| |
| .. THEY 1 came out on a lovely pleasance, that dream’d of oasis, | |
| Fortunat isle, the abode o’ the blest, their fair Happy Woodland. | |
| Here is an ampler sky, those meads ar’ azur’d by a gentler | |
| Sun than th’ Earth, an’ a new starworld their darkness adorneth. | |
| Some were matching afoot their speed on a grassy arena, | 5 |
| In playful combat some wrestling upon the yellow sand, | |
| Part in a dance-rhythm or poetry’s fine phantasy engage; | |
| While full-toga’d anear their high-priest musical Orpheus | |
| Bade his prime sev’n tones in varied harmony discourse, | |
| Now with finger, anon sounding with an ivory plectrum. | 10 |
| And here Æneas met Teucer’s fortunate offspring, | |
| High-spirited heroes, fair-favor’d sons o’ the morning, | |
| Assarac and Ilos, and Dardan founder of Ilium: | |
| Their radiant chariots he espied rank’t empty afar off, | |
| Their spears planted afield, their horses wandering at large, | 15 |
| Grazing around:—as on earth their joy had been, whether armour | |
| Or chariot had charm’d them, or if ’twere good manage and care | |
| Of the gallant warhorse, the delight liv’d here unabated: | |
| Lo! then others, that about the meadow sat feasting in idless, | |
| And chanting for joy a familiar pæan of old earth, | 20 |
| By fragrant laurel o’ercanopied, where ’twixt enamel’d banks | |
| Bountiful Eridanus glides throu’ their bosky retirement. | |
| Here were men who bled for honour, their country defending; | |
| Priests, whose lives wer’ a flame of chastity on God’s altar; | |
| Holy poets, content to await their crown of Apollo; | 25 |
| Discoverers, whose labour had aided life or ennobled; | |
| Or who fair memories had left through kindly deserving. | |
| On their brow a fillet pearl-white distinguisheth all these: | |
| Whom the Sibyl, for they drew round, in question accosted, | |
| And most Musæus, who tower’d noble among them, | 30 |
| Center of all that sea of bright faces looking upward. | |
| ‘Tell, happy souls, and thou poet and high mystic illustrious, | |
| Where dwelleth Anchises? what home hath he? for ’tis in his quest | |
| We hither have made journey across Hell’s watery marches.’ | |
| Thereto with brief parley rejoin’d that mystic of old-time. | 35 |
| ‘In no certain abode we remain: by turn the forest glade | |
| Haunt we, lilied stream-bank, sunny mead; and o’er valley and rock | |
| At will rove we: but if ye aright your purpose arede me, | |
| Mount ye the hill: myself will prove how easy the pathway.’ | |
| Speaking he led: and come to the upland, sheweth a fair plain | 40 |
| Gleaming aneath; and they, with grateful adieu, the descent made. | |
| Now lord Anchises was down i’ the green valley musing, | |
| Where the spirits confin’d that await mortal resurrection | |
| While diligently he mark’d, his thought had turn’d to his own kin, | |
| Whose numbers he reckon’d, an’ of all their progeny foretold | 45 |
| Their fate and fortune, their ripen’d temper an’ action. | |
| He then, when he espied Æneas t’ward him approaching | |
| O’er the meadow, both hands uprais’d and ran to receive him, | |
| Tears in his eyes, while thus his voice in high passion outbrake. | |
| ‘Ah, thou’rt come, thou’rt come! at length thy dearly belov’d grace | 50 |
| Conquering all hath won thee the way. ’Tis allow’d to behold thee, | |
| O my son,—yea again the familiar raptur’ of our speech. | |
| Nay, I look’t for ’t thus, counting patiently the moments, | |
| And ever expected; nor did fond fancy betray me. | |
| From what lands, my son, from what life-dangering ocean | 55 |
| Art thou arrived? full mighty perils thy path hav’ opposèd: | |
| And how nearly the dark Libyan thy destiny oerthrew!’ | |
| Then he, ‘Thy spirit, O my sire, ’twas thy spirit often | |
| Sadly appearing aroused me to seek thy far habitation. | |
| My fleet moors i’ the blue Tyrrhene: all with me goeth well. | 60 |
| Grant me to touch thy hand as of old, and thy body embrace.’ | |
| Speaking, awhile in tears his feeling mutinied, and when | |
| For the longing contact of mortal affection, he out-held | |
| His strong arms, the figure sustain’d them not: ’twas as empty | |
| E’en as a windworn cloud, or a phantom of irrelevant sleep. | 65 |
| On the level bosom of this vale more thickly the tall trees | |
| Grow, an’ aneath quivering poplars and whispering alders | |
| Lethe’s dreamy river throu’ peaceful scenery windeth. | |
| Whereby now flitted in vast swarms many people of all lands, | |
| As when in early summer honey-bees on a flowery pasture | 70 |
| Pill the blossoms, hurrying to an’ fro,—innumerous are they, | |
| Revisiting the ravish’d lily cups, while all the meadow hums. | |
| Æneas was turn’d to the sight, and marvelling inquired, | |
| ‘Say, sir, what the river that there i’ the vale-bottom I see? | |
| And who they that thickly along its bank have assembled?’ | 75 |
| Then Lord Anchises, ‘The spirits for whom a second life | |
| And body are destin’d ar’ arriving thirsty to Lethe, | |
| And here drink th’ unmindful draught from wells of oblivion. | |
| My heart greatly desired of this very thing to acquaint thee, | |
| Yea, and show thee the men to be born, our glory her’after, | 80 |
| So to gladden thine heart where now thy voyaging endeth.’ | |
| ‘Must it then be believed, my sire, that a soul which attaineth | |
| Elysium will again submit to her old body-burden? | |
| Is this well? what hap can awake such dire longing in them?’ | |
| ‘I will tell thee, O son, nor keep thy wonder awaiting,’ | 85 |
| Answereth Anchises, and all expoundeth in order. | |
| ‘Know first that the heavens, & th’ Earth, & space fluid or void, | |
| Night’s pallid orb, day’s Sun, and all his starry coævals, | |
| Are by one spirit inly quickened, and, mingling in each part, | |
| Mind informs the matter, nature’s complexity ruling. | 90 |
| Thence the living creatures, man, brute, & ev’ry feather’d fowl, | |
| And what breedeth in Ocean aneath her surface of argent: | |
| Their seed knoweth a fiery vigour, ’tis of airy divine birth, | |
| In so far as unimpeded by an alien evil, | |
| Nor dull’d by the body’s framework condemn’d to corruption. | 95 |
| Hence the desires and vain tremblings that assail them, unable | |
| Darkly prison’d to arise to celestial exaltation; | |
| Nor when death summoneth them anon earth-life to relinquish, | |
| Can they in all discard their stain, nor wholly away with | |
| Mortality’s plaguespots. It must be that, O, many wild graffs | 100 |
| Deeply at heart engrain’d have rooted strangely upon them | |
| Wherefore must suffering purge them, yea, Justice atone them | |
| With penalties heavy as their guilt: some purify exposed | |
| Hung to the viewless winds, or others long watery searchings, | |
| Low i’ the deep, wash clean; some bathe in fiery renewal: | 105 |
| Each cometh unto his own retribution,—if after in ample | |
| Elysium we attain, but a few, to the fair Happy Woodland, | |
| Yet slow time still worketh on us to remove the defilement, | |
| Till it hath eaten away the acquir’d dross, leaving again free | |
| That first fiery vigour, the celestial virtue of our life. | 110 |
| All whom here thou seest, hav’ accomplished purification: | |
| Unto the stream of Lethe a god their company calleth, | |
| That, forgetful of old failure, pain & disappointment, | |
| They may again into earthly bodies with glad courage enter.’ * * * * * * * | |
| Twin be the gates o’ the house of sleep: as fable opineth | 115 |
| One is of horn, and thence for a true dream outlet is easy: | |
| Fair the other, shining perfected of ivory carven; | |
| But false are the visions that thereby find passage upward. | |
| Soon then as Anchises had spok’n, he led the Sibyl forth | |
| And his son, and both dismisst from th’ ivory portal. | 120 |
