Poems and Ballads and Atalanta in Calydon

by Algernon Swinburne

  Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air

  Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds

  Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more.

  But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime

  1290

  His tense flank trembling round the barbèd wound,

  Hateful; and fiery with invasive eyes

  And bristling with intolerable hair

  Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white

  Reddened and broke all round them where they came.

  And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote

  Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul,

  And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes.

  Then Peleus, with strong strain of hand and heart,

  Shot; but the sidelong arrow slid, and slew

  1300

  His comrade born and loving countryman,

  Under the left arm smitten, as he no less

  Poised a like arrow; and bright blood brake afoam,

  And falling, and weighed back by clamorous arms,

  Sharp rang the dead limbs of Eurytion.

  Then one shot happier, the Cadmean seer,

  Amphiaraus; for his sacred shaft

  Pierced the red circlet of one ravening eye

  Beneath the brute brows of the sanguine boar,

  Now bloodier from one slain; but he so galled

  1310

  Sprang straight, and rearing cried no lesser cry

  Than thunder and the roar of wintering streams

  That mix their own foam with the yellower sea;

  And as a tower that falls by fire in fight

  With ruin of walls and all its archery,

  And breaks the iron flower of war beneath,

  Crushing charred limbs and molten arms of men;

  So through crushed branches and the reddening brake

  Clamoured and crashed the fervour of his feet,

  And trampled, springing sideways from the tusk,

  1320

  Too tardy a moving mould of heavy strength,

  Ancæus; and as flakes of weak-winged snow

  Break, all the hard thews of his heaving limbs

  Broke, and rent flesh fell every way, and blood

  Flew, and fierce fragments of no more a man.

  Then all the heroes drew sharp breath, and gazed,

  And smote not; but Meleager, but thy son,

  Right in the wild way of the coming curse

  Rock-rooted, fair with fierce and fastened lips,

  Clear eyes, and springing muscle and shortening limb –

  1330

  With chin aslant indrawn to a tightening throat,

  Grave, and with gathered sinews, like a god, –

  Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear

  Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote,

  And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar

  Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide

  Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone,

  Deep in; and deeply smitten, and to death,

  The heavy horror with his hanging shafts

  Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips

  1340

  Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life.

  And all they praised the gods with mightier heart,

  Zeus and all gods, but chiefliest Artemis,

  Seeing; but Meleager bade whet knives and flay,

  Strip and stretch out the splendour of the spoil;

  And hot and horrid from the work all these

  Sat, and drew breath and drank and made great cheer

  And washed the hard sweat off their calmer brows.

  For much sweet grass grew higher than grew the reed,

  And good for slumber, and every holier herb,

  1350

  Narcissus, and the low-lying melilote,

  And all of goodliest blade and bloom that springs

  Where, hid by heavier hyacinth, violet buds

  Blossom and burn; and fire of yellower flowers

  And light of crescent lilies, and such leaves

  As fear the Faun’s and know the Dryad’s foot;

  Olive and ivy and poplar dedicate,

  And many a well-spring overwatched of these.

  There now they rest; but me the king bade bear

  Good tidings to rejoice this town and thee.

  1360

  Wherefore be glad, and all ye give much thanks,

  For fallen is all the trouble of Calydon.

  ALTHÆA

  Laud ye the gods; for this they have given is good,

  And what shall be they hide until their time.

  Much good and somewhat grievous hast thou said,

  And either well; but let all sad things be,

  Till all have made before the prosperous gods

  Burnt-offering, and poured out the floral wine.

  Look fair, O gods, and favourable; for we

  Praise you with no false heart or flattering mouth,

  1370

  Being merciful, but with pure souls and prayer.

  HERALD

  Thou hast prayed well; for whoso fears not these,

  But once being prosperous waxes huge of heart,

  Him shall some new thing unaware destroy.

  CHORUS

  O that I now, I too were

  By deep wells and water-floods,

  Streams of ancient hills, and where

  All the wan green places bear

  Blossoms cleaving to the sod,

  Fruitless fruit, and grasses fair,

  1380

  Or such darkest ivy-buds

  As divide thy yellow hair,

  Bacchus, and their leaves that nod

  Round thy fawnskin brush the bare

  Snow-soft shoulders of a god;

  There the year is sweet, and there

  Earth is full of secret springs,

  And the fervent rose-cheeked hours,

  Those that marry dawn and noon,

  There are sunless, there look pale

  1390

  In dim leaves and hidden air,

  Pale as grass or latter flowers

  Or the wild vine’s wan wet rings

  Full of dew beneath the moon,

  And all day the nightingale

  Sleeps, and all night sings;

  There in cold remote recesses

  That nor alien eyes assail,

  Feet, nor imminence of wings,

  Nor a wind nor any tune,

  1400

  Thou, O queen and holiest,

  Flower the whitest of all things,

  With reluctant lengthening tresses

  And with sudden splendid breast

  Save of maidens unbeholden,

  There art wont to enter, there

  Thy divine swift limbs and golden

  Maiden growth of unbound hair,

  Bathed in waters white,

  Shine, and many a maid’s by thee

  1410

  In moist woodland or the hilly

  Flowerless brakes where wells abound

  Out of all men’s sight;

  Or in lower pools that see

  All their marges clothed all round

  With the innumerable lily,

  Whence the golden-girdled bee

  Flits through flowering rush to fret

  White or duskier violet,

  Fair as those that in far years

  1420

  With their buds left luminous

  And their little leaves made wet,

  From the warmer dew of tears,

  Mother’s tears in extreme need,

  Hid the limbs of Iamus,

  Of thy brother’s seed;

  For his heart was piteous

  Toward him, even as thine heart now

  Pitiful toward us;

  Thine, O goddess, turning hither

  1430

  A benignant blameles
s brow;

  Seeing enough of evil done

  And lives withered as leaves wither

  In the blasting of the sun;

  Seeing enough of hunters dead,

  Ruin enough of all our year,

  Herds and harvests slain and shed,

  Herdsmen stricken many an one,

  Fruits and flocks consumed together,

  And great length of deadly days.

  1440

  Yet with reverent lips and fear

  Turn we toward thee, turn and praise

  For this lightening of clear weather

  And prosperities begun.

  For not seldom, when all air

  As bright water without breath

  Shines, and when men fear not, fate

  Without thunder unaware

  Breaks, and brings down death.

  Joy with grief ye great gods give,

  1450

  Good with bad, and overbear

  All the pride of us that live,

  All the high estate,

  As ye long since overbore,

  As in old time long before,

  Many a strong man and a great,

  All that were.

  But do thou, sweet, otherwise,

  Having heed of all our prayer,

  Taking note of all our sighs;

  1460

  We beseech thee by thy light,

  By thy bow, and thy sweet eyes,

  And the kingdom of the night,

  Be thou favourable and fair;

  By thine arrows and thy might

  And Orion overthrown;

  By the maiden thy delight,

  By the indissoluble zone

  And the sacred hair.

  MESSENGER

  Maidens, if ye will sing now, shift your song,

  1470

  Bow down, cry, wail for pity; is this a time

  For singing? nay, for strewing of dust and ash,

  Rent raiment, and for bruising of the breast.

  CHORUS

  What new thing wolf-like lurks behind thy words?

  What snake’s tongue in thy lips? what fire in the eyes?

  MESSENGER

  Bring me before the queen and I will speak.

  CHORUS

  Lo, she comes forth as from thank-offering made.

  MESSENGER

  A barren offering for a bitter gift.

  ALTHÆA

  What are these borne on branches, and the face

  Covered? no mean men living, but now slain

  1480

  Such honour have they, if any dwell with death.

  MESSENGER

  Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother’s sons.

  ALTHÆA

  Lay down your dead till I behold their blood

  If it be mine indeed, and I will weep.

  MESSENGER

  Weep if thou wilt, for these men shall no more.

  ALTHÆA

  O brethren, O my father’s sons, of me

  Well loved and well reputed, I should weep

  Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn from you

  But that I know you not uncomforted,

  Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain,

  1490

  For my son surely hath avenged you dead.

  MESSENGER

  Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen?

  ALTHÆA

  Thy double word brings forth a double death.

  MESSENGER

  Know this then singly, by one hand they fell.

  ALTHÆA

  What mutterest thou with thine ambiguous mouth?

  MESSENGER

  Slain by thy son’s hand; is that saying so hard?

  ALTHÆA

  Our time is come upon us: it is here.

  CHORUS

  O miserable, and spoiled at thine own hand.

  ALTHÆA

  Wert thou not called Meleager from this womb?

  CHORUS

  A grievous huntsman hath it bred to thee.

  ALTHÆA

  1500

  Wert thou born fire, and shalt thou not devour?

  CHORUS

  The fire thou madest, will it consume even thee?

  ALTHÆA

  My dreams are fallen upon me; burn thou too.

  CHORUS

  Not without God are visions born and die.

  ALTHÆA

  The gods are many about me; I am one.

  CHORUS

  She groans as men wrestling with heavier gods.

  ALTHÆA

  They rend me, they divide me, they destroy.

  CHORUS

  Or one labouring in travail of strange births.

  ALTHÆA

  They are strong, they are strong; I am broken, and these prevail.

  CHORUS

  The god is great against her; she will die.

  ALTHÆA

  1510 Yea, but not now; for my heart too is great.

  I would I were not here in sight of the sun.

  But thou, speak all thou sawest, and I will die.

  MESSENGER

  O queen, for queenlike hast thou borne thyself,

  A little word may hold so great mischance.

  For in division of the sanguine spoil

  These men thy brethren wrangling bade yield up

  The boar’s head and the horror of the hide

  That this might stand a wonder in Calydon,

  Hallowed; and some drew toward them; but thy son

  1520 With great hands grasping all that weight of hair

  Cast down the dead heap clanging and collapsed

  At female feet, saying This thy spoil not mine,

  Maiden, thine own hand for thyself hath reaped,

  And all this praise God gives thee: she thereat

  Laughed, as when dawn touches the sacred night

  The sky sees laugh and redden and divide

  Dim lips and eyelids virgin of the sun,

  Hers, and the warm slow breasts of morning heave,

  Fruitful, and flushed with flame from lamp-lit hours,

  1530 And maiden undulation of clear hair

  Colour the clouds; so laughed she from pure heart,

  Lit with a low blush to the braided hair,

  And rose-coloured and cold like very dawn,

  Golden and godlike, chastely with chaste lips,

  A faint grave laugh; and all they held their peace,

  And she passed by them. Then one cried Lo now,

  Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us,

  Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl?

  And all they rode against her violently

  1540 And cast the fresh crown from her hair, and now

  They had rent her spoil away, dishonouring her,

  Save that Meleager, as a tame lion chafed,

  Bore on them, broke them, and as fire cleaves wood

  So clove and drove them, smitten in twain; but she

  Smote not nor heaved up hand; and this man first,

  Plexippus, crying out This for love’s sake, sweet,

  Drove at Meleager, who with spear straightening

  Pierced his cheek through; then Toxeus made for him,