Enoch Arden, &c Part 10

Doubt not ye the G.o.ds have answer'd, Catieuchlanian, Trin.o.bant.

These have told us all their anger in miraculous utterances, Thunder, a flying fire in heaven, a murmur heard aerially, Phantom sound of blows descending, moan of an enemy ma.s.sacred, Phantom wail of women and children, mult.i.tudinous agonies.

Bloodily flow'd the Tamesa rolling phantom bodies of horses and men; Then a phantom colony smoulder'd on the refluent estuary; Lastly yonder yester-even, suddenly giddily tottering-- There was one who watch'd and told me--down their statue of Victory fell.

Lo their precious Roman bantling, lo the colony Camulodune, Shall we teach it a Roman lesson? shall we care to be pitiful?

Shall we deal with it as an infant? shall we dandle it amorously?

'Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trin.o.bant!

While I roved about the forest, long and bitterly meditating, There I heard them in the darkness, at the mystical ceremony, Loosely robed in flying raiment, sang the terrible prophetesses.

"Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets!

Tho' the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho' the gathering enemy narrow thee, Thou shalt wax and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty one yet!

Thine the liberty, thine the glory, thine the deeds to be celebrated, Thine the myriad-rolling ocean, light and shadow illimitable, Thine the lands of lasting summer, many-blossoming Paradises, Thine the North and thine the South and thine the battle-thunder of G.o.d."

So they chanted: how shall Britain light upon auguries happier?

So they chanted in the darkness, and there cometh a victory now.

Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trin.o.bant!

Me the wife of rich Prasutagus, me the lover of liberty, Me they seized and me they tortured, me they lash'd and humiliated, Me the sport of ribald Veterans, mine of ruffian violators!

See they sit, they hide their faces, miserable in ignominy!

Wherefore in me burns an anger, not by blood to be satiated.

Lo the palaces and the temple, lo the colony Camulodune!

There they ruled, and thence they wasted all the flouris.h.i.+ng territory, Thither at their will they haled the yellow-ringleted Britoness-- Bloodily, bloodily fall the battle-axe, unexhausted, inexorable.

Shout Icenian, Catieuchlanian, shout Coritanian, Trin.o.bant, Till the victim hear within and yearn to hurry precipitously Like the leaf in a roaring whirlwind, like the smoke in a hurricane whirl'd.

Lo the colony, there they rioted in the city of Cun.o.beline!

There they drank in cups of emerald, there at tables of ebony lay, Rolling on their purple couches in their tender effeminacy.

There they dwelt and there they rioted; there--there--they dwell no more.

Burst the gates, and burn the palaces, break the works of the statuary, Take the h.o.a.ry Roman head and shatter it, hold it abominable, Cut the Roman boy to pieces in his l.u.s.t and voluptuousness, Lash the maiden into swooning, me they lash'd and humiliated, Chop the b.r.e.a.s.t.s from off the mother, dash the brains of the little one out, Up my Britons, on my chariot, on my chargers, trample them under us.'

So the Queen Boadicea, standing loftily charioted, Brandis.h.i.+ng in her hand a dart and rolling glances lioness-like, Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters in her fierce volubility.

Till her people all around the royal chariot agitated, Madly dash'd the darts together, writhing barbarous lineaments, Made the noise of frosty woodlands, when they s.h.i.+ver in January, Roar'd as when the rolling breakers boom and blanch on the precipices, Yell'd as when the winds of winter tear an oak on a promontory.

So the silent colony hearing her tumultuous adversaries Clash the darts and on the buckler beat with rapid unanimous hand, Thought on all her evil tyrannies, all her pitiless avarice, Till she felt the heart within her fall and flutter tremulously, Then her pulses at the clamoring of her enemy fainted away.

Out of evil evil flourishes, out of tyranny tyranny buds.

Ran the land with Roman slaughter, mult.i.tudinous agonies.

Perish'd many a maid and matron, many a valorous legionary.

Fell the colony, city, and citadel, London, Verulam, Camulodune.

IN QUANt.i.tY.

MILTON.

Alcaics.

O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies, O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity, G.o.d-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages; Whose t.i.tan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel, Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armouries, Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean Rings to the roar of an angel onset-- Me rather all that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring, And bloom profuse and cedar arches Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean, Where some refulgent sunset of India Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle, And crimson-hued the stately palmwoods Whisper in odorous heights of even.

Hendecasyllabics.

O you chorus of indolent reviewers, Irresponsible, indolent reviewers, Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem All composed in a metre of Catullus, All in quant.i.ty, careful of my motion, Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him, Lest I fall unawares before the people, Waking laughter in indolent reviewers.

Should I flounder awhile without a tumble Thro' this metrification of Catullus, They should speak to me not without a welcome, All that chorus of indolent reviewers.

Hard, hard, hard is it, only not to tumble, So fantastical is the dainty metre.

Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers.

O blatant Magazines, regard me rather-- Since I blush to belaud myself a moment-- As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost Horticultural art, or half coquette-like Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.

SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD IN BLANK VERSE.

So Hector said, and sea-like roar'd his host; Then loosed their sweating horses from the yoke, And each beside his chariot bound his own; And oxen from the city, and goodly sheep In haste they drove, and honey-hearted wine And bread from out the houses brought, and heap'd Their firewood, and the winds from off the plain Roll'd the rich vapor far into the heaven.

And these all night upon the[1] bridge of war Sat glorying; many a fire before them blazed: As when in heaven the stars about the moon Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid, And every height comes out, and jutting peak And valley, and the immeasurable heavens Break open to their highest, and all the stars s.h.i.+ne, and the Shepherd gladdens in his heart: So many a fire between the s.h.i.+ps and stream Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy, A thousand on the plain; and close by each Sat fifty in the blaze of burning fire; And champing golden grain, the horses stood Hard by their chariots, waiting for the dawn.[2]

Iliad VIII. 542-561.

[1] Or, ridge.

[2] Or more literally--

And eating h.o.a.ry grain and pulse the steeds Stood by their cars, waiting the throned morn.