The Storm of Delphi.

159

THE STORM OF DELPHI.

‘AR through the Delphian shades

FAR

An Eastern trumpet rung!

And the startled eagle rushed on high,

With a sounding flight through the fiery sky;
And banners, o'er the shadowy glades,
To the sweeping winds were flung.

Banners, with deep-red gold

All waving as a flame,

And a fitful glance from the bright spear-head
On the dim wood-paths of the mountain shed,
And a peal of Asia's war-notes told
That in arms the Persian came.

He came with starry gems

On his quiver and his crest;

With starry gems, at whose heart the day
Of the cloudless Orient burning lay,

And they cast a gleam on the laurel-stems,
As onward his thousands pressed.

But a gloom fell o'er their way,

And a heavy moan went by!

A moan, yet not like the wind's low swell,

When its voice grows wild amidst cave and dell,

But a mortal murmur of dismay,

Or a warrior's dying sigh!

160

The Storm of Delphi.

A gloom fell o'er their way!

'Twas not the shadow cast

By the dark pine boughs, as they crossed the bluc
Of the Grecian heavens with their solemn hue;
The air was filled with a mightier sway—

But on the spearmen passed!

And hollow to their tread

Came the echoes of the ground;

And banners drooped, as with dews o'erborne,
And the wailing blast of the battle-horn
Had an altered cadence, dull and dead,
Of strange foreboding sound.

But they blew a louder strain,

When the steep defiles were passed!
And afar the crowned Parnassus rose,

To shine through heaven with his radiant snows,
And in golden light the Delphian fane
Before them stood at last!

In golden light it stood,

Midst the laurels gleaming lone;
For the Sun-god yet, with a lovely smile,
O'er its graceful pillars looked awhile—
Though the stormy shade on cliff and wood
Grew deep round its mountain-throne.

And the Persians gave a shout!

But the marble walls replied

With a clash of steel and a sullen roar
Like heavy wheels on the ocean-shore,
And a savage trumpet's note pealed out,
Till their hearts for terror died!

The Storm of Delphi.

161

On the armour of the god

Then a viewless hand was laid;

There were helm and spear, with a clanging din,
And corselet brought from the shrine within,
From the inmost shrine of the dread abode,
And before its front arrayed.

And a sudden silence fell

Through the dim and loaded air!

On the wild-bird's wing and the myrtle spray,
And the very founts in their silvery way:

With a weight of sleep came down the spell,
Till man grew breathless there.

But the pause was broken soon!
'Twas not by song or lyre;

For the Delphian maids had left their bowers,
And the hearths were lone in the city's towers,
But there burst a sound through the misty noon-
That battle-noon of fire!

It burst from earth and heaven!
It rolled from crag and cloud!

For a moment on the mountain-blast
With a thousand stormy voices passed;

And the purple gloom of the sky was riven,

When the thunder pealed aloud.

And the lightnings in their play

Flashed forth, like javelins thrown:

Like sun-darts winged from the silver bow,

They smote the spear and the turbaned brow;

And the bright gems flew from the crests like spray, And the banners were struck down!

L

162

The Storm of Delphi.

And the massy oak-boughs crashed
To the fire-bolts from on high,

And the forest lent its billowy roar,
While the glorious tempest onward bore,

And lit the streams, as they foamed and dashed,
With the fierce rain sweeping by.

Then rushed the Delphian men

On the pale and scattered host.
Like the joyous burst of a flashing wave,
They rushed from the dim Corycian cave;
And the singing blast o'er wood and glen
Rolled on, with the spears they tossed.

There were cries of wild dismay,

There were shouts of warrior-glee,

There were savage sounds of the tempest's mirth,
That shook the realm of their eagle-birth;

But the mount of song, when they died away,
Still rose, with its temple, free!

And the Pæan swelled ere long,

Io Pæan! from the fane;

Io Pæan! for the war-array

On the crowned Parnassus riven that day!
-Thou shalt rise as free, thou mount of song!
With thy bounding streams again.

Ivan the Czar.

163

IVAN THE CZAR.

["Ivan le Terrible, étant dejà devenu vieux, assiégait Novgorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui démandèrent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande à cette proposition, que rien ne pût l'appaiser; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle violence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au désespoir, devint indifférent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois à son fils.”—Dix Années d'Exil, par MADAME DE STAEL.]

Gieb diesen Todten mir heraus. Ich muss

Ihn wieder hoben!

Trostlose allmacht,

Die nicht einmal in Graber ihren arm

Verlangern, eine kleine Ubereilung

Mit Menschenleben nicht verbessern kann!"-SCHILLER.

HE

E sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty Czar,

Lonely, though princes girt him round,
And leaders of the war;

He had cast his jewelled sabre,

That many a field had won,

To the earth beside his youthful dead-
His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed
Through the rich tent made way;

And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched,
In the dust, with his renown.