Orion/Book III/Canto II

by Richard Henry Horne

ORION.

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Canto the Second.

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Level with the summit of that eastern mount,
By slow approach, and like a promontory
Which seems to glide and meet a coming ship,
The pale gold platform of the Morning came
Towards the gliding mount. Against a sky
Of delicate purple, snow-bright courts and halls,
Touched with light silvery green, gleaming across,
Fronted by pillars vast, cloud capitalled,
With shafts of changeful pearl, all reared upon
An isle of clear aerial gold, came floating;
And in the centre, clad in fleecy white,
With lucid lilies in her golden hair,
Eos, sweet Goddess of the Morning, stood.

From the bright peak of that surrounded mount,
One step sufficed to gain the golden floor,
Whereon the Palace of the Morning shone,
Scarcely a bow-shot distant; but that step,
Orion's humbled and still mortal feet
Dared not adventure. In the Goddess' face
Imploringly he gazed. "Advance!" she said,
In tones more sweet than when some heavenly bird,
Hid in a rosy cloud, its morning hymn
Warbles unseen, wet with delicious dews,
And to earth's flowers, all looking up in prayer,
Tells of the coming bliss. "Believe—advance—
Or, as the spheres move onward with their song
That calls me to awaken other lands,
That moment will escape which ne'er returns."
Forward Orion stepped: the platform bright
Shook, like the reflex of a star in water
Moved by the breeze, throughout its whole expanse;
And e'en the palace glistened fitfully,
As with electric shiver it sent forth
Odours of flowers divine and all fresh life.
Still stood he where he stepped, nor to return
Attempted. To essay one pace beyond,
He felt no power—yet onward he advanced
Safe to the Goddess, who, with hand outstretched,
Into the palace led him. Grace and strength,
With sense of happy change to finer earth,
Freshness of nature, and belief in good,
Came flowing o'er his soul, and he was blest.

'T is always morning somewhere in the world,
And Eos ever rises, circling
The varied regions of mankind. No pause
Of renovation and of freshening rays
She knows, but constantly her love breathes forth
On field and forest, as on human hope,
Health, beauty, power, thought, action and advance.
All this Orion witnessed, and rejoiced.
The turmoil he had known, the late distress
By loss of passion's object, and of sight,
Were now exchanged for these serene delights
Of contemplation, as the influence
That Eos wrought around for ever, dawned
Upon his vision and his inmost heart,
In sweetness and success. All sympathy
With all fair things that in her circle lay,
She gave, and all received; nor knew of strife;
For from the Sun her cheek its bloom withdrew,
And, ere intolerant noon, the floating realm
Of Eos—queen of the awakening earth—
Was brightening other lands, wherefrom black Night
Her faded chariot down the sky had driven
Behind the sea. Thus from the earth upraised,
And over its tumultuous breast sustained
In peace and tranquil glory—oh blest state!—
Clear-browed Orion, full of thankfulness,
And pure devotion to the Goddess, dwelt
Within the glowing Palace of the Morn.

But these serene airs did not therefore bring
A death-sleep o'er the waves of memory,
Where all its clouds and colours, specks of sails,
Its car-borne Gods, shipwrecks and drowning men,
Passed full in view; yet with a mellowing sense
Ideal, and from pain sublimed. Thus came
Mirrors of nature to him, and full oft
Downward on Chios turned his happy eyes,
With grateful thoughts that o'er life's sorrows wove
The present texture of a sweet content,
Passing all wisdom, or its rarest flower.
He saw the woods, and blessed them for the sake
Of Artemis; the city, and rich gloom
That o'er the cedar forest ever hung,
He also blessed for Merope; the isle,
And all that dwelt there, he with smiles beheld,—
Nor, it may be, without prophetic thrill
When on Mount Epos turned his parting glance.
There, in an after age, close at its foot,
In the stone level was a basin broad
Scooped out, and central on a low shaft sat
A sage with silver hair, and taught his school,
Where the boy Homer on the stony rim
Sat with the rest around. Bright were his eyes.

With re-awakened love, and sight enlarged
For all things beautiful, and nobly true
To the great elements that rule the world,
Orion's mind, left to itself, reviewed
Past knowledge, and of wisdom saw the fruit
Far nearer than before, the path less rough,
The true possession not austere and cold,
But natural in its strength and balance just
Of body and of soul; each to respect,
And to the other minister, and both
Their one harmonious being to employ
For general happiness, and for their own.
Such was the lore which now his thoughts attained,
And he to Eos ventured to display,
Beseeching her response? She only gazed
With an approving smile upon the earth,
That rolled beneath, and rendered back the gleam
With tender radiance over many a field.

The story of his life Orion told—
His youth—his labours—lastly of his loves;
Nor what for Artemis his opening soul
Had felt—what deep desire for Merope—
Sought to conceal. How much his intellect,
And entire nature, owed to the pale Queen
Of night's illumined vault, with grateful sighs
Of reverential memory he declared;
To Eos turning with a pleading look,
Lest she might not approve. She took his hand,
And placed it on her side beneath her heart,
Which beat a sphery music audibly.
He, listening, still enraptured, countless echoes,
Rang sweetly faint from distant groves beneath
Upon the earth. Within his hurrying heart
The trembling echoes now Orion felt,
And silent stood as one who apprehends
Some new and blissful hope that round him soars,
Which still eludes his vision and his mind.

Not in like doubt was Artemis, whose car—
Blank as it passed away before the morn,
Herself invisible—collapsed and yearned
Beneath the Goddess' spurning foot. At once
The lasting love of Eos she foresaw,
When at the tale of other loves he told
Sincerely, fully, with kind memories rife,
Orion's hand she pressed. His earnest eyes
All filled with new-horn light, she also read,
As in a mirror where the future 's writ—
And, reading, closed her own as she retired.

Meantime Rhexergon through the Chian streets
Triumphant, with Biastor and a host
Of rebel chieftains and their armed bands,
And drunken slaves and robbers, drove the king
From his lost throne. Beyond the suburb fields
Œnopion fled, and secret refuge found
Among the tombs beneath a chain of hills,
Where dense cold gloom his robe and crown became,
While over-head along the hill-sides ran
The sunny vines. Tumult now choaked the city
With adverse crowds, and deafened it with cries
Of slayers, and of those who fled or fell.
The giants led the slaughter, oft commencing
Pillage, then turning yet again to slay,
Having no plan. They paused but to blaspheme
The Gods, like giants doomed to die. Rich spoil
Was found, seized, left—and trampled into mire
By feet that onward sprang for other spoil,
Or to tear down, wrench, overthrow, destroy;
Till thus Rhexergon rendered up his life.

All the chief rulers, priests, and sages old,
And heroes most renowned, Rhexergon vowed
Within the temple of Zeus to congregate;
Wall up each means of egress, and from a gap
Made in the roof, pour down a rocky hail
From broken fanes, cliff, quarry and sea-beach,
Upon their heads; nor cease the rattling shower
Until the temple was filled up with stones.
To make the gap, he with his club advanced,
Where central, 'neath the roof, a pillar rose,
Which was its main support. Blow upon blow
He smote; the base gave way; the pillar fell;
And with it fell the roof, and buried him.

With equal skill Biastor wrought his fate.
On a long terrace, which precipitously
Looked down on suburb gardens deep below,
Near to the edge upon a pediment stood
A great gilt statue to Encolyon,
By the high rulers reverently set up;
And this inscription bearing on its base;—
"To the Wheel-chainer! Reiner-in of steeds!
August preserver of revered decay;
Votive—erected by a people's love."

Biastor, covered with a brazen shield,
Whirling his sword, and seeing not his way,
A panic-stricken crowd before him drove
On tow'rds the parapet. Thence to escape,
Some desperately rush back—are cloven down—
The rest throng round the statue. It was carved
Of wood, and at its flat square base the sun
Had often turned a scornful glance, and made
Dry flaws, wherein had crept and nestled, rot.
They cling around its knees!—the giant Force
Comes like a mighty wind;—and, as a mast
In shipwreck, black with rigging flanking loose,
And black with wild-haired creatures clinging round,
With crash and horrid slant its blasted tree
Surrenders sidelong,—so the statue fell.
With it the crowd were carried; after it
Biastor, knowing not the depths beyond,
Or his strong impulse having no power to check,
Followed head foremost. Down the hollow banks
He, floundering o'er the statue's 'tangled coil,
Into an orchard 'midst the vale below,
Deep in the mould lay prone; and over him
The fallen statue lay athwart. 'T was thus,
The Builder absent, and at that time blind,
Force, and the Breaker-down their course fulfilled.

"What have I done on earth?" Orion said,
While pensive on the platform of the morn
He stood. "My youth's companions are destroyed,
And Akinetos evermore seems right,
Predicting failure to our human acts:
Or good, or ill, alike untoward prove.
I have not well directed mine own strength,
Nor theirs." As thus he mused, a skylark sang
Within the gleaming Palace, and a voice
Followed melodious as it spake these words.

"Well hast thou striven, and due reward shall find;
For though reward held dalliance with thy hopes
Of former days, and for thyself thou wrought'st,
The suffering and the lesson have sufficed
To fit thee for more noble aims. Sigh not
That those companions of thine unformed youth,
Their rude career have closed: evil was all
They could have done without thee. Thou hast won
The love of Eos; doubt not of her truth,
And to thyself be constant, as to her."

He turned, and at his side the Goddess smiled,
With tenderness of grace, such as the soul
Can through the heart convey, where both accord
One object to exalt. Orion knelt,
And looked up in her face, then rose and clasped
Her yielding loveliness. As they retired,
An eye glanced fire-like through the clear blue air,
And saw the embrace!—and marked the glowing beams
On Eos' bosom, rosy yet all gold,
Like ripened peaches in the morning light.
That eye grew deadly—flashed—and it was gone,
As onward in its course the Palace moved.
'Twas Artemis!—beware her fatal dart.

O'er meadows green or solitary lawn,
When birds appear earth's sole inhabitants,
The long clear shadows of the morning differ
From those of eve, which are more soft and vague,
Suggestive of past days and mellowed grief.
The lights of morning, even as her shades,
Are architectural, and pre-eminent
In quiet freshness, midst the pause that holds
Prelusive energies. All life awakes.
Morn comes at first with white uncertain light;
Then takes a faint red, like an opening bud
Seen through grey mist: the mist clears off; the sky
Unfolds; grows ruddy; takes a crimson flush;
Puts forth bright sprigs of gold,—which soon expanding
In saffron, thence pure golden shines the morn;
Uplifts its clear bright fabric of white clouds,
All tinted, like a shell of polished pearl,
With varied glancings, violet gleam and blush;
Embraces Nature; and then passes on,
Leaving the Sun to perfect his great work.

So came thy love upon Orion's heart,
Oh life-awakening Queen of early light,
And the devotion he, at first, had deemed
All spiritual, now warmed, filled, attained
Entire vitality, and that highest state
Which every noblest faculty employs
With self-enjoyment and beneficence.

True happiness no idle course endures,
But by activity renews its strength,
Which else would fail, and happiness revolve
Within itself, still dwindling to the point
Where pain first stings. Far otherwise it fared
With thee, Orion. Watchful tow'rds the world
His eye oft turned. The pure realm where he dwelt
Absorbed not all his sympathies in itself,
Which yet sprang forth, and sighed o'er ills below;
Like one uplifted in abstraction's mood,
Who sits alone, and gazes in the fire,
Watching red ruins as they fall and change
To glorious fabrics,—which forthwith dissolve,
Or by some hideous conflict sink to nought,
While from a black mass issues tawny smoke,
Followed by a trumpet flame. War, and the waste,
So far as individual life and purpose feels,
Of human labour,—both its hand and heart—
Came crowding on his mind. Nor less his eye
Earth's loveliness perceived; nor less his thoughts
Of Eos, who in all his fresh designs,
Feelings, and wishes, shared, and urged him on
With constant impulse, hidden in sweet smiles,
And perfect love that thinks not of itself;—
Conscious, contented, sphered beyond fresh hopes.
Earth was their child; and constant morn their home.

Three things Orion contemplated oft:
The first, his gratitude to Artemis
Inspired; its general service and import
To human happiness, a duty made.
Her temple in Delos darkened to the east
With towering trees, amidst whose hollowed roots
Dwelt poisonous Harpies. These to dislodge, destroy,
And hew the trees down, that the morning light,
Followed by radiant warmth, might penetrate .
Its depths, even to the temple's central shrine,
He purposed. Thus would Eos give her love
To Artemis, and all be reconciled.

His second purpose this: beneath the earth,
So might the Father of the Gods give aid,
To build a dungeon for the God of War,
Wherein, confined in a tumultuous sleep,
The visions of his madness should present
The roar of battles and its sanguine joys,
Its devastations, glories, and vain graves.
Here might he gloat on death, while: o'er his head
The sea-wide corn fields, smiled in golden waves.

The last, would need Poseidon's trident hand,
Which, fervent prayers and filial offerings
Would fail not to obtain; whereby a blow,—
Such as had lifted out of the frothed sea
Delos,—Kalliste, with its fathomless bay,—
Mountains, and coral rocks,—repeated oft,
Might many mountains cause at once to rise,
Higher and higher, till their summits kissed
The clouds. Then Eos, casting forth her robe
From peak to peak, and her immortal breath
Combining and sustaining that bright floor,
A web of perfect skill, and guileless art,
Unlike the dark artificers below,—
Large space for mortals of the earth would thus
Be lifted to the platform of the morn.
There, by the Goddess beckoned, and beholding
Her face, divine in youth, the lengthened toil
Of the ascent, were but a test of worth,
And hollow sounds of roaring from the sea
Beneath, cause none, who should ascend, to fall.

To Delos now Orion made descent
With Eos, hand in hand, when lofty Night
Advanced her shadowy shoulder on the sky.
Good speed made he with his well-practised hand;
The Harpies slew; the eastward trees hewed down;
And laid the temple open to the morn,
With all her genial beams. Then Eos first
Felt doubt; and trembled as she saw the fane
Gleam with her presence, glancing like the light
Within an angry eye-ball. A keen breeze
Now whistled all around, and as it rose
The high green corn, like rapids tow'rds a fall,
Flowed, wave on wave, before the strenuous wind.
She gazed with a cold cheek, till underneath
The sea, she heard the coming Sun rejoice;
And felt the isle for blest events prepare.
Yet was she silent. The untended Sun,
While Eos lingered midst the southern groves,
Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.
Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,
Who noting not her tender, anxious face,
In generous feelings happy, took his rest.

Midst songs and garlands and uplifted joy,
Day's bright dream sped. Night came; but not the Moon.
Night passed. Two spectral armies in the air
Appeared, and with mute fury fought; then died
In mist. A cloud of pale and livid blue,
Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!

What scarce-apparent ray! what wavering light
Down glances, arching through the silent vault!
Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!
The omen and the deed unite—in death!
Into the grove, and to the self-same spot
The darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,
O, Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,
Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill;
Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midst
Of all thy fresh designs for human weal,
To make the morning feel itself in vain,
And men turn pale who never shed a tear!
Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—
Thy Maker takes thee, for he loved thee well.

Haggard and chill as a lost ghost, the Morn,
With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—
Her colourless robe like a poor wandering smoke,—
Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her arms
A shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fading
In a dark rain, through which the sun arose
Scarce visible, and in his orb confused.