Chapter 8
Our pain is as reward and treasure found! The golden seal of harmony has stamped us, And while Death touches us, we glory, victors! We tremble; hail O rhythm's thrice-sacred tremor! A worm may live sunless beneath the earth That a new butterfly of silken wings May live an hour of perfect life and die. The wound's gash turns into a living fountain!
* * * * *
Things gray, things crystal, myriad hues of green, Gushings of fountains clear, and caterpillars, Earth's things immovable, air-sailing ships, And little worms, and bees, and butterflies, Sweet flower-grails and censers, fondling grass, The moss-down's countless kisses, echoes from Below, and mandolins ethereal, Leaves quivering and lilies languor-bringing!
* * * * *
The turtle-doves know not what you know, blossoms, The chosen things of beautiful loves, you! Kisses and starts and wooings of the boughs! The birth of each of you is a world's dawn! You know, O little tearful short-lived things, You know pleasure's and joy's eternities! We, the gold garlands wreathed about thy root, Are like celestial and thoughtful eyes!
* * * * *
Blithe flowers, boughs that hang with blossoms full, From dandelions to the chamaemele, You may be like the glowing coals or gems, Or like a maiden's rosy cheeks and lips. Though you, like hands, may open full or empty, And though you be dawn's smiles or evening's candles, Or the fair palaces of Fairy Dew, The gazing eyes are we! We are the eyes!
* * * * *
Though small we are, a great world hides in us; And in us clouds of care and dales of grief You may descry; the sky's tranquility; The heaving of the sea about the ships At evenings; tears that roll not down the cheeks; And something else inexplicable. Oh, What prison's kin are we? Who would believe it? One, damnèd, and godlike, dwells in us; and she is Thought!
* * * * *
Frolick, and form, and wanton playfulness, And some unspoken radiant vanity, And some enrapturing bewitching charm, And perfect virgin beauty are your own! Fading like gods' pale images, you seem! Even the bird sometimes bows to your grace! And Nereids wind-footed fan your faces, O roses with a thousand smiles divine!
* * * * *
A god commanded it, the flower-haired April! "O flowing fragrance, change to brilliancy!" Thus you are scentless, roses of Bengal; All others' perfume is bright light in you. And thou, O lily, king among the flowers, From what far world hast thou been led astray? Was it from fragrance's own womb, or from The whitest star? And we, O Palm? Who knows!
River ethereal of fragrance, stay! Thou hast not flowed nor watered us at birth. We said to fragrance: "Cease thy flowing course; Well not from us; nor be our breath! Sink deep Into our heart's recesses; close thyself Regardless of thy perfume in our soul! Then seek to find our thought and live with it And flow from it as honey from the bee!"
* * * * *
"Bring forth from the rich treasures of the sun All colors, flowers, and deck yourselves with them!" We said unto our little brothers: "Make Robes of the heaven's rainbow for your raiment!" And to ourselves we said: "Soul, I Shall let aside all brilliance! I need not Sunset or dawn; enough would be something Of the great sea and of the heaven's smile!"
* * * * *
Become a cloud, O great Desire, and speak With lightnings and with thunders! Rise, a lark, And sing and soar towards a new starry garden! Turn all thy flooding music into love, Mingle with it all children's innocence And all the beauty that is thine; still thou Wilt have love's shadow only but not love. For love shines, burns, illumines quenchlessly!
* * * * *
The garden draws life from a triple soul, A soul that spreads creeping upon the earth With roots beneath and wings above. A city, The caterpillar builds in its great depths; The bird builds love towards heights ethereal! About all green things live to be thy slaves And trimming ornaments, O palm! How high Skyward thou raisest thy grace-moulded body!
* * * * *
No ivy limits and no offshoot mars Thy trunk's unchained and chiseled nakedness; And yet, though naked, with a charm dream-wrought Thou coverest the alleys of the garden. And as an emblem of thy reign, a crown Of beams pearl-born and silver-born shines bright As it hangs trembling from thy top, O palm. Oh what a rhythm governs thy form divine!
* * * * *
So beautiful is not the cypress young As it waves towards the sky, moved by the breeze! So beautiful is not the mossy fountain That sings like bard and nourishes like mother! So beautiful is not sunrise or sunset! Another world's day hangs from thy high crest! So beautiful is not the tranquil lake! Gods and their hymns god-sung are at thy feet!
* * * * *
Neither an angel's shade in a hermit's cave, Nor harmony's voice in Night's deep silence, Nor the great maker's thought just as it dawns In his wide-fronted heaven, and is still A maiden dream unyoked before it finds A dwelling in the form of word or music, Color or marble! None of these is like Thine image caught and mirrored in our thought!
Is it transparent and immortal blood That flows in thee, or sap too weak to wake thee From thy long spell of blind and voiceless sleep Into a crystal life's fair revelry? Is thy head's crown another's counterfeit, Or thine own locks that smitten by the wind Become stringed lyres to sing in murmurs sweet Of the world's symphony and of thy beauty?
* * * * *
Neither thy boughs nor locks they are, but wings That thou wouldst ply with gentle flutterings! Wings? They are not, though they become; and ever A hunger tortures thee, and ever thou Strugglest to enter a sublimer world! Right, left, high, far, thou seekest a fair city, Some sunlit Athens, and standest bent on flying With swans and cranes towards the azure heavens.
* * * * *
Art thou a relic of a dead age and great, Or the first dew of a becoming life? Now some Wood Nymph bound within thee peeps out Struggling to flow into the light about; And now thou risest like the column last Of an old temple that once stood in Hellas. Evening or morning, end or a beginning, Something binds thee to skies beyond all sight.
* * * * *
Hosannas from thy boughs and palm leaves flow, Hosannas from thy royal height, as prayer To some unknown god's charms, who passes by Revealing his fair godhead first to thee. And lo, the hillsides answer thine hosannas! Oh, what thy visions, what thy secrets are? Some tremor, from new heavens wafted, makes The supple flowers and green leaves quiver.
* * * * *
And we? The migrant bird did come to us; The passing wind did touch us with its wing; The restless brook did check its rapid course; The child did cast on us his guileless glance; The jonquil proud did greet us with a nod; And the moon did look down to see us here; And all beheld our surface; none our depths! Thus the world glided over us and vanished!
* * * * *
Sweet orange blossoms, what asked the nightingales? What would the dry cicala know of noontide? All things that groan from the great depths of earth, All songs that mount exultant to the stars, The eating moth's faint voice, the restless cricket's, Perfumes and breezes, creatures lone and mated, All things that fly and creep and bend and stoop, Something they know of thee and hide it from us.
* * * * *
Within our breasts, a soul of storm and pitch Puts into our minds evil thoughts of thee. The magpie chatters long to the night bat Of thee; the locust boasts she is like thee; The wasp draws ample pleasure in thy shelter; And the night raven finds delight in thee. A world of evil and of scorn lies wait For thee who mountest tranquil to the stars.
O Health blown from the heart of the pure pine! Where thy feet tread, fruits grow 'midst thorns and clover; If with the streams thou flowest, the elements Shine; for pure wine, thou reapest the fair clusters; And where thou lingerest, a city rises! Thy breasts flow ever with milk; thy lips with dew! O mother fruitful, strong, and whole, some ill Rots us and we are pale like death's faint tapers!
* * * * *
Boughs, tresses, wings; shadows whose grace divine Frolics and spreads as bough or tress or wing; Another night, you took another form In the enchanted pitiless moonlight, A form that was neither bough, tress, nor wing: Swords you seemed, ready to descend and smite! Night's roaming butterfly, be merciful! Lift us upon thy wings and fly away!
* * * * *
Illness and wakefulness have tortured us, O palm, and we saw thee bend secretly! The dragon's heads and dogwoods were awake; We saw thee leading a strange dance with them At night; and in our first sleep, we beheld thee A heavy dream roaming with mulleins and Chameleons; about thee closed whole gardens Of thistles, aloes hard, and hosts of briars!
* * * * *
We dreamed and lo, thou wert demanding tribute Of life, blood-drenched; and in thy being raged A savage hunger; and some beast flesh-eating Nestled in thee and gnawed a hole through thee; And thy winged body turned into a cave; A vulture perched as crown upon thy head; And like fire-flames, and sea-waves, and sword-blades, From root to top, fierce snakes crept up and coiled!
* * * * *
Who ever thought of it? What Fate has ruled That from ill-smelling things and worthless stuff Should rise things of resplendent green? and from Deforming filth, the thrice-pure miracle Of May and April? Hence things blue and black Mingle in us; and in our souls, spread oceans And narrow paths; and while our minds converse With things sublime, something thrice-base defiles us!
* * * * *
O Sun, assail and strangle all black dreams, Our life's dim vapors and ill-working demons! But nourish all things good and beautiful Like sunbeams playing and like nightingales! And thou, O moon, spread over savage Night A veil translucent of heart-felt sympathy! Wave everywhere, O Beauty's purple robe! Let the great world be love and love's sweet lyre!
* * * * *
Day comes! Light scatters a thousand eyes on thee So that thou mayest greet the woods and mountains, The nests upon the trees, the palaces Of cities, and the ships on open seas Or ports. At nights, mounted on steeds of light Beautiful Fairies come from high to serve thee; The poplar lifts its many hands to thee; And the dark cypresses lull thee to sleep.
With pelicans and eagles thou conversest, And drop by drop thou drinkest the world's music; Thou seest things far, things near, and things above; Things infinite, intangible, and great; And thou communest with air-sailing ships, Light-rays, and wings, and the world-mounting ladder; While we, bent low, and lashed by sorrow's whip, Listen to the great throbbing of Earth's heart!
* * * * *
We heard it, the great throbbing of Earth's heart, The new song inconceivable, unheard, Of consummate and perfect sound! Through it, some thunder-stricken angel groans; All April's gardens breathe in fragrant balms; Some unfulfilled and secret longings weep; And a fire crackles that will ruin worlds! Something that passes by, an endless riddle!
* * * * *
Tell thou the sunlit story of the air; We shall unroll to you the tale of blackness. Come, let us mingle the two elements, Thy mighty power with our own winning grace! In unseen places, small and cold and sunless, A world of workers and of corsairs dwell; And there are paths and deeds of theirs, and days, And what the infinite air-spheres have not!
* * * * *
A swarm of bees has told us of their life, And a new youth and wise shone unto us! The grass hides unsuspected miracles; Beside us, the ant opens a deep path; A lizard, slowly creeping from below, Brought us here news of countries, nations, arts; A butterfly on her swift flight to wed The little flowers broadened our world of thought!
* * * * *
Unwedded, fruitless Palm, fair mystery! Strange was the hour--who will believe it now?-- The divine world willed to become a thought, And thought revealed itself unto our mind! Now, unto darkness and to riddles new, Our little life is ready to depart! O Palm, make answer; lo, before thou speakest Thy word sublime, a hand lays wait to smite!
* * * * *
O Palm, a hand did spread to sow us here; That hand will spread again to root us out, And we shall die! The billow and the wind And the still waters will sweep us away Mercilessly! The flowery spring will not Lament us! The wide world will never know We perished! And beneath thy shadow's charms, Another fragrant race will rise to life.
* * * * *
Nor will there be a monument for us That might retain the phantom of our passing! Only about thee will a robe of light Adorn thee with a new and deathless gleam: And it shall be our thought, and word, and rime! And in the eyes of an astonished world, Thou wilt appear like a gold-green new star; Yet neither thou nor others will know of us!
FOOTNOTES
[1] This essay is republished, with a few changes, from _Poet Lore_, vol. xxviii, no. 1, pp. 78-104.
[2] My translation of it originally appeared in the _Stratford Journal_, from which I quote it in its entirety.
[3] Tigrane Yergate, _op. cit._, p. 710.
[4] Jean Moréas, _Voyage de Grèce_, 1898.
[5] On Patras, the birth-place of the poet. See Introduction, p. 13.
[6] On Missolonghi, the place of the poet's childhood. See Introduction, p. 15.
[7] On the Island of Corfu, one of the most important centers of the literary renaissance of modern Greece.
[8] Iacobos Polylas, 1826-98, translator of the _Odyssey_ and of parts of the _Iliad_, and an important figure in the struggle for the vernacular. He has also translated some of Shakespeare's plays.
[9] Dionysios Solomos, born in Zante, 1748, died in Corfu, 1857. He is the first great poet of modern Greece. He has written lyrics in Italian and in Greek. Several of his songs have spread as folk songs throughout the Greek world. He is mainly known as the poet of the modern Greek national hymn to Liberty.
[10] Gerasimos Markoras, born in Cephalonia, 1826, died in Corfu, 1911, a lyric and epic poet. His poem "Oath" was inspired by the Cretan struggle for freedom.
[11] On Egypt, whence the first lights of civilization dawned on Greece.
[12] On Mt. Athos, the Holy Mountain of the modern Greeks, inhabited by about ten thousand monks. Although called by its hermits "the virgin's garden" no female creature is allowed to enter its ground.
[13] Panselenus, a famous Byzantine painter, who is believed to be the author of some of the Madonnas and Christs found in the monasteries of the mountain.
[14] On classic Greece, in contrast with the following sonnet which refers to the spirit of Greece throughout the ages, from the classic period to the time of the Byzantine Empire.
[15] The Islands of the Ionian Sea.
[16] The hero of medieval Greece, Digenes Akritas, who is supposed to have lived on the slopes of the Taurus mountains in Asia Minor and to have fought against the invading Saracens. There are a great number of folk-songs about him not only in Greek but in Turkish, Bulgarian, Serbian, and Albanian as well.
[17] The word, meaning "blessed one," is here applied to ideal womanhood and must not be confused with Makaria of p. 103, the mythical Theban princess.
[18] The translator of Homer and Shakespeare. See notes 8 and 9, p. 80.
[19] A pseudonym for Constantine Chatzopoulos, one of the leading literary figures in Athens to-day. He has written poems under this pseudonym. But he is now mainly known as a master of short stories which he has published under his real name, and as the translator of Göthe's _Faust_ and of Hofmannsthal's _Electra_. This poem dedicated to him was written during the unfortunate Greco-Turkish war of 1897.
[20] Maviles was born in Ithaca, 1860, and fell in the battle of Driscos, November 29, 1912. He is the writer of exquisite sonnets and the successful translator of various foreign poems. The Cretan Revolution of 1896 is here alluded to, which led to the Greco-Turkish war of 1897. Maviles was one of the first to hasten to Crete to help in the struggle for liberty.
[21] Alexandros Pallis is one of the greatest literary figures of contemporary Greece, who, like Psicharis, has lived mostly far from Greece. He is a poet, a critic, and a satirist. But his fame is mainly due to his translation of the _Iliad_ and that of the _New Testament_. The publication of the latter caused the student riots of 1901.
[22] The poet had in mind the following lines of Sully Prudhomme from his _Stances et Poèmes_, L'âme:
Tous les corps offrent des contours, Mais d'ou vienne la forme qui touche? Comment fais-tu les grands amours, Petite ligne de la bouche?
PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U.S.A.