Orion/Book I/Canto I
ORION.
Canto the First.
Ye rocky heights of Chios, where the snow,Lit by the far-off and receding moon,Now feels the soft dawn's purpling twilight creepOver your ridges, while the singing dews,Like creatures on a mission from the spheres,Swarm down, and wait to be instinct with goldAnd solar fire!—ye mountains waving brownWith thick-winged woods, and blotted with deep cavesIn secret places; and ye paths that strayE'en as ye list; what odours and what sighsTend your sweet silence through the star-showered night,Like memories breathing of the Goddess formsThat left your haunts, yet with the day return! The shadow of a stag that fled across,Followed by a Giant's shadow with a spear!
"Hunter of Shadows, thou thyself a Shade,"Be comforted in this,—that substance holdsNo higher attributes; one sovran lawAlike develops both, and each shall huntIts proper object, each in turn commandingThe primal impulse, till gaunt Time becomeA shadow cast on space, to fluctuate,Waiting the breath of the Creative PowerTo give new types for substance yet unknown:So from faint nebulæ bright worlds are born;So worlds return to vapour. Dreams designMost solid lasting things, and from the eyeThat searches life, death evermore retreats.
The shadowy chase has vanished; round the swellOf the near mountain sweeps a bounding stag—Round whirls a god-like Giant close behind—O'er a fallen trunk the stag with slippery hoofsStumbles—his sleek knees lightly touch the grass—Upward he springs—but in his forward leap,The Giant's hand hath caught him fast beneath One shoulder tuft, and lifted high in air,Sustains! Now Phoibos' chariot rising burstsOver the summits with a circling blaze,Gilding those frantic antlers, and the headOf that so glorious Giant in his youth,Who, as he turns, the form succinct beholdsOf Artemis,—her bow, with points drawn back,A golden hue on her white rounded breastReflecting, while the arrow's ample barbGleams o'er her hand, and at his heart is aimed.
The Giant lowered his arm—away the stagBreast forward plunged into a thicket near;The Goddess paused, and dropt her arrow's point—Raised it again—and then again relaxedHer tension, and while slow the shaft came glidingOver the centre of the bow, besideHer hand, and gently drooped, so did the kneeOf that heroic shape do reverenceBefore the Goddess. Their clear eyes had ceasedTo flash, and gazed with earnest softening light.
His stature, though colossal, scarcely seemedBeyond the heroic mould, such symmetry His form displayed; and in his countenanceA noble honesty and ardour beamed,With child-like faith, unconscious of themselves,And of the world, its vanities and guile.Eyes of deep blue, large waves of chestnut locks,A forehead wide, and every feature strong,Yet without heaviness or angry line,Had he; and as he knelt, a trustful smileThat dreads no consequence, and quite forgetsAll danger, lightly played around his mouth.Meanwhile the Nymphs and all the sylvan troop,Like wave on wave when coloured by the clouds,Pell-mell come rolling round the mountain side,And crowd around the Goddess, who commandsThe hunt to pause. At once the music stops—And all the hounds, with wistful looks, crouch down.
"Young Giant of the woods," said Artemis,"The bow, that ne'er till now its glittering pointsBent back without recoil and whirring twang—That sound a shaft's flight, and that flight a death—For once to its quiescent shape returnsUnsated. 'Midst these woodland vales and heightsSeldom I rove, but from my train, have Nymphs Permission sought full oft to lead the chaseAmong these echoes and these fleeting shades.Thee have they seen, as now, bounding beyondTheir swiftest hounds to bear the stag away,As thou once more hadst surely done this morn,But for my presence. Say, then, whence thou spring'st;Where dwell'st thou—how art called—and wherefore thusDar'st thou the sports of these my Wood-nymphs mar?"
"Goddess!" the Giant answered "I am sprungFrom the great Trident-bearer, who sustainsAnd rocks the floating earth, and from the nymph—A huntress joying in the dreamy woods—Euryale. Little I use to speak,Save to my kindred giants, who in cavesAmid yon forest dwell, beyond the rocks,Or to my Cyclop friends; nor know I what wordsBest suit a Goddess' ear. I and the windsDo better hold our colloquies, when shadows,After long hunting, vanish from my sightInto some field of gloom. I am called 'Orion,'—And for the sports I have so often marred,'T was for my own I did it, but withoutA thought of whose the Nymphs, or least design Of evil. Wherefore, Artemis, pardon me;Or if again thou'dst bend thy bow, first let meTo great Poseidon offer up a prayer,That his divine waves with absorbing armsMay take my body rather than dull earth."
With attitude relaxed from queenly prideTo yet more queenly grace, the shaft she placedWithin her burnished quiver, and the bowA Nymph unstrung, while with averted face—As gazing down the woodland vista slopes,Which oft her bright orb silvered through black shadesWhen midnight throbbed to silence—Artemis asked,"And who are these thy brothers of the cave,And why dost with the Cyclops hold consort?"
"My wood-friends, all of ancestry renowned,Claim for their sires heroes, or kings, or gods;And two of them have seen the ways of men;"Orion answered, while with uplifted breast,Like a smooth wave o'ergilded by the morn,High heaving ere it cast itself ashore,Buoyant, elate, and massively erect,He stood. "They are my kindred thus descended,And, though not brothers, yet we recognize A sort of brotherhood in this decreeOf fate, or Zeus,—that nature filled our framesWith larger share of bodily elementsThan others mortal born. Seven giants we,Of different minds, and destinies, and powers,Yet glorified alike in corporal forms.Few are my years, O Artemis! few my needs,Though large my fancied wants, and small my knowledge,Save of one art. Earth's deep metallic veinsHephæstos taught me to refine and forgeTo shapes that in my fancy I devised,For use or ornament. To the lame GodGrateful I felt, nor knew what thanks to give;But, ere a shadow-hunter I became—A dreamer of strange dreams by day and night—For him I built a palace underground,Of iron, black and rough as his own hands.Deep in the groaning disembowelled earth,The tower-broad pillars and huge stanchions,And slant supporting wedges I set up,Aided by the Cyclops who obeyed my voiceWhich through the metal fabric rang and pealedIn orders echoing far, like thunder-dreams.With arches, galleries, and domes all carved—So that great figures started from the roof And lofty coignes, or sat and downward gazedOn those who strode below and gazed above—I filled it; in the centre framed a hall:Central in that, a throne; and for the light,Forged mighty hammers that should rise and fallOn slanted rocks of granite and of flint,Worked by a torrent, for whose passage downA chasm I hewed. And here the God could take,Midst showery sparks and swathes of broad gold fire,His lone repose, lulled by the sounds he loved;Or, casting back the hammer-heads till they chokedThe water's course, enjoy, if so he wished,Midnight tremendous, silence, and iron sleep."
Thus in rough phrase, and with no other graceThan forthright truth, Orion told his tale;Then smiling looked around upon the Nymphs,Till all their bright eyes glowed and turned aside;And then he gazed down at the couchant hounds,Whose eyes and ears grew interrogative,For well the fleet-heeled robber they all knew.
Now spake an Ocean-nymph with sea-green eyes:"Goddess, he hath not told thee all; his skillAnd strength, unaided—singing as he wrought— Scooped out the bay of Zankle, framed its port;Banked up the rampire that forbids the surgeTo break o'er Sicily; and a temple builtTo the sea-deities." "I had forgot;"Orion said: "These things, long since, were done."
"Hunter, I pardon thee, and from my NymphsAll memory of thy late offence I take,As though they ne'er had seen thee:" Artemis said,With a sweet voice and look. "Retire awhile,Ye sylvan troop, to yonder deep-mossed dell;And thou, Orion, henceforth in my trainThy station take." More had the Goddess said,But o'er the whiteness of a neck that ne'erOne tanned kiss from the ardent sun received,A soft suffusion came; and waiting notReply, her silver sandals glanced i' the rays,As doth a lizard playing on a hill,And on the spot where she that instant stoodNought but the bent and quivering grass was seen.
Above the isle of Chios, night by night,The clear moon lingered ever on her course,Covering the forest foliage, where it sweptIn its unbroken breadth along the slopes, With placid silver; edging leaf and trunkWhere gloom clung deep around; but chiefly soughtWith melancholy splendour to illumeThe dark-mouthed caverns where Orion layDreaming among his kinsmen. Ere the breathOf Phoibos' steeds rose from the wakening sea,And long before the immortal wheel-spokes castTheir hazy apparition up the skyBehind the mountain peaks, pale Artemis leftHer fainting orb, and touched the loftiest snowsWith feet as pure, and white, and crystal cold,In the sweet misty woodland to rejoinOrion with her Nymphs. And he was blestIn her divine smile, and his life beganA new and higher period, nor the hauntsOf those his giant brethren ever sought,But shunned them and their ways, and slept aloneUpon a verdant rock, while o'er him floatedThe clear moon, causing music in his brainUntil the sky-lark rose. He felt 't was love.