Chapter 2

THE Gadite men the royal charge obey. Now fragments weighed up from th’ uneven streets Leave the ground black beneath; again the sun Shines into what were porches, and on steps Once warm with frequentation—clients, friends, All morning, satchelled idlers all mid-day, Lying half-up and languid though at games. Some raise the painted pavement, some on wheels Draw slow its laminous length, some intersperse Salt waters through the sordid heaps, and seize The flowers and figures starting fresh to view. Others rub hard large masses, and essay To polish into white what they misdeem The growing green of many trackless years. Far off at intervals the axe resounds With regular strong stroke, and nearer home Dull falls the mallet with long labour fringed. Here arches are discovered, there huge beams Resist the hatchet, but in fresher air Soon drop away: there spreads a marble squared And smoothened; some high pillar for its base Chose it, which now lies ruined in the dust. Clearing the soil at bottom, they espy A crevice: they, intent on treasure, strive Strenuous, and groan, to move it: one exclaims, “I hear the rusty metal grate; it moves!” Now, overturning it, backward they start, And stop again, and see a serpent pant, See his throat thicken, and the crispéd scales Rise ruffled, while upon the middle fold He keeps his wary head and blinking eye, Curling more close and crouching ere he strike. Go mighty men, invade far cities, go— And be such treasure portions to your heirs. Six days they laboured: on the seventh day Returning, all their labours were destroyed. ’Twas not by mortal hand, or from their tents ’Twere visible; for these were now removed Above, here neither noxious mist ascends Nor the way wearies ere the work begin. There Gebir, pierced with sorrow, spake these words: “Ye men of Gades, armed with brazen shields, And ye of near Tartessus, where the shore Stoops to receive the tribute which all owe To Boetis and his banks for their attire, Ye too whom Durius bore on level meads, Inherent in your hearts is bravery: For earth contains no nation where abounds The generous horse and not the warlike man. But neither soldier now nor steed avails: Nor steed nor soldier can oppose the gods: Nor is there ought above like Jove himself; Nor weighs against his purpose, when once fixed, Aught but, with supplicating knee, the prayers. Swifter than light are they, and every face, Though different, glows with beauty; at the throne Of mercy, when clouds shut it from mankind, They fall bare-bosomed, and indignant Jove Drops at the soothing sweetness of their voice The thunder from his hand; let us arise On these high places daily, beat our breast, Prostrate ourselves and deprecate his wrath.” The people bowed their bodies and obeyed: Nine mornings with white ashes on their heads, Lamented they their toil each night o’erthrown. And now the largest orbit of the year, Leaning o’er black Mocattam’s rubied brow, Proceeded slow, majestic, and serene, Now seemed not further than the nearest cliff, And crimson light struck soft the phosphor wave. Then Gebir spake to Tamar in these words: “Tamar! I am thy elder and thy king, But am thy brother too, nor ever said, ‘Give me thy secret and become my slave:’ But haste thee not away; I will myself Await the nymph, disguised in thy attire.” Then starting from attention Tamar cried: “Brother! in sacred truth it cannot be! My life is yours, my love must be my own: Oh, surely he who seeks a second love Never felt one, or ’tis not one I feel.” But Gebir with complacent smile replied: “Go then, fond Tamar, go in happy hour— But ere thou partest ponder in thy breast And well bethink thee, lest thou part deceived, Will she disclose to thee the mysteries Of our calamity? and unconstrained? When even her love thy strength had to disclose. My heart indeed is full, but witness heaven! My people, not my passion, fills my heart.” “Then let me kiss thy garment,” said the youth, “And heaven be with thee, and on me thy grace.” Him then the monarch thus once more addressed: “Be of good courage: hast thou yet forgot What chaplets languished round thy unburnt hair, In colour like some tall smooth beech’s leaves Curled by autumnal suns?” How flattery Excites a pleasant, soothes a painful shame! “These,” amid stifled blushes Tamar said, “Were of the flowering raspberry and vine: But, ah! the seasons will not wait for love; Seek out some other now.” They parted here: And Gebir bending through the woodlands culled The creeping vine and viscous raspberry, Less green and less compliant than they were; And twisted in those mossy tufts that grow On brakes of roses when the roses fade: And as he passes on, the little hinds That shake for bristly herds the foodful bough, Wonder, stand still, gaze, and trip satisfied; Pleased more if chestnut, out of prickly husk Shot from the sandal, roll along the glade. And thus unnoticed went he, and untired Stepped up the acclivity; and as he stepped, And as the garlands nodded o’er his brow, Sudden from under a close alder sprang Th’ expectant nymph, and seized him unaware. He staggered at the shock; his feet at once Slipped backward from the withered grass short-grazed; But striking out one arm, though without aim, Then grasping with his other, he enclosed The struggler; she gained not one step’s retreat, Urging with open hands against his throat Intense, now holding in her breath constrained, Now pushing with quick impulse and by starts, Till the dust blackened upon every pore. Nearer he drew her and yet nearer, clasped Above the knees midway, and now one arm Fell, and her other lapsing o’er the neck Of Gebir swung against his back incurved, The swoll’n veins glowing deep, and with a groan On his broad shoulder fell her face reclined. But ah, she knew not whom that roseate face Cooled with its breath ambrosial; for she stood High on the bank, and often swept and broke His chaplets mingled with her loosened hair. Whether while Tamar tarried came desire, And she grown languid loosed the wings of love, Which she before held proudly at her will, And nought but Tamar in her soul, and nought Where Tamar was that seemed or feared deceit, To fraud she yielded what no force had gained— Or whether Jove in pity to mankind, When from his crystal fount the visual orbs He filled with piercing ether and endued With somewhat of omnipotence, ordained That never two fair forms at once torment The human heart and draw it different ways, And thus in prowess like a god the chief Subdued her strength nor softened at her charms— The nymph divine, the magic mistress, failed. Recovering, still half resting on the turf, She looked up wildly, and could now descry The kingly brow, arched lofty for command. “Traitor!” said she, undaunted, though amaze Threw o’er her varying cheek the air of fear, “Thinkest thou thus that with impunity Thou hast forsooth deceived me? dar’st thou deem Those eyes not hateful that have seen me fall? O heaven! soon may they close on my disgrace. Merciless man, what! for one sheep estranged Hast thou thrown into dungeons and of day Amerced thy shepherd? hast thou, while the iron Pierced through his tender limbs into his soul, By threats, by tortures, torn out that offence, And heard him (oh, could I!) avow his love? Say, hast thou? cruel, hateful!—ah my fears! I feel them true! speak, tell me, are they true?” She blending thus entreaty with reproach Bent forward, as though falling on her knee Whence she had hardly risen, and at this pause Shed from her large dark eyes a shower of tears. Th’ Iberian king her sorrow thus consoled. “Weep no more, heavenly damsel, weep no more: Neither by force withheld, or choice estranged Thy Tamar lives, and only lives for thee. Happy, thrice happy, you! ’tis me alone Whom heaven and earth and ocean with one hate Conspire on, and throughout each path pursue. Whether in waves beneath or skies above Thou hast thy habitation, ’tis from heaven, From heaven alone, such power, such charms, descend. Then oh! discover whence that ruin comes Each night upon our city, whence are heard Those yells of rapture round our fallen walls: In our affliction can the gods delight, Or meet oblation for the nymphs are tears?” He spake, and indignation sank in woe. Which she perceiving, pride refreshed her heart, Hope wreathed her mouth with smiles, and she exclaimed: “Neither the gods afflict you, nor the nymphs. Return me him who won my heart, return Him whom my bosom pants for, as the steeds In the sun’s chariot for the western wave, The gods will prosper thee, and Tamar prove How nymphs the torments that they cause assuage. Promise me this! indeed I think thou hast, But ’tis so pleasing, promise it once more.” “Once more I promise,” cried the gladdened king, “By my right hand and by myself I swear, And ocean’s gods and heaven’s gods I adjure, Thou shalt be Tamar’s, Tamar shalt be thine.” Then she, regarding him long fixed, replied: “I have thy promise, take thou my advice. Gebir, this land of Egypt is a land Of incantation, demons rule these waves; These are against thee, these thy works destroy. Where thou hast built thy palace, and hast left The seven pillars to remain in front, Sacrifice there, and all these rites observe. Go, but go early, ere the gladsome Hours, Strew saffron in the path of rising Morn, Ere the bee buzzing o’er flowers fresh disclosed Examine where he may the best alight Nor scatter off the bloom, ere cold-lipped herds Crop the pale herbage round each other’s bed, Lead seven bulls, well pastured and well formed, Their neck unblemished and their horns unringed, And at each pillar sacrifice thou one. Around each base rub thrice the black’ning blood, And burn the curling shavings of the hoof; And of the forehead locks thou also burn: The yellow galls, with equal care preserved, Pour at the seventh statue from the north.” He listened, and on her his eyes intent Perceived her not, and she had disappeared— So deep he pondered her important words. And now had morn arisen and he performed Almost the whole enjoined him: he had reached The seventh statue, poured the yellow galls, The forelock from his left he had released And burnt the curling shavings of the hoof Moistened with myrrh; when suddenly a flame Spired from the fragrant smoke, nor sooner spired Down sank the brazen fabric at his feet. He started back, gazed, nor could aught but gaze, And cold dread stiffened up his hair flower-twined; Then with a long and tacit step, one arm Behind, and every finger wide outspread, He looked and tottered on a black abyss. He thought he sometimes heard a distant voice Breathe through the cavern’s mouth, and further on Faint murmurs now, now hollow groans reply. Therefore suspended he his crook above, Dropped it, and heard it rolling step by step: He entered, and a mingled sound arose Like one (when shaken from some temple’s roof By zealous hand, they and their fretted nest) Of birds that wintering watch in Memnon’s tomb, And tell the halcyons when spring first returns.

THIRD BOOK.