Orion/Book III/Canto II
ORION.
Canto the Second.
Level with the summit of that eastern mount,By slow approach, and like a promontoryWhich seems to glide and meet a coming ship,The pale gold platform of the Morning cameTowards the gliding mount. Against a skyOf delicate purple, snow-bright courts and halls,Touched with light silvery green, gleaming across,Fronted by pillars vast, cloud capitalled,With shafts of changeful pearl, all reared uponAn isle of clear aerial gold, came floating;And in the centre, clad in fleecy white,With lucid lilies in her golden hair,Eos, sweet Goddess of the Morning, stood.
From the bright peak of that surrounded mount,One step sufficed to gain the golden floor,Whereon the Palace of the Morning shone,Scarcely a bow-shot distant; but that step,Orion's humbled and still mortal feetDared not adventure. In the Goddess' faceImploringly he gazed. "Advance!" she said,In tones more sweet than when some heavenly bird,Hid in a rosy cloud, its morning hymnWarbles unseen, wet with delicious dews,And to earth's flowers, all looking up in prayer,Tells of the coming bliss. "Believe—advance—Or, as the spheres move onward with their songThat calls me to awaken other lands,That moment will escape which ne'er returns."Forward Orion stepped: the platform brightShook, like the reflex of a star in waterMoved by the breeze, throughout its whole expanse;And e'en the palace glistened fitfully,As with electric shiver it sent forthOdours of flowers divine and all fresh life.Still stood he where he stepped, nor to returnAttempted. To essay one pace beyond,He felt no power—yet onward he advanced Safe to the Goddess, who, with hand outstretched,Into the palace led him. Grace and strength,With sense of happy change to finer earth,Freshness of nature, and belief in good,Came flowing o'er his soul, and he was blest.
'T is always morning somewhere in the world,And Eos ever rises, circlingThe varied regions of mankind. No pauseOf renovation and of freshening raysShe knows, but constantly her love breathes forthOn field and forest, as on human hope,Health, beauty, power, thought, action and advance.All this Orion witnessed, and rejoiced.The turmoil he had known, the late distressBy loss of passion's object, and of sight,Were now exchanged for these serene delightsOf contemplation, as the influenceThat Eos wrought around for ever, dawnedUpon his vision and his inmost heart,In sweetness and success. All sympathyWith all fair things that in her circle lay,She gave, and all received; nor knew of strife;For from the Sun her cheek its bloom withdrew, And, ere intolerant noon, the floating realmOf Eos—queen of the awakening earth—Was brightening other lands, wherefrom black NightHer faded chariot down the sky had drivenBehind the sea. Thus from the earth upraised,And over its tumultuous breast sustainedIn peace and tranquil glory—oh blest state!—Clear-browed Orion, full of thankfulness,And pure devotion to the Goddess, dweltWithin the glowing Palace of the Morn.
But these serene airs did not therefore bringA death-sleep o'er the waves of memory,Where all its clouds and colours, specks of sails,Its car-borne Gods, shipwrecks and drowning men,Passed full in view; yet with a mellowing senseIdeal, and from pain sublimed. Thus cameMirrors of nature to him, and full oftDownward on Chios turned his happy eyes,With grateful thoughts that o'er life's sorrows woveThe present texture of a sweet content,Passing all wisdom, or its rarest flower.He saw the woods, and blessed them for the sakeOf Artemis; the city, and rich gloom That o'er the cedar forest ever hung,He also blessed for Merope; the isle,And all that dwelt there, he with smiles beheld,—Nor, it may be, without prophetic thrillWhen on Mount Epos turned his parting glance.There, in an after age, close at its foot,In the stone level was a basin broadScooped out, and central on a low shaft satA sage with silver hair, and taught his school,Where the boy Homer on the stony rimSat with the rest around. Bright were his eyes.
With re-awakened love, and sight enlargedFor all things beautiful, and nobly trueTo the great elements that rule the world,Orion's mind, left to itself, reviewedPast knowledge, and of wisdom saw the fruitFar nearer than before, the path less rough,The true possession not austere and cold,But natural in its strength and balance justOf body and of soul; each to respect,And to the other minister, and bothTheir one harmonious being to employFor general happiness, and for their own. Such was the lore which now his thoughts attained,And he to Eos ventured to display,Beseeching her response? She only gazedWith an approving smile upon the earth,That rolled beneath, and rendered back the gleamWith tender radiance over many a field.
The story of his life Orion told—His youth—his labours—lastly of his loves;Nor what for Artemis his opening soulHad felt—what deep desire for Merope—Sought to conceal. How much his intellect,And entire nature, owed to the pale QueenOf night's illumined vault, with grateful sighsOf reverential memory he declared;To Eos turning with a pleading look,Lest she might not approve. She took his hand,And placed it on her side beneath her heart,Which beat a sphery music audibly.He, listening, still enraptured, countless echoes,Rang sweetly faint from distant groves beneathUpon the earth. Within his hurrying heartThe trembling echoes now Orion felt,And silent stood as one who apprehends Some new and blissful hope that round him soars,Which still eludes his vision and his mind.
Not in like doubt was Artemis, whose car—Blank as it passed away before the morn,Herself invisible—collapsed and yearnedBeneath the Goddess' spurning foot. At onceThe lasting love of Eos she foresaw,When at the tale of other loves he toldSincerely, fully, with kind memories rife,Orion's hand she pressed. His earnest eyesAll filled with new-horn light, she also read,As in a mirror where the future 's writ—And, reading, closed her own as she retired.
Meantime Rhexergon through the Chian streetsTriumphant, with Biastor and a hostOf rebel chieftains and their armed bands,And drunken slaves and robbers, drove the kingFrom his lost throne. Beyond the suburb fieldsŒnopion fled, and secret refuge foundAmong the tombs beneath a chain of hills,Where dense cold gloom his robe and crown became,While over-head along the hill-sides ran The sunny vines. Tumult now choaked the cityWith adverse crowds, and deafened it with criesOf slayers, and of those who fled or fell.The giants led the slaughter, oft commencingPillage, then turning yet again to slay,Having no plan. They paused but to blasphemeThe Gods, like giants doomed to die. Rich spoilWas found, seized, left—and trampled into mireBy feet that onward sprang for other spoil,Or to tear down, wrench, overthrow, destroy;Till thus Rhexergon rendered up his life.
All the chief rulers, priests, and sages old,And heroes most renowned, Rhexergon vowedWithin the temple of Zeus to congregate;Wall up each means of egress, and from a gapMade in the roof, pour down a rocky hailFrom broken fanes, cliff, quarry and sea-beach,Upon their heads; nor cease the rattling showerUntil the temple was filled up with stones.To make the gap, he with his club advanced,Where central, 'neath the roof, a pillar rose,Which was its main support. Blow upon blow He smote; the base gave way; the pillar fell;And with it fell the roof, and buried him.
With equal skill Biastor wrought his fate.On a long terrace, which precipitouslyLooked down on suburb gardens deep below,Near to the edge upon a pediment stoodA great gilt statue to Encolyon,By the high rulers reverently set up;And this inscription bearing on its base;—"To the Wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!August preserver of revered decay;Votive—erected by a people's love."
Biastor, covered with a brazen shield,Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,A panic-stricken crowd before him droveOn tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—The rest throng round the statue. It was carvedOf wood, and at its flat square base the sunHad often turned a scornful glance, and madeDry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.They cling around its knees!—the giant Force Comes like a mighty wind;—and, as a mastIn shipwreck, black with rigging flanking loose,And black with wild-haired creatures clinging round,With crash and horrid slant its blasted treeSurrenders sidelong,—so the statue fell.With it the crowd were carried; after itBiastor, knowing not the depths beyond,Or his strong impulse having no power to check,Followed head foremost. Down the hollow banksHe, floundering o'er the statue's 'tangled coil,Into an orchard 'midst the vale below,Deep in the mould lay prone; and over himThe fallen statue lay athwart. 'T was thus,The Builder absent, and at that time blind,Force, and the Breaker-down their course fulfilled.
"What have I done on earth?" Orion said,While pensive on the platform of the mornHe stood. "My youth's companions are destroyed,And Akinetos evermore seems right,Predicting failure to our human acts:Or good, or ill, alike untoward prove.I have not well directed mine own strength,Nor theirs." As thus he mused, a skylark sang Within the gleaming Palace, and a voiceFollowed melodious as it spake these words.
"Well hast thou striven, and due reward shall find;For though reward held dalliance with thy hopesOf former days, and for thyself thou wrought'st,The suffering and the lesson have sufficedTo fit thee for more noble aims. Sigh notThat those companions of thine unformed youth,Their rude career have closed: evil was allThey could have done without thee. Thou hast wonThe love of Eos; doubt not of her truth,And to thyself be constant, as to her."
He turned, and at his side the Goddess smiled,With tenderness of grace, such as the soulCan through the heart convey, where both accordOne object to exalt. Orion knelt,And looked up in her face, then rose and claspedHer yielding loveliness. As they retired,An eye glanced fire-like through the clear blue air,And saw the embrace!—and marked the glowing beamsOn Eos' bosom, rosy yet all gold,Like ripened peaches in the morning light. That eye grew deadly—flashed—and it was gone,As onward in its course the Palace moved.'Twas Artemis!—beware her fatal dart.
O'er meadows green or solitary lawn,When birds appear earth's sole inhabitants,The long clear shadows of the morning differFrom those of eve, which are more soft and vague,Suggestive of past days and mellowed grief.The lights of morning, even as her shades,Are architectural, and pre-eminentIn quiet freshness, midst the pause that holdsPrelusive energies. All life awakes.Morn comes at first with white uncertain light;Then takes a faint red, like an opening budSeen through grey mist: the mist clears off; the skyUnfolds; grows ruddy; takes a crimson flush;Puts forth bright sprigs of gold,—which soon expandingIn saffron, thence pure golden shines the morn;Uplifts its clear bright fabric of white clouds,All tinted, like a shell of polished pearl,With varied glancings, violet gleam and blush;Embraces Nature; and then passes on,Leaving the Sun to perfect his great work.
So came thy love upon Orion's heart,Oh life-awakening Queen of early light,And the devotion he, at first, had deemedAll spiritual, now warmed, filled, attainedEntire vitality, and that highest stateWhich every noblest faculty employsWith self-enjoyment and beneficence.
True happiness no idle course endures,But by activity renews its strength,Which else would fail, and happiness revolveWithin itself, still dwindling to the pointWhere pain first stings. Far otherwise it faredWith thee, Orion. Watchful tow'rds the worldHis eye oft turned. The pure realm where he dweltAbsorbed not all his sympathies in itself,Which yet sprang forth, and sighed o'er ills below;Like one uplifted in abstraction's mood,Who sits alone, and gazes in the fire,Watching red ruins as they fall and changeTo glorious fabrics,—which forthwith dissolve,Or by some hideous conflict sink to nought,While from a black mass issues tawny smoke,Followed by a trumpet flame. War, and the waste, So far as individual life and purpose feels,Of human labour,—both its hand and heart—Came crowding on his mind. Nor less his eyeEarth's loveliness perceived; nor less his thoughtsOf Eos, who in all his fresh designs,Feelings, and wishes, shared, and urged him onWith constant impulse, hidden in sweet smiles,And perfect love that thinks not of itself;—Conscious, contented, sphered beyond fresh hopes.Earth was their child; and constant morn their home.
Three things Orion contemplated oft:The first, his gratitude to ArtemisInspired; its general service and importTo human happiness, a duty made.Her temple in Delos darkened to the eastWith towering trees, amidst whose hollowed rootsDwelt poisonous Harpies. These to dislodge, destroy,And hew the trees down, that the morning light,Followed by radiant warmth, might penetrate .Its depths, even to the temple's central shrine,He purposed. Thus would Eos give her loveTo Artemis, and all be reconciled.
His second purpose this: beneath the earth,So might the Father of the Gods give aid,To build a dungeon for the God of War,Wherein, confined in a tumultuous sleep,The visions of his madness should presentThe roar of battles and its sanguine joys,Its devastations, glories, and vain graves.Here might he gloat on death, while: o'er his headThe sea-wide corn fields, smiled in golden waves.
The last, would need Poseidon's trident hand,Which, fervent prayers and filial offeringsWould fail not to obtain; whereby a blow,—Such as had lifted out of the frothed seaDelos,—Kalliste, with its fathomless bay,—Mountains, and coral rocks,—repeated oft,Might many mountains cause at once to rise,Higher and higher, till their summits kissedThe clouds. Then Eos, casting forth her robeFrom peak to peak, and her immortal breathCombining and sustaining that bright floor,A web of perfect skill, and guileless art,Unlike the dark artificers below,—Large space for mortals of the earth would thus Be lifted to the platform of the morn.There, by the Goddess beckoned, and beholdingHer face, divine in youth, the lengthened toilOf the ascent, were but a test of worth,And hollow sounds of roaring from the seaBeneath, cause none, who should ascend, to fall.
To Delos now Orion made descentWith Eos, hand in hand, when lofty NightAdvanced her shadowy shoulder on the sky.Good speed made he with his well-practised hand;The Harpies slew; the eastward trees hewed down;And laid the temple open to the morn,With all her genial beams. Then Eos firstFelt doubt; and trembled as she saw the faneGleam with her presence, glancing like the lightWithin an angry eye-ball. A keen breezeNow whistled all around, and as it roseThe high green corn, like rapids tow'rds a fall,Flowed, wave on wave, before the strenuous wind.She gazed with a cold cheek, till underneathThe sea, she heard the coming Sun rejoice;And felt the isle for blest events prepare.Yet was she silent. The untended Sun, While Eos lingered midst the southern groves,Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,Who noting not her tender, anxious face,In generous feelings happy, took his rest.
Midst songs and garlands and uplifted joy,Day's bright dream sped. Night came; but not the Moon.Night passed. Two spectral armies in the airAppeared, and with mute fury fought; then diedIn mist. A cloud of pale and livid blue,Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!
What scarce-apparent ray! what wavering lightDown glances, arching through the silent vault!Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!The omen and the deed unite—in death!Into the grove, and to the self-same spotThe darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,O, Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill;Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midstOf all thy fresh designs for human weal,To make the morning feel itself in vain, And men turn pale who never shed a tear!Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—Thy Maker takes thee, for he loved thee well.
Haggard and chill as a lost ghost, the Morn,With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—Her colourless robe like a poor wandering smoke,—Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her armsA shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fadingIn a dark rain, through which the sun aroseScarce visible, and in his orb confused.