XXIV.

LAODAMIA.

"WITH sacrifice, before the rising morn
Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required;
And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn,
Him of the infernal Gods have I desired:

Celestial pity I again implore;

Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!"

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
With faith, the suppliant heav'n-ward lifts her hands;
While, like the Sun emerging from a Cloud,
Her countenance brightens,—and her eye expands,
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows,
And she expects the issue in repose.

O terror! what hath she perceived?-O joy!
What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence-his corporeal mold?
It is if sense deceive her not-'tis He!

And a God leads him-winged Mercury!

VOL. I.

Mild Hermes spake-and touched her with his wand
That calms all fear, "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,
Laodamia, that at Jove's command

Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:

He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;
Accept the gift, behold him face to face."

Forth sprang the impassion'd Queen her Lord to clasp ;
Again that consummation she essayed;

But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp
As often as that eager grasp was made.
The Phantom parts-but parts to re-unite,
And re-assume his place before her sight.

"Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!
Confirm, I pray, the Vision with thy voice:
This is our Palace,-yonder is thy throne;
Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Not to appal me have the Gods bestowed
This precious boon,—and blest a sad Abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave
His gifts imperfect:-Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.

And something also did my worth obtain ;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold

That the first Greek who touch'd the Trojan strand
Should die; but me the threat did not withhold:

A generous cause a Victim did demand;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
A self-devoted Chief-by Hector slain."

Supreme of Heroes-bravest, noblest, best!
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,

That then, when tens of thousands were deprest
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore:
Thou found'st-and I forgive thee-here thou art-
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
That thou shouldst cheat the malice of the grave;
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair

As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

No Spectre greets me,-no vain Shadow this:
Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"
Jove frowned in heaven; the conscious Parcæ threw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish.-Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains :
Calm pleasures there abide―majestic pains.
Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult of the soul;
The fervor-not the impotence of love.

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn "

"Ah, wherefore?-Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated Corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And son stood a Youth mid youthful peers.

The Gods to us are merciful-and they

Yet further may relent: for mightier far

Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway

Of magic potent over sun and star

Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

And though his favorite seat be feeble Woman's breast.

But if thou go'st, I follow-"" Peace!" he said---
She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
Elysian beauty-melancholy grace—
Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away-no strife to heal-
The past unsighed for, and the future sure;
Spake, as a witness, of a second birth
For all that is most perfect upon earth:

Of all that is most beauteous-imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler ether, a diviner air,

And fields invested with purpureal gleams;

Climes which the Sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned

That privilege by virtue." Ill," said he, "The end of man's existence I discerned,

Who from ignoble games and revelry *

*Note. For this feature in the character of Protesilaus, see the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides.