Classic Poem

Is this Spring upon the scene?
Has the earth grown young again?
Sunlit hills are clothed with green,
Loosened is the ice-bound chain.
Mirrored in the azure rill,
Smile serene and cloudless skies;
Zephyr's breath has lost its chill,
Dainty flowerets ope their eyes.
Warbling notes the bushes cheer,
Cries the nymph in dulcet key;
All the blossoms reappear,
But thy daughter where is she?

By what long and devious ways
Have I sought her darling trace!
Titan, all thy piercing rays
Have assisted in the chase.
Yet not one has cast its eye
On the form I love so well:
Daylight, which should all descry,
Fails my dimness to dispel.
Has Zeus seized her for his own?
Or, to her fair charms a slave,
Has grim Pluto whirled her down
By black Orcus' dreadful wave?

Who upon that dismal strand
My misfortunes will make known?
Oft the vessel leaves the land,
But it bears the dead alone!
Ne'er did happy eye behold
Light on yonder plains forlorn;
And so long as Styx has rolled,
Living thing it ne'er has borne.
Thither many a path descends,
Never one returns above;
None those bitter tears commends
To the Mother's anxious love.

Mothers sprung of Pyrrha's race,
Mortal, such indeed may brave
Hades, and their darlings trace
Past the terrors of the grave.
Only Jove's immortal heirs
May not see that gloomy land;
Blest are they whom Fate forbears
To oppress with vengeful hand.
Plunge me in the night of nights
Far from Heaven's bright domain;
Reck not of the Goddess' rights,
For they mean a mother's pain.

Where she sat in joyless state
On her spouse's gloomy throne,
There did I, a suppliant, wait
'Mid the silent shades, unknown.
Ah! her eye with tearful trace
Strains through those unlighted halls,
Wanders vaguely into space,
Never on her mother falls,
Till at length her love discerns —
To each other's breasts they fly!
Orcus' self with pity yearns,
Marks with sympathetic sigh.

Empty hope! Unheeded cry!
In their order, calm and sure
Steadily the days roll by;
Jove's decrees shall aye endure.
From that dark forbidding sight
Turns he his anointed head;
Once enwrapt in yonder night,
She is distant as the dead —
Till that darkling stream shall glow
'Neath Aurora's roseate spell;
Till fair Iris strains her bow
Right athwart the realms of Hell.

Surely, something must remain!
Some convincing proof that space
Real love can not restrain,
Of her hand some gentle trace!
Does no love-knot wind its thread
Round the mother and her own?
'Twixt the living and the dead
Has no bond of union grown?
Not too deeply must I sigh,
Still she bides within my reach;
For the Gods who dwell on high
Grant at least a common speech!

When Spring's children pass away,
When before the Northern air
Leaf and floweret decay,
Stands the tree bereft and bare;
Then the germs of life I shake
From Vertumnus' bounteous horn,
Praying Styx the seed to take
And return the golden corn.
Sad, I hide it in the ground,
Lay it on my darling's breast,
That a language it may found
And my love and grief attest.

When the Hours in rhythmic dance
Bring the Spring-time in their train,
Sunshine will dispel the trance,
What was dead will rise again.
Germs concealed from human eye
In the chilly womb of Earth,
'Neath the genial, tinted sky
Revel in a second birth.
Heavenward as the stem ascends
So the root in darkness hides;
Styx with ethers justly blends,
Night with day its care divides.

For the attributes they share
Equally of life and death;
From Cocytus' banks they bear
Welcome tones with gentle breath.
Though a prisoner she be
In the dreary depths below,
Spring's young blossoms call to me,
And this healing balm bestow: —
" Tell that where the shadows reign,
Where no golden sunbeams thrill,
Love its might can yet maintain,
Loving hearts are faithful still. "

Hail, ye children of the field,
Children born of pastures new!
Your auspicious cup shall yield
Draughts of nectar's purest dew.
In the sunshine ye shall play,
Bathed in Iris' fairest beams;
And your leaves I will array
In Aurora's golden gleams.
Whether Spring or Autumn reign,
Cheering glow, or withered leaf,
Let no tender heart disdain
Or my pleasure or my grief.