And win Jove’s love by helping in such wise

  As thou didst us, folk sunk in miseries.”

  So gave he kingdoms, as he took away,

  For strong the God was in him on that day,

  And the gods smiled to hear him; yea, and she

  Who armed him erst, then dealt so lovingly,

  She caused the people’s hearts towards him to yearn,

  Who, thronging round, began somehow to learn

  The story of his deeds, and cried aloud,

  “Be thou our King!” Then showed he to the crowd

  Dictys his friend, and said, “Ito my kin

  Must go, mine heritage and goods to win,

  And a king, deal with kings; but yet see here

  This royal man, my helpful friend and dear;

  Loved of the gods, surely he is of worth

  For greater things.” So saying he went forth

  And ‘mid their reverence, leading by the hand

  His happy mother, turned unto the strand;

  And still the wondering folk with them must go,

  And now such honour unto him would show,

  That rather they would make him God than King;

  But while fresh carols round him these did sing

  They came unto the low, sea-beaten sand;

  And Danae took the Syrian by the hand

  And kissed her, full of joy that such an one

  Should bear brave children to her godlike son:

  Then Perseus gave commands, and on the shore

  Great gifts they laid from out his plenteous store,

  To glad King Dictys’ eyes withal, and then

  Bade farewell to him and his island men;

  And all took ship, and hoisting sail straightway,

  Departed o’er the restless plain and grey.

  Now fair the wind was for a day and night,

  But on the second day as it grew light,

  And they were thinking that they soon should be

  At Argos, rose a tempest on the sea,

  And drave them from their course unto a land

  Far north thereof. So on the yellow sand

  They hauled their ship, and thereto presently

  The good folk of the country drew anigh,

  To make their market; and being asked, they said

  That this was Thessaly, that strait paths led

  Through rugged mountains to a fertile plain

  Peneus watered, rich with many a fane:

  That following down the stream they soon should come

  Unto a mighty people’s glorious home,

  A god-loved ancient city, called of men

  Larissa, and the time was fitting then

  To go thereto, and there should they have rest,

  For now each corner was an honoured guest,

  Because Teutamias, the Thessalian king,

  His father dead with games was honouring.

  Then to that city Perseus fain would go,

  His might unto the gathered men to show;

  Desiring, too, to gather tidings there

  Of how the old Acrisius yet might fare,

  And if unto his scarce-seen Argive home

  He in good peace might venture now to come.

  So of the country folk he took fair steeds

  And gave them gold, and goods for all their needs,

  And with a trusty band with this intent

  Through the rough passes of the hills he went,

  Bearing his mother, and the Syrian may:

  As of a king’s men deemed of his array,

  When to the fertile peopled fields he came;

  But yet he bade that none should tell his name.

  So coming to Larissa, all men thought,

  That he who with him such great marvels brought

  Was some great king, though scanty was his band;

  So honour did he get on every hand.

  But when the games began, and none could win

  A prize in any, if he played therein,

  A greater name they gave him, saying, “What worth

  In this poor age is left upon the earth

  To do such deeds? Surely no man this is,

  But some god weary of the heavenly bliss.”

  At last, when all the other games were done,

  Men fell to play at casting of the stone;

  And strong men cast it, mighty of their hands,

  Bearers of great names in the Grecian lands:

  But Perseus stood and watched the play alone,

  Nor did he move when every man had thrown.

  Then cried Teutamias, “Nameless one! see now

  How mightily these strong-armed heroes throw:

  Canst thou prevail in this as in the rest?”

  “O King!” said Perseus, “now I think it best

  To try the Fates no more; I must be gone:

  Therefore to-day thou seest me thus alone,

  For in the house my white-armed damsels stay

  To order matters for our homeward way.”

  “Nay, stranger,” said the King, “but rather take

  This golden garland for Teutamias’ sake,

  And try one cast: look, here I have with me

  A well-loved guest, who is most fain to see

  Thy godlike strength, yea we will draw anigh

  To watch the heavy stone like Jove’s bolt fly

  Forth from thine hand.” Then Perseus smiled and said,

  “Nay then, be wary, and guard well thine head.!

  For who of mortals knoweth where and when

  The bolts of Jove shall smite down foolish men?”

  So said he, and withal the King drew nigh,

  And with him an old man, who anxiously

  Peered round him as if looking for a foe;

  Then Perseus made him ready for the throw,

  But even as he stooped the stone to raise,

  The old man said, “That I the more may praise

  This hero’s cast, come to the other end

  And we shall see the hill of granite send

  The earth and stones up as its course is spent.”

  So then beyond the furthest cast they went

  By some three yards, and stood aside; but now

  Since it was evening and the sun was low

  Its beams were in their eyes, nor could they see

  If Perseus moved or not, then restlessly

  Looking this way or that, the ancient man,

  Gathering his garments up, in haste began

  To cross the place, but when a warning shout

  Rang in his ears, then wavering and in doubt

  He stopped, and scarcely had he time to hear

  A second cry of horror and of fear,

  Ere crushed, and beaten down upon the ground,

  The end of all his weary life he found.

  Then women shrieked, and strong men shouted out,

  And Perseus ran to those that drew about

  The slain old man, and asked them of his name,

  But the King, eyeing him as nigh he came,

  Said, “This we know, and thy hid name we know,

  For certainly thou art his fated foe,

  His very daughter’s strange-begotten son,

  The child the sea cast up, the dreaded one.

  This was Acrisius, who for fear of thee

  Shut up thy mother by the sounding sea;

  This was the man, who, for the very dread

  Of meeting thee, from lovely Argos fled

  To be my guest. Nay, let thy sharp sword bide

  Within its sheath, the world is fair and wide,

  Nor have we aught to do to thee for this;

  Go then in peace, and live in woe or bliss

  E’en as thou may’st, but stay with us no more,

  Because we fear the gods may plague us sore

  For this thy deed, though they would have it so.”

  Then soberly thenceforth did Perseus go

  Unto his folk, and straightly told them all

  That on that luckless day had chanced to fall;

  Wondering thereat, there made they no delay

  But down unto the sea they took their way;

  And much did Danae ponder as they went

  How the high gods had wrought out their intent,

  And thinking on these things she needs must sigh

  For pity of her sweet life passing by.

  But when they reached the border of the sea,

  Then Perseus said, “Though all unwittingly

  I slew this man, and though perchance of right

  His throne is mine, yet never will I fight

  Against the just gods, and I fear the stain

  Of kindred blood, if slaying him I gain

  His kingdom and the city of my birth:

  Now, therefore, since the gods have made the earth

  Most fair in many places, let us go

  Where’er the god-sent fated wind shall blow

  The ship, that carries one the high gods love.

  But first the armed lovely Maid of Jove

  Here let us worship, on this yellow beach,

  That her, my helper erst, we may beseech

  To grant us much, and first of all things, this,

  A land where we may dwell awhile in bliss.”

  They heard him gladly, for the most of those

  Were young, nor yet by mishaps and by foes

  Had learned to think the world a dreary thing;

  So round about the altar did they sing

  And feasted well, and when the day came round

  Once more, they went a-shipboard to the sound

  Of trumpets and heart-moving melody,

  And gave their rich keel to the restless sea.

  Then for four days before the wind they drove,

  Until at last in sight a new land hove

  Their pilot called the coast of Argolis,

  That rich in cattle and in horses is.

  But landing there had Perseus’ godlike fame

  Gone on before him, and the people came

  And cried upon him for their king and lord,

  The people’s saving shield and conquering sword;

  So in that land he failed not to abide,

  And there with many rites he purified

  His fated hands of that unlooked-for guilt:

  And there a town within a while he built

  Men call Mycenæ. Peaceful grew the land

  The while the ivory rod was in his hand,

  For robbers fled, and good men still waxed strong,

  And in no house was any sound of wrong,

  Until the Golden Age seemed there to be,

  So steeped the land was in felicity.

  Time past, and there his wife and mother died,

  And he, no god, must lie down by their side,

  While Alceus his first son reigned after him,

  A conquering king, and fair, and strong of limb.

  But long ere this he did not fail to lay

  The sacred things that brought him on his way

  Within Minerva’s temple; there with awe

  ‘Twixt silver bars, all folk these marvels saw,

  But not for long, for on the twentieth day

  From the fair temple were they snatched away

  Though by the armed priests guarded faithfully.

  But still the empty wallet there did lie

  Wherein had Perseus borne the head with him,

  Which still when his great deeds were waxing dim,

  Hung in the Maiden’s temple near the shrine,

  And folk would pour before it oil and wine.

  And know besides, that from that very year

  Those who are wise say that the Maid doth bear

  Amidst her shield that awful snaky head

  Whereby so many heedless ones are dead.

  BEFORE the last words of his tale were done

  The purple hills had hidden half the sun,

  But when the story’s death a silence made

  Within the hall, in freshness and in shade

  The trembling blossoms of the garden lay.

  Few words at first the elder men could say,

  For thinking how all stories end with this,

  Whatever was the midway gain and bliss:

  “He died, and in his place was set his son;

  He died, and in a few days every one

  Went on their way as though he had not been.”

  Yet with the pictures that their eyes had seen,

  As still from point to point that history past,

  And round their thoughts its painted veil was cast,

  Their hearts were softened, — far away they saw

  That other world, that ‘neath another law

  Had lived and died; when man might hope to see

  Some earthly image of Divinity,

  And yet not die, but, strengthened by the sight,

  Cast fear away, and go from might to might,

  Until to godlike life, though short, he came,

  Amidst all losses winning hope of fame,

  Nor losing joy the while his life should ‘dure,

  For that at least his valiant strife made sure,

  That still in place of dreamy, youthful hope,

  With slow decay and certain death could cope.

  So mused the Wanderers, and awhile might deem

  That world might not be quite an empty dream,

  But dim foreshadowings of what yet might come

  When they perforce must leave that new-gained home;

  Foreshadowings mingled with the images

  Of man’s misdeeds in greater days than these.

  With no harsh words their musing was undone,

  The garden birds sang down the setting sun,

  A rainy wind from ‘twixt the trees arose,

  And sang a mournful counterpoint to those;

  And, ere the rain amidst the dark could fall,

  The minstrel’s song was ringing through the hall.

  WHEN April-tide was melting into May,

  Within a hall that midst the gardens lay

  These elders met, and having feasted well,

  The time came round the wonted tale to tell.

  Then spake a Wanderer: “Sirs, it happed to me,

  Long years agone, to cross the narrow sea

  That ‘twixt us Drontheimers and England lies;

  Young was I then, and little thought these eyes

  Should see so many lands ere all was done.

  “But this land was a fair and fertile one,

  As at that time, for April-tide it was,

  Even as now; well, sirs, it came to pass

  That to this town or that we took our way,

  Or in some abbey’s guesten-chamber lay,

  And many tales we heard, some false, some true,

  Of the ill deeds our fathers used to do

  Within that land; and still the tale would end,

  ‘Yet did the Saint his Holy House defend;’

  Or, ‘Sirs, their fury all was nought and vain,

  And by our Earl the pirate-king was slain.’

  God wot, I laughed full often in my sleeve,

  And could have told them stories, by their leave,

  With other endings: but I held my tongue.

  Let each king’s deeds in his own land be sung,

  And then will lies stretch far. Besides, these men

  Were puffed up with their luck and glory then,

  For at that tide, within the land of France,

  Unto their piping must all people dance. —

  — But let that pass, for Captain Rolf has told

  How, on the way, their king he did behold.

  “For other tales they told, and one of these

  Not all the washing of the troublous seas,

  Not all the changeful days whereof ye know,

  Has swept from out my memory; even so

  Small things far off will be remembered clear

  When matters both more weighty, and more near,

  Are waxing dim to us. I, who have seen

  So many lands, and midst such marvels been,

  Clearer than these abodes of outland men,

  Can see above the green and unburnt fen

  The little houses of an English town,

  Cross-timbered, thatched with fen-reeds coarse and brown,

  And high o’er these, three gables, great and fair,

  That slender rods of columns do upbear

  Over the minster doors, and imagery

  Of kings, and flowers no summer field doth see,

  Wrought on those gables. — Yea, I heard withal,

  In the fresh morning air, the trowels fall

  Upon the stone, a thin noise far away;

  For high up wrought the masons on that day,

  Since to the monks that house seemed scarcely well

  Till they had set a spire or pinnacle

  Each side the great porch. In that burgh I heard

  This tale, and late have set down every word

  That I remembered, when the thoughts would come,

  Of what we did in our deserted home,

  And of the days, long past, when we were young,

  Nor knew the cloudy woes that o’er us hung.

  And howsoever I am now grown old,

  Yet is it still the tale I then heard told

  Within the guest-house of that minster-close,

  Whose walls, like cliffs new-made, before us rose.”

  THE PROUD KING.

  ARGUMENT.

  A CERTAIN King, blinded by pride, thought that he was something more than man, if not equal to God; but such a judgment fell on him that none knew him for king, and he suffered many things, till in the end, humbling himself, he regained his kingdom and honour.

  IN a far country that I cannot name,

  And on a year long ages past away,

  A King there dwelt, in rest and ease and fame,

  And richer than the Emperor is to-day:

  The very thought of what this man might say,

  From dusk to dawn kept many a lord awake,

  For fear of him did many a great man quake.

  Young was he when he first sat on the throne,

  And he was wedded to a noble wife,

  But at the daïs must he sit alone,

  Nor durst a man speak to him for his life,

  Except with leave: nought knew he change or strife,

  But that the years passed silently away,

  And in his black beard gathered specks of grey

  Now so it chanced, upon a May morning,

  Wakeful he lay when yet low was the sun,

 

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