(FROM THE "FIFTH DAY'S INTERVIEW.")
ARLINO! what art thou about, my boy?
Often I ask that question, though in vain, For we are far apart: ah! therefore 'tis I often ask it; not in such a tone
As wiser fathers do, who know too well. Were we not children, you and I together? Stole we not glances from each other's eyes? Swore we not secrecy in such misdeeds? Well could we trust each other. Tell me then What thou art doing. Carving out thy name, Or haply mine, upon my favourite seat, With the new knife I sent thee over sea?
Or hast thou broken it, and hid the hilt
Among the myrtles, starr'd with flowers, behind? Or under that high throne whence fifty lilies (With sworded tuberoses dense around) Lift up their heads at once, not without fear That they were looking at thee all the while. Does Cincirillo follow thee about?
Inverting one swart foot suspensively, And wagging his dread jaw at every chirp Of bird above him on the olive-branch? Frighten him then away! 'twas he who slew Our pigeons, our white pigeons peacock-tailed That fear'd not you and me-alas, nor him!
I flattened his striped sides along my knee, And reasoned with him on his bloody mind, Till he looked blandly, and half-closed his eyes To ponder on my lecture in the shade.
I doubt his memory much, his heart a little, And in some minor matters (may I say it ?) Could wish him rather sager. But from thee God hold back wisdom yet for many years! Whether in early season or in late
It always comes high-priced. For thy pure breast I have no lesson; it for me has many.
Come throw it open then! What sports, what cares (Since there are none too young for these) engage Thy busy thoughts? Are you again at work, Walter and you, with those sly labourers,
Geppo, Giovanni, Cecco, and Poeta,
To build more solidly your broken dam Among the poplars, whence the nightingale Inquisitively watch'd you all day long?
I was not of your council in the scheme, Or might have saved you silver without end, And sighs too without number. Art thou gone Below the mulberry, where that cold pool Urged to devise a warmer, and more fit
For mighty swimmers, swimming three abreast? Or art thou panting in this summer noon Upon the lowest step before the hall, Drawing a slice of watermelon, long
As Cupid's bow, athwart thy wetted lips
(Like one who plays Pan's pipe) and letting drop The sable seeds from all their separate cells, And leaving bays profound and rocks abrupt, Redder than coral round Calypso's cave.
RHAICOS was born amid the hills wherefrom Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd,
And small are the white-crested that play near, And smaller onward are the purple waves. Thence festal choirs were visible, all crown'd With rose and myrtle if they were inborn; If from Pandion sprang they, on the coast Where stern Athenè rais'd her citadel, Then olive was entwined with violets Cluster'd in bosses, regular and large. For various men wore various coronals, But one was their devotion: 'twas to her Whose laws all follow, her whose smile withdraws The sword from Ares, thunderbolt from Zeus,
And whom in his chill caves the mutable Of mind, Poseidon, the sea-king, reveres,
And whom his brother, stubborn Dis, hath pray'd To turn in pity the averted cheek
Of her he bore away, with promises,
Nay, with loud oath before dread Styx itself, To give her daily more and sweeter flowers Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell. Rhaicos was looking from his father's door At the long trains that hastened to the town From all the valleys, like bright rivulets
Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave, And thought it hard he might not also go And offer up one prayer, and press one hand, He knew not whose. The father call'd him in, And said, “Son Rhaicos! those are idle games ; Long enough I have lived to find them so." And ere he ended, sigh'd; as old men do Always, to think how idle such games are. "I have not yet," thought Rhaicos in his heart, And wanted proof.
Echeion at the hill, to bark yon oak
And lop his branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe: This we may do in winter."
For thence he could see farther, and see more Of those who hurried to the city-gate. Echeion he found there, with naked arm Swart-hair'd, strong-sinew'd, and his eyes intent Upon the place where first the axe should fall: He held it upright. "There are bees about, Or wasps, or hornets," said the cautious eld, "Look sharp, O son of Thallinos!" The youth Inclined his ear, afar, and warily,
And cavern'd in his hand. He heard a buzz At first, and then the sound grew soft and clear, And then divided into what seem'd tune, And there were words upon it, plaintive words. He turn'd, and said, "Echeion! do not strike That tree it must be hollow; for some God Speaks from within. Come thyself near." Again Both turn'd toward it: and behold! there sat Upon the moss below, with her two palms
Pressing it on each side, a maid in form. Downcast were her long eyelashes, and pale Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd Berries of colour like her lip so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering, like the face beneath. "What dost thou here?" Echeion, half-afraid, Half-angry, cried. She lifted up her eyes, But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step Backward, for fear came likewise over him, But not such fear: he panted, gaspt, drew in His breath, and would have turn'd it into words, But could not into one.
That sad old man!" said she. The old man went
Without a warning from his master's son, Glad to escape, for sorely he now fear'd,
And the axe shone behind him in their eyes.
Hamadryad. And wouldst thou too shed the most innocent Of blood? No vow demands it; no God wills
Who art thou? whence? why here? And whither wouldst thou go? Among the robed In white or saffron, or the hue that most Resembles dawn or the clear sky, is none Array'd as thou art. What so beautiful As that gray robe which clings about thee close, Like moss to stones adhering, leaves to trees, Yet lets thy bosom rise and fall in turn, As, toucht by zephyrs, fall and rise the boughs Of graceful platan by the river-side.
Hamad. Lovest thou well thy father's house? Rhaicos.
I love it, well I love it, yet would leave
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