The Hamadryad

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 entwin’d with violets
Cluster’d in bosses, regular and large;
For various men wore various coronals,
But one was their devotion; ’t was 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 hasten’d 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 liv’d 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.
“Suppose thou go and help
Echion at the hill, to bark yon oak
And lop its branches off, before we delve
About the trunk and ply the root with axe:
This we may do in winter.”
Rhaicos went;
For thence he could see farther, and see more
Of those who hurried to the city-gate.
Echion 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
Inclin’d 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, “Echion! 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 color like her lip so pure,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth, and wavering like the face beneath.
“What dost thou here?” Echion, 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, gasp’d drew in 70
His breath, and would have turn’d it into words,
But could not into one.
“O send away
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.
Hamad. And wouldst thou too shed the most innocent
Of blood? No vow demands it; no god wills
The oak to bleed.
Rhaicos. Who art thou? whence? why here?
And whither wouldst thou go? Among the rob’d
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, touch’d by zephyrs, fall and rise the boughs
Of graceful platan by the river-side?
Hamad. Lovest thou well thy father’s house?
Rhaicos. Indeed
I love it, well I love it, yet would leave
For thine, where’er it be, my father’s house,
With all the marks upon the door, that show
My growth at every birthday since the third,
And all the charms, o’erpowering evil eyes,
My mother nail’d for me against my bed,
And the Cydonian bow (which thou shalt see)
Won in my race last spring from Eutychos.
Hamad. Bethink thee what it is to leave a home
Thou never yet hast left, one night, one day.
Rhaicos. No, ’t is not hard to leave it: ’t is not hard
To leave, O maiden, that paternal home
If there be one on earth whom we may love
First, last, for ever; one who says that she
Will love for ever too. To say which word,