TO A BRIDE FEBRUARY 17, 1846 1 A STILL, Serene, soft day; enough of sun To wreathe the cottage smoke like pinetree snow, Whiter than those white flowers the bride-maids wore; Upon the silent boughs the lissom air Rested; and, only when it went, they moved, Nor more than under linnet springing off. Such was the wedding morn: the joyous Year Leapt over March and April up to May. All earth below and watchful of thy course! Well hast thou chosen, after long demur To aspirations from more realms than Adding as true ones, not untold before, That incense must have fire for its as cent, Else 'tis inert and can not reach the idol. Youth is the sole equivalent of youth. Enjoy it while it lasts; and last it will; Love can prolong it in despite of Years. 1846. LYRICS "Do you remember me? or are you proud?" Lightly advancing thro' her star-trimm'd crowd, Ianthe said, and looked into my eyes. "A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must ever be, And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise." No, my own love of other years! Much rests with you that yet endears, And each the cup might share. I, that the myrtle and the bay ONE year ago my path was green, There is a love that is to last I took a leaflet from her braid YES; I write verses now and then, But blunt and flaccid is my pen, No longer talked of by young men As rather clever : Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. 1846. ON THE HELLENICS1 COME back, ye wandering Muses, come back home, Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies: Come, let us walk upon the silent sands Of Simois, where deep footmarks show long strides; Thence we may mount, perhaps, to higher ground, Where Aphrodite from Athenè won Or would ye rather choose the grassy vale Where flows Anapos thro' anemones, Hyacinths, and narcissuses, that bend To show their rival beauty in the stream? Bring with you each her lyre, and each in turn Temper a graver with a lighter song. 1847. THRASYMEDES AND EUNOE WHO will away to Athens with me? who Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers, Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail. I promise ye, as many as are here, 1 Prefixed to the second edition of Landor's Hellenics, 1817. It is here given slightly out of the exact chronological order, that it may stand as an introduction to the chief poems from the Hellenics, those of 1816 as well as those of 1847. Other poems of Landor's, such as The Death of Artemidora, Cleone to Aspasia, The Shades of Agamemnon and Iphigeneia, etc., though originally published in other collections, and therefore not given here with the Hellenics, were ul timately included by Landor among them. From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine Of a low vineyard or a plant ill-pruned, But such as anciently the Ægean isles Pour'd in libation at their solemn feasts: And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embossed With no vile figures of loose languid boors, But such as gods have lived with and have led. The sea smiles bright before us. What white sail Plays yonder? What pursues it? Like two hawks Away they fly. Let us away in time To overtake them. Are they menaces We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak, Enraged at her defender? Hippias! Art thou the man? "Twas Hippias. He had found His sister borne from the Cecropian port By Thrasymedes. And reluctantly? Ask, ask the maiden; I have no reply. "Brother! O brother Hippias! O, if love, If pity, ever touch'd thy breast. forbear! Strike not the brave, the gentle, the be loved, My Thrasymedes, with his cloak alone Protecting his own head and mine from harm." "Didst thou not once before," cried Hippias, Regardless of his sister, hoarse with wrath At Thrasymedes, “didst not thou, dogeyed, Dare, as she walk'd up to the Parthenon, "Ay, before all the gods, Arise, my spouse! Arise! and let my lips quaff purity From thy fair open brow." The sword was up, And yet he kiss'd her twice. Some God withheld The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seeth'd slower And smote his breast less angrily; he laid [spake thus: His hand on the white shoulder, and Piraeus they re-entered, and their ship Drove up the little waves against the quay, Whence was thrown out a rope from one above, And Hippias caught it. From the virgin's waist Her lover dropped his arm, and blushed to think He had retain'd it there in sight of rude Irreverent men: he led her forth, nor spake. Hippias walked silent too, until they reached The mansion of Peisistratos her sire. Serenely in his sternness did the prince Look on them both awhile: they saw not him, For both had cast their eyes upon the ground. "Are these the pirates thou hast taken, son ?" Pirate of virgin and of princely hearts! Before the people and before the Goddess Thou hadst evinced the madness of thy passion, And now wouldst bear from home and plenteousness To poverty and exile this my child." Then shuddered Thrasymedes, and exclaim'd, "I see my crime; I saw it not before. The daughter of Peisistratos was born Neither for exile nor for poverty, Ah! nor for me!" He would have wept. but one Might see him, and weep worse. The prince unmoved Strode on, and said, "To-morrow shall the people, All who beheld thy trespasses, behold He bears his daughter, and the reverence He spake; and on the morrow they 1846. were one. |