Part 22

MAN AND THE ASCIDIAN.

A MORALITY.

“THE Ancestor remote of Man,” Says Darwin, “is th’ Ascidian,” A scanty sort of water-beast That, ninety million years at least Before Gorillas came to be, Went swimming up and down the sea.

Their ancestors the pious praise, And like to imitate their ways; How, then, does our first parent live, What lesson has his life to give?

Th’ Ascidian tadpole, young and gay, Doth Life with one bright eye survey, His consciousness has easy play. He’s sensitive to grief and pain, Has tail, and spine, and bears a brain, And everything that fits the state Of creatures we call vertebrate. But age comes on; with sudden shock He sticks his head against a rock! His tail drops off, his eye drops in, His brain’s absorbed into his skin; He does not move, nor feel, nor know The tidal water’s ebb and flow, But still abides, unstirred, alone, A sucker sticking to a stone.

And we, his children, truly we In youth are, like the Tadpole, free. And where we would we blithely go, Have brains and hearts, and feel and know. Then Age comes on! To Habit we Affix ourselves and are not free; Th’ Ascidian’s rooted to a rock, And we are bond-slaves of the clock; Our rocks are Medicine—Letters—Law, From these our heads we cannot draw: Our loves drop off, our hearts drop in, And daily thicker grows our skin.

Ah, scarce we live, we scarcely know The wide world’s moving ebb and flow, The clanging currents ring and shock, But we are rooted to the rock. And thus at ending of his span, Blind, deaf, and indolent, does Man Revert to the Ascidian.

BALLADE OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST.

“What did the dark-haired Iberian laugh at before the tall blonde Aryan drove him into the corners of Europe?”—Brander Matthews.

I AM an ancient Jest! Palæolithic man In his arboreal nest The sparks of fun would fan; My outline did he plan, And laughed like one possessed, ’Twas thus my course began, I am a Merry Jest!

I am an early Jest! Man delved, and built, and span; Then wandered South and West The peoples Aryan, I journeyed in their van; The Semites, too, confessed,— From Beersheba to Dan,— I am a Merry Jest!

I am an ancient Jest, Through all the human clan, Red, black, white, free, oppressed, Hilarious I ran! I’m found in Lucian, In Poggio, and the rest, I’m dear to Moll and Nan! I am a Merry Jest!

ENVOY.

Prince, you may storm and ban— Joe Millers are a pest, Suppress me if you can! I am a Merry Jest!

CAMEOS. SONNETS FROM THE ANTIQUE.

These versions from classical passages are pretty close to the original, except where compression was needed, as in the sonnets from Pausanias and Apuleius, or where, as in the case of fragments of Æschylus and Sophocles, a little expansion was required.

CAMEOS.

THE graver by Apollo’s shrine, Before the Gods had fled, would stand, A shell or onyx in his hand, To copy there the face divine, Till earnest touches, line by line, Had wrought the wonder of the land Within a beryl’s golden band, Or on some fiery opal fine. Ah! would that as some ancient ring To us, on shell or stone, doth bring, Art’s marvels perished long ago, So I, within the sonnet’s space, The large Hellenic lines might trace, The statue in the cameo!

HELEN ON THE WALLS.

(Iliad, iii. 146.)

FAIR Helen to the Scæan portals came, Where sat the elders, peers of Priamus, Thymoetas, Hiketaon, Panthöus, And many another of a noble name, Famed warriors, now in council more of fame. Always above the gates, in converse thus They chattered like cicalas garrulous; Who marking Helen, swore “it is no shame That armed Achæan knights, and Ilian men For such a woman’s sake should suffer long. Fair as a deathless goddess seemeth she. Nay, but aboard the red-prowed ships again Home let her pass in peace, not working wrong To us, and children’s children yet to be.”

THE ISLES OF THE BLESSED.

Pindar, Fr., 106, 107 (95): B. 4, 129–130, 109 (97): B. 4, 132.

NOW the light of the sun, in the night of the Earth, on the souls of the True Shines, and their city is girt with the meadow where reigneth the rose; And deep is the shade of the woods, and the wind that flits o’er them and through Sings of the sea, and is sweet from the isles where the frankincense blows: Green is their garden and orchard, with rare fruits golden it glows, And the souls of the Blessed are glad in the pleasures on Earth that they knew, And in chariots these have delight, and in dice and in minstrelsy those, And the savour of sacrifice clings to the altars and rises anew.

But the Souls that Persephone cleanses from ancient pollution and stain, These at the end of the age, be they prince, be they singer, or seer; These to the world shall be born as of old, shall be sages again; These of their hands shall be hardy, shall live, and shall die, and shall hear Thanks of the people, and songs of the minstrels that praise them amain, And their glory shall dwell in the land where they dwelt, while year calls unto year!

DEATH.

(Æsch., Fr., 156.)

OF all Gods Death alone Disdaineth sacrifice: No man hath found or shown The gift that Death would prize. In vain are songs or sighs, Pæan, or praise, or moan, Alone beneath the skies Hath Death no altar-stone!