A ballad.
The tyrant Dionys to seek,
Stern Moerus with his poniard crept;
The watchful guard upon him swept;
The grim king marked his changeless cheek:
What wouldst thou with thy poniard?
Speak!
The city from the tyrant free!
The death-cross shall thy guerdon be.
I am prepared for death,
nor pray,
Replied that haughty man, I to live;
Enough, if thou one grace wilt give
For three brief suns the death delay
To wed my sister-leagues away;
I boast one friend whose life for mine,
If I should fail the cross, is thine.
The tyrant mused,-and
smiled,-and said
With gloomy craft, So
let it be;
Three days I will vouchsafe
to thee.
But mark-if, when the
time be sped,
Thou failst-thy
surety dies instead.
His life shall buy thine own release;
Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall
cease.
He sought his friend-The
kings decree
Ordains my life the cross
upon
Shall pay the deed I would
have done;
Yet grants three days delay
to me,
My sisters marriage-rites
to see;
If thou, the hostage, wilt remain
Till I-set free-return
again!
His friend embraced-No
word he said,
But silent to the tyrant strode-
The other went upon his road.
Ere the third sun in heaven was
red,
The rite was oer, the sister
wed;
And back, with anxious heart unquailing,
He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing.
Down the great rains unending bore,
Down from the hills the torrents
rushed,
In one broad stream the brooklets
gushed.
The wanderer halts beside the shore,
The bridge was swept the tides before-
The shattered arches oer
and under
Went the tumultuous waves in thunder.
Dismayed he takes his idle stand-
Dismayed, he strays and shouts
around;
His voice awakes no answering
sound.
No boat will leave the sheltering
strand,
To bear him to the wished-for land;
No boatman will Deaths pilot
be;
The wild stream gathers to a sea!
Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps,
Then raised his arms to Jove,
and cried,
Stay thou, oh stay
the maddening tide;
Midway behold the swift sun sweeps,
And, ere he sinks adown the deeps,
If I should fail, his beams will
see
My friends last anguish-slain
for me!
More fierce it runs, more broad
it flows,
And wave on wave succeeds
and dies
And hour on hour remorseless
flies;
Despair at last to daring grows-
Amidst the flood his form he throws;
With vigorous arms the roaring waves
Cleaves-and a God that
pities, saves.
He wins the bank-he scours
the strand,
He thanks the God in breathless
prayer;
When from the forests
gloomy lair,
With ragged club in ruthless hand,
And breathing murder-rushed
the band
That find, in woods, their savage
den,
And savage prey in wandering men.
What, cried he, pale
with generous fear;
What think to gain
ye by the strife?
All I bear with me is my life-
I take it to the king!-and
here
He snatched the club from him most
near:
And thrice he smote, and thrice
his blows
Dealt death-before him
fly the foes!
The sun is glowing as a brand;
And faint before the parching
heat,
The strength forsakes the
feeble feet:
Thou hast saved me from the
robbers hand,
Through wild floods given the blessed
land;
And shall the weak limbs fail me
now?
And he!-Divine one, nerve
me, thou!
Hark! like some gracious murmur
by,
Babbles low music, silver-clear-
The wanderer holds his breath
to hear;
And from the rock, before his eye,
Laughs forth the spring delightedly;
Now the sweet waves he bends him
oer,
And the sweet waves his strength
restore.
Through the green boughs the sun
gleams dying,
Oer fields that drink
the rosy beam,
The trees huge shadows
giant seem.
Two strangers on the road are hieing;
And as they fleet beside him flying,
These muttered words his ear dismay:
Now-now the cross
has claimed its prey!
Despair his winged path pursues,
The anxious terrors hound
him on-
There, reddening in the evening
sun,
From far, the domes of Syracuse!-
When towards him comes Philostratus
(His leal and trusty herdsman he),
And to the master bends his knee.
Back-thou canst
aid thy friend no more,
The niggard time already flown-
His life is forfeit-save
thine own!
Hour after hour in hope he bore,
Nor might his soul its faith give
oer;
Nor could the tyrants scorn
deriding,
Steal from that faith one thought
confiding!
Too late! what horror hast
thou spoken!
Vain life, since it cannot
requite him!
But death with me can yet
unite him;
No boast the tyrants scorn
shall make-
How friend to friend can faith forsake.
But from the double death shall
know,
That truth and love yet live below!
The sun sinks down-the
gates in view,
The cross looms dismal on
the ground-
The eager crowd gape murmuring
round.
His friend is bound the cross unto.
. . .
Crowd-guards-all
bursts he breathless through:
Me! Doomsman, me!
he shouts, alone!
His life is rescued-lo,
mine own!
Amazement seized the circling ring!
Linked in each others
arms the pair-
Weeping for joy-yet
anguish there!
Moist every eye that gazed;-they
bring
The wondrous tidings to the king-
His breast mans heart at
last hath known,
And the friends stand before his
throne.
Long silent, he, and wondering long,
Gazed on the pair-In
peace depart,
Victors, ye have subdued my
heart!
Truth is no dream!-its
power is strong.
Give grace to him who owns his wrong!
Tis mine your suppliant now
to be,
Ah, let the band of love-be
three!
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