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Read Ebook: Prehistoric Textile Art of Eastern United States Thirteenth Annual Report of the Beaurau of American Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution 1891-1892 Government Printing Office Washington 1896 pages 3-46 by Holmes William Henry
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Ebook has 329 lines and 25746 words, and 7 pages
POEMS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
APOLLO AND MARSYAS 5
SISTER MARY OF THE PLAGUE 18
THE BRIDE OF PORPHYRION 35
HUNTING THE KING 48
ABRAHAM CAREW 58
AN ODE OF THE TUSCAN SHORE 69
SWORD AND SICKLE 74
A PAGEANT OF SIENA 81
THE WONDER OF THE WORLD 87
IPSISSIMUS 108
AN ODE TO THE TRAVELLING THUNDER 114
SONNETS.
IDLE CHARON 118
THE OBOL 119
LETHE 120
ACHERON 121
ON SIGNORELLI'S FRESCO OF THE RESURRECTION 122
ON SIGNORELLI'S FRESCO OF THE BINDING OF THE LOST 123
MUSSET'S LOUIS D'OR 124
THE PHANTOM SHIP 125
SPRING 126
BY THE FIRE 128
NIGHT 129
RIVER BABBLE 130
SUNKEN GOLD 131
ON RAPHAEL'S ARCHANGEL MICHAEL 132
ON A SURF-ROLLED TORSO OF VENUS 133
ON MANTEGNA'S SEPIA DRAWING OF JUDITH 134
STRANGLED 136
PROMETHEAN FANCIES 137
INTRODUCTION.
The contest of the Satyr with the God, Oh who shall end it? Who shall end the strife That fills all Art, all Nature and all Life, And give the right of flaying with a nod?
Oh who when radiant noontide's last note dies, And darkness with its mystery draws near, Shall bid the strains of twilight not arise That fill the soul with wistfulness or fear?
And Marsyas' reed-pipe and Apollo's lyre Make endless competition upon earth, As men prefer the charm of vague desire, Or charm of bright serenity and mirth.
But not alone the wistful strains of eve Mean unseen Marsyas speaking to the heart; Nor is he near, in Nature and in Art, Alone where yearning makes the bosom heave.
Often in tones more passionate he wails, Pensive no more but fiercely wild and shrill, And fills the soul with rapture as it quails, And charms us with the very fear of ill.
Wherever lonely Nature claims her right Upon man's love, and her wild fitful voice With flute-like wailings makes his ear rejoice In the wild music of a stormy night;
Wherever haunting Fancy fills the gloom With ghostly sounds, with evil spirits' sobs, And exiled souls seem to bewail their doom, And, half seduced, the heart with vague fear throbs;
Wherever Poetry with magic word Lets Passion's loosened elements fly free, And hiss and thunder like a storm-churned sea, And rave and howl--there Marsyas' note is heard.
Oh, I have felt his music in my soul Outwail the wailing wind when every tone Has made my fancy, bursting all control, Create new realms as wild as are his own,
With shapes of fear, with dread fantastic spells, And sights more wondrous than the restless stream Of visions in a Haschish-eater's dream, Where whirl and eddy countless heavens and hells.
And yet I love the light, nor am I one Bred in the darkness of Cimmerian caves, Who shrinks with blinking eyelids from the sun, When with the dawn he leaps on laughing waves,
The sounds which that great Dorian God, whose glance Kindles the blushes of the pale sea foam, Draws from his beam-stringed lyre come thrilling home, And make the ripples of my spirit dance.
Outside, beyond my threshold, I can hear The hum of sun-ripe Nature's million strings, The song of man's frail happiness rise clear Above the mutability of things;
And though I think, if you but listen well, That here, upon this many voiced earth There be less sounds of carol and of mirth Than sounds of sigh and moan and dirge and knell;
And though what here I offer echoes less Apollo's lyre than Marsyas' reedy fife, Whose fitful wailing in the wilderness Sounds through the chinks and crannies of my life,
Apollo's name is sweet, and I were loth To let the name of Marsyas stand alone Engraven on this book, while I can own Allegiance to both lords and love them both.
APOLLO AND MARSYAS.
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