The Altar of Modesty

Soon as the stranger turns his step away
From Lacedaemon, and pursues the road
Toward the towers of Elis, where a ford
Whitens with rippling wave the river-bank,
Sacred to Modesty an altar stood.
Hither the gentle Leda brought her child,
Her Helena, whom Theseus had borne oft,
And thus reproved her, by none other heard.
"How couldst thou, Helena, leave house and home
And parent, and twin brothers, bright as stars?
With what discourse could Theseus tempt thee

hence?
He is not tender, is not bland, nor chaste,
Nor even young.

I too was once beguiled
By a white stately swan I loved to feed.
Who drove the rest away that followed him;
And wicked Theseus, then a boy, laught loud
Seeing my downcast eyes; and, when I turn'd
To chide him, Ah poor Leda! whined the rogue.
Once as I watcht him wrestling in the ring.
Me, tho' I stood far distant, he espied
And waddled nearer, and whined childishly
Poor Leda! what a pity! naughty swan!
And shaped his lips as deftly as he could
Into a beak; then from a reed within
Whistled low querulous notes, as swan may do;
Lastly, to crown his impudence, drew wings
Over his shoulders, shaking them outspred.
Where am I rambling? What has this to do

K
With such a folly as was his and thine?

Tell me . . now we are seated . . all that past."

Then Helena . . but first sigh'd more than once.
"Blamable was our guest, but worse his friend
Pirithoos, who extol'd me far above
All other Spartan maids, and earnestly
Pointed me out to him. No, never more
In presence of Pirithoos will I dance,
Afraid to celebrate Diana's games."

"I want to hear of Theseus, not of him "
Said Leda. She obeyed.

"He prais'd the land
Of Cecrops, its convivial hours, its girls
Waving a golden tettinx in their hair,
Yet Helena's prefer'd he unadorn'd.
Brave, said he, were his countrimen, and mild
And facil were their Gods; not Pallas' self
Beheld them ever with unkindly glance,
Standing among the Graces, and but shook
Her head at any little fault of theirs.
Harp, song, and dance, beneath the olive-trees.
He promist me, on turf where tymbrels shed
Showers of white blossoms on the sandal'd feet:
And then in autumn O what rites and games!
Such as when Bakkos, India's kings subdued
And India's tigers crouching under him,
Pronounced this one command. Be happy all!
Yet Theseus was himself most miserable;
He said it, and, as if it were a crime
To suffer, humbly prayed me to forgive.
I was not merciless; it was enough
To seem so in the midst of tears and sighs.
I answered, ' There are others thou hast left,
•Perfidious Theseus, in that ile afar
Where tower a hundred cities/

Mother dear.
Now listen what he own'd and what denied.
We know how cruel Minos was, what law
When he had conquered Athens he imposed;
Which to avoid, the father sent his son
Hither; strong, ardent, uncontrolable.
Away he burst to lands where Zeus was bom,
And there he slew the Minotaur: the thread
That guided him throughout that labyrinth's
Intricate turns was Ariadne's gift.
Nor was he faithless to her, but he loved
Me better, and he swore by every God

Of late propitious to him, he who left
Wealth, kingdom, beauty, should be mine alone;
Mine marble palaces, Hymettos mine.
And that sweet honey from those thymy knolls
Where only bees have anything to do.

Now, mother! should I, can I, tell you more?
My poor old prying nurse, who really knows
Many things, but imagines she knows more,
Thinking I must be weary and might want
To rest my ankles higher than the floor.
Lifted up one above the couches edge;
Then down she stoopt that she might better peer.
Well I remember it, because she trod
On my loose hair; then doubling under her
Both knees, she looked quite close, sagaciously.
Then, rising up, she spat behind her back,
And then ran out, lifting in wonderment
Her head aloft and spreading out both arms.
Exclaimed, Zeus! Zeus! he precis'd! he hath preserved
His child: then muttered she with scornful voice,
A hero! of mad heroes most insane!
He indeed! he slay Minotaurs! I now
Believe he left the virgin on the shore
Of Via; what could he do else? O age
Degenerate! which for prowess can hut hoast
Such men as Theseus and Alcides are.
Ah! in my day . . hut all such days are past."

These words repeated by the unwary maid
Sooth'd Leda's breast; and softly fell her tears.
Softly too fell her daughter's at the sight.
"Mother, I think I did not love him much,

I am quite sure I do not love him now,
And why I went with him I can not guess.
Do not be angry; he will be ashamed
To come again, ashamed as much as I.
If I had not returned you might have been
A little sorry, certainly I should,
But here you see me fresh and fond as ever."
After a while said Leda, "Thou hast told
The happier part, and now relate the rest,
Nor canst thou do it in a fitter place;
For here Odysseus'"' (unlike thy return)
Beneath love's chaster torches carried home
Penelope. Her sire Icarios,
Altho he had approved the worthy choice,
Altho he had invited to his house
The future son, and altho far beyond
All others, brave, and wary, and expert
In household thrift was Laertiades,
And safe, with rocks around, his iland stood.
Felt now the grief a parent ever feels
To lose a child.

The nuptial festival
Proroged his sorrows with his guests about.
For Bakkos wound with ivy and with flowers
Together Age and Youth upon that day.
All was well then, and jocund dreams enwrapt
The soundly sleeping sire: but when arose
Morn, and he saw the coronets collapst

Droop down the chamber door, and heard the neigh
Of steeds, and saw the broken cates removed
From the piled table, then, ah then indeed
Sorrow, awhile remoter, prest again
Upon his temples, his ears sob'd, his knees
Gave way."

Then shuddered Helena, and said,
"How cruel was Odysseus thus to pain
Poor old Icarios."

"Crueller," replied
Leda, "is she who seeks a home unknown
Leaving a parent ignorant of her flight."

Strong as may grief be, curiosity
Creeps over and beyond it.

Leda, calm'd.
Could now resume her questioning; she askt
What caus'd her error: Helena would turn
The question, and entreated to know more
About Penelope, and what result.
"Grant, O ye Gods! she may be safe at home!"
Leda could now but smile, with gentle palm
Patted her cheek, and from her bosom drew
With finger slipping back the chin that dropt
Into it, obstinate to keep its place.
Then Helena, first looking round about,
Pursued her narrative.

"I will relate
The whole; for now I see you will not ask
Such idle questions as the nurse, insane,
Else how could she deem me so tiger-like
As bite? She gave me signs by nod and wink,
Finding her words convey no sense at all:
Hardly such rudeness can the crone object
To sister Clytemnestra: well you know,
Sweet mother, that your Helena was taught
Far different manners, nor would, even tho hurt.
Use tooth or nail, but tremble as the strings
Of a lyre tremble if swept all at once."
Leda, to hide her blushes, prest her face
On the fresh herbage, fearing to look up.
And twitcht unconsciously the brittle grass.
"He did not hurt thee, then?"

"Quite the reverse;
He swore he would not, and he kept his word:
Instead of hurting, he protected me
Completely."

"O ye Gods above!" exclaimed
The mother in alarm.

"Ah what a tale!
Yet, yet, go on with it; lay bare the whole
And end with it my pangs of grief and fear.
Thou hast been shown by me that even the shy
Have err'd from steddiness; how far hast thou!
If more austere thy sister than befits,
If at the wanton boys she stamps her foot,
Thou art too ready to incline an ear
To their excuses. I have seen thee stand.
Trip on, turn back, and ask what can they mean.
And wait, nor over-readily dismiss
The laughing urchins with responsive laugh.
Nature may throw a gloom o'er Modesty
But she serenes the brow with purer light,
Light pure as on Olympos Gods enjoy."
She paus'd, and sigh'd.

Commanded to confess,
The daughter said, "A grove there is not far
Beyond the city, but from thence unseen.
Because the city and the little hill
Conceal it; there in winter runs a brook,
But at this season its steep crumbling banks
Are join'd together by a fallen oak
The winds have thrown there: boughs and bark afford
An easy passage over.

Theseus lept
From the low car that bore us: when we reacht
The farther side, percieving my alarm
He laid me on the grass, with gentlest hand
Pressing my bosom to allay my fear,
And often was it careful to provide
That neither stick, nor stone beneath, nor bent
Should harm me; for the bent in woods is stiff."

While she all this was saying, Leda's breath
Blew hard and thick upon her braided hair.
"Nemesis will overtake thee," she sigh'd out,
"Unless thou tell it all from first to last."
Now somewhat less dissembling, thus adjured,
Helena spake again.

"To bring back all
Into my mind, so hurried by the road,
The rapine, the recovery, and the spears
Of my two brothers thrust against the reins.
Is hard.

The lover, lately so submiss.
Grew furious and sprang down: first to himself
He muttered, then to me; he bade me go,
He bade me stay. We hear the tramp of steeds.

Away, cried he, and threw me on the car.
But my two brothers had come up: the bits
Drawn tightly in, the javelins vibrated.
Stay, robber! they exclame, their angry eyes
Glaring like stars that struggle with a stream.
What! arm'd against the unarm'd! cried he in scorn,
Turning aside the points with open hand,
Off, boys! what would ye? think ye that I dread
Your javelins? no; your youth, your parentage.
Awes me; take homeward, take with you unharm'd
Your virgin sister; for the Powers above
Have by sure omen disapproved my deed.
Thus he; and they abstained: then, to himself,
Patiently bear thy vultur, patiently
Look down from thy chained neck and watch uptorne
Thy growing liver by insatiate beak;
Best, O Prometheus, on the piercing flints.
Endure the lightning on unclosing eyes.
Never hast thou endured love tome away
Upon the threshold from thine open arms."

The maiden blusht as she began the tale
And sorrowed as she closed it: half afraid
Her mother might observe her, she besought
The sequel of Penelope: aware
Of her devices, Leda sweetly gazed
And thus began to moralize her tale.

"On those united by an equal love
Smiles every morning, every evening brings
Fresh hymeneals: youthful maid should find
A youthful husband; such be thine, my child,
And ever mindful how chaste love excells
Unchaste, be thou Penelope, be thine
Odysseus.

I related how it grieved
Icarios to have bid his child farewell.
At first he turn'd away his tearful eyes.
And rested on the lintel of the door
His troubled brow; but soon he heard the tramp
Of the car-horses and the rolling wheels
That grated near, then where the stones no more
Paved the highway and sounds came indistinct.
Brought to him only by the fitful breeze,
Pushing out wildly thro the city gate,
Broken in spirit, weak in sight, he saw
Odysseus, who had slackened now the reins
To hear more leisurely the low discourse
Of his beloved.

Thro deep husky groans,
In broken voice, Restore my child! he cried.
True, I did yield her to thee; not so deaf
Wast thou that day, no, nor that day was!
Childless as now thou makest me: restore
My only daughter, my heart's sole delight.
My ages sole support. Thee many a maid
May please as ivell as she, O give her hack
In "pity, or come with me both again.

Odysseus heard and checkt and loost the reins.
The gentle daughter threw her left arm round
The old man's neck, and sooth'd his wrinkled cheek
With her warm tears: the youth had paus'd, then

spake.
Me Sparta might detain, me might the home
Of our Penelope, hut home have I,
Home, people aged sire, and household gods,
Neglected never with impunity.

Pious! if thou art pious, said the sire.
Restore her: she is willing, as thou seest.

Let her then choose, said he of Ithaca.
Penelope cast down her pallid brow
While her right hand held tight the hero's vest,
And sobs shook heavily her struggling heart.

Choose, choose Icarios cried; remember her
Who bore thee; pity me.

Fierce tortures wrung
Nor broke her silence.

Speak, Penelope!
Said softly her Odysseus. Round the neck
Paternal stil her arm was left, her face
Turn'd to the other side, her veil drawn close.
Heavy with tears, until with groan and gasp
The weak neck fell upon the neck less weak.
Sorrowful, and yet proud at heart, returned
Icarios home: the elders his compeers
Came forth and envied him and soon consoled:
Hence was devoted (why wert thou away?)
That low turf altar rais'd to Modesty."