| |
| MAIDEN there was whom Jove | |
| Illuded into love, | |
| Happy and pure was she; | |
| Glorious from her the shore became, | |
| And Helle lifted up her name | 5 |
| To shine eternal o’er the river-sea. | |
| |
| And many tears are shed | |
| Upon thy bridal-bed, | |
| Star of the swimmer in the lonely night! | |
| Who with unbraided hair | 10 |
| Wipedst a breast so fair, | |
| Bounding with toil, more bounding with delight. | |
| |
| But they whose prow hath past thy straits | |
| And, ranged before Byzantion’s gates, | |
| Bring to the God of sea the victim due, | 15 |
| Even from the altar raise their eyes, | |
| And drop the chalice with surprise, | |
| And at such grandeur have forgotten you. | |
| |
| At last there swells the hymn of praise, | |
| And who inspires those sacred lays? | 20 |
| “The founder of the walls ye see.” | |
| What human power could elevate | |
| Those walls, that citadel, that gate? | |
| “Miletos, O my sons! was he.” | |
| |
| Hail then, Miletos! hail, beloved town, | 25 |
| Parent of me and mine! | |
| But let not power alone be thy renown, | |
| Nor chiefs of ancient line. | |
| |
| Nor visits of the Gods, unless | |
| They leave their thoughts below, | 30 |
| And teach us that we most should bless | |
| Those to whom most we owe. | |
| |
| Restless is Wealth; the nerves of Power | |
| Sink, as a lute’s in rain: | |
| The Gods lend only for an hour | 35 |
| And then call back again | |
| |
| All else than Wisdom; she alone, | |
| In Truth’s or Virtue’s form, | |
| Descending from the starry throne | |
| Through radiance and through storm, | 40 |
| |
| Remains as long as godlike men | |
| Afford her audience meet, | |
| Nor Time nor War tread down agen | |
| The traces of her feet. | |
| |
| Alway hast thou, Miletos, been the friend, | 45 |
| Protector, guardian, father, of the wise; | |
| Therefor shall thy dominion never end | |
| Till Fame, despoiled of voice and pinion, dies. | |
| |
| “With favoring shouts and flowers thrown fast behind, | |
| Arctinos ran his race, | 50 |
| No wanderer he, alone and blind— | |
| And Melesander was untorn by Thrace. | |
| |
| There have been, but not here, | |
| Rich men who swept aside the royal feast | |
| On child’s or bondman’s breast, | 55 |
| Bidding the wise and aged disappear. | |
| |
| Revere the aged and the wise, | |
| Aspasia! but thy sandal is not worn | |
| To trample on these things of scorn; | |
| By his own sting the fire-bound scorpion dies. | 60 |
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