Rhapsody

Homer divine! Joy of all time and glory! When in the coldness of a frigid school, Upon the barrenness of a hard bench, My teacher's graceless hands placed thee before me, O peerless book, what I had thought would be A lesson, proved a mighty miracle!

The heavens opened wide and clear in me; The sea, a sapphire sown with emerald; The bench became a throne palatial; The school, a world; the teacher, a great bard!

It was not reading nor the fruit of thought: A vision it was that shone most wonderful, A melody my ears had never heard.

In the great cavern that a forest deep Of poplars and of cypresses encircles, In the great fragrant cavern that the glow Of burning cedar beats with pleasant warmth, Calypso of the shining hair spins not Her web with golden shuttle; nor sings she With limpid voice. But lifting up her hands, She pours her curses from her flaming heart Against the jealous gods: "O mortal men Adored by the immortal goddesses, Who on Olympus shared with you their love's Ambrosia, and mortals crushed to dust By jealous gods!..." The goddess's awful curse Makes the fresh celeries and violets fade, And, like the hail sent by the heaven's wrath, It burns the clusters on the fruitful vines!

The hero far renowned of Ithaca Alone heeds not the flaming curse, that he, A wanderer, in the Nymph's heart did light Unwittingly. But sea-wrecked and sea-beaten, He sits without, immovable, with eyes Fixed far away; and thus remembering His native island's shores, for ever weeps Upon the coast and near the sea thrice-deep. The white sea-gull that often in its flight Plunges its wings into the brine to catch The fish, and the lone falcon perched afar In the deep forest, lonely and remote, Listen and answer to the hero's wail.

Oh, for my phantasy's revealed first vision! Oh, for the baring of the beautiful Before me! Lo, the dusty, dark-brown land Changes into a Nymph's isle lily-white! The humble fisher lass upon the rock, Into Calypso of the shining hair, love-born! My heart, a traveller into a thousand Lands, thirsting for one country, which is love!

And lo, my soul is, ever since, a lyre Of double strings that echoes with its sound The harmony thrice ancient, curse or wail! Joy of all time and glory, godlike Homer!