Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/242
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206
Nausicaa.
We pitied him. Who would not pity him?
Meat, drink and raiment, these my maidens gave;
The pure stream washed away the rude sea’s stains,
While all my handmaids marvelled at the grace
And beauty of this poor waif of the deep.
Then greatly moved, I earnestly bespake them,
“Not without will of all the Gods who hold
Olympus, to Phæacia came this man,
For, whereas erst he seemed uncomely, now
Like to the Gods who hold broad Heaven is he;
May such be called my husband, dwelling here,
Where it may please him to abide with me.”—
Not in our time that day shall be forgot
When—a poor suppliant in my father’s halls—
The tale of Troy our blind old minstrel sang
Wrung from the stranger no unmanly tears.
Erect he stood, and flung aside disguise,
Confest a hero and born king of men.
Then, day by day, fell from his honeyed lips
The wondrous story of his full, brave life,
While, spell-bound, all our dull Phæacian youth,
And my dull bridegroom with them, stood agape.
Then came the bitter time, so long delayed,
When from our noble guest we needs must part;
Few were my farewell words, and his as few.
Before the portal of my father’s house
I stood and said, “Farewell! And think of me
When thou returnest to thy native land,
As of one unto whom thy life thou owest.”
Then, as one deeply stirred, these words he breathed:
“Nausicaa, should Zeus and Here grant
That I once more should see my island home,
Daily as to a Goddess, will I pay
My vows to thee, for thou, girl, gav’st me life.”—
Did the man love me then? Ah me! I know not.
It were unworthy of a great king’s child,
Meat, drink and raiment, these my maidens gave;
The pure stream washed away the rude sea’s stains,
While all my handmaids marvelled at the grace
And beauty of this poor waif of the deep.
Then greatly moved, I earnestly bespake them,
“Not without will of all the Gods who hold
Olympus, to Phæacia came this man,
For, whereas erst he seemed uncomely, now
Like to the Gods who hold broad Heaven is he;
May such be called my husband, dwelling here,
Where it may please him to abide with me.”—
Not in our time that day shall be forgot
When—a poor suppliant in my father’s halls—
The tale of Troy our blind old minstrel sang
Wrung from the stranger no unmanly tears.
Erect he stood, and flung aside disguise,
Confest a hero and born king of men.
Then, day by day, fell from his honeyed lips
The wondrous story of his full, brave life,
While, spell-bound, all our dull Phæacian youth,
And my dull bridegroom with them, stood agape.
Then came the bitter time, so long delayed,
When from our noble guest we needs must part;
Few were my farewell words, and his as few.
Before the portal of my father’s house
I stood and said, “Farewell! And think of me
When thou returnest to thy native land,
As of one unto whom thy life thou owest.”
Then, as one deeply stirred, these words he breathed:
“Nausicaa, should Zeus and Here grant
That I once more should see my island home,
Daily as to a Goddess, will I pay
My vows to thee, for thou, girl, gav’st me life.”—
Did the man love me then? Ah me! I know not.
It were unworthy of a great king’s child,