TO SAPPHO. ANNIE FIELDS. Then while the earth made mimicry of heaven DAUGHTER of Love! Out of the flow- With stillness, calmly spake the ing river, mightiest judge: Bearing the tide of life upon its bil-O Eschylus! The father of our low, Down to that gulf where love and song together Sink and must perish: Out of that fatal and resistless cur rent, Athenian master of the tragic lyre song! Thou the incomparable! Swayer of Immortal minstrel of immortal deeds! strong hearts! The autumn grows apace, and all must die; Soon winter comes, and silence. Eschylus! After that silence laughs the tuneful spring! Read'st thou our meaning through this slender veil "The last! The last! Have I no more to do With this sweet world! Is the bright morning now No longer fraught for me with crowding song? Will evening bring no unsought fruitage home? Must the days pass and these poor lips be dumb, While strewing leaves sing falling through the air, And autumn gathers in her richest fruit? Where is my spring departed? Where, O gods! Within my spirit still the building birds I hear, with voice more tender than when leaves Are budding and the happy earth is gay. Am I, indeed, grown dumb for evermore! Take me, O bark! Take me, thou flowing stream! Who knowest nought of death save when thy waves Rush to new life upon the ocean's breast. Bear thou me singing to the under world! [From Sophocles.] ì. Ye shall be judges if the spring have brought Late unto me, the aged oak, a crown. Hear ye once more, ere yet the river of sleep Bear me away far on its darkening tide, The music breathed upon me from these fields. If to your ears, alas! the shattered strings No longer sing, but breathe a discord harsh, I will return and draw this mantle close About my head and lay me down to die. But if ye hear the wonted spirit call, Framing the natural song that fills this world To a diviner form, then shall ye all believe The love I bear to those most near to Athens, blooms fresh as violets in yon wood, AGED SOPHOCLES addressing THE Making new spring within this aged ATHENIANS BEFORE READING HIS EDIPUS COLONEUS. BOWED half with age and half with reverence, thus, I, Sophocles, now answer to your call; Questioned have I the cause and the reason learned. Lo, I am here that all the world may see These feeble limbs that signal of decay! But, know ye, ere the aged oak must die, Long after the strong years have bent his form, The spring still gently weaves a leafy crown, Fresh as of yore to deck his wintry head. And now, O people mine, who have loved my song, breast. AT THE forge. I AM Hephaistos, and forever here Stand at the forge and labor, while I dream Of those who labor not and are not lame. I hear the early and the late birds call, Hear winter whisper to the coming spring, And watch the feet of summer dancing light For joy across the bosom of the earth. Labor endures, but all of these must pass! And ye who love them best, nor are condemned |