Classic Poem

1. The Student

As I once in Salamanca,
(Whilst the nightingales o'erhead
Sweetly in the trees were singing),
Eagerly in Homer read:

How, arrayed in rich apparel,
Helen to the rampart went,
Shewing to the Trojan senate
Grace with bloom so sweetly blent,

That distinctly this and that one
Muttered in his hoary beard:
" Sooth, she comes of race immortal,
Ne'er hath form so fair appeared! "

As I thus was pond'ring deeply,
(How it happened, ne'er I knew),
Through the leaves was borne a rustling,
Round my searching glance I threw;

Glancing at a neighbouring terrace,
Lo! what wonder saw I there!
There, arrayed in rich apparel
Stood a girl, as Helen fair!

Close beside her stood a gray-beard,
Who her form so fondly scanned
That " I might be sworn, (I muttered),
Thou art of the Trojan band! "

I myself was an Achaean,
I, who ever since that day
Troy (my arbour) close besieging,
Watchfully before it lay.

Or, in tropes to speak no longer,
Often, all the summer long,
Thither I at eve resorted —
Haunted it with lute and song,

Sang in various strains and fashions
All my love's distress and pain,
Till at length from far above me
Rose a plaintive answering strain.

Thus with answering words and music
Wore away full half a year;
Even this her spouse had grudged us,
Had not deafness numbed his ear.

Oft as from his couch he started
Sleepless, filled with jealous fears;
All unheard remained our voices,
Like the music of the spheres!

Once, when dark the night and dreary,
Starless, gloomy as the grave,
Answer to my wonted signal
Never voice or music gave.

Only an old toothless maiden
Woke I by my ceaseless cry;
Echo — ancient maiden — only
To my song vouchsafed reply.

Vanished was my love for ever,
Every room seemed empty now;
Empty the well-ordered garden,
Waste the vale and mountain-brow.

What her home, her rank, her station,
I, alas! could ne'er discern;
She by voice and hand protested
These I might not hope to learn.

Then determined I to seek for —
Near and far — the fairy elf;
Homer I no longer needed,
Was not I Ulysses' self?

Making then my lute my comrade,
Wandered I thro' every street;
Underneath each latticed window
Oft would I the strain repeat;

Sang in town and field the ballad
Which in Salamanca's grove
Every eve, by way of signal,
Sang I to my vanished love;

But the long-expected answer
Evermore is hushed and mute;
Echo only — ancient maiden —
Mocks me with her fond pursuit.

2. The Huntsman.

As I once behind an oak-tree
In a thick and leafy wood,
Listening, often forwards leaning,
Gun in hand, expectant stood,

Suddenly the branches rustled,
Warning paw my pointer raised;
Quickly I my rifle pointed,
Cocked it, and intently gazed;

Lo! 'twas neither hare nor roebuck,
Game of better kind was there;
Through the bushes tripped a maiden
Young and lissom, fresh and fair.

Such a strange and wondrous impulse
Suddenly my fancy swayed
That well nigh, for very fondness,
Fired I at the beauteous maid!

Evermore this game pursuing,
All her steps I track with care;
Every eve still finds me standing
Watchfully before her lair;

Or, in tropes to speak no longer,
'Neath my loved one's window high
Every eve still finds me standing,
Gazing up with wistful eye.

Vain is all such mute complaining,
Sure, she thinks the time too long;
Sounds of flute and lute would please her,
Plaintive airs and tuneful song;

In the art of girl-decoying
What can huntsman's craft avail?
Naught can I but mock the cuckoo,
Or, at best, the chiding quail!