VII. IRIS THE RAINBOW. 1. 'MID the cloud-enshrouded haze Of Olympus I arise, With the full and rainy gaze Of Apollo in mine eyes; With my dripping pinions white Where the sunlight sparkles dance In a many-tinctured light: My foot upon the woof Of a fleecy cloudlet small, I glimmer thro' the roof Of the paven banquet-hall, And a soft pink radiance dips Thro' the floating mists divine, Touching eyes and cheeks and lips Of the mild-eyed gods supine, And the pinky odour rolls Round their foreheads, while I stain, With a blush like wine, the bowls Of foam-crusted porcelain : Till the whole calm place has caught In the eyes of Zeus the Sire. 2. Then Zeus, arising, stoops O'er the ledges of the skies, Looking downward, thro' the loops Of the starry tapestries, On the evident dark plain Speck'd with wood and hill and stream, On the wrinkled tawny main Where the ships, like snowflakes, gleam; And with finger without swerve, Swiftly lifted, swiftly whirl'd, He draws a magic curve O'er the cirrus of the world; When with waving wings display'd, On the Sun-god's threshold bright I upleap, and seem to fade In a humid flash of light; But I plunge thro' vapours dim And I tremble, float, and swim, On the strange curve of the Hand: From my wings, that drip, drip, drip, With cool rains, shoot jets of fire, As across green capes I slip With the thought of Zeus the Sire. 3. Thence, with drooping wings bedew'd, Folded close about my form, I alight with feet unview'd On the ledges of the storm; For a moment, cloud-enroll'd, Mid the murm'rous rain I stand, And with meteor eyes behold Till the thought of Zeus outsprings Like a shining butterfly; When I brighten, gleam, and glow And the melting colours flow To my foot of dusky pearl; And the ocean mile on mile Gleams thro' capes and straits and bays, And the vales and mountains smile, And the leaves are wet with rays,— While I wave the humid Bow Of my wings with flash of fire, And the Tempest, crouch'd below, Knows the thought of Zeus the Sire. H VIII. ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. I SAT of old beside a stream new-born Out of the loamy loins of mountains cold, And it was garrulous with dreams forlorn And mystic legends old. Wherefore the secrets of the peaks and caves With the faint music in mine ears were blended; And as the stream slid down to ocean-waves, I heard and comprehended. Into a moss-soft silence dim and deep I sank with murmurous sighs and drowsy nods: Then, opening eyes, like one who starts from sleep, |