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Iphigeneia. No, sweet father, no I could have answered that ; why ask

the Gods? Agamemnon. Iphigeneia ! 0 my

child! the Earth Has gendered crimes unheard of hereto

fore, And Nature, may have changed in her

last depths, Together with the Gods and all their

laws. Iphigeneia. Father! we must not let

you here condemn; Not, were the day less joyful: recollect We have no wicked here; no king to

judge. Poseidon, we have heard, with bitter

rage Lashes his foaming steeds against the

skies, And, laughing with loud yell at winged

fire, Innoxious to his fields and palaces Affrights the eagle from the sceptred

hand; While Pluto, gentlest brother of the

three And happiest in obedience, views sedate His tranquil realm, nor en vies theirs

above. No change have we, not even day for

night Nor spring for summer.

All things are serene, Serene too be your spirit! None on earth Ever was half so kindly in his house, And so compliant, even to a child. Never was snatch'd your robe away from me,

[man Though going to the council. The blind Knew his good king was leading him

indoors, Before he heard the voice that marshal'd

Therefore all prais'd you.

Proudest men themselves In others praise humility' and most Admire it in the sceptre and the sword. What then can make you speak thus

rapidly And briefly in your step thus hesitate ? Are you afraid to meet among the good Incestuous Helen here? Agamemnon.

O! gods of hell ! Iphigeneia. She hath not past the river.

We may walk With our hands link'd nor feel our

house's shame.

Agamemnon. Never mayst thou, Iphi

geneia, feel it ! Aulis had no sharp sword, thou wouldst

exclaim, Greece no avenger-I, her chief so late, Through Erebos, through Elysium,

writhe beneath it. Iphigeneia. Come, I have better dia

dems than those Of Argos and Mycenai : come away, And I will weave them for you on the

bank. You will not look so pale when you have

walk'd A little in the grove, and have told all Those sweet fond words the widow sent

her child. Agamemnon. O Earth! I suffered

less upon thy shores ! (Aside.) The bath that bubbled with

my blood, the blows That spilt it (0 worse torture !) must

she know? Ah! the first woman coming from My.

cenai Will pine to pour this poison in her ear, Taunting sad Charon for his slow ad

vance. Iphigeneia!

Iphigeneia. Why thus turn away? Calling me with such fondness! I am

here, Father! and where you are, will ever be. Agamemnon. Thou art my child ; yes,

yes, thou art my child. All was not once what all now is! ('ome

on, Idol of love and truth! my child! my

child !
(Alone.) Fell woman!

ever false! false was thy last Denunciation, as thy bridal vow; And yet even that found faith with me!

The dirk Which sever'd flesh from flesh, where

this band rests, Severs not, as thou boastedst in the

scoffs, Iphigeneia's love from Agamemnon: The wife's a spark may light, a straw

consume, The daughter's not her heart's whole

fount hath quench'd, 'Tis worthy of the Gods, and lives for

ever. Iphigeneia. What spake my father

to the Gods above ? Unworthy am I then to join in prayer? If, on the last, or any day before,

The Hours (Descending.) To each an urn we bring :

Earth's purest gold

Alone can hold
The lymph of the Lethean spring.
We, son of Atreus ! we divide
The dulcet from the bitter tide
That runs athwart the paths of

No more our pinions shalt thou see.
Take comfort! We have done with


And must away to earth again. (Ascending.) Where thou art, thou

Of braided brow, Thou cullid too soon from Argive bowers, Where thy sweet voice is heard among The shades that thrill with choral song, None can regret the parted Hours.

(As the Hours depart, the shades of the Argive warriors who had fought at Troy approach and chaunt in chorus the praises of Agamemnon and his daughter.)

Of my brief course on earth, I did amiss,
Say it at once, and let me be unblessed;
But, O my faultless father! why should

And shun so my embraces ?

Am I wild And wandering in my fondness?

We are shades ! Groan not thus deeply ; blight not thus

the season Of full-orb'd gladness! Shades we are

indeed, But mingled, let us feel it, with the

blessed. I knew it, but forgot it suddenly, Altho' I felt it all at your approach. Look on me; smile with me at my

illusion. You are so like what you have ever been (Except in sorrow !) I might well forget I could not win you as I used to do. It was the first embrace since my de

scent I ever aim'd at: those who love me live, Save one, who loves me most, and now

would chide me. Agamemnon. We want not, o Iphi

geneia, we Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart

more With purity, nor words that more and Teach what we know, from those we

know, and sink Often most deeply where they fall most

light. Time was when for the faintest breath

of thine Kingdom and life were little, Iphigeneia.

Value them As little now. Agrimemnon. Were life and kingdom

all ! Iphigeneia. Ah! by our death many

are sad who loved us. The little fond Electra, and Orestes So childish and so bold ! O that mad

boy! They will be happy too.

Cheer! king of men ! (lieer! there are voices, songs-Cheer !

arms advance. Agamemnon. Come to me, soul of

peace! These, these alone, These are not false embraces. Iphigeneia.

Both are happy! Agamemnon. Freshness breathes

round me from some breeze above. What are ye, winged ones! with golden

urns ?

Chorus of Argives Maiden! be thou the spirit that breathes

Triumph and joy into our song ! Wear and bestow these amaranth


Iphigeneia-they belong
To none but thee and her who reigns
(Less chanted) on our bosky plains.

Iphigeneia ! 'tis to thee
Glory we owe and victory:
Clash, men of Argos, clash your

To martial worth and virgin charms.

Other Semi-chorus
Ye men of Argos ! it was sweet
To roll the fruits of conquest at the feet
Whose whispering sound made bravest

hearts beat fast.
This we have known at home ;

But hither we are come
To crown the king who ruled us first

and last.


Father of Argos ! king of men !
We chant the hymn of praise to

In serried ranks we stand again,

Our glory safe, our country free. Clash, clash the arms we bravely

bore Against Scamander's God-defended


Tydeus ! and worthy of thy son. 'Tis Ajax wears them now; for he Rules over Adria's stormy sea.

Semi-chorus Blessed art thou who hast repellid Battle's wild fury, Ocean's whelming

foam ;

Blessed o'er all, to have beheld Wife, children. house avenged, and

peaceful liome!

He threw them to the friend who lost
(By the dim judgment of the host)
Those wet with tears which Thetis gave
The youth most beauteous of the brave.
In vain! the insatiate soul would go
For comfort to his peers below.
Clash! ere we leave them all the plain,
Clash! Io Paean ! once again." 1836.



Other Semi-chorus
We, too, thou seest, are now
Among the happy, though the

aged brow From sorrow for us we could not

protect. Nor, on the polished granite of the

well Folding our arms, of spoils and

perils tell, Nor lift the vase on the lov'd head


Semi-chorus What whirling wheels are those

behind ? What plumes come flaring through

the wind, Nearer and nearer? From his

“ ARTEMIDORA ! Gods invisible, While thou art lying faint along the

couch, Have tied the sandal to thy slender feet And stand beside thee, ready to convey Thy weary steps where other rivers flow Refreshing shades will waft thy weariAway, and voices like thy own come near And nearer, and solicit an embrace." Artemidora sigh’d, and would have

pressed The hand now pressing hers, but was too

weak. Iris stood over her dark hair unseen While thus Elpencr spake. He looked into Eyes that had given light and life ere

while To those above them, but now dim with

tears And wakefulness. Again he spake of joy Eternal. At that word, that sad word,

joy, Faithful and fond her bosom heav'u once

more: Her head fell back; and now a loud deep

sob Swelld thro' the darken'd chamber ;

'twas not hers.


He who defied the heaven-born

Powers of war Pelides springs ! Dust, dust are we To him, o king, who bends the knee, Proud only to be first in reverent praise

of thee.

Other Semi-Chorus Clash, clash the arms! None other race Shall see such heroes face to face. We too have fought; and they have seen Nor sea-sand gray nor meadow green Where Dardans stood against their

men. Clash ! Io Paean ! clash again ! Repinings for lost days repress. The flames of Troy had cheer'd us less.

Chorus Hark! from afar more war-steeds neigh, Thousands o'er thousands rush this way. Ajax is yonder ! ay, behol The radiant arms of Lycian gold ! Arms from admiring valor won,


ATHENS TANAGRA ! think not I forget

Thy beautifully storied streets ; Be sure my memory bathes yet

In clear Thermodon, and yet greets The blithe and liberal shepherd-boy, i See Landor's own comment on this poem, P. 440.

2 1836, in Pericles and Aspasia. Slightly altered and included in the Hellenics, 1846, te, from which the present text is taken. See (olvin's comment on the poem, in his Life of Landor, pp. 193-4.

Ali yes! the very same art thou
That heard me then and hearest now...
Thou seemest, star of love! to throb with





FATHER! the little girl we see
Is not, I fancy, so like me ;
You never hold her on your knee.

When she came home, the other day,
You kiss I her: but I cannot say
She kiss'd you first and ran away.


Vhose sunny bosom swells with joy Vhen we accept his matted rusbes heav'd with sylvan fruit ; away he

bounds, and blushes. I gift I promise : one I see Which thou with transport wilt re

ceive, Che only proper gift for thee,

Of which no mortal shall bereave in later times thy mouldering walls, until the last old turret falls ; A crown, a crown from Athens won, crown no God can wear, beside La

tona's son. There may be cities who refuse

To their own child the honors due, And look ungently on the Muse ;

But ever shall those cities rue The dry, unyielding, niggard breast, Offering no nourishment, no rest, To that young head which soon shall

rise isdainfully, in might and glory, to the

skies. Sweetly where cavernd Dirce flows Do-white-arm'd maidens chant my

lay, Flapping the while with laurel-rose

The boney-gathering tribes away ; And sweetly, sweetly Attic tongues Lisp your Corinna's early songs; To her with feet more graceful come he verses that have dwelt in kindred

breasts at home.


STAND close around, ye Stygian set,

With Diree in one boat conveyed, Or Charon, seeing, may forget That he is oll, and sbe a shade.



O let thy children lean aslant

Against the tender mother's knee, And gaze into her face, and waut

To know what magic there can be In words that urge some eyes to dance, While others as in holy trance Look up to heaven : be such my praise ! Vhy linger? I must haste, or lose the Delphic bays.


We mind not how the sun in the mid

sky Is hastening on; but when the gollen

orb Strikes the extreme of earth, and when

the gulfs Of air and ocean open to receive him, Dampness and gloom invade us; then

we think Ah! thus is it with Youth. Too fast his

feet Run on for sight; hour follows hour;

fair maid Succeeds fair maid ; bright eyes bestar

his couch ; The cheerful horn awakens him ; the

feast, The revel, the entangling dance, allure, Aud voices mellower than the Muse's



HAVE beheld thee in the morning hour I solitary star, with thankless eyes, Cngrateful as I am! who bade thiee rise When sleepall night had wandered from

my bower,

Heave up his buoyant bosom on their

Wave. A little while, and then-Ah Youth !

Youth ! Youth! Listen not to my words--but stay with

me ! When thou art gone, Life may go too;

the sigh That rises is for thee, and not for Life.


Can it be true that thou art he
Who shines now above the sea
Amid a thousand, but more bright?


BORGIA, thou once wert almost too

august And high for adoration; now thou'rt

dust; All that remains of thee these plaits

unfold, Calm hair meandering in pellucid gold.


Before he try if loam or sand
Be still remaining in the place
Delved for each polished pillar's base.
With skilful eye and fit device
Thou raisest every edifice,
Whether in sheltered vale it stand,
Or overlook the Dardan strand,
Amid the cypresses that mourn
Laodameia's love forlorn.


We both have run o'er half the space
Listed for mortal's earthly race ;
We both have crossed life's fervid line,
And other stars before us shine:
May they be bright and prosperous
As those that have been stars for us!
Our course by Milton's light was speel,
And Shakespeare shining overhead:
Chatting on deck was Dryden too,
The Bacon of the rhyming crew ;
None ever cross'd our mystic sea
More richly stored with thought than he;
Tho' never tender nor sublime,
He wrestles with and conquers 'Time.
To learn my lore on Chaucer's knee,
I left much prouder company ;
Thee gentle Spenser fondly led, ?
But me he mostly sent to bed.
I wish them every joy above
That highly blessed spirits prove.
Save one : and that too shall be theirs,
But after many rolling years,
When 'mid their light thy light appearse

1833. 1837.

Those who have laid the harp aside

And turn'd to idler things, From very restlessness have tried

The loose and dusty strings, And, catching back some favorite strain, Run with it o'er the chords again. But Memory is not a Muse,

O Wordsworth! though 'tis said
They all descend from her, and use

To haunt her fountain-head:
That other men should work for me
In the rich mines of Poesie,
Pleases me better than the toil

Of smoothing under hardened hand, With attic emery and oil,

The shining point for Wisdom's wand, Like those thou temperest 'mid the rills Descending from thy native hills. Without his governance, in vain,

Manhood is strong, and Youth is bold. If oftentimes the o'er-piled strain,

Clogs in the furnace and grows cold Beneath his pinions deep and frore, And swells and melts and flows no

more, That is because the heat beneath

Pants in its cavern poorly fed. Life springs not from the couch of

Death, Nor Muse nor Grace can raise the

dead; Unturn'd then let the mass remain, Intractable to sun or rain. A marsh, where only flat leaves lie, And showing but the broken sky, Too surely is the sweetest lay That wins the ear and wastes the day, Where youthful Fancy pouts alone And lets not Wisdom touch her zone. He who would build his fame up high, The rule and plummet must apply. Nor say, “ I'll do what I have planud,"


LORD of the ('eltic dells, Where Clwyd listens as his minstrel

tells Of Arthur, or Pendragon, or perchance

The plumes of flashy France, Or, in dark region far across the main. Far as Grenada in the world of Spain,

Warriors untold to Saxon ear, Until their steel-clad spirits reappear :

How happy were the hours that held Thy friend (long absent from his native

home) Amid thy scenes with thee! how wide

afield From all past cares and all to come! What hath Ambition's feverish grasp.

what hath Inconstant Fortune, panting Hope ; What Genius, that should cope

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