Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Greece and Turkey in Europe: Vol. XIX. 1876–79.
Delphi
By Aubrey Thomas de Vere (1814–1902)I
I go contented, having seen it once;
Yet here awhile remain, prisoner well-pleased
Of reboant winds. Within this mountain cove
Their sound alone finds entrance. Lightly the waves,
Rolled from the outer to the inner bay,
Dance in blue silver o’er the silver sands;
While, like a chain-bound antelope by some child
Mocked oft with tempting hand and fruit upheld,
Our quick caique vaults up among the reeds,
The ripples that plunge past it upward sending
O’er the gray margin matted with sea-pink
Ripplings of light. The moon is veiled; a mile
Below the mountain’s eastern range it hangs:
Yon gleam is but its reflex, from white clouds
Scattered along Parnassian peaks of snow.
Fruition hath of what this morn was mine:
O’er many a beauteous scene at once she broods,
And feeds on joys without confusion blent
Like mingling sounds or odors. Now she rests
On that serene expanse (the confluence
Of three long vales) in sweetness upward heaved,
Ample and rich as Juno’s breast what time
The Thunderer’s breath in sleep moves over it:
Bathes in those runnels now, that raced in light
This morn as at some festival of streams,
Through arbutus and ilex, wafting each
Upon its glassy track a several breeze,
Each with its tale of joy or playful sadness.
Fair nymphs, by great Apollo’s fall untouched!
Sing, sing forever! When did golden Phœbus
Look sad one moment for a fair nymph’s fall?
Of hoary olives; rocks like walls beside,
Never by Centaur trod, though these fresh gales
Give man the Centaur’s strength. Again I mount,
From cliff to cliff, from height to height ascend;
Glitters Castalia’s Fount; I see, I touch it!
That rift once more I reach, the oracular seat,
Whose arching rocks half meet in air suspense;
’Twixt them is one blue streak of heaven; hard by
Dim temples hollowed in the stone, for rites
Mysterious shaped, or mansions of the dead:
Released, I turn, and see, far, far below,
A vale so rich in floral garniture,
And perfume from the orange and the sea,
So girt with white peaks flashing from sky chasms,
So lighted with the vast blue dome of heaven,
So lulled with music from the winds and waves,
The guest of Phœbus claps his hands and shouts,
“There is but one such spot; from heaven Apollo
Beheld; and chose it for his earthly shrine!”