POETRY.
IDYLLS OF THE ILIAD.—VIII.
CORCEBUS.
OP all who, in her hour of need, to Troy Came from far lands to fight against her foes, Corcebns was the youngest. Him nor greed 'Of Priam's treasure drew, nor lust of war, And what war brings, armour and steeds and slaves, _Nor Asia herded by a common dread, But love of young Cassandra, fairest maid And doomed to foulest death of all in Troy.
In Priam's halls, when peace was in the land, Often had boy and girl, in childish sport, Pledged each to other troth, the while their sires, Mygdon and Priam, smiled a grave assent.
Then severance, and the Sun-god's fatal love, And the curse came, which ever in some form Cometh to mortals whom the Immortals' love; To her, a curse of wisdom scorned of men, And unregarded foresight. Long the youth, Not knowing what bad been and what should be, Waited the ebbing of the tide of war That beat on Troy, and passion fired his soul, To free his bride, and win himself a name.
But all toe late it seemed, for now the Greeks Had fled their fruitless task, and every gate Was open, and each heart in Troy was glad; Save one, whose bitter boding not the sight Of the gay bridegroom, bright with hope and love, Could quicken into gladness. Sad she sate, Eyeing the future, as some shrinking dove Eyes the fast-closing fowler's net, nor dreams Of flight nor succour, but awaits its doom.
So she. But young Combas, half in joy, Half vexed that no great deed remained to do, Chid with fond fire, and words of loving scorn,— " Sweetest and best, after long lapse of years Restored to freedom, happiness, and me, Canst thou not, dear one, spare one glance, one smile Of welcome to thy playmate P Whence thy gloom, Strange in its grief, when all around is joy P Frighted with maiden's fears ? Nay, sure, my band Were strong to save thee from a thousand Greeks, Yea, from grim Agamemnon's self,—why shrink, Poor paling sweetheart, at Atiides' name ?
By the bright Sun-god, whom ye Trojans hail Author of Troy, and guardian of its weal, Rare were the sport, to chase the flying King, And from Mycenm and his loving arms
Drag his fond Clytemnestra for thy slave—
Nay, now, what need, with that sweet childish fear, To shudder ? War is past, and war's alarm, And, if I leave thee now, 'tis but to aid The housing of you safeguard of our peace, The votive monster of the witless Greeks; And with to-morrow's dawn all Troy shall flame With happy bridal torches, and the Gods Shall bless our union." So Corcebus spake, And went his way, as some gay gilded bark Goes gallant forth across a summer sea, And brief farewells are waved by careless hands, That never come again, for o'er them sweeps The sea, and fishes fatten on their flesh.
So never did Corcebns come again, Bat with the dawn, and Troy's red agony, Sank in the sea of spears ; nor could his hands Avail to save, only his filming eyes Saw from afar a white tear-dabbled face, And slender thong-bound wrists,—and kindly death Forebode to know the sequel of her doom. 0. OGLE.
Previous page
