The Works of Lord Byron Volume I Part 45

'The Trumpet's blast with these accords To sound the clash of hostile swords-- Be mine the softer, sweeter care To soothe the young and virgin Fair'.

['MS. Newstead'.]]

FROM ANACREON.

[Greek: Mesonuktiois poth h_opais, k.t.l.] [1]

ODE 3.

'Twas now the hour when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; Bootes, only, seem'd to roll [i]

His Arctic charge around the Pole; While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or ceas'd to weep: At this lone hour the Paphian boy, Descending from the realms of joy, Quick to my gate directs his course, And knocks with all his little force; My visions fled, alarm'd I rose,-- "What stranger breaks my blest repose?"

"Alas!" replies the wily child In faltering accents sweetly mild; "A hapless Infant here I roam, Far from my dear maternal home.

Oh! s.h.i.+eld me from the wintry blast!

The nightly storm is pouring fast.

No prowling robber lingers here; A wandering baby who can fear?"

I heard his seeming artless tale, [ii]

I heard his sighs upon the gale: My breast was never pity's foe, But felt for all the baby's woe.

I drew the bar, and by the light Young Love, the infant, met my sight; His bow across his shoulders flung, And thence his fatal quiver hung (Ah! little did I think the dart Would rankle soon within my heart).

With care I tend my weary guest, His little fingers chill my breast; His glossy curls, his azure wing, Which droop with nightly showers, I wring; His s.h.i.+vering limbs the embers warm; And now reviving from the storm, Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, Than swift he seized his slender bow:-- "I fain would know, my gentle host,"

He cried, "if this its strength has lost; I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, The strings their former aid refuse."

With poison tipt, his arrow flies, Deep in my tortur'd heart it lies: Then loud the joyous Urchin laugh'd:-- "My bow can still impel the shaft: 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it; Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?"

[Footnote 1: The motto does not appear in 'Hours of Idleness' or 'Poems O. and T.']

[Footnote i: The Newstead MS. inserts--

'No Moon in silver robe was seen Nor e'en a trembling star between'.]

[Footnote ii:

'Touched with the seeming artless tale Compa.s.sion's tears o'er doubt prevail; Methought I viewed him, cold and damp, I trimmed anew my dying lamp, Drew back the bar--and by the light A pinioned Infant met my sight; His bow across his shoulders slung, And hence a gilded quiver hung; With care I tend my weary guest, His s.h.i.+vering hands by mine are pressed: My hearth I load with embers warm To dry the dew drops of the storm: Drenched by the rain of yonder sky The strings are weak--but let us try.'

--['MS. Newstead'.]]

THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS. [1]

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE "aeNEID," LIB. 9.

Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood, Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood; Well skill'd, in fight, the quivering lance to wield, Or pour his arrows thro' th' embattled field: From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave, [i]

And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.

To watch the movements of the Daunian host, With him Euryalus sustains the post; No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy, And beardless bloom yet grac'd the gallant boy; 10 Though few the seasons of his youthful life, As yet a novice in the martial strife, 'Twas his, with beauty, Valour's gifts to share-- A soul heroic, as his form was fair: These burn with one pure flame of generous love; In peace, in war, united still they move; Friends.h.i.+p and Glory form their joint reward; And, now, combin'd they hold their nightly guard. [ii]

"What G.o.d," exclaim'd the first, "instils this fire?

Or, in itself a G.o.d, what great desire? 20 My lab'ring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd, Abhors this station of inglorious rest; The love of fame with this can ill accord, Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword.

See'st thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb?

Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign?

Then hear my thought:--In deep and sullen grief Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief: 30 Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine, (The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine,) Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound, Methinks, an easy path, perchance, were found; Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls, And lead aeneas from Evander's halls."

With equal ardour fir'd, and warlike joy, His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy:-- "These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone?

Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? 40 Am I by thee despis'd, and left afar, As one unfit to share the toils of war?

Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught: Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought; Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, I track'd aeneas through the walks of fate: Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear.

Here is a soul with hope immortal burns, And _life_, ign.o.ble _life_, for _Glory_ spurns. [iii] 50 Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath: The price of honour, is the sleep of death."

Then Nisus:--"Calm thy bosom's fond alarms: [iv]

Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms.

More dear thy worth, and valour than my own, I swear by him, who fills Olympus' throne!

So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, And clasp again the comrade of my youth!

But should I fall,--and he, who dares advance Through hostile legions, must abide by chance,-- 60 If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, Should lay the friend, who ever lov'd thee, low, Live thou--such beauties I would fain preserve-- Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve; When humbled in the dust, let some one be, Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; Whose manly arm may s.n.a.t.c.h me back by force, Or wealth redeem, from foes, my captive corse; Or, if my destiny these last deny, If, in the spoiler's power, my ashes lie; 70 Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, To mark thy love, and signalise my doom.

Why should thy doating wretched mother weep Her only boy, reclin'd in endless sleep?

Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dar'd, Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shar'd; Who brav'd what woman never brav'd before, And left her native, for the Latian sh.o.r.e."

"In vain you damp the ardour of my soul,"

Replied Euryalus; "it scorns controul; 80 Hence, let us haste!"--their brother guards arose, Rous'd by their call, nor court again repose; The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.

Now, o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man; Save where the Dardan leaders, nightly, hold Alternate converse, and their plans unfold.

On one great point the council are agreed, An instant message to their prince decreed; 90 Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield, And pois'd with easy arm his ancient s.h.i.+eld; When Nisus and his friend their leave request, To offer something to their high behest.

With anxious tremors, yet unaw'd by fear, [v]

The faithful pair before the throne appear; Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder, first, address'd the h.o.a.ry band.

"With patience" (thus Hyrtacides began) "Attend, nor judge, from youth, our humble plan. 100 Where yonder beacons half-expiring beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream, [vi]

Nor heed that we a secret path have trac'd, Between the ocean and the portal plac'd; Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, Whose shade, securely, our design will cloak!

If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, Where Pallas' walls, at distance, meet the sight, Seen o'er the glade, when not obscur'd by night: 110 Then shall aeneas in his pride return, While hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn; And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead Shall mark the havoc of our Hero's tread; Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray; Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The distant spires above the valleys gleam."

Mature in years, for sober wisdom fam'd, Mov'd by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd,-- 120 "Ye parent G.o.ds! who rule the fate of Troy, Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy; When minds, like these, in striplings thus ye raise, Yours is the G.o.dlike act, be yours the praise; In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive, And Ilion's wonted glories still survive."