Classic Poem

Where chariot-course and strife of song
Unite the Greeks in joyous throng
On Corinth's isthmus, thither plods
Ibycus, darling of the Gods.
(With melody of noblest worth
His voice Apollo had endued.)
With lightsome step he sallies forth
From Rhegium in godlike mood.

Now peeping from its fastness high
Corinth attracts the traveller's eye;
His faltering footsteps he inclines
To pierce Poseidon's grove of pines.
Here all is still, save that great bands
Of swarming Cranes his course attend,
Which towards more balmy Southern lands
Their course in grizzly squadrons wend.

" I bid you welcome, friendly host,
Whose escort brought me to the coast;
Your presence is a happy sign,
Your lot is on a par with mine.
Alike from distant climes we come,
And seek alike some friendly roof —
May we both find a generous home
Which from no stranger holds aloof! "

With blithesome step his way he takes
Athwart the wood's most central brakes,
When suddenly two murderous foes
The narrow path before him close.
To the unequal strife he springs;
But sinks his arm with battle spent;
Cunning upon the lyre's soft strings,
His hand no bow had ever bent.

He summons men and Gods to aid,
But all in vain his prayers are made;
However clear his voice may ring,
Here it can touch no living thing.
" Then must I here forsaken die,
On foreign soil, and undeplored,
A prey to basest villainy,
And none to wield th' avenging sword? "

And as he totters, stricken sore,
Behold! the Cranes with winged roar
Pass by; and though his sight is dim,
He hears their near discordant scream.
" By you, ye Cranes, above my head,
Unless some other voice arise,
Be this, my murder's story, spread! "
— And having charged them thus, he dies.

The naked corpse is duly found;
And though defaced by many a wound,
His host in Corinth soon perceives
The form of him whose loss he grieves.
" And is it thus that I must find
The friend, of whom I thought but now
That soon the minstrel's crown would wind,
Well earned, around his radiant brow? "

Deep-sorrowing, listens every guest
Assembled at Poseidon's feast;
All Greece the dreadful story thrills,
Each sep'rate heart with anguish fills.
Straight to the President repair
The people in tumultuous mood;
T'avenge the dead must be his care,
Avenge it in the murderer's blood.

But what the sign which, in this throng
Of surging people borne along
Eager to see the splendid games,
The guilty miscreant proclaims?
Did robbers strike the felon blow,
Or some more treach'rous curious hands?
— That Helios alone may know,
Whose eye this earthly stage commands.

E'en now perhaps amidst the Greeks
With calm and impious step he sneaks,
And while th' avenger gives him time
Enjoys the produce of his crime.
P'raps at the very temple's gate
He flouts the Gods in wantonness,
Or lurks among the crowd who wait
Through the theatre doors to press.

For tier on tier the people pack
Until the timbers groan and crack;
From every quarter far and near
The Grecian tribes are waiting here,
Low murmuring like the ocean's roar.
The very building seems to spread,
As though its curving ranks would soar
Into the azure overhead.

Who tells the races, names the names
Of those who come to watch the games?
From Theseus' city, Aulis' strand,
From Phocis, and from Sparta's land,
From distant Asia's torrid clime,
From all the islands of the sea,
They seek upon this stage sublime
The Chorus' wailing melody.

Who, after ancient precedent,
With slow and measured footsteps went,
Issuing from behind the scene,
And moving round with solemn mien.
So do no mortal women stride,
No mortal parents gave them birth,
Monstrous their bodies seem beside
The feeble puny sons of earth.

Mantles of black their loins conceal,
And in their fleshless fingers reel
Torches, whose dancing fitful glow
Their gleam on bloodless faces throw.
And where on human brows the hair
Enfolds the head with light caress,
The foulest snakes and vipers stare,
And close their poisoned bellies press.

With ghastly strains, in circle prim,
Anon they chant their doleful hymn,
Which seems the life's blood to control,
And chain each evildoer's soul.
Confounding sense, deluding heart,
The Furies sing with rising fire,
Making the inmost marrow smart;
Nor will they brook the rival lyre.

" Happy the man who, free from sin,
Rejoices in a conscience clean!
Not him our vengeance would chastise,
Life's path before him open lies.
But woe, aye woe, to him we bring
Who bears the secret stain of blood!
Remorseless to his feet we cling,
Creatures of night, a gruesome brood.

" And should he put his trust in flight,
Have we not wings of passing might?
From far we hurl our fatal coils,
The fugitive is in our toils.
We hunt with wrath that never fades,
Repentance serves him all too late,
We hound him to the very shades,
Nor even there our rage abate. "

Anon they dance in rhythmic stave:
And silence, such as shrouds the grave,
Falls upon all the company,
As though the Deity were nigh.
Then, after ancient precedent,
Around the stage with solemn mien
With slow and measured steps they went,
And disappeared behind the scene.

And between truth and wonderment
Each quaking heart with doubt is rent,
And worships the tremendous might
Which, all unseen, protects the right;
Unfathomable, unexplained,
By which the threads of Fate are spun,
Deep in the human heart contained,
Yet ever hiding from the sun.

Suddenly, from the highest tier
A solitary voice and clear
Is heard to cry: — " Timotheus,
" Behold the Cranes of Ibycus! "
And as he speaks the place grows dim,
Obscured and darkened is the sky,
As, marshalled close in order trim,
The whirling host of Cranes sails by.

" Of Ibycus! " The well-known name
Stirs each excited heart to flame.
As ocean's following billows rise,
From lip to lip the question flies: —
" Of Ibycus? whom we bewail,
Who fell beneath the murderer's hand!
What is this man, what means his tale,
What bode these Cranes in threat'ning band? "

And round and round the question goes
Until a flash of insight shows
The truth to every heart: — " Give heed!
This is the watchful Furies' deed!
Avenged is the pious Bard,
The murderous caitiff stands confessed,
— Seize him, and place him under guard
Who cried, and him who was addressed! "

How gladly would he now disown
His words, how gladly choke them down!
'Tis vain! their faces' pale dismay
The guilty criminals betray.
Before the Judge they straight are haled,
A judgment seat becomes the stage;
By their own lips the truth detailed,
They fall before th' avenging rage.