Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
George Meredith. 18281909773. Phoebus with Admetus
WHEN by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked, | |
Sentencing to exile the bright Sun-God, | |
Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked, | |
Who: and what a track show’d the upturn’d sod! | |
Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe | 5 |
Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide, | |
How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere, | |
Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide. | |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | 10 |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | |
Chirping none, the scarlet cicalas crouch’d in ranks: | |
Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk gray: | |
Scarce the stony lizard suck’d hollows in his flanks: | 15 |
Thick on spots of umbrage our drowsed flocks lay. | |
Sudden bow’d the chestnuts beneath a wind unheard, | |
Lengthen’d ran the grasses, the sky grew slate: | |
Then amid a swift flight of wing’d seed white as curd, | |
Clear of limb a Youth smote the master’s gate. | 20 |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | |
Water, first of singers, o’er rocky mount and mead, | 25 |
First of earthly singers, the sun-loved rill, | |
Sang of him, and flooded the ripples on the reed, | |
Seeking whom to waken and what ear fill. | |
Water, sweetest soother to kiss a wound and cool, | |
Sweetest and divinest, the sky-born brook, | 30 |
Chuckled, with a whimper, and made a mirror-pool | |
Round the guest we welcomed, the strange hand shook. | |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | 35 |
That had thee here obscure. | |
Many swarms of wild bees descended on our fields: | |
Stately stood the wheatstalk with head bent high: | |
Big of heart we labour’d at storing mighty yields, | |
Wool and corn, and clusters to make men cry! | 40 |
Hand-like rush’d the vintage; we strung the bellied skins | |
Plump, and at the sealing the Youth’s voice rose: | |
Maidens clung in circle, on little fists their chins; | |
Gentle beasties through push’d a cold long nose. | |
God! of whom music | 45 |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | |
Foot to fire in snowtime we trimm’d the slender shaft: | |
Often down the pit spied the lean wolf’s teeth | 50 |
Grin against his will, trapp’d by masterstrokes of craft; | |
Helpless in his froth-wrath as green logs seethe! | |
Safe the tender lambs tugg’d the teats, and winter sped | |
Whirl’d before the crocus, the year’s new gold. | |
Hung the hooky beak up aloft, the arrowhead | 55 |
Redden’d through his feathers for our dear fold. | |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | 60 |
Tales we drank of giants at war with gods above: | |
Rocks were they to look on, and earth climb’d air! | |
Tales of search for simples, and those who sought of love | |
Ease because the creature was all too fair. | |
Pleasant ran our thinking that while our work was good. | 65 |
Sure as fruits for sweat would the praise come fast. | |
He that wrestled stoutest and tamed the billow-brood | |
Danced in rings with girls, like a sail-flapp’d mast. | |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | 70 |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | |
Lo, the herb of healing, when once the herb is known, | |
Shines in shady woods bright as new-sprung flame. | |
Ere the string was tighten’d we heard the mellow tone, | 75 |
After he had taught how the sweet sounds came. | |
Stretch’d about his feet, labour done, ’twas as you see | |
Red pomegranates tumble and burst hard rind. | |
So began contention to give delight and be | |
Excellent in things aim’d to make life kind. | 80 |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | |
That had thee here obscure. | |
You with shelly horns, rams! and, promontory goats, | 85 |
You whose browsing beards dip in coldest dew! | |
Bulls, that walk the pastures in kingly-flashing coats! | |
Laurel, ivy, vine, wreathed for feasts not few! | |
You that build the shade-roof, and you that court the rays, | |
You that leap besprinkling the rock stream-rent: | 90 |
He has been our fellow, the morning of our days; | |
Us he chose for housemates, and this way went. | |
God! of whom music | |
And song and blood are pure, | |
The day is never darken’d | 95 |
That had thee here obscure. |