Classic Poem

I was a lonely shepherd—
Speaking a simple word.
Long hours in Delian meadows
Leading my quiet herd.

One day I lay in slumber
Dreaming in deep repose
How Luria would bind me
With violet and rose.

Lost in the sunlit pasture
Warm in the grass, lay I—
When suddenly Jove's eagle
Plunged on me from the sky.

With his strong claws he seized me—
I heard his grating cries—
Fiercely in their sockets
Burned his harsh red eyes.

Proud as a hero's helmet
Was his stern, hard wing.
The sharp spear of Achilles
Was a gentler thing.

By the hot wounds that tore me,
By his harsh piercing cry
I knew the Jovian Eagle
Was warring up the sky.

From out the little farmhouse
I saw my mother run;
I saw her pale face staring
Straight at the cruel sun.

Far in the lowly pastures
Where the gray herds feed—
I heard the young lads calling
‘Where is Ganymede?’

And when we clove the hill-tops
And still drove fiercely on
I heard a girl's shrill voice
Cry ‘Ganymede is gone!’

I fought God's bird in anguish.
Blood stained our blazing track.
I writhed from out his talons,
I sprang upon his back.

Above I saw Olympus—
Tower beautiful and bright.
The Gods' immortal laughter
Surged round me in the night.

‘On! On!’ I cried; ‘My War-Bird!
My proud steed of the sky!
Drive hard or I will scourge you!
Strike upward or you die.’

Not plucked and not a captive!
I cried a royal word.
I rode in pride to Heaven
Upon the Jovian Bird.

Between his wings triumphant
Full splendidly I rode.
And through Olympian gateways
A conqueror I strode.

With deep immortal laughter
The high Gods called us home.
I heard a great glad voice
Cry, ‘Ganymede has come!’

I seized the goblet graven
With many a mystic shape.
And well ye know—O Heroes—
My blood was in the grape.

‘Take, Jove’—I cried—‘this flagon
And drink the healthy wine.
Enrich your godlike splendor
With the passion that was mine.’

‘Drink, then,—O proud Olympian—
The blood I shed for thee.
The wine that breeds immortals
Is our mortality.’