here is thy glory! Here +Dwell and behold the giant pair that stand + +Before thee never setting, with diamonds dark; +And like a breath of worship pass, embracing +Thy Homer and thy Shakespeare, blessed One!" + + _1896._ + + + + +TO PETROS BASILIKOS[19] + + +O bard, whose songs unto the vernal god +Of idyls rang from the same gladsome flute, +April's sweet-breathing air is mingled now +With martial sounds of savage trumpetings. + +A crown is woven for our motherland: +Is it life's laurels or the martyr's thorns? +Oh see beyond: the wild vine's flowers now +Are shaken on a lake of blood and tears! + +Has the war phantom blown upon thee too? +Or hast thou with the force of lightning winds +Flown where for ages sacred hatreds burn + +In flames? Or has an evil wound thrown thee +Upon the earth where now in vain the god +Of idyls tries to raise thee with his kisses? + + _1897._ + + + + +SOLDIER AND MAKER + + +Soldier and maker swiftly I +Seized with my hand the spear and spoke: +"Fall on the beast of the world beyond +And strike the eagle-wingèd lion!" + +Before me with God's grace, I saw +Soulless the griffin seven-souled, +Blood spurting from a hole hell-like +And scorching with its heat the grass! + +And then restored with calm, I saw +The savage strife like a day's dawn; +And the destroyer, I, became + +A maker; and with this same hand, +I carve on ivory the man +Who slew the beast and make him deathless. + + _1896._ + + + + +THE ATHENA RELIEF + + +Why leanest thou on idle spear? +Why is thy dreadful helmet bent +Heavy upon thy breast, O virgin? +What sorrow is so great, O thought, + +As to touch thee? Are there no more +Of thunder-bearing enemies +To yield thee trophies new? No pomp +Athenian to guide thy ship + +On to the sacred Rock? I see +Some pain holds Pallas fixed upon +A gravestone. Some great blow moves her: + +Is it thy sacred city's loss, +Or seest thou all Greece--alas-- +Of now and yesterday entombed? + + _1896._ + + + + +THE HUNTRESS RELIEF + + +Whither so light of garb and swift of foot, O Huntress? +Is it the sacred gifts of pure Hippolytus +That make thee leave Arcadia's forest land behind, +O shelter of the pure, and slayer of the wild? + +Wild lily of virginity raised on the fields +Olympian, O mountain Queen of gleaming bow, +I envy him who in a careless hour did face +Thy beauty's lightning with thy heartless vengefulness. + +And yet white like the morn, thou openest in secret +Thy lips thrice fragrant with divine ambrosia +And sayest: "Latona's deathless grace has moulded me + +Under the sacred tree upon Ortygia; +But now once more upon the noble stone, the new +Maker has moulded me with a new deathlessness." + + _1895._ + + + + +A FATHER'S SONG + + +O first-born pride and joy of my own home, +I still remember thy coming's sacred day: +The early dawn was breaking as from pearls, +Whitening the sky that spread star-spangled still; + +Thou wert not like the fresh and budding rose +In its green mother's clasp before it opens; +Thou camest like a victim pitiful +And feeble cast by a rude hand among us. + +And as if thou wert seeking help, thy wail +Rose sadder than the sound of a death knell; +And thus the last of thy own mother's groans + +Was mingled with thy first lament. Life's great +Drama began. I watch it, and I feel +Within me Fear's and Pity's mystic wail! + + _1894._ + + + + +TO THE POET L. MAVILES[20] + + +Thy soul is seeking tranquil paths +Alone; thou hatest barking mouths; +And yet thy country's love enflames thee, +O maker of the noble sonnet. + +In the white alabaster vase +Filled with pure native earth, a flower +Of dream that only few can see +Trembles and scatters fragrances. + +Thy verse, the vase; thy mind, the flower. +But a hand broke the vase, and now +The azure beauty of the flower + +Has found a mate in the powder's smoke +Upon Crete's Isle, the blue sea's crown, +Mother of bards and tyrant slayers. + + _1896._ + + + + +IMAGINATION + + +Time's spider lurks and lies in wait; +And on its poisoned claws, the beast +All watchful glides, assails, and grasps +The ruin. O thrice-holy beauties! + +In vain all props and wisdom's arts! +In vain a tribe of sages seek +To save it! Time's remaining crumbs +Are scattered far and melt like frost. + +Then from the lofty land of Thought, +Imagination came, a goddess +Among the gods, and made again, + +Even where until now the ruin +Crumbled, what only its hands can make-- +Deathless the first-born Parthenon. + + _1896._ + + + + +MAKARIA'S DEATH + + _To die for these, my brothers, and myself; + For by not loving my own life too much, + I found the best of finds, a glorious death._ + + EURIPIDES, _Herakleidae_, 532-534. + + +On Athens' earth, Zeus of the Market place +Sees Hercules's children kneeling down +On his pure altar, strange, forlorn, thrice-orphan. +Fearful the Argive sweeps on; duty's hand + +Is weak. The king of Athens pities them, +But cruel oracles vex him with fear: +"Lo, from thy blood, thrice-noble virgin, shall +The conquerless new enemy be conquered." + +None stirs, alas! Orphanhood is forsaken +By all. Then, filled with pride of heroes, thou, +Redeemer of a land and race, divine + +Daughter thrice-worthy of the great Alcides, +Plungest into thy breast the victim's sword +And diest a thrice-free death, Makaria. + + _1896._ + + + + +TO PALLIS[21] FOR HIS "ILIAD" + + +From cups that are both ours and strange, +Enameled, and adorned with leaves +Of laurel and of ivy green, +We quaff the wine both pure and mixed. + +The liquid that within us burns, +Or poured in cups about us gleams +And bird-like sings, brings us away +To the far Isle of dreams. But thou + +Enviest not the path of dreams, +Nor sharest in our drunken revel; +For with our fathers' spacious cup, + +The strong and simple, thou hast brought +Immortal water from the spring +Of Homer, thou O traveller! + + _1903._ + + + + +HAIL TO THE RIME + + +Cyprus's shores have not beheld thee born of foam; +A foreign Vulcan forged thee on a diamond anvil +With a gold hammer; and the bard who touches thee, +Bound with thy magic beauty's charms, remains thy thrall. + +The yearning prayers of a lover fondly loved +Cannot accomplish what thou canst, strange nightingale! +Thy song wafts me upon the tranquil fields of calm +When jackals born of woeful cares within me howl. + +Thy might gives even sin a garment beautiful; +And thought divine before thee bows in reverence. +Imagination's ship sails with thy help straight on + +Where Solomon and Croesus have their treasuries. +To thee I pray! Answer my greeting lovingly, +Thou new tenth Muse among the nine of old, O Rime! + + _1896._ + + + + +THE RETURN +1897 + + (1897 is the year of the Greco-Turkish war which ended disastrously + for Greece. See Introduction, page 58.) + + + + +_DEDICATION_ + + +_Mother thrice reverend, O widowed saint, +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place +The crowns of Art, dream-made and dream-engraved. +With war storms desolate, my native land, +Trod by the Turk and by strangers scorned thou wert; +Even thy child beholding thee in ruins, +As if the waters of Oblivion +In dark Oblivion's Dale had touched his lips, +Left thee; and thou didst writhe like a whole world +Engulfed in sounds of woe: Hair-tearings and +Breast-beatings, groans of sad despair, night-bats +Wandering restlessly, unheeded prayers +Of souls condemned, loud thunder peals, fierce glares +Of lightnings, and the laughter of the fiends! + +But lo, unknown and humble I, with calm +Upon my countenance and storm in mind, +Far from the panic-stricken market place, +Beneath the plane trees' shade, and far away +By the blood-tinctured settings of the suns, +Unruffled, in another land I travelled, +And deep I dug in distant treasure mines. +And with my hand, that knows no rifle's touch, +Slowly I hammered on the crowns of art; +And if thou findest nowhere on their gleam +Thine image painted, or thy blessed name +Written, thou knowest still, O motherland, +Though in thy woe's abyss they seem unlike, +And though a strange and careless glimmer shines +On them, they were created out of thee; +For thee I made them; and for thee I raised them. + +Perhaps, when in the midst of wilderness +And ruins thou first openest thine eyes, +O hapless One, my humble offerings +Will not appear like thy wrath's threats, nor like +The joyful trumpetings of thy reveille, +Nor like an image of thy passion's cross, +Nor like thy sorrow's dirge, nor like glad hymns; +But like soft songs and trembling lights and fondlings +Of lily hands, black birds, and stars unknown. + +Thus when, smitten with Charon's knife and sunk +In death's dark swoon, a hapless mother feels +Life's tide return, she hears again, like first +Life-summons, the anxious voice of her fond child, +A voice that comforts her and tenderly +Tells of a thousand tales of love his fancy +Weaves or his memory recalls, and drowns +His faintest sigh not to remind his mother +Of the unerring blow of Charon's knife. + +Mother thrice-reverend, O widowed saint, +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place +The crowns of Art dream-made and dream-engraved. +Though they will echo not thy sorrow's groans, +A child of thine has bound them on thine earth +With gold; upon their circles thine own speech +Is shown with master tongue; their light is drawn +From thy sun's gleaming fountain; seek no more! + +Only with harmony sublime and pure, +Which, though it rises over time and space, +Turns the world's ears to his native land, +The poet is the greatest patriot._ + + + + +THE TEMPLE + + +My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed, +O Temple built apart in wilderness +For an unseen divinity, a goddess +Who from her being's deep abyss reveals +Only a statue wrought by human hand +And even covered with a veil opaque. + +Methinks I see among thy sculptured columns, +Among thy secret treasures and thine altars, +Ion, the Delphic priest, who lays aside +The snow-white raiment of the sacrifice +And takes up the wayfarer's knotty staff. +I am no ministrant, nor have I held +The dreadful mystic key, nor have I touched +Boldly or timidly the sacred gate +That leads to Life's deep-hidden mysteries. +One sinner more, O Temple, in the midst +Of sinful multitudes, I come to worship. + +My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed; +I feel the chill of night or of the tomb +Creeping upon me slowly, stealthily. +But lo, I struggle to shake off the evil +That creeps on me so cold; with longing heart, +I drag my bleeding knees beyond thy walls, +Out of thy columns--forests stifling me-- +Into the sunlight and the moon's soft glimmer. + +Away with prayer's burning frankincense! +Away with the gold knife of the sacrifice! +Away with choirs loud-voiced and clad in white, +Singing their hymns about the flaming altars! +Abandoning thee, O Temple, I return +To the small hut of the first bloom of time. + + + + +THE HUT + + +O humble hut of the first bloom of time, +Neither the noisy city's mingled Babel, +Nor the most tranquil soul of the great plain, +Nor the gold cloud of dust on the wide road, +Nor the brook's course that sings like nightingales, +Nothing of these is either shown to thee +Or speaks before thy bare and flowerless window, +O humble hut of the first bloom of time. + +Only the neighbor's step now echoes on +From the rough pavement built in Turkish times; +The black wall's shadow, on the narrow street; +And on the lonely ruins lightning-struck +Ere they became the glory of a house, +The nettles revel lustful and unreaped. +Beneath the bare and flowerless window's sill, +A nest of greenish black, like a small heart, +Hangs tenantless and waits and waits and waits +In vain for the return of the first swallow +That has gone forth, its first and last of dwellers. + +O thirsty eyes that linger magnet-bound +On the nest's orphanhood of greenish black! +O ears filled with the terror of the tune +That travels to the bare and flowerless window +High from thy roof moss-covered with neglect, +O humble hut of the first bloom of time! +It is the tune the lone-owl always plays +Blowing upon the cursèd flute of night +Its lingering shrill notes of mournful measure, +Herald of woe and prophet of all ill. + + + + +THE RING + + _The ring is lost! The wedding ring is gone!_ + + A folk song. + + +My mother planned a wedding feast for me +And chose me for a wife a Nereid, +A tender flower of beauty and of faith. +My mother wished to wed me with thy charms, +O Fairy Life, thou first of Nereids! + +And hastily she goes to seek advice, +Begging for gold from every sorceress +And powerful witch, and gold from forty brides +Whose wedding crowns are fresh upon their brows; +And making with the gold a ring enchanted, +She puts it on my finger and she binds +With golden bond my youthful human flesh +To the strange Fairy--how strange a wedding ring!-- + +I was the boy that always older grew +With the transporting passion of a pair +Bethrothed who, lured by longing, countenance +Their wedding moment as an endless feast +Upon a bridal bed of lily white. + +The boy I was that always older grew +Gold-bound with Life, the Fairy conqueress; +The boy I was that always older grew +With love and thirst unquenchable for Life; +The boy I was that always older grew +Destined to tread upon a path untrod +Amidst the light, illumined. I was he +Whose brow like an Olympian victor's shone +And like the man's who tamed Bucephalus. +I was the nimble dolphin with gold wings, +Arion's watchful and quick deliverer. + +But then, one day,--I know not whence and how-- +Upon a shore of sunburned sands, the hour +Of early evening saddened with dark clouds, +I wrestled with a strange black boy new-come, +Risen to life from the great sea's abyss; +And in the savage spite of that long struggle, +The ring fell from my finger and was gone! + +Did the great earth engulf it? Did the wave +Swallow it? I know not. But this I know: +For ever since, the binding spell is rent! +And Fairy Life, the first of Nereids, +My own bethrothed, that was my slave and queen, +Vanished away like a fleet cloud of smoke! + +And ever since, from my first-blooming youth +To the first flakes of silver that now fall +On the black forest of my hair, since then, +Some power dumb and dreadful holds me bound +With a mere shadow fleeting and unknown +That seems not to exist, yet ever longs +And vainly strives to enter into being. + +And now I am Life's widowed mate and hapless, +Life's great and careless patient! Woe is me! +And I am like the fair Alcithoe, +Daughter of the ancient king, who changed her form +And as a sign of the gods' vengeful wrath +Is now instead of princess a night-bat! + + + + +THE CORD GRASS FESTIVAL + + +See far away, what a glad festival +The golden grasses on the meadow weave! +A festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers! +With the sweet sunrise sweetly wakening, +I also wish to join the festival +And, like a treasure reaper, to embrace +Masses of flowers blond and fresh with dew, +And then to squander all my flower treasure +At my love's feet, for my heart's ruling queen. + +But the gold-spangled meadow spreads too deep; +And, just as mourning for some dead deprives +A life rejoicing with its twenty years +Of its light raiments of a lily-white, +So is my swift and merry way cut short +By a bad way that lies between, without +An end, beset with brambles and with marshes! + +The thorny plants tear like an enemy's claws; +And like bird-lime the bad plain's mire ensnares +My feet among the brambles and the marshes, +Where, in the parching sun's enflaming shafts, +The brine, like silver lightning, strikes my eyes! + +Where is the coolness of a breath? Where is +The covering shadow of a leafy tree? +I faint! My frame is bent! My way is lost! +I droop exhausted on the briny earth, +And in my lethargy I feel the thorns +Upon my brow; the bitter brine upon +My lips; the sultriness of the south wind +Upon my hands; the kisses of the marsh +Upon my feet; the rushes' fondling on +My breast; and the hard fate and impotence +Of this bare world within me. + Where art thou, +My love? + See far, in depths of purple sunsets +Gorgeously painted, the glad festival +That golden grasses on the meadow weave, +The festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers, +Sees me, and calls me still, and waits for me! + + + + +THE FAIRY + + +When in the evening on my hut the moon +Spreads her soft silver nets that dreams have wrought, +The hut is caught, and, by the net bewitched, +It changes and becomes a lofty tower. + +And then, unseen by the Day's Sun, the father +Of Health, the rosy-cheeked, who always sees +All things with careless and short-sighted eyes, +A monstrous vision lo, the Fairy Illness, +Stripped in the silver glimmer of the moon, +Herself of moonlight born, looms into sight +Slowly in the enchanted tower's midst! + +In whitening shimmers, she, like sea at night, +Advances with the step of sleeping men; +Death's pallor is her own, though not Death's chill; +Her ivory skeleton is mantled by +A fleshy cover made of fiery air; +The uncouth flowers on her dragging veil +Seem, like the poppies, crimson red and black; +And still more uncouth look the countless things +Wrought on its folds: dragons and ogresses, +Fevers and lethargies and pains of heart, +Nightmares and storms and earthquakes, breaking nerves. + +Delirium flies from her burning lips, +A language made of odd, discordant rhythms. +To nothing, either hers or strange, her eyes +Are like; deep, as abyss untrod, they yawn, +And seem as if they gaze immovable +On empty space. Yet shouldst thou stoop with thirst +To mirror on her staring eyes thine own, +Then wouldst thou see worlds buried in their caves, +Like ruined cities of whole centuries, +Sunk in the fairy-spangled oceans' depths! + + + + +OUT IN THE OPEN LIGHT + + +Out in the open light, the Sun is shining, +Father of Health, Health rosy cheeked, whose breasts +Are full, and yield their milk abundantly; +She only sees those things of flesh about +Which her divine sun-father shows to her; +And her unconquerable iron hands +Are matched with careless and short-sighted eyes. + +Out in the open light, even the moon, +The Sibyl, clothed in white, appears, with glance +Lyncean, piercing deep and bringing forth +From the world's ends great hosts of monstrous things, +The monsters born of shadows and of dreams. + + + + +FIRST LOVE + + +When in my breast I felt my first-born love, +Thrice-noble maiden of compliant heart, +I was possessed with the strange fear that filled +The youthful princess of the ancient tale +At sight of the black man's enchanted rod. + +O mate, who madest first my early years +Blossom, too soon thou fleddest far from me +Nor sawest me again! Wild Fairies took +My speech, and evil demons seized my all; +Yet soul and body, my whole being shivers +From that awakening thou sangest me, +Eternal Woman! Thou wert what far Mecca +Is for the faithful's prayer to his prophet. +O far off Mecca! O eternal Fear +Of white Desire upon the shining wings +Of a black sinner! O king Love, chased like +Orestes, by a Fury serpent-haired! + + + + +THE MADMAN + + +A madman chased my early childhood years +Thrice-sweet and blossoming, and seizing them-- +Alas!--he crushed them in his reckless fury +Like twigs of purple-colored pomegranate! + +He scattered them in pieces everywhere: +Into the joyless house and in the yard, +On narrow streets, and paths, and pathless haunts, +Where persecution raves, and menace dumb +Chills all away from the pure light and air. +The madman's cursed hands hold everything +With snares and claws and stones and knives; they fall +On loneliness and on embracings, night +Or day, on sleep or wake, and everywhere! + +And yonder on the streets and in the houses, +Children like me in age, whose years were filled +With bloom and sweetness, freely ran and laughed +And played. Behind me, close, the madman's snares +I heard; and then, the deadened sound of feet! +I breathed his flaming breath! And if his steps +Were slow, still wilder did his laughter hunt me! + +Oh, for my life's cold quiverings of pain! +Oh, for the goading--not like the divine +Goading that drove the maid of Inachus, +Io, to wander on and on in frenzy;-- +But like the sudden goading that smites down +The little bird when first it tries its wings! +And lo, blood of my blood the madman was! +A past, ancestral, long forgotten sin, +That, bursting forth upon me vampire-like, +Snatched from my head the dewy crown of joy! + + + + +OUR HOME + + +Our home has not the ugly clamoring +Nor the dumb stillness of the other homes +About and opposite. For in our home +Rare birds sing forth uncommon melodies; +And in our home-yard a young offshoot grows, +Sprung from Dodona's tree oracular! +And in the garden of our home, full thick, +The ironworts and snakeroots blossom on; +And in our home the magic mirror shines +Reflecting always in its gleaming glass +The visage of the world thrice-wonderful! + +The silence of our home is full of moans, +Moans vague and muffled from a distant world +Of bygone ages and of times unborn; +And in our home souls come to life and die. +Blossom from blossom blossoms forth and fades! +Old men have the white, rich, Levitic beard, +The foreheads wide of solemn contemplation, +The wrath of prophets, and the fleeting calm +And chilling threatfulness of the gray shadows. + +Glowing with love-heat like resistless Satyrs, +The young men in the mind's most shady glades +Hunt ardently the bride that is pure thought. +The children drop their playthings carelessly, +And, standing in a corner motionless, +Open their eyes in thought like men full-grown. +And all, ancestors and descendants, young +Or old, have ways that challenge ridicule +And have the word that bursting forth makes slaves! + +But still more beautiful and pure than these, +An harmony fit for the chosen few +Fills with its ringing sounds our dwelling place, +A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam +From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds +Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre conversing +In the star-spangled darkness of the night. + + + + +THE DEAD + + +Within this place, I breathe a dead man's soul; +And the dead man, a blond and beardless youth! +A youthful light and blond stirs in our home; +And moments fly, and days and years and ages. +The dead man's soul is in this lonely house +Like bitter quiet about a calm-bound ship +That longs for the sea-paths, and dreams of storms. + +All faces, smoked with the faint smoke that glides +From candles lighting death! All eyes, still fixed +On a sad coffin! And the mute lips, tinged +With the last kiss's bitterness, still tremble. +As for a prayer, hands are raised, and feet +Move quietly as behind a funeral. +The snow-white nakedness of the cold walls +And black luxuriance of the mourning robes +Are like discordant music of two tunes. + +The children's step is light in thoughtful care +Lest they disturb the slumber of the dead. +The old men, bent as at a pit's dark end, +Lean on the virgins' shoulders, virgins fair +Like fates benevolent and comforting. +The young men seek on endless paths to find +In Wisdom's hands the weed Oblivion. +And on the window shutters that are closed, +The clay pots with their flowers seem to be +A dead man's wreath; and the lone ray that glides +Through the small fissure is transformed within +Into a taper's light on All Souls' Day. + +The candle burning at the sacred image +Is flickering and snaps as if it wrestled +With death. At moments, led astray, comes here +A butterfly of varied wings and brings +In airy flesh the _Ave_ of the soul +That did enchant the house, the house that seems +Glad for its dead yet loves and longs for him, +The dead blond youth, and claims him as its own! +And luring him, that it might hold for ever +Its chosen love relentlessly, it has +Now changed its form and turned from house to grave! + + + + +THE COMRADE + + +O boy of the glad school of seven years, +With thy tall form, a shadow of all thou wert. +Thy voice had sweetness never heard before, +A font of holy water of which all +Partook with fear and longing! We forgot +With thee the book and laughed thy merry laughter; +Thou didst tear lifeless readings from our minds +Together with the pedant's torpid mullen, +And didst sow deep into our hearts the seed +Of the gold tree that dazzles with its light, +And charms, and is a tale most wonderful! + +The princesses, with valiant heroes mated, +Shone in the hauntless palace of our thought, +First-born; and on imagination's meadow, +Another April bloomed. We saw Saint George, +The rider, slay the dragon and redeem +The maiden. They were not letters that thy hand's +White clay did write, but like the mystic seal +Of Solomon, it scratched a magic knot; +And thy forefinger moved within thy hand +Like fair Dionysus' thyrsus blossoming! + +Amidst the restless swarm of humming children, +We had the clamor; and thou hadst the honey, +Turning attention to a prayer, thou, +O comrade of the early years that bloomed, +O chosen being, unforgettable, +Worthy of everlasting memory! +Wherever thou still art or wanderest; +Whomever thou hast followed of the two +Women, who, in the past, did stir Alcmena's +Great son, after thou camest upon them +On some crosspath; whether thou blossomest +Like the pure lily, or tower-like thou risest; +Whether thou art neglected like a crumb, +Shinest as thy country's pride, or art alone, +A stranger among strangers wandering; +Whether life's riddle or the grave's holds thee; +Whatever and wherever thou now art, +O brother mine and mate, from my lips here +Accept my distant kiss with godlike grace! + + + + +RHAPSODY + + +Homer divine! Joy of all time and glory! +When in the coldness of a frigid school, +Upon the barrenness of a hard bench, +My teacher's graceless hands placed thee before me, +O peerless book, what I had thought would be +A lesson, proved a mighty miracle! + +The heavens opened wide and clear in me; +The sea, a sapphire sown with emerald; +The bench became a throne palatial; +The school, a world; the teacher, a great bard! + +It was not reading nor the fruit of thought: +A vision it was that shone most wonderful, +A melody my ears had never heard. + +In the great cavern that a forest deep +Of poplars and of cypresses encircles, +In the great fragrant cavern that the glow +Of burning cedar beats with pleasant warmth, +Calypso of the shining hair spins not +Her web with golden shuttle; nor sings she +With limpid voice. But lifting up her hands, +She pours her curses from her flaming heart +Against the jealous gods: + "O mortal men +Adored by the immortal goddesses, +Who on Olympus shared with you their love's +Ambrosia, and mortals crushed to dust +By jealous gods!..." + The goddess's awful curse +Makes the fresh celeries and violets fade, +And, like the hail sent by the heaven's wrath, +It burns the clusters on the fruitful vines! + +The hero far renowned of Ithaca +Alone heeds not the flaming curse, that he, +A wanderer, in the Nymph's heart did light +Unwittingly. But sea-wrecked and sea-beaten, +He sits without, immovable, with eyes +Fixed far away; and thus remembering +His native island's shores, for ever weeps +Upon the coast and near the sea thrice-deep. +The white sea-gull that often in its flight +Plunges its wings into the brine to catch +The fish, and the lone falcon perched afar +In the deep forest, lonely and remote, +Listen and answer to the hero's wail. + +Oh, for my phantasy's revealed first vision! +Oh, for the baring of the beautiful +Before me! Lo, the dusty, dark-brown land +Changes into a Nymph's isle lily-white! +The humble fisher lass upon the rock, +Into Calypso of the shining hair, love-born! +My heart, a traveller into a thousand +Lands, thirsting for one country, which is love! + +And lo, my soul is, ever since, a lyre +Of double strings that echoes with its sound +The harmony thrice ancient, curse or wail! +Joy of all time and glory, godlike Homer! + + + + +IDYL + + +Now when the tide has covered all the land, +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, +And the boat casts anchor at my threshold; +Now when I see, wherever I may glance, +The water's victory, the billow's glory, +And see the rising tide a ruling empress; +Now when a playful and good-minded flood +Closes about the houses, plants, and men +Fondly, in a soft-flowing, sweet embrace; +Now when the air, the planter of the tree +Of Health, raised by the great sea's breath, digs deep +Into the open breasts of living things; + +Now, I remember her, the little lass +Who had the sea's pure dew, and, like a wave +Resistless, surpassed the tide in vehemence. +Now I recall the little nimble lass, +Life's victory, blossoming youth's proud glory, +And joy's own throne. Now I remember her. + +Her face was like a cloudless early dawn; +Her hair like moonlight shimmering upon +The restless wave; her passing, like the flash +Of a swift fish that in the night swims by +Upon its silver path; her eyes were tinged +With the deep color of the sea beneath +Black clouds; her voice, the sound of a calm night +Upon the beach; her chiseled dimples twin +Upon her cheeks were overfilled with smiles +That Loves might drink from them to slake their thirst. + +Boy-like, she stepped on nimble foot and free, +Boldly and daringly with fearless look, +A child's soul dwelling in a woman's flesh. + +And when the high tide covered all the land, +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, +And when the boat cast anchor at my threshold, +Then from her home the little girl came forth +Half bare, half clad, robed in the robe of light +In a swift dancing flood that revelled full +Of water-lust and crowns of seething foam. + +She gave her orders to the sea; she ruled +The tide and forward drove the foaming waves, +Just as a shepherd lass, her white-clad sheep. +Her native country, first and last, the sea! +And whenever she passed, a Venus new +Seemed rising from the shining water's depths. + +The fisherman, a primitive world's breed, +The sum of Christian and of Satyr blood, +Returning from his fruitful fishing path, +Looked upon her as on an evil tempter +And on a sacred image; and his oars +Hung on his hands inert as palsy stricken, +And the swift-winging bark stood like a rock; +And, marble-like, the fisherman within +Gazed with religious trembling and desire, +Exclaiming as in trance: "O holy Virgin!" + + + + +AT THE WINDMILL + + +About the windmill, the old ruin, when +The smile of dawn shines in its rosy tinge, +The fisherboys now stir the silent air +With sudden ringing shouts and joyful plays; +And the light barks that, fastened, wait their coming, +Flutter impatiently like flapping wings +Of birds whose feet are bound. And all about, +The lake-like sea revels in shimmers white +Like a wide-open pearl shell on the beach. + +About the windmill, the old ruin, when +The noon's beams burn like red-hot iron bars, +A laden sleep draws with its heavy breath +All weary skippers and all mariners: +The harpoons creak not in the hand's hard clasp; +The fish alone stir in the realm of dew; +The calm lagoon about is all agleam, +A shield of silver, plaited with pure gold. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when +The sun is setting, decked in all his glory, +The boys go running, looking for pumice stones; +And lads and lasses, for sweet furtive glances; +And old men, lingering for memories. +Old age is calm, and youth considerate. +And the lagoon about, a purple glow, +A garden thickly planted with blue gentians. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when +The secret midnight glides by silently, +Sea Nereids, brought on the wings of air +From the sea caves of Fairies on their steeds +Of mist with manes of radiating light, +Sing songs, and bathe their diamond forms, and love, +While round about the princess-like lagoon +Wears as her royal robe the star-spun sky. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, ere +The smile of dawn shine with its rosy tinge, +The hosts of tyrant slayers mount from below +And kiss the earth war-nurtured and war-glad. +They raise again the ruin to a castle +With rifles singing back to victories; +And the lagoon is full of flashes swift, +Like a dark eye kindled with fiery wrath. + + + + +WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS + + +I have the sweetness of the lake and have +The bitterness of the great sea. But now, +Alas! my sweetness is a little drop; +My bitterness, a flood. For the cold winter, +The great corsair, has come with the north wind, +Death's king. My azure blood has slowly flowed +Out of my veins and gone to bring new life +To the deep seas. A shroud weed-woven wraps me. + +My little islands as my tombstones stand, +And yonder well-built weirs are like young trees +That droop above my grave bereft of water. + +But even so in the death's cold clasp, I hear +Within my breast a secret voiceless flutter +Like the young fish's flurry when, transfixed, +It is dragged by the spear out of the sea. +For I still dream of the sweet breath of love, +And wait for the hot summer's kiss and yours, +O angels of good tidings and new life, +Spring breezes, sources of my dreams and love! + + + + +PINKS + + +Fair pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul! +Brown is the fisherman, and brown the land +With the sea brine, the south wind, and the sun; +And round the brown land's neck, like necklace +Of coral, grow the pinks. Pinks of the gardens, +And pinks of the windows; pinks like crowns and stars; +Gifts good for any hand, and ornaments +For any breast. O flowers blossoming +In pleasant rows along the houses' stairs, +You sprinkle each man's path with fragrances; +And now and then, you bow, touched by the dress +Of the young girl who, breeze-like, passes by. + +Pinks full and pinks faint-colored; flowers that cause +No languor as the roses nor refresh, +Like jasmines, flesh and soul; but whose scent has +Something of the sharp breath of the lagoon, +Even when you are pale like fainting virgins, +And even when a world-destroying fire +Enflames your petals without burning you! + +Pinks, that display now your form's nakedness +Like children's bodies freshly bathed, and now +The varied ornaments of senseless dwarfs, +And now the purple of great emperors! +All the transporting music of the red, +Like that of many tuneful instruments, +Springs from your heart and knows no end, but plays +Before my eyes its lasting harmonies. +Sweet pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul! + + + + +RUINS + + +I turned back to the golden haunts of childhood, +And back on the white path of youth; I turned +To see the wonder palace built for me +Once by the holy hands of sacred Loves. + +The path was hidden by the thorny briars; +The golden haunts, burned by the midday sun; +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low; + +And now amidst the ruins and ashes, I +Am left alone and palsy-stricken; snakes +And lizards, pains and hatreds dwell now here +In constant loathful brotherhood with me. +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low! + + + + +PENELOPE + + +Wars distant, tempests wild, and foreign lands +Keep thy life-mate for years and years away; +Dangers and scornings threaten thee; and care +With guile and wrath gird thee, Penelope. + +About thee, enemies and revellers! +But thou wilt hear, and look, and wait for none +But him; and on thy loom thou weavest always +And then unweavest the thread of thy true love, +Penelope. + + Than Europe's goods and Asia's +Even a greater treasure is thy kiss; +Thy loom, much higher than a royal throne; +Thy brow an altar, O Penelope! + +Mortals and gods know only one more priceless +Than thine own loom, thy forehead, or thy kiss: +Thy mate, the king thou always longest for, +Penelope. Yet even though strange lands +Keep him away from thee, and distant wars, +And monstrous Scyllas, and the guileful Sirens, +Not even they can blot him from thy soul, +Him, thy thought's whitest light, Penelope! + + + + +A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS + + +To Lesbos' shores, where the year's seasons always +Sprinkle the field with flowers, and where glad +The rosy-footed Graces always play +With the young maidens, once the stream of Hebrus, +Hand-like, brought Orpheus' orphan lyre; and since +That time, our island is a sacred shrine +Of Harmony, and its wind's breath, a song! + +The soul Aeolian took up the lyre +Born upon Thracian lands, as foster child; +And on its golden strings the restless beatings +Of Sappho's and Erinna's flaming hearts +Were echoed burningly. + + And I, who fight +Always against blind mobs and tyrants deaf, +I, the pride of the chosen few, the stay +Of the great best, returning from exile, +A billow-tossed world-wanderer, did stir +The selfsame lyre with a new quill and breathed +Upon its strings a new heroic breath. + +Upon the love-adorned and verdant island, +Like a god's trident, now Alcaeus' quill +Wakens the storm of sounds, and angrily +He strikes with words that are like poisoned arrows +Direct and merciless against his foe, +Whether a Pittacus or Myrsilus. + +In vain did tender love reveal before me +On rose-beds Lycus, the young lad, with eyes +And hair coal-black, with rosy garlands bound, +And Sappho of the honeyed smile, the pure, +A muse among the muses, and the mother +Of a strange modesty. Love moved me not! + +I raised an altar to the war-god Ares; +And on my walls, I hung war ornaments, +Weapons exulting in the battle's roar. +I sang of the sword bound with ivory, +My brother's spoil from distant Babylon. +I saw my hapless country's ship tossed here +And there, and beaten by the giant waves +Of anarchy; and with my golden Lyre, +Whose voice is mightier than the wild fury +Of a tempestuous sea, I called on War, +The War who revels in men's blood, to come +As a destroyer or deliverer. + +And when the war did come in savage din, +Brought upon Lesbos by the might of Athens, +With heart exultant, I saluted him: +"Hail, war of glory!" + Yet, alas and thrice +Alas! Amidst the world of death and ruins, +Though eager warrior and heavy armed, +I felt the solid earth beneath me shake; +My vengefulness, fade into fleeting mist; +My breastplate, press on me like a nightmare; +And my white-crested helmet, like a tombstone! + +Confusion was my harbor; and I felt +In me Life's longing win the victory. +And while the nations twain, like maddened bulls +Goad-driven, rushed upon each other's death, +And stern Alecto spread about the flames +Of Tartarus, I saw before mine eyes +--O sight enchanting!--Lesbos' luring shores! + +Never before were they so beautiful +With love and verdant! There I gazed on Lycus, +The boy with eyes and hair coal-black that never +Before had touched my heart so powerfully. +And the Muse Sappho of the honeyed smile +Glittered before me, pure and violet crowned; +And her strange modesty bewitched my tongue +With power unwonted until then; and I, +The strong, silently feasted on her beauty! + +And while about the maddened Ares raged, +Reaper of men and vanquisher of rocks, +With my soul's eyes, I followed on the trail +Of the Lyre-God, who passed that way, returning +From the Hyperboreans' land. He passed +Aloft, crowned with a golden diadem, +Upon a chariot drawn by snow-white swans, +Towards his Delphic palaces, flower-decked, +With nightingales and April on his train. + +Oh, would that I might live to touch them! Would +That I might hold their charms in my embrace, +Those charms so sweet and guileful and divine! + +And at the thought--alas, and thrice alas!-- +I threw my trusted sword and shield away, +And fled, a shameful coward and a traitor! + + + + +FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN +1899 + + + + +_IMAGINATION_ + + +_Imagination, mistress, come! +Come thou leading master, mind! +And you, O tireless workers, come, +Water-Fairies of the Rhythm! +Come, and from Desire's great depths, +And from the Reason's lofty heights, +Bring, oh bring me lasting flowers +Wrought on marble and on gold! +Bring me words of splendid sound! +Build with them the palace high! +And within it raise aloft +The Sun's image all-transcending +Wrought of sunlight gleaming bright!_ + + + + +THE GODS + + +And the first-born man beheld +The sun rise in the east; +And from within his bosom lo, +A stream of music rose, +An answer sweet to the sun's light, +A music stream of hymns, +Countless words and countless praises +To the fountain of the day! +And--O miracle!--all hymns +And countless words and praises +Spread in waves from end to end! +And taking flesh in time, +They became great gods of light +And signs of harmony! + + + + +MY GOD + + +Wounded with the mighty love +Of my mistress Life, +I wander on, her loyal herald +And her worshipper. +To thy mystic suppers call +Me not, O Galilean, +Prophet of the misty dream, +Denier of things that are! +Crowned with lotus, show me not +Nirvana's senseless bliss! +Yet, do thou, O Sun, shine forth +About, within, above; +Shine upon my love and make +A world of the Earth planet! +Shine life-giving with thy light, +O my Sun and God! + + + + +HELEN + + _... She gave not me, but made a breathing image + Of the light air of heaven and gave that + To royal Priam's son! And yet he thought + That he had me--a vain imagining!..._ + + EURIPIDES, _Helen_, 33-36. + + +Helen am I! In the Sun's fountain +Have I taken birth! +I am the Sun-god's golden dream, +And unto him I go! +Not about me, but about +Mine image, which the gods +Had wrought, life's perfect counterfeit, +Recklessly gods and heroes +Plunged into war and war's destruction! +For the Cimmerian +Enchanter carried far away +As his own mate my shade +Thrice-beautiful, that rose to life +From Night's embrace in an +Enchanted land and hour. I am +The bride intangible, +Inviolable, beyond all reach! +Helen am I! + + + + +THE LYRE + + +I know a lyre that is as priceless +As a sacred amulet; +A spirit with a master hand +Made it and cast it here. +No mortal hand of skill or love +Or power rouses it, +Nor makes it answer to the touch +With sound or voice or sigh. +Even the wise and beautiful, +The northwind and the breeze +Cannot awaken the sweet lyre! +Only the Sun-god's beams, +They with one kiss alone can make +Its sun-enamored strings +Sing Siren-like! + + + + +GIANTS' SHADOWS + + +Like moanings of the sea, I hear +Voices ascend from darkness: +Are they the giants' shadows moving? +--Shadow, who art thou? Speak! +--I am the Telamonian! +And see, within me I +Close the whole sun that never sets +Though Hades yawn about; +Weep not for me! + --And thou beside him? +--The heart of Teutons' land +Brought me to life. A maker, I, +Maker sublime of worlds +Olympian, have even here +In Tartarus' dark realm +One longing for my heart, one thirst: +I long and thirst for light! + + + + +THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL + + +The chariot moves, drawn by wings +Of Cherub Spirits, on! +In Hell, the Holy Virgin gleams! +"Mercy, O sunlike Lady!" +The damnèd cry and beat their breasts +Amidst the flames that burn, +Fed by the great abyss. Among them, +A sudden proud complaint +Is heard: "A worshipper was I +Of the great Sun; was this +A cause for night to fetter me? +Tell me, O sunlike Lady! +The light of life I sucked, did that +Become the Hell's embrace +And Satan's kiss for me?" + + + + +SUNRISE + + +The white swans gently drag their boats +Of ivory; bright beams +Glimmer as through a veil of agate; +And coral-wrought, the crowns +Shine on fair locks like amber gleaming. +A pearl lake dreamlike lives +With water lilies studded. +Azure-browed Fairies revelling +Quaff wine of honey gold; +And mighty riders steal away +With brides thrice-beautiful. +But thou, an archer mightier, +Risest unmaking all +The multitudes of binding charms +With the one charm of light, +O God of wing-sped chariot! + + + + +DOUBLE SONG + + +The lithesome maiden stood thrice-fair, +Her eyes like gems agleam! +"I pour the crimson wine of love +In empty cups of gold!" +--"Maiden, I am the nestless bird; +Flowery boughs bar not +My way. Bound for bright suns magnetic, +I sail through darkness blind. +Seer am I and worshipper +Of all that is and lives! +I am the harp of thousand strings +Of countless sounds!" + --"Thou blind! +Seest thou not within mine eyes +The magnetism and glory +Of all the suns?" + + + + +THE SUN-BORN + + +On great Olympus, a feast of joy! +The gods divide the earth; +The light-bestower is away; +Forgotten he will be. +And the light-giver came and nodded +To the blue sea; and lo, +The sea was rent with fruitful heave! +And the Sun's island rose +With a thousand beauties crowned; +And makers lived upon the island, +Beings above all men; +And they made statues masterful, +All beautiful like gods +And living as immortals live! + + + + +ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE + + +The little house I built for thee +To dwell therein, enchanter, +Even that--to my care-bent grief-- +Becomes a heavy grave. +Yet, little soul of lily whiteness, +Spare me thy sad complaint; +For on the heights of paradise, +I wander longing and +I search. I search and wait for it. +And on the crossroads wide +Of the suns, I shall find a house +Snow-white that even eagles +High-flying never face; a house +That Visions great alone +May touch. Therein I shall enthrone thee! + + + + +THE STRANGER + + +When first the vaulting palm-leaves spread +Their shelter over thee, +The golden Cyclads danced about +With merry shouts and laughter. +But now,--O nakedness of plains +And mountains! Withering +Of green leaves everywhere! Thorns suck +The green blood of the vines! +No April looked on thee again; +And on the desert land, +The wars of elements and beasts +Rage furious. But thee +The snow-white swans bring back no more; +Thou art for ever guest +At the Hyperboreans' feast. + + + + +AN ORPHIC HYMN + + +Far from the footpaths of the thoughtless, +An Orphic priest and bard, +I bring to light again a hymn +Of a thrice-ancient cult. +For until now my thought flowed on, +A river under earth. +Amidst men's tumult my lyre's rhythm, +A sudden wonder rose. +At night I start, at night I climb +The mountain difficult; +I wish alone and first to greet +Light Apollonian +While among mortal men below +Darkness and sleep shall reign. + + + + +THE POET + + +Sun made the lily white, +The glory of the flowery earth; +Sun made the swan, which is +The lily of a life white-winged; +The eagle, whom he lures +Spell-bound to his great heights, +And the gold shimmer of the moon, +The lovers' loving comrade. +And then he dreamed a creature fuller +Of lilies, eagles, swans, and shimmers, +And made the poet. He +Alone beholds thee face to face, +O God; and he alone, +Reaching into thy heart, reveals +To us thy mysteries. + + + + +KRISHNA'S WORDS + + +I am the light within the sun, +The flush within the fire; +And on the page of the sacred book, +I am the mystic word. +The men of mighty deeds call me +Glory; the wise men, wisdom. +Of things existing and of truth, +I am the fountain head! +I am the life of all that is! +Beings and pearls are bound +Together with one thread; and that, +Is I! Maya alone, +The sorceress, behind me follows +Beguiling me. But I +Battle with her to victory! + + + + +THE TOWER OF THE SUN + + +Away beyond the world's far edge, +And where the heavens end, +The tower of the sun shines bright +Dazzling the mortal's mind. +Once mighty princes, sons of kings, +Went on a chase most wonderful, +And stopped at the Sun's tower. +And the Sun came, the dragon star, +The giant merciless! +Woe unto him who lingers there +By the far heavens' end! +And the Sun came; and with his spell, +He turned them into stones, +The princely hunters, sons of kings! + +No azure field, no streak of green, +No shadow, and no breath! +Only a death of light and lightning +Glitters about and gleams! +And in the tower, in and out, +As if by masters set, +A world of statues voiceless stand, +The offsprings of great kings. +And from their deep and smothered eyes, +Something like living glance +Struggles to peep through its stone veil! +It seems the stone-bound princes +Wait for a sail, long lingering, +From the world's shores away. + +And thou, O princess beautiful, +Camest from far away, +A fair Redeemer! The Sun's tower +Gleamed forth as if the light +Of a new Dawn embraced its walls. +Thou knowest where Life's Fountain +Flows, and thou searchest silently, +With steps that slowly move +Towards the fountain tower-guarded where +Life's water flows. And lo, +Taming the watchful dragon's fangs, +Thou drawest from the fountain +Where the sweet water of Life flows on; +And sprinkling them with it, +Thou wakest up the sons of kings! +And on thy homeward trail, +Thou shinest with transcending gleam, +Like a far greater Sun! + + + + +A MOURNING SONG + + +No! Death cannot have taken thee! +In the sweet hour of love, +The Sun-god lifted thee away, +O child of sunlike beauty! +He took thee to his palaces +To fill thee with his love, +A love that lives in light and is +An endless glittering! +Flowers with light-born fragrances +And fruits as sweet as light, +The Sun will pluck for thee; and he +Will bathe thee in a stream +Flooded with light. And clad +In a white robe of light, my child, +Thou wilt come back to me, +Riding on a star-crowned deer! + + + + +PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN + + +Each time the dawn reveals thy face, +Each time the darkness hides thee, +Before the eyes of all the world, +In crimson red thou shinest, +Father and God blood-revelling! +A bath in blood immortalizes +Thine unfathomed beauty! +Blood feeds and veils thee, Father +And God blood-revelling! +To quench thy thirst, we offer thee +Our only children's lives; +And if their blood fills not thy thirst, +We spread for thee a sea +Of all the blood of our own heart! + + + + +THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN + + +Where temples sounded with hosannas, +Stones lie dumb in crumbling ruins; +And forgetfulness has swept +Dreams and phantoms once called gods. +Even you are gone, O myths, +Golden makers of the thought, +Gone beyond return! +In the empty Infinite, +Blind laws drive in multitudes +Flaming worlds of endless depths. +And yet neither gold-haired Phoebus, +Who is dead, nor yet the sun, +Who now lives a world-abyss, +None, God or law, upon this earth +Could save us or will ever save +Either from the claws of love +Or from the teeth of death! + + + + +MOLOCH + + +Barbarians defile the land +Where the Greek race was born! +And where the loves flew garlanded, +Night-bats roam to and fro! +And in our night, as a glowworm, +The ancients' memory +Sends forth its greenish counterfeit +Of light! It is a night +That our undying sun cannot +Dispel with its bright beams! +From depths and heights, barbarians +Suck soul and fatherland! +And when with a low moan thrice-deep, +We ask thee, Grecian God, +"Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?" +Grimly thou answerest, +"Moloch, am I!" + + + + +ALL THE STARS + + +When I first looked with wonderment +On thee, O Muse of Light, +The morning star upon thy brow +Shone with bright glittering. +And I said: "More of light I need!" +And as I looked again +On thee, O Muse of Light, the moon +Shone brightly on thy brow. +And "More!" I said and looked again: +And saw the sun agleam! +But still insatiate I am, +And wait to look on thee +When on thy brow, O Muse of Light, +The star-spun sky shall shine! + + + + +ARROWS + + +Thou earnest, Phoebus, lower down +From pure Olympus' heights +Towards the land where idle men +And sluggards worthless dwell; +And on thy lyre thou playedst, Fountain +Of flowing harmonies! +The deaf made answer with their sneers! +The blind, with scornful laughter! +And then to rid the world of filth +And purify the air, +Thou threwest away thine angry lyre; +And turning archer, thou, +With fiery arrows smotest all +The flocks of fools away! + + + + +VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE +1900 + + + + +_THE BEGINNING_ + + +_A wedding guest, I travel far abroad! +The bride, thrice beautiful; the groom, a wizard; +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast. +The land is far, and I must travel on; +An endless path before me leads away, +But till I reach the end, I check the ardor +Of my swift-footed stallion silver-shod, +And wisely shorten my way's weary length +With sounds that, like sweet longings, wake in me, +Old sounds familiar, low-whispering +Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows. +Then flowers pour their fragrances for me; +And blossoms with no scent have their own speech, +The speech of voiceless eyes that open wide; +Unconsciously I speak my words in rimes +That with uncommon measure echo forth +The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses +That the waves squander on the sandy beach, +And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!_ + + + + +THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK + + +Upon the graceless river bank that spread +Barren and desert, all things drooped in sickness; +And I, with palsy stricken, lay in pains! +Vainly my hands shook feather-like with fever; +Methought my feet were nailed upon the ground; +The river, wide and wild; and far beyond, +As far as eyes could see, the other bank +Revelled in lusty growth and endless mirth +With leafy slopes and forests glistening! +Meadows unreaped and glades untrod were there, +And floods of green and tempests of new blossoms! +About the tree-tops glittered crowns of light; +Shadows thrice-deep hid mysteries divine; +And all descended blindly to the bank +Where the wild river's anger held them back, +Seeking, it seemed, a ford to come across +To the dark bank of wilderness and torture! + +And toward me all seemed to stretch their hands, +Sending me shameless kisses as I lay +Parched by the burning wind and worn with fever. +Nearby a sun-dried reed poured forth its sighs; +And farther, a small laurel stirred its leaves: +The double treasure of my wilderness. + +I wished to cut a flute from the dry reed +And wished a crown of laurel; but I lay +Nailed down immovable as if the rod +Of an enchantress evil-born had touched me; +And within me, with wings of impotence, +My wounded mind fluttered on hopelessly! + +And then thou camest girt with working garb; +With girdle flower-spun, with apron full +Of fruits, didst thou bend over me. The spell +Thou didst dispel and gavest me to eat +And cleansedst me with myrrh; and suddenly, +A soul divine and merciful came down +On the bank merciless; and in thine arms +Lifting me gently, thou didst go forth +Amidst a moaning as of humming bees. +Thou stoodst on the threshold of the peasant hut, +The hut that was earth-built and filled with grass +As if the art of a small bird had wrought it. + +Thou didst lay me upon a bed at dusk +That I might rest; and mingled with sweet care +And innocence, thou didst lean by my side +With body ripe and beautiful. Wert thou +A lover, mother, sister, or a woman? +Thou didst lay on my brow thy hand to lull me; +And in thy thoughtful face, I saw the gleam +Of kindly Nausica and good Rebecca. + +I slept and woke; even my sorrow's ogress +Had turned into a fairy sweetly sad! +And in my hands I found both, laurel bough +And reed! I drank the fragrant morning breath +Of pines; and taking up the laurel boughs, +I wove with master hand the whole day long +All kinds of laurel crowns for thee; and then +I poured into the unaccustomed air +Of thy small hut a flute's soft-flown complaint. + +But from my bed, I lifted up mine eyes +To the window's light and saw again, alas, +The desert river bank, and, far beyond, +The world that squandered diamonds and pearls +And revelled in its joy of green dew-clad. +Again they nodded secretly at me, +Stretching their hands and feigning love! +And even near thee, palsy struck I was, +The paralytic on the river bank! + + + + +THE SIMPLE SONG + + +Thou camest far away from lands beyond! +Thou wert not a gold sunlit cloud at sunset +But mother of a honeyed tenderness +That until then lay hidden in my mind's +Tenderest shrine; the golden seal of a +Young maiden's joy stamped with its touch! +The evening star thou wert not; but thou wert +The sister of a simple love that lay +Hidden till then in my heart's inner depths. + +Before me thou didst not unfold the spaces +Of the blue skies; not didst thou lift mine eyes +Towards the rough-hewn peak; nor didst thou open +To me the way for distant palaces; +Nor didst thou lead me by a secret path +Untrod. But lifting with one hand the basket, +Gently thou heldest with the other mine; +And leading me to sit by ferns dew-clad +And deep green grass and snow-white flowers, thou +Badest me stoop and gather; and I stooped +And gathered all my hands could reach: wall-flowers, +Hyacinths, violets, and daffodils; +And found beside them a May day anew. + +Over their petals newly reaped and fresh +That made the basket seem a cruel spring, +I bent and wept for their deaths swift and fair; +And lo, thou didst face them, a Life agleam! + + + + +THREE KISSES + + +A Dream flew down and stood before mine eyes-- +Who knows from what unknown deep-hidden nest? +It took the face of my own secret love +And blew me with its hands three airy kisses: + +The first air-kiss spread in my breast the din +Of bitter and sweet life in waves of air; +And the world's music sounded manifold, +A tempest's roar and a sweet breath's caress. + +The second air-kiss whispered low to me +All whisperings that Silence stoops to sing +Over bare wilderness and tombs and ruins, +Songs that no soul nor even wind can hear. + +The third air-kiss would bring to me, it seemed, +Secrets from somewhere heard by none before. +Perhaps, by some bright star, two spirits white +Embraced each other as they passed in thought. + + + + +ISMENE + + _To N.G. Polites, her father._ + + +Where is the little girl and beautiful +Who drew the milk of a full life and precious? +She filled her home with fragrance, and away +She sailed to anchor in another land. + +She filled her home with fragrance, and on wings +Swiftly she fled and passed away. Who knows +Why she has left the flesh? Perhaps, she went +Among the mystic joys of things unseen +And things intangible to be herself +Something new, something beyond compare or word. + +And yet her house is wrapped in spider webs +And longs for her. To her warm nest, will she +Return? Perhaps, each time you feel, O home, +Within your bosom something sweet and tender +That cannot be explained, it may be she; +Who knows? Then speak to her and say: "Do you, +Too, long for me, O soul without return?" + + + + +THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN + + +Who are you that awake me in the morning? +Not the reveille that sweetens with its sounds +The soldier's hardy life. Nor can you be +The chapel bell that slowly rings to prayer. + + * * * * * + +Your steps fall heavy on the road. You bring +Thought, light, and sound, my sacred Trinity. +What if you rouse the slave who goes to work? +What if you call the prodigal to sleep? + + * * * * * + +Not many were the flowers; and few, the lilies; +And I did long to reap the lily-treasure. +I eyed the lilies all, and walked into +The garden rich to clasp them in mine arms. + + * * * * * + +And in the garden, all the roses smiled; +Under their veils, the violets bowed down. +I passed them by. The pansies looked erect +And scentless, wrapped in thought: by them, I stopped. + +Sweet child, upon thy tomb, a rosebud blossomed; +The hand would reach at it, but it cannot. +And on its path the wind would blow on it; +But ere he light, it dies into a kiss. + + * * * * * + +Like church lights shine the blossoms in the light; +And butterflies are drunk with airy fragrance; +Yet neither for fragrance nor for light, I come +Into the quiet garden as before. + + * * * * * + +I come to see the children beautiful, +Running and playing, full of beaming smiles, +Children that make of grassy beds a heaven +And rise like miracles among the flowers. + + * * * * * + +The brows of righteous men pass slow before me, +Clouds calm and wide, full of refreshing rain; +And from the lightless depths of hell, methinks +I hear breast-beatings and dark blasphemies. +And suddenly, I mingle speech with rime, +The rime that above human things and woes, +Like the Platonic Diotima, rises +A prophetess upon a path sublime +Towards worlds of thought and earth-transcending loves. + + * * * * * + +Whatever be thy substance, O bright gleam, +Iron or stone, silver or wind, air-cloud +Or dream, my longing is the same for thee! +Within me thought and hands and art and science +Struggle to build together the same temple. +Maternal Rhea treasures in her breast +All marbles: purple, green, and white. I searched +And found them in your care, Taygetus +Snake-like, and Cyclads fair, and Attica. +And now the columns stand a forest speechless +And motionless; and among them, the rhythms +And thoughts move in slow measures constantly. +And in their depths, light-written images +Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him. + + * * * * * + +The axe and hammer of the priest black-robed +Struck down the holy idols of the temples; +And yet the soul of the ruins perished not! +It climbed the heaven's spaces as a star +Until new sculptured lilies came to life +In master minds, the gardens of the wise. +Thus axe and hammer of the priest black-robed +Broke not the holy idols of the temples! + + * * * * * + +Sweet child, upon thy tomb a rosebud blossomed; +Is it thy joy or grief? Thy heart or thou? +If mind, remember me! If mouth, speak forth! +"I am the movement of the motionless, +The lightning flushing from the source of nothing!" + + * * * * * + +Thy cup is foaming with its black strong wine; +Bring to our fountain thy white-foaming cup, +And brighten into red thy black strong wine +With the fresh water of our fountain here. + + * * * * * + +I have a thought of dew; a heart of flame! +The wine vat boils; the spring flows fresh and cool; +And I did mingle in my chiseled cup +The black strong wine with the sweet water dew. + +A hundred years! A hundred years are gone +Of Grecian mornings and of Grecian sunsets! +Make them a coffin wide, O carpenter, +And bury them, the hapless dead, in silence! + + * * * * * + +A hundred dragons watch a queen black-robed, +A widowed orphan queen in a lone castle; +And they dig up the scattered fragments of +An ancient and exhaustless treasure, once +Her own, and bring them as their gifts to her! +"I need no fragments! May the hour be cursed +And you, dragons, who hold me prisoner! +I dream of her, the living perfect land +Where I was queen! While here, I am a slave!" + + * * * * * + +Loud-crying birds that fly toward the heights, +White swans, and swans that cut so tenderly +The silent waters of the lake in thoughts +Of silent sorrow, tameless birds and weary! +O swans that dream the conquest of the sun, +And swans that wait the coming of deep sleep! + +Within me lies a far and secret kingdom +Where I can see lake-swans and winds like you! + + * * * * * + +My banished life has found a home near thee; +And by thy grace, I am thy priest, O Phoebus! +And taking from thy bright divinity, +I made the sun-born maiden to thy glory! +I lifted to thine image my loud praises, +And lo, bells hoarse and tuneless answered them. +Yet what of it? Thine endless praise I am, +And paeans follow on my dithyrambs! + + + + +TO A MAIDEN WHO DIED + + +O little life, quenched by the blow of death +Amidst the tender dreams of rosy dawn, +I cannot lift thee into deathlessness +Upon the chiseled glitter of the marble! + +I am a humble bard; and thou, a music +Silenced, whose strains my memory cannot +Recall. Yet with a deeper bond my soul +Thou bindest, O breath unpainted and unsung. + +Like a far dawn, thou smiledst in my mind, +A dawn most sweet and shy and fleeting. Then +One day, over my child's pure head thou bentest +With face abloom with smiles and fond caresses. + +And something amber-like remained in me +From thee, though thou didst pass; and in the evening +Which in me rises slowly, the dream fairy +Of the azure tales looks with thy face on me. + + + + +TO THE SINNER + + +Sinner, thy mother gave thee not the milk +That makes the cheek a rose, the man a castle! +Each nursing was a sin; each drop, a sickness! +Within thee, ancient lives revive thrice-wretched. + +Vices of ancestors unknown and instincts +Of beastly fathers, ever travelling, +Before they rose to light, thus to become +Like smiles and fields of azure blue, came down +To dwell in thee, a people of tormentors! + +And one day, sinner, thine own mother gave +To thee the wonder-working holy image +To carry it to the sacred festival +Of the illumined church with open gates +Calling upon its throngs of worshippers. + +And on thy way, the luring harlot watched +And stripped thee of thy mind; and as thy hands +Struggled to clasp her, down the image fell, +The sacred image, in the ditch's filth! + +And forthwith even there, the plague began +To visit thee! And crumbling down, thou didst +Begin to groan and tremble nearer death +Than the dead corpse on which the ravens feed! +And Satan crouching upon thee rejoices! + +And seeing it, thou strugglest painfully, +Stretchest thy hands towards the ditch's filth, +And darest a prayer to the saint defiled, +Though still enflamed by thirst for the vile kiss! + + + + +A TALK WITH THE FLOWERS + + +Upon my passing, slow or swift, by you +I lingered not, nor stooped to pluck you, flowers! +I saw you as a vision skyward roaming, +And I adored you just as thought and sky! +My hand reached not to touch you sinfully, +My flowers! For what is most beautiful +Is also most remote. You were for me +The music that the wind brings on its wings +In perfect strains directly to the heart. +I wished your dazzling could remain as that +Of castles barred and inaccessible. +From far thy fragrance came to me, O jasmine; +And thy gleam, lily, like the eyes' light-kisses! + +But since my darling child lay down to sleep +The bitter sleep that knows no wakening, +I am the cruel reaper always bending +Above you, gathering you one by one, +And ever binding you in royal garlands, +And ever weaving you into rich robes +For him! I wish to play new plays with him, +And spread you over him as mine embrace! +I wish to raise him as a flower garden +Breathing into his grave the flower soul +Of an immortal April. Oh, I wish ... +Weak though I am, would all earth's verdancy +Were a long dream and kiss for my beloved! +Would that whatever is beyond man's touch, +Air-born, transcending earth, or fleeting, all +That has a sunbeam as its heart, a breeze as body, +Fair vision, thought, or heaven--would that I +Could close them into forms and scatter them +Upon his flower-clad grave with you, sweet flowers! + +In my paternal love, pure white, the flames +Of passion burn; and then, the yellow languor +Of a sick man! Thus did I love him, flowers! +His father though they called me, I was his lover! + +O flowers, did you know it? Was your life, +So pure and little, ever touched by such +A woe? Does not a quenchless longing stir you +As you grow on the selfsame flower bough? + +The body of my child, sent up from depths +Unfathomed of a secret Fate unhoped, +Was an epiphany of the fair bride, +The bride undreamable, intangible +Of a god's dream! Was he of mine own blood? +I never thought whether he was to live, +Grow, or advance in thought and deed; I was +Drunk with his luring wine, his eyes, his face, +His gait! The breath of blest Makaria +Had blown on him! The stranger's song revolved +Before my mind: "Thou little line so fine, +Written with roses, line that wert his mouth, +How dost thou give birth to that mighty trembling?"[22] + +How often when he turned away his lips +So beautiful in careless weariness +From mine embrace, I felt the torturings +Of a disease and drank the bitter draughts +Of jealousy! How often, when he lay +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently, +I thought I held the graspless image of +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it? +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship, +With love's uneasy little tremblings? + +Of jealousy! How often, when he lay +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently, +I thought I held the graspless image of +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it? +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship, +With love's uneasy little tremblings? + + Oh, +The bitterest and saddest blows, the blows +That know no healing on this earth of ours, +Come from our dearest! Thus he fled and left me +A bitterness beyond all sorrow's pangs, +O little flowers, flowers of dark death! + + + + +TO MY WIFE + + +Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed +In the cool shade of the fresh green grape-vine; +And here the mystic moon, entwined in green, +Descended like a first-seen ghost on us. + +Here the two fountains of desire refreshed +Our years: the one, before our eyes; the others, +In dreams. The fair Muse silenced here care's crickets +And stirred the sacred frenzy of the lyre. + +Here we enjoyed our first-born's flutterings; +And here the little gleaming face and round, +Our second fruit, maddened us with pure joy! +As the unhoped return of a longed friend, +Here we received one day into our bosom +The transitory child beyond compare, +The third one, who transformed the worldly air +About us into flowing wine for gods, +An offering unto the gleaming light +Of high Olympus, dwelling of the blessed! + +Here was thy youth, even when care oppressed thee, +A fair Venetian painting, the blithe work +Of a light-beaming Titian, that revealed +Pure shining joy in thy lithe body's form. + +Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed, +Hidden in the cool shade of the green vine. +Now, nothing remains. Only the mystic moon +Weeps in a palace voiceless, wide, and gloomy! + +The life that died here wished for April as +Grave-digger, and a flower-bed as grave. +Oh, who had cursed it? Nothing but a tomb +Was found for it! A tomb unfit and graceless! + + + + +THE ANSWER + + +Take me and hear me, Hamadryads fair, +And Aegipans, Wood-Nymphs, and shepherd gods! +The bridal beds are set! The forest glades, +In flurry! The Flower Festival has come! +The bacchic revelry bursts forth in glow +And frenzy! Where is nature and where is +Its end? I know not whether I am myself; +Great Pan, it seems, dwells in my bosom here. + +O wonder! I do live the holy life +And wild of purest nature's elements! +O God of the golden crown, the three fair Graces +And the Nine Sisters of the Song gave me +The gift of tranquil visions beautiful! +I filled me with the foam-begotten beauty +Of all! I hear the nightingales' sweet song +In answer to the song of Sophocles! +The woes of Aeschylus resound prophetic, +Ocean-born! Face to face with me, as swift +As glance, green-clad Atlantides rise forth +From the abyss and sink in it again. + +Phoenicians battling with the sea brought me +From far away; I am the reveller +World-wandering! Arts, talks, and images +Are bristling in the air! Take me, O Nymphs +Into your bosom! Satyrs, hear my words! + +Yet Satyrs, Centaurs, Hamadryad Nymphs, +And golden-spoken Hellades at once +Made answer to my pleading with one voice +From cities, mountains, forests, cliffs, and plains: + +"Gods' wine is not for thee, O reveller!" + +And the lithe Tanagraean maiden spoke +With awe-inspiring prophetess Cassandra, +Ivy-crowned Maenads, Gods Olympian, +And the song-nourished Hellades; they spoke +From the far cave of fair Calypso to +The wisdom-haunted Alexandria: + +"Silence! Pale monk and idle chatterer! +Silence! Turn back to thy lone cloister cell." + +And the Pindaric heroes laugh in scorn +With the white goddesses of marble wrought +By Scopas' hand; laugh, and their laughter-peals +Are echoed loud and deep from far away! + + + + +THOUGHT + + +More than the godlike gleams of sculptured stone, +More than the golden rhythms the poet weaves, +Who knows if a good act unknown, some wound's +Balsam, shines not with brighter lasting beams? + +Who knows if for some god's unfailing ear, +The dogged sin and filthy vice are not +A thrice-wise and tempestuous harmony +Of melodies sung by Virtue's lips serene? + +Bright shine the temples of Fair Art; bright shine +The rainbows heavenly of Thought; and bright, +The chariots of warriors triumphant! +Yet in the temple of the Universe, +Can they be costlier than the mute Thought +And Glory of the flower, at whose birth +The dawn rejoices and whose early death +The saddened evening silently laments? + +The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates +Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx; +Yet who knows if the soldier with no will, +Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth? + +O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures +The measureless and creates the great? +Is it the matchless thought of the endowed, +Or the dim soul of multitudes that bursts, +Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows? + +The holy man lifts up his hand to bless +With readiness; yet who needs more such blessing? +Is it the free-born bird that makes its nest +Wherever its strong wings would waft it, or +The flowery plant bound by a bit of earth? + +Which is the light of Truth? Is it the Law +That is all eyes or is it some blind love? +What leads us there? The hidden path where bent +And trembling we seek our way, or the wide road +That makes us fly with wingèd confidence? + +O Thought, thou dream-crowned maiden, ever wrestling +With a blood-filled, swift woman masculine, +Whose bosom, thine or hers, is doomed to yield +The destined milk to nourish and to heal +Our sickened life with health Olympian? + +O Thought, thou angel, ever wrestling on +With a strong giant flinging his hundred hands +About thy neck to strangle thee, wilt thou +Battle with sword or lily? Oh, the world +Will crumble ere thy struggle finds an end! + + + + +THE SINNER + + +O hapless one, when thou wert born, there came +The Fate thrice-blessed and clasped thee in her arms +To bless thee with a hero's mighty deeds +And wrap thee in the purple of a king, +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might. + +Yet there, the other Fate, the bitch of ruin +Unspoken and of voiceless death, kept watch; +And she led thee away from the blue shore +With lilies sown, to the salt marsh of terror +And the sheer precipice of fearful trembling! + +Nor could thy baby hands grasp more than this, +A cheerless tatter from the sacred veil +Of thy good mother Fate, the veil embroidered +With the star-spangled sky by master hand! + +O hapless One, while virgin joy bathes thee +Abundant and thy tears are yet a baby's, +Something within thee groans, the muffled madness +Of fettered murderers, the madness of +Lone cells. And while thou showest the calm life +Of tame things and of love in thy still nook, +Thou breedest fettered wraths and bridled hatreds. +Should they burst forth, ruin and wilderness +Would reign. + O hapless One, the greenest spots +Even of thy existence are but full +Of pitfalls opened wide and yawning void! +No dawning was thy lot; even those boughs +Young of thine early years were parched with drought! +Whatever white thou touchedst was defiled! +And thine old age, if thou couldst bare thy youth, +Would shriek with fear and fly from thy youth's face! + +A sneering power or a grace divine +Mercilessly nailed down thy hands and will, +O cowardly, decrepit, idle man, +Infirm and hapless, starless night enclosed +In a weak child! Death will not come to thee +As to the toiling laborer who toils +The whole day long, and towards evening, sleep, +Even before he lies, in bed to rest, +Creeps sweetly upon him and seals his eyes. + +Thy death shall be laden with graspless horror +Such as one feels who sinned in secrecy +And dreads each hour detection of his sin, +Trial, death sentence, and the hangman's rope. + +O hapless One, would that in thy death struggle +Her bosom might still shine before thine eyes, +The good Fate's breast, who blessed thy birth with goodness, +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might! +Would that thou couldst show her the humble shred +Torn from the star-wrought sacred veil of hers +And tell her: "See, in the deep darkness smiles +Something, a dawn on which I still hold fast!" + +O hapless One! Would that the mighty heroes +And royal purples and the blessings full +Of light and might and all thou knewest not +In thy dark empty life could shine upon +Thy passing as the lights of distant stars! + + + + +THE END + + +A wedding guest, I travel far abroad! +The bride, thrice-beautiful; the groom, a wizard; +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast. +The land is far, and I must travel on; +An endless path before me leads away. + +And the far land a vision was! The steed, +A smoke! The wedding, angels' shadows fleet! +While I,--O cruel wakening!--lie down +For ever palsy-stricken and bed-ridden! + +And only you, old tunes familiar, +I hold. I hold you as a dying darling child, +Languid and glowing with the fever's heat, +Holds on to his dear plaything, with white wings +New-grown for his long journey, even I, +The child unskilled, dream-roaming, stript of will! + +Old tunes familiar, waft me upon +Your shining wings for healing or for death +To the cool shadow of the pure-white home +And lay me gently on a loving bosom. + + + + +THE PALM TREE + + TO DOSINES, WHO HEARD IT FIRST. + + + + +THE PALM TREE + + +_Once in a garden about a palm tree's shade, some blue flowers, here +very dark and there very light, talked with each other. A poet who now +is dead, passed by; and he put their talk into these rhythms:_ + +O Palm Tree, someone's hand has cast us here; +Was it the hand led by a cursed Fate, +Or moved by mind of good intent? Who knows? +What impulse seized us from the cave of sleep +Below to bring us to the surface here? +Is it a savior's or destroyer's power +That sets us motionless beneath thy shade? +And is thy shade the shade of life or death? + + * * * * * + +The glare of the hot sun drowned everything; +Gluttonous locusts groped for food about; +And then, a rain. The flowers, that had drooped +To sleep, awake to drink the drops of dew. +And then, the clear sky's festival begins +More azure than before to spread above thee. + +Only thy trembling crest drops here and there +Some large and shining rain-pearls on the earth. + + * * * * * + +The garden glitters with a new-born life; +And each bird dreams it is a nightingale; +Only from thy lone heights like bullets fall +Thy pearl-clear drops, and oh, the pain thereof! +The dew drops make a crown for everything; +The gurgling waters are a balm to all; +Why should this god-sent goodness of all things +Be blow for us and suffering and flame? + + * * * * * + +How cruelly thy bullets fall and smite! +No ear above and not an eye before us! +Beneath thy shade we live; thy trunk is world +To us; thy crown, a star-spun sky, our sky! +If thou art a god merciless, reveal +Thyself! If not, but nod and give us calm! +Either cease slaying us one by one, or pour +On us at once a flood to drown us all! + +Our pain is as reward and treasure found! +The golden seal of harmony has stamped us, +And while Death touches us, we glory, victors! +We tremble; hail O rhythm's thrice-sacred tremor! +A worm may live sunless beneath the earth +That a new butterfly of silken wings +May live an hour of perfect life and die. +The wound's gash turns into a living fountain! + + * * * * * + +Things gray, things crystal, myriad hues of green, +Gushings of fountains clear, and caterpillars, +Earth's things immovable, air-sailing ships, +And little worms, and bees, and butterflies, +Sweet flower-grails and censers, fondling grass, +The moss-down's countless kisses, echoes from +Below, and mandolins ethereal, +Leaves quivering and lilies languor-bringing! + + * * * * * + +The turtle-doves know not what you know, blossoms, +The chosen things of beautiful loves, you! +Kisses and starts and wooings of the boughs! +The birth of each of you is a world's dawn! +You know, O little tearful short-lived things, +You know pleasure's and joy's eternities! +We, the gold garlands wreathed about thy root, +Are like celestial and thoughtful eyes! + + * * * * * + +Blithe flowers, boughs that hang with blossoms full, +From dandelions to the chamaemele, +You may be like the glowing coals or gems, +Or like a maiden's rosy cheeks and lips. +Though you, like hands, may open full or empty, +And though you be dawn's smiles or evening's candles, +Or the fair palaces of Fairy Dew, +The gazing eyes are we! We are the eyes! + + * * * * * + +Though small we are, a great world hides in us; +And in us clouds of care and dales of grief +You may descry; the sky's tranquility; +The heaving of the sea about the ships +At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks; +And something else inexplicable. Oh, +What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it? +One, damnèd, and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought! + + * * * * * + +Frolick, and form, and wanton playfulness, +And some unspoken radiant vanity, +And some enrapturing bewitching charm, +And perfect virgin beauty are your own! +Fading like gods' pale images, you seem! +Even the bird sometimes bows to your grace! +And Nereids wind-footed fan your faces, +O roses with a thousand smiles divine! + + * * * * * + +A god commanded it, the flower-haired April! +"O flowing fragrance, change to brilliancy!" +Thus you are scentless, roses of Bengal; +All others' perfume is bright light in you. +And thou, O lily, king among the flowers, +From what far world hast thou been led astray? +Was it from fragrance's own womb, or from +The whitest star? And we, O Palm? Who knows! + +River ethereal of fragrance, stay! +Thou hast not flowed nor watered us at birth. +We said to fragrance: "Cease thy flowing course; +Well not from us; nor be our breath! Sink deep +Into our heart's recesses; close thyself +Regardless of thy perfume in our soul! +Then seek to find our thought and live with it +And flow from it as honey from the bee!" + + * * * * * + +"Bring forth from the rich treasures of the sun +All colors, flowers, and deck yourselves with them!" +We said unto our little brothers: "Make +Robes of the heaven's rainbow for your raiment!" +And to ourselves we said: "Soul, I +Shall let aside all brilliance! I need not +Sunset or dawn; enough would be something +Of the great sea and of the heaven's smile!" + + * * * * * + +Become a cloud, O great Desire, and speak +With lightnings and with thunders! Rise, a lark, +And sing and soar towards a new starry garden! +Turn all thy flooding music into love, +Mingle with it all children's innocence +And all the beauty that is thine; still thou +Wilt have love's shadow only but not love. +For love shines, burns, illumines quenchlessly! + + * * * * * + +The garden draws life from a triple soul, +A soul that spreads creeping upon the earth +With roots beneath and wings above. A city, +The caterpillar builds in its great depths; +The bird builds love towards heights ethereal! +About all green things live to be thy slaves +And trimming ornaments, O palm! How high +Skyward thou raisest thy grace-moulded body! + + * * * * * + +No ivy limits and no offshoot mars +Thy trunk's unchained and chiseled nakedness; +And yet, though naked, with a charm dream-wrought +Thou coverest the alleys of the garden. +And as an emblem of thy reign, a crown +Of beams pearl-born and silver-born shines bright +As it hangs trembling from thy top, O palm. +Oh what a rhythm governs thy form divine! + + * * * * * + +So beautiful is not the cypress young +As it waves towards the sky, moved by the breeze! +So beautiful is not the mossy fountain +That sings like bard and nourishes like mother! +So beautiful is not sunrise or sunset! +Another world's day hangs from thy high crest! +So beautiful is not the tranquil lake! +Gods and their hymns god-sung are at thy feet! + + * * * * * + +Neither an angel's shade in a hermit's cave, +Nor harmony's voice in Night's deep silence, +Nor the great maker's thought just as it dawns +In his wide-fronted heaven, and is still +A maiden dream unyoked before it finds +A dwelling in the form of word or music, +Color or marble! None of these is like +Thine image caught and mirrored in our thought! + +Is it transparent and immortal blood +That flows in thee, or sap too weak to wake thee +From thy long spell of blind and voiceless sleep +Into a crystal life's fair revelry? +Is thy head's crown another's counterfeit, +Or thine own locks that smitten by the wind +Become stringed lyres to sing in murmurs sweet +Of the world's symphony and of thy beauty? + + * * * * * + +Neither thy boughs nor locks they are, but wings +That thou wouldst ply with gentle flutterings! +Wings? They are not, though they become; and ever +A hunger tortures thee, and ever thou +Strugglest to enter a sublimer world! +Right, left, high, far, thou seekest a fair city, +Some sunlit Athens, and standest bent on flying +With swans and cranes towards the azure heavens. + + * * * * * + +Art thou a relic of a dead age and great, +Or the first dew of a becoming life? +Now some Wood Nymph bound within thee peeps out +Struggling to flow into the light about; +And now thou risest like the column last +Of an old temple that once stood in Hellas. +Evening or morning, end or a beginning, +Something binds thee to skies beyond all sight. + + * * * * * + +Hosannas from thy boughs and palm leaves flow, +Hosannas from thy royal height, as prayer +To some unknown god's charms, who passes by +Revealing his fair godhead first to thee. +And lo, the hillsides answer thine hosannas! +Oh, what thy visions, what thy secrets are? +Some tremor, from new heavens wafted, makes +The supple flowers and green leaves quiver. + + * * * * * + +And we? The migrant bird did come to us; +The passing wind did touch us with its wing; +The restless brook did check its rapid course; +The child did cast on us his guileless glance; +The jonquil proud did greet us with a nod; +And the moon did look down to see us here; +And all beheld our surface; none our depths! +Thus the world glided over us and vanished! + + * * * * * + +Sweet orange blossoms, what asked the nightingales? +What would the dry cicala know of noontide? +All things that groan from the great depths of earth, +All songs that mount exultant to the stars, +The eating moth's faint voice, the restless cricket's, +Perfumes and breezes, creatures lone and mated, +All things that fly and creep and bend and stoop, +Something they know of thee and hide it from us. + + * * * * * + +Within our breasts, a soul of storm and pitch +Puts into our minds evil thoughts of thee. +The magpie chatters long to the night bat +Of thee; the locust boasts she is like thee; +The wasp draws ample pleasure in thy shelter; +And the night raven finds delight in thee. +A world of evil and of scorn lies wait +For thee who mountest tranquil to the stars. + +O Health blown from the heart of the pure pine! +Where thy feet tread, fruits grow 'midst thorns and clover; +If with the streams thou flowest, the elements +Shine; for pure wine, thou reapest the fair clusters; +And where thou lingerest, a city rises! +Thy breasts flow ever with milk; thy lips with dew! +O mother fruitful, strong, and whole, some ill +Rots us and we are pale like death's faint tapers! + + * * * * * + +Boughs, tresses, wings; shadows whose grace divine +Frolics and spreads as bough or tress or wing; +Another night, you took another form +In the enchanted pitiless moonlight, +A form that was neither bough, tress, nor wing: +Swords you seemed, ready to descend and smite! +Night's roaming butterfly, be merciful! +Lift us upon thy wings and fly away! + + * * * * * + +Illness and wakefulness have tortured us, +O palm, and we saw thee bend secretly! +The dragon's heads and dogwoods were awake; +We saw thee leading a strange dance with them +At night; and in our first sleep, we beheld thee +A heavy dream roaming with mulleins and +Chameleons; about thee closed whole gardens +Of thistles, aloes hard, and hosts of briars! + + * * * * * + +We dreamed and lo, thou wert demanding tribute +Of life, blood-drenched; and in thy being raged +A savage hunger; and some beast flesh-eating +Nestled in thee and gnawed a hole through thee; +And thy winged body turned into a cave; +A vulture perched as crown upon thy head; +And like fire-flames, and sea-waves, and sword-blades, +From root to top, fierce snakes crept up and coiled! + + * * * * * + +Who ever thought of it? What Fate has ruled +That from ill-smelling things and worthless stuff +Should rise things of resplendent green? and from +Deforming filth, the thrice-pure miracle +Of May and April? Hence things blue and black +Mingle in us; and in our souls, spread oceans +And narrow paths; and while our minds converse +With things sublime, something thrice-base defiles us! + + * * * * * + +O Sun, assail and strangle all black dreams, +Our life's dim vapors and ill-working demons! +But nourish all things good and beautiful +Like sunbeams playing and like nightingales! +And thou, O moon, spread over savage Night +A veil translucent of heart-felt sympathy! +Wave everywhere, O Beauty's purple robe! +Let the great world be love and love's sweet lyre! + + * * * * * + +Day comes! Light scatters a thousand eyes on thee +So that thou mayest greet the woods and mountains, +The nests upon the trees, the palaces +Of cities, and the ships on open seas +Or ports. At nights, mounted on steeds of light +Beautiful Fairies come from high to serve thee; +The poplar lifts its many hands to thee; +And the dark cypresses lull thee to sleep. + +With pelicans and eagles thou conversest, +And drop by drop thou drinkest the world's music; +Thou seest things far, things near, and things above; +Things infinite, intangible, and great; +And thou communest with air-sailing ships, +Light-rays, and wings, and the world-mounting ladder; +While we, bent low, and lashed by sorrow's whip, +Listen to the great throbbing of Earth's heart! + + * * * * * + +We heard it, the great throbbing of Earth's heart, +The new song inconceivable, unheard, +Of consummate and perfect sound! +Through it, some thunder-stricken angel groans; +All April's gardens breathe in fragrant balms; +Some unfulfilled and secret longings weep; +And a fire crackles that will ruin worlds! +Something that passes by, an endless riddle! + + * * * * * + +Tell thou the sunlit story of the air; +We shall unroll to you the tale of blackness. +Come, let us mingle the two elements, +Thy mighty power with our own winning grace! +In unseen places, small and cold and sunless, +A world of workers and of corsairs dwell; +And there are paths and deeds of theirs, and days, +And what the infinite air-spheres have not! + + * * * * * + +A swarm of bees has told us of their life, +And a new youth and wise shone unto us! +The grass hides unsuspected miracles; +Beside us, the ant opens a deep path; +A lizard, slowly creeping from below, +Brought us here news of countries, nations, arts; +A butterfly on her swift flight to wed +The little flowers broadened our world of thought! + + * * * * * + +Unwedded, fruitless Palm, fair mystery! +Strange was the hour--who will believe it now?-- +The divine world willed to become a thought, +And thought revealed itself unto our mind! +Now, unto darkness and to riddles new, +Our little life is ready to depart! +O Palm, make answer; lo, before thou speakest +Thy word sublime, a hand lays wait to smite! + + * * * * * + +O Palm, a hand did spread to sow us here; +That hand will spread again to root us out, +And we shall die! The billow and the wind +And the still waters will sweep us away +Mercilessly! The flowery spring will not +Lament us! The wide world will never know +We perished! And beneath thy shadow's charms, +Another fragrant race will rise to life. + + * * * * * + +Nor will there be a monument for us +That might retain the phantom of our passing! +Only about thee will a robe of light +Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam: +And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime! +And in the eyes of an astonished world, +Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star; +Yet neither thou nor others will know of us! + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + + [1] This essay is republished, with a few changes, from _Poet Lore_, + vol. xxviii, no. 1, pp. 78-104. + + [2] My translation of it originally appeared in the _Stratford + Journal_, from which I quote it in its entirety. + + [3] Tigrane Yergate, _op. cit._, p. 710. + + [4] Jean Moréas, _Voyage de Grèce_, 1898. + + [5] On Patras, the birth-place of the poet. See Introduction, p. 13. + + [6] On Missolonghi, the place of the poet's childhood. See + Introduction, p. 15. + + [7] On the Island of Corfu, one of the most important centers of the + literary renaissance of modern Greece. + + [8] Iacobos Polylas, 1826-98, translator of the _Odyssey_ and of parts + of the _Iliad_, and an important figure in the struggle for the + vernacular. He has also translated some of Shakespeare's plays. + + [9] Dionysios Solomos, born in Zante, 1748, died in Corfu, 1857. He is + the first great poet of modern Greece. He has written lyrics in + Italian and in Greek. Several of his songs have spread as folk + songs throughout the Greek world. He is mainly known as the poet of + the modern Greek national hymn to Liberty. + +[10] Gerasimos Markoras, born in Cephalonia, 1826, died in Corfu, 1911, + a lyric and epic poet. His poem "Oath" was inspired by the Cretan + struggle for freedom. + +[11] On Egypt, whence the first lights of civilization dawned on Greece. + +[12] On Mt. Athos, the Holy Mountain of the modern Greeks, inhabited by + about ten thousand monks. Although called by its hermits "the + virgin's garden" no female creature is allowed to enter its ground. + +[13] Panselenus, a famous Byzantine painter, who is believed to be the + author of some of the Madonnas and Christs found in the monasteries + of the mountain. + +[14] On classic Greece, in contrast with the following sonnet which + refers to the spirit of Greece throughout the ages, from the + classic period to the time of the Byzantine Empire. + +[15] The Islands of the Ionian Sea. + +[16] The hero of medieval Greece, Digenes Akritas, who is supposed to + have lived on the slopes of the Taurus mountains in Asia Minor and + to have fought against the invading Saracens. There are a great + number of folk-songs about him not only in Greek but in Turkish, + Bulgarian, Serbian, and Albanian as well. + +[17] The word, meaning "blessed one," is here applied to ideal womanhood + and must not be confused with Makaria of p. 103, the mythical + Theban princess. + +[18] The translator of Homer and Shakespeare. See notes 8 and 9, p. 80. + +[19] A pseudonym for Constantine Chatzopoulos, one of the leading + literary figures in Athens to-day. He has written poems under this + pseudonym. But he is now mainly known as a master of short stories + which he has published under his real name, and as the translator + of Göthe's _Faust_ and of Hofmannsthal's _Electra_. This poem + dedicated to him was written during the unfortunate Greco-Turkish + war of 1897. + +[20] Maviles was born in Ithaca, 1860, and fell in the battle of + Driscos, November 29, 1912. He is the writer of exquisite sonnets + and the successful translator of various foreign poems. The + Cretan Revolution of 1896 is here alluded to, which led to the + Greco-Turkish war of 1897. Maviles was one of the first to hasten + to Crete to help in the struggle for liberty. + +[21] Alexandros Pallis is one of the greatest literary figures of + contemporary Greece, who, like Psicharis, has lived mostly far from + Greece. He is a poet, a critic, and a satirist. But his fame is + mainly due to his translation of the _Iliad_ and that of the _New + Testament_. The publication of the latter caused the student riots + of 1901. + +[22] The poet had in mind the following lines of Sully Prudhomme from + his _Stances et Poèmes_, L'âme: + + Tous les corps offrent des contours, + Mais d'ou vienne la forme qui touche? + Comment fais-tu les grands amours, + Petite ligne de la bouche? + + + + +PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS +CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U.S.A. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life Immovable, by Kostes Palamas + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24191-8.txt or 24191-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/1/9/24191/ + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Life Immovable + First Part + +Author: Kostes Palamas + +Translator: Aristides E. Phoutrides + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [EBook #24191] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div><h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES</h3> + +<p class="noindent">Punctuation, spelling and obvious printer's errors have been corrected. +Footnotes from the original text have been collated at the end of this +e-book and references to them have been amended according to the new +footnote numbering used in this e-book.</p></div> + + + + + +<div id="frontispiece" class="new_page"> +<img src="./images/001.jpg" alt="Kostes Palamas" /> +</div> + + +<div id="title_page" class="new_page"><h1>KOSTES PALAMAS</h1> + +<h1>LIFE IMMOVABLE<br /><br /> +<i>FIRST PART</i></h1> + + +<p>TRANSLATED BY ARISTIDES E. PHOUTRIDES</p> + + +<p>WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR</p> + + +<p>CAMBRIDGE<br /> +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS<br /> +1919</p></div> + + + + +<div id="copyright" class="new_page">COPYRIGHT, 1919<br /> +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS</div> + + + + +<div id="dedication_page" class="new_page"><p class="noindent">TO MRS. EVELETH WINSLOW</p> + +<p class="noindent">THIS VOLUME OF TRANSLATIONS IS DEDICATED<br /> AS A TOKEN OF HER +APPRECIATION<br /> OF THE POET'S WORK</p></div> + + + + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>The translations contained in the present volume were undertaken since +the beginning of the great war when communication with Greece and +access to my sources of information were always difficult and at times +impossible. In hastening to present them to the English speaking +public before discussing them with the poet himself and my friends in +Athens, I am only yielding to the urgent requests of friends on both +sides of the Atlantic who have regarded my delay with justifiable +impatience. I am thoroughly conscious of the shortcomings that were +bound to result from the above difficulties and from the interruption +caused by my two years' service in the American army; and were it not +for the encouragement and loyal assistance of those interested in my +work it would have been impossible for me to bring it at all before +the public. My earnest effort has been to be as faithful to the poet +as possible, and for this reason I have not attempted to render rime, +a dangerous obstacle to a natural expression of the poet's thought and +diction. But I hope that the critics will judge my work as that of a +mere pioneer. I know there is value in the theme; and if this value is +made sufficiently evident to arouse the interest of poetry lovers in +the achievements of contemporary Greece I shall have reaped my best +reward.</p> + +<p>I wish to express my thanks to Dr. Christos N. Lambrakis of Athens +for the information which he has always been willing to furnish me +regarding various dark points in the work translated; to Mrs. Eveleth +Winslow of Washington for many valuable suggestions and criticisms; +and above all to Professor Clifford H. Moore of Harvard University +for the interest he has shown in the work and the readiness with which +he has found time in the midst of his duties to take charge of my +manuscript in my absence and to assist in seeing it through the press.</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="right"><span class="small_caps">Aristides E. Phoutrides.</span></p> + +<p class="left"><span class="small_caps">Washington</span>, D.C.</p> +<p>July 7, 1919.</p> +</div> + + + + + +<div id="contents_page" class="new_page"><h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<h3><a href="#part_introduction">INTRODUCTION</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#kostes_palamas_a_new_world_poet">Kostes Palamas, a New World-Poet</a></li> + <li><a href="#life_immovable_first_part">Life Immovable, First Part</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_translations">TRANSLATIONS</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#life_immovable_introductory_poem">Life Immovable,—Introductory Poem</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_fatherlands">FATHERLANDS</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#fatherlands_i_xii">Fatherlands, I-XII</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_sonnets">The Sonnets</a></li> + <li><a href="#epiphany">Epiphany</a></li> + <li><a href="#makaria">Makaria</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_market_place">The Market Place</a></li> + <li><a href="#loves">Loves</a></li> + <li><a href="#when_polylas_died">When Polylas Died</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_petros_basilikos">To Petros Basilikos</a></li> + <li><a href="#soldier_and_maker">Soldier and Maker</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_athena_relief">The Athena Relief</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_huntress_relief">The Huntress Relief</a></li> + <li><a href="#a_fathers_song">A Father's Song</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_the_poet_l_maviles">To the Poet L. Maviles</a></li> + <li><a href="#imagination_fatherlands">Imagination</a></li> + <li><a href="#makarias_death">Makaria's Death</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_pallis_for_his_iliad">To Pallis for his "Iliad"</a></li> + <li><a href="#hail_to_the_rime">Hail to the Rime</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_the_return">THE RETURN</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#dedication">Dedication</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_temple">The Temple</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_hut">The Hut</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_ring">The Ring</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_cord_grass_festival">The Cord Grass Festival</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_fairy">The Fairy</a></li> + <li><a href="#out_in_the_open_light">Out in the Open Light</a></li> + <li><a href="#first_love">First Love</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_madman">The Madman</a></li> + <li><a href="#our_home">Our Home</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_dead">The Dead</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_comrade">The Comrade</a></li> + <li><a href="#rhapsody">Rhapsody</a></li> + <li><a href="#idyl">Idyl</a></li> + <li><a href="#at_the_windmill">At the Windmill</a></li> + <li><a href="#what_the_lagoon_says">What the Lagoon Says</a></li> + <li><a href="#pinks">Pinks</a></li> + <li><a href="#ruins">Ruins</a></li> + <li><a href="#penelope">Penelope</a></li> + <li><a href="#a_new_ode_by_the_old_alcaeus">A New Ode by the Old Alcaeus</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_fragments_from_the_song_to_the_sun">FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#imagination_fragments">Imagination</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_gods">The Gods</a></li> + <li><a href="#my_god">My God</a></li> + <li><a href="#helen">Helen</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_lyre">The Lyre</a></li> + <li><a href="#giants_shadows">Giants' Shadows</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_holy_virgin_in_hell">The Holy Virgin in Hell</a></li> + <li><a href="#sunrise">Sunrise</a></li> + <li><a href="#double_song">Double Song</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_sun_born">The Sun-Born</a></li> + <li><a href="#on_the_heights_of_paradise">On the Heights of Paradise</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_stranger">The Stranger</a></li> + <li><a href="#an_orphic_hymn">An Orphic Hymn</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_poet">The Poet</a></li> + <li><a href="#krishnas_words">Krishna's Words</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_tower_of_the_sun">The Tower of the Sun</a></li> + <li><a href="#a_mourning_song">A Mourning Song</a></li> + <li><a href="#prayer_of_the_first_born_men">Prayer of the First-Born Men</a></li> + <li><a href="#thought_of_the_last_born_men">Thought of the Last-Born Men</a></li> + <li><a href="#moloch">Moloch</a></li> + <li><a href="#all_the_stars">All the Stars</a></li> + <li><a href="#arrows">Arrows</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_verses_of_a_familiar_tune">VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#the_beginning">The Beginning</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_paralytic_on_the_rivers_bank">The Paralytic on the River's Bank</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_simple_song">The Simple Song</a></li> + <li><a href="#three_kisses">Three Kisses</a></li> + <li><a href="#ismene">Ismene</a></li> + <li><a href="#thoughts_of_early_dawn">Thoughts of Early Dawn</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_a_maiden_who_died">To a Maiden Who Died</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_the_sinner">To the Sinner</a></li> + <li><a href="#a_talk_with_the_flowers">A Talk with the Flowers</a></li> + <li><a href="#to_my_wife">To My Wife</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_answer">The Answer</a></li> + <li><a href="#thought">Thought</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_sinner">The Sinner</a></li> + <li><a href="#the_end">The End</a></li> +</ul> + +<h3><a href="#part_the_palm_tree">THE PALM TREE</a></h3> +<ul> + <li><a href="#the_palm_tree">The Palm Tree</a></li> +</ul></div> + + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_introduction">INTRODUCTION</a></h1></div> + + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="kostes_palamas_a_new_world_poet">KOSTES PALAMAS</a><a href="#footnote_01" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_01">[1]</a><br /><br /> + +A NEW WORLD-POET</h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>And then I saw that I am the poet, surely a poet among many + a mere soldier of the verse, but always the poet who desires + to close within his verse the longings and questionings of the + universal man, and the cares and fanaticism of the citizen. I + may not be a worthy citizen; but it cannot be that I am the + poet of myself alone. I am the poet of my age and of my race. + And what I hold within me cannot be divided from the world + without.</i></p> + + <p class="right"><span class="small_caps">Kostes Palamas</span>, Preface to <i>The Twelve Words of the Gypsy</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>Kostes Palamas ... is raised not only above other poets of + Modern Greece but above all the poets of contemporary Europe. + Though he is not the most known ... he is incontestably the + greatest.</i></p> + + <p class="right"><span class="small_caps">Eugène Clement</span>, <i>Revue des Études Grecques</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>I<br /> +THE STRUGGLE</h3> + +<p>Kostes Palamas! A name I hated once with all the sincerity of a young +and blind enthusiast as the name of a traitor. This is no exaggeration. +I was a student in the third class of an Athenian Gymnasion in 1901, +when the Gospel Riots stained with blood the streets of Athens. The +cause of the riots was a translation of the New Testament into the +people's tongue by Alexandros Pallis, one of the great leaders of the +literary renaissance of Modern Greece. The translation appeared in +series in the daily newspaper <i>Akropolis</i>. The students of the +University, animated by the fiery speeches of one of their Professors, +George Mistriotes, the bulwark of the unreconcilable Purists, who would +model the modern language of Greece after the ancient, regarded this +translation as a treacherous profanation both of the sacred text and of +the national speech. The demotikists, branded under the name of [Greek: +Malliaroi] "the hairy ones," were thought even by serious people to be +national traitors, the creators of a mysterious propaganda seeking to +crush the aspirations of the Greek people by showing that their language +was not the ancient Greek language and that they were not the heirs of +Ancient Greece.</p> + +<p>Three names among the "Hairy Ones" were the object of universal +detestation: John Psicharis, the well known Greek Professor in Paris, +the author of many works and of the first complete Grammar of the +people's idiom; Alexandros Pallis, the translator of the Iliad and of +the New Testament; and Kostes Palamas, secretary of the University of +Athens, the poet of this "anti-nationalistic" faction. Against them the +bitterest invectives were cast. The University students and, with them, +masses of people who joined without understanding the issue, paraded +uncontrollable through the streets of Athens, broke down the +establishment of the <i>Akropolis</i>, in which Pallis' vulgate version +appeared, and demanded in all earnestness of the Metropolitan that he +should renew the medieval measure of excommunication against all +followers of the "Hairy Ones."</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the head of the Greek Church in Athens saved the +Institution which he represented from an indelible shame by resisting +the popular cries to the end. But the rioters became so violent that +arms had to be used against them, resulting in the death of eight +students and the wounding of about sixty others. This was utilized by +politicians opposing the government: fiery speeches denouncing the +measures adopted were heard in Parliament; the victims were eulogized as +great martyrs of a sacred cause; and popular feeling ran so high that +the Cabinet had to resign and the Metropolitan was forced to abdicate +and die an exile in a monastery on the Island of Salamis. It was then +that I first imbibed hatred against the "Hairy Ones" and Palamas.</p> + +<p>About two years later, I had entered the University of Athens when +another riot was started by the students after another fiery speech +delivered by our puristic hero, Professor Mistriotes, against the +performance of Aeschylus' <i>Oresteia</i> at the Royal Theatre in a popular +translation made by Mr. Soteriades and considered too vulgar for +puristic ears. This time, too, the riot was quelled, but not until one +innocent passer-by had been killed. I am ashamed to confess that on that +occasion I was actually among the rioters. It was the day after the riot +that I first saw Palamas himself. He was standing before one of the side +entrances to the University building when my companion showed him to me +with a hateful sneer:</p> + +<p>"Look at him!"</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"The worst of them all, Palamas!"</p> + +<p>I paused for a moment to have a full view of this notorious criminal. +Rather short and compact in frame, he stood with eyes directed towards +the sunlight streaming on the marble covered ground of the yard. He held +a cane with both his hands and seemed to be thinking. Once or twice he +glanced at the wall as if he were reading something, but again he turned +towards the sunlight with an expression of sorrow on his face. There was +nothing conspicuous about him, nothing aggressive. His rather pale face, +furrowed brow, and meditative attitude were marks of a quiet, retiring, +modest man. Do traitors then look so human? From the end of the +colonnade, I watched him carefully until he turned away and entered the +building. Then I followed him and walked up to the same entrance; on the +wall, an inscription was scratched in heavy pencil strokes:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>"Down with Palamas! the bought one! the traitor!"</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At last my humanity was aroused, and the first rays of sympathy began to +dispel my hatred. That remorseless inscription could not be true of this +man, I thought, and I hurried to the library to read some of his work +for the first time that I might form an opinion about him myself. +Unfortunately, the verses on which I happened to come were too deep for +my intellect, and I had not the patience to read them twice. I was so +absolutely sure of the power of my mind that I ascribed my lack of +understanding to the poet. Then his poems were so different from the +easy, rhythmic, oratorical verses on which I had been brought up. In +Palamas, I missed those pleasant trivialities which attract a boy's mind +in poetry. One thing, however, was clear to me even then. Dark and +unintelligible though his poems appeared, they were certainly full of a +deep, passionate feeling, a feeling that haunted my thoughts long after +I had closed his book in despair. From that day, I condescended to think +of him as of a sincere follower of a wrong cause, as of a sheep that had +been led astray.</p> + +<p>Years went by. I was no more in Greece. I had come to another country, +where a new language, a new history, a new literature opened before me. +Here, at last, I began to assume a reasonable attitude towards the +question of the language of my old country, and here first I could read +Palamas with understanding. Gradually, his greatness began to dawn on +me, and, finally, my admiration for him had grown so much that when on +April, 1914, I reached Greece as a travelling fellow from Harvard +University, I had decided to concentrate my studies during the five +months I was planning to spend there upon him and his work. With his +work, I did spend many long and pleasant hours. But him I visited only +once. The man from whom I had once shrunk as from a monster of evil, now +I shunned for fear I had not yet learned to admire in accordance with +his greatness. Owing to the urgent demand of an old classmate, Dr. Ch. +N. Lambrakis, who knew the poet, I went to see him one April afternoon +in his office at the University with my friend and fellow traveller, Mr. +Francis P. Farquhar. Mr. Palamas was sitting at his official desk; but +as soon as we entered he rose to receive us and then sat modestly in the +corner of a sofa. He had changed very little in appearance since the +time of the riots, and the more I looked at him the more I recognized +the very same image which I had kept in my mind from the first encounter +I had with him in the University colonnade ten years before. Perhaps, +the furrows of his brow had now become deeper; the white hairs, more +numerous. His eyes were still the same fiery eyes penetrating wherever +they lit beneath the surface of things and often turning away from the +present into the world of thought. His hands moved quietly; his voice +was clear and sonant; his words were few and polite. Unassuming in his +manner, he seemed more eager to receive knowledge than to talk about +himself and his work. He asked us questions about America and its +literary life: Is Poe read and appreciated? Is Walt Whitman still +popular? He admired them both; he had a great craving for the new; and +to read things about America fascinated him. When we rose to leave, we +realized that we had been doing the talking, but on both of us the +personality of the man, reserved and unobstrusive though he was, had +made a deep and lasting impression.</p> + +<p>This was the only visit I had with him. But I saw him more than once +walk in the streets of Athens and among the plane trees of Zappeion by +the banks of Ilissus, or sitting alone at a table of some unfrequented +coffeehouse, always far from the crowd. It was only after I had returned +to America that I wrote to him for permission to translate some of his +works. The answer came laden with the same modesty which is so prominent +a characteristic of the man. He is afraid I am exaggerating the value of +his work, and he calls himself a mere laborer of the verse. Certainly he +has been a faithful laborer for a cause which a generation ago seemed +hopeless. But through his faith and power, he has snatched the crown of +victory from the hands of Time, and he may now be acclaimed as a new +World-Poet.</p> + +<p>"The poetic work of Kostes Palamas," says Eugène Clement, a French +critic, in a recent article on the poet, "presents itself today with an +imposing greatness. Without speaking about his early collections, in +which already a talent of singular power is revealed, we may say that +the four or five volumes of verse, which he has published during the +last ten years raise him beyond comparison not only above all poets of +Modern Greece but above all poets of contemporary Europe. Though he is +not the most famous—owing to his overshadowing modesty and to the +language he writes, which is little read beyond the borders of +Hellenism—<i>he is incontestably the greatest</i>. The breadth of his views +on the world and on humanity, on the history and soul of his race, in +short, on all problems that agitate modern thought, places him in the +first rank among those who have had the gift to clothe the philosophic +idea in the sumptuous mantle of poetry. On the other hand, the vigor and +richness of his imagination, the penetrating warmth of his feeling, the +exquisite perfection of his art, and his gifted style manifest in him a +poetic temperament of an exceptional fulness that was bound to give +birth to great masterpieces."</p> + + +<h3>II<br /> +LIFE INFLUENCES</h3> + +<h4><a id="Patras">Patras</a></h4> + +<p>Kostes Palamas was born in Patras sixty years ago. Patras is one of the +most ancient towns in Greece, known even in mythical times as Aroe, the +seat of King Eumelus, "rich in flocks." It became especially prominent +after the reign of Augustus as a centre of commerce and industry. Its +factories of silk were renowned in Byzantine times, and its commanding +position attracted the Crusaders and the Venetians as a military base +for the conquest of the Peloponnesus. The citadel walls that crown the +hill, on the slopes of which the modern city descends amphitheatrically +into the sea, are remnants of Venetian fortifications. In the history of +Modern Greece, it is a hallowed spot; for it was here that on April 4, +1821, the standard of the War of Liberation was first raised before a +band of warriors kneeling before the altar of Hagia Laura, while +Germanos, the archbishop of the city, prayed for the success of their +arms. The view which the city commands over the sapphire spaces of the +Corinthian Gulf and the purple shadows of the mountains rising from its +waters in all directions are superb, and the sunsets, that evening after +evening revel in colors there, are among the most magnificent in Greece. +A beauty worthy of life dwells over the vine-clad hills, while the +mountain kings that rise about are hoary with age and fame. The eye +wanders from the purple-laden cliffs of Kylene to the opal mantles of +the sea and from the peaks of Parnassus to the lofty range of Kiona. +This is the background of one of Palamas' "Hundred Voices," a collection +of short lyrics in the volume entitled <i>Life Immovable</i>:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Far glimmered the sea, and the harvest darkened the threshing + floors;<br /> + I cared not for the harvest and looked not on the threshing floors;<br /> + For I stood on the end of the sea, and thee I beheld from afar,<br /> + O white, ethereal Liakoura, waiting that from thy midst<br /> + Parnassus, the ancient, shine forth and the Nine Fair Sisters of + Song.<br /> + Yet, what if the fate of Parnassus is changed? What if the Nine Fair + Sisters are gone?<br /> + Thou standest still, O Liakoura, young and for ever one,<br /> + O thou Muse of a future Rhythm and a Beauty still to be born.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To his birth place, the poet dedicates one of his collection of sonnets +entitled "Fatherlands" and contained in the same volume. It is the first +of the series:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Where with its many ships the harbor moans,<br /> + The land spreads beaten by the billows wild,<br /> + Remembering not even as a dream<br /> + Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth.</p> + + <p>The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich;<br /> + And on her brow, an aged crown she wears,<br /> + A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks,<br /> + Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might.</p> + + <p>O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch;<br /> + And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far<br /> + Aloft with midland Zygos at his side.</p> + + <p>Here I first opened to the day mine eyes;<br /> + And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born,<br /> + An image faint, half-vanished, fair—a mother.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h4><a id="Missolonghi">Missolonghi</a></h4> + +<p>But in Patras, the child did not stay long. His early home seems to have +been broken up by the death of his mother, and we find him next in +Missolonghi, another glorious spot in the history of Modern Greece. It +does not pride itself on its antiquity. It developed late in the Middle +Ages from a fishing hamlet colonized by people who were attracted by the +abundance of fish in the lagoon separating the town from the sea. This +lagoon lies across the Corinthian Gulf to the northwest of Patras, +hardly an hour's sail from it. Its shallow waters, which can be +traversed only by small flat-bottomed dories propelled with poles, +extend between the mouths of the Phidaris and the Acheloös, and are +studded with small islets just emerging above the face of the lagoon and +covered with rushes. Two of these islets, Vassiladi and Kleisova, +attained great fame by the heroic resistance of their garrisons against +the forces of Kioutachi and Imbrahim, Pashas in the War of Liberation. +The town itself is a shrine of patriotism for modern Greeks. For from +1822 to 1826, with its humble walls hardly stronger than fences, it +sustained the attacks of very superior forces, and its ground was +hallowed by the blood of many national heroes. Just outside its walls +lies the "Heroes' Garden" or "Heroön," where under the shadows of +eucalyptus and cypress trees, Marcos Bozzaris, Mavromichalis, the +philhellene General Coreman, and Lord Byron's heart are buried. It was +during the second siege that Byron died here in the midst of his noble +efforts for the freedom of Greece. The fall of the city brought about by +famine is the most glorious defeat in the history of the Greek +Revolution. The garrison of three thousand soldiers with six thousand +unarmed persons including women and children, unwilling to surrender, +attempted to break through the Turkish lines. But only one-sixth managed +to escape. The rest were driven back and mercilessly cut down by their +pursuers. Many took refuge in the powder magazines of the city and +waited until the Turks drew up in great numbers; then they set fire to +the powder and blew up friends and foes alike. The second sonnet of +Palamas' "Fatherlands" is devoted to this lagoon city:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Upon the lake, the island-studded, where<br /> + The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs<br /> + The seashore strewn with seaweed far away,<br /> + The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan.</p> + + <p>'Tis there the northwind battles mightily<br /> + Upon the southwind; and the high tide on<br /> + The low; and far into the main's abyss<br /> + The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking.</p> + + <p>There stands Varassova, the triple-headed;<br /> + And from her heights, a lady from her tower,<br /> + The moon bends o'er the waters lying still.</p> + + <p>But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's,<br /> + Not even there I knew; but only sorrow<br /> + And, what is now a fire—the spirit's spark.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here then, "the spirit's spark" was first kindled, and here, in the city +of his ancestors, the poet was born. The swampy meadows overgrown with +rushes and surrounded with violet mountains, the city with its narrow +crooked streets and low-roofed houses, the lagoon with its still shallow +waters and modest islets, the life of townsmen and peasants with their +humbles occupations, passions, and legends, above all, the picturesque +distinctness of this somewhat isolated place, secluded, as it seems, in +an atmosphere laden with national lore—these were the incentives which +stirred Palamas in his quest of song. They have stamped their image on +all his work, but their most distinct reflection is found in <i>The +Lagoon's Regrets</i>, which is filled with memories of the poet's early +life in a world he always remembers with affection:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Imagination flies to hells and stars,<br /> + A witch beguiling, an enchantress strange;<br /> + But ours the Heart remains and binds both life<br /> + And love with the native soil, nor seems to die.</p> + + <p>Peaks, depths, I sought Eurydice of old:<br /> + "What longing moans within me now, new-born?<br /> + Would that I were a fisherman at work,<br /> + Waking thy sleeping waters with my oar,<br /> + O Missolonghi!"</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Humble but natural in feeling is the appeal to a friend of his childhood +days:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>The peasant's huts in Midfield<br /> + For us, old friend, are waiting:<br /> + Come as of old to eat<br /> + The fresh-made cheese, and taste<br /> + The hard-made loaf of cornbread.</p> + + <p>Come, and drink the milk drawn pure;<br /> + And filled with dew and gladness,<br /> + Stir up the hunger of the youth<br /> + Beside you, buxom lasses.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here, too, he sings of the "crystal salt that is drawn snow-white from +the lake"; of the rain "that always weeps" and of the conquering tides. +Here he listens to the whispers of the waves while they murmur with each +other with restrained pride; and here over Byron's grave he dreams of +the great poet of Greece, who will come to ride on Byron's winged horse. +The poems of this collection are short but exquisitely wrought in verse +and language, full of life and of feeling. They are especially marked +with Palamas' attachment to the little and humble, which he loves to +raise into music and rhythm, and for which he always has sympathy and +even admiration.</p> + + +<h4>Athens, the Violet-Crowned</h4> + +<p>Missolonghi nurtured the poet in his youth and led him to the threshold +of manhood. But when he had graduated from the provincial "gymnasion," +he naturally came to Athens in order to complete his education in the +University of that city, the only University in Greece. This brought him +to the place which was destined to develop his greatness to its zenith. +The quiet, retired, and humble life of the Lagoon with its air filled +with legend was suddenly exchanged for the shining rocks of Attica and +its great city, flooded with dazzling light and roofed with a sky that +keeps its azure even in the midst of night. Life here is full, restless, +and tumultuous as in the days of Athens of old. The violet shadows of +the mountains enclosing the silver olive groves of the white plain are +still the makers of the violet crown of Athens.</p> + +<p>The poet in one of his "Hundred Voices" pictures a clear Attic afternoon +in February:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Even in the winter's heart, the almonds are ablossom!<br /> + And lo, the angry month is gay with sunshine laughter,<br /> + While to this beauty round about a crown you weave,<br /> + O naked rocks and painted mountain slopes of Athens.</p> + + <p>Even the snow on Parnes seems like fields in bloom;<br /> + A timid greenish glow caresses like a dream<br /> + The Heights of Corydallus; white Pentele smiles upon<br /> + The Sacred Rock of Pallas; and old Hymettus stoops<br /> + To listen to the love-song of Phaleron's sea.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is its scanty vegetation that makes the southwestern region of Attica +look like a mountain lake of light. The nakedness of the mountain ranges +and the whiteness of the plains are vaulted over by a brilliant sky and +surrounded by a sea of a splendid sapphire glow. Even the olive trees, +which still grace the fields about Athens are bunches of silver rather +than of green. In "The Satyr, or the Naked Song," taken from the volume +of <i>Town and Wilderness</i> we may detect the very spirit which, springing +from the same soil thousands of years ago, created the song which +gradually rose from primitive sensuousness to the heights of the Greek +Tragedy:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>All about us naked!<br /> + All is naked here!<br /> + Mountains, fields, and heavens wide!<br /> + The day reigns uncontrolled;<br /> + The world, transparent; and pellucid<br /> + The thrice-deep palaces.<br /> + Eyes, fill yourselves with light<br /> + And ye, O Lyres, with rhythm!</p> + + <p>Here, the trees are stains<br /> + Out of tune and rare;<br /> + The world is wine unmixed;<br /> + And nakedness, a mistress.<br /> + Here, the shade is but a dream;<br /> + And even on the night's dim lips<br /> + A golden laughter dawns!</p> + + <p>Here all are stripped of cover<br /> + And revel lustfully;<br /> + The barren rock, a star!<br /> + The body is a flame!<br /> + Rubies here and things of gold,<br /> + Priceless pearls and things of silver,<br /> + Scatter, O divinely naked Land,<br /> + Scatter, O thrice-noble Attica!</p> + + <p>Here manhood is enchanting,<br /> + And flesh is deified;<br /> + Artemis is virginity,<br /> + And Longing is a Hermes;<br /> + And here, and every hour,<br /> + Aphrodite rises bare,<br /> + A marvel to the Sea-Things,<br /> + And to the world, a wonder!</p> + + <p>Come, lay aside thy mantle!<br /> + Clothe thee with nakedness,<br /> + O Soul, that art its priestess!<br /> + For lo, thy body is thy temple.<br /> + Pass unto me a magnet's stream,<br /> + O amber of the flesh,<br /> + And let me drink of nectar drawn<br /> + From Nakedness Olympian!</p> + + <p>Tear thy veil, and throw away<br /> + Thy robe that flows discordantly!<br /> + With nature only match thy form,<br /> + With nature match thy plastic image.<br /> + Loosen thy girdle! Cross<br /> + Thy hands upon thy heart!<br /> + Thy hair is purple royal,<br /> + A mantle fairly flowing.</p> + + <p>And be a tranquil statue;<br /> + And let thy body take<br /> + Of Art's perfection chiseled<br /> + Upon the shining stone;<br /> + And play, and sing, and mimic<br /> + With thoughtful nakedness<br /> + Lithe beasts and snakes and birds<br /> + That dwell in wilderness.</p> + + <p>And play, and sing, and mimic<br /> + All things of joy, all things of beauty;<br /> + And let thy nakedness<br /> + Pale into light of living thought.<br /> + Forms rounded and forms flat,<br /> + Soft down, lines curved and straight,<br /> + O shiverings divine,<br /> + Dance on your dance of gladness!</p> + + <p>Forehead, and eyes, and waves<br /> + Of hair, and loins, ...<br /> + And secret dales and places!<br /> + Roses of love and myrtles!<br /> + Ye feet that bind with chains!<br /> + Hands, Fountains of caress,<br /> + And Doves of longing sweet,<br /> + And falcons of destruction!</p> + + <p>Whole hearted are thy words,<br /> + And bold, O mouth, O mouth,<br /> + Like wax of honey bees,<br /> + Like pomegranates in bloom.<br /> + The alabaster lilies,<br /> + April's own fragrant censers,<br /> + Envy thy breast's full cups!<br /> + Oh, let me drink from them!</p> + + <p>Drink from the rosy tinged,<br /> + Erect, enameled, fresh,<br /> + The milk I dreamed and dreamed<br /> + Of happiness. Thee!<br /> + I am thy mystic priest,<br /> + And altars are thy knees;<br /> + And in thy warm embrace<br /> + Gods work their miracles!</p> + + <p>Away, all tuneless things!<br /> + Hidden and covered things, away!<br /> + Away, all crippled, shapeless things,<br /> + And things profane and strange!<br /> + Erect and naked all, and guileless,<br /> + Bodies and breasts and earth and skies!<br /> + Nakedness, too, is truth,<br /> + And nakedness is beauty!</p> + + <p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + + <p>In nakedness, with sunshine graced,<br /> + That fills the Attic day,<br /> + If thou beholdest stand before thee<br /> + Something like a monster bare,<br /> + Something that like a leafless tree<br /> + Stands stripped of shadow's grace,<br /> + And like a stone unwrought,<br /> + His body is rough and gaunt,</p> + + <p>Something that naked, bare, and nude<br /> + Roams in the thrice-wide spaces,<br /> + Something whose life is told in flames<br /> + That light beneath his eyelids,<br /> + Akin to the old Satyrs' breed<br /> + And tameless like a beast,<br /> + A singer silver-voiced,<br /> + Flee not in fear! 'Tis I!</p> + + <p>The Satyr! I have taken here<br /> + Roots like an olive tree,<br /> + And with my flute deep-sounding,<br /> + I make the breezes languish.<br /> + I play and lo, all things are mated,<br /> + Love giving, love receiving.<br /> + I play and lo, all things are dancing,<br /> + All: Men and beasts and spirits!</p> +</blockquote> + +<h4>Athens, the Centre of Greece</h4> + +<p>So much of the natural atmosphere of Athens and Attica. But the +Athenians themselves, their thoughts, life, and dreams have not proved +less important nor less effective for the poet's growth. The spiritual +and intellectual currents moving the Greek nation of today start from +this city. Here politics, poetry, and philosophy are still discussed in +the old way at the various shops, the coffee houses, and under the plane +trees by the banks of Ilissus. The "boulé" is the centre of the +political activity of the state. The University with its democratic +faculty and still more democratic student body is certainly a "flaming" +hearth of culture. Only, its flames are sometimes so ventilated by +current events and political developments that the students often assume +the functions of the old Athenian Assembly. In the riotous expression of +their temporary feelings, the students are not very different from the +ancient demesmen. In my days, at least, the most frequent greeting +among students was "How is politics today?", with the word "politics" +used in its ancient meaning. Any question of general interest might +easily be regarded as a national issue to be treated on a political +basis. Thus it happened that when the question of language was brought +to the foreground by Pallis' vernacular translation of the New +Testament, the students took up arms rather than argument.</p> + +<p>Into this world, the poet came to finish his education. In one of his +critical essays (<i>Grammata</i>, vol. i), he tells us of the literary +atmosphere prevailing in Athens at that time, about 1879. That year, +Valaorites, the second great poet of the people's language, died, and +his death renewed with vigor the controversy that had continued even +after the death of Solomos, the earliest great poet of Modern Greece. +The passing away of Valaorites left Rangabes, the relentless purist, the +monarch of the literary world. He was considered as the master whom +every one should aspire to imitate. His language, ultra-puristic, had +travelled leagues away from the people without approaching at all the +splendor of the ancient speech. But the purists drew great delight from +reading his works and clapped their hands with satisfaction on seeing +how near Plato and Aeschylus they had managed to come.</p> + +<p>Young and susceptible to the popular currents of the literary world, +Palamas, too, worshipped the established idol, and offered his +frankincense in verses modelled after Rangabean conceptions. In the same +essay to which I have just referred, he tells us of the life he led with +another young friend, likewise a literary aspirant, during the years of +his attendance at the University. The two lived and worked together. +They wrote poems in the puristic language and compared their works in +stimulating friendliness. But soon they realized the truth that if +poetry is to be eternal, it must express the individual through the +voice of the world to which the individual belongs and through the +language which the people speak.</p> + +<p>This truth took deep roots in the mind of Palamas. His conviction grew +into a religion permeated with the warmth, earnestness, and devotion +that martyrs only have shown to their cause. Believing that purism was +nothing but a blind attempt to drown the living traditions of the people +and to conceal its nature under a specious mantle of shallow +gorgeousness, he has given his talent and his heart to save his nation +from such a calamity. In this great struggle, he has suffered not a +little. When the popular fury rose against his cause, and he was +blackened as a traitor and a renegade, he wrote in words illustrating +his inner agony:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>I labored long to create the statue for the Temple<br /> + Of stone that I had found,<br /> + To set it up in nakedness, and then to pass;<br /> + To pass but not to die.</p> + + <p>And I created it. But narrow men who bow<br /> + To worship shapeless wooden images, ill clad,<br /> + With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear,<br /> + Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily.</p> + + <p>My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile!<br /> + To foreign lands I led my restless wanderings;<br /> + But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered:<br /> + I dug a pit, and in the pit I laid my statue.</p> + + <p>And then I whispered: "Here, lie low unseen and live<br /> + With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins<br /> + Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art!<br /> + A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!"</p> + + <p>And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets,<br /> + The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light!<br /> + In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O maker!<br /> + Better for ever lost in these unlighted depths.</p> + + <p>"Its hour may never come! And if it come, and if<br /> + Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant<br /> + With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish,<br /> + And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable.</p> + + <p>"To-day was soon for thee; to-morrow will be late.<br /> + Thy dream is vain; the dawn thou longest will not dawn;<br /> + Thus, burning for eternities thou mayest not reach,<br /> + Remain, Cloud-Hunter and Praxiteles of shadows!</p> + + <p>"To-morrow and to-day for thee are snares and seas.<br /> + All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false.<br /> + Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden!<br /> + And thou shalt pass away; hear this, and thou shalt die!"</p> + + <p>And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die!<br /> + Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind;<br /> + Let pits devour my work. Of all eternal things,<br /> + My restless wandering may have the greatest worth."</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The same idea, though expressed in a more familiar figure, is found in +another poem published among <i>The Lagoon's Regrets</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <h5>The Guitar</h5> + + <p>In the old attic of the humble house,<br /> + The guitar hangs in cobwebs wrapped:<br /> + Softly, oh, softly touch her! Listen!<br /> + You have awaked the sleeping one!</p> + + <p>She is awake, and with her waking,<br /> + Something like distant humming bees<br /> + Creeps far away and weeps about her;<br /> + Something that lives while ruins choke it.</p> + + <p>Something like moans, like humming bees,<br /> + Thy sickened children, old guitar,<br /> + Thy words and airs. What evil pest,<br /> + What blight is eating thine old age!</p> + + <p>In the old attic of the humble house,<br /> + Thou hast awaked; but who will tend thee?<br /> + O Mother, wilderness about thee!<br /> + Thy children, withering; and something,<br /> + Like humming bees, sounds far away!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A distinct note of pessimism is found in the lines of both these poems. +In the latter, it becomes a helpless cry of anguish. But despair seems +to cure the poet rather than drown his faith in hopelessness. As a +critic, he encourages every initiate of the cause. As a "soldier of the +verse," he himself fights his battles of song in every field. In short +story, in drama, in epic poetry, and above all in lyrics, he creates +work after work. From the <i>Songs of my Country</i>, the <i>Hymn to Athena</i>, +the <i>Eyes of my Soul</i> and the <i>Iambs and Anapaests</i>, he rises gradually +and steadily to the tragic drama of the <i>Thrice Noble-One</i>, to the epic +of <i>The King's Flute</i>, and to the splendid lyrics of <i>Life Immovable</i> +and <i>The Twelve Words of the Gypsy</i> which are his masterpieces.</p> + +<p>Nor does he always meet adversity with songs of resignation. At times, +he faces indignantly the hostile world with a satire as stinging as that +of Juvenal. He dares attack with Byronic boldness every idol that his +enemies worship. Often he strikes at the whole people with Archilochean +bitterness and parries blow for blow like Hipponax. At times, he even +seems to approach the rancor of Swift. But then he immediately throws +away his whip and transcends his satire with a loftier thought, a +soothing moral, a note of lyricism, and above all with an unshaken faith +in the new day for which he works. The eighth and ninth poems of the +first book of his "Satires" are good illustrations of this side of his +work:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <h6>8</h6> + + <p>The lazy drones! The frogs! The locusts!<br /> + Big men! Politicians! Men who draw<br /> + Their learning from the thoughtless journals!</p> + + <p>A crowd of stupid, haughty blockheads!<br /> + Unworthily, thy name is set<br /> + By each as target for blind blows;</p> + + <p>But forward still thy steps thou leadest,<br /> + Up toward the high bell-tower above,<br /> + And climbest: Spaces spread about thee,</p> + + <p>And at thy feet, a world of scorners.<br /> + Though thou rainest not the godsent manna,<br /> + A great Life-giver still, thou tollest</p> + + <p>With a new bell a new-born creed.</p> + + + <h6>9</h6> + + <p>Aye! Break the tyrant's hated chains!<br /> + But with their breaking go not drunk!<br /> + The world is always slaves and lords:</p> + + <p>Though free, chain-bound your life must be;<br /> + Other kinds of chains are there<br /> + For you: Kneel down! For lo, I bring them!</p> + + <p>They fit you, redeemers or redeemed!<br /> + Bind with these chains your golden youth;<br /> + I bring you cares and sacrifices.</p> + + <p>And you shall call them Truth and Beauty,<br /> + Modesty, Knowledge, Discipline!<br /> + To one command obey last, first,</p> + + <p>The world's great laws, and men, and nations.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One of his "Hundred Voices" has something of this satiric note. It is a +blow against a worthless pretender of the art of verse, who courts +popularity with strains not worthy of the sacred Muse. Palamas, acting +with greater wisdom than Pope, does not give the name of this unknown +pretender:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Bad? Would that thou wert bad; but something worse thou art:<br /> + Thou stretchedst an unworthy hand to the sacred lyre,<br /> + And the untaught mob took thy reeling in the dust<br /> + For the true song of golden wings; and thou didst take<br /> + Thy seat close by the poet's side so thoughtlessly,<br /> + And none dared rise and come to drag thee thence away.<br /> + And see, instead of scorning thee, the just was angry;<br /> + Yet, even his verse's arrow is for thee a glory!</p> +</blockquote> + +<h5>The Grave</h5> + +<p>In tracing the great life influences of our poet, we must not pass over +the loss of his third child, "the child without a peer," as he says +in one of his poems addressed to his wife, "who changed the worldly +air about us into divine nectar, a worthy offering to the spotless-white +light of Olympus." To this loss, the poet has never reconciled himself. +The sorrow finds expression in direct or covert strains in every work he +has written. But its lasting monument was created soon after the child's +death. A collection of poems, entitled <i>The Grave</i>, entirely devoted +to his memory, is overflowing with an unique intensity of feeling. +The poems are composed in short quatrains of a slowly moving rhythm +restrained by frequent pauses and occasional metrical irregularities, +and thus they reflect with faithfulness the paternal agony with which +they are filled. They belong to the earlier works of the poet, but they +disclose great lyric power and are the first deep notes of the poet's +genius. A few lines from the dedication follow:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Neither with iron,<br /> + Nor with gold,<br /> + Nor with the colors<br /> + That the painters scatter,</p> + + <p>Nor with marble<br /> + Carved with art,<br /> + Your little house I built<br /> + For you to dwell for ever;</p> + + <p>With spirit charms alone<br /> + I raised it in a land<br /> + That knows no matter nor<br /> + The withering touch of Time.</p> + + <p>With all my tears,<br /> + With all my blood,<br /> + I founded it<br /> + And built its vault....</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In another poem, in similar strains, he paints the ominous tranquility +with which the child's birth and parting were attended:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + Thirsting for our kisses,<br /> + Unknown you glided<br /> + Into our bosom;</p> + + <p>Even the heavy winter<br /> + Suddenly smiled<br /> + Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + But to receive you;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + The breeze caressed you,<br /> + O Sunlight of Night<br /> + And Dream of the Day;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + Our home was gladdened<br /> + With sweetness of amber<br /> + With your grace magnetic;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + Our home beheld you,<br /> + Beauty of the morning star,<br /> + Light of the star of evening;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + Little moons, mouth and eyes,<br /> + One dawn you vanished<br /> + Upon a cruel deathbed;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + In spite of all our kisses,<br /> + Away you wandered<br /> + Torn from our bosom;</p> + + <p>Tranquilly, silently,<br /> + O word, O verse, O rime,<br /> + Your witherless flowers<br /> + Sow on his grave faith-shaking.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In another poem reminiscent of Tibullean tenderness, the corners of the +deserted home, in which the child, during his life, had lingered to +play, laugh, or weep, converse with each other about their absent guest:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Things living weep for you,<br /> + And lifeless things are mourning;<br /> + The corners, too, forlorn,<br /> + Remember you with longing:</p> + + <p>"One evening, angry here he sat,<br /> + And slept in bitterness."<br /> + "Here, often he sat listening<br /> + Enchanted to the tale."</p> + + <p>"Here, I beheld with pride<br /> + The grace of Love half-naked;<br /> + An empty bed and stripped<br /> + Is all that now is left me."</p> + + <p>"I always looked for him;<br /> + He held a book; how often<br /> + He sat by me to read<br /> + With singing tongue its pages!"</p> + + <p>"What is this pile of toys?<br /> + Why are they piled before me<br /> + As if I were a grave?<br /> + Are they his little playthings?</p> + + <p>"The little man comes not;<br /> + For death with early frost<br /> + Has nipped his little dreams<br /> + And chilled his little doings."</p> + + <p>"His little sword is idle,<br /> + And here has come to rest."<br /> + "And here his little ship<br /> + Without its captain waits."</p> + + <p>"To me, they brought him sick<br /> + And took him away extinguished."<br /> + "They watered me with tears<br /> + And perfumed me with incense."</p> + + <p>"The dead child's taper burns<br /> + Consuming and consumed."<br /> + "The tempest wildly beats<br /> + Upon the doors and windows,<br /> + And deep into our breasts<br /> + The tempest's moan is echoed."</p> + + <p>And all the house about<br /> + For thee, my child, is groaning ...</p> +</blockquote> + +<h4>The World Beyond Greece</h4> + +<p>Greece seems to encompass the physical world with which Palamas has come +in contact. He does not seem to have travelled beyond its borders, and +even within them, he has moved little about. With him scenery must grow +with age before it speaks to his heart. Fleeting impressions are of +little value, and the appearance of things without the forces of +tradition and experience behind it does not attract him:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Others, who wander far in distant lands may seek<br /> + On Alpine Mountains high the magic Edelweis;<br /> + I am an Element Immovable; each year,<br /> + April delights me in my garden, and the May<br /> + In my own village.<br /> + O lakes and fiords, O palaces of France and shrines<br /> + And harbors, Northern Lights and tropic flowers and forests,<br /> + O wonders of art, and beauties of the world unthought,—<br /> + A little Island here I love that always lies before me.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We must not think, however, that the spirit of Palamas rests within the +narrow confines of his native land. On the contrary, it knows no chains +and travels freely about the earth. He is a faithful servant of +"Melete," the Muse of contemplative study, a service which is very +seldom liked by Modern Greeks. In his preface to his collection of +critical essays entitled <i>Grammata</i> he rebukes his fellow countrymen for +this: "On an old attic vase," he says, "stand the three original Muses, +the ones that were first worshipped, even before the Nine, who are now +world-known: Mneme, Melete, Aoide—Memory, Study, Song. With the first +and last, we have cultivated our acquaintance; and never must we show +any contempt for the fruit of our love for them. Only with the middle +one, we are not on good terms. She seems to be somewhat inaccessible, +and she does not fill our eyes enough to attract us. We have always +looked, and now still we look, for what is easiest or handiest. Is that, +I wonder, a fault of our race or of our age? And is the French +philosopher Fouillée somewhat right when in his book on the <i>Psychology +of Races</i> he counts among our defects our aversion to great and above +all endless labors?" That Palamas is not subject to this fault, one has +only to glance at his works to be convinced. There is hardly an +important force in the world's thought and expression whether past or +present, to which Palamas is a stranger. The literatures of Europe, +America, or Asia are an open book for him. The pulses of the world's +artists, the intellectual battles of the philosophers, the fears and +hopes of the social unrest, the religious emancipation of our day, the +far reaching conflict of individual and state, in short, all events of +importance in the social, political, spiritual, literary, and artistic +life are familiar sources of inspiration for him. With all, he shows the +lofty spirit of a worshipper of greatness and depth wherever he finds +them. Tolstoi or Aeschylus, Goethe or Dante, Ibsen or Poe, Swinburne or +Walt Whitman, Leopardi or Rabelais, Hugo or Carlyle, Serbian Folk Lore +or the Bible, Hindu legends or Italian songs, Antiquity or Middle Ages, +Renaissance or Modernity, any nation or any lore are objects worthy of +study and stores of wisdom for him. Indeed, very few living poets could +be compared with him in scholarship and learning.</p> + +<p>Nor does he lift his voice only for individual or national throbbings. +He sings of the great and noble whenever he sees it. One of his best +lyric creations is a song of praise to the valor of the champions of +Transvaal's freedom, his "Hymn to the Valiant," the first of the +collection entitled "From the Hymns and Wraths," a paean that has been +most highly lauded by Professor D.C. Hesseling of the University of +Leyden (<i>Nederlandsche Spectator</i>, March, 1901). Here is a fragment of +it, the words which the Muse addresses to the poet:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>... Awake! Thou art not maker of statues!<br /> + Awake! For songs thou singest!<br /> + And song is not for ever<br /> + The heart's lament<br /> + To fading leaves of autumn,<br /> + Nor the secret speech thou speakest,<br /> + A Soul of Dream, to the shadows of Night.</p> + + <p>For suddenly there is a clash and groaning!<br /> + The joy of birds sea-beaten,<br /> + In storms of Elements<br /> + And storms of Nations!<br /> + Song is, too,<br /> + The Marathonian Triumpher!<br /> + Over the ashes of Sodoma,<br /> + It is blown by the mouth of wrath!</p> + + <p>Something great and something beautiful,<br /> + Something from far away,<br /> + Travelling Glory brings thee<br /> + On her sky-wandering pinions.</p> + + <p>Glory has come! On her wings and on her feet,<br /> + Signs of her wanderings are shown,<br /> + Dust gold-loaded and distant;<br /> + And she brings aloes blossoming, first-seen,<br /> + From the land that feeds the Kaffir's flocks.</p> + + <p>In your aged summers,<br /> + A new-born spring has spread!<br /> + From North to South,<br /> + The Atlantic Dragon groans a groan first-heard;<br /> + To the African lakes and forests,<br /> + His groan has spread and echoed;<br /> + From the Red Sea, a Lamia's palace,<br /> + To the foam-shaped breast of the White Sea,<br /> + A Nereid's realm.</p> + + <p>Thinly the plants were growing<br /> + On the bosom of the ancient Motherland;<br /> + Winds carried away the seed<br /> + And brought it to the Libyan fields<br /> + And scattered it into deep ravines<br /> + And on the lofty mountain lawns.</p> + + <p>A new blood filled the herbs,<br /> + And even the strong-stemmed plants<br /> + Waxed stronger.<br /> + Men war-glad are risen!<br /> + And the waterfalls roar<br /> + In the mountain's heart;<br /> + Men war-glad are risen<br /> + Like diamonds rare to behold<br /> + That the earth begets!</p> + + <p>You know them, heights, winds, horizons,<br /> + High tides and murmurings of restless waters,<br /> + Golden fountains, that shall become<br /> + Their crowns!<br /> + And you, O gold-built mountain passes,<br /> + Castles fit for them, you know them;<br /> + Their fame, thou heraldest with pride<br /> + From thy verdant distant country<br /> + To Europe Imperial,<br /> + O Africa, O slave unknown!</p> + + <p>And first of all thou knowest,<br /> + O heartless tamer of continents and races,<br /> + Rider of Ocean's Bucephaluses,<br /> + Thou knowest the worth of the few,<br /> + Who dare live free ...</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Within the limits of a general introduction it would be difficult to +enter every nook and corner of the poet's world. We must even pass over +some of the most potent influences of his life. The national dreams of +the Modern Greeks have a splendid dwelling in the thought of Palamas, +who follows with restlessness his people's woes and exults in their +joys. A group of poems dedicated to the "Land that Rose in Arms" and +published in the last volume of the poet's work, the <i>Town and +Wilderness</i>, form his noblest patriotic expression. The present +world-conflict has naturally stirred him to new compositions, of which +his "Europe" is preëminently noteworthy as illustrating faithfully the +various aspects of the poet's genius. This poem appeared first in the +<i>Noumas</i>, an Athenian periodical, and was then published in the last +volume of the poet's works, the <i>Altars</i>.<a href="#footnote_02" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_02">[2]</a></p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <h5>Europe</h5> + + <h6>I. THE WAR</h6> + + <p>Deer-like the East pants terror-struck! The West,<br /> + A flame ablaze that leaps amid the skies!<br /> + Nations are wolves! and Hatreds are afoot,<br /> + Whetting their bayonets!</p> + + <p>With force gigantic, lo, the bursting forth<br /> + Of the barbarian sweeps on, age-wrought;<br /> + Oceans are cleft and swallow Gorgon-ships,<br /> + Castles of might afloat!</p> + + <p>What sorcerers, in Earth's deep bosom buried,<br /> + Beat into shape the metal? For what kings<br /> + Slave they? What crowns forge they? The tower-ships,<br /> + The ports, the oceans quake!</p> + + <p>Lovingly the dream born of dream flies high<br /> + Air wandering amid the eagles; yet<br /> + O victory! Lord of the azure, man<br /> + Spreads horror even there.</p> + + <p>Methinks the Niebelungen of the Night<br /> + Startle sun's radiance ... And ye, the Rhine's<br /> + Water-born Nymphs, are lashed and swept away<br /> + By monstrous hurricanes.</p> + + <p>Siegfried, the hero of the golden hair,<br /> + Makes men and elements before him kneel.<br /> + War is the arbiter of rising worlds;<br /> + And Violence, arbitress.</p> + + <p>Franks, Anglo-Saxons, Alemanni, Hungars!<br /> + Europe, a viper! And the armies, dragons!<br /> + Here, Uhlans are destroyers pitiless;<br /> + And there, the Cossacks' bands!</p> + + <p>From endless sweeps of steppes, the Slav blows forth<br /> + An endless squall, the havoc's ruthless vow!<br /> + Liberty is the phantom; and the slave,<br /> + The stern reality.</p> + + <p>Helvetians, Scandinavians, Latins, Russians,<br /> + The martyr Pole, heroic Flanders' land,<br /> + All, small and great, forward to battle rush<br /> + With one man's violence!</p> + + <p>Beating thy breast, thou clingest to thy throne,<br /> + Storm-wrapped, O worshipper of gods that fade,<br /> + Hypatia thou, the Frenchman's ruling queen,<br /> + Blood-bred Democracy!</p> + + <p>The Vosgic towers tremble! And God's wrath,<br /> + Valkyrie, the awful Nymph, wind-ridden sweeps,<br /> + A rider pitiless that threatens thee,<br /> + O Paris noble-born!</p> + + <p>Our age's honored prophet, Tamerlan!<br /> + A shadow's dream, Messiah of sweet Peace!<br /> + Enthroned in judgment stands America.<br /> + While from far Asia's depths,</p> + + <p>The Indian hermits and gold-gatherers<br /> + With yellow Mongols are afoot! With them,<br /> + The sons of Oceania, Kerman,<br /> + And Africa; Semites,</p> + + <p>War-glad Turanians and Aryans,<br /> + Lands that the Adriatic kisses, Rumans,<br /> + Our brother Serb, a wall!—Let Austria's<br /> + Cataract burst and roar!</p> + + <p>Vosges and Carpathians and Balkans quake!<br /> + Ridges and mountains tremble! The oceans roar!<br /> + Five Continents' passionate wraths and hatreds<br /> + Revel in festival!</p> + + <p>But lo, the Briton with sea-battling sceptre<br /> + That binds the restless waves to his command—<br /> + What Caesars' fetters forges he anew<br /> + Upon the island rock?</p> + + <p>And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth<br /> + And makes of thee a valley of sad tears,<br /> + O paradisial land of old Ionia;<br /> + And here, our Mother Greece,</p> + + <p>Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths<br /> + Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king!<br /> + Wax-pale, the world stands listening and holds<br /> + Its breath, benumbed with fright!</p> + + + <h6>II. THE THINKER</h6> + + <p>But lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul,<br /> + Whatever race has given him his blood,<br /> + Watches from his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped<br /> + And he stirs not.</p> + + <p>With pity's quivering and terror's chill,<br /> + In tears and ruins, he plucks a fruitful joy<br /> + From the great Drama, watching thoughtfully<br /> + The hidden law.</p> + + <p>And lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul,<br /> + Whatever race has given him his blood,<br /> + Abides in his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped<br /> + And meditates:</p> + + <p>Old age? No! Nor the youth of a new life.<br /> + All is the same, Europe and Law, the shark!<br /> + And never changes—hear ye not?—the march<br /> + Of history.</p> + + <p>A splinter in the powerful's hands, O powerless,<br /> + Yet sometimes—comfort thee—his mate and friend!<br /> + The powerful's blind hand even thou, O Science,<br /> + Often shalt be.</p> + + <p>Is War the Father of all things? And is<br /> + The lava messenger of lusty growth?<br /> + How can the creature grow from monster seed?<br /> + Who knows? Pass on!</p> + + <p>Even if some great dream be born of flesh<br /> + And the wroth tempest fling a new world forth,<br /> + Even if over the tumult Europe stand<br /> + United, one;</p> + + <p>And if the state of a new people rise<br /> + Founded upon the ruins of the world,<br /> + Still always thou wilt burn, O Fury's torch,<br /> + Amid the darkness.</p> + + <p>Even if thou wilt come to states in ruins<br /> + And empty thrones, O power of juster race,<br /> + Always the tender and the harsh shall be;<br /> + Shepherd and flocks!</p> + + <p>Unless, O man, something is destined thee<br /> + That thou, O History, foretellest not:<br /> + An evolution unbelievable<br /> + To gazing worlds.</p> + + + <h6>III. THE POET</h6> + + <p>The poet: Miracle-working lo, the seed<br /> + Of blessed dreams, sown in his heart, takes roots;<br /> + He is like mind entranced in ecstasy,<br /> + Born upon wings!</p> + + <p>Under his wings, all things are images<br /> + Of creatures beautiful for him to sing,<br /> + Whether they are roses April-born<br /> + Or warring legions!</p> + + <p>And neither the war's roaring gun nor yet<br /> + The river of red blood swift-flowing on<br /> + Can make the flower fade that fills my breast<br /> + With fragrances!</p> + + <p>I am the faithful friend of song; therefore,<br /> + I tremble not like child before a blackman;<br /> + Midst blood and flames and lashings horrible,<br /> + I bring thee, Love!</p> + + <p>Thy footprints mark a shining trail of lights<br /> + New-risen, guiding with their gleams my steps;<br /> + The restless gambol of thy fire, Dawn's smile<br /> + Upon my night.</p> + + <p>Thine eyes, O Fountainhead of Beauty's stream,<br /> + Mirror within them all things beautiful:<br /> + And lo, the eagles of the Czars, on wings<br /> + Sky-roaming, sail.</p> + + <p>The war, when thine eyes look on it, becomes<br /> + Under the magic of thy glance pure wine<br /> + Of holiness. The German is the wonder<br /> + Of deed and thought;</p> + + <p>Where Tolstoi lived, all things are justly blessed;<br /> + Where Goethe dwelt all things are light and wisdom;<br /> + And yet my heart's pure love flows now for thee,<br /> + For thee, O France!</p> + + <p>Though first I sucked my god-sprung mother's milk,<br /> + Still thou wert later manna unto me,<br /> + Desert-born, joy of mine and guide and teacher,<br /> + My second mother.</p> + + <p>On thy world-trodden earth, I have not stood;<br /> + Nor didst thou bathe me, Seine, in thy cold waters;<br /> + Yet is thy vision light unto my song,<br /> + O second mother!</p> + + <p>O Celtic oak-trees and Galatian-born<br /> + White lilies in lyric Paris blossoming,<br /> + With Hugo and with thee, O Lamartine,<br /> + Revels and wings!</p> + + <p>Dante and Nietzsche, Ibsen, Shakespeare, all,<br /> + Poured wine for me with their thrice-holy hands<br /> + Into thy gleaming cup of gold and bade<br /> + Me rise on high.</p> + + <p>A child: And thou didst flash before me first,<br /> + Tearing the maps of dazzled Europe's lands<br /> + With the world's Mirabeaus and with the world's<br /> + Napoleons.</p> + + <p>Thou art not for the gnawing worm of graves.<br /> + Thy gods still live with thee, Hypatia!<br /> + Glory and Victory may dwell with thee,<br /> + Democracy!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From the number of the life influences which we have scantily traced in +Palamas' work we may conclude that he is a true representative of the +great world and of the age in which he lives. Loving and true to his +immediate surroundings, he does not localize himself in them, nor does +he shut his thought within his personal feelings and experiences, but he +travels far and wide with the thought and action of the universal man +and fills his life with the life of his age.</p> + +<p>It is exactly this universalism that makes <i>The Twelve Words of the +Gypsy</i> his best expression and at the same time the most difficult to +understand thoroughly. The poem is reflective both of the growth of the +poet himself and of the development of the human spirit throughout the +ages with the history and land of Hellas as its natural background. +Consequently, its message is both subjective and objective. Although +differently treated, the theme is the same as that of the "Ascrean" +which appears in the latter part of <i>Life Immovable</i> and which may be +considered as a prelude to <i>The Twelve Words of the Gypsy</i>. There is a +flood of feeling and a cosmic imagery throughout, but they only form the +gorgeous palace within which Thought dwells in full magnificence and +mystic dimness. "As the thread of my song," says the poet in his +preface, "unrolled itself, I saw that my heart was full of mind, that +its pulses were of thought, that my feeling had something musical and +difficult to measure, and that I accepted the rapture of contemplation +just as a lad accepts his sweetheart's kiss. And then I saw that I am +the poet, surely a poet among many—a mere soldier of the verse, but +always the poet who desires to close within his verse the longings and +questions of the universal man and the cares and fanaticism of the +citizen. I may not be a worthy citizen. <i>But it cannot be that I am the +poet of myself alone; I am the poet of my age and of my race; and what I +hold within me cannot be divided from the world without.</i>"</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="left"><span class="small_caps">Washington</span>, D.C.</p> +<p>July 5, 1919.</p></div> + + + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="life_immovable_first_part">LIFE IMMOVABLE</a><br /><br /> + +FIRST PART</h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>In Palamas, we have found every trait of the Greek character: + He is religious and superstitious; a skeptic, a pagan, and a + pantheist.... He is a poet and a philosopher.... He abandons + himself to every impulse of the Greek soul. But he is always + fond of drawing back, of concentrating, of trying to encompass + in a general form the sensations and ideas which sway him. His + principal and latent care is to analyze himself and his world. + A poet and a thinker, Palamas does not attract the multitudes.... + With him everything is a mingling of lights and shadows.... But + through his work Greece of today is most clearly set forth.</i></p> + + <p class="right"><span class="small_caps">Tigrane Yergate</span>, "Le Mouvement litteraire grec; La Poesie." + <i>La Revue</i>, June, 1903, vol. xlv, p. 717 f.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>With <i>Life Immovable</i>, the poetic genius of Kostes Palamas reaches its +full strength. The poet, who, from his very first work, <i>The Songs of my +Country</i>, had shown his power in selecting his sources of inspiration +and in weaving the essence of purely national airs into his "light +sketches of sea and olive groves and the various sunlit aspects of Greek +life,"<a href="#footnote_03" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_03">[3]</a> continues to broaden his vision and art through an +unquenchable eagerness for knowledge, for an understanding of things +beautiful, whether present or past, concrete or abstract. He makes broad +strides from his <i>Hymn to Athena</i>, to <i>The Eyes of My Soul</i>, <i>Iambs and +Anapests</i>, and <i>The Grave</i>. In all "the pathetic and the common meet +inseparably with an art exact and full of grace, an art that knows its +purpose."<a href="#footnote_04" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_04">[4]</a> But in <i>Life Immovable</i> Palamas rises above the Hellenic +horizon, and strikes the strings of the universal heart in the same +degree as the towns of Patras, Missolonghi, and Athens expand into +Greece and Greece into the world. After all there is both realism and +symbolism in the fact that the first poem of the volume reflects the +atmosphere of the poet's native town while one of the latter ones "The +Ascrean" is filled with an all-including world-vision.</p> + +<p>The present volume contains only the first half of <i>Life Immovable</i>. It +consists of five collections of poems: The "Fatherlands," "The Return," +"Fragments from the Song to the Sun," "Verses of a Familiar Tune," and +"The Palm Tree." On the whole, a careful study of these collections +would furnish the key to an adequate understanding of the rest of the +poet's works for which these poems are faithful preludes. For this +reason I am tempted to give an analysis of the translated parts as a +guide to their understanding. But it is by no means my wish to lay down +a fast rule; poetry is no exact science and there should be always ample +room for freedom of suggestion and of view.</p> + + +<h3>1. Fatherlands</h3> + +<p>A series of sonnets, the "Fatherlands," make the opening of the book +and, at the same time, symbolize most clearly the growth of our poet. +Each sonnet describes a fatherland, adding another link to a chain of +worlds that dawn, one after another, upon the poet's being. The first is +Patras, his birthplace. Then follows Missolonghi with its calm lagoon +and the haunts of his boyhood. The splendor of the violet-crowned city +of Athens is succeeded by the island of Corfu, the cradle of the +literary renaissance of Modern Hellenism, which again fades before the +vision of Egypt, whence the earliest lights of civilization shone upon +the land of the Greeks. Christianity in its extreme form of asceticism +is brought forth from one of its strong citadels, Mt. Athos, the holy +mountain of Greece, and a contrast is made between the "gleaming +beauties of the world" and the utter absorption of the ascetic by the +intangible world beyond. The vision of "Queen Hellas," the classic age +of Greece, is followed by the conquering spirit of Hellenism spreading +triumphantly from the democracies of Athens and Sparta to the Golden +Gate of imperial Byzantium.</p> + +<p>But "imagination, like the Phaeacians' ship, rolls on," and the poet +sings:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>In my soul's depths loom many lands ...<br /> + And where the heavens mingle with the sea,<br /> + A path I seek for a sphere beyond ...</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Oceans are crossed, ages are brought forth from the past, and continents +are joined in making the poet's spirit. Finally even Earth becomes too +narrow and the greater universe opens its gates to the ultimate +fatherland, the elements of the world which will at the end absorb the +being of the poet:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water,<br /> + Elements indestructible, beginning<br /> + And end of life, first joy and last of mine,<br /> + You I shall find again when I pass on<br /> + To the grave's calm. The people of the dreams<br /> + Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass;<br /> + My reason, firelike, unto lasting fire;<br /> + My passions' craze unto the billows' madness.</p> + + <p>Even my dust-worn body, unto dust;<br /> + And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water;<br /> + And from the air of dreams, and from the flame<br /> + Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust,</p> + + <p>And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise<br /> + A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3><a id="life_immovable_first_part_the_return">2. The Return</a></h3> + +<p>The second collection of <i>Life Immovable</i>, entitled "The Return," is +dedicated to the poet's country. It bears under its title the +significant date of 1897, the year of the unfortunate Greco-Turkish war +which ended disastrously for Greece and plunged the nation into despair. +After the defeat, almost the whole world spoke of the Greeks as of a +degenerate people beyond the hope of redemption. The sensitiveness of +the race helped in rendering the gloom of disaster most depressing. For +some time, even the Greeks began to resign themselves to their fate as a +hopeless one. Palamas is one of the first to sound the reveille. He +conceives of his collection of songs as an expression of faith in the +country's future. With perfect love and assurance "he comes to place the +crowns of Art" "dream-made and dream-engraved" upon her shattered +throne....</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Only with harmony sublime and pure,<br /> + Which, though it rises over time and space,<br /> + Turns the world's ears to his native land,<br /> + The poet is the greatest patriot.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Nevertheless even the poet's spirit cannot help reflecting the gloom +through which it tries to rise. The general depression about him weighs +upon him, too, in spite of his effort. This shadow haunts him +constantly. Life becomes a Fairy, with a Fairy's dangerous charms and +fearful mysteries. "Something like a madman pursues life." The poet +hears this madman's falling steps and is horror-haunted:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>And lo, blood of my blood the madman was!<br /> + A past, ancestral, long-forgotten sin,<br /> + That bursting forth upon me, vampire-like,<br /> + Snatched from my hand the dewy crown of joy!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This madman grows from within the individual's and the nation's life. +The wings of joys and dreams are clipped. One feels like a night-owl +upon glorious ruins, the beauty of which makes the night even darker. +Tradition, like a majestic temple, seems to choke life by its solemnity. +The present, which seems to be symbolized by the little hut, is in the +relentless grip of "a monstrous vision, the Fairy Illness, stripped in +the silver glimmer of the moon." There is always the mingling of +gleaming beauty and of bitter sorrow. There is always before us a +"cord-grass festival," the amber fragrant flowers budding upon the +piercing spikes of the cord-grass and luring man to the deadly bog where +there is no redemption. One might say that the poet verges on morbidity.</p> + +<p>But such an assumption would be unjust. Palamas may have a clear vision +of the tragedy of life. But in the light of this revelation, with his +unfettered contemplation, he builds, like Bertram Russell, a "shining +citadel in the very centre of the enemy's country, on the very summit of +his highest mountain; from its impregnable watch-towers, his camps and +arsenals, his columns and forts, are all revealed; within its walls, the +free life continues while the legions of Death and Pain and Despair and +all the servile captains of tyrant Fate afford the burghers of that +dauntless city new spectacles of beauty." In like manner, the world of +Greece, in which Palamas lives, "our home," as he calls it, may have its +dreadful silences that are "full of moans," moans vague and muffled as +if coming from a distant world</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Of bygone ages and of times unborn.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But he does not lose sight of that</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Harmony fit for the chosen few, ...<br /> + A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam<br /> + From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds<br /> + Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre, conversing<br /> + In the star-spangled darkness of the night.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At times the poet even raises his song to rapture. Certainly the past +becomes a source of happiness in his "Rhapsody," and life is agleam with +joy in his "Idyl." But most reflective of this power of the poet to +conquer darkness with light and to turn ruins into gleaming palaces of +beauty and of song, is the poem entitled "At the Windmill."</p> + +<p>The local color which is by no means a rare characteristic of the poetry +of Palamas is particularly rich in this collection. Many of its songs +are vivid and clear pictures of Greek life. Yet with the touch of +symbolism, he makes such local flashes world-flames. In "The Dead," we +have a faithful description of the Greek custom of exposing the open +coffin with the body in a room whence all furniture is removed. Friends +and relatives are gathered about the dead; even children are not +excluded from paying this last honor to the departed. The windows are +closed, and in the gloom tapers and candles are burning before the +images of the saints and over the flower-covered body, while the smoke +of the incense and the fragrance of the wreaths fill the air. Yet +somehow in the verses of the song one catches the moving sounds of +mourning humanity, the image of death against life.</p> + + +<h3>3. Fragments from the Song to the Sun</h3> + +<p>"The Fragments from the Song to the Sun" contain some of the noblest +lines of Palamas' poetry. We cannot have a complete understanding of the +symbolism with which this part of <i>Life Immovable</i> is filled. For, after +all, from the great hymn to the light-god, we have here only fragments. +But these fragments remind one of the gold-stained ruins of the +<i>Akropolis</i> against the bright Attic sky. Throughout, we are aware of a +striking duality. The key to these sunlit melodies is probably found in +the "Giants' Shadows." Among the shadows whose voices ascend from +darkness "like moanings of the sea," the poet discovers Telamonian Ajax, +the giant who is utterly absorbed in the world within him, the source of +his light and life, and Goethe, the Teutonic poet, who turns to the +world about himself as a flower to the sun, and whose heart "longs and +thirsts for light." Here then, we detect the doubleness of the sun of +Palamas, a sun within, the source of his inner life and thought, and a +sun without, the source of all external beauty and growth.</p> + +<p>Thus without detracting from the charm and power of the day-star, he +ensouls it with a higher meaning and transforms a fiery globe into a +light-clad Olympian divinity, a giver of life and death, a healer and a +slayer. In "The Tower of the Sun," we find mighty princes, sons of +kings, who had gone thither in their desire to hunt for the light, +turned into stones by the "giant merciless." Motionless they stand, a +world of voiceless statues while</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>From their deep and smothered eyes,<br /> + Something like living glance<br /> + Struggles to peep through its stone-veil!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then the fair redeemer, a princess beautiful, comes from far away—the +light, it seems, of inner knowledge and inspiration—and the Sun's tower</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Gleamed forth as if the light<br /> + Of a new dawn embraced its walls!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She knows where the fountain of life flows and with its waters wakes up +the sons of kings, shining</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>... with transcending gleam<br /> + Like a far greater Sun.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is, then, the sun whom Palamas worships as a god. It is a sun who +possesses all the beauty and power of the actual source of light, but +who, at the same time, by the spell of mystic symbolism rises to the +splendor of a thrice-fair and almighty divinity containing all that is +beautiful and noble and powerful in the world. Upon such a sun he seeks +to find a light-flooded palace for his child in the "Mourning Song." To +such a sun he offers his hymns and prayers; and such a sun he conceives +as a vengeful blood-fed Moloch or a muse of light. He is a fair Phoebus, +who rises from pure Olympus' heights to play as a fountain of flowing +harmonies or to smite as "an archer of fiery arrows" all living things.</p> + + +<h3>4. Verses of a Familiar Tune</h3> + +<p>In the "Verses of a Familiar Tune" the poet conceives of himself as of a +wedding guest who travels far away to join the festival. The bride, +"thrice-beautiful" seems to be Earth; and the bridegroom, the Sun. The +journey to the festival is the span of mortal life. The poet, who must +travel over this path, endeavors to brighten it with dreams and shorten +his way's weary length</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>With sounds that like sweet longings wake in him<br /> + Old sounds familiar, low whisperings<br /> + Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows ...<br /> + The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses<br /> + That the waves squander on the sandy beach,<br /> + And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The second poem of this group, "The Paralytic on the River's Bank," +recalls the notes verging on despair which we have found in "The +Return." Again the gleaming past, appearing here as the other bank of +the river, revels</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>In lustful growth and endless mirth<br /> + With leafy slopes and forests glistening.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At the sight of such splendor, the poet lies palsy-stricken on this bank +of the river, the "graceless, barren, and desert bank" unable to rise +and sing. Then Life, like a merciful Fairy, takes him into the humble +hut of the present and makes him forget the other bank and nourishes him +until, at last, waking into the new world, he weaves the whole day long +with master hand all kinds of laurel crowns and pours into the +unaccustomed air a flute's soft-flown complaint. But again from his bed +he raises his eyes and sees once more the world beyond the river, +nodding luringly at him; and even there, in the midst of the new life, +he falls palsy-stricken, "the paralytic of the river bank."</p> + +<p>This note of hopelessness is immediately counteracted by the "Simple +Song," in which Life opens again her gorgeous gardens of the past to +pluck the fairest of flowers; and when he weeps over the newly reaped +blossoms that fill his basket, Life rebukes him by facing them unmoved +"a life agleam!" With like wholesomeness he greets the early dawn that +brings him "thought, light, and sound, his sacred Trinity," and enters +the chapel's garden</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>To see the children beautiful,<br /> + Children that make the grassy beds a heaven<br /> + And rise like miracles among the flowers.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But on the whole, man, the wedding guest, must travel on while the winds +of uncertainty blow about him. Riddles face him everywhere; questions +stern and unanswerable spring before him; and the life of the whole +human race seems to be that of Thought likened to "an angel ever +wrestling with a strong giant flinging his hundred hands about the +angel's neck to strangle him." For who knows if a good act unknown +shines more than the most splendid monuments of marble or verse? Who +knows if vice is wiser than virtue? Is Fair Art, War's Triumphs, and +great Thoughts expressed costlier in the Temple of the Universe than the +mute Thought and Glory of the flower,</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p> <span class="i8">... at whose birth</span><br /> + The dawn rejoices and whose early death<br /> + The saddened evening silently laments?</p> + + <p>The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates<br /> + Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx;<br /> + Yet who knows if the soldier with no will,<br /> + Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth?</p> + + <p>O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures<br /> + The measureless and creates the great?<br /> + Is it the matchless thought of the endowed,<br /> + Or the dim soul of the multitude that bursts,<br /> + Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We know not "whether the holy man's blessing" is the best, nor whether +there is more light of Truth in the Law, "that is all eyes," or in some +blind love. Thus entangled in the meshes of life's sphinx-like wonders, +we spend our day, little particles of the great world-struggle, wedding +guests at Life's strange festival!</p> + + +<h3>5. The Palm Tree</h3> + +<p>In tenderness and delicacy of thought and expression, no part of <i>Life +Immovable</i> can be compared with the smoothly flowing stanzas of "The +Palm Tree." There is no ruggedness in the meter, no violence in the +stream of images. We are led without knowing it into a modest garden. A +few flowers, a palm tree, some bushes, and the sky make our world, a +world, it seems, of things small and common and trivial. But the poet +passes by, listens to the humble flowers of dark and light blue, and +puts their talk into rhythms.</p> + +<p>At once, the flowers become a world of beauty, life, and thought. They +are our kin, sons of the same parent Earth, and dreamers of strangely +similar dreams. The Palm tree over them becomes a great mystery of +power and grace lifting it to the realm of gods. The flowers, like +little mortals, wonder at the things they see about them. Their own +existence beneath the palm tree's shade is full of riddles, and they +face the world with questionings. In the very midst of a clear sky's +festival that succeeds a rain, the little flowers suffer the first blows +of pain, dealt by the last drops that fall from the palm leaves, and +they feel the agony of sorrow until they come to realize that even pain +brings its reward, knowledge, which makes them glory, like victors, over +death. Their being expands and they sing a song which is the essence of +the world's humanity:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>Though small we are, a great world hides in us;<br /> + And in us clouds of care and dales of grief<br /> + You may descry: the sky's tranquility;<br /> + The heaving of the sea about the ships<br /> + At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks;<br /> + And something else inexplicable. Oh,<br /> + What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it?<br /> + One, damned and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Thus their song continues carrying them from thought to thought, from +dream to dream, from joy to joy, and from sorrow to sorrow. Swept away +by the charms of life, they raise to their strange god a hymn of +exultation. At the sight of the thrice-fair rose, they sing a song of +love and admiration. Their experiences stimulate their minds, and they +seek to solve the dark problems that teem about them. With the eagerness +of living beings they listen to the tales of new worlds and miracles +brought to them by bees and lizards. Illness and night frighten them +with fearful images; and, at last, they pass away with a song of hope +and regret:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p>We shall die,<br /> + Nor will there be a monument for us<br /> + That might retain the phantom of our passing!<br /> + Only about thee will a robe of light<br /> + Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam:<br /> + And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime!<br /> + And in the eyes of an astonished world,<br /> + Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star;<br /> + Yet neither thou nor others will know of us!</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="left"><span class="small_caps">Harvard University</span>,</p> +<p>June 3, 1917.</p></div> + + + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_translations">TRANSLATIONS</a></h1></div> + + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="life_immovable_introductory_poem">LIFE IMMOVABLE</a><br /><br /> + +INTRODUCTORY POEM</h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>And now the columns stand a forest speechless<br /> + And motionless; and among them, the rhythms<br /> + And thoughts move in slow measures constantly;<br /> + And in their depths, light-written images<br /> + Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him.</i></p> + + <p class="i4">From the "Thoughts of Early Dawn."</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote class="introductory_poem"> +<p>I labored long to create the statue for the Temple<br /> +On stone that I had found<br /> +And set it up in nakedness; and then to pass;<br /> +To pass but not to die.</p> + +<p>And I created it. But narrow men who bow<br /> +To worship shapeless wooden images, ill-clad,<br /> +With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear,<br /> +Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily.</p> + +<p>My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile!<br /> +To foreign lands, I led my restless wanderings.<br /> +But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered:<br /> +I dug a pit; and in the pit I laid my statue.</p> + +<p>And then I whispered: "Here lie low unseen and live<br /> +With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins<br /> +Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art!<br /> +A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!"</p> + +<p>And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets,<br /> +The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light!<br /> +In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O Maker!<br /> +Better forever lost in the unlighted depths!</p> + +<p>"Its hour may never come! and if it come, and if<br /> +Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant<br /> +With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish,<br /> +And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable!</p> + +<p>"Today, was soon for thee; tomorrow will be late!<br /> +Thy dream is vain! The dawn thou longest will not dawn;<br /> +Thus burning for eternities thou mayest not reach,<br /> +Remain cloud-hunter and Praxiteles of shadows!</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow and today for thee are snares and seas!<br /> +All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false!<br /> +Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden!<br /> +And thou shalt pass away—hear this!—and thou shalt die!"</p> + +<p>And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die!<br /> +Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind!<br /> +Let pits devour my work! Of all eternal things,<br /> +My restless wandering may have the greatest worth!"</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_fatherlands">FATHERLANDS</a></h1> + <p class="center"><i>To the blessed shade of Tigrane Yergate who loved my Fatherlands.</i></p> +</div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="fatherlands_i_xii">FATHERLANDS</a></h2> + + +<h3>I<a href="#footnote_05" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_05">[5]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Where with its many ships the harbor moans,<br /> +The land spreads beaten by the billows wild,<br /> +Remembering not even as a dream<br /> +Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth.</p> + +<p>The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich;<br /> +And on her brow, an aged crown she wears,<br /> +A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks,<br /> +Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might.</p> + +<p>O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch;<br /> +And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far<br /> +Aloft with midland Zygos at his side.</p> + +<p>Here I first opened to the day mine eyes;<br /> +And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born,<br /> +An image faint, half-vanished, fair—a mother.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>II<a href="#footnote_06" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_06">[6]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Upon the lake, the island-studded, where<br /> +The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs<br /> +The seashore strewn with seaweed far away,<br /> +The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan.</p> + +<p>'Tis there the northwind battles mightily<br /> +Upon the southwind; and the high tide on<br /> +The low; and far into the main's abyss<br /> +The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking.</p> + +<p>There stands Varassova, the triple-headed;<br /> +And from her heights, a lady from her tower,<br /> +The moon bends o'er the waters lying still.</p> + +<p>But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's,<br /> +Not even there I knew; but only sorrow<br /> +And, what is now a fire, the spirit's spark.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>III</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Sky everywhere; and sunbeams on all sides;<br /> +Something about like honey from Hymettus;<br /> +The lilies grow of marble witherless;<br /> +Pentele shines, birthgiver of Olympus.</p> + +<p>The digging pick on Beauty stumbles still;<br /> +Cybele's womb bears gods instead of mortals;<br /> +And Athens bleeds with violet blood abundant<br /> +Each time the Afternoon's arrows pour on her.</p> + +<p>The sacred olive keeps its shrines and fields;<br /> +And in the midst of crowds that slowly move<br /> +Like caterpillars on a flower white,</p> + +<p>The people of the relics lives and reigns<br /> +Myriad-souled; and in the dust, the spirit<br /> +Glitters; I feel it battling in me with Darkness.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>IV<a href="#footnote_07" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_07">[7]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Where the Homeric dwellers of Phaeacia<br /> +Still live, and with a kiss meet East and West;<br /> +Where with the olive tree the cypress blooms,<br /> +A dark robe in the azure infinite,</p> + +<p>E'en there my soul has longed to dwell in peace<br /> +With towering visions of the land of Pyrrhus;<br /> +There dream-born beauties pour their flood, Dawn's mother<br /> +Lighting the fountain of sweet Harmony.</p> + +<p>The rhapsodies of the Immortal Blind<br /> +In the new voice of Greece are echoed there;<a href="#footnote_08" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_08">[8]</a><br /> +The shade of Solomos<a href="#footnote_09" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_09">[9]</a> in fields Elysian</p> + +<p>Breathes rose-born fragrance; and master of the lyre,<br /> +A new bard sings,<a href="#footnote_10" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_10">[10]</a> like old Demodocus,<br /> +The glories of the Fatherland and Crete.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>V<a href="#footnote_11" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_11">[11]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Lo, dreams strange-born among my dreams are mingling;<br /> +A lake, the ancient Mareotis, where<br /> +The Goddess spreads with ever hidden face<br /> +Her wedding couch to greet Osiris Lord.</p> + +<p>As if from graves, from laughless depths, before me<br /> +Life brightly glitters with her gentle smile;<br /> +A Libyan thirst burns in my heart; and Ra,<br /> +The fiery archer, battles everywhere.</p> + +<p>Something sow-like before me gnashed its teeth,<br /> +The slavish soul and savage of the Arab;<br /> +World-nourishing the Nile rolled on its waters;</p> + +<p>And lotus-crowned, in the cool shade of palms,<br /> +I loved as beasts that dwell in wilderness<br /> +A Fellah lass full-breasted and sphinx-faced.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>VI<a href="#footnote_12" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_12">[12]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>A sinner hermit on the Holy Mountain,<br /> +I burn in Satan's fire and pine in hell;<br /> +My soul is ruins and woe; and in a stream<br /> +Deep-flowing, I sink, a traveller beguiled.</p> + +<p>The blue Aegean spreads a sapphire treasure;<br /> +Like Daphnis and his Chloe stand sky and earth;<br /> +Quivering, lo, the seed of life blooms forth;<br /> +In swarms, the living beings suck the sap</p> + +<p>Of all. Olympus, Ossa, Pelion,<br /> +And every lap of sea, and every tongue<br /> +Of land, lake-like Cassandra, Thrace's shores</p> + +<p>Are clad in wedding garb; and I? "O Lord,<br /> +Be my Redeemer!" and with floods of tears<br /> +I bathe the god-child Panselenus<a href="#footnote_13" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_13">[13]</a> wrought.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>VII<a href="#footnote_14" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_14">[14]</a></h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Rumele is a royal crown of ruby;<br /> +Moreas is a glow of emerald;<br /> +The Seven Isles,<a href="#footnote_15" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_15">[15]</a> a jasmine sevenfold;<br /> +And every Cyclad, a Nereid sea-born.</p> + +<p>Even the chains of rugged Epirus laugh;<br /> +And Thessaly spreads far her golden charms.<br /> +Hidden beneath her present waves of woe,<br /> +Methinks I look on Hellas, Queen of lands.</p> + +<p>For still the ancient fir of valor blooms;<br /> +And from the pangs and sighs of ages risen,<br /> +The breath of Digenes<a href="#footnote_16" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_16">[16]</a> fills all the land</p> + +<p>Breeding a race of heroes strong and new;<br /> +And in the depths of green and golden Night<br /> +Sings on Colonus Hill the nightingale.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>VIII</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>From Danube to the cape of Taenaron,<br /> +From Thunder Mountain's End to Chalcedon,<br /> +Thou passest now a mermaid of the sea<br /> +And now a statue of marble Parian.</p> + +<p>Now with the laurel bough from Helicon<br /> +And now with sword barbarian, thou sweepest;<br /> +And on the fields of thy great labarum,<br /> +I see a double headed image drawn.</p> + +<p>The sacred Rock gleams like a topaz here;<br /> +And virgins basket-bearing, clad in white,<br /> +March in a dance and shake Athena's veil;</p> + +<p>But far the sapphires shine of Bosporus;<br /> +And through the Golden Gate exulting pass<br /> +Victors Imperial triumphantly.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>IX</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Like the Phaeacians' ship, Imagination<br /> +Without the help of sail or mariner<br /> +Rolls on; in my soul's depths loom many lands:<br /> +Thrice-ancient, motionless like Asia,</p> + +<p>And others five-minded and bold like Europe's realms;<br /> +Despair like Africa's black earth holds me;<br /> +Within me a savage Polynesia spreads;<br /> +And always I trail some path Columbian.</p> + +<p>All monstrous things of life, the fields aflame<br /> +Under a tropic sun, I knew; I wore<br /> +The shrouds of the poles; and on a thousand paths,</p> + +<p>I saw the world unfurled before my eyes.<br /> +And what am I? Grass on a clod of earth<br /> +Scorned even by the passing reaper's scythe.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>X</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>A traveller, I found in waveless seas<br /> +Calypso and Helena thrice-beautiful;<br /> +And on the Lotus Eaters' shores, I drank<br /> +The blissful waters of oblivion.</p> + +<p>In the sun-flooded land, I stood by him,<br /> +The god of the Hyperborean race;<br /> +One night—in strange and peerless radiance—<br /> +The Magi showed to me the mystic star.</p> + +<p>I saw the Queen of Sheba on her throne,<br /> +O Soul, light flowing from her fingers' touch;<br /> +My eyes beheld Atlantis Isle, that seemed</p> + +<p>An Ocean flower beyond a mortal's dreams;<br /> +And now the care and memory of all<br /> +These things are rhythm to me and verse and song.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>XI</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>About the chariot of the Seven Stars,<br /> +Sky-racers numberless, whole worlds of giants<br /> +And beasts: Ocean of suns, the Milky Way,<br /> +Orion, and the monsters of the spheres—</p> + +<p>The fearful Zodiac. The Lion roars<br /> +Amidst the wilderness ethereal;<br /> +The Lyre plays; and trophy-like, the Lock<br /> +Of Berenice gleams; and rhythms and laws</p> + +<p>Fade in the space of mysteries. Sun, Cronus,<br /> +Mars, Earth, and Venus sweep in swift pursuit<br /> +Towards the world magnet of great Hercules.</p> + +<p>Only my soul like polar star awaits<br /> +Immovable, yet filled with dreamful longings;<br /> +And knows not whence it comes nor where it goes.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h3>XII</h3> +<blockquote> +<p>Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water!<br /> +Elements indestructible, beginning<br /> +And end of life, first joy and last of mine!<br /> +You I shall find again when I pass on</p> + +<p>To the graves' calm. The people of the dreams<br /> +Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass;<br /> +My reason, fire-like, unto lasting fire;<br /> +My passions' craze unto the billows' madness;</p> + +<p>Even my dust-born body, unto dust;<br /> +And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water;<br /> +And from the air of dreams, and from the flames</p> + +<p>Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust,<br /> +And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise<br /> +A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_sonnets">THE SONNETS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>From their foreign land and precious,<br /> +From their nest in green, I took<br /> +Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them<br /> +In a cage of woven gold.</p> + +<p>And the cage of woven gold<br /> +Then became a second nest;<br /> +On our shores the birds have found<br /> +A new, precious fatherland.</p> + +<p>Softly here they shake their feathers;<br /> +Swiftly sing of worlds and souls<br /> +Deep and spacious; or they mingle</p> + +<p>Lightning-like their tears and smiles.<br /> +And though small and as of coral,<br /> +Yet they sing with accents loud.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="epiphany">EPIPHANY</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>With chariot drawn by star-plumed peacocks, lo,<br /> +The goddess of desires before her people<br /> +Is revealed! She passes on, youth's joyful shout<br /> +And torture, dragging my eighteen years behind.</p> + +<p>Snowflakes became a world; and, taking life<br /> +As substance, made her body and her thought.<br /> +Upon her royal brow, birds strange and wild,<br /> +Scorn's breed, have built their nest and there abide.</p> + +<p>Upon her path, in vain I build the palace<br /> +Of virgin dreams with virgin gold for her,<br /> +Raising a throne of diamonds in its midst.</p> + +<p>She passes on her starlit chariot;<br /> +And as if filled with golden dreams divine,<br /> +She does not even look upon my palace!</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1895.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="makaria">MAKARIA</a><a href="#footnote_17" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_17">[17]</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>To you, who dawned before me, offspring of<br /> +The great abyss and flower of foaming billows!<br /> +To you, whom with their love all things embrace,<br /> +And who stir tempests in a statue's depths!</p> + +<p>To you, O woman and O virgin, myrrhs,<br /> +Fruit, frankincense, I offer recklessly!<br /> +To you, the music of the world! To you,<br /> +My songs' pure foam, songs that your vision fills!</p> + +<p>For you can love, remember, understand.<br /> +Before I saw you in the world's great night,<br /> +You shone upon my mother's lighted face.</p> + +<p>Your worshipper into the world I came;<br /> +Your name I knew not, and in love's sweet font<br /> +I called you with the name <i>Makaria</i>!</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1895.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_market_place">THE MARKET PLACE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Just as dry summers pant for the first rain,<br /> +So thou art thirsty for a happy home<br /> +And for a life remote, like hermit's prayer,<br /> +A corner of forgetting and of love.</p> + +<p>And thirsty for the ship upon the sea<br /> +That ever onward sails with birds and sea-things,<br /> +Filling its life with our great planet's light.<br /> +But unto thee both ship and home said: "No!</p> + +<p>"Look neither for the happiness remote<br /> +That never moves, nor for the life that ever finds<br /> +In each new land and harbor a new soul!</p> + +<p>"Only the panting of a toiling slave<br /> +For thee! Drag in the market place thy body's<br /> +Nakedness, strange to the strangers and thine own!"</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="loves">LOVES</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Some people love things modest and things small,<br /> +And like to feed in cages little birds;<br /> +They deck themselves with garden violets<br /> +And drink the singing waters of the brooks.</p> + +<p>Others delight in tales told by the embers<br /> +Of the home hearth or listen to the songs<br /> +Of the nightbirds with rapture; others, slaves<br /> +Of a great pain, burn incense to the stars</p> + +<p>Of beauty. And some thirst for the forest shades<br /> +And for a nacreous dawn, and for a sunset<br /> +Dipped in red blood, a barren wilderness</p> + +<p>Light-burned. But thee no love with nature binds;<br /> +And where the heavens mingle with the sea,<br /> +A path thou seekest for a sphere beyond.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="when_polylas_died">WHEN POLYLAS DIED</a><a href="#footnote_18" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_18">[18]</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>With wings and hands ethereal, rhythms and thoughts<br /> +Lifted thy soul, redeemed from its dust frame,<br /> +And led it straightway to the stars; and there<br /> +The sacred escort halts and ends its journey.</p> + +<p>In summers paradisiac beyond,<br /> +Where on the Lyre's star the bards and makers,<br /> +Like doves with breath immortal, dwell in gleams,<br /> +The shade of Solomos like magnet draws thee,</p> + +<p>And leading thee before a double Tabor,<br /> +Thus speaks to thee: "Here is thy glory! Here<br /> +Dwell and behold the giant pair that stand</p> + +<p>Before thee never setting, with diamonds dark;<br /> +And like a breath of worship pass, embracing<br /> +Thy Homer and thy Shakespeare, blessed One!"</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_petros_basilikos">TO PETROS BASILIKOS</a><a href="#footnote_19" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_19">[19]</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O bard, whose songs unto the vernal god<br /> +Of idyls rang from the same gladsome flute,<br /> +April's sweet-breathing air is mingled now<br /> +With martial sounds of savage trumpetings.</p> + +<p>A crown is woven for our motherland:<br /> +Is it life's laurels or the martyr's thorns?<br /> +Oh see beyond: the wild vine's flowers now<br /> +Are shaken on a lake of blood and tears!</p> + +<p>Has the war phantom blown upon thee too?<br /> +Or hast thou with the force of lightning winds<br /> +Flown where for ages sacred hatreds burn</p> + +<p>In flames? Or has an evil wound thrown thee<br /> +Upon the earth where now in vain the god<br /> +Of idyls tries to raise thee with his kisses?</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1897.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="soldier_and_maker">SOLDIER AND MAKER</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Soldier and maker swiftly I<br /> +Seized with my hand the spear and spoke:<br /> +"Fall on the beast of the world beyond<br /> +And strike the eagle-wingèd lion!"</p> + +<p>Before me with God's grace, I saw<br /> +Soulless the griffin seven-souled,<br /> +Blood spurting from a hole hell-like<br /> +And scorching with its heat the grass!</p> + +<p>And then restored with calm, I saw<br /> +The savage strife like a day's dawn;<br /> +And the destroyer, I, became</p> + +<p>A maker; and with this same hand,<br /> +I carve on ivory the man<br /> +Who slew the beast and make him deathless.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_athena_relief">THE ATHENA RELIEF</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Why leanest thou on idle spear?<br /> +Why is thy dreadful helmet bent<br /> +Heavy upon thy breast, O virgin?<br /> +What sorrow is so great, O thought,</p> + +<p>As to touch thee? Are there no more<br /> +Of thunder-bearing enemies<br /> +To yield thee trophies new? No pomp<br /> +Athenian to guide thy ship</p> + +<p>On to the sacred Rock? I see<br /> +Some pain holds Pallas fixed upon<br /> +A gravestone. Some great blow moves her:</p> + +<p>Is it thy sacred city's loss,<br /> +Or seest thou all Greece—alas—<br /> +Of now and yesterday entombed?</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_huntress_relief">THE HUNTRESS RELIEF</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Whither so light of garb and swift of foot, O Huntress?<br /> +Is it the sacred gifts of pure Hippolytus<br /> +That make thee leave Arcadia's forest land behind,<br /> +O shelter of the pure, and slayer of the wild?</p> + +<p>Wild lily of virginity raised on the fields<br /> +Olympian, O mountain Queen of gleaming bow,<br /> +I envy him who in a careless hour did face<br /> +Thy beauty's lightning with thy heartless vengefulness.</p> + +<p>And yet white like the morn, thou openest in secret<br /> +Thy lips thrice fragrant with divine ambrosia<br /> +And sayest: "Latona's deathless grace has moulded me</p> + +<p>Under the sacred tree upon Ortygia;<br /> +But now once more upon the noble stone, the new<br /> +Maker has moulded me with a new deathlessness."</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1895.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="a_fathers_song">A FATHER'S SONG</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O first-born pride and joy of my own home,<br /> +I still remember thy coming's sacred day:<br /> +The early dawn was breaking as from pearls,<br /> +Whitening the sky that spread star-spangled still;</p> + +<p>Thou wert not like the fresh and budding rose<br /> +In its green mother's clasp before it opens;<br /> +Thou camest like a victim pitiful<br /> +And feeble cast by a rude hand among us.</p> + +<p>And as if thou wert seeking help, thy wail<br /> +Rose sadder than the sound of a death knell;<br /> +And thus the last of thy own mother's groans</p> + +<p>Was mingled with thy first lament. Life's great<br /> +Drama began. I watch it, and I feel<br /> +Within me Fear's and Pity's mystic wail!</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1894.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_the_poet_l_maviles">TO THE POET L. MAVILES</a><a href="#footnote_20" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_20">[20]</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Thy soul is seeking tranquil paths<br /> +Alone; thou hatest barking mouths;<br /> +And yet thy country's love enflames thee,<br /> +O maker of the noble sonnet.</p> + +<p>In the white alabaster vase<br /> +Filled with pure native earth, a flower<br /> +Of dream that only few can see<br /> +Trembles and scatters fragrances.</p> + +<p>Thy verse, the vase; thy mind, the flower.<br /> +But a hand broke the vase, and now<br /> +The azure beauty of the flower</p> + +<p>Has found a mate in the powder's smoke<br /> +Upon Crete's Isle, the blue sea's crown,<br /> +Mother of bards and tyrant slayers.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="imagination_fatherlands">IMAGINATION</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Time's spider lurks and lies in wait;<br /> +And on its poisoned claws, the beast<br /> +All watchful glides, assails, and grasps<br /> +The ruin. O thrice-holy beauties!</p> + +<p>In vain all props and wisdom's arts!<br /> +In vain a tribe of sages seek<br /> +To save it! Time's remaining crumbs<br /> +Are scattered far and melt like frost.</p> + +<p>Then from the lofty land of Thought,<br /> +Imagination came, a goddess<br /> +Among the gods, and made again,</p> + +<p>Even where until now the ruin<br /> +Crumbled, what only its hands can make—<br /> +Deathless the first-born Parthenon.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="makarias_death">MAKARIA'S DEATH</a></h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>To die for these, my brothers, and myself;<br /> + For by not loving my own life too much,<br /> + I found the best of finds, a glorious death.</i></p> + + <p class="i4"><span class="small_caps">Euripides</span>, <i>Herakleidae</i>, 532-534.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>On Athens' earth, Zeus of the Market place<br /> +Sees Hercules's children kneeling down<br /> +On his pure altar, strange, forlorn, thrice-orphan.<br /> +Fearful the Argive sweeps on; duty's hand</p> + +<p>Is weak. The king of Athens pities them,<br /> +But cruel oracles vex him with fear:<br /> +"Lo, from thy blood, thrice-noble virgin, shall<br /> +The conquerless new enemy be conquered."</p> + +<p>None stirs, alas! Orphanhood is forsaken<br /> +By all. Then, filled with pride of heroes, thou,<br /> +Redeemer of a land and race, divine</p> + +<p>Daughter thrice-worthy of the great Alcides,<br /> +Plungest into thy breast the victim's sword<br /> +And diest a thrice-free death, Makaria.</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_pallis_for_his_iliad">TO PALLIS</a><a href="#footnote_21" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_21">[21]</a> FOR HIS "ILIAD"</h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>From cups that are both ours and strange,<br /> +Enameled, and adorned with leaves<br /> +Of laurel and of ivy green,<br /> +We quaff the wine both pure and mixed.</p> + +<p>The liquid that within us burns,<br /> +Or poured in cups about us gleams<br /> +And bird-like sings, brings us away<br /> +To the far Isle of dreams. But thou</p> + +<p>Enviest not the path of dreams,<br /> +Nor sharest in our drunken revel;<br /> +For with our fathers' spacious cup,</p> + +<p>The strong and simple, thou hast brought<br /> +Immortal water from the spring<br /> +Of Homer, thou O traveller!</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1903.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="hail_to_the_rime">HAIL TO THE RIME</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Cyprus's shores have not beheld thee born of foam;<br /> +A foreign Vulcan forged thee on a diamond anvil<br /> +With a gold hammer; and the bard who touches thee,<br /> +Bound with thy magic beauty's charms, remains thy thrall.</p> + +<p>The yearning prayers of a lover fondly loved<br /> +Cannot accomplish what thou canst, strange nightingale!<br /> +Thy song wafts me upon the tranquil fields of calm<br /> +When jackals born of woeful cares within me howl.</p> + +<p>Thy might gives even sin a garment beautiful;<br /> +And thought divine before thee bows in reverence.<br /> +Imagination's ship sails with thy help straight on</p> + +<p>Where Solomon and Croesus have their treasuries.<br /> +To thee I pray! Answer my greeting lovingly,<br /> +Thou new tenth Muse among the nine of old, O Rime!</p> + + <p class="i4"><i>1896.</i></p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_the_return">THE RETURN</a><br /> +1897</h1> + <p class="center">(1897 is the year of the Greco-Turkish war which ended disastrously + for Greece. See <a href="#life_immovable_first_part_the_return">Introduction, page 58</a>.)</p> +</div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="dedication"><i>DEDICATION</i></a></h2> + +<blockquote class="introductory_poem"> +<p>Mother thrice reverend, O widowed saint,<br /> +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place<br /> +The crowns of Art, dream-made and dream-engraved.<br /> +With war storms desolate, my native land,<br /> +Trod by the Turk and by strangers scorned thou wert;<br /> +Even thy child beholding thee in ruins,<br /> +As if the waters of Oblivion<br /> +In dark Oblivion's Dale had touched his lips,<br /> +Left thee; and thou didst writhe like a whole world<br /> +Engulfed in sounds of woe: Hair-tearings and<br /> +Breast-beatings, groans of sad despair, night-bats<br /> +Wandering restlessly, unheeded prayers<br /> +Of souls condemned, loud thunder peals, fierce glares<br /> +Of lightnings, and the laughter of the fiends!</p> + +<p>But lo, unknown and humble I, with calm<br /> +Upon my countenance and storm in mind,<br /> +Far from the panic-stricken market place,<br /> +Beneath the plane trees' shade, and far away<br /> +By the blood-tinctured settings of the suns,<br /> +Unruffled, in another land I travelled,<br /> +And deep I dug in distant treasure mines.<br /> +And with my hand, that knows no rifle's touch,<br /> +Slowly I hammered on the crowns of art;<br /> +And if thou findest nowhere on their gleam<br /> +Thine image painted, or thy blessed name<br /> +Written, thou knowest still, O motherland,<br /> +Though in thy woe's abyss they seem unlike,<br /> +And though a strange and careless glimmer shines<br /> +On them, they were created out of thee;<br /> +For thee I made them; and for thee I raised them.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, when in the midst of wilderness<br /> +And ruins thou first openest thine eyes,<br /> +O hapless One, my humble offerings<br /> +Will not appear like thy wrath's threats, nor like<br /> +The joyful trumpetings of thy reveille,<br /> +Nor like an image of thy passion's cross,<br /> +Nor like thy sorrow's dirge, nor like glad hymns;<br /> +But like soft songs and trembling lights and fondlings<br /> +Of lily hands, black birds, and stars unknown.</p> + +<p>Thus when, smitten with Charon's knife and sunk<br /> +In death's dark swoon, a hapless mother feels<br /> +Life's tide return, she hears again, like first<br /> +Life-summons, the anxious voice of her fond child,<br /> +A voice that comforts her and tenderly<br /> +Tells of a thousand tales of love his fancy<br /> +Weaves or his memory recalls, and drowns<br /> +His faintest sigh not to remind his mother<br /> +Of the unerring blow of Charon's knife.</p> + +<p>Mother thrice-reverend, O widowed saint,<br /> +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place<br /> +The crowns of Art dream-made and dream-engraved.<br /> +Though they will echo not thy sorrow's groans,<br /> +A child of thine has bound them on thine earth<br /> +With gold; upon their circles thine own speech<br /> +Is shown with master tongue; their light is drawn<br /> +From thy sun's gleaming fountain; seek no more!</p> + +<p>Only with harmony sublime and pure,<br /> +Which, though it rises over time and space,<br /> +Turns the world's ears to his native land,<br /> +The poet is the greatest patriot.</p> +</blockquote></div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="the_temple">THE TEMPLE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed,<br /> +O Temple built apart in wilderness<br /> +For an unseen divinity, a goddess<br /> +Who from her being's deep abyss reveals<br /> +Only a statue wrought by human hand<br /> +And even covered with a veil opaque.</p> + +<p>Methinks I see among thy sculptured columns,<br /> +Among thy secret treasures and thine altars,<br /> +Ion, the Delphic priest, who lays aside<br /> +The snow-white raiment of the sacrifice<br /> +And takes up the wayfarer's knotty staff.<br /> +I am no ministrant, nor have I held<br /> +The dreadful mystic key, nor have I touched<br /> +Boldly or timidly the sacred gate<br /> +That leads to Life's deep-hidden mysteries.<br /> +One sinner more, O Temple, in the midst<br /> +Of sinful multitudes, I come to worship.</p> + +<p>My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed;<br /> +I feel the chill of night or of the tomb<br /> +Creeping upon me slowly, stealthily.<br /> +But lo, I struggle to shake off the evil<br /> +That creeps on me so cold; with longing heart,<br /> +I drag my bleeding knees beyond thy walls,<br /> +Out of thy columns—forests stifling me—<br /> +Into the sunlight and the moon's soft glimmer.</p> + +<p>Away with prayer's burning frankincense!<br /> +Away with the gold knife of the sacrifice!<br /> +Away with choirs loud-voiced and clad in white,<br /> +Singing their hymns about the flaming altars!<br /> +Abandoning thee, O Temple, I return<br /> +To the small hut of the first bloom of time.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_hut">THE HUT</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O humble hut of the first bloom of time,<br /> +Neither the noisy city's mingled Babel,<br /> +Nor the most tranquil soul of the great plain,<br /> +Nor the gold cloud of dust on the wide road,<br /> +Nor the brook's course that sings like nightingales,<br /> +Nothing of these is either shown to thee<br /> +Or speaks before thy bare and flowerless window,<br /> +O humble hut of the first bloom of time.</p> + +<p>Only the neighbor's step now echoes on<br /> +From the rough pavement built in Turkish times;<br /> +The black wall's shadow, on the narrow street;<br /> +And on the lonely ruins lightning-struck<br /> +Ere they became the glory of a house,<br /> +The nettles revel lustful and unreaped.<br /> +Beneath the bare and flowerless window's sill,<br /> +A nest of greenish black, like a small heart,<br /> +Hangs tenantless and waits and waits and waits<br /> +In vain for the return of the first swallow<br /> +That has gone forth, its first and last of dwellers.</p> + +<p>O thirsty eyes that linger magnet-bound<br /> +On the nest's orphanhood of greenish black!<br /> +O ears filled with the terror of the tune<br /> +That travels to the bare and flowerless window<br /> +High from thy roof moss-covered with neglect,<br /> +O humble hut of the first bloom of time!<br /> +It is the tune the lone-owl always plays<br /> +Blowing upon the cursèd flute of night<br /> +Its lingering shrill notes of mournful measure,<br /> +Herald of woe and prophet of all ill.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_ring">THE RING</a></h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>The ring is lost! The wedding ring is gone!</i></p> + <p class="i8">A folk song.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>My mother planned a wedding feast for me<br /> +And chose me for a wife a Nereid,<br /> +A tender flower of beauty and of faith.<br /> +My mother wished to wed me with thy charms,<br /> +O Fairy Life, thou first of Nereids!</p> + +<p>And hastily she goes to seek advice,<br /> +Begging for gold from every sorceress<br /> +And powerful witch, and gold from forty brides<br /> +Whose wedding crowns are fresh upon their brows;<br /> +And making with the gold a ring enchanted,<br /> +She puts it on my finger and she binds<br /> +With golden bond my youthful human flesh<br /> +To the strange Fairy—how strange a wedding ring!—</p> + +<p>I was the boy that always older grew<br /> +With the transporting passion of a pair<br /> +Bethrothed who, lured by longing, countenance<br /> +Their wedding moment as an endless feast<br /> +Upon a bridal bed of lily white.</p> + +<p>The boy I was that always older grew<br /> +Gold-bound with Life, the Fairy conqueress;<br /> +The boy I was that always older grew<br /> +With love and thirst unquenchable for Life;<br /> +The boy I was that always older grew<br /> +Destined to tread upon a path untrod<br /> +Amidst the light, illumined. I was he<br /> +Whose brow like an Olympian victor's shone<br /> +And like the man's who tamed Bucephalus.<br /> +I was the nimble dolphin with gold wings,<br /> +Arion's watchful and quick deliverer.</p> + +<p>But then, one day,—I know not whence and how—<br /> +Upon a shore of sunburned sands, the hour<br /> +Of early evening saddened with dark clouds,<br /> +I wrestled with a strange black boy new-come,<br /> +Risen to life from the great sea's abyss;<br /> +And in the savage spite of that long struggle,<br /> +The ring fell from my finger and was gone!</p> + +<p>Did the great earth engulf it? Did the wave<br /> +Swallow it? I know not. But this I know:<br /> +For ever since, the binding spell is rent!<br /> +And Fairy Life, the first of Nereids,<br /> +My own bethrothed, that was my slave and queen,<br /> +Vanished away like a fleet cloud of smoke!</p> + +<p>And ever since, from my first-blooming youth<br /> +To the first flakes of silver that now fall<br /> +On the black forest of my hair, since then,<br /> +Some power dumb and dreadful holds me bound<br /> +With a mere shadow fleeting and unknown<br /> +That seems not to exist, yet ever longs<br /> +And vainly strives to enter into being.</p> + +<p>And now I am Life's widowed mate and hapless,<br /> +Life's great and careless patient! Woe is me!<br /> +And I am like the fair Alcithoe,<br /> +Daughter of the ancient king, who changed her form<br /> +And as a sign of the gods' vengeful wrath<br /> +Is now instead of princess a night-bat!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_cord_grass_festival">THE CORD GRASS FESTIVAL</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>See far away, what a glad festival<br /> +The golden grasses on the meadow weave!<br /> +A festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers!<br /> +With the sweet sunrise sweetly wakening,<br /> +I also wish to join the festival<br /> +And, like a treasure reaper, to embrace<br /> +Masses of flowers blond and fresh with dew,<br /> +And then to squander all my flower treasure<br /> +At my love's feet, for my heart's ruling queen.</p> + +<p>But the gold-spangled meadow spreads too deep;<br /> +And, just as mourning for some dead deprives<br /> +A life rejoicing with its twenty years<br /> +Of its light raiments of a lily-white,<br /> +So is my swift and merry way cut short<br /> +By a bad way that lies between, without<br /> +An end, beset with brambles and with marshes!</p> + +<p>The thorny plants tear like an enemy's claws;<br /> +And like bird-lime the bad plain's mire ensnares<br /> +My feet among the brambles and the marshes,<br /> +Where, in the parching sun's enflaming shafts,<br /> +The brine, like silver lightning, strikes my eyes!</p> + +<p>Where is the coolness of a breath? Where is<br /> +The covering shadow of a leafy tree?<br /> +I faint! My frame is bent! My way is lost!<br /> +I droop exhausted on the briny earth,<br /> +And in my lethargy I feel the thorns<br /> +Upon my brow; the bitter brine upon<br /> +My lips; the sultriness of the south wind<br /> +Upon my hands; the kisses of the marsh<br /> +Upon my feet; the rushes' fondling on<br /> +My breast; and the hard fate and impotence<br /> +Of this bare world within me.<br /> + <span class="i8">Where art thou,</span><br /> +My love?<br /> + <span class="i2">See far, in depths of purple sunsets</span><br /> +Gorgeously painted, the glad festival<br /> +That golden grasses on the meadow weave,<br /> +The festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers,<br /> +Sees me, and calls me still, and waits for me!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_fairy">THE FAIRY</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>When in the evening on my hut the moon<br /> +Spreads her soft silver nets that dreams have wrought,<br /> +The hut is caught, and, by the net bewitched,<br /> +It changes and becomes a lofty tower.</p> + +<p>And then, unseen by the Day's Sun, the father<br /> +Of Health, the rosy-cheeked, who always sees<br /> +All things with careless and short-sighted eyes,<br /> +A monstrous vision lo, the Fairy Illness,<br /> +Stripped in the silver glimmer of the moon,<br /> +Herself of moonlight born, looms into sight<br /> +Slowly in the enchanted tower's midst!</p> + +<p>In whitening shimmers, she, like sea at night,<br /> +Advances with the step of sleeping men;<br /> +Death's pallor is her own, though not Death's chill;<br /> +Her ivory skeleton is mantled by<br /> +A fleshy cover made of fiery air;<br /> +The uncouth flowers on her dragging veil<br /> +Seem, like the poppies, crimson red and black;<br /> +And still more uncouth look the countless things<br /> +Wrought on its folds: dragons and ogresses,<br /> +Fevers and lethargies and pains of heart,<br /> +Nightmares and storms and earthquakes, breaking nerves.</p> + +<p>Delirium flies from her burning lips,<br /> +A language made of odd, discordant rhythms.<br /> +To nothing, either hers or strange, her eyes<br /> +Are like; deep, as abyss untrod, they yawn,<br /> +And seem as if they gaze immovable<br /> +On empty space. Yet shouldst thou stoop with thirst<br /> +To mirror on her staring eyes thine own,<br /> +Then wouldst thou see worlds buried in their caves,<br /> +Like ruined cities of whole centuries,<br /> +Sunk in the fairy-spangled oceans' depths!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="out_in_the_open_light">OUT IN THE OPEN LIGHT</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Out in the open light, the Sun is shining,<br /> +Father of Health, Health rosy cheeked, whose breasts<br /> +Are full, and yield their milk abundantly;<br /> +She only sees those things of flesh about<br /> +Which her divine sun-father shows to her;<br /> +And her unconquerable iron hands<br /> +Are matched with careless and short-sighted eyes.</p> + +<p>Out in the open light, even the moon,<br /> +The Sibyl, clothed in white, appears, with glance<br /> +Lyncean, piercing deep and bringing forth<br /> +From the world's ends great hosts of monstrous things,<br /> +The monsters born of shadows and of dreams.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="first_love">FIRST LOVE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>When in my breast I felt my first-born love,<br /> +Thrice-noble maiden of compliant heart,<br /> +I was possessed with the strange fear that filled<br /> +The youthful princess of the ancient tale<br /> +At sight of the black man's enchanted rod.</p> + +<p>O mate, who madest first my early years<br /> +Blossom, too soon thou fleddest far from me<br /> +Nor sawest me again! Wild Fairies took<br /> +My speech, and evil demons seized my all;<br /> +Yet soul and body, my whole being shivers<br /> +From that awakening thou sangest me,<br /> +Eternal Woman! Thou wert what far Mecca<br /> +Is for the faithful's prayer to his prophet.<br /> +O far off Mecca! O eternal Fear<br /> +Of white Desire upon the shining wings<br /> +Of a black sinner! O king Love, chased like<br /> +Orestes, by a Fury serpent-haired!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_madman">THE MADMAN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>A madman chased my early childhood years<br /> +Thrice-sweet and blossoming, and seizing them—<br /> +Alas!—he crushed them in his reckless fury<br /> +Like twigs of purple-colored pomegranate!</p> + +<p>He scattered them in pieces everywhere:<br /> +Into the joyless house and in the yard,<br /> +On narrow streets, and paths, and pathless haunts,<br /> +Where persecution raves, and menace dumb<br /> +Chills all away from the pure light and air.<br /> +The madman's cursed hands hold everything<br /> +With snares and claws and stones and knives; they fall<br /> +On loneliness and on embracings, night<br /> +Or day, on sleep or wake, and everywhere!</p> + +<p>And yonder on the streets and in the houses,<br /> +Children like me in age, whose years were filled<br /> +With bloom and sweetness, freely ran and laughed<br /> +And played. Behind me, close, the madman's snares<br /> +I heard; and then, the deadened sound of feet!<br /> +I breathed his flaming breath! And if his steps<br /> +Were slow, still wilder did his laughter hunt me!</p> + +<p>Oh, for my life's cold quiverings of pain!<br /> +Oh, for the goading—not like the divine<br /> +Goading that drove the maid of Inachus,<br /> +Io, to wander on and on in frenzy;—<br /> +But like the sudden goading that smites down<br /> +The little bird when first it tries its wings!<br /> +And lo, blood of my blood the madman was!<br /> +A past, ancestral, long forgotten sin,<br /> +That, bursting forth upon me vampire-like,<br /> +Snatched from my head the dewy crown of joy!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="our_home">OUR HOME</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Our home has not the ugly clamoring<br /> +Nor the dumb stillness of the other homes<br /> +About and opposite. For in our home<br /> +Rare birds sing forth uncommon melodies;<br /> +And in our home-yard a young offshoot grows,<br /> +Sprung from Dodona's tree oracular!<br /> +And in the garden of our home, full thick,<br /> +The ironworts and snakeroots blossom on;<br /> +And in our home the magic mirror shines<br /> +Reflecting always in its gleaming glass<br /> +The visage of the world thrice-wonderful!</p> + +<p>The silence of our home is full of moans,<br /> +Moans vague and muffled from a distant world<br /> +Of bygone ages and of times unborn;<br /> +And in our home souls come to life and die.<br /> +Blossom from blossom blossoms forth and fades!<br /> +Old men have the white, rich, Levitic beard,<br /> +The foreheads wide of solemn contemplation,<br /> +The wrath of prophets, and the fleeting calm<br /> +And chilling threatfulness of the gray shadows.</p> + +<p>Glowing with love-heat like resistless Satyrs,<br /> +The young men in the mind's most shady glades<br /> +Hunt ardently the bride that is pure thought.<br /> +The children drop their playthings carelessly,<br /> +And, standing in a corner motionless,<br /> +Open their eyes in thought like men full-grown.<br /> +And all, ancestors and descendants, young<br /> +Or old, have ways that challenge ridicule<br /> +And have the word that bursting forth makes slaves!</p> + +<p>But still more beautiful and pure than these,<br /> +An harmony fit for the chosen few<br /> +Fills with its ringing sounds our dwelling place,<br /> +A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam<br /> +From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds<br /> +Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre conversing<br /> +In the star-spangled darkness of the night.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_dead">THE DEAD</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Within this place, I breathe a dead man's soul;<br /> +And the dead man, a blond and beardless youth!<br /> +A youthful light and blond stirs in our home;<br /> +And moments fly, and days and years and ages.<br /> +The dead man's soul is in this lonely house<br /> +Like bitter quiet about a calm-bound ship<br /> +That longs for the sea-paths, and dreams of storms.</p> + +<p>All faces, smoked with the faint smoke that glides<br /> +From candles lighting death! All eyes, still fixed<br /> +On a sad coffin! And the mute lips, tinged<br /> +With the last kiss's bitterness, still tremble.<br /> +As for a prayer, hands are raised, and feet<br /> +Move quietly as behind a funeral.<br /> +The snow-white nakedness of the cold walls<br /> +And black luxuriance of the mourning robes<br /> +Are like discordant music of two tunes.</p> + +<p>The children's step is light in thoughtful care<br /> +Lest they disturb the slumber of the dead.<br /> +The old men, bent as at a pit's dark end,<br /> +Lean on the virgins' shoulders, virgins fair<br /> +Like fates benevolent and comforting.<br /> +The young men seek on endless paths to find<br /> +In Wisdom's hands the weed Oblivion.<br /> +And on the window shutters that are closed,<br /> +The clay pots with their flowers seem to be<br /> +A dead man's wreath; and the lone ray that glides<br /> +Through the small fissure is transformed within<br /> +Into a taper's light on All Souls' Day.</p> + +<p>The candle burning at the sacred image<br /> +Is flickering and snaps as if it wrestled<br /> +With death. At moments, led astray, comes here<br /> +A butterfly of varied wings and brings<br /> +In airy flesh the <i>Ave</i> of the soul<br /> +That did enchant the house, the house that seems<br /> +Glad for its dead yet loves and longs for him,<br /> +The dead blond youth, and claims him as its own!<br /> +And luring him, that it might hold for ever<br /> +Its chosen love relentlessly, it has<br /> +Now changed its form and turned from house to grave!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_comrade">THE COMRADE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O boy of the glad school of seven years,<br /> +With thy tall form, a shadow of all thou wert.<br /> +Thy voice had sweetness never heard before,<br /> +A font of holy water of which all<br /> +Partook with fear and longing! We forgot<br /> +With thee the book and laughed thy merry laughter;<br /> +Thou didst tear lifeless readings from our minds<br /> +Together with the pedant's torpid mullen,<br /> +And didst sow deep into our hearts the seed<br /> +Of the gold tree that dazzles with its light,<br /> +And charms, and is a tale most wonderful!</p> + +<p>The princesses, with valiant heroes mated,<br /> +Shone in the hauntless palace of our thought,<br /> +First-born; and on imagination's meadow,<br /> +Another April bloomed. We saw Saint George,<br /> +The rider, slay the dragon and redeem<br /> +The maiden. They were not letters that thy hand's<br /> +White clay did write, but like the mystic seal<br /> +Of Solomon, it scratched a magic knot;<br /> +And thy forefinger moved within thy hand<br /> +Like fair Dionysus' thyrsus blossoming!</p> + +<p>Amidst the restless swarm of humming children,<br /> +We had the clamor; and thou hadst the honey,<br /> +Turning attention to a prayer, thou,<br /> +O comrade of the early years that bloomed,<br /> +O chosen being, unforgettable,<br /> +Worthy of everlasting memory!<br /> +Wherever thou still art or wanderest;<br /> +Whomever thou hast followed of the two<br /> +Women, who, in the past, did stir Alcmena's<br /> +Great son, after thou camest upon them<br /> +On some crosspath; whether thou blossomest<br /> +Like the pure lily, or tower-like thou risest;<br /> +Whether thou art neglected like a crumb,<br /> +Shinest as thy country's pride, or art alone,<br /> +A stranger among strangers wandering;<br /> +Whether life's riddle or the grave's holds thee;<br /> +Whatever and wherever thou now art,<br /> +O brother mine and mate, from my lips here<br /> +Accept my distant kiss with godlike grace!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="rhapsody">RHAPSODY</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Homer divine! Joy of all time and glory!<br /> +When in the coldness of a frigid school,<br /> +Upon the barrenness of a hard bench,<br /> +My teacher's graceless hands placed thee before me,<br /> +O peerless book, what I had thought would be<br /> +A lesson, proved a mighty miracle!</p> + +<p>The heavens opened wide and clear in me;<br /> +The sea, a sapphire sown with emerald;<br /> +The bench became a throne palatial;<br /> +The school, a world; the teacher, a great bard!</p> + +<p>It was not reading nor the fruit of thought:<br /> +A vision it was that shone most wonderful,<br /> +A melody my ears had never heard.</p> + +<p>In the great cavern that a forest deep<br /> +Of poplars and of cypresses encircles,<br /> +In the great fragrant cavern that the glow<br /> +Of burning cedar beats with pleasant warmth,<br /> +Calypso of the shining hair spins not<br /> +Her web with golden shuttle; nor sings she<br /> +With limpid voice. But lifting up her hands,<br /> +She pours her curses from her flaming heart<br /> +Against the jealous gods:<br /> + <span class="i8">"O mortal men</span><br /> +Adored by the immortal goddesses,<br /> +Who on Olympus shared with you their love's<br /> +Ambrosia, and mortals crushed to dust<br /> +By jealous gods!..."<br /> + <span class="i8">The goddess's awful curse</span><br /> +Makes the fresh celeries and violets fade,<br /> +And, like the hail sent by the heaven's wrath,<br /> +It burns the clusters on the fruitful vines!</p> + +<p>The hero far renowned of Ithaca<br /> +Alone heeds not the flaming curse, that he,<br /> +A wanderer, in the Nymph's heart did light<br /> +Unwittingly. But sea-wrecked and sea-beaten,<br /> +He sits without, immovable, with eyes<br /> +Fixed far away; and thus remembering<br /> +His native island's shores, for ever weeps<br /> +Upon the coast and near the sea thrice-deep.<br /> +The white sea-gull that often in its flight<br /> +Plunges its wings into the brine to catch<br /> +The fish, and the lone falcon perched afar<br /> +In the deep forest, lonely and remote,<br /> +Listen and answer to the hero's wail.</p> + +<p>Oh, for my phantasy's revealed first vision!<br /> +Oh, for the baring of the beautiful<br /> +Before me! Lo, the dusty, dark-brown land<br /> +Changes into a Nymph's isle lily-white!<br /> +The humble fisher lass upon the rock,<br /> +Into Calypso of the shining hair, love-born!<br /> +My heart, a traveller into a thousand<br /> +Lands, thirsting for one country, which is love!</p> + +<p>And lo, my soul is, ever since, a lyre<br /> +Of double strings that echoes with its sound<br /> +The harmony thrice ancient, curse or wail!<br /> +Joy of all time and glory, godlike Homer!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="idyl">IDYL</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Now when the tide has covered all the land,<br /> +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand,<br /> +And the boat casts anchor at my threshold;<br /> +Now when I see, wherever I may glance,<br /> +The water's victory, the billow's glory,<br /> +And see the rising tide a ruling empress;<br /> +Now when a playful and good-minded flood<br /> +Closes about the houses, plants, and men<br /> +Fondly, in a soft-flowing, sweet embrace;<br /> +Now when the air, the planter of the tree<br /> +Of Health, raised by the great sea's breath, digs deep<br /> +Into the open breasts of living things;</p> + +<p>Now, I remember her, the little lass<br /> +Who had the sea's pure dew, and, like a wave<br /> +Resistless, surpassed the tide in vehemence.<br /> +Now I recall the little nimble lass,<br /> +Life's victory, blossoming youth's proud glory,<br /> +And joy's own throne. Now I remember her.</p> + +<p>Her face was like a cloudless early dawn;<br /> +Her hair like moonlight shimmering upon<br /> +The restless wave; her passing, like the flash<br /> +Of a swift fish that in the night swims by<br /> +Upon its silver path; her eyes were tinged<br /> +With the deep color of the sea beneath<br /> +Black clouds; her voice, the sound of a calm night<br /> +Upon the beach; her chiseled dimples twin<br /> +Upon her cheeks were overfilled with smiles<br /> +That Loves might drink from them to slake their thirst.</p> + +<p>Boy-like, she stepped on nimble foot and free,<br /> +Boldly and daringly with fearless look,<br /> +A child's soul dwelling in a woman's flesh.</p> + +<p>And when the high tide covered all the land,<br /> +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand,<br /> +And when the boat cast anchor at my threshold,<br /> +Then from her home the little girl came forth<br /> +Half bare, half clad, robed in the robe of light<br /> +In a swift dancing flood that revelled full<br /> +Of water-lust and crowns of seething foam.</p> + +<p>She gave her orders to the sea; she ruled<br /> +The tide and forward drove the foaming waves,<br /> +Just as a shepherd lass, her white-clad sheep.<br /> +Her native country, first and last, the sea!<br /> +And whenever she passed, a Venus new<br /> +Seemed rising from the shining water's depths.</p> + +<p>The fisherman, a primitive world's breed,<br /> +The sum of Christian and of Satyr blood,<br /> +Returning from his fruitful fishing path,<br /> +Looked upon her as on an evil tempter<br /> +And on a sacred image; and his oars<br /> +Hung on his hands inert as palsy stricken,<br /> +And the swift-winging bark stood like a rock;<br /> +And, marble-like, the fisherman within<br /> +Gazed with religious trembling and desire,<br /> +Exclaiming as in trance: "O holy Virgin!"</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="at_the_windmill">AT THE WINDMILL</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>About the windmill, the old ruin, when<br /> +The smile of dawn shines in its rosy tinge,<br /> +The fisherboys now stir the silent air<br /> +With sudden ringing shouts and joyful plays;<br /> +And the light barks that, fastened, wait their coming,<br /> +Flutter impatiently like flapping wings<br /> +Of birds whose feet are bound. And all about,<br /> +The lake-like sea revels in shimmers white<br /> +Like a wide-open pearl shell on the beach.</p> + +<p>About the windmill, the old ruin, when<br /> +The noon's beams burn like red-hot iron bars,<br /> +A laden sleep draws with its heavy breath<br /> +All weary skippers and all mariners:<br /> +The harpoons creak not in the hand's hard clasp;<br /> +The fish alone stir in the realm of dew;<br /> +The calm lagoon about is all agleam,<br /> +A shield of silver, plaited with pure gold.</p> + +<p>Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when<br /> +The sun is setting, decked in all his glory,<br /> +The boys go running, looking for pumice stones;<br /> +And lads and lasses, for sweet furtive glances;<br /> +And old men, lingering for memories.<br /> +Old age is calm, and youth considerate.<br /> +And the lagoon about, a purple glow,<br /> +A garden thickly planted with blue gentians.</p> + +<p>Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when<br /> +The secret midnight glides by silently,<br /> +Sea Nereids, brought on the wings of air<br /> +From the sea caves of Fairies on their steeds<br /> +Of mist with manes of radiating light,<br /> +Sing songs, and bathe their diamond forms, and love,<br /> +While round about the princess-like lagoon<br /> +Wears as her royal robe the star-spun sky.</p> + +<p>Far by the windmill, the old ruin, ere<br /> +The smile of dawn shine with its rosy tinge,<br /> +The hosts of tyrant slayers mount from below<br /> +And kiss the earth war-nurtured and war-glad.<br /> +They raise again the ruin to a castle<br /> +With rifles singing back to victories;<br /> +And the lagoon is full of flashes swift,<br /> +Like a dark eye kindled with fiery wrath.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="what_the_lagoon_says">WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>I have the sweetness of the lake and have<br /> +The bitterness of the great sea. But now,<br /> +Alas! my sweetness is a little drop;<br /> +My bitterness, a flood. For the cold winter,<br /> +The great corsair, has come with the north wind,<br /> +Death's king. My azure blood has slowly flowed<br /> +Out of my veins and gone to bring new life<br /> +To the deep seas. A shroud weed-woven wraps me.</p> + +<p>My little islands as my tombstones stand,<br /> +And yonder well-built weirs are like young trees<br /> +That droop above my grave bereft of water.</p> + +<p>But even so in the death's cold clasp, I hear<br /> +Within my breast a secret voiceless flutter<br /> +Like the young fish's flurry when, transfixed,<br /> +It is dragged by the spear out of the sea.<br /> +For I still dream of the sweet breath of love,<br /> +And wait for the hot summer's kiss and yours,<br /> +O angels of good tidings and new life,<br /> +Spring breezes, sources of my dreams and love!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="pinks">PINKS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Fair pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul!<br /> +Brown is the fisherman, and brown the land<br /> +With the sea brine, the south wind, and the sun;<br /> +And round the brown land's neck, like necklace<br /> +Of coral, grow the pinks. Pinks of the gardens,<br /> +And pinks of the windows; pinks like crowns and stars;<br /> +Gifts good for any hand, and ornaments<br /> +For any breast. O flowers blossoming<br /> +In pleasant rows along the houses' stairs,<br /> +You sprinkle each man's path with fragrances;<br /> +And now and then, you bow, touched by the dress<br /> +Of the young girl who, breeze-like, passes by.</p> + +<p>Pinks full and pinks faint-colored; flowers that cause<br /> +No languor as the roses nor refresh,<br /> +Like jasmines, flesh and soul; but whose scent has<br /> +Something of the sharp breath of the lagoon,<br /> +Even when you are pale like fainting virgins,<br /> +And even when a world-destroying fire<br /> +Enflames your petals without burning you!</p> + +<p>Pinks, that display now your form's nakedness<br /> +Like children's bodies freshly bathed, and now<br /> +The varied ornaments of senseless dwarfs,<br /> +And now the purple of great emperors!<br /> +All the transporting music of the red,<br /> +Like that of many tuneful instruments,<br /> +Springs from your heart and knows no end, but plays<br /> +Before my eyes its lasting harmonies.<br /> +Sweet pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="ruins">RUINS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>I turned back to the golden haunts of childhood,<br /> +And back on the white path of youth; I turned<br /> +To see the wonder palace built for me<br /> +Once by the holy hands of sacred Loves.</p> + +<p>The path was hidden by the thorny briars;<br /> +The golden haunts, burned by the midday sun;<br /> +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low;</p> + +<p>And now amidst the ruins and ashes, I<br /> +Am left alone and palsy-stricken; snakes<br /> +And lizards, pains and hatreds dwell now here<br /> +In constant loathful brotherhood with me.<br /> +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="penelope">PENELOPE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Wars distant, tempests wild, and foreign lands<br /> +Keep thy life-mate for years and years away;<br /> +Dangers and scornings threaten thee; and care<br /> +With guile and wrath gird thee, Penelope.</p> + +<p>About thee, enemies and revellers!<br /> +But thou wilt hear, and look, and wait for none<br /> +But him; and on thy loom thou weavest always<br /> +And then unweavest the thread of thy true love,<br /> +Penelope.</p> + +<p> <span class="i8">Than Europe's goods and Asia's</span><br /> +Even a greater treasure is thy kiss;<br /> +Thy loom, much higher than a royal throne;<br /> +Thy brow an altar, O Penelope!</p> + +<p>Mortals and gods know only one more priceless<br /> +Than thine own loom, thy forehead, or thy kiss:<br /> +Thy mate, the king thou always longest for,<br /> +Penelope. Yet even though strange lands<br /> +Keep him away from thee, and distant wars,<br /> +And monstrous Scyllas, and the guileful Sirens,<br /> +Not even they can blot him from thy soul,<br /> +Him, thy thought's whitest light, Penelope!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="a_new_ode_by_the_old_alcaeus">A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>To Lesbos' shores, where the year's seasons always<br /> +Sprinkle the field with flowers, and where glad<br /> +The rosy-footed Graces always play<br /> +With the young maidens, once the stream of Hebrus,<br /> +Hand-like, brought Orpheus' orphan lyre; and since<br /> +That time, our island is a sacred shrine<br /> +Of Harmony, and its wind's breath, a song!</p> + +<p>The soul Aeolian took up the lyre<br /> +Born upon Thracian lands, as foster child;<br /> +And on its golden strings the restless beatings<br /> +Of Sappho's and Erinna's flaming hearts<br /> +Were echoed burningly.</p> + +<p> <span class="i8">And I, who fight</span><br /> +Always against blind mobs and tyrants deaf,<br /> +I, the pride of the chosen few, the stay<br /> +Of the great best, returning from exile,<br /> +A billow-tossed world-wanderer, did stir<br /> +The selfsame lyre with a new quill and breathed<br /> +Upon its strings a new heroic breath.</p> + +<p>Upon the love-adorned and verdant island,<br /> +Like a god's trident, now Alcaeus' quill<br /> +Wakens the storm of sounds, and angrily<br /> +He strikes with words that are like poisoned arrows<br /> +Direct and merciless against his foe,<br /> +Whether a Pittacus or Myrsilus.</p> + +<p>In vain did tender love reveal before me<br /> +On rose-beds Lycus, the young lad, with eyes<br /> +And hair coal-black, with rosy garlands bound,<br /> +And Sappho of the honeyed smile, the pure,<br /> +A muse among the muses, and the mother<br /> +Of a strange modesty. Love moved me not!</p> + +<p>I raised an altar to the war-god Ares;<br /> +And on my walls, I hung war ornaments,<br /> +Weapons exulting in the battle's roar.<br /> +I sang of the sword bound with ivory,<br /> +My brother's spoil from distant Babylon.<br /> +I saw my hapless country's ship tossed here<br /> +And there, and beaten by the giant waves<br /> +Of anarchy; and with my golden Lyre,<br /> +Whose voice is mightier than the wild fury<br /> +Of a tempestuous sea, I called on War,<br /> +The War who revels in men's blood, to come<br /> +As a destroyer or deliverer.</p> + +<p>And when the war did come in savage din,<br /> +Brought upon Lesbos by the might of Athens,<br /> +With heart exultant, I saluted him:<br /> +"Hail, war of glory!"<br /> + <span class="i8">Yet, alas and thrice</span><br /> +Alas! Amidst the world of death and ruins,<br /> +Though eager warrior and heavy armed,<br /> +I felt the solid earth beneath me shake;<br /> +My vengefulness, fade into fleeting mist;<br /> +My breastplate, press on me like a nightmare;<br /> +And my white-crested helmet, like a tombstone!</p> + +<p>Confusion was my harbor; and I felt<br /> +In me Life's longing win the victory.<br /> +And while the nations twain, like maddened bulls<br /> +Goad-driven, rushed upon each other's death,<br /> +And stern Alecto spread about the flames<br /> +Of Tartarus, I saw before mine eyes<br /> +—O sight enchanting!—Lesbos' luring shores!</p> + +<p>Never before were they so beautiful<br /> +With love and verdant! There I gazed on Lycus,<br /> +The boy with eyes and hair coal-black that never<br /> +Before had touched my heart so powerfully.<br /> +And the Muse Sappho of the honeyed smile<br /> +Glittered before me, pure and violet crowned;<br /> +And her strange modesty bewitched my tongue<br /> +With power unwonted until then; and I,<br /> +The strong, silently feasted on her beauty!</p> + +<p>And while about the maddened Ares raged,<br /> +Reaper of men and vanquisher of rocks,<br /> +With my soul's eyes, I followed on the trail<br /> +Of the Lyre-God, who passed that way, returning<br /> +From the Hyperboreans' land. He passed<br /> +Aloft, crowned with a golden diadem,<br /> +Upon a chariot drawn by snow-white swans,<br /> +Towards his Delphic palaces, flower-decked,<br /> +With nightingales and April on his train.</p> + +<p>Oh, would that I might live to touch them! Would<br /> +That I might hold their charms in my embrace,<br /> +Those charms so sweet and guileful and divine!</p> + +<p>And at the thought—alas, and thrice alas!—<br /> +I threw my trusted sword and shield away,<br /> +And fled, a shameful coward and a traitor!</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_fragments_from_the_song_to_the_sun">FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN</a><br /> +1899</h1> +</div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="imagination_fragments"><i>IMAGINATION</i></a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><i>Imagination, mistress, come!<br /> +Come thou leading master, mind!<br /> +And you, O tireless workers, come,<br /> +Water-Fairies of the Rhythm!<br /> +Come, and from Desire's great depths,<br /> +And from the Reason's lofty heights,<br /> +Bring, oh bring me lasting flowers<br /> +Wrought on marble and on gold!<br /> +Bring me words of splendid sound!<br /> +Build with them the palace high!<br /> +And within it raise aloft<br /> +The Sun's image all-transcending<br /> +Wrought of sunlight gleaming bright!</i></p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="the_gods">THE GODS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>And the first-born man beheld<br /> +The sun rise in the east;<br /> +And from within his bosom lo,<br /> +A stream of music rose,<br /> +An answer sweet to the sun's light,<br /> +A music stream of hymns,<br /> +Countless words and countless praises<br /> +To the fountain of the day!<br /> +And—O miracle!—all hymns<br /> +And countless words and praises<br /> +Spread in waves from end to end!<br /> +And taking flesh in time,<br /> +They became great gods of light<br /> +And signs of harmony!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="my_god">MY GOD</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Wounded with the mighty love<br /> +Of my mistress Life,<br /> +I wander on, her loyal herald<br /> +And her worshipper.<br /> +To thy mystic suppers call<br /> +Me not, O Galilean,<br /> +Prophet of the misty dream,<br /> +Denier of things that are!<br /> +Crowned with lotus, show me not<br /> +Nirvana's senseless bliss!<br /> +Yet, do thou, O Sun, shine forth<br /> +About, within, above;<br /> +Shine upon my love and make<br /> +A world of the Earth planet!<br /> +Shine life-giving with thy light,<br /> +O my Sun and God!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="helen">HELEN</a></h2> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p><i>... She gave not me, but made a breathing image<br /> + Of the light air of heaven and gave that<br /> + To royal Priam's son! And yet he thought<br /> + That he had me—a vain imagining!...</i></p> + + <p class="i4"><span class="small_caps">Euripides</span>, <i>Helen</i>, 33-36.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>Helen am I! In the Sun's fountain<br /> +Have I taken birth!<br /> +I am the Sun-god's golden dream,<br /> +And unto him I go!<br /> +Not about me, but about<br /> +Mine image, which the gods<br /> +Had wrought, life's perfect counterfeit,<br /> +Recklessly gods and heroes<br /> +Plunged into war and war's destruction!<br /> +For the Cimmerian<br /> +Enchanter carried far away<br /> +As his own mate my shade<br /> +Thrice-beautiful, that rose to life<br /> +From Night's embrace in an<br /> +Enchanted land and hour. I am<br /> +The bride intangible,<br /> +Inviolable, beyond all reach!<br /> +Helen am I!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_lyre">THE LYRE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>I know a lyre that is as priceless<br /> +As a sacred amulet;<br /> +A spirit with a master hand<br /> +Made it and cast it here.<br /> +No mortal hand of skill or love<br /> +Or power rouses it,<br /> +Nor makes it answer to the touch<br /> +With sound or voice or sigh.<br /> +Even the wise and beautiful,<br /> +The northwind and the breeze<br /> +Cannot awaken the sweet lyre!<br /> +Only the Sun-god's beams,<br /> +They with one kiss alone can make<br /> +Its sun-enamored strings<br /> +Sing Siren-like!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="giants_shadows">GIANTS' SHADOWS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Like moanings of the sea, I hear<br /> +Voices ascend from darkness:<br /> +Are they the giants' shadows moving?<br /> +—Shadow, who art thou? Speak!<br /> +—I am the Telamonian!<br /> +And see, within me I<br /> +Close the whole sun that never sets<br /> +Though Hades yawn about;<br /> +Weep not for me!<br /> + <span class="i8">—And thou beside him?</span><br /> +—The heart of Teutons' land<br /> +Brought me to life. A maker, I,<br /> +Maker sublime of worlds<br /> +Olympian, have even here<br /> +In Tartarus' dark realm<br /> +One longing for my heart, one thirst:<br /> +I long and thirst for light!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_holy_virgin_in_hell">THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>The chariot moves, drawn by wings<br /> +Of Cherub Spirits, on!<br /> +In Hell, the Holy Virgin gleams!<br /> +"Mercy, O sunlike Lady!"<br /> +The damnèd cry and beat their breasts<br /> +Amidst the flames that burn,<br /> +Fed by the great abyss. Among them,<br /> +A sudden proud complaint<br /> +Is heard: "A worshipper was I<br /> +Of the great Sun; was this<br /> +A cause for night to fetter me?<br /> +Tell me, O sunlike Lady!<br /> +The light of life I sucked, did that<br /> +Become the Hell's embrace<br /> +And Satan's kiss for me?"</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="sunrise">SUNRISE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>The white swans gently drag their boats<br /> +Of ivory; bright beams<br /> +Glimmer as through a veil of agate;<br /> +And coral-wrought, the crowns<br /> +Shine on fair locks like amber gleaming.<br /> +A pearl lake dreamlike lives<br /> +With water lilies studded.<br /> +Azure-browed Fairies revelling<br /> +Quaff wine of honey gold;<br /> +And mighty riders steal away<br /> +With brides thrice-beautiful.<br /> +But thou, an archer mightier,<br /> +Risest unmaking all<br /> +The multitudes of binding charms<br /> +With the one charm of light,<br /> +O God of wing-sped chariot!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="double_song">DOUBLE SONG</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>The lithesome maiden stood thrice-fair,<br /> +Her eyes like gems agleam!<br /> +"I pour the crimson wine of love<br /> +In empty cups of gold!"<br /> +—"Maiden, I am the nestless bird;<br /> +Flowery boughs bar not<br /> +My way. Bound for bright suns magnetic,<br /> +I sail through darkness blind.<br /> +Seer am I and worshipper<br /> +Of all that is and lives!<br /> +I am the harp of thousand strings<br /> +Of countless sounds!"<br /> + <span class="i8">—"Thou blind!</span><br /> +Seest thou not within mine eyes<br /> +The magnetism and glory<br /> +Of all the suns?"</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_sun_born">THE SUN-BORN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>On great Olympus, a feast of joy!<br /> +The gods divide the earth;<br /> +The light-bestower is away;<br /> +Forgotten he will be.<br /> +And the light-giver came and nodded<br /> +To the blue sea; and lo,<br /> +The sea was rent with fruitful heave!<br /> +And the Sun's island rose<br /> +With a thousand beauties crowned;<br /> +And makers lived upon the island,<br /> +Beings above all men;<br /> +And they made statues masterful,<br /> +All beautiful like gods<br /> +And living as immortals live!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="on_the_heights_of_paradise">ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>The little house I built for thee<br /> +To dwell therein, enchanter,<br /> +Even that—to my care-bent grief—<br /> +Becomes a heavy grave.<br /> +Yet, little soul of lily whiteness,<br /> +Spare me thy sad complaint;<br /> +For on the heights of paradise,<br /> +I wander longing and<br /> +I search. I search and wait for it.<br /> +And on the crossroads wide<br /> +Of the suns, I shall find a house<br /> +Snow-white that even eagles<br /> +High-flying never face; a house<br /> +That Visions great alone<br /> +May touch. Therein I shall enthrone thee!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_stranger">THE STRANGER</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>When first the vaulting palm-leaves spread<br /> +Their shelter over thee,<br /> +The golden Cyclads danced about<br /> +With merry shouts and laughter.<br /> +But now,—O nakedness of plains<br /> +And mountains! Withering<br /> +Of green leaves everywhere! Thorns suck<br /> +The green blood of the vines!<br /> +No April looked on thee again;<br /> +And on the desert land,<br /> +The wars of elements and beasts<br /> +Rage furious. But thee<br /> +The snow-white swans bring back no more;<br /> +Thou art for ever guest<br /> +At the Hyperboreans' feast.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="an_orphic_hymn">AN ORPHIC HYMN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Far from the footpaths of the thoughtless,<br /> +An Orphic priest and bard,<br /> +I bring to light again a hymn<br /> +Of a thrice-ancient cult.<br /> +For until now my thought flowed on,<br /> +A river under earth.<br /> +Amidst men's tumult my lyre's rhythm,<br /> +A sudden wonder rose.<br /> +At night I start, at night I climb<br /> +The mountain difficult;<br /> +I wish alone and first to greet<br /> +Light Apollonian<br /> +While among mortal men below<br /> +Darkness and sleep shall reign.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_poet">THE POET</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Sun made the lily white,<br /> +The glory of the flowery earth;<br /> +Sun made the swan, which is<br /> +The lily of a life white-winged;<br /> +The eagle, whom he lures<br /> +Spell-bound to his great heights,<br /> +And the gold shimmer of the moon,<br /> +The lovers' loving comrade.<br /> +And then he dreamed a creature fuller<br /> +Of lilies, eagles, swans, and shimmers,<br /> +And made the poet. He<br /> +Alone beholds thee face to face,<br /> +O God; and he alone,<br /> +Reaching into thy heart, reveals<br /> +To us thy mysteries.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="krishnas_words">KRISHNA'S WORDS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>I am the light within the sun,<br /> +The flush within the fire;<br /> +And on the page of the sacred book,<br /> +I am the mystic word.<br /> +The men of mighty deeds call me<br /> +Glory; the wise men, wisdom.<br /> +Of things existing and of truth,<br /> +I am the fountain head!<br /> +I am the life of all that is!<br /> +Beings and pearls are bound<br /> +Together with one thread; and that,<br /> +Is I! Maya alone,<br /> +The sorceress, behind me follows<br /> +Beguiling me. But I<br /> +Battle with her to victory!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_tower_of_the_sun">THE TOWER OF THE SUN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Away beyond the world's far edge,<br /> +And where the heavens end,<br /> +The tower of the sun shines bright<br /> +Dazzling the mortal's mind.<br /> +Once mighty princes, sons of kings,<br /> +Went on a chase most wonderful,<br /> +And stopped at the Sun's tower.<br /> +And the Sun came, the dragon star,<br /> +The giant merciless!<br /> +Woe unto him who lingers there<br /> +By the far heavens' end!<br /> +And the Sun came; and with his spell,<br /> +He turned them into stones,<br /> +The princely hunters, sons of kings!</p> + +<p>No azure field, no streak of green,<br /> +No shadow, and no breath!<br /> +Only a death of light and lightning<br /> +Glitters about and gleams!<br /> +And in the tower, in and out,<br /> +As if by masters set,<br /> +A world of statues voiceless stand,<br /> +The offsprings of great kings.<br /> +And from their deep and smothered eyes,<br /> +Something like living glance<br /> +Struggles to peep through its stone veil!<br /> +It seems the stone-bound princes<br /> +Wait for a sail, long lingering,<br /> +From the world's shores away.</p> + +<p>And thou, O princess beautiful,<br /> +Camest from far away,<br /> +A fair Redeemer! The Sun's tower<br /> +Gleamed forth as if the light<br /> +Of a new Dawn embraced its walls.<br /> +Thou knowest where Life's Fountain<br /> +Flows, and thou searchest silently,<br /> +With steps that slowly move<br /> +Towards the fountain tower-guarded where<br /> +Life's water flows. And lo,<br /> +Taming the watchful dragon's fangs,<br /> +Thou drawest from the fountain<br /> +Where the sweet water of Life flows on;<br /> +And sprinkling them with it,<br /> +Thou wakest up the sons of kings!<br /> +And on thy homeward trail,<br /> +Thou shinest with transcending gleam,<br /> +Like a far greater Sun!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="a_mourning_song">A MOURNING SONG</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>No! Death cannot have taken thee!<br /> +In the sweet hour of love,<br /> +The Sun-god lifted thee away,<br /> +O child of sunlike beauty!<br /> +He took thee to his palaces<br /> +To fill thee with his love,<br /> +A love that lives in light and is<br /> +An endless glittering!<br /> +Flowers with light-born fragrances<br /> +And fruits as sweet as light,<br /> +The Sun will pluck for thee; and he<br /> +Will bathe thee in a stream<br /> +Flooded with light. And clad<br /> +In a white robe of light, my child,<br /> +Thou wilt come back to me,<br /> +Riding on a star-crowned deer!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="prayer_of_the_first_born_men">PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Each time the dawn reveals thy face,<br /> +Each time the darkness hides thee,<br /> +Before the eyes of all the world,<br /> +In crimson red thou shinest,<br /> +Father and God blood-revelling!<br /> +A bath in blood immortalizes<br /> +Thine unfathomed beauty!<br /> +Blood feeds and veils thee, Father<br /> +And God blood-revelling!<br /> +To quench thy thirst, we offer thee<br /> +Our only children's lives;<br /> +And if their blood fills not thy thirst,<br /> +We spread for thee a sea<br /> +Of all the blood of our own heart!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="thought_of_the_last_born_men">THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Where temples sounded with hosannas,<br /> +Stones lie dumb in crumbling ruins;<br /> +And forgetfulness has swept<br /> +Dreams and phantoms once called gods.<br /> +Even you are gone, O myths,<br /> +Golden makers of the thought,<br /> +Gone beyond return!<br /> +In the empty Infinite,<br /> +Blind laws drive in multitudes<br /> +Flaming worlds of endless depths.<br /> +And yet neither gold-haired Phoebus,<br /> +Who is dead, nor yet the sun,<br /> +Who now lives a world-abyss,<br /> +None, God or law, upon this earth<br /> +Could save us or will ever save<br /> +Either from the claws of love<br /> +Or from the teeth of death!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="moloch">MOLOCH</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Barbarians defile the land<br /> +Where the Greek race was born!<br /> +And where the loves flew garlanded,<br /> +Night-bats roam to and fro!<br /> +And in our night, as a glowworm,<br /> +The ancients' memory<br /> +Sends forth its greenish counterfeit<br /> +Of light! It is a night<br /> +That our undying sun cannot<br /> +Dispel with its bright beams!<br /> +From depths and heights, barbarians<br /> +Suck soul and fatherland!<br /> +And when with a low moan thrice-deep,<br /> +We ask thee, Grecian God,<br /> +"Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?"<br /> +Grimly thou answerest,<br /> +"Moloch, am I!"</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="all_the_stars">ALL THE STARS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>When I first looked with wonderment<br /> +On thee, O Muse of Light,<br /> +The morning star upon thy brow<br /> +Shone with bright glittering.<br /> +And I said: "More of light I need!"<br /> +And as I looked again<br /> +On thee, O Muse of Light, the moon<br /> +Shone brightly on thy brow.<br /> +And "More!" I said and looked again:<br /> +And saw the sun agleam!<br /> +But still insatiate I am,<br /> +And wait to look on thee<br /> +When on thy brow, O Muse of Light,<br /> +The star-spun sky shall shine!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="arrows">ARROWS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Thou earnest, Phoebus, lower down<br /> +From pure Olympus' heights<br /> +Towards the land where idle men<br /> +And sluggards worthless dwell;<br /> +And on thy lyre thou playedst, Fountain<br /> +Of flowing harmonies!<br /> +The deaf made answer with their sneers!<br /> +The blind, with scornful laughter!<br /> +And then to rid the world of filth<br /> +And purify the air,<br /> +Thou threwest away thine angry lyre;<br /> +And turning archer, thou,<br /> +With fiery arrows smotest all<br /> +The flocks of fools away!</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_verses_of_a_familiar_tune">VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE</a><br /> +1900</h1> +</div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="the_beginning"><i>THE BEGINNING</i></a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><i>A wedding guest, I travel far abroad!<br /> +The bride, thrice beautiful; the groom, a wizard;<br /> +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast.<br /> +The land is far, and I must travel on;<br /> +An endless path before me leads away,<br /> +But till I reach the end, I check the ardor<br /> +Of my swift-footed stallion silver-shod,<br /> +And wisely shorten my way's weary length<br /> +With sounds that, like sweet longings, wake in me,<br /> +Old sounds familiar, low-whispering<br /> +Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows.<br /> +Then flowers pour their fragrances for me;<br /> +And blossoms with no scent have their own speech,<br /> +The speech of voiceless eyes that open wide;<br /> +Unconsciously I speak my words in rimes<br /> +That with uncommon measure echo forth<br /> +The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses<br /> +That the waves squander on the sandy beach,<br /> +And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!</i></p> +</blockquote></div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="the_paralytic_on_the_rivers_bank">THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Upon the graceless river bank that spread<br /> +Barren and desert, all things drooped in sickness;<br /> +And I, with palsy stricken, lay in pains!<br /> +Vainly my hands shook feather-like with fever;<br /> +Methought my feet were nailed upon the ground;<br /> +The river, wide and wild; and far beyond,<br /> +As far as eyes could see, the other bank<br /> +Revelled in lusty growth and endless mirth<br /> +With leafy slopes and forests glistening!<br /> +Meadows unreaped and glades untrod were there,<br /> +And floods of green and tempests of new blossoms!<br /> +About the tree-tops glittered crowns of light;<br /> +Shadows thrice-deep hid mysteries divine;<br /> +And all descended blindly to the bank<br /> +Where the wild river's anger held them back,<br /> +Seeking, it seemed, a ford to come across<br /> +To the dark bank of wilderness and torture!</p> + +<p>And toward me all seemed to stretch their hands,<br /> +Sending me shameless kisses as I lay<br /> +Parched by the burning wind and worn with fever.<br /> +Nearby a sun-dried reed poured forth its sighs;<br /> +And farther, a small laurel stirred its leaves:<br /> +The double treasure of my wilderness.</p> + +<p>I wished to cut a flute from the dry reed<br /> +And wished a crown of laurel; but I lay<br /> +Nailed down immovable as if the rod<br /> +Of an enchantress evil-born had touched me;<br /> +And within me, with wings of impotence,<br /> +My wounded mind fluttered on hopelessly!</p> + +<p>And then thou camest girt with working garb;<br /> +With girdle flower-spun, with apron full<br /> +Of fruits, didst thou bend over me. The spell<br /> +Thou didst dispel and gavest me to eat<br /> +And cleansedst me with myrrh; and suddenly,<br /> +A soul divine and merciful came down<br /> +On the bank merciless; and in thine arms<br /> +Lifting me gently, thou didst go forth<br /> +Amidst a moaning as of humming bees.<br /> +Thou stoodst on the threshold of the peasant hut,<br /> +The hut that was earth-built and filled with grass<br /> +As if the art of a small bird had wrought it.</p> + +<p>Thou didst lay me upon a bed at dusk<br /> +That I might rest; and mingled with sweet care<br /> +And innocence, thou didst lean by my side<br /> +With body ripe and beautiful. Wert thou<br /> +A lover, mother, sister, or a woman?<br /> +Thou didst lay on my brow thy hand to lull me;<br /> +And in thy thoughtful face, I saw the gleam<br /> +Of kindly Nausica and good Rebecca.</p> + +<p>I slept and woke; even my sorrow's ogress<br /> +Had turned into a fairy sweetly sad!<br /> +And in my hands I found both, laurel bough<br /> +And reed! I drank the fragrant morning breath<br /> +Of pines; and taking up the laurel boughs,<br /> +I wove with master hand the whole day long<br /> +All kinds of laurel crowns for thee; and then<br /> +I poured into the unaccustomed air<br /> +Of thy small hut a flute's soft-flown complaint.</p> + +<p>But from my bed, I lifted up mine eyes<br /> +To the window's light and saw again, alas,<br /> +The desert river bank, and, far beyond,<br /> +The world that squandered diamonds and pearls<br /> +And revelled in its joy of green dew-clad.<br /> +Again they nodded secretly at me,<br /> +Stretching their hands and feigning love!<br /> +And even near thee, palsy struck I was,<br /> +The paralytic on the river bank!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_simple_song">THE SIMPLE SONG</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Thou camest far away from lands beyond!<br /> +Thou wert not a gold sunlit cloud at sunset<br /> +But mother of a honeyed tenderness<br /> +That until then lay hidden in my mind's<br /> +Tenderest shrine; the golden seal of a<br /> +Young maiden's joy stamped with its touch!<br /> +The evening star thou wert not; but thou wert<br /> +The sister of a simple love that lay<br /> +Hidden till then in my heart's inner depths.</p> + +<p>Before me thou didst not unfold the spaces<br /> +Of the blue skies; not didst thou lift mine eyes<br /> +Towards the rough-hewn peak; nor didst thou open<br /> +To me the way for distant palaces;<br /> +Nor didst thou lead me by a secret path<br /> +Untrod. But lifting with one hand the basket,<br /> +Gently thou heldest with the other mine;<br /> +And leading me to sit by ferns dew-clad<br /> +And deep green grass and snow-white flowers, thou<br /> +Badest me stoop and gather; and I stooped<br /> +And gathered all my hands could reach: wall-flowers,<br /> +Hyacinths, violets, and daffodils;<br /> +And found beside them a May day anew.</p> + +<p>Over their petals newly reaped and fresh<br /> +That made the basket seem a cruel spring,<br /> +I bent and wept for their deaths swift and fair;<br /> +And lo, thou didst face them, a Life agleam!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="three_kisses">THREE KISSES</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>A Dream flew down and stood before mine eyes—<br /> +Who knows from what unknown deep-hidden nest?<br /> +It took the face of my own secret love<br /> +And blew me with its hands three airy kisses:</p> + +<p>The first air-kiss spread in my breast the din<br /> +Of bitter and sweet life in waves of air;<br /> +And the world's music sounded manifold,<br /> +A tempest's roar and a sweet breath's caress.</p> + +<p>The second air-kiss whispered low to me<br /> +All whisperings that Silence stoops to sing<br /> +Over bare wilderness and tombs and ruins,<br /> +Songs that no soul nor even wind can hear.</p> + +<p>The third air-kiss would bring to me, it seemed,<br /> +Secrets from somewhere heard by none before.<br /> +Perhaps, by some bright star, two spirits white<br /> +Embraced each other as they passed in thought.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="ismene">ISMENE</a></h2> + <p class="center"><i>To N.G. Polites, her father.</i></p> +<blockquote> +<p>Where is the little girl and beautiful<br /> +Who drew the milk of a full life and precious?<br /> +She filled her home with fragrance, and away<br /> +She sailed to anchor in another land.</p> + +<p>She filled her home with fragrance, and on wings<br /> +Swiftly she fled and passed away. Who knows<br /> +Why she has left the flesh? Perhaps, she went<br /> +Among the mystic joys of things unseen<br /> +And things intangible to be herself<br /> +Something new, something beyond compare or word.</p> + +<p>And yet her house is wrapped in spider webs<br /> +And longs for her. To her warm nest, will she<br /> +Return? Perhaps, each time you feel, O home,<br /> +Within your bosom something sweet and tender<br /> +That cannot be explained, it may be she;<br /> +Who knows? Then speak to her and say: "Do you,<br /> +Too, long for me, O soul without return?"</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="thoughts_of_early_dawn">THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Who are you that awake me in the morning?<br /> +Not the reveille that sweetens with its sounds<br /> +The soldier's hardy life. Nor can you be<br /> +The chapel bell that slowly rings to prayer.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Your steps fall heavy on the road. You bring<br /> +Thought, light, and sound, my sacred Trinity.<br /> +What if you rouse the slave who goes to work?<br /> +What if you call the prodigal to sleep?</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Not many were the flowers; and few, the lilies;<br /> +And I did long to reap the lily-treasure.<br /> +I eyed the lilies all, and walked into<br /> +The garden rich to clasp them in mine arms.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>And in the garden, all the roses smiled;<br /> +Under their veils, the violets bowed down.<br /> +I passed them by. The pansies looked erect<br /> +And scentless, wrapped in thought: by them, I stopped.</p> + +<p>Sweet child, upon thy tomb, a rosebud blossomed;<br /> +The hand would reach at it, but it cannot.<br /> +And on its path the wind would blow on it;<br /> +But ere he light, it dies into a kiss.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Like church lights shine the blossoms in the light;<br /> +And butterflies are drunk with airy fragrance;<br /> +Yet neither for fragrance nor for light, I come<br /> +Into the quiet garden as before.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>I come to see the children beautiful,<br /> +Running and playing, full of beaming smiles,<br /> +Children that make of grassy beds a heaven<br /> +And rise like miracles among the flowers.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The brows of righteous men pass slow before me,<br /> +Clouds calm and wide, full of refreshing rain;<br /> +And from the lightless depths of hell, methinks<br /> +I hear breast-beatings and dark blasphemies.<br /> +And suddenly, I mingle speech with rime,<br /> +The rime that above human things and woes,<br /> +Like the Platonic Diotima, rises<br /> +A prophetess upon a path sublime<br /> +Towards worlds of thought and earth-transcending loves.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Whatever be thy substance, O bright gleam,<br /> +Iron or stone, silver or wind, air-cloud<br /> +Or dream, my longing is the same for thee!<br /> +Within me thought and hands and art and science<br /> +Struggle to build together the same temple.<br /> +Maternal Rhea treasures in her breast<br /> +All marbles: purple, green, and white. I searched<br /> +And found them in your care, Taygetus<br /> +Snake-like, and Cyclads fair, and Attica.<br /> +And now the columns stand a forest speechless<br /> +And motionless; and among them, the rhythms<br /> +And thoughts move in slow measures constantly.<br /> +And in their depths, light-written images<br /> +Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The axe and hammer of the priest black-robed<br /> +Struck down the holy idols of the temples;<br /> +And yet the soul of the ruins perished not!<br /> +It climbed the heaven's spaces as a star<br /> +Until new sculptured lilies came to life<br /> +In master minds, the gardens of the wise.<br /> +Thus axe and hammer of the priest black-robed<br /> +Broke not the holy idols of the temples!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Sweet child, upon thy tomb a rosebud blossomed;<br /> +Is it thy joy or grief? Thy heart or thou?<br /> +If mind, remember me! If mouth, speak forth!<br /> +"I am the movement of the motionless,<br /> +The lightning flushing from the source of nothing!"</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Thy cup is foaming with its black strong wine;<br /> +Bring to our fountain thy white-foaming cup,<br /> +And brighten into red thy black strong wine<br /> +With the fresh water of our fountain here.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>I have a thought of dew; a heart of flame!<br /> +The wine vat boils; the spring flows fresh and cool;<br /> +And I did mingle in my chiseled cup<br /> +The black strong wine with the sweet water dew.</p> + +<p>A hundred years! A hundred years are gone<br /> +Of Grecian mornings and of Grecian sunsets!<br /> +Make them a coffin wide, O carpenter,<br /> +And bury them, the hapless dead, in silence!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>A hundred dragons watch a queen black-robed,<br /> +A widowed orphan queen in a lone castle;<br /> +And they dig up the scattered fragments of<br /> +An ancient and exhaustless treasure, once<br /> +Her own, and bring them as their gifts to her!<br /> +"I need no fragments! May the hour be cursed<br /> +And you, dragons, who hold me prisoner!<br /> +I dream of her, the living perfect land<br /> +Where I was queen! While here, I am a slave!"</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Loud-crying birds that fly toward the heights,<br /> +White swans, and swans that cut so tenderly<br /> +The silent waters of the lake in thoughts<br /> +Of silent sorrow, tameless birds and weary!<br /> +O swans that dream the conquest of the sun,<br /> +And swans that wait the coming of deep sleep!</p> + +<p>Within me lies a far and secret kingdom<br /> +Where I can see lake-swans and winds like you!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>My banished life has found a home near thee;<br /> +And by thy grace, I am thy priest, O Phoebus!<br /> +And taking from thy bright divinity,<br /> +I made the sun-born maiden to thy glory!<br /> +I lifted to thine image my loud praises,<br /> +And lo, bells hoarse and tuneless answered them.<br /> +Yet what of it? Thine endless praise I am,<br /> +And paeans follow on my dithyrambs!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_a_maiden_who_died">TO A MAIDEN WHO DIED</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O little life, quenched by the blow of death<br /> +Amidst the tender dreams of rosy dawn,<br /> +I cannot lift thee into deathlessness<br /> +Upon the chiseled glitter of the marble!</p> + +<p>I am a humble bard; and thou, a music<br /> +Silenced, whose strains my memory cannot<br /> +Recall. Yet with a deeper bond my soul<br /> +Thou bindest, O breath unpainted and unsung.</p> + +<p>Like a far dawn, thou smiledst in my mind,<br /> +A dawn most sweet and shy and fleeting. Then<br /> +One day, over my child's pure head thou bentest<br /> +With face abloom with smiles and fond caresses.</p> + +<p>And something amber-like remained in me<br /> +From thee, though thou didst pass; and in the evening<br /> +Which in me rises slowly, the dream fairy<br /> +Of the azure tales looks with thy face on me.</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_the_sinner">TO THE SINNER</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Sinner, thy mother gave thee not the milk<br /> +That makes the cheek a rose, the man a castle!<br /> +Each nursing was a sin; each drop, a sickness!<br /> +Within thee, ancient lives revive thrice-wretched.</p> + +<p>Vices of ancestors unknown and instincts<br /> +Of beastly fathers, ever travelling,<br /> +Before they rose to light, thus to become<br /> +Like smiles and fields of azure blue, came down<br /> +To dwell in thee, a people of tormentors!</p> + +<p>And one day, sinner, thine own mother gave<br /> +To thee the wonder-working holy image<br /> +To carry it to the sacred festival<br /> +Of the illumined church with open gates<br /> +Calling upon its throngs of worshippers.</p> + +<p>And on thy way, the luring harlot watched<br /> +And stripped thee of thy mind; and as thy hands<br /> +Struggled to clasp her, down the image fell,<br /> +The sacred image, in the ditch's filth!</p> + +<p>And forthwith even there, the plague began<br /> +To visit thee! And crumbling down, thou didst<br /> +Begin to groan and tremble nearer death<br /> +Than the dead corpse on which the ravens feed!<br /> +And Satan crouching upon thee rejoices!</p> + +<p>And seeing it, thou strugglest painfully,<br /> +Stretchest thy hands towards the ditch's filth,<br /> +And darest a prayer to the saint defiled,<br /> +Though still enflamed by thirst for the vile kiss!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="a_talk_with_the_flowers">A TALK WITH THE FLOWERS</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Upon my passing, slow or swift, by you<br /> +I lingered not, nor stooped to pluck you, flowers!<br /> +I saw you as a vision skyward roaming,<br /> +And I adored you just as thought and sky!<br /> +My hand reached not to touch you sinfully,<br /> +My flowers! For what is most beautiful<br /> +Is also most remote. You were for me<br /> +The music that the wind brings on its wings<br /> +In perfect strains directly to the heart.<br /> +I wished your dazzling could remain as that<br /> +Of castles barred and inaccessible.<br /> +From far thy fragrance came to me, O jasmine;<br /> +And thy gleam, lily, like the eyes' light-kisses!</p> + +<p>But since my darling child lay down to sleep<br /> +The bitter sleep that knows no wakening,<br /> +I am the cruel reaper always bending<br /> +Above you, gathering you one by one,<br /> +And ever binding you in royal garlands,<br /> +And ever weaving you into rich robes<br /> +For him! I wish to play new plays with him,<br /> +And spread you over him as mine embrace!<br /> +I wish to raise him as a flower garden<br /> +Breathing into his grave the flower soul<br /> +Of an immortal April. Oh, I wish ...<br /> +Weak though I am, would all earth's verdancy<br /> +Were a long dream and kiss for my beloved!<br /> +Would that whatever is beyond man's touch,<br /> +Air-born, transcending earth, or fleeting, all<br /> +That has a sunbeam as its heart, a breeze as body,<br /> +Fair vision, thought, or heaven—would that I<br /> +Could close them into forms and scatter them<br /> +Upon his flower-clad grave with you, sweet flowers!</p> + +<p>In my paternal love, pure white, the flames<br /> +Of passion burn; and then, the yellow languor<br /> +Of a sick man! Thus did I love him, flowers!<br /> +His father though they called me, I was his lover!</p> + +<p>O flowers, did you know it? Was your life,<br /> +So pure and little, ever touched by such<br /> +A woe? Does not a quenchless longing stir you<br /> +As you grow on the selfsame flower bough?</p> + +<p>The body of my child, sent up from depths<br /> +Unfathomed of a secret Fate unhoped,<br /> +Was an epiphany of the fair bride,<br /> +The bride undreamable, intangible<br /> +Of a god's dream! Was he of mine own blood?<br /> +I never thought whether he was to live,<br /> +Grow, or advance in thought and deed; I was<br /> +Drunk with his luring wine, his eyes, his face,<br /> +His gait! The breath of blest Makaria<br /> +Had blown on him! The stranger's song revolved<br /> +Before my mind: "Thou little line so fine,<br /> +Written with roses, line that wert his mouth,<br /> +How dost thou give birth to that mighty trembling?"<a href="#footnote_22" class="footnote" id="footnote_ref_22">[22]</a></p> + +<p>How often when he turned away his lips<br /> +So beautiful in careless weariness<br /> +From mine embrace, I felt the torturings<br /> +Of a disease and drank the bitter draughts<br /> +Of jealousy! How often, when he lay<br /> +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently,<br /> +I thought I held the graspless image of<br /> +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more<br /> +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it?<br /> +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts<br /> +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense<br /> +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship,<br /> +With love's uneasy little tremblings?</p> + +<p>Of jealousy! How often, when he lay<br /> +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently,<br /> +I thought I held the graspless image of<br /> +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more<br /> +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it?<br /> +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts<br /> +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense<br /> +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship,<br /> +With love's uneasy little tremblings?</p> + +<p> <span class="i8">Oh,</span><br /> +The bitterest and saddest blows, the blows<br /> +That know no healing on this earth of ours,<br /> +Come from our dearest! Thus he fled and left me<br /> +A bitterness beyond all sorrow's pangs,<br /> +O little flowers, flowers of dark death!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="to_my_wife">TO MY WIFE</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed<br /> +In the cool shade of the fresh green grape-vine;<br /> +And here the mystic moon, entwined in green,<br /> +Descended like a first-seen ghost on us.</p> + +<p>Here the two fountains of desire refreshed<br /> +Our years: the one, before our eyes; the others,<br /> +In dreams. The fair Muse silenced here care's crickets<br /> +And stirred the sacred frenzy of the lyre.</p> + +<p>Here we enjoyed our first-born's flutterings;<br /> +And here the little gleaming face and round,<br /> +Our second fruit, maddened us with pure joy!<br /> +As the unhoped return of a longed friend,<br /> +Here we received one day into our bosom<br /> +The transitory child beyond compare,<br /> +The third one, who transformed the worldly air<br /> +About us into flowing wine for gods,<br /> +An offering unto the gleaming light<br /> +Of high Olympus, dwelling of the blessed!</p> + +<p>Here was thy youth, even when care oppressed thee,<br /> +A fair Venetian painting, the blithe work<br /> +Of a light-beaming Titian, that revealed<br /> +Pure shining joy in thy lithe body's form.</p> + +<p>Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed,<br /> +Hidden in the cool shade of the green vine.<br /> +Now, nothing remains. Only the mystic moon<br /> +Weeps in a palace voiceless, wide, and gloomy!</p> + +<p>The life that died here wished for April as<br /> +Grave-digger, and a flower-bed as grave.<br /> +Oh, who had cursed it? Nothing but a tomb<br /> +Was found for it! A tomb unfit and graceless!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_answer">THE ANSWER</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>Take me and hear me, Hamadryads fair,<br /> +And Aegipans, Wood-Nymphs, and shepherd gods!<br /> +The bridal beds are set! The forest glades,<br /> +In flurry! The Flower Festival has come!<br /> +The bacchic revelry bursts forth in glow<br /> +And frenzy! Where is nature and where is<br /> +Its end? I know not whether I am myself;<br /> +Great Pan, it seems, dwells in my bosom here.</p> + +<p>O wonder! I do live the holy life<br /> +And wild of purest nature's elements!<br /> +O God of the golden crown, the three fair Graces<br /> +And the Nine Sisters of the Song gave me<br /> +The gift of tranquil visions beautiful!<br /> +I filled me with the foam-begotten beauty<br /> +Of all! I hear the nightingales' sweet song<br /> +In answer to the song of Sophocles!<br /> +The woes of Aeschylus resound prophetic,<br /> +Ocean-born! Face to face with me, as swift<br /> +As glance, green-clad Atlantides rise forth<br /> +From the abyss and sink in it again.</p> + +<p>Phoenicians battling with the sea brought me<br /> +From far away; I am the reveller<br /> +World-wandering! Arts, talks, and images<br /> +Are bristling in the air! Take me, O Nymphs<br /> +Into your bosom! Satyrs, hear my words!</p> + +<p>Yet Satyrs, Centaurs, Hamadryad Nymphs,<br /> +And golden-spoken Hellades at once<br /> +Made answer to my pleading with one voice<br /> +From cities, mountains, forests, cliffs, and plains:</p> + +<p>"Gods' wine is not for thee, O reveller!"</p> + +<p>And the lithe Tanagraean maiden spoke<br /> +With awe-inspiring prophetess Cassandra,<br /> +Ivy-crowned Maenads, Gods Olympian,<br /> +And the song-nourished Hellades; they spoke<br /> +From the far cave of fair Calypso to<br /> +The wisdom-haunted Alexandria:</p> + +<p>"Silence! Pale monk and idle chatterer!<br /> +Silence! Turn back to thy lone cloister cell."</p> + +<p>And the Pindaric heroes laugh in scorn<br /> +With the white goddesses of marble wrought<br /> +By Scopas' hand; laugh, and their laughter-peals<br /> +Are echoed loud and deep from far away!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="thought">THOUGHT</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>More than the godlike gleams of sculptured stone,<br /> +More than the golden rhythms the poet weaves,<br /> +Who knows if a good act unknown, some wound's<br /> +Balsam, shines not with brighter lasting beams?</p> + +<p>Who knows if for some god's unfailing ear,<br /> +The dogged sin and filthy vice are not<br /> +A thrice-wise and tempestuous harmony<br /> +Of melodies sung by Virtue's lips serene?</p> + +<p>Bright shine the temples of Fair Art; bright shine<br /> +The rainbows heavenly of Thought; and bright,<br /> +The chariots of warriors triumphant!<br /> +Yet in the temple of the Universe,<br /> +Can they be costlier than the mute Thought<br /> +And Glory of the flower, at whose birth<br /> +The dawn rejoices and whose early death<br /> +The saddened evening silently laments?</p> + +<p>The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates<br /> +Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx;<br /> +Yet who knows if the soldier with no will,<br /> +Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth?</p> + +<p>O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures<br /> +The measureless and creates the great?<br /> +Is it the matchless thought of the endowed,<br /> +Or the dim soul of multitudes that bursts,<br /> +Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows?</p> + +<p>The holy man lifts up his hand to bless<br /> +With readiness; yet who needs more such blessing?<br /> +Is it the free-born bird that makes its nest<br /> +Wherever its strong wings would waft it, or<br /> +The flowery plant bound by a bit of earth?</p> + +<p>Which is the light of Truth? Is it the Law<br /> +That is all eyes or is it some blind love?<br /> +What leads us there? The hidden path where bent<br /> +And trembling we seek our way, or the wide road<br /> +That makes us fly with wingèd confidence?</p> + +<p>O Thought, thou dream-crowned maiden, ever wrestling<br /> +With a blood-filled, swift woman masculine,<br /> +Whose bosom, thine or hers, is doomed to yield<br /> +The destined milk to nourish and to heal<br /> +Our sickened life with health Olympian?</p> + +<p>O Thought, thou angel, ever wrestling on<br /> +With a strong giant flinging his hundred hands<br /> +About thy neck to strangle thee, wilt thou<br /> +Battle with sword or lily? Oh, the world<br /> +Will crumble ere thy struggle finds an end!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_sinner">THE SINNER</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>O hapless one, when thou wert born, there came<br /> +The Fate thrice-blessed and clasped thee in her arms<br /> +To bless thee with a hero's mighty deeds<br /> +And wrap thee in the purple of a king,<br /> +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might.</p> + +<p>Yet there, the other Fate, the bitch of ruin<br /> +Unspoken and of voiceless death, kept watch;<br /> +And she led thee away from the blue shore<br /> +With lilies sown, to the salt marsh of terror<br /> +And the sheer precipice of fearful trembling!</p> + +<p>Nor could thy baby hands grasp more than this,<br /> +A cheerless tatter from the sacred veil<br /> +Of thy good mother Fate, the veil embroidered<br /> +With the star-spangled sky by master hand!</p> + +<p>O hapless One, while virgin joy bathes thee<br /> +Abundant and thy tears are yet a baby's,<br /> +Something within thee groans, the muffled madness<br /> +Of fettered murderers, the madness of<br /> +Lone cells. And while thou showest the calm life<br /> +Of tame things and of love in thy still nook,<br /> +Thou breedest fettered wraths and bridled hatreds.<br /> +Should they burst forth, ruin and wilderness<br /> +Would reign.<br /> + <span class="i4">O hapless One, the greenest spots</span><br /> +Even of thy existence are but full<br /> +Of pitfalls opened wide and yawning void!<br /> +No dawning was thy lot; even those boughs<br /> +Young of thine early years were parched with drought!<br /> +Whatever white thou touchedst was defiled!<br /> +And thine old age, if thou couldst bare thy youth,<br /> +Would shriek with fear and fly from thy youth's face!</p> + +<p>A sneering power or a grace divine<br /> +Mercilessly nailed down thy hands and will,<br /> +O cowardly, decrepit, idle man,<br /> +Infirm and hapless, starless night enclosed<br /> +In a weak child! Death will not come to thee<br /> +As to the toiling laborer who toils<br /> +The whole day long, and towards evening, sleep,<br /> +Even before he lies, in bed to rest,<br /> +Creeps sweetly upon him and seals his eyes.</p> + +<p>Thy death shall be laden with graspless horror<br /> +Such as one feels who sinned in secrecy<br /> +And dreads each hour detection of his sin,<br /> +Trial, death sentence, and the hangman's rope.</p> + +<p>O hapless One, would that in thy death struggle<br /> +Her bosom might still shine before thine eyes,<br /> +The good Fate's breast, who blessed thy birth with goodness,<br /> +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might!<br /> +Would that thou couldst show her the humble shred<br /> +Torn from the star-wrought sacred veil of hers<br /> +And tell her: "See, in the deep darkness smiles<br /> +Something, a dawn on which I still hold fast!"</p> + +<p>O hapless One! Would that the mighty heroes<br /> +And royal purples and the blessings full<br /> +Of light and might and all thou knewest not<br /> +In thy dark empty life could shine upon<br /> +Thy passing as the lights of distant stars!</p> +</blockquote> + + + +<h2><a id="the_end">THE END</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p>A wedding guest, I travel far abroad!<br /> +The bride, thrice-beautiful; the groom, a wizard;<br /> +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast.<br /> +The land is far, and I must travel on;<br /> +An endless path before me leads away.</p> + +<p>And the far land a vision was! The steed,<br /> +A smoke! The wedding, angels' shadows fleet!<br /> +While I,—O cruel wakening!—lie down<br /> +For ever palsy-stricken and bed-ridden!</p> + +<p>And only you, old tunes familiar,<br /> +I hold. I hold you as a dying darling child,<br /> +Languid and glowing with the fever's heat,<br /> +Holds on to his dear plaything, with white wings<br /> +New-grown for his long journey, even I,<br /> +The child unskilled, dream-roaming, stript of will!</p> + +<p>Old tunes familiar, waft me upon<br /> +Your shining wings for healing or for death<br /> +To the cool shadow of the pure-white home<br /> +And lay me gently on a loving bosom.</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="part"><h1><a id="part_the_palm_tree">THE PALM TREE</a></h1> + <p class="center">TO DOSINES, WHO HEARD IT FIRST.</p> +</div> + + + +<div class="new_page"><h2><a id="the_palm_tree">THE PALM TREE</a></h2> + + +<p><i>Once in a garden about a palm tree's shade, some blue flowers, here +very dark and there very light, talked with each other. A poet who now +is dead, passed by; and he put their talk into these rhythms:</i></p> +<blockquote> +<p>O Palm Tree, someone's hand has cast us here;<br /> +Was it the hand led by a cursed Fate,<br /> +Or moved by mind of good intent? Who knows?<br /> +What impulse seized us from the cave of sleep<br /> +Below to bring us to the surface here?<br /> +Is it a savior's or destroyer's power<br /> +That sets us motionless beneath thy shade?<br /> +And is thy shade the shade of life or death?</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The glare of the hot sun drowned everything;<br /> +Gluttonous locusts groped for food about;<br /> +And then, a rain. The flowers, that had drooped<br /> +To sleep, awake to drink the drops of dew.<br /> +And then, the clear sky's festival begins<br /> +More azure than before to spread above thee.</p> + +<p>Only thy trembling crest drops here and there<br /> +Some large and shining rain-pearls on the earth.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The garden glitters with a new-born life;<br /> +And each bird dreams it is a nightingale;<br /> +Only from thy lone heights like bullets fall<br /> +Thy pearl-clear drops, and oh, the pain thereof!<br /> +The dew drops make a crown for everything;<br /> +The gurgling waters are a balm to all;<br /> +Why should this god-sent goodness of all things<br /> +Be blow for us and suffering and flame?</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>How cruelly thy bullets fall and smite!<br /> +No ear above and not an eye before us!<br /> +Beneath thy shade we live; thy trunk is world<br /> +To us; thy crown, a star-spun sky, our sky!<br /> +If thou art a god merciless, reveal<br /> +Thyself! If not, but nod and give us calm!<br /> +Either cease slaying us one by one, or pour<br /> +On us at once a flood to drown us all!</p> + +<p>Our pain is as reward and treasure found!<br /> +The golden seal of harmony has stamped us,<br /> +And while Death touches us, we glory, victors!<br /> +We tremble; hail O rhythm's thrice-sacred tremor!<br /> +A worm may live sunless beneath the earth<br /> +That a new butterfly of silken wings<br /> +May live an hour of perfect life and die.<br /> +The wound's gash turns into a living fountain!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Things gray, things crystal, myriad hues of green,<br /> +Gushings of fountains clear, and caterpillars,<br /> +Earth's things immovable, air-sailing ships,<br /> +And little worms, and bees, and butterflies,<br /> +Sweet flower-grails and censers, fondling grass,<br /> +The moss-down's countless kisses, echoes from<br /> +Below, and mandolins ethereal,<br /> +Leaves quivering and lilies languor-bringing!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The turtle-doves know not what you know, blossoms,<br /> +The chosen things of beautiful loves, you!<br /> +Kisses and starts and wooings of the boughs!<br /> +The birth of each of you is a world's dawn!<br /> +You know, O little tearful short-lived things,<br /> +You know pleasure's and joy's eternities!<br /> +We, the gold garlands wreathed about thy root,<br /> +Are like celestial and thoughtful eyes!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Blithe flowers, boughs that hang with blossoms full,<br /> +From dandelions to the chamaemele,<br /> +You may be like the glowing coals or gems,<br /> +Or like a maiden's rosy cheeks and lips.<br /> +Though you, like hands, may open full or empty,<br /> +And though you be dawn's smiles or evening's candles,<br /> +Or the fair palaces of Fairy Dew,<br /> +The gazing eyes are we! We are the eyes!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Though small we are, a great world hides in us;<br /> +And in us clouds of care and dales of grief<br /> +You may descry; the sky's tranquility;<br /> +The heaving of the sea about the ships<br /> +At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks;<br /> +And something else inexplicable. Oh,<br /> +What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it?<br /> +One, damnèd, and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Frolick, and form, and wanton playfulness,<br /> +And some unspoken radiant vanity,<br /> +And some enrapturing bewitching charm,<br /> +And perfect virgin beauty are your own!<br /> +Fading like gods' pale images, you seem!<br /> +Even the bird sometimes bows to your grace!<br /> +And Nereids wind-footed fan your faces,<br /> +O roses with a thousand smiles divine!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>A god commanded it, the flower-haired April!<br /> +"O flowing fragrance, change to brilliancy!"<br /> +Thus you are scentless, roses of Bengal;<br /> +All others' perfume is bright light in you.<br /> +And thou, O lily, king among the flowers,<br /> +From what far world hast thou been led astray?<br /> +Was it from fragrance's own womb, or from<br /> +The whitest star? And we, O Palm? Who knows!</p> + +<p>River ethereal of fragrance, stay!<br /> +Thou hast not flowed nor watered us at birth.<br /> +We said to fragrance: "Cease thy flowing course;<br /> +Well not from us; nor be our breath! Sink deep<br /> +Into our heart's recesses; close thyself<br /> +Regardless of thy perfume in our soul!<br /> +Then seek to find our thought and live with it<br /> +And flow from it as honey from the bee!"</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>"Bring forth from the rich treasures of the sun<br /> +All colors, flowers, and deck yourselves with them!"<br /> +We said unto our little brothers: "Make<br /> +Robes of the heaven's rainbow for your raiment!"<br /> +And to ourselves we said: "Soul, I<br /> +Shall let aside all brilliance! I need not<br /> +Sunset or dawn; enough would be something<br /> +Of the great sea and of the heaven's smile!"</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Become a cloud, O great Desire, and speak<br /> +With lightnings and with thunders! Rise, a lark,<br /> +And sing and soar towards a new starry garden!<br /> +Turn all thy flooding music into love,<br /> +Mingle with it all children's innocence<br /> +And all the beauty that is thine; still thou<br /> +Wilt have love's shadow only but not love.<br /> +For love shines, burns, illumines quenchlessly!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>The garden draws life from a triple soul,<br /> +A soul that spreads creeping upon the earth<br /> +With roots beneath and wings above. A city,<br /> +The caterpillar builds in its great depths;<br /> +The bird builds love towards heights ethereal!<br /> +About all green things live to be thy slaves<br /> +And trimming ornaments, O palm! How high<br /> +Skyward thou raisest thy grace-moulded body!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>No ivy limits and no offshoot mars<br /> +Thy trunk's unchained and chiseled nakedness;<br /> +And yet, though naked, with a charm dream-wrought<br /> +Thou coverest the alleys of the garden.<br /> +And as an emblem of thy reign, a crown<br /> +Of beams pearl-born and silver-born shines bright<br /> +As it hangs trembling from thy top, O palm.<br /> +Oh what a rhythm governs thy form divine!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>So beautiful is not the cypress young<br /> +As it waves towards the sky, moved by the breeze!<br /> +So beautiful is not the mossy fountain<br /> +That sings like bard and nourishes like mother!<br /> +So beautiful is not sunrise or sunset!<br /> +Another world's day hangs from thy high crest!<br /> +So beautiful is not the tranquil lake!<br /> +Gods and their hymns god-sung are at thy feet!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Neither an angel's shade in a hermit's cave,<br /> +Nor harmony's voice in Night's deep silence,<br /> +Nor the great maker's thought just as it dawns<br /> +In his wide-fronted heaven, and is still<br /> +A maiden dream unyoked before it finds<br /> +A dwelling in the form of word or music,<br /> +Color or marble! None of these is like<br /> +Thine image caught and mirrored in our thought!</p> + +<p>Is it transparent and immortal blood<br /> +That flows in thee, or sap too weak to wake thee<br /> +From thy long spell of blind and voiceless sleep<br /> +Into a crystal life's fair revelry?<br /> +Is thy head's crown another's counterfeit,<br /> +Or thine own locks that smitten by the wind<br /> +Become stringed lyres to sing in murmurs sweet<br /> +Of the world's symphony and of thy beauty?</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Neither thy boughs nor locks they are, but wings<br /> +That thou wouldst ply with gentle flutterings!<br /> +Wings? They are not, though they become; and ever<br /> +A hunger tortures thee, and ever thou<br /> +Strugglest to enter a sublimer world!<br /> +Right, left, high, far, thou seekest a fair city,<br /> +Some sunlit Athens, and standest bent on flying<br /> +With swans and cranes towards the azure heavens.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Art thou a relic of a dead age and great,<br /> +Or the first dew of a becoming life?<br /> +Now some Wood Nymph bound within thee peeps out<br /> +Struggling to flow into the light about;<br /> +And now thou risest like the column last<br /> +Of an old temple that once stood in Hellas.<br /> +Evening or morning, end or a beginning,<br /> +Something binds thee to skies beyond all sight.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Hosannas from thy boughs and palm leaves flow,<br /> +Hosannas from thy royal height, as prayer<br /> +To some unknown god's charms, who passes by<br /> +Revealing his fair godhead first to thee.<br /> +And lo, the hillsides answer thine hosannas!<br /> +Oh, what thy visions, what thy secrets are?<br /> +Some tremor, from new heavens wafted, makes<br /> +The supple flowers and green leaves quiver.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>And we? The migrant bird did come to us;<br /> +The passing wind did touch us with its wing;<br /> +The restless brook did check its rapid course;<br /> +The child did cast on us his guileless glance;<br /> +The jonquil proud did greet us with a nod;<br /> +And the moon did look down to see us here;<br /> +And all beheld our surface; none our depths!<br /> +Thus the world glided over us and vanished!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Sweet orange blossoms, what asked the nightingales?<br /> +What would the dry cicala know of noontide?<br /> +All things that groan from the great depths of earth,<br /> +All songs that mount exultant to the stars,<br /> +The eating moth's faint voice, the restless cricket's,<br /> +Perfumes and breezes, creatures lone and mated,<br /> +All things that fly and creep and bend and stoop,<br /> +Something they know of thee and hide it from us.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Within our breasts, a soul of storm and pitch<br /> +Puts into our minds evil thoughts of thee.<br /> +The magpie chatters long to the night bat<br /> +Of thee; the locust boasts she is like thee;<br /> +The wasp draws ample pleasure in thy shelter;<br /> +And the night raven finds delight in thee.<br /> +A world of evil and of scorn lies wait<br /> +For thee who mountest tranquil to the stars.</p> + +<p>O Health blown from the heart of the pure pine!<br /> +Where thy feet tread, fruits grow 'midst thorns and clover;<br /> +If with the streams thou flowest, the elements<br /> +Shine; for pure wine, thou reapest the fair clusters;<br /> +And where thou lingerest, a city rises!<br /> +Thy breasts flow ever with milk; thy lips with dew!<br /> +O mother fruitful, strong, and whole, some ill<br /> +Rots us and we are pale like death's faint tapers!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Boughs, tresses, wings; shadows whose grace divine<br /> +Frolics and spreads as bough or tress or wing;<br /> +Another night, you took another form<br /> +In the enchanted pitiless moonlight,<br /> +A form that was neither bough, tress, nor wing:<br /> +Swords you seemed, ready to descend and smite!<br /> +Night's roaming butterfly, be merciful!<br /> +Lift us upon thy wings and fly away!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Illness and wakefulness have tortured us,<br /> +O palm, and we saw thee bend secretly!<br /> +The dragon's heads and dogwoods were awake;<br /> +We saw thee leading a strange dance with them<br /> +At night; and in our first sleep, we beheld thee<br /> +A heavy dream roaming with mulleins and<br /> +Chameleons; about thee closed whole gardens<br /> +Of thistles, aloes hard, and hosts of briars!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>We dreamed and lo, thou wert demanding tribute<br /> +Of life, blood-drenched; and in thy being raged<br /> +A savage hunger; and some beast flesh-eating<br /> +Nestled in thee and gnawed a hole through thee;<br /> +And thy winged body turned into a cave;<br /> +A vulture perched as crown upon thy head;<br /> +And like fire-flames, and sea-waves, and sword-blades,<br /> +From root to top, fierce snakes crept up and coiled!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Who ever thought of it? What Fate has ruled<br /> +That from ill-smelling things and worthless stuff<br /> +Should rise things of resplendent green? and from<br /> +Deforming filth, the thrice-pure miracle<br /> +Of May and April? Hence things blue and black<br /> +Mingle in us; and in our souls, spread oceans<br /> +And narrow paths; and while our minds converse<br /> +With things sublime, something thrice-base defiles us!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>O Sun, assail and strangle all black dreams,<br /> +Our life's dim vapors and ill-working demons!<br /> +But nourish all things good and beautiful<br /> +Like sunbeams playing and like nightingales!<br /> +And thou, O moon, spread over savage Night<br /> +A veil translucent of heart-felt sympathy!<br /> +Wave everywhere, O Beauty's purple robe!<br /> +Let the great world be love and love's sweet lyre!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Day comes! Light scatters a thousand eyes on thee<br /> +So that thou mayest greet the woods and mountains,<br /> +The nests upon the trees, the palaces<br /> +Of cities, and the ships on open seas<br /> +Or ports. At nights, mounted on steeds of light<br /> +Beautiful Fairies come from high to serve thee;<br /> +The poplar lifts its many hands to thee;<br /> +And the dark cypresses lull thee to sleep.</p> + +<p>With pelicans and eagles thou conversest,<br /> +And drop by drop thou drinkest the world's music;<br /> +Thou seest things far, things near, and things above;<br /> +Things infinite, intangible, and great;<br /> +And thou communest with air-sailing ships,<br /> +Light-rays, and wings, and the world-mounting ladder;<br /> +While we, bent low, and lashed by sorrow's whip,<br /> +Listen to the great throbbing of Earth's heart!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>We heard it, the great throbbing of Earth's heart,<br /> +The new song inconceivable, unheard,<br /> +Of consummate and perfect sound!<br /> +Through it, some thunder-stricken angel groans;<br /> +All April's gardens breathe in fragrant balms;<br /> +Some unfulfilled and secret longings weep;<br /> +And a fire crackles that will ruin worlds!<br /> +Something that passes by, an endless riddle!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Tell thou the sunlit story of the air;<br /> +We shall unroll to you the tale of blackness.<br /> +Come, let us mingle the two elements,<br /> +Thy mighty power with our own winning grace!<br /> +In unseen places, small and cold and sunless,<br /> +A world of workers and of corsairs dwell;<br /> +And there are paths and deeds of theirs, and days,<br /> +And what the infinite air-spheres have not!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>A swarm of bees has told us of their life,<br /> +And a new youth and wise shone unto us!<br /> +The grass hides unsuspected miracles;<br /> +Beside us, the ant opens a deep path;<br /> +A lizard, slowly creeping from below,<br /> +Brought us here news of countries, nations, arts;<br /> +A butterfly on her swift flight to wed<br /> +The little flowers broadened our world of thought!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Unwedded, fruitless Palm, fair mystery!<br /> +Strange was the hour—who will believe it now?—<br /> +The divine world willed to become a thought,<br /> +And thought revealed itself unto our mind!<br /> +Now, unto darkness and to riddles new,<br /> +Our little life is ready to depart!<br /> +O Palm, make answer; lo, before thou speakest<br /> +Thy word sublime, a hand lays wait to smite!</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>O Palm, a hand did spread to sow us here;<br /> +That hand will spread again to root us out,<br /> +And we shall die! The billow and the wind<br /> +And the still waters will sweep us away<br /> +Mercilessly! The flowery spring will not<br /> +Lament us! The wide world will never know<br /> +We perished! And beneath thy shadow's charms,<br /> +Another fragrant race will rise to life.</p> + +<p class="thought_break"> * * * * *</p> + +<p>Nor will there be a monument for us<br /> +That might retain the phantom of our passing!<br /> +Only about thee will a robe of light<br /> +Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam:<br /> +And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime!<br /> +And in the eyes of an astonished world,<br /> +Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star;<br /> +Yet neither thou nor others will know of us!</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + + +<div class="new_page"><h1>FOOTNOTES</h1> + + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_01" href="#footnote_ref_01" class="footnote_label">[1]</a> This essay is republished, with a few changes, from <i>Poet Lore</i>, + vol. xxviii, no. 1, pp. 78-104.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_02" href="#footnote_ref_02" class="footnote_label">[2]</a> My translation of it originally appeared in the <i>Stratford + Journal</i>, from which I quote it in its entirety.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_03" href="#footnote_ref_03" class="footnote_label">[3]</a> Tigrane Yergate, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 710.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_04" href="#footnote_ref_04" class="footnote_label">[4]</a> Jean Moréas, <i>Voyage de Grèce</i>, 1898.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_05" href="#footnote_ref_05" class="footnote_label">[5]</a> On Patras, the birth-place of the poet. See <a href="#Patras">Introduction, p. 13</a>.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_06" href="#footnote_ref_06" class="footnote_label">[6]</a> On Missolonghi, the place of the poet's childhood. See + <a href="#Missolonghi">Introduction, p. 15</a>.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_07" href="#footnote_ref_07" class="footnote_label">[7]</a> On the Island of Corfu, one of the most important centers of the + literary renaissance of modern Greece.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_08" href="#footnote_ref_08" class="footnote_label">[8]</a> Iacobos Polylas, 1826-98, translator of the <i>Odyssey</i> and of parts + of the <i>Iliad</i>, and an important figure in the struggle for the + vernacular. He has also translated some of Shakespeare's plays.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> <a id="footnote_09" href="#footnote_ref_09" class="footnote_label">[9]</a> Dionysios Solomos, born in Zante, 1748, died in Corfu, 1857. He is + the first great poet of modern Greece. He has written lyrics in + Italian and in Greek. Several of his songs have spread as folk + songs throughout the Greek world. He is mainly known as the poet of + the modern Greek national hymn to Liberty.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_10" href="#footnote_ref_10" class="footnote_label">[10]</a> Gerasimos Markoras, born in Cephalonia, 1826, died in Corfu, 1911, + a lyric and epic poet. His poem "Oath" was inspired by the Cretan + struggle for freedom.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_11" href="#footnote_ref_11" class="footnote_label">[11]</a> On Egypt, whence the first lights of civilization dawned on Greece.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_12" href="#footnote_ref_12" class="footnote_label">[12]</a> On Mt. Athos, the Holy Mountain of the modern Greeks, inhabited by + about ten thousand monks. Although called by its hermits "the + virgin's garden" no female creature is allowed to enter its ground.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_13" href="#footnote_ref_13" class="footnote_label">[13]</a> Panselenus, a famous Byzantine painter, who is believed to be the + author of some of the Madonnas and Christs found in the monasteries + of the mountain.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_14" href="#footnote_ref_14" class="footnote_label">[14]</a> On classic Greece, in contrast with the following sonnet which + refers to the spirit of Greece throughout the ages, from the + classic period to the time of the Byzantine Empire.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_15" href="#footnote_ref_15" class="footnote_label">[15]</a> The Islands of the Ionian Sea.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_16" href="#footnote_ref_16" class="footnote_label">[16]</a> The hero of medieval Greece, Digenes Akritas, who is supposed to + have lived on the slopes of the Taurus mountains in Asia Minor and + to have fought against the invading Saracens. There are a great + number of folk-songs about him not only in Greek but in Turkish, + Bulgarian, Serbian, and Albanian as well.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_17" href="#footnote_ref_17" class="footnote_label">[17]</a> The word, meaning "blessed one," is here applied to ideal womanhood + and must not be confused with <a href="#makarias_death">Makaria of p. 103</a>, the mythical + Theban princess.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_18" href="#footnote_ref_18" class="footnote_label">[18]</a> The translator of Homer and Shakespeare. See notes <a href="#footnote_ref_08">8</a> and <a href="#footnote_ref_09">9</a>, <a href="#footnote_ref_07">p. 80</a>.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_19" href="#footnote_ref_19" class="footnote_label">[19]</a> A pseudonym for Constantine Chatzopoulos, one of the leading + literary figures in Athens to-day. He has written poems under this + pseudonym. But he is now mainly known as a master of short stories + which he has published under his real name, and as the translator + of Göthe's <i>Faust</i> and of Hofmannsthal's <i>Electra</i>. This poem + dedicated to him was written during the unfortunate Greco-Turkish + war of 1897.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_20" href="#footnote_ref_20" class="footnote_label">[20]</a> Maviles was born in Ithaca, 1860, and fell in the battle of + Driscos, November 29, 1912. He is the writer of exquisite sonnets + and the successful translator of various foreign poems. The + Cretan Revolution of 1896 is here alluded to, which led to the + Greco-Turkish war of 1897. Maviles was one of the first to hasten + to Crete to help in the struggle for liberty.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_21" href="#footnote_ref_21" class="footnote_label">[21]</a> Alexandros Pallis is one of the greatest literary figures of + contemporary Greece, who, like Psicharis, has lived mostly far from + Greece. He is a poet, a critic, and a satirist. But his fame is + mainly due to his translation of the <i>Iliad</i> and that of the <i>New + Testament</i>. The publication of the latter caused the student riots + of 1901.</p> + +<p class="footnote"><a id="footnote_22" href="#footnote_ref_22" class="footnote_label">[22]</a> The poet had in mind the following lines of Sully Prudhomme from + his <i>Stances et Poèmes</i>, L'âme:</p> +<blockquote class="quotation"> + <p class="footnote">Tous les corps offrent des contours,<br /> + Mais d'ou vienne la forme qui touche?<br /> + Comment fais-tu les grands amours,<br /> + Petite ligne de la bouche?</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + + +<div id="end_note" class="new_page"> +<p>PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS<br /> +CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U.S.A.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life Immovable, by Kostes Palamas + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24191-h.htm or 24191-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/1/9/24191/ + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Life Immovable + First Part + +Author: Kostes Palamas + +Translator: Aristides E. Phoutrides + +Release Date: January 7, 2008 [EBook #24191] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES + +Punctuation, spelling and obvious printer's errors have been corrected. +Footnotes from the original text have been collated at the end of this +e-book and references to them have been amended according to the new +footnote numbering used in this e-book. + + + + +[Illustration: Kostes Palamas] + + + + +KOSTES PALAMAS + +LIFE IMMOVABLE +_FIRST PART_ + + +TRANSLATED BY ARISTIDES E. PHOUTRIDES + + +WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR + + +CAMBRIDGE +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1919 +HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS + + + + +TO MRS. EVELETH WINSLOW + +THIS VOLUME OF TRANSLATIONS IS DEDICATED AS A TOKEN OF HER +APPRECIATION OF THE POET'S WORK + + + + +PREFACE + + +The translations contained in the present volume were undertaken since +the beginning of the great war when communication with Greece and +access to my sources of information were always difficult and at times +impossible. In hastening to present them to the English speaking +public before discussing them with the poet himself and my friends in +Athens, I am only yielding to the urgent requests of friends on both +sides of the Atlantic who have regarded my delay with justifiable +impatience. I am thoroughly conscious of the shortcomings that were +bound to result from the above difficulties and from the interruption +caused by my two years' service in the American army; and were it not +for the encouragement and loyal assistance of those interested in my +work it would have been impossible for me to bring it at all before +the public. My earnest effort has been to be as faithful to the poet +as possible, and for this reason I have not attempted to render rime, +a dangerous obstacle to a natural expression of the poet's thought and +diction. But I hope that the critics will judge my work as that of a +mere pioneer. I know there is value in the theme; and if this value is +made sufficiently evident to arouse the interest of poetry lovers in +the achievements of contemporary Greece I shall have reaped my best +reward. + +I wish to express my thanks to Dr. Christos N. Lambrakis of Athens +for the information which he has always been willing to furnish me +regarding various dark points in the work translated; to Mrs. Eveleth +Winslow of Washington for many valuable suggestions and criticisms; +and above all to Professor Clifford H. Moore of Harvard University +for the interest he has shown in the work and the readiness with which +he has found time in the midst of his duties to take charge of my +manuscript in my absence and to assist in seeing it through the press. + +ARISTIDES E. PHOUTRIDES. + +WASHINGTON, D.C. +July 7, 1919. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION + + KOSTES PALAMAS, A NEW WORLD-POET + LIFE IMMOVABLE, FIRST PART + + +TRANSLATIONS + + LIFE IMMOVABLE,--INTRODUCTORY POEM + + +FATHERLANDS + + FATHERLANDS, I-XII + THE SONNETS + EPIPHANY + MAKARIA + THE MARKET PLACE + LOVES + WHEN POLYLAS DIED + TO PETROS BASILIKOS + SOLDIER AND MAKER + THE ATHENA RELIEF + THE HUNTRESS RELIEF + A FATHER'S SONG + TO THE POET L. MAVILES + IMAGINATION + MAKARIA'S DEATH + TO PALLIS FOR HIS "ILIAD" + HAIL TO THE RIME + + +THE RETURN + + DEDICATION + THE TEMPLE + THE HUT + THE RING + THE CORD GRASS FESTIVAL + THE FAIRY + OUT IN THE OPEN LIGHT + FIRST LOVE + THE MADMAN + OUR HOME + THE DEAD + THE COMRADE + RHAPSODY + IDYL + AT THE WINDMILL + WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS + PINKS + RUINS + PENELOPE + A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS + + +FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN + + IMAGINATION + THE GODS + MY GOD + HELEN + THE LYRE + GIANTS' SHADOWS + THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL + SUNRISE + DOUBLE SONG + THE SUN-BORN + ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE + THE STRANGER + AN ORPHIC HYMN + THE POET + KRISHNA'S WORDS + THE TOWER OF THE SUN + A MOURNING SONG + PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN + THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN + MOLOCH + ALL THE STARS + ARROWS + + +VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE + + THE BEGINNING + THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK + THE SIMPLE SONG + THREE KISSES + ISMENE + THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN + TO A MAIDEN WHO DIED + TO THE SINNER + A TALK WITH THE FLOWERS + TO MY WIFE + THE ANSWER + THOUGHT + THE SINNER + THE END + + +THE PALM TREE + + THE PALM TREE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + + + +KOSTES PALAMAS[1] + +A NEW WORLD-POET + + _And then I saw that I am the poet, surely a poet among many + a mere soldier of the verse, but always the poet who desires + to close within his verse the longings and questionings of the + universal man, and the cares and fanaticism of the citizen. I + may not be a worthy citizen; but it cannot be that I am the + poet of myself alone. I am the poet of my age and of my race. + And what I hold within me cannot be divided from the world + without._ + + KOSTES PALAMAS, Preface to _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_. + + _Kostes Palamas ... is raised not only above other poets of + Modern Greece but above all the poets of contemporary Europe. + Though he is not the most known ... he is incontestably the + greatest._ + + EUGENE CLEMENT, _Revue des Etudes Grecques_. + + +I +THE STRUGGLE + +Kostes Palamas! A name I hated once with all the sincerity of a young +and blind enthusiast as the name of a traitor. This is no exaggeration. +I was a student in the third class of an Athenian Gymnasion in 1901, +when the Gospel Riots stained with blood the streets of Athens. The +cause of the riots was a translation of the New Testament into the +people's tongue by Alexandros Pallis, one of the great leaders of the +literary renaissance of Modern Greece. The translation appeared in +series in the daily newspaper _Akropolis_. The students of the +University, animated by the fiery speeches of one of their Professors, +George Mistriotes, the bulwark of the unreconcilable Purists, who would +model the modern language of Greece after the ancient, regarded this +translation as a treacherous profanation both of the sacred text and of +the national speech. The demotikists, branded under the name of [Greek: +Malliaroi] "the hairy ones," were thought even by serious people to be +national traitors, the creators of a mysterious propaganda seeking to +crush the aspirations of the Greek people by showing that their language +was not the ancient Greek language and that they were not the heirs of +Ancient Greece. + +Three names among the "Hairy Ones" were the object of universal +detestation: John Psicharis, the well known Greek Professor in Paris, +the author of many works and of the first complete Grammar of the +people's idiom; Alexandros Pallis, the translator of the Iliad and of +the New Testament; and Kostes Palamas, secretary of the University of +Athens, the poet of this "anti-nationalistic" faction. Against them the +bitterest invectives were cast. The University students and, with them, +masses of people who joined without understanding the issue, paraded +uncontrollable through the streets of Athens, broke down the +establishment of the _Akropolis_, in which Pallis' vulgate version +appeared, and demanded in all earnestness of the Metropolitan that he +should renew the medieval measure of excommunication against all +followers of the "Hairy Ones." + +Fortunately, the head of the Greek Church in Athens saved the +Institution which he represented from an indelible shame by resisting +the popular cries to the end. But the rioters became so violent that +arms had to be used against them, resulting in the death of eight +students and the wounding of about sixty others. This was utilized by +politicians opposing the government: fiery speeches denouncing the +measures adopted were heard in Parliament; the victims were eulogized as +great martyrs of a sacred cause; and popular feeling ran so high that +the Cabinet had to resign and the Metropolitan was forced to abdicate +and die an exile in a monastery on the Island of Salamis. It was then +that I first imbibed hatred against the "Hairy Ones" and Palamas. + +About two years later, I had entered the University of Athens when +another riot was started by the students after another fiery speech +delivered by our puristic hero, Professor Mistriotes, against the +performance of Aeschylus' _Oresteia_ at the Royal Theatre in a popular +translation made by Mr. Soteriades and considered too vulgar for +puristic ears. This time, too, the riot was quelled, but not until one +innocent passer-by had been killed. I am ashamed to confess that on that +occasion I was actually among the rioters. It was the day after the riot +that I first saw Palamas himself. He was standing before one of the side +entrances to the University building when my companion showed him to me +with a hateful sneer: + +"Look at him!" + +"Who is it?" + +"The worst of them all, Palamas!" + +I paused for a moment to have a full view of this notorious criminal. +Rather short and compact in frame, he stood with eyes directed towards +the sunlight streaming on the marble covered ground of the yard. He held +a cane with both his hands and seemed to be thinking. Once or twice he +glanced at the wall as if he were reading something, but again he turned +towards the sunlight with an expression of sorrow on his face. There was +nothing conspicuous about him, nothing aggressive. His rather pale face, +furrowed brow, and meditative attitude were marks of a quiet, retiring, +modest man. Do traitors then look so human? From the end of the +colonnade, I watched him carefully until he turned away and entered the +building. Then I followed him and walked up to the same entrance; on the +wall, an inscription was scratched in heavy pencil strokes: + + "Down with Palamas! the bought one! the traitor!" + +At last my humanity was aroused, and the first rays of sympathy began to +dispel my hatred. That remorseless inscription could not be true of this +man, I thought, and I hurried to the library to read some of his work +for the first time that I might form an opinion about him myself. +Unfortunately, the verses on which I happened to come were too deep for +my intellect, and I had not the patience to read them twice. I was so +absolutely sure of the power of my mind that I ascribed my lack of +understanding to the poet. Then his poems were so different from the +easy, rhythmic, oratorical verses on which I had been brought up. In +Palamas, I missed those pleasant trivialities which attract a boy's mind +in poetry. One thing, however, was clear to me even then. Dark and +unintelligible though his poems appeared, they were certainly full of a +deep, passionate feeling, a feeling that haunted my thoughts long after +I had closed his book in despair. From that day, I condescended to think +of him as of a sincere follower of a wrong cause, as of a sheep that had +been led astray. + +Years went by. I was no more in Greece. I had come to another country, +where a new language, a new history, a new literature opened before me. +Here, at last, I began to assume a reasonable attitude towards the +question of the language of my old country, and here first I could read +Palamas with understanding. Gradually, his greatness began to dawn on +me, and, finally, my admiration for him had grown so much that when on +April, 1914, I reached Greece as a travelling fellow from Harvard +University, I had decided to concentrate my studies during the five +months I was planning to spend there upon him and his work. With his +work, I did spend many long and pleasant hours. But him I visited only +once. The man from whom I had once shrunk as from a monster of evil, now +I shunned for fear I had not yet learned to admire in accordance with +his greatness. Owing to the urgent demand of an old classmate, Dr. Ch. +N. Lambrakis, who knew the poet, I went to see him one April afternoon +in his office at the University with my friend and fellow traveller, Mr. +Francis P. Farquhar. Mr. Palamas was sitting at his official desk; but +as soon as we entered he rose to receive us and then sat modestly in the +corner of a sofa. He had changed very little in appearance since the +time of the riots, and the more I looked at him the more I recognized +the very same image which I had kept in my mind from the first encounter +I had with him in the University colonnade ten years before. Perhaps, +the furrows of his brow had now become deeper; the white hairs, more +numerous. His eyes were still the same fiery eyes penetrating wherever +they lit beneath the surface of things and often turning away from the +present into the world of thought. His hands moved quietly; his voice +was clear and sonant; his words were few and polite. Unassuming in his +manner, he seemed more eager to receive knowledge than to talk about +himself and his work. He asked us questions about America and its +literary life: Is Poe read and appreciated? Is Walt Whitman still +popular? He admired them both; he had a great craving for the new; and +to read things about America fascinated him. When we rose to leave, we +realized that we had been doing the talking, but on both of us the +personality of the man, reserved and unobstrusive though he was, had +made a deep and lasting impression. + +This was the only visit I had with him. But I saw him more than once +walk in the streets of Athens and among the plane trees of Zappeion by +the banks of Ilissus, or sitting alone at a table of some unfrequented +coffeehouse, always far from the crowd. It was only after I had returned +to America that I wrote to him for permission to translate some of his +works. The answer came laden with the same modesty which is so prominent +a characteristic of the man. He is afraid I am exaggerating the value of +his work, and he calls himself a mere laborer of the verse. Certainly he +has been a faithful laborer for a cause which a generation ago seemed +hopeless. But through his faith and power, he has snatched the crown of +victory from the hands of Time, and he may now be acclaimed as a new +World-Poet. + +"The poetic work of Kostes Palamas," says Eugene Clement, a French +critic, in a recent article on the poet, "presents itself today with an +imposing greatness. Without speaking about his early collections, in +which already a talent of singular power is revealed, we may say that +the four or five volumes of verse, which he has published during the +last ten years raise him beyond comparison not only above all poets of +Modern Greece but above all poets of contemporary Europe. Though he is +not the most famous--owing to his overshadowing modesty and to the +language he writes, which is little read beyond the borders of +Hellenism--_he is incontestably the greatest_. The breadth of his views +on the world and on humanity, on the history and soul of his race, in +short, on all problems that agitate modern thought, places him in the +first rank among those who have had the gift to clothe the philosophic +idea in the sumptuous mantle of poetry. On the other hand, the vigor and +richness of his imagination, the penetrating warmth of his feeling, the +exquisite perfection of his art, and his gifted style manifest in him a +poetic temperament of an exceptional fulness that was bound to give +birth to great masterpieces." + + +II +LIFE INFLUENCES + +PATRAS + +Kostes Palamas was born in Patras sixty years ago. Patras is one of the +most ancient towns in Greece, known even in mythical times as Aroe, the +seat of King Eumelus, "rich in flocks." It became especially prominent +after the reign of Augustus as a centre of commerce and industry. Its +factories of silk were renowned in Byzantine times, and its commanding +position attracted the Crusaders and the Venetians as a military base +for the conquest of the Peloponnesus. The citadel walls that crown the +hill, on the slopes of which the modern city descends amphitheatrically +into the sea, are remnants of Venetian fortifications. In the history of +Modern Greece, it is a hallowed spot; for it was here that on April 4, +1821, the standard of the War of Liberation was first raised before a +band of warriors kneeling before the altar of Hagia Laura, while +Germanos, the archbishop of the city, prayed for the success of their +arms. The view which the city commands over the sapphire spaces of the +Corinthian Gulf and the purple shadows of the mountains rising from its +waters in all directions are superb, and the sunsets, that evening after +evening revel in colors there, are among the most magnificent in Greece. +A beauty worthy of life dwells over the vine-clad hills, while the +mountain kings that rise about are hoary with age and fame. The eye +wanders from the purple-laden cliffs of Kylene to the opal mantles of +the sea and from the peaks of Parnassus to the lofty range of Kiona. +This is the background of one of Palamas' "Hundred Voices," a collection +of short lyrics in the volume entitled _Life Immovable_: + + Far glimmered the sea, and the harvest darkened the threshing + floors; + I cared not for the harvest and looked not on the threshing floors; + For I stood on the end of the sea, and thee I beheld from afar, + O white, ethereal Liakoura, waiting that from thy midst + Parnassus, the ancient, shine forth and the Nine Fair Sisters of + Song. + Yet, what if the fate of Parnassus is changed? What if the Nine Fair + Sisters are gone? + Thou standest still, O Liakoura, young and for ever one, + O thou Muse of a future Rhythm and a Beauty still to be born. + +To his birth place, the poet dedicates one of his collection of sonnets +entitled "Fatherlands" and contained in the same volume. It is the first +of the series: + + Where with its many ships the harbor moans, + The land spreads beaten by the billows wild, + Remembering not even as a dream + Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth. + + The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich; + And on her brow, an aged crown she wears, + A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks, + Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might. + + O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch; + And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far + Aloft with midland Zygos at his side. + + Here I first opened to the day mine eyes; + And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born, + An image faint, half-vanished, fair--a mother. + + +MISSOLONGHI + +But in Patras, the child did not stay long. His early home seems to have +been broken up by the death of his mother, and we find him next in +Missolonghi, another glorious spot in the history of Modern Greece. It +does not pride itself on its antiquity. It developed late in the Middle +Ages from a fishing hamlet colonized by people who were attracted by the +abundance of fish in the lagoon separating the town from the sea. This +lagoon lies across the Corinthian Gulf to the northwest of Patras, +hardly an hour's sail from it. Its shallow waters, which can be +traversed only by small flat-bottomed dories propelled with poles, +extend between the mouths of the Phidaris and the Achelooes, and are +studded with small islets just emerging above the face of the lagoon and +covered with rushes. Two of these islets, Vassiladi and Kleisova, +attained great fame by the heroic resistance of their garrisons against +the forces of Kioutachi and Imbrahim, Pashas in the War of Liberation. +The town itself is a shrine of patriotism for modern Greeks. For from +1822 to 1826, with its humble walls hardly stronger than fences, it +sustained the attacks of very superior forces, and its ground was +hallowed by the blood of many national heroes. Just outside its walls +lies the "Heroes' Garden" or "Herooen," where under the shadows of +eucalyptus and cypress trees, Marcos Bozzaris, Mavromichalis, the +philhellene General Coreman, and Lord Byron's heart are buried. It was +during the second siege that Byron died here in the midst of his noble +efforts for the freedom of Greece. The fall of the city brought about by +famine is the most glorious defeat in the history of the Greek +Revolution. The garrison of three thousand soldiers with six thousand +unarmed persons including women and children, unwilling to surrender, +attempted to break through the Turkish lines. But only one-sixth managed +to escape. The rest were driven back and mercilessly cut down by their +pursuers. Many took refuge in the powder magazines of the city and +waited until the Turks drew up in great numbers; then they set fire to +the powder and blew up friends and foes alike. The second sonnet of +Palamas' "Fatherlands" is devoted to this lagoon city: + + Upon the lake, the island-studded, where + The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs + The seashore strewn with seaweed far away, + The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan. + + 'Tis there the northwind battles mightily + Upon the southwind; and the high tide on + The low; and far into the main's abyss + The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking. + + There stands Varassova, the triple-headed; + And from her heights, a lady from her tower, + The moon bends o'er the waters lying still. + + But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's, + Not even there I knew; but only sorrow + And, what is now a fire--the spirit's spark. + +Here then, "the spirit's spark" was first kindled, and here, in the city +of his ancestors, the poet was born. The swampy meadows overgrown with +rushes and surrounded with violet mountains, the city with its narrow +crooked streets and low-roofed houses, the lagoon with its still shallow +waters and modest islets, the life of townsmen and peasants with their +humbles occupations, passions, and legends, above all, the picturesque +distinctness of this somewhat isolated place, secluded, as it seems, in +an atmosphere laden with national lore--these were the incentives which +stirred Palamas in his quest of song. They have stamped their image on +all his work, but their most distinct reflection is found in _The +Lagoon's Regrets_, which is filled with memories of the poet's early +life in a world he always remembers with affection: + + Imagination flies to hells and stars, + A witch beguiling, an enchantress strange; + But ours the Heart remains and binds both life + And love with the native soil, nor seems to die. + + Peaks, depths, I sought Eurydice of old: + "What longing moans within me now, new-born? + Would that I were a fisherman at work, + Waking thy sleeping waters with my oar, + O Missolonghi!" + +Humble but natural in feeling is the appeal to a friend of his childhood +days: + + The peasant's huts in Midfield + For us, old friend, are waiting: + Come as of old to eat + The fresh-made cheese, and taste + The hard-made loaf of cornbread. + + Come, and drink the milk drawn pure; + And filled with dew and gladness, + Stir up the hunger of the youth + Beside you, buxom lasses. + +Here, too, he sings of the "crystal salt that is drawn snow-white from +the lake"; of the rain "that always weeps" and of the conquering tides. +Here he listens to the whispers of the waves while they murmur with each +other with restrained pride; and here over Byron's grave he dreams of +the great poet of Greece, who will come to ride on Byron's winged horse. +The poems of this collection are short but exquisitely wrought in verse +and language, full of life and of feeling. They are especially marked +with Palamas' attachment to the little and humble, which he loves to +raise into music and rhythm, and for which he always has sympathy and +even admiration. + + +ATHENS, THE VIOLET-CROWNED + +Missolonghi nurtured the poet in his youth and led him to the threshold +of manhood. But when he had graduated from the provincial "gymnasion," +he naturally came to Athens in order to complete his education in the +University of that city, the only University in Greece. This brought him +to the place which was destined to develop his greatness to its zenith. +The quiet, retired, and humble life of the Lagoon with its air filled +with legend was suddenly exchanged for the shining rocks of Attica and +its great city, flooded with dazzling light and roofed with a sky that +keeps its azure even in the midst of night. Life here is full, restless, +and tumultuous as in the days of Athens of old. The violet shadows of +the mountains enclosing the silver olive groves of the white plain are +still the makers of the violet crown of Athens. + +The poet in one of his "Hundred Voices" pictures a clear Attic afternoon +in February: + + Even in the winter's heart, the almonds are ablossom! + And lo, the angry month is gay with sunshine laughter, + While to this beauty round about a crown you weave, + O naked rocks and painted mountain slopes of Athens. + + Even the snow on Parnes seems like fields in bloom; + A timid greenish glow caresses like a dream + The Heights of Corydallus; white Pentele smiles upon + The Sacred Rock of Pallas; and old Hymettus stoops + To listen to the love-song of Phaleron's sea. + +It is its scanty vegetation that makes the southwestern region of Attica +look like a mountain lake of light. The nakedness of the mountain ranges +and the whiteness of the plains are vaulted over by a brilliant sky and +surrounded by a sea of a splendid sapphire glow. Even the olive trees, +which still grace the fields about Athens are bunches of silver rather +than of green. In "The Satyr, or the Naked Song," taken from the volume +of _Town and Wilderness_ we may detect the very spirit which, springing +from the same soil thousands of years ago, created the song which +gradually rose from primitive sensuousness to the heights of the Greek +Tragedy: + + All about us naked! + All is naked here! + Mountains, fields, and heavens wide! + The day reigns uncontrolled; + The world, transparent; and pellucid + The thrice-deep palaces. + Eyes, fill yourselves with light + And ye, O Lyres, with rhythm! + + Here, the trees are stains + Out of tune and rare; + The world is wine unmixed; + And nakedness, a mistress. + Here, the shade is but a dream; + And even on the night's dim lips + A golden laughter dawns! + + Here all are stripped of cover + And revel lustfully; + The barren rock, a star! + The body is a flame! + Rubies here and things of gold, + Priceless pearls and things of silver, + Scatter, O divinely naked Land, + Scatter, O thrice-noble Attica! + + Here manhood is enchanting, + And flesh is deified; + Artemis is virginity, + And Longing is a Hermes; + And here, and every hour, + Aphrodite rises bare, + A marvel to the Sea-Things, + And to the world, a wonder! + + Come, lay aside thy mantle! + Clothe thee with nakedness, + O Soul, that art its priestess! + For lo, thy body is thy temple. + Pass unto me a magnet's stream, + O amber of the flesh, + And let me drink of nectar drawn + From Nakedness Olympian! + + Tear thy veil, and throw away + Thy robe that flows discordantly! + With nature only match thy form, + With nature match thy plastic image. + Loosen thy girdle! Cross + Thy hands upon thy heart! + Thy hair is purple royal, + A mantle fairly flowing. + + And be a tranquil statue; + And let thy body take + Of Art's perfection chiseled + Upon the shining stone; + And play, and sing, and mimic + With thoughtful nakedness + Lithe beasts and snakes and birds + That dwell in wilderness. + + And play, and sing, and mimic + All things of joy, all things of beauty; + And let thy nakedness + Pale into light of living thought. + Forms rounded and forms flat, + Soft down, lines curved and straight, + O shiverings divine, + Dance on your dance of gladness! + + Forehead, and eyes, and waves + Of hair, and loins, ... + And secret dales and places! + Roses of love and myrtles! + Ye feet that bind with chains! + Hands, Fountains of caress, + And Doves of longing sweet, + And falcons of destruction! + + Whole hearted are thy words, + And bold, O mouth, O mouth, + Like wax of honey bees, + Like pomegranates in bloom. + The alabaster lilies, + April's own fragrant censers, + Envy thy breast's full cups! + Oh, let me drink from them! + + Drink from the rosy tinged, + Erect, enameled, fresh, + The milk I dreamed and dreamed + Of happiness. Thee! + I am thy mystic priest, + And altars are thy knees; + And in thy warm embrace + Gods work their miracles! + + Away, all tuneless things! + Hidden and covered things, away! + Away, all crippled, shapeless things, + And things profane and strange! + Erect and naked all, and guileless, + Bodies and breasts and earth and skies! + Nakedness, too, is truth, + And nakedness is beauty! + + * * * * * + + In nakedness, with sunshine graced, + That fills the Attic day, + If thou beholdest stand before thee + Something like a monster bare, + Something that like a leafless tree + Stands stripped of shadow's grace, + And like a stone unwrought, + His body is rough and gaunt, + + Something that naked, bare, and nude + Roams in the thrice-wide spaces, + Something whose life is told in flames + That light beneath his eyelids, + Akin to the old Satyrs' breed + And tameless like a beast, + A singer silver-voiced, + Flee not in fear! 'Tis I! + + The Satyr! I have taken here + Roots like an olive tree, + And with my flute deep-sounding, + I make the breezes languish. + I play and lo, all things are mated, + Love giving, love receiving. + I play and lo, all things are dancing, + All: Men and beasts and spirits! + + +ATHENS, THE CENTRE OF GREECE + +So much of the natural atmosphere of Athens and Attica. But the +Athenians themselves, their thoughts, life, and dreams have not proved +less important nor less effective for the poet's growth. The spiritual +and intellectual currents moving the Greek nation of today start from +this city. Here politics, poetry, and philosophy are still discussed in +the old way at the various shops, the coffee houses, and under the plane +trees by the banks of Ilissus. The "boule" is the centre of the +political activity of the state. The University with its democratic +faculty and still more democratic student body is certainly a "flaming" +hearth of culture. Only, its flames are sometimes so ventilated by +current events and political developments that the students often assume +the functions of the old Athenian Assembly. In the riotous expression of +their temporary feelings, the students are not very different from the +ancient demesmen. In my days, at least, the most frequent greeting +among students was "How is politics today?", with the word "politics" +used in its ancient meaning. Any question of general interest might +easily be regarded as a national issue to be treated on a political +basis. Thus it happened that when the question of language was brought +to the foreground by Pallis' vernacular translation of the New +Testament, the students took up arms rather than argument. + +Into this world, the poet came to finish his education. In one of his +critical essays (_Grammata_, vol. i), he tells us of the literary +atmosphere prevailing in Athens at that time, about 1879. That year, +Valaorites, the second great poet of the people's language, died, and +his death renewed with vigor the controversy that had continued even +after the death of Solomos, the earliest great poet of Modern Greece. +The passing away of Valaorites left Rangabes, the relentless purist, the +monarch of the literary world. He was considered as the master whom +every one should aspire to imitate. His language, ultra-puristic, had +travelled leagues away from the people without approaching at all the +splendor of the ancient speech. But the purists drew great delight from +reading his works and clapped their hands with satisfaction on seeing +how near Plato and Aeschylus they had managed to come. + +Young and susceptible to the popular currents of the literary world, +Palamas, too, worshipped the established idol, and offered his +frankincense in verses modelled after Rangabean conceptions. In the same +essay to which I have just referred, he tells us of the life he led with +another young friend, likewise a literary aspirant, during the years of +his attendance at the University. The two lived and worked together. +They wrote poems in the puristic language and compared their works in +stimulating friendliness. But soon they realized the truth that if +poetry is to be eternal, it must express the individual through the +voice of the world to which the individual belongs and through the +language which the people speak. + +This truth took deep roots in the mind of Palamas. His conviction grew +into a religion permeated with the warmth, earnestness, and devotion +that martyrs only have shown to their cause. Believing that purism was +nothing but a blind attempt to drown the living traditions of the people +and to conceal its nature under a specious mantle of shallow +gorgeousness, he has given his talent and his heart to save his nation +from such a calamity. In this great struggle, he has suffered not a +little. When the popular fury rose against his cause, and he was +blackened as a traitor and a renegade, he wrote in words illustrating +his inner agony: + + I labored long to create the statue for the Temple + Of stone that I had found, + To set it up in nakedness, and then to pass; + To pass but not to die. + + And I created it. But narrow men who bow + To worship shapeless wooden images, ill clad, + With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear, + Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily. + + My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile! + To foreign lands I led my restless wanderings; + But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered: + I dug a pit, and in the pit I laid my statue. + + And then I whispered: "Here, lie low unseen and live + With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins + Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art! + A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!" + + And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets, + The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light! + In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O maker! + Better for ever lost in these unlighted depths. + + "Its hour may never come! And if it come, and if + Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant + With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish, + And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable. + + "To-day was soon for thee; to-morrow will be late. + Thy dream is vain; the dawn thou longest will not dawn; + Thus, burning for eternities thou mayest not reach, + Remain, Cloud-Hunter and Praxiteles of shadows! + + "To-morrow and to-day for thee are snares and seas. + All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false. + Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden! + And thou shalt pass away; hear this, and thou shalt die!" + + And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die! + Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind; + Let pits devour my work. Of all eternal things, + My restless wandering may have the greatest worth." + +The same idea, though expressed in a more familiar figure, is found in +another poem published among _The Lagoon's Regrets_. + + THE GUITAR + + In the old attic of the humble house, + The guitar hangs in cobwebs wrapped: + Softly, oh, softly touch her! Listen! + You have awaked the sleeping one! + + She is awake, and with her waking, + Something like distant humming bees + Creeps far away and weeps about her; + Something that lives while ruins choke it. + + Something like moans, like humming bees, + Thy sickened children, old guitar, + Thy words and airs. What evil pest, + What blight is eating thine old age! + + In the old attic of the humble house, + Thou hast awaked; but who will tend thee? + O Mother, wilderness about thee! + Thy children, withering; and something, + Like humming bees, sounds far away! + +A distinct note of pessimism is found in the lines of both these poems. +In the latter, it becomes a helpless cry of anguish. But despair seems +to cure the poet rather than drown his faith in hopelessness. As a +critic, he encourages every initiate of the cause. As a "soldier of the +verse," he himself fights his battles of song in every field. In short +story, in drama, in epic poetry, and above all in lyrics, he creates +work after work. From the _Songs of my Country_, the _Hymn to Athena_, +the _Eyes of my Soul_ and the _Iambs and Anapaests_, he rises gradually +and steadily to the tragic drama of the _Thrice Noble-One_, to the epic +of _The King's Flute_, and to the splendid lyrics of _Life Immovable_ +and _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_ which are his masterpieces. + +Nor does he always meet adversity with songs of resignation. At times, +he faces indignantly the hostile world with a satire as stinging as that +of Juvenal. He dares attack with Byronic boldness every idol that his +enemies worship. Often he strikes at the whole people with Archilochean +bitterness and parries blow for blow like Hipponax. At times, he even +seems to approach the rancor of Swift. But then he immediately throws +away his whip and transcends his satire with a loftier thought, a +soothing moral, a note of lyricism, and above all with an unshaken faith +in the new day for which he works. The eighth and ninth poems of the +first book of his "Satires" are good illustrations of this side of his +work: + + 8 + + The lazy drones! The frogs! The locusts! + Big men! Politicians! Men who draw + Their learning from the thoughtless journals! + + A crowd of stupid, haughty blockheads! + Unworthily, thy name is set + By each as target for blind blows; + + But forward still thy steps thou leadest, + Up toward the high bell-tower above, + And climbest: Spaces spread about thee, + + And at thy feet, a world of scorners. + Though thou rainest not the godsent manna, + A great Life-giver still, thou tollest + + With a new bell a new-born creed. + + + 9 + + Aye! Break the tyrant's hated chains! + But with their breaking go not drunk! + The world is always slaves and lords: + + Though free, chain-bound your life must be; + Other kinds of chains are there + For you: Kneel down! For lo, I bring them! + + They fit you, redeemers or redeemed! + Bind with these chains your golden youth; + I bring you cares and sacrifices. + + And you shall call them Truth and Beauty, + Modesty, Knowledge, Discipline! + To one command obey last, first, + + The world's great laws, and men, and nations. + +One of his "Hundred Voices" has something of this satiric note. It is a +blow against a worthless pretender of the art of verse, who courts +popularity with strains not worthy of the sacred Muse. Palamas, acting +with greater wisdom than Pope, does not give the name of this unknown +pretender: + + Bad? Would that thou wert bad; but something worse thou art: + Thou stretchedst an unworthy hand to the sacred lyre, + And the untaught mob took thy reeling in the dust + For the true song of golden wings; and thou didst take + Thy seat close by the poet's side so thoughtlessly, + And none dared rise and come to drag thee thence away. + And see, instead of scorning thee, the just was angry; + Yet, even his verse's arrow is for thee a glory! + + +_The Grave_ + +In tracing the great life influences of our poet, we must not pass over +the loss of his third child, "the child without a peer," as he says +in one of his poems addressed to his wife, "who changed the worldly +air about us into divine nectar, a worthy offering to the spotless-white +light of Olympus." To this loss, the poet has never reconciled himself. +The sorrow finds expression in direct or covert strains in every work he +has written. But its lasting monument was created soon after the child's +death. A collection of poems, entitled _The Grave_, entirely devoted +to his memory, is overflowing with an unique intensity of feeling. +The poems are composed in short quatrains of a slowly moving rhythm +restrained by frequent pauses and occasional metrical irregularities, +and thus they reflect with faithfulness the paternal agony with which +they are filled. They belong to the earlier works of the poet, but they +disclose great lyric power and are the first deep notes of the poet's +genius. A few lines from the dedication follow: + + Neither with iron, + Nor with gold, + Nor with the colors + That the painters scatter, + + Nor with marble + Carved with art, + Your little house I built + For you to dwell for ever; + + With spirit charms alone + I raised it in a land + That knows no matter nor + The withering touch of Time. + + With all my tears, + With all my blood, + I founded it + And built its vault.... + +In another poem, in similar strains, he paints the ominous tranquility +with which the child's birth and parting were attended: + + Tranquilly, silently, + Thirsting for our kisses, + Unknown you glided + Into our bosom; + + Even the heavy winter + Suddenly smiled + Tranquilly, silently, + But to receive you; + + Tranquilly, silently, + The breeze caressed you, + O Sunlight of Night + And Dream of the Day; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Our home was gladdened + With sweetness of amber + With your grace magnetic; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Our home beheld you, + Beauty of the morning star, + Light of the star of evening; + + Tranquilly, silently, + Little moons, mouth and eyes, + One dawn you vanished + Upon a cruel deathbed; + + Tranquilly, silently, + In spite of all our kisses, + Away you wandered + Torn from our bosom; + + Tranquilly, silently, + O word, O verse, O rime, + Your witherless flowers + Sow on his grave faith-shaking. + +In another poem reminiscent of Tibullean tenderness, the corners of the +deserted home, in which the child, during his life, had lingered to +play, laugh, or weep, converse with each other about their absent guest: + + Things living weep for you, + And lifeless things are mourning; + The corners, too, forlorn, + Remember you with longing: + + "One evening, angry here he sat, + And slept in bitterness." + "Here, often he sat listening + Enchanted to the tale." + + "Here, I beheld with pride + The grace of Love half-naked; + An empty bed and stripped + Is all that now is left me." + + "I always looked for him; + He held a book; how often + He sat by me to read + With singing tongue its pages!" + + "What is this pile of toys? + Why are they piled before me + As if I were a grave? + Are they his little playthings? + + "The little man comes not; + For death with early frost + Has nipped his little dreams + And chilled his little doings." + + "His little sword is idle, + And here has come to rest." + "And here his little ship + Without its captain waits." + + "To me, they brought him sick + And took him away extinguished." + "They watered me with tears + And perfumed me with incense." + + "The dead child's taper burns + Consuming and consumed." + "The tempest wildly beats + Upon the doors and windows, + And deep into our breasts + The tempest's moan is echoed." + + And all the house about + For thee, my child, is groaning ... + + +THE WORLD BEYOND GREECE + +Greece seems to encompass the physical world with which Palamas has come +in contact. He does not seem to have travelled beyond its borders, and +even within them, he has moved little about. With him scenery must grow +with age before it speaks to his heart. Fleeting impressions are of +little value, and the appearance of things without the forces of +tradition and experience behind it does not attract him: + + Others, who wander far in distant lands may seek + On Alpine Mountains high the magic Edelweis; + I am an Element Immovable; each year, + April delights me in my garden, and the May + In my own village. + O lakes and fiords, O palaces of France and shrines + And harbors, Northern Lights and tropic flowers and forests, + O wonders of art, and beauties of the world unthought,-- + A little Island here I love that always lies before me. + +We must not think, however, that the spirit of Palamas rests within the +narrow confines of his native land. On the contrary, it knows no chains +and travels freely about the earth. He is a faithful servant of +"Melete," the Muse of contemplative study, a service which is very +seldom liked by Modern Greeks. In his preface to his collection of +critical essays entitled _Grammata_ he rebukes his fellow countrymen for +this: "On an old attic vase," he says, "stand the three original Muses, +the ones that were first worshipped, even before the Nine, who are now +world-known: Mneme, Melete, Aoide--Memory, Study, Song. With the first +and last, we have cultivated our acquaintance; and never must we show +any contempt for the fruit of our love for them. Only with the middle +one, we are not on good terms. She seems to be somewhat inaccessible, +and she does not fill our eyes enough to attract us. We have always +looked, and now still we look, for what is easiest or handiest. Is that, +I wonder, a fault of our race or of our age? And is the French +philosopher Fouillee somewhat right when in his book on the _Psychology +of Races_ he counts among our defects our aversion to great and above +all endless labors?" That Palamas is not subject to this fault, one has +only to glance at his works to be convinced. There is hardly an +important force in the world's thought and expression whether past or +present, to which Palamas is a stranger. The literatures of Europe, +America, or Asia are an open book for him. The pulses of the world's +artists, the intellectual battles of the philosophers, the fears and +hopes of the social unrest, the religious emancipation of our day, the +far reaching conflict of individual and state, in short, all events of +importance in the social, political, spiritual, literary, and artistic +life are familiar sources of inspiration for him. With all, he shows the +lofty spirit of a worshipper of greatness and depth wherever he finds +them. Tolstoi or Aeschylus, Goethe or Dante, Ibsen or Poe, Swinburne or +Walt Whitman, Leopardi or Rabelais, Hugo or Carlyle, Serbian Folk Lore +or the Bible, Hindu legends or Italian songs, Antiquity or Middle Ages, +Renaissance or Modernity, any nation or any lore are objects worthy of +study and stores of wisdom for him. Indeed, very few living poets could +be compared with him in scholarship and learning. + +Nor does he lift his voice only for individual or national throbbings. +He sings of the great and noble whenever he sees it. One of his best +lyric creations is a song of praise to the valor of the champions of +Transvaal's freedom, his "Hymn to the Valiant," the first of the +collection entitled "From the Hymns and Wraths," a paean that has been +most highly lauded by Professor D.C. Hesseling of the University of +Leyden (_Nederlandsche Spectator_, March, 1901). Here is a fragment of +it, the words which the Muse addresses to the poet: + + ... Awake! Thou art not maker of statues! + Awake! For songs thou singest! + And song is not for ever + The heart's lament + To fading leaves of autumn, + Nor the secret speech thou speakest, + A Soul of Dream, to the shadows of Night. + + For suddenly there is a clash and groaning! + The joy of birds sea-beaten, + In storms of Elements + And storms of Nations! + Song is, too, + The Marathonian Triumpher! + Over the ashes of Sodoma, + It is blown by the mouth of wrath! + + Something great and something beautiful, + Something from far away, + Travelling Glory brings thee + On her sky-wandering pinions. + + Glory has come! On her wings and on her feet, + Signs of her wanderings are shown, + Dust gold-loaded and distant; + And she brings aloes blossoming, first-seen, + From the land that feeds the Kaffir's flocks. + + In your aged summers, + A new-born spring has spread! + From North to South, + The Atlantic Dragon groans a groan first-heard; + To the African lakes and forests, + His groan has spread and echoed; + From the Red Sea, a Lamia's palace, + To the foam-shaped breast of the White Sea, + A Nereid's realm. + + Thinly the plants were growing + On the bosom of the ancient Motherland; + Winds carried away the seed + And brought it to the Libyan fields + And scattered it into deep ravines + And on the lofty mountain lawns. + + A new blood filled the herbs, + And even the strong-stemmed plants + Waxed stronger. + Men war-glad are risen! + And the waterfalls roar + In the mountain's heart; + Men war-glad are risen + Like diamonds rare to behold + That the earth begets! + + You know them, heights, winds, horizons, + High tides and murmurings of restless waters, + Golden fountains, that shall become + Their crowns! + And you, O gold-built mountain passes, + Castles fit for them, you know them; + Their fame, thou heraldest with pride + From thy verdant distant country + To Europe Imperial, + O Africa, O slave unknown! + + And first of all thou knowest, + O heartless tamer of continents and races, + Rider of Ocean's Bucephaluses, + Thou knowest the worth of the few, + Who dare live free ... + +Within the limits of a general introduction it would be difficult to +enter every nook and corner of the poet's world. We must even pass over +some of the most potent influences of his life. The national dreams of +the Modern Greeks have a splendid dwelling in the thought of Palamas, +who follows with restlessness his people's woes and exults in their +joys. A group of poems dedicated to the "Land that Rose in Arms" and +published in the last volume of the poet's work, the _Town and +Wilderness_, form his noblest patriotic expression. The present +world-conflict has naturally stirred him to new compositions, of which +his "Europe" is preeminently noteworthy as illustrating faithfully the +various aspects of the poet's genius. This poem appeared first in the +_Noumas_, an Athenian periodical, and was then published in the last +volume of the poet's works, the _Altars_.[2] + + EUROPE + + I. THE WAR + + Deer-like the East pants terror-struck! The West, + A flame ablaze that leaps amid the skies! + Nations are wolves! and Hatreds are afoot, + Whetting their bayonets! + + With force gigantic, lo, the bursting forth + Of the barbarian sweeps on, age-wrought; + Oceans are cleft and swallow Gorgon-ships, + Castles of might afloat! + + What sorcerers, in Earth's deep bosom buried, + Beat into shape the metal? For what kings + Slave they? What crowns forge they? The tower-ships, + The ports, the oceans quake! + + Lovingly the dream born of dream flies high + Air wandering amid the eagles; yet + O victory! Lord of the azure, man + Spreads horror even there. + + Methinks the Niebelungen of the Night + Startle sun's radiance ... And ye, the Rhine's + Water-born Nymphs, are lashed and swept away + By monstrous hurricanes. + + Siegfried, the hero of the golden hair, + Makes men and elements before him kneel. + War is the arbiter of rising worlds; + And Violence, arbitress. + + Franks, Anglo-Saxons, Alemanni, Hungars! + Europe, a viper! And the armies, dragons! + Here, Uhlans are destroyers pitiless; + And there, the Cossacks' bands! + + From endless sweeps of steppes, the Slav blows forth + An endless squall, the havoc's ruthless vow! + Liberty is the phantom; and the slave, + The stern reality. + + Helvetians, Scandinavians, Latins, Russians, + The martyr Pole, heroic Flanders' land, + All, small and great, forward to battle rush + With one man's violence! + + Beating thy breast, thou clingest to thy throne, + Storm-wrapped, O worshipper of gods that fade, + Hypatia thou, the Frenchman's ruling queen, + Blood-bred Democracy! + + The Vosgic towers tremble! And God's wrath, + Valkyrie, the awful Nymph, wind-ridden sweeps, + A rider pitiless that threatens thee, + O Paris noble-born! + + Our age's honored prophet, Tamerlan! + A shadow's dream, Messiah of sweet Peace! + Enthroned in judgment stands America. + While from far Asia's depths, + + The Indian hermits and gold-gatherers + With yellow Mongols are afoot! With them, + The sons of Oceania, Kerman, + And Africa; Semites, + + War-glad Turanians and Aryans, + Lands that the Adriatic kisses, Rumans, + Our brother Serb, a wall!--Let Austria's + Cataract burst and roar! + + Vosges and Carpathians and Balkans quake! + Ridges and mountains tremble! The oceans roar! + Five Continents' passionate wraths and hatreds + Revel in festival! + + But lo, the Briton with sea-battling sceptre + That binds the restless waves to his command-- + What Caesars' fetters forges he anew + Upon the island rock? + + And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth + And makes of thee a valley of sad tears, + O paradisial land of old Ionia; + And here, our Mother Greece, + + Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths + Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king! + Wax-pale, the world stands listening and holds + Its breath, benumbed with fright! + + + II. THE THINKER + + But lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, + Whatever race has given him his blood, + Watches from his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped + And he stirs not. + + With pity's quivering and terror's chill, + In tears and ruins, he plucks a fruitful joy + From the great Drama, watching thoughtfully + The hidden law. + + And lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, + Whatever race has given him his blood, + Abides in his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped + And meditates: + + Old age? No! Nor the youth of a new life. + All is the same, Europe and Law, the shark! + And never changes--hear ye not?--the march + Of history. + + A splinter in the powerful's hands, O powerless, + Yet sometimes--comfort thee--his mate and friend! + The powerful's blind hand even thou, O Science, + Often shalt be. + + Is War the Father of all things? And is + The lava messenger of lusty growth? + How can the creature grow from monster seed? + Who knows? Pass on! + + Even if some great dream be born of flesh + And the wroth tempest fling a new world forth, + Even if over the tumult Europe stand + United, one; + + And if the state of a new people rise + Founded upon the ruins of the world, + Still always thou wilt burn, O Fury's torch, + Amid the darkness. + + Even if thou wilt come to states in ruins + And empty thrones, O power of juster race, + Always the tender and the harsh shall be; + Shepherd and flocks! + + Unless, O man, something is destined thee + That thou, O History, foretellest not: + An evolution unbelievable + To gazing worlds. + + + III. THE POET + + The poet: Miracle-working lo, the seed + Of blessed dreams, sown in his heart, takes roots; + He is like mind entranced in ecstasy, + Born upon wings! + + Under his wings, all things are images + Of creatures beautiful for him to sing, + Whether they are roses April-born + Or warring legions! + + And neither the war's roaring gun nor yet + The river of red blood swift-flowing on + Can make the flower fade that fills my breast + With fragrances! + + I am the faithful friend of song; therefore, + I tremble not like child before a blackman; + Midst blood and flames and lashings horrible, + I bring thee, Love! + + Thy footprints mark a shining trail of lights + New-risen, guiding with their gleams my steps; + The restless gambol of thy fire, Dawn's smile + Upon my night. + + Thine eyes, O Fountainhead of Beauty's stream, + Mirror within them all things beautiful: + And lo, the eagles of the Czars, on wings + Sky-roaming, sail. + + The war, when thine eyes look on it, becomes + Under the magic of thy glance pure wine + Of holiness. The German is the wonder + Of deed and thought; + + Where Tolstoi lived, all things are justly blessed; + Where Goethe dwelt all things are light and wisdom; + And yet my heart's pure love flows now for thee, + For thee, O France! + + Though first I sucked my god-sprung mother's milk, + Still thou wert later manna unto me, + Desert-born, joy of mine and guide and teacher, + My second mother. + + On thy world-trodden earth, I have not stood; + Nor didst thou bathe me, Seine, in thy cold waters; + Yet is thy vision light unto my song, + O second mother! + + O Celtic oak-trees and Galatian-born + White lilies in lyric Paris blossoming, + With Hugo and with thee, O Lamartine, + Revels and wings! + + Dante and Nietzsche, Ibsen, Shakespeare, all, + Poured wine for me with their thrice-holy hands + Into thy gleaming cup of gold and bade + Me rise on high. + + A child: And thou didst flash before me first, + Tearing the maps of dazzled Europe's lands + With the world's Mirabeaus and with the world's + Napoleons. + + Thou art not for the gnawing worm of graves. + Thy gods still live with thee, Hypatia! + Glory and Victory may dwell with thee, + Democracy! + +From the number of the life influences which we have scantily traced in +Palamas' work we may conclude that he is a true representative of the +great world and of the age in which he lives. Loving and true to his +immediate surroundings, he does not localize himself in them, nor does +he shut his thought within his personal feelings and experiences, but he +travels far and wide with the thought and action of the universal man +and fills his life with the life of his age. + +It is exactly this universalism that makes _The Twelve Words of the +Gypsy_ his best expression and at the same time the most difficult to +understand thoroughly. The poem is reflective both of the growth of the +poet himself and of the development of the human spirit throughout the +ages with the history and land of Hellas as its natural background. +Consequently, its message is both subjective and objective. Although +differently treated, the theme is the same as that of the "Ascrean" +which appears in the latter part of _Life Immovable_ and which may be +considered as a prelude to _The Twelve Words of the Gypsy_. There is a +flood of feeling and a cosmic imagery throughout, but they only form the +gorgeous palace within which Thought dwells in full magnificence and +mystic dimness. "As the thread of my song," says the poet in his +preface, "unrolled itself, I saw that my heart was full of mind, that +its pulses were of thought, that my feeling had something musical and +difficult to measure, and that I accepted the rapture of contemplation +just as a lad accepts his sweetheart's kiss. And then I saw that I am +the poet, surely a poet among many--a mere soldier of the verse, but +always the poet who desires to close within his verse the longings and +questions of the universal man and the cares and fanaticism of the +citizen. I may not be a worthy citizen. _But it cannot be that I am the +poet of myself alone; I am the poet of my age and of my race; and what I +hold within me cannot be divided from the world without._" + +WASHINGTON, D.C. +July 5, 1919. + + + + +LIFE IMMOVABLE + +FIRST PART + + _In Palamas, we have found every trait of the Greek character: + He is religious and superstitious; a skeptic, a pagan, and a + pantheist.... He is a poet and a philosopher.... He abandons + himself to every impulse of the Greek soul. But he is always + fond of drawing back, of concentrating, of trying to encompass + in a general form the sensations and ideas which sway him. His + principal and latent care is to analyze himself and his world. + A poet and a thinker, Palamas does not attract the multitudes.... + With him everything is a mingling of lights and shadows.... But + through his work Greece of today is most clearly set forth._ + + TIGRANE YERGATE, "Le Mouvement litteraire grec; La Poesie." + _La Revue_, June, 1903, vol. xlv, p. 717 f. + + +With _Life Immovable_, the poetic genius of Kostes Palamas reaches its +full strength. The poet, who, from his very first work, _The Songs of my +Country_, had shown his power in selecting his sources of inspiration +and in weaving the essence of purely national airs into his "light +sketches of sea and olive groves and the various sunlit aspects of Greek +life,"[3] continues to broaden his vision and art through an +unquenchable eagerness for knowledge, for an understanding of things +beautiful, whether present or past, concrete or abstract. He makes broad +strides from his _Hymn to Athena_, to _The Eyes of My Soul_, _Iambs and +Anapests_, and _The Grave_. In all "the pathetic and the common meet +inseparably with an art exact and full of grace, an art that knows its +purpose."[4] But in _Life Immovable_ Palamas rises above the Hellenic +horizon, and strikes the strings of the universal heart in the same +degree as the towns of Patras, Missolonghi, and Athens expand into +Greece and Greece into the world. After all there is both realism and +symbolism in the fact that the first poem of the volume reflects the +atmosphere of the poet's native town while one of the latter ones "The +Ascrean" is filled with an all-including world-vision. + +The present volume contains only the first half of _Life Immovable_. It +consists of five collections of poems: The "Fatherlands," "The Return," +"Fragments from the Song to the Sun," "Verses of a Familiar Tune," and +"The Palm Tree." On the whole, a careful study of these collections +would furnish the key to an adequate understanding of the rest of the +poet's works for which these poems are faithful preludes. For this +reason I am tempted to give an analysis of the translated parts as a +guide to their understanding. But it is by no means my wish to lay down +a fast rule; poetry is no exact science and there should be always ample +room for freedom of suggestion and of view. + + +1. FATHERLANDS + +A series of sonnets, the "Fatherlands," make the opening of the book +and, at the same time, symbolize most clearly the growth of our poet. +Each sonnet describes a fatherland, adding another link to a chain of +worlds that dawn, one after another, upon the poet's being. The first is +Patras, his birthplace. Then follows Missolonghi with its calm lagoon +and the haunts of his boyhood. The splendor of the violet-crowned city +of Athens is succeeded by the island of Corfu, the cradle of the +literary renaissance of Modern Hellenism, which again fades before the +vision of Egypt, whence the earliest lights of civilization shone upon +the land of the Greeks. Christianity in its extreme form of asceticism +is brought forth from one of its strong citadels, Mt. Athos, the holy +mountain of Greece, and a contrast is made between the "gleaming +beauties of the world" and the utter absorption of the ascetic by the +intangible world beyond. The vision of "Queen Hellas," the classic age +of Greece, is followed by the conquering spirit of Hellenism spreading +triumphantly from the democracies of Athens and Sparta to the Golden +Gate of imperial Byzantium. + +But "imagination, like the Phaeacians' ship, rolls on," and the poet +sings: + + In my soul's depths loom many lands ... + And where the heavens mingle with the sea, + A path I seek for a sphere beyond ... + +Oceans are crossed, ages are brought forth from the past, and continents +are joined in making the poet's spirit. Finally even Earth becomes too +narrow and the greater universe opens its gates to the ultimate +fatherland, the elements of the world which will at the end absorb the +being of the poet: + + Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water, + Elements indestructible, beginning + And end of life, first joy and last of mine, + You I shall find again when I pass on + To the grave's calm. The people of the dreams + Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass; + My reason, firelike, unto lasting fire; + My passions' craze unto the billows' madness. + + Even my dust-worn body, unto dust; + And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water; + And from the air of dreams, and from the flame + Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust, + + And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise + A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint. + + +2. THE RETURN + +The second collection of _Life Immovable_, entitled "The Return," is +dedicated to the poet's country. It bears under its title the +significant date of 1897, the year of the unfortunate Greco-Turkish war +which ended disastrously for Greece and plunged the nation into despair. +After the defeat, almost the whole world spoke of the Greeks as of a +degenerate people beyond the hope of redemption. The sensitiveness of +the race helped in rendering the gloom of disaster most depressing. For +some time, even the Greeks began to resign themselves to their fate as a +hopeless one. Palamas is one of the first to sound the reveille. He +conceives of his collection of songs as an expression of faith in the +country's future. With perfect love and assurance "he comes to place the +crowns of Art" "dream-made and dream-engraved" upon her shattered +throne.... + + Only with harmony sublime and pure, + Which, though it rises over time and space, + Turns the world's ears to his native land, + The poet is the greatest patriot. + +Nevertheless even the poet's spirit cannot help reflecting the gloom +through which it tries to rise. The general depression about him weighs +upon him, too, in spite of his effort. This shadow haunts him +constantly. Life becomes a Fairy, with a Fairy's dangerous charms and +fearful mysteries. "Something like a madman pursues life." The poet +hears this madman's falling steps and is horror-haunted: + + And lo, blood of my blood the madman was! + A past, ancestral, long-forgotten sin, + That bursting forth upon me, vampire-like, + Snatched from my hand the dewy crown of joy! + +This madman grows from within the individual's and the nation's life. +The wings of joys and dreams are clipped. One feels like a night-owl +upon glorious ruins, the beauty of which makes the night even darker. +Tradition, like a majestic temple, seems to choke life by its solemnity. +The present, which seems to be symbolized by the little hut, is in the +relentless grip of "a monstrous vision, the Fairy Illness, stripped in +the silver glimmer of the moon." There is always the mingling of +gleaming beauty and of bitter sorrow. There is always before us a +"cord-grass festival," the amber fragrant flowers budding upon the +piercing spikes of the cord-grass and luring man to the deadly bog where +there is no redemption. One might say that the poet verges on morbidity. + +But such an assumption would be unjust. Palamas may have a clear vision +of the tragedy of life. But in the light of this revelation, with his +unfettered contemplation, he builds, like Bertram Russell, a "shining +citadel in the very centre of the enemy's country, on the very summit of +his highest mountain; from its impregnable watch-towers, his camps and +arsenals, his columns and forts, are all revealed; within its walls, the +free life continues while the legions of Death and Pain and Despair and +all the servile captains of tyrant Fate afford the burghers of that +dauntless city new spectacles of beauty." In like manner, the world of +Greece, in which Palamas lives, "our home," as he calls it, may have its +dreadful silences that are "full of moans," moans vague and muffled as +if coming from a distant world + + Of bygone ages and of times unborn. + +But he does not lose sight of that + + Harmony fit for the chosen few, ... + A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam + From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds + Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre, conversing + In the star-spangled darkness of the night. + +At times the poet even raises his song to rapture. Certainly the past +becomes a source of happiness in his "Rhapsody," and life is agleam with +joy in his "Idyl." But most reflective of this power of the poet to +conquer darkness with light and to turn ruins into gleaming palaces of +beauty and of song, is the poem entitled "At the Windmill." + +The local color which is by no means a rare characteristic of the poetry +of Palamas is particularly rich in this collection. Many of its songs +are vivid and clear pictures of Greek life. Yet with the touch of +symbolism, he makes such local flashes world-flames. In "The Dead," we +have a faithful description of the Greek custom of exposing the open +coffin with the body in a room whence all furniture is removed. Friends +and relatives are gathered about the dead; even children are not +excluded from paying this last honor to the departed. The windows are +closed, and in the gloom tapers and candles are burning before the +images of the saints and over the flower-covered body, while the smoke +of the incense and the fragrance of the wreaths fill the air. Yet +somehow in the verses of the song one catches the moving sounds of +mourning humanity, the image of death against life. + + +3. FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN + +"The Fragments from the Song to the Sun" contain some of the noblest +lines of Palamas' poetry. We cannot have a complete understanding of the +symbolism with which this part of _Life Immovable_ is filled. For, after +all, from the great hymn to the light-god, we have here only fragments. +But these fragments remind one of the gold-stained ruins of the +_Akropolis_ against the bright Attic sky. Throughout, we are aware of a +striking duality. The key to these sunlit melodies is probably found in +the "Giants' Shadows." Among the shadows whose voices ascend from +darkness "like moanings of the sea," the poet discovers Telamonian Ajax, +the giant who is utterly absorbed in the world within him, the source of +his light and life, and Goethe, the Teutonic poet, who turns to the +world about himself as a flower to the sun, and whose heart "longs and +thirsts for light." Here then, we detect the doubleness of the sun of +Palamas, a sun within, the source of his inner life and thought, and a +sun without, the source of all external beauty and growth. + +Thus without detracting from the charm and power of the day-star, he +ensouls it with a higher meaning and transforms a fiery globe into a +light-clad Olympian divinity, a giver of life and death, a healer and a +slayer. In "The Tower of the Sun," we find mighty princes, sons of +kings, who had gone thither in their desire to hunt for the light, +turned into stones by the "giant merciless." Motionless they stand, a +world of voiceless statues while + + From their deep and smothered eyes, + Something like living glance + Struggles to peep through its stone-veil! + +Then the fair redeemer, a princess beautiful, comes from far away--the +light, it seems, of inner knowledge and inspiration--and the Sun's tower + + Gleamed forth as if the light + Of a new dawn embraced its walls! + +She knows where the fountain of life flows and with its waters wakes up +the sons of kings, shining + + ... with transcending gleam + Like a far greater Sun. + +This is, then, the sun whom Palamas worships as a god. It is a sun who +possesses all the beauty and power of the actual source of light, but +who, at the same time, by the spell of mystic symbolism rises to the +splendor of a thrice-fair and almighty divinity containing all that is +beautiful and noble and powerful in the world. Upon such a sun he seeks +to find a light-flooded palace for his child in the "Mourning Song." To +such a sun he offers his hymns and prayers; and such a sun he conceives +as a vengeful blood-fed Moloch or a muse of light. He is a fair Phoebus, +who rises from pure Olympus' heights to play as a fountain of flowing +harmonies or to smite as "an archer of fiery arrows" all living things. + + +4. VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE + +In the "Verses of a Familiar Tune" the poet conceives of himself as of a +wedding guest who travels far away to join the festival. The bride, +"thrice-beautiful" seems to be Earth; and the bridegroom, the Sun. The +journey to the festival is the span of mortal life. The poet, who must +travel over this path, endeavors to brighten it with dreams and shorten +his way's weary length + + With sounds that like sweet longings wake in him + Old sounds familiar, low whisperings + Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows ... + The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses + That the waves squander on the sandy beach, + And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips! + +The second poem of this group, "The Paralytic on the River's Bank," +recalls the notes verging on despair which we have found in "The +Return." Again the gleaming past, appearing here as the other bank of +the river, revels + + In lustful growth and endless mirth + With leafy slopes and forests glistening. + +At the sight of such splendor, the poet lies palsy-stricken on this bank +of the river, the "graceless, barren, and desert bank" unable to rise +and sing. Then Life, like a merciful Fairy, takes him into the humble +hut of the present and makes him forget the other bank and nourishes him +until, at last, waking into the new world, he weaves the whole day long +with master hand all kinds of laurel crowns and pours into the +unaccustomed air a flute's soft-flown complaint. But again from his bed +he raises his eyes and sees once more the world beyond the river, +nodding luringly at him; and even there, in the midst of the new life, +he falls palsy-stricken, "the paralytic of the river bank." + +This note of hopelessness is immediately counteracted by the "Simple +Song," in which Life opens again her gorgeous gardens of the past to +pluck the fairest of flowers; and when he weeps over the newly reaped +blossoms that fill his basket, Life rebukes him by facing them unmoved +"a life agleam!" With like wholesomeness he greets the early dawn that +brings him "thought, light, and sound, his sacred Trinity," and enters +the chapel's garden + + To see the children beautiful, + Children that make the grassy beds a heaven + And rise like miracles among the flowers. + +But on the whole, man, the wedding guest, must travel on while the winds +of uncertainty blow about him. Riddles face him everywhere; questions +stern and unanswerable spring before him; and the life of the whole +human race seems to be that of Thought likened to "an angel ever +wrestling with a strong giant flinging his hundred hands about the +angel's neck to strangle him." For who knows if a good act unknown +shines more than the most splendid monuments of marble or verse? Who +knows if vice is wiser than virtue? Is Fair Art, War's Triumphs, and +great Thoughts expressed costlier in the Temple of the Universe than the +mute Thought and Glory of the flower, + + ... at whose birth + The dawn rejoices and whose early death + The saddened evening silently laments? + + The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates + Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx; + Yet who knows if the soldier with no will, + Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth? + + O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures + The measureless and creates the great? + Is it the matchless thought of the endowed, + Or the dim soul of the multitude that bursts, + Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows? + +We know not "whether the holy man's blessing" is the best, nor whether +there is more light of Truth in the Law, "that is all eyes," or in some +blind love. Thus entangled in the meshes of life's sphinx-like wonders, +we spend our day, little particles of the great world-struggle, wedding +guests at Life's strange festival! + + +5. THE PALM TREE + +In tenderness and delicacy of thought and expression, no part of _Life +Immovable_ can be compared with the smoothly flowing stanzas of "The +Palm Tree." There is no ruggedness in the meter, no violence in the +stream of images. We are led without knowing it into a modest garden. A +few flowers, a palm tree, some bushes, and the sky make our world, a +world, it seems, of things small and common and trivial. But the poet +passes by, listens to the humble flowers of dark and light blue, and +puts their talk into rhythms. + +At once, the flowers become a world of beauty, life, and thought. They +are our kin, sons of the same parent Earth, and dreamers of strangely +similar dreams. The Palm tree over them becomes a great mystery of +power and grace lifting it to the realm of gods. The flowers, like +little mortals, wonder at the things they see about them. Their own +existence beneath the palm tree's shade is full of riddles, and they +face the world with questionings. In the very midst of a clear sky's +festival that succeeds a rain, the little flowers suffer the first blows +of pain, dealt by the last drops that fall from the palm leaves, and +they feel the agony of sorrow until they come to realize that even pain +brings its reward, knowledge, which makes them glory, like victors, over +death. Their being expands and they sing a song which is the essence of +the world's humanity: + + Though small we are, a great world hides in us; + And in us clouds of care and dales of grief + You may descry: the sky's tranquility; + The heaving of the sea about the ships + At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks; + And something else inexplicable. Oh, + What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it? + One, damned and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought! + +Thus their song continues carrying them from thought to thought, from +dream to dream, from joy to joy, and from sorrow to sorrow. Swept away +by the charms of life, they raise to their strange god a hymn of +exultation. At the sight of the thrice-fair rose, they sing a song of +love and admiration. Their experiences stimulate their minds, and they +seek to solve the dark problems that teem about them. With the eagerness +of living beings they listen to the tales of new worlds and miracles +brought to them by bees and lizards. Illness and night frighten them +with fearful images; and, at last, they pass away with a song of hope +and regret: + + We shall die, + Nor will there be a monument for us + That might retain the phantom of our passing! + Only about thee will a robe of light + Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam: + And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime! + And in the eyes of an astonished world, + Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star; + Yet neither thou nor others will know of us! + +HARVARD UNIVERSITY, +June 3, 1917. + + + + +TRANSLATIONS + + + + +LIFE IMMOVABLE + +INTRODUCTORY POEM + + _And now the columns stand a forest speechless + And motionless; and among them, the rhythms + And thoughts move in slow measures constantly; + And in their depths, light-written images + Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him._ + + From the "Thoughts of Early Dawn." + + +_I labored long to create the statue for the Temple +On stone that I had found +And set it up in nakedness; and then to pass; +To pass but not to die. + +And I created it. But narrow men who bow +To worship shapeless wooden images, ill-clad, +With hostile glances and with shudderings of fear, +Looked down upon us, work and worker, angrily. + +My statue in the rubbish thrown! And I, an exile! +To foreign lands, I led my restless wanderings. +But ere I left, a sacrifice unheard I offered: +I dug a pit; and in the pit I laid my statue. + +And then I whispered: "Here lie low unseen and live +With things deep-rooted and among the ancient ruins +Until thine hour comes. Immortal flower thou art! +A Temple waits to clothe thy nakedness divine!" + +And with a mouth thrice-wide, and with the voice of prophets, +The pit spoke: "Temple, none! Nor pedestal! Nor light! +In vain! For nowhere is thy flower fit, O Maker! +Better forever lost in the unlighted depths! + +"Its hour may never come! and if it come, and if +Thy work be raised, the Temple will be radiant +With a great host of statues, statues of no blemish, +And works of thrice-great makers unapproachable! + +"Today, was soon for thee; tomorrow will be late! +Thy dream is vain! The dawn thou longest will not dawn; +Thus burning for eternities thou mayest not reach, +Remain cloud-hunter and Praxiteles of shadows! + +"Tomorrow and today for thee are snares and seas! +All are but traps for drowning thee and visions false! +Longer than thy glory is the violet's in thy garden! +And thou shalt pass away--hear this!--and thou shalt die!" + +And then I answered: "Let me pass away and die! +Creator am I, too, with all my heart and mind! +Let pits devour my work! Of all eternal things, +My restless wandering may have the greatest worth!"_ + + + + +FATHERLANDS + + _To the blessed shade of Tigrane Yergate who loved my Fatherlands._ + + + + +FATHERLANDS + + +I[5] + +Where with its many ships the harbor moans, +The land spreads beaten by the billows wild, +Remembering not even as a dream +Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth. + +The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich; +And on her brow, an aged crown she wears, +A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks, +Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might. + +O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch; +And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far +Aloft with midland Zygos at his side. + +Here I first opened to the day mine eyes; +And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born, +An image faint, half-vanished, fair--a mother. + + +II[6] + +Upon the lake, the island-studded, where +The breeze of May, grown strong with sea-brine, stirs +The seashore strewn with seaweed far away, +The Fates cast me a little child thrice orphan. + +'Tis there the northwind battles mightily +Upon the southwind; and the high tide on +The low; and far into the main's abyss +The dazzling coral of the sun is sinking. + +There stands Varassova, the triple-headed; +And from her heights, a lady from her tower, +The moon bends o'er the waters lying still. + +But innocent peace, the peace that is a child's, +Not even there I knew; but only sorrow +And, what is now a fire, the spirit's spark. + + +III + +Sky everywhere; and sunbeams on all sides; +Something about like honey from Hymettus; +The lilies grow of marble witherless; +Pentele shines, birthgiver of Olympus. + +The digging pick on Beauty stumbles still; +Cybele's womb bears gods instead of mortals; +And Athens bleeds with violet blood abundant +Each time the Afternoon's arrows pour on her. + +The sacred olive keeps its shrines and fields; +And in the midst of crowds that slowly move +Like caterpillars on a flower white, + +The people of the relics lives and reigns +Myriad-souled; and in the dust, the spirit +Glitters; I feel it battling in me with Darkness. + + +IV[7] + +Where the Homeric dwellers of Phaeacia +Still live, and with a kiss meet East and West; +Where with the olive tree the cypress blooms, +A dark robe in the azure infinite, + +E'en there my soul has longed to dwell in peace +With towering visions of the land of Pyrrhus; +There dream-born beauties pour their flood, Dawn's mother +Lighting the fountain of sweet Harmony. + +The rhapsodies of the Immortal Blind +In the new voice of Greece are echoed there;[8] +The shade of Solomos[9] in fields Elysian + +Breathes rose-born fragrance; and master of the lyre, +A new bard sings,[10] like old Demodocus, +The glories of the Fatherland and Crete. + + +V[11] + +Lo, dreams strange-born among my dreams are mingling; +A lake, the ancient Mareotis, where +The Goddess spreads with ever hidden face +Her wedding couch to greet Osiris Lord. + +As if from graves, from laughless depths, before me +Life brightly glitters with her gentle smile; +A Libyan thirst burns in my heart; and Ra, +The fiery archer, battles everywhere. + +Something sow-like before me gnashed its teeth, +The slavish soul and savage of the Arab; +World-nourishing the Nile rolled on its waters; + +And lotus-crowned, in the cool shade of palms, +I loved as beasts that dwell in wilderness +A Fellah lass full-breasted and sphinx-faced. + + +VI[12] + +A sinner hermit on the Holy Mountain, +I burn in Satan's fire and pine in hell; +My soul is ruins and woe; and in a stream +Deep-flowing, I sink, a traveller beguiled. + +The blue Aegean spreads a sapphire treasure; +Like Daphnis and his Chloe stand sky and earth; +Quivering, lo, the seed of life blooms forth; +In swarms, the living beings suck the sap + +Of all. Olympus, Ossa, Pelion, +And every lap of sea, and every tongue +Of land, lake-like Cassandra, Thrace's shores + +Are clad in wedding garb; and I? "O Lord, +Be my Redeemer!" and with floods of tears +I bathe the god-child Panselenus[13] wrought. + + +VII[14] + +Rumele is a royal crown of ruby; +Moreas is a glow of emerald; +The Seven Isles,[15] a jasmine sevenfold; +And every Cyclad, a Nereid sea-born. + +Even the chains of rugged Epirus laugh; +And Thessaly spreads far her golden charms. +Hidden beneath her present waves of woe, +Methinks I look on Hellas, Queen of lands. + +For still the ancient fir of valor blooms; +And from the pangs and sighs of ages risen, +The breath of Digenes[16] fills all the land + +Breeding a race of heroes strong and new; +And in the depths of green and golden Night +Sings on Colonus Hill the nightingale. + + +VIII + +From Danube to the cape of Taenaron, +From Thunder Mountain's End to Chalcedon, +Thou passest now a mermaid of the sea +And now a statue of marble Parian. + +Now with the laurel bough from Helicon +And now with sword barbarian, thou sweepest; +And on the fields of thy great labarum, +I see a double headed image drawn. + +The sacred Rock gleams like a topaz here; +And virgins basket-bearing, clad in white, +March in a dance and shake Athena's veil; + +But far the sapphires shine of Bosporus; +And through the Golden Gate exulting pass +Victors Imperial triumphantly. + + +IX + +Like the Phaeacians' ship, Imagination +Without the help of sail or mariner +Rolls on; in my soul's depths loom many lands: +Thrice-ancient, motionless like Asia, + +And others five-minded and bold like Europe's realms; +Despair like Africa's black earth holds me; +Within me a savage Polynesia spreads; +And always I trail some path Columbian. + +All monstrous things of life, the fields aflame +Under a tropic sun, I knew; I wore +The shrouds of the poles; and on a thousand paths, + +I saw the world unfurled before my eyes. +And what am I? Grass on a clod of earth +Scorned even by the passing reaper's scythe. + + +X + +A traveller, I found in waveless seas +Calypso and Helena thrice-beautiful; +And on the Lotus Eaters' shores, I drank +The blissful waters of oblivion. + +In the sun-flooded land, I stood by him, +The god of the Hyperborean race; +One night--in strange and peerless radiance-- +The Magi showed to me the mystic star. + +I saw the Queen of Sheba on her throne, +O Soul, light flowing from her fingers' touch; +My eyes beheld Atlantis Isle, that seemed + +An Ocean flower beyond a mortal's dreams; +And now the care and memory of all +These things are rhythm to me and verse and song. + + +XI + +About the chariot of the Seven Stars, +Sky-racers numberless, whole worlds of giants +And beasts: Ocean of suns, the Milky Way, +Orion, and the monsters of the spheres-- + +The fearful Zodiac. The Lion roars +Amidst the wilderness ethereal; +The Lyre plays; and trophy-like, the Lock +Of Berenice gleams; and rhythms and laws + +Fade in the space of mysteries. Sun, Cronus, +Mars, Earth, and Venus sweep in swift pursuit +Towards the world magnet of great Hercules. + +Only my soul like polar star awaits +Immovable, yet filled with dreamful longings; +And knows not whence it comes nor where it goes. + + +XII + +Fatherlands! Air and earth and fire and water! +Elements indestructible, beginning +And end of life, first joy and last of mine! +You I shall find again when I pass on + +To the graves' calm. The people of the dreams +Within me, airlike, unto air shall pass; +My reason, fire-like, unto lasting fire; +My passions' craze unto the billows' madness; + +Even my dust-born body, unto dust; +And I shall be again air, earth, fire, water; +And from the air of dreams, and from the flames + +Of thought, and from the flesh that shall be dust, +And from the passions' sea, ever shall rise +A breath of sound like a soft lyre's complaint. + + + + +THE SONNETS + + +From their foreign land and precious, +From their nest in green, I took +Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them +In a cage of woven gold. + +And the cage of woven gold +Then became a second nest; +On our shores the birds have found +A new, precious fatherland. + +Softly here they shake their feathers; +Swiftly sing of worlds and souls +Deep and spacious; or they mingle + +Lightning-like their tears and smiles. +And though small and as of coral, +Yet they sing with accents loud. + + _1896._ + + + + +EPIPHANY + + +With chariot drawn by star-plumed peacocks, lo, +The goddess of desires before her people +Is revealed! She passes on, youth's joyful shout +And torture, dragging my eighteen years behind. + +Snowflakes became a world; and, taking life +As substance, made her body and her thought. +Upon her royal brow, birds strange and wild, +Scorn's breed, have built their nest and there abide. + +Upon her path, in vain I build the palace +Of virgin dreams with virgin gold for her, +Raising a throne of diamonds in its midst. + +She passes on her starlit chariot; +And as if filled with golden dreams divine, +She does not even look upon my palace! + + _1895._ + + + + +MAKARIA[17] + + +To you, who dawned before me, offspring of +The great abyss and flower of foaming billows! +To you, whom with their love all things embrace, +And who stir tempests in a statue's depths! + +To you, O woman and O virgin, myrrhs, +Fruit, frankincense, I offer recklessly! +To you, the music of the world! To you, +My songs' pure foam, songs that your vision fills! + +For you can love, remember, understand. +Before I saw you in the world's great night, +You shone upon my mother's lighted face. + +Your worshipper into the world I came; +Your name I knew not, and in love's sweet font +I called you with the name _Makaria_! + + _1895._ + + + + +THE MARKET PLACE + + +Just as dry summers pant for the first rain, +So thou art thirsty for a happy home +And for a life remote, like hermit's prayer, +A corner of forgetting and of love. + +And thirsty for the ship upon the sea +That ever onward sails with birds and sea-things, +Filling its life with our great planet's light. +But unto thee both ship and home said: "No! + +"Look neither for the happiness remote +That never moves, nor for the life that ever finds +In each new land and harbor a new soul! + +"Only the panting of a toiling slave +For thee! Drag in the market place thy body's +Nakedness, strange to the strangers and thine own!" + + _1896._ + + + + +LOVES + + +Some people love things modest and things small, +And like to feed in cages little birds; +They deck themselves with garden violets +And drink the singing waters of the brooks. + +Others delight in tales told by the embers +Of the home hearth or listen to the songs +Of the nightbirds with rapture; others, slaves +Of a great pain, burn incense to the stars + +Of beauty. And some thirst for the forest shades +And for a nacreous dawn, and for a sunset +Dipped in red blood, a barren wilderness + +Light-burned. But thee no love with nature binds; +And where the heavens mingle with the sea, +A path thou seekest for a sphere beyond. + + _1896._ + + + + +WHEN POLYLAS DIED[18] + + +With wings and hands ethereal, rhythms and thoughts +Lifted thy soul, redeemed from its dust frame, +And led it straightway to the stars; and there +The sacred escort halts and ends its journey. + +In summers paradisiac beyond, +Where on the Lyre's star the bards and makers, +Like doves with breath immortal, dwell in gleams, +The shade of Solomos like magnet draws thee, + +And leading thee before a double Tabor, +Thus speaks to thee: "Here is thy glory! Here +Dwell and behold the giant pair that stand + +Before thee never setting, with diamonds dark; +And like a breath of worship pass, embracing +Thy Homer and thy Shakespeare, blessed One!" + + _1896._ + + + + +TO PETROS BASILIKOS[19] + + +O bard, whose songs unto the vernal god +Of idyls rang from the same gladsome flute, +April's sweet-breathing air is mingled now +With martial sounds of savage trumpetings. + +A crown is woven for our motherland: +Is it life's laurels or the martyr's thorns? +Oh see beyond: the wild vine's flowers now +Are shaken on a lake of blood and tears! + +Has the war phantom blown upon thee too? +Or hast thou with the force of lightning winds +Flown where for ages sacred hatreds burn + +In flames? Or has an evil wound thrown thee +Upon the earth where now in vain the god +Of idyls tries to raise thee with his kisses? + + _1897._ + + + + +SOLDIER AND MAKER + + +Soldier and maker swiftly I +Seized with my hand the spear and spoke: +"Fall on the beast of the world beyond +And strike the eagle-winged lion!" + +Before me with God's grace, I saw +Soulless the griffin seven-souled, +Blood spurting from a hole hell-like +And scorching with its heat the grass! + +And then restored with calm, I saw +The savage strife like a day's dawn; +And the destroyer, I, became + +A maker; and with this same hand, +I carve on ivory the man +Who slew the beast and make him deathless. + + _1896._ + + + + +THE ATHENA RELIEF + + +Why leanest thou on idle spear? +Why is thy dreadful helmet bent +Heavy upon thy breast, O virgin? +What sorrow is so great, O thought, + +As to touch thee? Are there no more +Of thunder-bearing enemies +To yield thee trophies new? No pomp +Athenian to guide thy ship + +On to the sacred Rock? I see +Some pain holds Pallas fixed upon +A gravestone. Some great blow moves her: + +Is it thy sacred city's loss, +Or seest thou all Greece--alas-- +Of now and yesterday entombed? + + _1896._ + + + + +THE HUNTRESS RELIEF + + +Whither so light of garb and swift of foot, O Huntress? +Is it the sacred gifts of pure Hippolytus +That make thee leave Arcadia's forest land behind, +O shelter of the pure, and slayer of the wild? + +Wild lily of virginity raised on the fields +Olympian, O mountain Queen of gleaming bow, +I envy him who in a careless hour did face +Thy beauty's lightning with thy heartless vengefulness. + +And yet white like the morn, thou openest in secret +Thy lips thrice fragrant with divine ambrosia +And sayest: "Latona's deathless grace has moulded me + +Under the sacred tree upon Ortygia; +But now once more upon the noble stone, the new +Maker has moulded me with a new deathlessness." + + _1895._ + + + + +A FATHER'S SONG + + +O first-born pride and joy of my own home, +I still remember thy coming's sacred day: +The early dawn was breaking as from pearls, +Whitening the sky that spread star-spangled still; + +Thou wert not like the fresh and budding rose +In its green mother's clasp before it opens; +Thou camest like a victim pitiful +And feeble cast by a rude hand among us. + +And as if thou wert seeking help, thy wail +Rose sadder than the sound of a death knell; +And thus the last of thy own mother's groans + +Was mingled with thy first lament. Life's great +Drama began. I watch it, and I feel +Within me Fear's and Pity's mystic wail! + + _1894._ + + + + +TO THE POET L. MAVILES[20] + + +Thy soul is seeking tranquil paths +Alone; thou hatest barking mouths; +And yet thy country's love enflames thee, +O maker of the noble sonnet. + +In the white alabaster vase +Filled with pure native earth, a flower +Of dream that only few can see +Trembles and scatters fragrances. + +Thy verse, the vase; thy mind, the flower. +But a hand broke the vase, and now +The azure beauty of the flower + +Has found a mate in the powder's smoke +Upon Crete's Isle, the blue sea's crown, +Mother of bards and tyrant slayers. + + _1896._ + + + + +IMAGINATION + + +Time's spider lurks and lies in wait; +And on its poisoned claws, the beast +All watchful glides, assails, and grasps +The ruin. O thrice-holy beauties! + +In vain all props and wisdom's arts! +In vain a tribe of sages seek +To save it! Time's remaining crumbs +Are scattered far and melt like frost. + +Then from the lofty land of Thought, +Imagination came, a goddess +Among the gods, and made again, + +Even where until now the ruin +Crumbled, what only its hands can make-- +Deathless the first-born Parthenon. + + _1896._ + + + + +MAKARIA'S DEATH + + _To die for these, my brothers, and myself; + For by not loving my own life too much, + I found the best of finds, a glorious death._ + + EURIPIDES, _Herakleidae_, 532-534. + + +On Athens' earth, Zeus of the Market place +Sees Hercules's children kneeling down +On his pure altar, strange, forlorn, thrice-orphan. +Fearful the Argive sweeps on; duty's hand + +Is weak. The king of Athens pities them, +But cruel oracles vex him with fear: +"Lo, from thy blood, thrice-noble virgin, shall +The conquerless new enemy be conquered." + +None stirs, alas! Orphanhood is forsaken +By all. Then, filled with pride of heroes, thou, +Redeemer of a land and race, divine + +Daughter thrice-worthy of the great Alcides, +Plungest into thy breast the victim's sword +And diest a thrice-free death, Makaria. + + _1896._ + + + + +TO PALLIS[21] FOR HIS "ILIAD" + + +From cups that are both ours and strange, +Enameled, and adorned with leaves +Of laurel and of ivy green, +We quaff the wine both pure and mixed. + +The liquid that within us burns, +Or poured in cups about us gleams +And bird-like sings, brings us away +To the far Isle of dreams. But thou + +Enviest not the path of dreams, +Nor sharest in our drunken revel; +For with our fathers' spacious cup, + +The strong and simple, thou hast brought +Immortal water from the spring +Of Homer, thou O traveller! + + _1903._ + + + + +HAIL TO THE RIME + + +Cyprus's shores have not beheld thee born of foam; +A foreign Vulcan forged thee on a diamond anvil +With a gold hammer; and the bard who touches thee, +Bound with thy magic beauty's charms, remains thy thrall. + +The yearning prayers of a lover fondly loved +Cannot accomplish what thou canst, strange nightingale! +Thy song wafts me upon the tranquil fields of calm +When jackals born of woeful cares within me howl. + +Thy might gives even sin a garment beautiful; +And thought divine before thee bows in reverence. +Imagination's ship sails with thy help straight on + +Where Solomon and Croesus have their treasuries. +To thee I pray! Answer my greeting lovingly, +Thou new tenth Muse among the nine of old, O Rime! + + _1896._ + + + + +THE RETURN +1897 + + (1897 is the year of the Greco-Turkish war which ended disastrously + for Greece. See Introduction, page 58.) + + + + +_DEDICATION_ + + +_Mother thrice reverend, O widowed saint, +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place +The crowns of Art, dream-made and dream-engraved. +With war storms desolate, my native land, +Trod by the Turk and by strangers scorned thou wert; +Even thy child beholding thee in ruins, +As if the waters of Oblivion +In dark Oblivion's Dale had touched his lips, +Left thee; and thou didst writhe like a whole world +Engulfed in sounds of woe: Hair-tearings and +Breast-beatings, groans of sad despair, night-bats +Wandering restlessly, unheeded prayers +Of souls condemned, loud thunder peals, fierce glares +Of lightnings, and the laughter of the fiends! + +But lo, unknown and humble I, with calm +Upon my countenance and storm in mind, +Far from the panic-stricken market place, +Beneath the plane trees' shade, and far away +By the blood-tinctured settings of the suns, +Unruffled, in another land I travelled, +And deep I dug in distant treasure mines. +And with my hand, that knows no rifle's touch, +Slowly I hammered on the crowns of art; +And if thou findest nowhere on their gleam +Thine image painted, or thy blessed name +Written, thou knowest still, O motherland, +Though in thy woe's abyss they seem unlike, +And though a strange and careless glimmer shines +On them, they were created out of thee; +For thee I made them; and for thee I raised them. + +Perhaps, when in the midst of wilderness +And ruins thou first openest thine eyes, +O hapless One, my humble offerings +Will not appear like thy wrath's threats, nor like +The joyful trumpetings of thy reveille, +Nor like an image of thy passion's cross, +Nor like thy sorrow's dirge, nor like glad hymns; +But like soft songs and trembling lights and fondlings +Of lily hands, black birds, and stars unknown. + +Thus when, smitten with Charon's knife and sunk +In death's dark swoon, a hapless mother feels +Life's tide return, she hears again, like first +Life-summons, the anxious voice of her fond child, +A voice that comforts her and tenderly +Tells of a thousand tales of love his fancy +Weaves or his memory recalls, and drowns +His faintest sigh not to remind his mother +Of the unerring blow of Charon's knife. + +Mother thrice-reverend, O widowed saint, +Upon thy shattered throne I come to place +The crowns of Art dream-made and dream-engraved. +Though they will echo not thy sorrow's groans, +A child of thine has bound them on thine earth +With gold; upon their circles thine own speech +Is shown with master tongue; their light is drawn +From thy sun's gleaming fountain; seek no more! + +Only with harmony sublime and pure, +Which, though it rises over time and space, +Turns the world's ears to his native land, +The poet is the greatest patriot._ + + + + +THE TEMPLE + + +My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed, +O Temple built apart in wilderness +For an unseen divinity, a goddess +Who from her being's deep abyss reveals +Only a statue wrought by human hand +And even covered with a veil opaque. + +Methinks I see among thy sculptured columns, +Among thy secret treasures and thine altars, +Ion, the Delphic priest, who lays aside +The snow-white raiment of the sacrifice +And takes up the wayfarer's knotty staff. +I am no ministrant, nor have I held +The dreadful mystic key, nor have I touched +Boldly or timidly the sacred gate +That leads to Life's deep-hidden mysteries. +One sinner more, O Temple, in the midst +Of sinful multitudes, I come to worship. + +My knees, bent on thy marble pavement, bleed; +I feel the chill of night or of the tomb +Creeping upon me slowly, stealthily. +But lo, I struggle to shake off the evil +That creeps on me so cold; with longing heart, +I drag my bleeding knees beyond thy walls, +Out of thy columns--forests stifling me-- +Into the sunlight and the moon's soft glimmer. + +Away with prayer's burning frankincense! +Away with the gold knife of the sacrifice! +Away with choirs loud-voiced and clad in white, +Singing their hymns about the flaming altars! +Abandoning thee, O Temple, I return +To the small hut of the first bloom of time. + + + + +THE HUT + + +O humble hut of the first bloom of time, +Neither the noisy city's mingled Babel, +Nor the most tranquil soul of the great plain, +Nor the gold cloud of dust on the wide road, +Nor the brook's course that sings like nightingales, +Nothing of these is either shown to thee +Or speaks before thy bare and flowerless window, +O humble hut of the first bloom of time. + +Only the neighbor's step now echoes on +From the rough pavement built in Turkish times; +The black wall's shadow, on the narrow street; +And on the lonely ruins lightning-struck +Ere they became the glory of a house, +The nettles revel lustful and unreaped. +Beneath the bare and flowerless window's sill, +A nest of greenish black, like a small heart, +Hangs tenantless and waits and waits and waits +In vain for the return of the first swallow +That has gone forth, its first and last of dwellers. + +O thirsty eyes that linger magnet-bound +On the nest's orphanhood of greenish black! +O ears filled with the terror of the tune +That travels to the bare and flowerless window +High from thy roof moss-covered with neglect, +O humble hut of the first bloom of time! +It is the tune the lone-owl always plays +Blowing upon the cursed flute of night +Its lingering shrill notes of mournful measure, +Herald of woe and prophet of all ill. + + + + +THE RING + + _The ring is lost! The wedding ring is gone!_ + + A folk song. + + +My mother planned a wedding feast for me +And chose me for a wife a Nereid, +A tender flower of beauty and of faith. +My mother wished to wed me with thy charms, +O Fairy Life, thou first of Nereids! + +And hastily she goes to seek advice, +Begging for gold from every sorceress +And powerful witch, and gold from forty brides +Whose wedding crowns are fresh upon their brows; +And making with the gold a ring enchanted, +She puts it on my finger and she binds +With golden bond my youthful human flesh +To the strange Fairy--how strange a wedding ring!-- + +I was the boy that always older grew +With the transporting passion of a pair +Bethrothed who, lured by longing, countenance +Their wedding moment as an endless feast +Upon a bridal bed of lily white. + +The boy I was that always older grew +Gold-bound with Life, the Fairy conqueress; +The boy I was that always older grew +With love and thirst unquenchable for Life; +The boy I was that always older grew +Destined to tread upon a path untrod +Amidst the light, illumined. I was he +Whose brow like an Olympian victor's shone +And like the man's who tamed Bucephalus. +I was the nimble dolphin with gold wings, +Arion's watchful and quick deliverer. + +But then, one day,--I know not whence and how-- +Upon a shore of sunburned sands, the hour +Of early evening saddened with dark clouds, +I wrestled with a strange black boy new-come, +Risen to life from the great sea's abyss; +And in the savage spite of that long struggle, +The ring fell from my finger and was gone! + +Did the great earth engulf it? Did the wave +Swallow it? I know not. But this I know: +For ever since, the binding spell is rent! +And Fairy Life, the first of Nereids, +My own bethrothed, that was my slave and queen, +Vanished away like a fleet cloud of smoke! + +And ever since, from my first-blooming youth +To the first flakes of silver that now fall +On the black forest of my hair, since then, +Some power dumb and dreadful holds me bound +With a mere shadow fleeting and unknown +That seems not to exist, yet ever longs +And vainly strives to enter into being. + +And now I am Life's widowed mate and hapless, +Life's great and careless patient! Woe is me! +And I am like the fair Alcithoe, +Daughter of the ancient king, who changed her form +And as a sign of the gods' vengeful wrath +Is now instead of princess a night-bat! + + + + +THE CORD GRASS FESTIVAL + + +See far away, what a glad festival +The golden grasses on the meadow weave! +A festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers! +With the sweet sunrise sweetly wakening, +I also wish to join the festival +And, like a treasure reaper, to embrace +Masses of flowers blond and fresh with dew, +And then to squander all my flower treasure +At my love's feet, for my heart's ruling queen. + +But the gold-spangled meadow spreads too deep; +And, just as mourning for some dead deprives +A life rejoicing with its twenty years +Of its light raiments of a lily-white, +So is my swift and merry way cut short +By a bad way that lies between, without +An end, beset with brambles and with marshes! + +The thorny plants tear like an enemy's claws; +And like bird-lime the bad plain's mire ensnares +My feet among the brambles and the marshes, +Where, in the parching sun's enflaming shafts, +The brine, like silver lightning, strikes my eyes! + +Where is the coolness of a breath? Where is +The covering shadow of a leafy tree? +I faint! My frame is bent! My way is lost! +I droop exhausted on the briny earth, +And in my lethargy I feel the thorns +Upon my brow; the bitter brine upon +My lips; the sultriness of the south wind +Upon my hands; the kisses of the marsh +Upon my feet; the rushes' fondling on +My breast; and the hard fate and impotence +Of this bare world within me. + Where art thou, +My love? + See far, in depths of purple sunsets +Gorgeously painted, the glad festival +That golden grasses on the meadow weave, +The festival thrice-fragrant with blond flowers, +Sees me, and calls me still, and waits for me! + + + + +THE FAIRY + + +When in the evening on my hut the moon +Spreads her soft silver nets that dreams have wrought, +The hut is caught, and, by the net bewitched, +It changes and becomes a lofty tower. + +And then, unseen by the Day's Sun, the father +Of Health, the rosy-cheeked, who always sees +All things with careless and short-sighted eyes, +A monstrous vision lo, the Fairy Illness, +Stripped in the silver glimmer of the moon, +Herself of moonlight born, looms into sight +Slowly in the enchanted tower's midst! + +In whitening shimmers, she, like sea at night, +Advances with the step of sleeping men; +Death's pallor is her own, though not Death's chill; +Her ivory skeleton is mantled by +A fleshy cover made of fiery air; +The uncouth flowers on her dragging veil +Seem, like the poppies, crimson red and black; +And still more uncouth look the countless things +Wrought on its folds: dragons and ogresses, +Fevers and lethargies and pains of heart, +Nightmares and storms and earthquakes, breaking nerves. + +Delirium flies from her burning lips, +A language made of odd, discordant rhythms. +To nothing, either hers or strange, her eyes +Are like; deep, as abyss untrod, they yawn, +And seem as if they gaze immovable +On empty space. Yet shouldst thou stoop with thirst +To mirror on her staring eyes thine own, +Then wouldst thou see worlds buried in their caves, +Like ruined cities of whole centuries, +Sunk in the fairy-spangled oceans' depths! + + + + +OUT IN THE OPEN LIGHT + + +Out in the open light, the Sun is shining, +Father of Health, Health rosy cheeked, whose breasts +Are full, and yield their milk abundantly; +She only sees those things of flesh about +Which her divine sun-father shows to her; +And her unconquerable iron hands +Are matched with careless and short-sighted eyes. + +Out in the open light, even the moon, +The Sibyl, clothed in white, appears, with glance +Lyncean, piercing deep and bringing forth +From the world's ends great hosts of monstrous things, +The monsters born of shadows and of dreams. + + + + +FIRST LOVE + + +When in my breast I felt my first-born love, +Thrice-noble maiden of compliant heart, +I was possessed with the strange fear that filled +The youthful princess of the ancient tale +At sight of the black man's enchanted rod. + +O mate, who madest first my early years +Blossom, too soon thou fleddest far from me +Nor sawest me again! Wild Fairies took +My speech, and evil demons seized my all; +Yet soul and body, my whole being shivers +From that awakening thou sangest me, +Eternal Woman! Thou wert what far Mecca +Is for the faithful's prayer to his prophet. +O far off Mecca! O eternal Fear +Of white Desire upon the shining wings +Of a black sinner! O king Love, chased like +Orestes, by a Fury serpent-haired! + + + + +THE MADMAN + + +A madman chased my early childhood years +Thrice-sweet and blossoming, and seizing them-- +Alas!--he crushed them in his reckless fury +Like twigs of purple-colored pomegranate! + +He scattered them in pieces everywhere: +Into the joyless house and in the yard, +On narrow streets, and paths, and pathless haunts, +Where persecution raves, and menace dumb +Chills all away from the pure light and air. +The madman's cursed hands hold everything +With snares and claws and stones and knives; they fall +On loneliness and on embracings, night +Or day, on sleep or wake, and everywhere! + +And yonder on the streets and in the houses, +Children like me in age, whose years were filled +With bloom and sweetness, freely ran and laughed +And played. Behind me, close, the madman's snares +I heard; and then, the deadened sound of feet! +I breathed his flaming breath! And if his steps +Were slow, still wilder did his laughter hunt me! + +Oh, for my life's cold quiverings of pain! +Oh, for the goading--not like the divine +Goading that drove the maid of Inachus, +Io, to wander on and on in frenzy;-- +But like the sudden goading that smites down +The little bird when first it tries its wings! +And lo, blood of my blood the madman was! +A past, ancestral, long forgotten sin, +That, bursting forth upon me vampire-like, +Snatched from my head the dewy crown of joy! + + + + +OUR HOME + + +Our home has not the ugly clamoring +Nor the dumb stillness of the other homes +About and opposite. For in our home +Rare birds sing forth uncommon melodies; +And in our home-yard a young offshoot grows, +Sprung from Dodona's tree oracular! +And in the garden of our home, full thick, +The ironworts and snakeroots blossom on; +And in our home the magic mirror shines +Reflecting always in its gleaming glass +The visage of the world thrice-wonderful! + +The silence of our home is full of moans, +Moans vague and muffled from a distant world +Of bygone ages and of times unborn; +And in our home souls come to life and die. +Blossom from blossom blossoms forth and fades! +Old men have the white, rich, Levitic beard, +The foreheads wide of solemn contemplation, +The wrath of prophets, and the fleeting calm +And chilling threatfulness of the gray shadows. + +Glowing with love-heat like resistless Satyrs, +The young men in the mind's most shady glades +Hunt ardently the bride that is pure thought. +The children drop their playthings carelessly, +And, standing in a corner motionless, +Open their eyes in thought like men full-grown. +And all, ancestors and descendants, young +Or old, have ways that challenge ridicule +And have the word that bursting forth makes slaves! + +But still more beautiful and pure than these, +An harmony fit for the chosen few +Fills with its ringing sounds our dwelling place, +A lightning sent from Sinai and a gleam +From great Olympus, like the mingling sounds +Of David's harp and Pindar's lyre conversing +In the star-spangled darkness of the night. + + + + +THE DEAD + + +Within this place, I breathe a dead man's soul; +And the dead man, a blond and beardless youth! +A youthful light and blond stirs in our home; +And moments fly, and days and years and ages. +The dead man's soul is in this lonely house +Like bitter quiet about a calm-bound ship +That longs for the sea-paths, and dreams of storms. + +All faces, smoked with the faint smoke that glides +From candles lighting death! All eyes, still fixed +On a sad coffin! And the mute lips, tinged +With the last kiss's bitterness, still tremble. +As for a prayer, hands are raised, and feet +Move quietly as behind a funeral. +The snow-white nakedness of the cold walls +And black luxuriance of the mourning robes +Are like discordant music of two tunes. + +The children's step is light in thoughtful care +Lest they disturb the slumber of the dead. +The old men, bent as at a pit's dark end, +Lean on the virgins' shoulders, virgins fair +Like fates benevolent and comforting. +The young men seek on endless paths to find +In Wisdom's hands the weed Oblivion. +And on the window shutters that are closed, +The clay pots with their flowers seem to be +A dead man's wreath; and the lone ray that glides +Through the small fissure is transformed within +Into a taper's light on All Souls' Day. + +The candle burning at the sacred image +Is flickering and snaps as if it wrestled +With death. At moments, led astray, comes here +A butterfly of varied wings and brings +In airy flesh the _Ave_ of the soul +That did enchant the house, the house that seems +Glad for its dead yet loves and longs for him, +The dead blond youth, and claims him as its own! +And luring him, that it might hold for ever +Its chosen love relentlessly, it has +Now changed its form and turned from house to grave! + + + + +THE COMRADE + + +O boy of the glad school of seven years, +With thy tall form, a shadow of all thou wert. +Thy voice had sweetness never heard before, +A font of holy water of which all +Partook with fear and longing! We forgot +With thee the book and laughed thy merry laughter; +Thou didst tear lifeless readings from our minds +Together with the pedant's torpid mullen, +And didst sow deep into our hearts the seed +Of the gold tree that dazzles with its light, +And charms, and is a tale most wonderful! + +The princesses, with valiant heroes mated, +Shone in the hauntless palace of our thought, +First-born; and on imagination's meadow, +Another April bloomed. We saw Saint George, +The rider, slay the dragon and redeem +The maiden. They were not letters that thy hand's +White clay did write, but like the mystic seal +Of Solomon, it scratched a magic knot; +And thy forefinger moved within thy hand +Like fair Dionysus' thyrsus blossoming! + +Amidst the restless swarm of humming children, +We had the clamor; and thou hadst the honey, +Turning attention to a prayer, thou, +O comrade of the early years that bloomed, +O chosen being, unforgettable, +Worthy of everlasting memory! +Wherever thou still art or wanderest; +Whomever thou hast followed of the two +Women, who, in the past, did stir Alcmena's +Great son, after thou camest upon them +On some crosspath; whether thou blossomest +Like the pure lily, or tower-like thou risest; +Whether thou art neglected like a crumb, +Shinest as thy country's pride, or art alone, +A stranger among strangers wandering; +Whether life's riddle or the grave's holds thee; +Whatever and wherever thou now art, +O brother mine and mate, from my lips here +Accept my distant kiss with godlike grace! + + + + +RHAPSODY + + +Homer divine! Joy of all time and glory! +When in the coldness of a frigid school, +Upon the barrenness of a hard bench, +My teacher's graceless hands placed thee before me, +O peerless book, what I had thought would be +A lesson, proved a mighty miracle! + +The heavens opened wide and clear in me; +The sea, a sapphire sown with emerald; +The bench became a throne palatial; +The school, a world; the teacher, a great bard! + +It was not reading nor the fruit of thought: +A vision it was that shone most wonderful, +A melody my ears had never heard. + +In the great cavern that a forest deep +Of poplars and of cypresses encircles, +In the great fragrant cavern that the glow +Of burning cedar beats with pleasant warmth, +Calypso of the shining hair spins not +Her web with golden shuttle; nor sings she +With limpid voice. But lifting up her hands, +She pours her curses from her flaming heart +Against the jealous gods: + "O mortal men +Adored by the immortal goddesses, +Who on Olympus shared with you their love's +Ambrosia, and mortals crushed to dust +By jealous gods!..." + The goddess's awful curse +Makes the fresh celeries and violets fade, +And, like the hail sent by the heaven's wrath, +It burns the clusters on the fruitful vines! + +The hero far renowned of Ithaca +Alone heeds not the flaming curse, that he, +A wanderer, in the Nymph's heart did light +Unwittingly. But sea-wrecked and sea-beaten, +He sits without, immovable, with eyes +Fixed far away; and thus remembering +His native island's shores, for ever weeps +Upon the coast and near the sea thrice-deep. +The white sea-gull that often in its flight +Plunges its wings into the brine to catch +The fish, and the lone falcon perched afar +In the deep forest, lonely and remote, +Listen and answer to the hero's wail. + +Oh, for my phantasy's revealed first vision! +Oh, for the baring of the beautiful +Before me! Lo, the dusty, dark-brown land +Changes into a Nymph's isle lily-white! +The humble fisher lass upon the rock, +Into Calypso of the shining hair, love-born! +My heart, a traveller into a thousand +Lands, thirsting for one country, which is love! + +And lo, my soul is, ever since, a lyre +Of double strings that echoes with its sound +The harmony thrice ancient, curse or wail! +Joy of all time and glory, godlike Homer! + + + + +IDYL + + +Now when the tide has covered all the land, +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, +And the boat casts anchor at my threshold; +Now when I see, wherever I may glance, +The water's victory, the billow's glory, +And see the rising tide a ruling empress; +Now when a playful and good-minded flood +Closes about the houses, plants, and men +Fondly, in a soft-flowing, sweet embrace; +Now when the air, the planter of the tree +Of Health, raised by the great sea's breath, digs deep +Into the open breasts of living things; + +Now, I remember her, the little lass +Who had the sea's pure dew, and, like a wave +Resistless, surpassed the tide in vehemence. +Now I recall the little nimble lass, +Life's victory, blossoming youth's proud glory, +And joy's own throne. Now I remember her. + +Her face was like a cloudless early dawn; +Her hair like moonlight shimmering upon +The restless wave; her passing, like the flash +Of a swift fish that in the night swims by +Upon its silver path; her eyes were tinged +With the deep color of the sea beneath +Black clouds; her voice, the sound of a calm night +Upon the beach; her chiseled dimples twin +Upon her cheeks were overfilled with smiles +That Loves might drink from them to slake their thirst. + +Boy-like, she stepped on nimble foot and free, +Boldly and daringly with fearless look, +A child's soul dwelling in a woman's flesh. + +And when the high tide covered all the land, +Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, +And when the boat cast anchor at my threshold, +Then from her home the little girl came forth +Half bare, half clad, robed in the robe of light +In a swift dancing flood that revelled full +Of water-lust and crowns of seething foam. + +She gave her orders to the sea; she ruled +The tide and forward drove the foaming waves, +Just as a shepherd lass, her white-clad sheep. +Her native country, first and last, the sea! +And whenever she passed, a Venus new +Seemed rising from the shining water's depths. + +The fisherman, a primitive world's breed, +The sum of Christian and of Satyr blood, +Returning from his fruitful fishing path, +Looked upon her as on an evil tempter +And on a sacred image; and his oars +Hung on his hands inert as palsy stricken, +And the swift-winging bark stood like a rock; +And, marble-like, the fisherman within +Gazed with religious trembling and desire, +Exclaiming as in trance: "O holy Virgin!" + + + + +AT THE WINDMILL + + +About the windmill, the old ruin, when +The smile of dawn shines in its rosy tinge, +The fisherboys now stir the silent air +With sudden ringing shouts and joyful plays; +And the light barks that, fastened, wait their coming, +Flutter impatiently like flapping wings +Of birds whose feet are bound. And all about, +The lake-like sea revels in shimmers white +Like a wide-open pearl shell on the beach. + +About the windmill, the old ruin, when +The noon's beams burn like red-hot iron bars, +A laden sleep draws with its heavy breath +All weary skippers and all mariners: +The harpoons creak not in the hand's hard clasp; +The fish alone stir in the realm of dew; +The calm lagoon about is all agleam, +A shield of silver, plaited with pure gold. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when +The sun is setting, decked in all his glory, +The boys go running, looking for pumice stones; +And lads and lasses, for sweet furtive glances; +And old men, lingering for memories. +Old age is calm, and youth considerate. +And the lagoon about, a purple glow, +A garden thickly planted with blue gentians. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when +The secret midnight glides by silently, +Sea Nereids, brought on the wings of air +From the sea caves of Fairies on their steeds +Of mist with manes of radiating light, +Sing songs, and bathe their diamond forms, and love, +While round about the princess-like lagoon +Wears as her royal robe the star-spun sky. + +Far by the windmill, the old ruin, ere +The smile of dawn shine with its rosy tinge, +The hosts of tyrant slayers mount from below +And kiss the earth war-nurtured and war-glad. +They raise again the ruin to a castle +With rifles singing back to victories; +And the lagoon is full of flashes swift, +Like a dark eye kindled with fiery wrath. + + + + +WHAT THE LAGOON SAYS + + +I have the sweetness of the lake and have +The bitterness of the great sea. But now, +Alas! my sweetness is a little drop; +My bitterness, a flood. For the cold winter, +The great corsair, has come with the north wind, +Death's king. My azure blood has slowly flowed +Out of my veins and gone to bring new life +To the deep seas. A shroud weed-woven wraps me. + +My little islands as my tombstones stand, +And yonder well-built weirs are like young trees +That droop above my grave bereft of water. + +But even so in the death's cold clasp, I hear +Within my breast a secret voiceless flutter +Like the young fish's flurry when, transfixed, +It is dragged by the spear out of the sea. +For I still dream of the sweet breath of love, +And wait for the hot summer's kiss and yours, +O angels of good tidings and new life, +Spring breezes, sources of my dreams and love! + + + + +PINKS + + +Fair pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul! +Brown is the fisherman, and brown the land +With the sea brine, the south wind, and the sun; +And round the brown land's neck, like necklace +Of coral, grow the pinks. Pinks of the gardens, +And pinks of the windows; pinks like crowns and stars; +Gifts good for any hand, and ornaments +For any breast. O flowers blossoming +In pleasant rows along the houses' stairs, +You sprinkle each man's path with fragrances; +And now and then, you bow, touched by the dress +Of the young girl who, breeze-like, passes by. + +Pinks full and pinks faint-colored; flowers that cause +No languor as the roses nor refresh, +Like jasmines, flesh and soul; but whose scent has +Something of the sharp breath of the lagoon, +Even when you are pale like fainting virgins, +And even when a world-destroying fire +Enflames your petals without burning you! + +Pinks, that display now your form's nakedness +Like children's bodies freshly bathed, and now +The varied ornaments of senseless dwarfs, +And now the purple of great emperors! +All the transporting music of the red, +Like that of many tuneful instruments, +Springs from your heart and knows no end, but plays +Before my eyes its lasting harmonies. +Sweet pinks, with your breath, I have drunk your soul! + + + + +RUINS + + +I turned back to the golden haunts of childhood, +And back on the white path of youth; I turned +To see the wonder palace built for me +Once by the holy hands of sacred Loves. + +The path was hidden by the thorny briars; +The golden haunts, burned by the midday sun; +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low; + +And now amidst the ruins and ashes, I +Am left alone and palsy-stricken; snakes +And lizards, pains and hatreds dwell now here +In constant loathful brotherhood with me. +An earthquake brought the wonder palace low! + + + + +PENELOPE + + +Wars distant, tempests wild, and foreign lands +Keep thy life-mate for years and years away; +Dangers and scornings threaten thee; and care +With guile and wrath gird thee, Penelope. + +About thee, enemies and revellers! +But thou wilt hear, and look, and wait for none +But him; and on thy loom thou weavest always +And then unweavest the thread of thy true love, +Penelope. + + Than Europe's goods and Asia's +Even a greater treasure is thy kiss; +Thy loom, much higher than a royal throne; +Thy brow an altar, O Penelope! + +Mortals and gods know only one more priceless +Than thine own loom, thy forehead, or thy kiss: +Thy mate, the king thou always longest for, +Penelope. Yet even though strange lands +Keep him away from thee, and distant wars, +And monstrous Scyllas, and the guileful Sirens, +Not even they can blot him from thy soul, +Him, thy thought's whitest light, Penelope! + + + + +A NEW ODE BY THE OLD ALCAEUS + + +To Lesbos' shores, where the year's seasons always +Sprinkle the field with flowers, and where glad +The rosy-footed Graces always play +With the young maidens, once the stream of Hebrus, +Hand-like, brought Orpheus' orphan lyre; and since +That time, our island is a sacred shrine +Of Harmony, and its wind's breath, a song! + +The soul Aeolian took up the lyre +Born upon Thracian lands, as foster child; +And on its golden strings the restless beatings +Of Sappho's and Erinna's flaming hearts +Were echoed burningly. + + And I, who fight +Always against blind mobs and tyrants deaf, +I, the pride of the chosen few, the stay +Of the great best, returning from exile, +A billow-tossed world-wanderer, did stir +The selfsame lyre with a new quill and breathed +Upon its strings a new heroic breath. + +Upon the love-adorned and verdant island, +Like a god's trident, now Alcaeus' quill +Wakens the storm of sounds, and angrily +He strikes with words that are like poisoned arrows +Direct and merciless against his foe, +Whether a Pittacus or Myrsilus. + +In vain did tender love reveal before me +On rose-beds Lycus, the young lad, with eyes +And hair coal-black, with rosy garlands bound, +And Sappho of the honeyed smile, the pure, +A muse among the muses, and the mother +Of a strange modesty. Love moved me not! + +I raised an altar to the war-god Ares; +And on my walls, I hung war ornaments, +Weapons exulting in the battle's roar. +I sang of the sword bound with ivory, +My brother's spoil from distant Babylon. +I saw my hapless country's ship tossed here +And there, and beaten by the giant waves +Of anarchy; and with my golden Lyre, +Whose voice is mightier than the wild fury +Of a tempestuous sea, I called on War, +The War who revels in men's blood, to come +As a destroyer or deliverer. + +And when the war did come in savage din, +Brought upon Lesbos by the might of Athens, +With heart exultant, I saluted him: +"Hail, war of glory!" + Yet, alas and thrice +Alas! Amidst the world of death and ruins, +Though eager warrior and heavy armed, +I felt the solid earth beneath me shake; +My vengefulness, fade into fleeting mist; +My breastplate, press on me like a nightmare; +And my white-crested helmet, like a tombstone! + +Confusion was my harbor; and I felt +In me Life's longing win the victory. +And while the nations twain, like maddened bulls +Goad-driven, rushed upon each other's death, +And stern Alecto spread about the flames +Of Tartarus, I saw before mine eyes +--O sight enchanting!--Lesbos' luring shores! + +Never before were they so beautiful +With love and verdant! There I gazed on Lycus, +The boy with eyes and hair coal-black that never +Before had touched my heart so powerfully. +And the Muse Sappho of the honeyed smile +Glittered before me, pure and violet crowned; +And her strange modesty bewitched my tongue +With power unwonted until then; and I, +The strong, silently feasted on her beauty! + +And while about the maddened Ares raged, +Reaper of men and vanquisher of rocks, +With my soul's eyes, I followed on the trail +Of the Lyre-God, who passed that way, returning +From the Hyperboreans' land. He passed +Aloft, crowned with a golden diadem, +Upon a chariot drawn by snow-white swans, +Towards his Delphic palaces, flower-decked, +With nightingales and April on his train. + +Oh, would that I might live to touch them! Would +That I might hold their charms in my embrace, +Those charms so sweet and guileful and divine! + +And at the thought--alas, and thrice alas!-- +I threw my trusted sword and shield away, +And fled, a shameful coward and a traitor! + + + + +FRAGMENTS FROM THE SONG TO THE SUN +1899 + + + + +_IMAGINATION_ + + +_Imagination, mistress, come! +Come thou leading master, mind! +And you, O tireless workers, come, +Water-Fairies of the Rhythm! +Come, and from Desire's great depths, +And from the Reason's lofty heights, +Bring, oh bring me lasting flowers +Wrought on marble and on gold! +Bring me words of splendid sound! +Build with them the palace high! +And within it raise aloft +The Sun's image all-transcending +Wrought of sunlight gleaming bright!_ + + + + +THE GODS + + +And the first-born man beheld +The sun rise in the east; +And from within his bosom lo, +A stream of music rose, +An answer sweet to the sun's light, +A music stream of hymns, +Countless words and countless praises +To the fountain of the day! +And--O miracle!--all hymns +And countless words and praises +Spread in waves from end to end! +And taking flesh in time, +They became great gods of light +And signs of harmony! + + + + +MY GOD + + +Wounded with the mighty love +Of my mistress Life, +I wander on, her loyal herald +And her worshipper. +To thy mystic suppers call +Me not, O Galilean, +Prophet of the misty dream, +Denier of things that are! +Crowned with lotus, show me not +Nirvana's senseless bliss! +Yet, do thou, O Sun, shine forth +About, within, above; +Shine upon my love and make +A world of the Earth planet! +Shine life-giving with thy light, +O my Sun and God! + + + + +HELEN + + _... She gave not me, but made a breathing image + Of the light air of heaven and gave that + To royal Priam's son! And yet he thought + That he had me--a vain imagining!..._ + + EURIPIDES, _Helen_, 33-36. + + +Helen am I! In the Sun's fountain +Have I taken birth! +I am the Sun-god's golden dream, +And unto him I go! +Not about me, but about +Mine image, which the gods +Had wrought, life's perfect counterfeit, +Recklessly gods and heroes +Plunged into war and war's destruction! +For the Cimmerian +Enchanter carried far away +As his own mate my shade +Thrice-beautiful, that rose to life +From Night's embrace in an +Enchanted land and hour. I am +The bride intangible, +Inviolable, beyond all reach! +Helen am I! + + + + +THE LYRE + + +I know a lyre that is as priceless +As a sacred amulet; +A spirit with a master hand +Made it and cast it here. +No mortal hand of skill or love +Or power rouses it, +Nor makes it answer to the touch +With sound or voice or sigh. +Even the wise and beautiful, +The northwind and the breeze +Cannot awaken the sweet lyre! +Only the Sun-god's beams, +They with one kiss alone can make +Its sun-enamored strings +Sing Siren-like! + + + + +GIANTS' SHADOWS + + +Like moanings of the sea, I hear +Voices ascend from darkness: +Are they the giants' shadows moving? +--Shadow, who art thou? Speak! +--I am the Telamonian! +And see, within me I +Close the whole sun that never sets +Though Hades yawn about; +Weep not for me! + --And thou beside him? +--The heart of Teutons' land +Brought me to life. A maker, I, +Maker sublime of worlds +Olympian, have even here +In Tartarus' dark realm +One longing for my heart, one thirst: +I long and thirst for light! + + + + +THE HOLY VIRGIN IN HELL + + +The chariot moves, drawn by wings +Of Cherub Spirits, on! +In Hell, the Holy Virgin gleams! +"Mercy, O sunlike Lady!" +The damned cry and beat their breasts +Amidst the flames that burn, +Fed by the great abyss. Among them, +A sudden proud complaint +Is heard: "A worshipper was I +Of the great Sun; was this +A cause for night to fetter me? +Tell me, O sunlike Lady! +The light of life I sucked, did that +Become the Hell's embrace +And Satan's kiss for me?" + + + + +SUNRISE + + +The white swans gently drag their boats +Of ivory; bright beams +Glimmer as through a veil of agate; +And coral-wrought, the crowns +Shine on fair locks like amber gleaming. +A pearl lake dreamlike lives +With water lilies studded. +Azure-browed Fairies revelling +Quaff wine of honey gold; +And mighty riders steal away +With brides thrice-beautiful. +But thou, an archer mightier, +Risest unmaking all +The multitudes of binding charms +With the one charm of light, +O God of wing-sped chariot! + + + + +DOUBLE SONG + + +The lithesome maiden stood thrice-fair, +Her eyes like gems agleam! +"I pour the crimson wine of love +In empty cups of gold!" +--"Maiden, I am the nestless bird; +Flowery boughs bar not +My way. Bound for bright suns magnetic, +I sail through darkness blind. +Seer am I and worshipper +Of all that is and lives! +I am the harp of thousand strings +Of countless sounds!" + --"Thou blind! +Seest thou not within mine eyes +The magnetism and glory +Of all the suns?" + + + + +THE SUN-BORN + + +On great Olympus, a feast of joy! +The gods divide the earth; +The light-bestower is away; +Forgotten he will be. +And the light-giver came and nodded +To the blue sea; and lo, +The sea was rent with fruitful heave! +And the Sun's island rose +With a thousand beauties crowned; +And makers lived upon the island, +Beings above all men; +And they made statues masterful, +All beautiful like gods +And living as immortals live! + + + + +ON THE HEIGHTS OF PARADISE + + +The little house I built for thee +To dwell therein, enchanter, +Even that--to my care-bent grief-- +Becomes a heavy grave. +Yet, little soul of lily whiteness, +Spare me thy sad complaint; +For on the heights of paradise, +I wander longing and +I search. I search and wait for it. +And on the crossroads wide +Of the suns, I shall find a house +Snow-white that even eagles +High-flying never face; a house +That Visions great alone +May touch. Therein I shall enthrone thee! + + + + +THE STRANGER + + +When first the vaulting palm-leaves spread +Their shelter over thee, +The golden Cyclads danced about +With merry shouts and laughter. +But now,--O nakedness of plains +And mountains! Withering +Of green leaves everywhere! Thorns suck +The green blood of the vines! +No April looked on thee again; +And on the desert land, +The wars of elements and beasts +Rage furious. But thee +The snow-white swans bring back no more; +Thou art for ever guest +At the Hyperboreans' feast. + + + + +AN ORPHIC HYMN + + +Far from the footpaths of the thoughtless, +An Orphic priest and bard, +I bring to light again a hymn +Of a thrice-ancient cult. +For until now my thought flowed on, +A river under earth. +Amidst men's tumult my lyre's rhythm, +A sudden wonder rose. +At night I start, at night I climb +The mountain difficult; +I wish alone and first to greet +Light Apollonian +While among mortal men below +Darkness and sleep shall reign. + + + + +THE POET + + +Sun made the lily white, +The glory of the flowery earth; +Sun made the swan, which is +The lily of a life white-winged; +The eagle, whom he lures +Spell-bound to his great heights, +And the gold shimmer of the moon, +The lovers' loving comrade. +And then he dreamed a creature fuller +Of lilies, eagles, swans, and shimmers, +And made the poet. He +Alone beholds thee face to face, +O God; and he alone, +Reaching into thy heart, reveals +To us thy mysteries. + + + + +KRISHNA'S WORDS + + +I am the light within the sun, +The flush within the fire; +And on the page of the sacred book, +I am the mystic word. +The men of mighty deeds call me +Glory; the wise men, wisdom. +Of things existing and of truth, +I am the fountain head! +I am the life of all that is! +Beings and pearls are bound +Together with one thread; and that, +Is I! Maya alone, +The sorceress, behind me follows +Beguiling me. But I +Battle with her to victory! + + + + +THE TOWER OF THE SUN + + +Away beyond the world's far edge, +And where the heavens end, +The tower of the sun shines bright +Dazzling the mortal's mind. +Once mighty princes, sons of kings, +Went on a chase most wonderful, +And stopped at the Sun's tower. +And the Sun came, the dragon star, +The giant merciless! +Woe unto him who lingers there +By the far heavens' end! +And the Sun came; and with his spell, +He turned them into stones, +The princely hunters, sons of kings! + +No azure field, no streak of green, +No shadow, and no breath! +Only a death of light and lightning +Glitters about and gleams! +And in the tower, in and out, +As if by masters set, +A world of statues voiceless stand, +The offsprings of great kings. +And from their deep and smothered eyes, +Something like living glance +Struggles to peep through its stone veil! +It seems the stone-bound princes +Wait for a sail, long lingering, +From the world's shores away. + +And thou, O princess beautiful, +Camest from far away, +A fair Redeemer! The Sun's tower +Gleamed forth as if the light +Of a new Dawn embraced its walls. +Thou knowest where Life's Fountain +Flows, and thou searchest silently, +With steps that slowly move +Towards the fountain tower-guarded where +Life's water flows. And lo, +Taming the watchful dragon's fangs, +Thou drawest from the fountain +Where the sweet water of Life flows on; +And sprinkling them with it, +Thou wakest up the sons of kings! +And on thy homeward trail, +Thou shinest with transcending gleam, +Like a far greater Sun! + + + + +A MOURNING SONG + + +No! Death cannot have taken thee! +In the sweet hour of love, +The Sun-god lifted thee away, +O child of sunlike beauty! +He took thee to his palaces +To fill thee with his love, +A love that lives in light and is +An endless glittering! +Flowers with light-born fragrances +And fruits as sweet as light, +The Sun will pluck for thee; and he +Will bathe thee in a stream +Flooded with light. And clad +In a white robe of light, my child, +Thou wilt come back to me, +Riding on a star-crowned deer! + + + + +PRAYER OF THE FIRST-BORN MEN + + +Each time the dawn reveals thy face, +Each time the darkness hides thee, +Before the eyes of all the world, +In crimson red thou shinest, +Father and God blood-revelling! +A bath in blood immortalizes +Thine unfathomed beauty! +Blood feeds and veils thee, Father +And God blood-revelling! +To quench thy thirst, we offer thee +Our only children's lives; +And if their blood fills not thy thirst, +We spread for thee a sea +Of all the blood of our own heart! + + + + +THOUGHT OF THE LAST-BORN MEN + + +Where temples sounded with hosannas, +Stones lie dumb in crumbling ruins; +And forgetfulness has swept +Dreams and phantoms once called gods. +Even you are gone, O myths, +Golden makers of the thought, +Gone beyond return! +In the empty Infinite, +Blind laws drive in multitudes +Flaming worlds of endless depths. +And yet neither gold-haired Phoebus, +Who is dead, nor yet the sun, +Who now lives a world-abyss, +None, God or law, upon this earth +Could save us or will ever save +Either from the claws of love +Or from the teeth of death! + + + + +MOLOCH + + +Barbarians defile the land +Where the Greek race was born! +And where the loves flew garlanded, +Night-bats roam to and fro! +And in our night, as a glowworm, +The ancients' memory +Sends forth its greenish counterfeit +Of light! It is a night +That our undying sun cannot +Dispel with its bright beams! +From depths and heights, barbarians +Suck soul and fatherland! +And when with a low moan thrice-deep, +We ask thee, Grecian God, +"Art thou the golden-haired Apollo?" +Grimly thou answerest, +"Moloch, am I!" + + + + +ALL THE STARS + + +When I first looked with wonderment +On thee, O Muse of Light, +The morning star upon thy brow +Shone with bright glittering. +And I said: "More of light I need!" +And as I looked again +On thee, O Muse of Light, the moon +Shone brightly on thy brow. +And "More!" I said and looked again: +And saw the sun agleam! +But still insatiate I am, +And wait to look on thee +When on thy brow, O Muse of Light, +The star-spun sky shall shine! + + + + +ARROWS + + +Thou earnest, Phoebus, lower down +From pure Olympus' heights +Towards the land where idle men +And sluggards worthless dwell; +And on thy lyre thou playedst, Fountain +Of flowing harmonies! +The deaf made answer with their sneers! +The blind, with scornful laughter! +And then to rid the world of filth +And purify the air, +Thou threwest away thine angry lyre; +And turning archer, thou, +With fiery arrows smotest all +The flocks of fools away! + + + + +VERSES OF A FAMILIAR TUNE +1900 + + + + +_THE BEGINNING_ + + +_A wedding guest, I travel far abroad! +The bride, thrice beautiful; the groom, a wizard; +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast. +The land is far, and I must travel on; +An endless path before me leads away, +But till I reach the end, I check the ardor +Of my swift-footed stallion silver-shod, +And wisely shorten my way's weary length +With sounds that, like sweet longings, wake in me, +Old sounds familiar, low-whispering +Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows. +Then flowers pour their fragrances for me; +And blossoms with no scent have their own speech, +The speech of voiceless eyes that open wide; +Unconsciously I speak my words in rimes +That with uncommon measure echo forth +The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses +That the waves squander on the sandy beach, +And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!_ + + + + +THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK + + +Upon the graceless river bank that spread +Barren and desert, all things drooped in sickness; +And I, with palsy stricken, lay in pains! +Vainly my hands shook feather-like with fever; +Methought my feet were nailed upon the ground; +The river, wide and wild; and far beyond, +As far as eyes could see, the other bank +Revelled in lusty growth and endless mirth +With leafy slopes and forests glistening! +Meadows unreaped and glades untrod were there, +And floods of green and tempests of new blossoms! +About the tree-tops glittered crowns of light; +Shadows thrice-deep hid mysteries divine; +And all descended blindly to the bank +Where the wild river's anger held them back, +Seeking, it seemed, a ford to come across +To the dark bank of wilderness and torture! + +And toward me all seemed to stretch their hands, +Sending me shameless kisses as I lay +Parched by the burning wind and worn with fever. +Nearby a sun-dried reed poured forth its sighs; +And farther, a small laurel stirred its leaves: +The double treasure of my wilderness. + +I wished to cut a flute from the dry reed +And wished a crown of laurel; but I lay +Nailed down immovable as if the rod +Of an enchantress evil-born had touched me; +And within me, with wings of impotence, +My wounded mind fluttered on hopelessly! + +And then thou camest girt with working garb; +With girdle flower-spun, with apron full +Of fruits, didst thou bend over me. The spell +Thou didst dispel and gavest me to eat +And cleansedst me with myrrh; and suddenly, +A soul divine and merciful came down +On the bank merciless; and in thine arms +Lifting me gently, thou didst go forth +Amidst a moaning as of humming bees. +Thou stoodst on the threshold of the peasant hut, +The hut that was earth-built and filled with grass +As if the art of a small bird had wrought it. + +Thou didst lay me upon a bed at dusk +That I might rest; and mingled with sweet care +And innocence, thou didst lean by my side +With body ripe and beautiful. Wert thou +A lover, mother, sister, or a woman? +Thou didst lay on my brow thy hand to lull me; +And in thy thoughtful face, I saw the gleam +Of kindly Nausica and good Rebecca. + +I slept and woke; even my sorrow's ogress +Had turned into a fairy sweetly sad! +And in my hands I found both, laurel bough +And reed! I drank the fragrant morning breath +Of pines; and taking up the laurel boughs, +I wove with master hand the whole day long +All kinds of laurel crowns for thee; and then +I poured into the unaccustomed air +Of thy small hut a flute's soft-flown complaint. + +But from my bed, I lifted up mine eyes +To the window's light and saw again, alas, +The desert river bank, and, far beyond, +The world that squandered diamonds and pearls +And revelled in its joy of green dew-clad. +Again they nodded secretly at me, +Stretching their hands and feigning love! +And even near thee, palsy struck I was, +The paralytic on the river bank! + + + + +THE SIMPLE SONG + + +Thou camest far away from lands beyond! +Thou wert not a gold sunlit cloud at sunset +But mother of a honeyed tenderness +That until then lay hidden in my mind's +Tenderest shrine; the golden seal of a +Young maiden's joy stamped with its touch! +The evening star thou wert not; but thou wert +The sister of a simple love that lay +Hidden till then in my heart's inner depths. + +Before me thou didst not unfold the spaces +Of the blue skies; not didst thou lift mine eyes +Towards the rough-hewn peak; nor didst thou open +To me the way for distant palaces; +Nor didst thou lead me by a secret path +Untrod. But lifting with one hand the basket, +Gently thou heldest with the other mine; +And leading me to sit by ferns dew-clad +And deep green grass and snow-white flowers, thou +Badest me stoop and gather; and I stooped +And gathered all my hands could reach: wall-flowers, +Hyacinths, violets, and daffodils; +And found beside them a May day anew. + +Over their petals newly reaped and fresh +That made the basket seem a cruel spring, +I bent and wept for their deaths swift and fair; +And lo, thou didst face them, a Life agleam! + + + + +THREE KISSES + + +A Dream flew down and stood before mine eyes-- +Who knows from what unknown deep-hidden nest? +It took the face of my own secret love +And blew me with its hands three airy kisses: + +The first air-kiss spread in my breast the din +Of bitter and sweet life in waves of air; +And the world's music sounded manifold, +A tempest's roar and a sweet breath's caress. + +The second air-kiss whispered low to me +All whisperings that Silence stoops to sing +Over bare wilderness and tombs and ruins, +Songs that no soul nor even wind can hear. + +The third air-kiss would bring to me, it seemed, +Secrets from somewhere heard by none before. +Perhaps, by some bright star, two spirits white +Embraced each other as they passed in thought. + + + + +ISMENE + + _To N.G. Polites, her father._ + + +Where is the little girl and beautiful +Who drew the milk of a full life and precious? +She filled her home with fragrance, and away +She sailed to anchor in another land. + +She filled her home with fragrance, and on wings +Swiftly she fled and passed away. Who knows +Why she has left the flesh? Perhaps, she went +Among the mystic joys of things unseen +And things intangible to be herself +Something new, something beyond compare or word. + +And yet her house is wrapped in spider webs +And longs for her. To her warm nest, will she +Return? Perhaps, each time you feel, O home, +Within your bosom something sweet and tender +That cannot be explained, it may be she; +Who knows? Then speak to her and say: "Do you, +Too, long for me, O soul without return?" + + + + +THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN + + +Who are you that awake me in the morning? +Not the reveille that sweetens with its sounds +The soldier's hardy life. Nor can you be +The chapel bell that slowly rings to prayer. + + * * * * * + +Your steps fall heavy on the road. You bring +Thought, light, and sound, my sacred Trinity. +What if you rouse the slave who goes to work? +What if you call the prodigal to sleep? + + * * * * * + +Not many were the flowers; and few, the lilies; +And I did long to reap the lily-treasure. +I eyed the lilies all, and walked into +The garden rich to clasp them in mine arms. + + * * * * * + +And in the garden, all the roses smiled; +Under their veils, the violets bowed down. +I passed them by. The pansies looked erect +And scentless, wrapped in thought: by them, I stopped. + +Sweet child, upon thy tomb, a rosebud blossomed; +The hand would reach at it, but it cannot. +And on its path the wind would blow on it; +But ere he light, it dies into a kiss. + + * * * * * + +Like church lights shine the blossoms in the light; +And butterflies are drunk with airy fragrance; +Yet neither for fragrance nor for light, I come +Into the quiet garden as before. + + * * * * * + +I come to see the children beautiful, +Running and playing, full of beaming smiles, +Children that make of grassy beds a heaven +And rise like miracles among the flowers. + + * * * * * + +The brows of righteous men pass slow before me, +Clouds calm and wide, full of refreshing rain; +And from the lightless depths of hell, methinks +I hear breast-beatings and dark blasphemies. +And suddenly, I mingle speech with rime, +The rime that above human things and woes, +Like the Platonic Diotima, rises +A prophetess upon a path sublime +Towards worlds of thought and earth-transcending loves. + + * * * * * + +Whatever be thy substance, O bright gleam, +Iron or stone, silver or wind, air-cloud +Or dream, my longing is the same for thee! +Within me thought and hands and art and science +Struggle to build together the same temple. +Maternal Rhea treasures in her breast +All marbles: purple, green, and white. I searched +And found them in your care, Taygetus +Snake-like, and Cyclads fair, and Attica. +And now the columns stand a forest speechless +And motionless; and among them, the rhythms +And thoughts move in slow measures constantly. +And in their depths, light-written images +Show Love that leads and Soul that follows him. + + * * * * * + +The axe and hammer of the priest black-robed +Struck down the holy idols of the temples; +And yet the soul of the ruins perished not! +It climbed the heaven's spaces as a star +Until new sculptured lilies came to life +In master minds, the gardens of the wise. +Thus axe and hammer of the priest black-robed +Broke not the holy idols of the temples! + + * * * * * + +Sweet child, upon thy tomb a rosebud blossomed; +Is it thy joy or grief? Thy heart or thou? +If mind, remember me! If mouth, speak forth! +"I am the movement of the motionless, +The lightning flushing from the source of nothing!" + + * * * * * + +Thy cup is foaming with its black strong wine; +Bring to our fountain thy white-foaming cup, +And brighten into red thy black strong wine +With the fresh water of our fountain here. + + * * * * * + +I have a thought of dew; a heart of flame! +The wine vat boils; the spring flows fresh and cool; +And I did mingle in my chiseled cup +The black strong wine with the sweet water dew. + +A hundred years! A hundred years are gone +Of Grecian mornings and of Grecian sunsets! +Make them a coffin wide, O carpenter, +And bury them, the hapless dead, in silence! + + * * * * * + +A hundred dragons watch a queen black-robed, +A widowed orphan queen in a lone castle; +And they dig up the scattered fragments of +An ancient and exhaustless treasure, once +Her own, and bring them as their gifts to her! +"I need no fragments! May the hour be cursed +And you, dragons, who hold me prisoner! +I dream of her, the living perfect land +Where I was queen! While here, I am a slave!" + + * * * * * + +Loud-crying birds that fly toward the heights, +White swans, and swans that cut so tenderly +The silent waters of the lake in thoughts +Of silent sorrow, tameless birds and weary! +O swans that dream the conquest of the sun, +And swans that wait the coming of deep sleep! + +Within me lies a far and secret kingdom +Where I can see lake-swans and winds like you! + + * * * * * + +My banished life has found a home near thee; +And by thy grace, I am thy priest, O Phoebus! +And taking from thy bright divinity, +I made the sun-born maiden to thy glory! +I lifted to thine image my loud praises, +And lo, bells hoarse and tuneless answered them. +Yet what of it? Thine endless praise I am, +And paeans follow on my dithyrambs! + + + + +TO A MAIDEN WHO DIED + + +O little life, quenched by the blow of death +Amidst the tender dreams of rosy dawn, +I cannot lift thee into deathlessness +Upon the chiseled glitter of the marble! + +I am a humble bard; and thou, a music +Silenced, whose strains my memory cannot +Recall. Yet with a deeper bond my soul +Thou bindest, O breath unpainted and unsung. + +Like a far dawn, thou smiledst in my mind, +A dawn most sweet and shy and fleeting. Then +One day, over my child's pure head thou bentest +With face abloom with smiles and fond caresses. + +And something amber-like remained in me +From thee, though thou didst pass; and in the evening +Which in me rises slowly, the dream fairy +Of the azure tales looks with thy face on me. + + + + +TO THE SINNER + + +Sinner, thy mother gave thee not the milk +That makes the cheek a rose, the man a castle! +Each nursing was a sin; each drop, a sickness! +Within thee, ancient lives revive thrice-wretched. + +Vices of ancestors unknown and instincts +Of beastly fathers, ever travelling, +Before they rose to light, thus to become +Like smiles and fields of azure blue, came down +To dwell in thee, a people of tormentors! + +And one day, sinner, thine own mother gave +To thee the wonder-working holy image +To carry it to the sacred festival +Of the illumined church with open gates +Calling upon its throngs of worshippers. + +And on thy way, the luring harlot watched +And stripped thee of thy mind; and as thy hands +Struggled to clasp her, down the image fell, +The sacred image, in the ditch's filth! + +And forthwith even there, the plague began +To visit thee! And crumbling down, thou didst +Begin to groan and tremble nearer death +Than the dead corpse on which the ravens feed! +And Satan crouching upon thee rejoices! + +And seeing it, thou strugglest painfully, +Stretchest thy hands towards the ditch's filth, +And darest a prayer to the saint defiled, +Though still enflamed by thirst for the vile kiss! + + + + +A TALK WITH THE FLOWERS + + +Upon my passing, slow or swift, by you +I lingered not, nor stooped to pluck you, flowers! +I saw you as a vision skyward roaming, +And I adored you just as thought and sky! +My hand reached not to touch you sinfully, +My flowers! For what is most beautiful +Is also most remote. You were for me +The music that the wind brings on its wings +In perfect strains directly to the heart. +I wished your dazzling could remain as that +Of castles barred and inaccessible. +From far thy fragrance came to me, O jasmine; +And thy gleam, lily, like the eyes' light-kisses! + +But since my darling child lay down to sleep +The bitter sleep that knows no wakening, +I am the cruel reaper always bending +Above you, gathering you one by one, +And ever binding you in royal garlands, +And ever weaving you into rich robes +For him! I wish to play new plays with him, +And spread you over him as mine embrace! +I wish to raise him as a flower garden +Breathing into his grave the flower soul +Of an immortal April. Oh, I wish ... +Weak though I am, would all earth's verdancy +Were a long dream and kiss for my beloved! +Would that whatever is beyond man's touch, +Air-born, transcending earth, or fleeting, all +That has a sunbeam as its heart, a breeze as body, +Fair vision, thought, or heaven--would that I +Could close them into forms and scatter them +Upon his flower-clad grave with you, sweet flowers! + +In my paternal love, pure white, the flames +Of passion burn; and then, the yellow languor +Of a sick man! Thus did I love him, flowers! +His father though they called me, I was his lover! + +O flowers, did you know it? Was your life, +So pure and little, ever touched by such +A woe? Does not a quenchless longing stir you +As you grow on the selfsame flower bough? + +The body of my child, sent up from depths +Unfathomed of a secret Fate unhoped, +Was an epiphany of the fair bride, +The bride undreamable, intangible +Of a god's dream! Was he of mine own blood? +I never thought whether he was to live, +Grow, or advance in thought and deed; I was +Drunk with his luring wine, his eyes, his face, +His gait! The breath of blest Makaria +Had blown on him! The stranger's song revolved +Before my mind: "Thou little line so fine, +Written with roses, line that wert his mouth, +How dost thou give birth to that mighty trembling?"[22] + +How often when he turned away his lips +So beautiful in careless weariness +From mine embrace, I felt the torturings +Of a disease and drank the bitter draughts +Of jealousy! How often, when he lay +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently, +I thought I held the graspless image of +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it? +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship, +With love's uneasy little tremblings? + +Of jealousy! How often, when he lay +Reclining on mine arms and breathing gently, +I thought I held the graspless image of +Beauty light-born, and said: "What is there more +For me to hope?" O flowers, did you know it? +Can you, too, mingle your little hidden hearts +Fed with sweet honey, the pure frankincense +Of a thrice-blue and earth-transcending worship, +With love's uneasy little tremblings? + + Oh, +The bitterest and saddest blows, the blows +That know no healing on this earth of ours, +Come from our dearest! Thus he fled and left me +A bitterness beyond all sorrow's pangs, +O little flowers, flowers of dark death! + + + + +TO MY WIFE + + +Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed +In the cool shade of the fresh green grape-vine; +And here the mystic moon, entwined in green, +Descended like a first-seen ghost on us. + +Here the two fountains of desire refreshed +Our years: the one, before our eyes; the others, +In dreams. The fair Muse silenced here care's crickets +And stirred the sacred frenzy of the lyre. + +Here we enjoyed our first-born's flutterings; +And here the little gleaming face and round, +Our second fruit, maddened us with pure joy! +As the unhoped return of a longed friend, +Here we received one day into our bosom +The transitory child beyond compare, +The third one, who transformed the worldly air +About us into flowing wine for gods, +An offering unto the gleaming light +Of high Olympus, dwelling of the blessed! + +Here was thy youth, even when care oppressed thee, +A fair Venetian painting, the blithe work +Of a light-beaming Titian, that revealed +Pure shining joy in thy lithe body's form. + +Here bloomed our home; the young plant verdant blossomed, +Hidden in the cool shade of the green vine. +Now, nothing remains. Only the mystic moon +Weeps in a palace voiceless, wide, and gloomy! + +The life that died here wished for April as +Grave-digger, and a flower-bed as grave. +Oh, who had cursed it? Nothing but a tomb +Was found for it! A tomb unfit and graceless! + + + + +THE ANSWER + + +Take me and hear me, Hamadryads fair, +And Aegipans, Wood-Nymphs, and shepherd gods! +The bridal beds are set! The forest glades, +In flurry! The Flower Festival has come! +The bacchic revelry bursts forth in glow +And frenzy! Where is nature and where is +Its end? I know not whether I am myself; +Great Pan, it seems, dwells in my bosom here. + +O wonder! I do live the holy life +And wild of purest nature's elements! +O God of the golden crown, the three fair Graces +And the Nine Sisters of the Song gave me +The gift of tranquil visions beautiful! +I filled me with the foam-begotten beauty +Of all! I hear the nightingales' sweet song +In answer to the song of Sophocles! +The woes of Aeschylus resound prophetic, +Ocean-born! Face to face with me, as swift +As glance, green-clad Atlantides rise forth +From the abyss and sink in it again. + +Phoenicians battling with the sea brought me +From far away; I am the reveller +World-wandering! Arts, talks, and images +Are bristling in the air! Take me, O Nymphs +Into your bosom! Satyrs, hear my words! + +Yet Satyrs, Centaurs, Hamadryad Nymphs, +And golden-spoken Hellades at once +Made answer to my pleading with one voice +From cities, mountains, forests, cliffs, and plains: + +"Gods' wine is not for thee, O reveller!" + +And the lithe Tanagraean maiden spoke +With awe-inspiring prophetess Cassandra, +Ivy-crowned Maenads, Gods Olympian, +And the song-nourished Hellades; they spoke +From the far cave of fair Calypso to +The wisdom-haunted Alexandria: + +"Silence! Pale monk and idle chatterer! +Silence! Turn back to thy lone cloister cell." + +And the Pindaric heroes laugh in scorn +With the white goddesses of marble wrought +By Scopas' hand; laugh, and their laughter-peals +Are echoed loud and deep from far away! + + + + +THOUGHT + + +More than the godlike gleams of sculptured stone, +More than the golden rhythms the poet weaves, +Who knows if a good act unknown, some wound's +Balsam, shines not with brighter lasting beams? + +Who knows if for some god's unfailing ear, +The dogged sin and filthy vice are not +A thrice-wise and tempestuous harmony +Of melodies sung by Virtue's lips serene? + +Bright shine the temples of Fair Art; bright shine +The rainbows heavenly of Thought; and bright, +The chariots of warriors triumphant! +Yet in the temple of the Universe, +Can they be costlier than the mute Thought +And Glory of the flower, at whose birth +The dawn rejoices and whose early death +The saddened evening silently laments? + +The thoughtful sage high-rising smites the gates +Of the Infinite and questions every Sphinx; +Yet who knows if the soldier with no will, +Obeying blindly, is not nearer Truth? + +O struggle vast! Who knows what power measures +The measureless and creates the great? +Is it the matchless thought of the endowed, +Or the dim soul of multitudes that bursts, +Thoughtless of reason, into life? Who knows? + +The holy man lifts up his hand to bless +With readiness; yet who needs more such blessing? +Is it the free-born bird that makes its nest +Wherever its strong wings would waft it, or +The flowery plant bound by a bit of earth? + +Which is the light of Truth? Is it the Law +That is all eyes or is it some blind love? +What leads us there? The hidden path where bent +And trembling we seek our way, or the wide road +That makes us fly with winged confidence? + +O Thought, thou dream-crowned maiden, ever wrestling +With a blood-filled, swift woman masculine, +Whose bosom, thine or hers, is doomed to yield +The destined milk to nourish and to heal +Our sickened life with health Olympian? + +O Thought, thou angel, ever wrestling on +With a strong giant flinging his hundred hands +About thy neck to strangle thee, wilt thou +Battle with sword or lily? Oh, the world +Will crumble ere thy struggle finds an end! + + + + +THE SINNER + + +O hapless one, when thou wert born, there came +The Fate thrice-blessed and clasped thee in her arms +To bless thee with a hero's mighty deeds +And wrap thee in the purple of a king, +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might. + +Yet there, the other Fate, the bitch of ruin +Unspoken and of voiceless death, kept watch; +And she led thee away from the blue shore +With lilies sown, to the salt marsh of terror +And the sheer precipice of fearful trembling! + +Nor could thy baby hands grasp more than this, +A cheerless tatter from the sacred veil +Of thy good mother Fate, the veil embroidered +With the star-spangled sky by master hand! + +O hapless One, while virgin joy bathes thee +Abundant and thy tears are yet a baby's, +Something within thee groans, the muffled madness +Of fettered murderers, the madness of +Lone cells. And while thou showest the calm life +Of tame things and of love in thy still nook, +Thou breedest fettered wraths and bridled hatreds. +Should they burst forth, ruin and wilderness +Would reign. + O hapless One, the greenest spots +Even of thy existence are but full +Of pitfalls opened wide and yawning void! +No dawning was thy lot; even those boughs +Young of thine early years were parched with drought! +Whatever white thou touchedst was defiled! +And thine old age, if thou couldst bare thy youth, +Would shriek with fear and fly from thy youth's face! + +A sneering power or a grace divine +Mercilessly nailed down thy hands and will, +O cowardly, decrepit, idle man, +Infirm and hapless, starless night enclosed +In a weak child! Death will not come to thee +As to the toiling laborer who toils +The whole day long, and towards evening, sleep, +Even before he lies, in bed to rest, +Creeps sweetly upon him and seals his eyes. + +Thy death shall be laden with graspless horror +Such as one feels who sinned in secrecy +And dreads each hour detection of his sin, +Trial, death sentence, and the hangman's rope. + +O hapless One, would that in thy death struggle +Her bosom might still shine before thine eyes, +The good Fate's breast, who blessed thy birth with goodness, +The Fate whose blessings teem with light and might! +Would that thou couldst show her the humble shred +Torn from the star-wrought sacred veil of hers +And tell her: "See, in the deep darkness smiles +Something, a dawn on which I still hold fast!" + +O hapless One! Would that the mighty heroes +And royal purples and the blessings full +Of light and might and all thou knewest not +In thy dark empty life could shine upon +Thy passing as the lights of distant stars! + + + + +THE END + + +A wedding guest, I travel far abroad! +The bride, thrice-beautiful; the groom, a wizard; +And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast. +The land is far, and I must travel on; +An endless path before me leads away. + +And the far land a vision was! The steed, +A smoke! The wedding, angels' shadows fleet! +While I,--O cruel wakening!--lie down +For ever palsy-stricken and bed-ridden! + +And only you, old tunes familiar, +I hold. I hold you as a dying darling child, +Languid and glowing with the fever's heat, +Holds on to his dear plaything, with white wings +New-grown for his long journey, even I, +The child unskilled, dream-roaming, stript of will! + +Old tunes familiar, waft me upon +Your shining wings for healing or for death +To the cool shadow of the pure-white home +And lay me gently on a loving bosom. + + + + +THE PALM TREE + + TO DOSINES, WHO HEARD IT FIRST. + + + + +THE PALM TREE + + +_Once in a garden about a palm tree's shade, some blue flowers, here +very dark and there very light, talked with each other. A poet who now +is dead, passed by; and he put their talk into these rhythms:_ + +O Palm Tree, someone's hand has cast us here; +Was it the hand led by a cursed Fate, +Or moved by mind of good intent? Who knows? +What impulse seized us from the cave of sleep +Below to bring us to the surface here? +Is it a savior's or destroyer's power +That sets us motionless beneath thy shade? +And is thy shade the shade of life or death? + + * * * * * + +The glare of the hot sun drowned everything; +Gluttonous locusts groped for food about; +And then, a rain. The flowers, that had drooped +To sleep, awake to drink the drops of dew. +And then, the clear sky's festival begins +More azure than before to spread above thee. + +Only thy trembling crest drops here and there +Some large and shining rain-pearls on the earth. + + * * * * * + +The garden glitters with a new-born life; +And each bird dreams it is a nightingale; +Only from thy lone heights like bullets fall +Thy pearl-clear drops, and oh, the pain thereof! +The dew drops make a crown for everything; +The gurgling waters are a balm to all; +Why should this god-sent goodness of all things +Be blow for us and suffering and flame? + + * * * * * + +How cruelly thy bullets fall and smite! +No ear above and not an eye before us! +Beneath thy shade we live; thy trunk is world +To us; thy crown, a star-spun sky, our sky! +If thou art a god merciless, reveal +Thyself! If not, but nod and give us calm! +Either cease slaying us one by one, or pour +On us at once a flood to drown us all! + +Our pain is as reward and treasure found! +The golden seal of harmony has stamped us, +And while Death touches us, we glory, victors! +We tremble; hail O rhythm's thrice-sacred tremor! +A worm may live sunless beneath the earth +That a new butterfly of silken wings +May live an hour of perfect life and die. +The wound's gash turns into a living fountain! + + * * * * * + +Things gray, things crystal, myriad hues of green, +Gushings of fountains clear, and caterpillars, +Earth's things immovable, air-sailing ships, +And little worms, and bees, and butterflies, +Sweet flower-grails and censers, fondling grass, +The moss-down's countless kisses, echoes from +Below, and mandolins ethereal, +Leaves quivering and lilies languor-bringing! + + * * * * * + +The turtle-doves know not what you know, blossoms, +The chosen things of beautiful loves, you! +Kisses and starts and wooings of the boughs! +The birth of each of you is a world's dawn! +You know, O little tearful short-lived things, +You know pleasure's and joy's eternities! +We, the gold garlands wreathed about thy root, +Are like celestial and thoughtful eyes! + + * * * * * + +Blithe flowers, boughs that hang with blossoms full, +From dandelions to the chamaemele, +You may be like the glowing coals or gems, +Or like a maiden's rosy cheeks and lips. +Though you, like hands, may open full or empty, +And though you be dawn's smiles or evening's candles, +Or the fair palaces of Fairy Dew, +The gazing eyes are we! We are the eyes! + + * * * * * + +Though small we are, a great world hides in us; +And in us clouds of care and dales of grief +You may descry; the sky's tranquility; +The heaving of the sea about the ships +At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks; +And something else inexplicable. Oh, +What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it? +One, damned, and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought! + + * * * * * + +Frolick, and form, and wanton playfulness, +And some unspoken radiant vanity, +And some enrapturing bewitching charm, +And perfect virgin beauty are your own! +Fading like gods' pale images, you seem! +Even the bird sometimes bows to your grace! +And Nereids wind-footed fan your faces, +O roses with a thousand smiles divine! + + * * * * * + +A god commanded it, the flower-haired April! +"O flowing fragrance, change to brilliancy!" +Thus you are scentless, roses of Bengal; +All others' perfume is bright light in you. +And thou, O lily, king among the flowers, +From what far world hast thou been led astray? +Was it from fragrance's own womb, or from +The whitest star? And we, O Palm? Who knows! + +River ethereal of fragrance, stay! +Thou hast not flowed nor watered us at birth. +We said to fragrance: "Cease thy flowing course; +Well not from us; nor be our breath! Sink deep +Into our heart's recesses; close thyself +Regardless of thy perfume in our soul! +Then seek to find our thought and live with it +And flow from it as honey from the bee!" + + * * * * * + +"Bring forth from the rich treasures of the sun +All colors, flowers, and deck yourselves with them!" +We said unto our little brothers: "Make +Robes of the heaven's rainbow for your raiment!" +And to ourselves we said: "Soul, I +Shall let aside all brilliance! I need not +Sunset or dawn; enough would be something +Of the great sea and of the heaven's smile!" + + * * * * * + +Become a cloud, O great Desire, and speak +With lightnings and with thunders! Rise, a lark, +And sing and soar towards a new starry garden! +Turn all thy flooding music into love, +Mingle with it all children's innocence +And all the beauty that is thine; still thou +Wilt have love's shadow only but not love. +For love shines, burns, illumines quenchlessly! + + * * * * * + +The garden draws life from a triple soul, +A soul that spreads creeping upon the earth +With roots beneath and wings above. A city, +The caterpillar builds in its great depths; +The bird builds love towards heights ethereal! +About all green things live to be thy slaves +And trimming ornaments, O palm! How high +Skyward thou raisest thy grace-moulded body! + + * * * * * + +No ivy limits and no offshoot mars +Thy trunk's unchained and chiseled nakedness; +And yet, though naked, with a charm dream-wrought +Thou coverest the alleys of the garden. +And as an emblem of thy reign, a crown +Of beams pearl-born and silver-born shines bright +As it hangs trembling from thy top, O palm. +Oh what a rhythm governs thy form divine! + + * * * * * + +So beautiful is not the cypress young +As it waves towards the sky, moved by the breeze! +So beautiful is not the mossy fountain +That sings like bard and nourishes like mother! +So beautiful is not sunrise or sunset! +Another world's day hangs from thy high crest! +So beautiful is not the tranquil lake! +Gods and their hymns god-sung are at thy feet! + + * * * * * + +Neither an angel's shade in a hermit's cave, +Nor harmony's voice in Night's deep silence, +Nor the great maker's thought just as it dawns +In his wide-fronted heaven, and is still +A maiden dream unyoked before it finds +A dwelling in the form of word or music, +Color or marble! None of these is like +Thine image caught and mirrored in our thought! + +Is it transparent and immortal blood +That flows in thee, or sap too weak to wake thee +From thy long spell of blind and voiceless sleep +Into a crystal life's fair revelry? +Is thy head's crown another's counterfeit, +Or thine own locks that smitten by the wind +Become stringed lyres to sing in murmurs sweet +Of the world's symphony and of thy beauty? + + * * * * * + +Neither thy boughs nor locks they are, but wings +That thou wouldst ply with gentle flutterings! +Wings? They are not, though they become; and ever +A hunger tortures thee, and ever thou +Strugglest to enter a sublimer world! +Right, left, high, far, thou seekest a fair city, +Some sunlit Athens, and standest bent on flying +With swans and cranes towards the azure heavens. + + * * * * * + +Art thou a relic of a dead age and great, +Or the first dew of a becoming life? +Now some Wood Nymph bound within thee peeps out +Struggling to flow into the light about; +And now thou risest like the column last +Of an old temple that once stood in Hellas. +Evening or morning, end or a beginning, +Something binds thee to skies beyond all sight. + + * * * * * + +Hosannas from thy boughs and palm leaves flow, +Hosannas from thy royal height, as prayer +To some unknown god's charms, who passes by +Revealing his fair godhead first to thee. +And lo, the hillsides answer thine hosannas! +Oh, what thy visions, what thy secrets are? +Some tremor, from new heavens wafted, makes +The supple flowers and green leaves quiver. + + * * * * * + +And we? The migrant bird did come to us; +The passing wind did touch us with its wing; +The restless brook did check its rapid course; +The child did cast on us his guileless glance; +The jonquil proud did greet us with a nod; +And the moon did look down to see us here; +And all beheld our surface; none our depths! +Thus the world glided over us and vanished! + + * * * * * + +Sweet orange blossoms, what asked the nightingales? +What would the dry cicala know of noontide? +All things that groan from the great depths of earth, +All songs that mount exultant to the stars, +The eating moth's faint voice, the restless cricket's, +Perfumes and breezes, creatures lone and mated, +All things that fly and creep and bend and stoop, +Something they know of thee and hide it from us. + + * * * * * + +Within our breasts, a soul of storm and pitch +Puts into our minds evil thoughts of thee. +The magpie chatters long to the night bat +Of thee; the locust boasts she is like thee; +The wasp draws ample pleasure in thy shelter; +And the night raven finds delight in thee. +A world of evil and of scorn lies wait +For thee who mountest tranquil to the stars. + +O Health blown from the heart of the pure pine! +Where thy feet tread, fruits grow 'midst thorns and clover; +If with the streams thou flowest, the elements +Shine; for pure wine, thou reapest the fair clusters; +And where thou lingerest, a city rises! +Thy breasts flow ever with milk; thy lips with dew! +O mother fruitful, strong, and whole, some ill +Rots us and we are pale like death's faint tapers! + + * * * * * + +Boughs, tresses, wings; shadows whose grace divine +Frolics and spreads as bough or tress or wing; +Another night, you took another form +In the enchanted pitiless moonlight, +A form that was neither bough, tress, nor wing: +Swords you seemed, ready to descend and smite! +Night's roaming butterfly, be merciful! +Lift us upon thy wings and fly away! + + * * * * * + +Illness and wakefulness have tortured us, +O palm, and we saw thee bend secretly! +The dragon's heads and dogwoods were awake; +We saw thee leading a strange dance with them +At night; and in our first sleep, we beheld thee +A heavy dream roaming with mulleins and +Chameleons; about thee closed whole gardens +Of thistles, aloes hard, and hosts of briars! + + * * * * * + +We dreamed and lo, thou wert demanding tribute +Of life, blood-drenched; and in thy being raged +A savage hunger; and some beast flesh-eating +Nestled in thee and gnawed a hole through thee; +And thy winged body turned into a cave; +A vulture perched as crown upon thy head; +And like fire-flames, and sea-waves, and sword-blades, +From root to top, fierce snakes crept up and coiled! + + * * * * * + +Who ever thought of it? What Fate has ruled +That from ill-smelling things and worthless stuff +Should rise things of resplendent green? and from +Deforming filth, the thrice-pure miracle +Of May and April? Hence things blue and black +Mingle in us; and in our souls, spread oceans +And narrow paths; and while our minds converse +With things sublime, something thrice-base defiles us! + + * * * * * + +O Sun, assail and strangle all black dreams, +Our life's dim vapors and ill-working demons! +But nourish all things good and beautiful +Like sunbeams playing and like nightingales! +And thou, O moon, spread over savage Night +A veil translucent of heart-felt sympathy! +Wave everywhere, O Beauty's purple robe! +Let the great world be love and love's sweet lyre! + + * * * * * + +Day comes! Light scatters a thousand eyes on thee +So that thou mayest greet the woods and mountains, +The nests upon the trees, the palaces +Of cities, and the ships on open seas +Or ports. At nights, mounted on steeds of light +Beautiful Fairies come from high to serve thee; +The poplar lifts its many hands to thee; +And the dark cypresses lull thee to sleep. + +With pelicans and eagles thou conversest, +And drop by drop thou drinkest the world's music; +Thou seest things far, things near, and things above; +Things infinite, intangible, and great; +And thou communest with air-sailing ships, +Light-rays, and wings, and the world-mounting ladder; +While we, bent low, and lashed by sorrow's whip, +Listen to the great throbbing of Earth's heart! + + * * * * * + +We heard it, the great throbbing of Earth's heart, +The new song inconceivable, unheard, +Of consummate and perfect sound! +Through it, some thunder-stricken angel groans; +All April's gardens breathe in fragrant balms; +Some unfulfilled and secret longings weep; +And a fire crackles that will ruin worlds! +Something that passes by, an endless riddle! + + * * * * * + +Tell thou the sunlit story of the air; +We shall unroll to you the tale of blackness. +Come, let us mingle the two elements, +Thy mighty power with our own winning grace! +In unseen places, small and cold and sunless, +A world of workers and of corsairs dwell; +And there are paths and deeds of theirs, and days, +And what the infinite air-spheres have not! + + * * * * * + +A swarm of bees has told us of their life, +And a new youth and wise shone unto us! +The grass hides unsuspected miracles; +Beside us, the ant opens a deep path; +A lizard, slowly creeping from below, +Brought us here news of countries, nations, arts; +A butterfly on her swift flight to wed +The little flowers broadened our world of thought! + + * * * * * + +Unwedded, fruitless Palm, fair mystery! +Strange was the hour--who will believe it now?-- +The divine world willed to become a thought, +And thought revealed itself unto our mind! +Now, unto darkness and to riddles new, +Our little life is ready to depart! +O Palm, make answer; lo, before thou speakest +Thy word sublime, a hand lays wait to smite! + + * * * * * + +O Palm, a hand did spread to sow us here; +That hand will spread again to root us out, +And we shall die! The billow and the wind +And the still waters will sweep us away +Mercilessly! The flowery spring will not +Lament us! The wide world will never know +We perished! And beneath thy shadow's charms, +Another fragrant race will rise to life. + + * * * * * + +Nor will there be a monument for us +That might retain the phantom of our passing! +Only about thee will a robe of light +Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam: +And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime! +And in the eyes of an astonished world, +Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star; +Yet neither thou nor others will know of us! + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + + [1] This essay is republished, with a few changes, from _Poet Lore_, + vol. xxviii, no. 1, pp. 78-104. + + [2] My translation of it originally appeared in the _Stratford + Journal_, from which I quote it in its entirety. + + [3] Tigrane Yergate, _op. cit._, p. 710. + + [4] Jean Moreas, _Voyage de Grece_, 1898. + + [5] On Patras, the birth-place of the poet. See Introduction, p. 13. + + [6] On Missolonghi, the place of the poet's childhood. See + Introduction, p. 15. + + [7] On the Island of Corfu, one of the most important centers of the + literary renaissance of modern Greece. + + [8] Iacobos Polylas, 1826-98, translator of the _Odyssey_ and of parts + of the _Iliad_, and an important figure in the struggle for the + vernacular. He has also translated some of Shakespeare's plays. + + [9] Dionysios Solomos, born in Zante, 1748, died in Corfu, 1857. He is + the first great poet of modern Greece. He has written lyrics in + Italian and in Greek. Several of his songs have spread as folk + songs throughout the Greek world. He is mainly known as the poet of + the modern Greek national hymn to Liberty. + +[10] Gerasimos Markoras, born in Cephalonia, 1826, died in Corfu, 1911, + a lyric and epic poet. His poem "Oath" was inspired by the Cretan + struggle for freedom. + +[11] On Egypt, whence the first lights of civilization dawned on Greece. + +[12] On Mt. Athos, the Holy Mountain of the modern Greeks, inhabited by + about ten thousand monks. Although called by its hermits "the + virgin's garden" no female creature is allowed to enter its ground. + +[13] Panselenus, a famous Byzantine painter, who is believed to be the + author of some of the Madonnas and Christs found in the monasteries + of the mountain. + +[14] On classic Greece, in contrast with the following sonnet which + refers to the spirit of Greece throughout the ages, from the + classic period to the time of the Byzantine Empire. + +[15] The Islands of the Ionian Sea. + +[16] The hero of medieval Greece, Digenes Akritas, who is supposed to + have lived on the slopes of the Taurus mountains in Asia Minor and + to have fought against the invading Saracens. There are a great + number of folk-songs about him not only in Greek but in Turkish, + Bulgarian, Serbian, and Albanian as well. + +[17] The word, meaning "blessed one," is here applied to ideal womanhood + and must not be confused with Makaria of p. 103, the mythical + Theban princess. + +[18] The translator of Homer and Shakespeare. See notes 8 and 9, p. 80. + +[19] A pseudonym for Constantine Chatzopoulos, one of the leading + literary figures in Athens to-day. He has written poems under this + pseudonym. But he is now mainly known as a master of short stories + which he has published under his real name, and as the translator + of Goethe's _Faust_ and of Hofmannsthal's _Electra_. This poem + dedicated to him was written during the unfortunate Greco-Turkish + war of 1897. + +[20] Maviles was born in Ithaca, 1860, and fell in the battle of + Driscos, November 29, 1912. He is the writer of exquisite sonnets + and the successful translator of various foreign poems. The + Cretan Revolution of 1896 is here alluded to, which led to the + Greco-Turkish war of 1897. Maviles was one of the first to hasten + to Crete to help in the struggle for liberty. + +[21] Alexandros Pallis is one of the greatest literary figures of + contemporary Greece, who, like Psicharis, has lived mostly far from + Greece. He is a poet, a critic, and a satirist. But his fame is + mainly due to his translation of the _Iliad_ and that of the _New + Testament_. The publication of the latter caused the student riots + of 1901. + +[22] The poet had in mind the following lines of Sully Prudhomme from + his _Stances et Poemes_, L'ame: + + Tous les corps offrent des contours, + Mais d'ou vienne la forme qui touche? + Comment fais-tu les grands amours, + Petite ligne de la bouche? + + + + +PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS +CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U.S.A. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life Immovable, by Kostes Palamas + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE IMMOVABLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24191.txt or 24191.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/1/9/24191/ + +Produced by David Starner, katsuya and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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