PUNCH SONG

 
      Four elements, joined in
       Harmonious strife,
      Shadow the world forth,
       And typify life.
 
 
      Into the goblet
       The lemon's juice pour;
      Acid is ever
       Life's innermost core.
 
 
      Now, with the sugar's
       All-softening juice,
      The strength of the acid
       So burning reduce.
 
 
      The bright sparkling water
       Now pour in the bowl;
      Water all-gently
       Encircles the whole.
 
 
      Let drops of the spirit
       To join them now flow;
      Life to the living
       Naught else can bestow.
 
 
      Drain it off quickly
       Before it exhales;
      Save when 'tis glowing,
       The draught naught avails.
 

NADOWESSIAN DEATH-LAMENT

 
   See, he sitteth on his mat
    Sitteth there upright,
   With the grace with which he sat
    While he saw the light.
 
 
   Where is now the sturdy gripe, —
    Where the breath sedate,
   That so lately whiffed the pipe
    Toward the Spirit great?
 
 
   Where the bright and falcon eye,
    That the reindeer's tread
   On the waving grass could spy,
    Thick with dewdrops spread?
 
 
   Where the limbs that used to dart
    Swifter through the snow
   Than the twenty-membered hart,
    Than the mountain roe?
 
 
   Where the arm that sturdily
    Bent the deadly bow?
   See, its life hath fleeted by, —
    See, it hangeth low!
 
 
   Happy he! — He now has gone
    Where no snow is found:
   Where with maize the fields are sown,
    Self-sprung from the ground;
 
 
   Where with birds each bush is filled,
   Where with game the wood;
   Where the fish, with joy unstilled,
   Wanton in the flood.
 
 
   With the spirits blest he feeds, —
    Leaves us here in gloom;
   We can only praise his deeds,
    And his corpse entomb.
 
 
   Farewell-gifts, then, hither bring,
    Sound the death-note sad!
   Bury with him everything
    That can make him glad!
 
 
   'Neath his head the hatchet hide
    That he boldly swung;
   And the bear's fat haunch beside,
    For the road is long;
 
 
   And the knife, well sharpened,
    That, with slashes three,
   Scalp and skin from foeman's head
    Tore off skilfully.
 
 
   And to paint his body, place
    Dyes within his hand;
   Let him shine with ruddy grace
    In the Spirit-land!
 

THE FEAST OF VICTORY

 
   Priam's castle-walls had sunk,
    Troy in dust and ashes lay,
   And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
    Richly laden with his prey,
   Sat upon his ship's high prow,
    On the Hellespontic strand,
   Starting on his journey now,
    Bound for Greece, his own fair land.
   Raise the glad exulting shout!
    Toward the land that gave them birth
   Turn they now the ships about,
    As they seek their native earth.
 
 
   And in rows, all mournfully,
    Sat the Trojan women there, —
   Beat their breasts in agony,
    Pallid, with dishevelled hair.
   In the feast of joy so glad
    Mingled they the song of woe,
   Weeping o'er their fortunes sad,
    In their country's overthrow.
   "Land beloved, oh, fare thee well!
    By our foreign masters led,
   Far from home we're doomed to dwell, —
    Ah, how happy are the dead!"
 
 
   Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
    On the altar heavenward smokes;
   Pallas, by whom towns are built
    And destroyed, the priest invokes;
   Neptune, too, who all the earth
    With his billowy girdle laves, —
   Zeus, who gives to terror birth,
    Who the dreaded Aegis waves.
   Now the weary fight is done,
    Ne'er again to be renewed;
   Time's wide circuit now is run,
    And the mighty town subdued!
 
 
   Atreus' son, the army's head,
    Told the people's numbers o'er,
   Whom he, as their captain, led
    To Scamander's vale of yore.
   Sorrow's black and heavy clouds
    Passed across the monarch's brow:
   Of those vast and valiant crowds,
    Oh, how few were left him now!
   Joyful songs let each one raise,
    Who will see his home again,
   In whose veins the life-blood plays,
    For, alas! not all remain!
 
 
   "All who homeward wend their way,
    Will not there find peace of mind;
   On their household altars, they
    Murder foul perchance may find.
   Many fall by false friend's stroke,
    Who in fight immortal proved: " —
   So Ulysses warning spoke,
    By Athene's spirit moved.
   Happy he, whose faithful spouse
    Guards his home with honor true!
   Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
    Ever loves she what is new.
 
 
   And Atrides glories there
    In the prize he won in fight,
   And around her body fair
    Twines his arms with fond delight.
   Evil works must punished be.
    Vengeance follows after crime,
   For Kronion's just decree
    Rules the heavenly courts sublime.
   Evil must in evil end;
    Zeus will on the impious band
   Woe for broken guest-rights send,
    Weighing with impartial hand.
 
 
   "It may well the glad befit,"
    Cried Olleus' valiant son, ¹⁰
"To extol the Gods who sit
    On Olympus' lofty throne!
   Fortune all her gifts supplies,
    Blindly, and no justice knows,
   For Patroclus buried lies,
    And Thersites homeward goes!
   Since she blindly throws away
    Each lot in her wheel contained,
   Let him shout with joy to-day
    Who the prize of life has gained."
 
 
   "Ay, the wars the best devour!
    Brother, we will think of thee,
   In the fight a very tower,
    When we join in revelry!
   When the Grecian ships were fired,
    By thine arm was safety brought;
   Yet the man by craft inspired ¹¹
Won the spoils thy valor sought.
   Peace be to thine ashes blest!
    Thou wert vanquished not in fight:
   Anger 'tis destroys the best, —
    Ajax fell by Ajax' might!"
 
 
   Neoptolemus poured then,
    To his sire renowned ¹² the wine —
   "'Mongst the lots of earthly men,
    Mighty father, prize I thine!
   Of the goods that life supplies,
    Greatest far of all is fame;
   Though to dust the body flies,
    Yet still lives a noble name.
   Valiant one, thy glory's ray
    Will immortal be in song;
   For, though life may pass away,
    To all time the dead belong!"
 
 
   "Since the voice of minstrelsy
    Speaks not of the vanquished man,
   I will Hector's witness be," —
    Tydeus' noble son ¹³ began:
   "Fighting bravely in defence
    Of his household-gods he fell.
   Great the victor's glory thence,
    He in purpose did excel!
   Battling for his altars dear,
    Sank that rock, no more to rise;
   E'en the foemen will revere
    One whose honored name ne'er dies."
 
 
   Nestor, joyous reveller old,
    Who three generations saw,
   Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold
    Gave to weeping Hecuba.
   "Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
    And forget each painful smart!
   Bacchus' gifts are wonderful, —
    Balsam for a broken heart.
   Drain the goblet's draught so cool,
    And forget each painful smart!
   Bacchus' gifts are wonderful, —
    Balsam for a broken heart.
 
 
   "E'en to Niobe, whom Heaven
    Loved in wrath to persecute,
   Respite from her pangs was given,
    Tasting of the corn's ripe fruit.
   Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
    In the foaming, living spring,
   Buried deep in Lethe's wave
    Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
   Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
    In the foaming, living spring,
   Swallowed up in Lethe's wave
    Is all grief, all sorrowing!"
 
 
   And the Prophetess ¹⁴ inspired
    By her God, upstarted now, —
   Toward the smoke of homesteads fired,
    Looking from the lofty prow.
   "Smoke is each thing here below;
    Every worldly greatness dies,
   As the vapory columns go, —
    None are fixed but Deities!
   Cares behind the horseman sit —
    Round about the vessel play;
   Lest the morrow hinder it,
    Let us, therefore, live to-day."