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390
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ORPHEUS ON GEMS.
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A
sweet delight to the beholder's eye, My heart its aspect fills with
speechless joy, My longing gaze its beauty never tires, But yet the
prodigy with awe inspires : Though to the legend I true credit give,
530 Scarce do I hope it credence will receive ; But yet to men, I ween,
no lying fame Hath sung the terrors of the Gorgon's name. Ko idle tale
the feat of Perseus, high On airy wings careering through the sky, Or
how the hero slew 'neath Atlas' rocks The dire Medusa tressed with
snaky locks, Monster invincible, with eyes of hell, Fatal to all on
whom her glances fell, Who under that intolerable eye To marble statue
stiffen ere they die. E'en Pallas self, indomitable Maid, Shrunk from
the terrors of that look, afraid,
540
And warned her brother of the golden glaive To avert his eyes as he the
death-blow gave. Thus by a wile he won the monster's head, And severed
from the neck her serpent's dread, And stealing from behind with
noiseless wheel, Drew round her throat the curved Cyllemal steel.
Though slain the Gorgon, yet her face retains Its ancient terrors and
its force remains, And many yet were fated by the sight The realms to
enter of eternal night. Dripping with blood the hero seeks the shore,
And, whilst he cleanses from his hands the gore,
550
Still warm, still quivering, lays his trophy down On the green
sea-plants all about him strewn, Whilst tired by toil and by his weary
way His limbs he freshens in the cooling sea. Pressed by the head the
weeds around that lie Soaked with the gore, grow drunk with sanguine
dye, The rushing breezes, daughters of the flood, Upon their boughs
congeal the clotted blood,
500
And so congeal, it seems, a real stone Nor only seems ; to real rock
'tis grown. What though of softness every trace be reft, To the dry
plant its pristine shape is left,
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