Coresus and Callirhoe

With song and dance the maids of Calydon
Had met to celebrate the yearly rites
Of Bacchus. Where two taller whirl around
The rope, and call another to run in,
A wanton one pusht forward her who stood
Aside her; when she stumbled they all laugh t
To see her upright heels and scattered hair.
'Twas then, Callirhoe, that thy mother fail'd
Even with prayer to bring thee back again
Before the altar: it is said a tear
Roll'd down thy cheek from shame, and not without
A blush of anger . . who on earth can vouch
For this? since both thy hands hid both thy cheeks.

Rising from his high seat the youthful priest
Came forward, pitying her: of graceful mien
Coresus was, and worthy of his God.
Ah poor Coresus! luckless was the hour
Of his first meeting her; there might have been
Hour more propitious; she perhaps had loved
Distractedly the youth she now abhor'd;
He too, unless her blushes and her tears
Had penetrated deep his generous heart.
Might have loved on and sung his woes away.
Now neither butting goat nor honeyed must
Pourd by the straining boys between his horns
Regarded he; no, nor with wonted cheer
Appeard to him the God of gamesome glee.
Not even when Hesper call'd his winking train
Around him, and when shook the lower shrubs
More than the breeze had shaken them erewhile,
Would he decline his aking eyes to sleep;

But out of the inclosure, where the grass
Was rank with fallen leaves and heavy dew,
Lonely he stood beneath an ilex shade,
And meditated long and soon forgot
The words he had to say: he could recall
(He thought) her features, but before him rose
A face less beautiful, not less severe.
Many the days he sought the maid in vain.
Many the nights he stood before the house;
She waits not even to be seen; no foot
Passes her door, and the dog barks, but strait
Up springs she from her chair; she surely hears
And knows his tread; what other can it be?
When she would break a thread off with her teeth
She stops, and holds it in a trembling hand
Suspended, just above the humid lip
White now with fear; and often her loose locks
She dashes back to place a surer ear
Against the hinge: is any footfall heard
Passing the portico, he steps that way;
If soft the sound, he stands there, none but he:
If none, he certainly is close behind.

The reed grows harder from perpetual winds,
From fears perpetual harder grows the maid.
At first Callirhoe scarcely would confess
To her own mother, scarcely to herself;
Now she is ready, now she is resolved
AVith savage speech his fondness to repay.
Words she would gather for his punishment,
And is more angry when she finds not one;
An aggravation of his past offence.
Flexible is the coral branch beneath
The Erythraean sea; to air exposed
It stiffens, no strong hand can bend it back:
Such was her nature: she had laid aside
Her former manners; its ingenuous shame
Quitted that cheek it lately discomposed;
Crouds she avoided not, nor greatly cared
If others knew what she but yesterday
Was vext at knowing: she rejoiced to hear
A name she loath'd so late. Vainglory caught
And made a plaything of an empty heart.
When she hears footsteps from behind, she checks
Her own, to let him either stop or pass;
She would not wish his love nor him away.
Conscious that she is walking over fire
Unwounded, on a level with the Gods,
And rendering null the noblest gifts they gave.

Where grows a dittany that heals the smart
Love's broken arrow leaves within the breast?
He loves not who such anguish can endure,
He who can burst asunder such a bond
Loves not.

Hard -breathing from his inmost soul
Catillus siez'd her hand, then threw it back
And pour'd forth with stern look these bitter words.
"No longer ask I pity on my grief,
Callirhoe! tis unworthy of us both.
But there is one who knows it, one above,
And will avenge it. Thou hast seen the last
Of all the tears these eyes will ever shed;
This grieves me, and this only . . Pestilence
Now stalks in darkness on from street to street,
And slow steps follow: wasted, worn away,
The aged are gone forth, to learn the will
Of those we worship; and their late return,
Lookt for since dawn from all the higher roofs,
In vain is lookt for. Thro the city lie
Children whom dying parents would embrace,
Innocent children! they have not been spared.
And shall the guilty before heaven escape?

I was contemn'd, and I deserv'd contempt,
I loved imprudently; yet throughout life
Those arts I cherisht which lead youth aright,
And strengthen manhood and adorn old-age.
Old-age! for me there will be none: my brow
Hath worn its crown . . for what? that festal songs
May rise around the altar, sung by thee.
Worthy I was to woo, and woo I did;
I am unworthy now, and now abstain,
Subjected to the levity of all,

Even my own friends: and yet might I have stood
Above those equal-aged, whether the prize
Were olive, given by heroes, whether bay
Which only Gods, and they on few, bestow.
Or whether, O Callirhoe! in thy love.

Let kings throw largesses around, let earth
And ocean be explored that vulgar eyes
May gaze at vulgar heads rais'd somewhat higher.
The Gods alone give genius, they alone
Give beauty . . why so seldom to unite!
She shines her hour, and then the worshiper
Rises and goes. Genius stands cold, apart.
Like Saturn in the skies; his aspect seems,
To mortal men below, oblique, malign ..."
While he was speaking and about to pause,
Downcast, with silent and slow step approacht
They who went forth to touch with purest hands
The altar, and appease the offended Powers.
The virgin saw them coming; soon she heard
A croud's tumultuous outcries and turned pale;
But paler was Coresus who presaged
The impending evil; paler when he heard
Curses and (painfuller) immodest speech.
He hastened to withdraw her; but aloud
Palaemon cried,

"Stay here! stay here thou too
O wretched girl! and take the words I bring.
The God's own words: no longer shall the throng
Around thee rise infuriate, nor shall maids
And matrons turn on thee their dying look
Or call the torch funereal by thy name."

Impatient and exultant sprang the youth;
Wildly he threw his arms around her neck.
Then, falling on his knees,

"Hail thou " he cried,
"Who fillest with thy deity the grove
Of high Dodona, and with brow serene
Hast clear'd the troubled sky!

She lives! she lives!
The source of sorrow to none else than me:
Neither my dreams nor Bacchus promist this."
Palaemon, after solemn silence, spake:

"Alas! how sadly do young hopes decieve!
The sight of future things was granted thee
In vain: Love lowers his saffron veil, runs off,
And thro the dimness thou seest only Love.
Forward, ye youths! since Jupiter ordains,
And since the son of Semele hath deign'd
To honor and avenge his chosen priest,
Lead the peace-offering, the pure victim, forth . .
Lead forth Callirhoe."

Thro the maiden's veins
The blood crept cold: she staggered, fell . . upheaved
And drag'd away by some strong arm, she reacht
The temple: consciousness (not soon) returned
Thro the loud tramplings, on the marble floor,
Of those who carried incense fresh-alight.
And the salt sprinklings from the frigid font.

"Take " said Palaemon, trembling as he spake,
"Take thou this sword, Coresus! 'tis thy part.
Often hast thou the avenging Gods invoked,
And wouldst thou cast aside the vows they grant?
Impious! impossible! no grace is this
To thee, but sign to all that in his priest
Wrong'd and offended is the God he serves.
Warning to all that vows be wisely vow'd.
But if among this concourse there stand one
Who pities so the victim, that for hers
He yields his life, then shall the pestilence,
Under Jove's saving son, our Bacchus, cease."

With his veind hand a tear the youth swept off:
Less mournfully than scornfully said he,

"Listen! how swift, how still, their steps retreat!
Now then, Callirhoe! now my breast is firm;
None stand before me: in a father's place
And in a lover's I will here discharge
No empty duty."

Cries and groans are heard,
And seen upon the pavement where he stood
His writhing limbs.

With sudden terror flies
The croud bewildered, dreading lest a blood
So sacred should run on and reach their feet.
The temple and the grove around it moan,
And other murmurs, other cries, than rose
So lately, fill the city and the plain.

First flies the rumor that the priest had fallen
By his own hand; it gathered force, and soon
That both were smitten by the wrathful Gods.
From its own weight is that vast multitude
Pusht onward, driven back, conglomerated,
Broken, disperst, like waves on stormy seas.