The Australasian/1869/04/17/Galatea

For other versions of this work, see Galatea.

Poetry.


Galatea.

By Henry Kendall.

A silver slope, a fall of firs,
A league of gleaming grasses,
And fiery cones, and sultry spurs,
And swarthy pits and passes.

The long-haired Cyclops bated breath,
And bit his lip and hearkened,
And dug and dragged the stone of death
By ways that dipped and darkened.

Across a tract of furnaced flints
There came a wind of water,
From yellow banks, with tender hints
Of Tethys' white-armed daughter.

She sat amongst wild-singing weeds,
By beds of myrrh and moly;
And Acis made a flute of reeds
And drew its accents slowly,

And taught its spirit subtle sounds
That leapt beyond suppression,
And paused and panted on the bounds
Of fierce and fitful passion.

Then he who shaped the cunning tune,
By keen desire made bolder,
Fell fainting like a fervent noon
Upon the sea-nymph's shoulder.

A sweet luxurious maiden-mouth,
Where love began nor ended;
Hair smelling of the rose-strewn South;
Soft eyes and swift and splendid.

Sicilian suns had laid a dower
Of light and life about her:
Her beauty was a gracious flower—
The heart fell dead without her.

"Ah, Galatea," said Polypheme,
"I would that I could find thee
Some finest tone of hill or stream
Wherewith to lull and bind thee!

"What lyre is left of marvellous range
Whose subtle strings, containing
Some note supreme, might catch and change,
Or set thy passion waning?

"Thy passion for the fair-haired youth
Whose fleet light feet perplex me
By ledges rude—on paths uncouth
And broken ways that vex me.

"Turn to me—else violent sleep
Shall track the cunning lover;
And thou wilt wait and thou wilt weep
When I his haunts discover."

But golden Galatea laughed,
And Thosa's son like thunder,
Broke through a rifted runnel shaft,
And dashed its rocks asunder,

And poised the bulk, and hurled the stone,
And crushed the hidden Acis,
And struck with sorrow drear and lone
The sweetest of all faces.

To Zeus, the mighty Father, she
With plaint and prayer departed;
Then from fierce Ætna to the sea
A fountained water started!

A lucent stream of lutes and lights,
Cool haunt of flower and feather;
Whose silver days and yellow nights
Made years of hallowed weather.

Here Galatea used to come
And rest beside the river;
Because in faint soft-blowing foam
Her shepherd lived for ever.

This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.

Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse