tames Each wild lust that lingers there. Yet, when thus together thrown, Man with man must fain unite; And by his own worth alone Can he freedom gain, and might." Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! With it, the Cyane blue intertwine! Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, For the great queen is approaching her shrine,— She who our homesteads so blissful has given, She who has man to his fellow-man bound: Let our glad numbers extol then to heaven, Her who the earth's kindly mother is found!
THE RING OF POLYCRATES. 32 A BALLAD. Upon his battlements he stood, And downward gazed in joyous mood, On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway, "All this is subject to my yoke;" To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,— "That I am truly blest, then, say!" "The immortals' favor thou hast known! Thy sceptre's might has overthrown All those who once were like to thee. Yet to avenge them one lives still; I cannot call thee blest, until That dreaded foe has ceased to be." While to these words the king gave vent, A herald from Miletus sent, Appeared before the tyrant there: "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day, And with the laurel branches gay Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!" "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,— I'm sent to bear the glad news here, By thy true marshal Polydore"— Then from a basin black he takes— The fearful sight their terror wakes— A well-known head, besmeared with gore. The king with horror stepped aside, And then with anxious look replied: "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit. On faithless waves, bethink thee how Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now— How soon the storm may scatter it!" But ere he yet had spoke the word, A shout of jubilee is heard Resounding from the distant strand. With foreign treasures teeming o'er, The vessels' mast-rich wood once more Returns home to its native land. The guest then speaks with startled mind: "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind; But thou her fickleness shouldst fear: The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms, Now threaten thee with war's alarms; E'en now they are approaching here." And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips, A stir is seen amongst the ships, And thousand voices "Victory!" cry: "We are delivered from our foe, The storm has laid the Cretan low, The war is ended, is gone by!" The shout with horror hears the guest: "In truth, I must esteem thee blest! Yet dread I the decrees of heaven. The envy of the gods I fear; To taste of unmixed rapture here Is never to a mortal given."
Prev.
Back
Top