Blooms of the Berry Part 15

Demeter sad! the wells of sorrow lay Eternal gus.h.i.+ng in thy lonely path.

Methinks I see her now--an awful shape Tall o'er a dragon team in frenzied search From Argive plains unto the jeweled sh.o.r.es Of the remotest Ind, where Usha's hand Tinged her grief-cloven brow with kindly touch, And Savitar wheeled genial thro' the skies O'er palmy regions of the faneless Brahm.

In melancholy search I see her roam O'er the steep peaks of Himalayas keen With the unmellowed frosts of Boreal storms, Then back again with that wild mother woe Writ in the anguished fire of her eyes,-- Back where old Atlas groans 'neath weight of worlds, And the Cimmerian twilight glooms the soul.

Deep was her sleep in Persia's haunted vales, Where many a languid Philomela moaned The bursting sorrow of a bursting soul.

I see her nigh Ionia's swelling seas Cull from the sands a labyrinthine sh.e.l.l, And hark the mystery of its eery voice Float from the hollow windings of its curl, Then cast it far into the weedy sea To view the salt-spray flash, like one soft plume Dropped from the wings of Eros, 'gainst the flame Of Helios' car down-sloping toward his bath.

I see her beg a coral flute of red From a tailed Triton; and on Ithakan rocks High seated at the starry death of day, When Selene rose from off her salty couch To smile a glory on her face of sorrow, Pipe forth sad airs that made the Sirens weep In their green caves beneath the sodden sands, And h.o.a.r Poseidon clear his wrinkled front And still his surgy clamors to a sigh.

This do I see, and more; ah! yes, far more: I see her, 'mid the lonely groves of Crete, The wild hinds fright from the o'ervaulted green Of thickest boscage, tangling their close covert, With horror of her torches and her wail, "Persephone! Persephone!" till the pines Of rugged Dicte shuddered thro' their cones, And Echo shrieked down in her deepest chasms A wild reply unto her wild complaint; As wild as when she voiced those maidens' woe, Athenian tribute to stern Minos, king, When coiling grim the Minotaur they saw Far in his endless labyrinth of stone.

DIONYSOS.

"O Dionysos! Dionysos! the ivy-crowned!

O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!"

Within my sleep a Maenad came to me: A harp of crimson agate strung with gold Wailed 'neath her waxen fingers, and her heart 'Neath the white gauze, thro' which a moonlight shone, Kept time with its wild throbbings to her song.

"Aegeus sleeps, O Dionysos! sleeps Pale 'neath the tumbling waves that sing his name Eternally at my dew-glist'ning feet.

And so he died, O Dionysos! died!

O let me sing thy triumph ere I die!

"With the shrill syrinx and the kissing clang Of silver cymbals clashed by Ethiopes swart, O, pard-drawn youth, thou didst awake the world To joy and pleasure with thy sunny wine!

Mad'st India bow and the dun, flooding Nile Grow purple in the radiance of the wine Cast from the richness of Silenus' cup, Whiles yet the heavens of heat saw dances wild Whirl mid the redness of the Libic sands, Which greedy drank the Baccha.n.a.lian draught Spun from the giddy bowl, a rose-tinged mist, O'er the slant edge, red twinkling in the eye Of brazen Ra, fierce turning overhead.

What made gold Horus smile with golden lips?

Anubis dire forget his ghosts to lead To h.e.l.l's profoundness, and then stay to sip One winking bubble from the wine-G.o.d's cup?

What made Osiris, 'mid the palms of Nile, Leave Isis dreaming, and the frolic Pan's Harsh trebles follow as a roaring bull, Far as the gleaming temples of Indra, And mourned in Memphis by his tawny priests?

It was thy joys, sun-nourished fire of wine!

The br.i.m.m.i.n.g purple of the hollow gold They tasted and they wors.h.i.+ped--G.o.ds themselves!

"Wan Echo sat once in a spiral sh.e.l.l; She, from its sea-dyed maziness of pearl, Saw the mixed pageant dancing on the strand, Where Nereus slept upon an isle of crags, And o'er the slope of his far-foaming head The strangeness of the orgies wildly cried, Till the frore G.o.d shook many a billow curl, Serened his face and stretched a welcome hand With civil utt'rance for the Bacchus horn.

But now there tarries in her eye-b.a.l.l.s' disks That nomad troop, and naught her tongue may say Save jostling words that haunt her m.u.f.fled ears Like feeble wave-beats in a deep sea-cave.

"Ah! the white stars, O Dionysos! now Have dropped their glittering blossoms slowly down Behind the snowy mountains in the West.

Aegeus sleeps, hushed by my murmuring harp, And I have sung thy triumph; let me die!"

HACKELNBERG.

When down the Hartz the echoes swarm He rides beneath the sounding storm With mad "halloo!" and wild alarm Of hound and horn--a wonder, With his hunter black as night, Ban-dogs fleet and fast as light, And a stag as silver white Drives before, like mist, in flight, Glimmering 'neath the bursten thunder.

The were-wolf shuns his ruinous track, Long-howling hid in braken black; Around the forests reel and crack And mountain torrents tumble; And the spirits of the air Whistling whirl with scattered hair, Teeth that flash and eyes that glare, 'Round him as he chases there With a noise of rains that rumble.

From thick Thuringian thickets growl Fierce, fearful monsters black and foul; And close before him a stritch-owl Wails like a ghost unquiet: Then the clouds aside are driven And the moonlight, stormy striven.

Falls around the castle riven Of the Dumburg, and the heaven Maddens then with blacker riot.

THE LIMNAD.

I.

The lake she haunts lies dreamily 'Neath sleepy boughs of melody, And far away an olden sea, An olden sea booms mellow; And the sunset's glamours smite Its clean water with strong light Wov'n to wondrous flowers, where fight Breezy blue and winking white, Ruby red and tarnished yellow.

II.

'Mid green rushes there that swing, Flowering flags where voices sing When low winds are murmuring, Murmuring to stars that glitter; Blossom-white with purple locks, 'Neath unfolded starry flocks, In the dusky waves she rocks, Rocks and all the landscape mocks With a song most sweet and bitter.

III.

Low it comes like sighs in dreams; Tears that fall in burning streams; Then a sudden burst of beams, Beams of song that soar and wrangle, Till the woods are taken quite, And red stars are waxen white, Lilies tall, bowed left and right, Gasp and die with very might Of the serpent notes that strangle.

IV.

Dark, dim, and sad on mournful lands White-throated stars heaped in her hands, Like wild-wood buds, the Twilight stands, The Twilight standing lingers, Till the Limnad coming sings Witcheries whose beauty brings A great moon from hidden springs, Mad with amorous quiverings, Feet of fire and silver fingers.

V.

In the vales Auloniads, On the mountains Oreads, On the meads Leimoniads, That in naked beauty glisten; Pan and Satyrs, Dryades, Fountain-lisping Naiades, Foam-lipped Oceanides, Breathless 'mid their seas or trees, Stay mad sports to look and listen.

VI.

Large-limbed, Egypt-eyed she stands-- Night on dim and ghostly lands, And in rapture from her hands Some wild molten stars are shaken.

Let her stand and rushes swing; Let lank flags dip murmuring, Low, lost winds come like a wing; _They_ will waken though she sing, But one mortal ne'er will waken.

THE MERMAID.

The moon in the East is glowing; I sit by the moaning sea; The mists down the sea are blowing, Down the sea all dewily.

The sands at my feet are shaking, The stars in the sky are wan; The mists for the sh.o.r.e are making, With a glimmer drifting on.

From the mist comes a song, sweet wailing In the voice of a love-lorn maid, And I hear her gown soft trailing As she doth lightly wade.