Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and Other Poems Part 12

Then to their happy rest they pa.s.s!

The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, The night comes down upon the gra.s.s, 35 The child sleeps warmly in his bed.

Calm soul of all things! make it mine To feel, amid the city's jar, That there abides a peace of thine, Man did not make, and cannot mar. 40

The will to neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others give!

Calm, calm me more! nor let me die Before I have begun to live.

THE STRAYED REVELLER

_The Portico of Circe's Palace. Evening._

A YOUTH. CIRCE.

_The Youth_. Faster, faster, O Circe, G.o.ddess, Let the wild, thronging train, The bright procession Of eddying forms, 5 Sweep through my soul!

Thou standest, smiling Down on me! thy right arm, Lean'd up against the column there, Props thy soft cheek; 10 Thy left holds, hanging loosely, The deep cup, ivy-cinctured, 12 I held but now.

Is it, then, evening So soon? I see, the night-dews, 15 Cl.u.s.ter'd in thick beads, dim The agate brooch-stones On thy white shoulder; The cool night-wind, too, Blows through the portico, 20 Stirs thy hair, G.o.ddess, Waves thy white robe!

_Circe_. Whence art thou, sleeper?

_The Youth_. When the white dawn first Through the rough fir-planks 25 Of my hut, by the chestnuts, Up at the valley-head, Came breaking, G.o.ddess!

I sprang up, I threw round me My dappled fawn-skin; 30 Pa.s.sing out, from the wet turf, Where they lay, by the hut door, I s.n.a.t.c.h'd up my vine-crown, my fir-staff, All drench'd in dew-- Came swift down to join 35 The rout early gather'd 36 In the town, round the temple, Iacchus' white fane 38 On yonder hill.

Quick I pa.s.s'd, following 40 The wood-cutters' cart-track Down the dark valley;--I saw On my left, through, the beeches, Thy palace, G.o.ddess, Smokeless, empty! 45 Trembling, I enter'd; beheld The court all silent, The lions sleeping, 47 On the altar this bowl.

I drank, G.o.ddess! 50 And sank down here, sleeping, On the steps of thy portico.

_Circe_. Foolish boy! Why tremblest thou?

Thou lovest it, then, my wine?

Wouldst more of it? See, how glows, 55 Through the delicate, flush'd marble, The red, creaming liquor, Strown with dark seeds!

Drink, then! I chide thee not, Deny thee not my bowl. 60 Come, stretch forth thy hand, then--so!

Drink--drink again!

_The Youth_. Thanks, gracious one!

Ah, the sweet fumes again!

More soft, ah me, 65 More subtle-winding Than Pan's flute-music! 67 Faint--faint! Ah me, Again the sweet sleep!

_Circe_. Hist! Thou--within there! 70 Come forth, Ulysses! 71 Art tired with hunting? 72 While we range the woodland, 73 See what the day brings. 74

_Ulysses_. Ever new magic! 75 Hast thou then lured hither, Wonderful G.o.ddess, by thy art, The young, languid-eyed Ampelus, Iacchus' darling-- Or some youth beloved of Pan, 80 Of Pan and the Nymphs? 81 That he sits, bending downward His white, delicate neck To the ivy-wreathed marge Of thy cup; the bright, glancing vine-leaves 85 That crown his hair, Falling forward, mingling With the dark ivy-plants-- His fawn-skin, half untied, Smear'd with red wine-stains? Who is he, 90 That he sits, overweigh'd By fumes of wine and sleep, So late, in thy portico?

What youth, G.o.ddess,--what guest Of G.o.ds or mortals? 95

_Circe_. Hist! he wakes!

I lured him not hither, Ulysses.

Nay, ask him!

_The Youth_. Who speaks? Ah, who comes forth To thy side, G.o.ddess, from within? 100 How shall I name him?

This spare, dark-featured, Quick-eyed stranger?

Ah, and I see too His sailor's bonnet, 105 His short coat, travel-tarnish'd, With one arm bare!-- 107 Art thou not he, whom fame This long time rumours The favour'd guest of Circe, brought by the waves? 110 Art thou he, stranger?

The wise Ulysses, Laertes' son?

_Ulysses_. I am Ulysses.

And thou, too, sleeper? 115 Thy voice is sweet.

It may be thou hast follow'd Through the islands some divine bard, By age taught many things, Age and the Muses; 120 And heard him delighting The chiefs and people In the banquet, and learn'd his songs, Of G.o.ds and Heroes, Of war and arts, 125 And peopled cities, Inland, or built By the grey sea.--If so, then hail!

I honour and welcome thee.

_The Youth_. The G.o.ds are happy. 130 They turn on all sides Their s.h.i.+ning eyes, And see below them The earth and men. 134

They see Tiresias 135 Sitting, staff in hand, On the warm, gra.s.sy Asopus bank, 138 His robe drawn over His old, sightless head, 140 Revolving inly The doom of Thebes. 142

They see the Centaurs 143 In the upper glens Of Pelion, in the streams, 145 Where red-berried ashes fringe The clear-brown shallow pools, With streaming flanks, and heads Rear'd proudly, snuffing The mountain wind. 150

They see the Indian Drifting, knife in hand, His frail boat moor'd to A floating isle thick-matted With large-leaved, low-creeping melon-plants, 155 And the dark cuc.u.mber.

He reaps, and stows them, Drifting--drifting;--round him, Round his green harvest-plot, Flow the cool lake-waves, 160 The mountains ring them.

They see the Scythian On the wide stepp, unharnessing His wheel'd house at noon.

He tethers his beast down, and makes his meal-- 165 Mares' milk, and bread Baked on the embers;--all around 167 The boundless, waving gra.s.s-plains stretch, thick-starr'd With saffron and the yellow hollyhock And flag-leaved iris-flowers. 170 Sitting in his cart, He makes his meal; before him, for long miles, Alive with bright green lizards, And the springing bustard-fowl, The track, a straight black line, 175 Furrows the rich soil; here and there Cl.u.s.ters of lonely mounds Topp'd with rough-hewn, Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer The sunny waste. 180

They see the ferry On the broad, clay-laden.

Lone Chorasmian stream;--thereon, 183 With snort and strain, Two horses, strongly swimming, tow 185 The ferry-boat, with woven ropes To either bow Firm harness'd by the mane; a chief, With shout and shaken spear, Stands at the prow, and guides them; but astern 190 The cowering merchants, in long robes, Sit pale beside their wealth Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops, Of gold and ivory, Of turquoise-earth and amethyst, 195 Jasper and chalcedony, And milk-barr'd onyx-stones. 197 The loaded boat swings groaning In the yellow eddies; The G.o.ds behold them. 200 They see the Heroes Sitting in the dark s.h.i.+p On the foamless, long-heaving Violet sea, At sunset nearing 205 The Happy Islands. 206

These things, Ulysses, The wise bards also Behold and sing.

But oh, what labour! 210 O prince, what pain!

They too can see Tiresias;--but the G.o.ds, Who give them vision, Added this law: 215 That they should bear too His groping blindness, His dark foreboding, His scorn'd white hairs; Bear Hera's anger 220 Through a life lengthen'd To seven ages.

They see the Centaurs On Pelion;--then they feel, They too, the maddening wine 225 Swell their large veins to bursting; in wild pain They feel the biting spears Of the grim Lapithae, and Theseus, drive, 228 Drive cras.h.i.+ng through their bones; they feel 229 High on a jutting rock in the red stream 230 Alcmena's dreadful son 231 Ply his bow;--such a price The G.o.ds exact for song: To become what we sing.

They see the Indian 235 On his mountain lake; but squalls Make their skiff reel, and worms In the unkind spring have gnawn Their melon-harvest to the heart.--They see The Scythian; but long frosts 240 Parch them in winter-time on the bare stepp, Till they too fade like gra.s.s; they crawl Like shadows forth in spring.

They see the merchants On the Oxus stream;--but care 245 Must visit first them too, and make them pale.

Whether, through whirling sand, A cloud of desert robber-horse have burst Upon their caravan; or greedy kings, In the wall'd cities the way pa.s.ses through, 250 Crush'd them with tolls; or fever-airs, On some great river's marge, Mown them down, far from home.

They see the Heroes 254 Near harbour;--but they share 255 Their lives, and former violent toil in Thebes, Seven-gated Thebes, or Troy; 257 Or where the echoing oars Of Argo first Startled the unknown sea. 260

The old Silenus 261 Came, lolling in the suns.h.i.+ne, From the dewy forest-coverts, This way, at noon.

Sitting by me, while his Fauns 265 Down at the water-side Sprinkled and smoothed His drooping garland, He told me these things.

But I, Ulysses, 270 Sitting on the warm steps, Looking over the valley, All day long, have seen, Without pain, without labour, Sometimes a wild-hair'd Maenad-- 275 Sometimes a Faun with torches-- 276 And sometimes, for a moment, Pa.s.sing through the dark stems Flowing-robed, the beloved, The desired, the divine, 280 Beloved Iacchus.

Ah, cool night-wind, tremulous stars!

Ah, glimmering water, Fitful earth-murmur, Dreaming woods! 285 Ah, golden-hair'd, strangely smiling G.o.ddess, And thou, proved, much enduring, Wave-toss'd Wanderer!

Who can stand still?

Ye fade, ye swim, ye waver before me-- 290 The cup again!