"More grapes! and wouldst thou wrest them from
the bunch?
Thou shalt not have them ere thou kissest me-
Thy lips are ready? Come then, put thine arms,
Pulpy, and warm, and loving, round my neck.
Thy kisses have no mixture of distrust;
They are all hope and faith, and childish love.
Here, take this bunch, sweet Bacchus, baby-god,
That shall one day, by favour of thy sire-
Thy glorious but most terrible sire-achieve
Greatness unparalleled by mortal men.
"Last night, sweet boy, I had a dream of thee.
I saw thee standing at the brazen wall
Of dreadful Tartarus. Thy looks were sad,
But earnest and majestic. Thou wert grown
To the full stature of the demi-god,
And all thy father sparkled in thine eyes.
Thy garments rustled with the fiery drops.
Of moisture from the waves of Phlegethon,
Which thou hadst braved with all its tide of flame.
Thou stood'st, unharmed and resolutely strong,
Beside the adamantine columns tall
Of Hell's great portal. Wide the brazen gate
Swung open to admit thee; while I saw
Thy stedfast eyes through all that sombre place
Pour placid lustre, mellow as the moon's.
Nor Pluto nor Persephone arose
To chide the deed; fierce Cerberus but whined
From all his mouths-he could not bark at thee;
And the Eumenides sat still and scowled ;
They could not harm thee-thou wert strong as they.—
Thine errand was of Heaven; and Hell itself,
Even while it glowed with hate, applauded thee.
Thy hapless mother, suffering for her sin,
Saw thee and wept. She flew into thine arms :
She knew that mighty Zeus loved her still,
And that he mourned the melancholy day
When he had slain her with the glorious blaze
Of his too bright and fierce divinity;-
That sent by Him thou camest through the gloom,
Braving the awful deity of Hell,
To lift her thence, and bear her up
to Heaven,
Where, in the presence of the eternal gods,
Herself divine, she might endure and share
The splendour of his presence, and become
Herself a goddess to the world below.—
Thou 'lt do this deed; Bacchus! I know thou wilt.
"More grapes! thou little rifler? Well, they 're
Thou thrivest on them. I have other dreams;
All sent by Zeus to my sleeping brain
All full of future truths, my baby boy,
And all of thee. It was but yesternight,
Thou by my side, that I was lifted up
Into a heaven of thought, and far away
Over a clearly spread futurity,
I saw thee sceptred, robed, and diademed-
I saw thee leading to an Eastern clime
A mighty army; following thy car
They came in multitudinous frantic throngs,
With shouts tumultuous and cries of joy-
Women and men confused; these armed with sword,
And lance, and javelin, and bossy shield;
Those holding up the thyrsus and the lute
To grace or celebrate thy victories;
And with dishevelled hair, and quivering lips,
And flashing eyes, chanting triumphal songs.
"I saw thee on the plains of furthest Ind,
Revolving in full glory like the sun;
And all thy stars-kings and great potentates--
Showing a pallid light in dawn of thine.
"I saw thee teaching the barbaric lands
The wealth that industry can draw from earth.
Thy grandsire, Cadmus, gave the Greeks a boon;
But thou, my Bacchus, on these lands remote
Shalt pour more needful blessings; thou shalt show
The ignorant hind how best to till the soil,
When he shall dig, or plough, or sow, or reap;
How to exchange the corn, and milk, and skins,
And pastoral wealth, for amber, gold, and silk;
And how to plant, and tend, and press the vine,
And use for health, and strength, and length of days, The treasures of the rich full-blooded grape.
“And art thou weary, Bacchus, my sweet boy? Doth sleep come o'er thee, while I talk and sing, And feast mine eyes upon thy loveliness ? Sleep in this bosom, then, immortal babe. Mine and not mine,—yet as beloved still As if not Semele, but Ino bore
Thy budding beauty to delight the world."
UNDER the trees
Let me lie at ease;
To muse or slumber, wake or dream,
Lulled by the ripple of the stream;
By the buzzing of bees like a trumpet tune-
By the whisper of leaves to the wind of noon,
That scarcely stirs the upper boughs,
Or wafts a breath to feverish brows;-
By the clink that sounds amid the grass,
Like tempered steel on greaves of brass,
As the mail-clad grasshoppers chirp and pass.
Lulled by these murmurs, many in one,
A refugee from the sultry sun,
Beneath the trees I love to lie,
Heedless how the time goes by-
Heedless, thoughtless, happy ever,
Upon the greensward by the river.
The thrush and linnet bathe and drink;
There the tender violets grow,
And the water-lilies float and blow;
And the humble daisy-blossoms spread
Their snow-white petals tipped with red;
Into its breast the oak-tree drops
The abortive acorn-cups;
And the beaches scatter their loosened leaves
Far adown the panting beeves
Cool the hoof, and switch the tail,
And gaze upon the waters pale
With mild eyes, grateful for the shade
By the o'er-arching verdure made;-
Over its breast the dragon-fly
Darts in silken brilliancy;
And a myriad happy living things
Sport their variegated wings;—
A little, but a lovely brook,
It flows through many a quiet nook;
A vein of life, a bounty given,
Refreshing Earth, reflecting Heaven.
|