To right, and now to left, but evermore
Subdued with influence, and controlled with dread

Of that inviolate Authority.
Then, swiftly as he mused, the impetuous God

Seized on the pausing reins, his coursers plunged,
His brows resumed the grandeur of their ire;

Throughout his vast divinity the deeps
Concurrent thrilled with action, and away,

As sweeps a thunder-cloud across the sky
In harvest-time, preluded by dull blasts;

Or some black-visaged whirlwind, whose wide folds
Rush, wrestling on with all 'twixt heaven and earth,

Darkling he hurried, and his distant voice,
Not softened by delay, was heard in tones

Distinctly terrible, still following up
Its rapid utterance of tremendous wrath

With hoarse reverberations; like the roar
Of lions when they hunger, and awake

The sullen echoes from their forest sleep,
To speed the ravenous noise from hill to hill

And startle victims; but more awful, He,
Scudding across the hills that rise and sink,

With foam, and splash, and cataracts of spray,
Clothed in majestic splendour; girt about

With Sea-gods and swift creatures of the sea;
Their briny eyes blind with the showering drops;

Their stormy locks, salt tongues, and scaly backs,
Quivering in harmony with the tempest, fierce

And eager with tempestuous delight; -
He like a moving rock above them all

Solemnly towering while fitful gleams
Brake from his dense black forehead, which display'd

The enduring chiefs as their distracted fleets
Tossed, toiling with the waters, climbing high,

And plunging downward with determined beaks,
In lurid anguish; but the Cretan king

And all his crew were 'ware of under-tides,
That for the groaning vessel made a path,

On which the impending and precipitous waves
Fell not, nor suck'd to their abysmal gorge.

O, happy they to feel the mighty God,
Without his whelming presence near: to feel

Safety and sweet relief from such despair,
And gushing of their weary hopes once more

Within their fond warm hearts, tired limbs, and eyes
Heavy with much fatigue and want of sleep!

Prayers did not lack; like mountain springs they came,
After the earth has drunk the drenching rains,

And throws her fresh-born jets into the sun
With joyous sparkles;--for there needed not

Evidence more serene of instant grace,
Immortal mercy! and the sense which follows

Divine interposition, when the shock
Of danger hath been thwarted by the Gods,

Visibly, and through supplication deep, -
Rose in them, chiefly in the royal mind

Of him whose interceding vow had saved.
Tears from that great heroic soul sprang up;

Not painful as in grief, nor smarting keen
With shame of weeping; but calm, fresh, and sweet;

Such as in lofty spirits rise, and wed
The nature of the woman to the man;

A sight most lovely to the Gods! They fell
Like showers of starlight from his steadfast eyes,

As ever towards the prow he gazed, nor moved
One muscle, with firm lips and level lids,

Motionless; while the winds sang in his ears,
And took the length of his brown hair in streams

Behind him. Thus the hours passed, and the oars
Plied without pause, and nothing but the sound

Of the dull rowlocks and still watery sough,
Far off, the carnage of the storm, was heard.

For nothing spake the mariners in their toil,
And all the captains of the war were dumb:

Too much oppressed with wonder, too much thrilled
By their great chieftain's silence, to disturb

Such meditation with poor human speech.
Meantime the moon through slips of driving cloud

Came forth, and glanced athwart the seas a path
Of dusky splendour, like the Hadean brows,

When with Elysian passion they behold
Persephone's complacent hueless cheeks.

Soon gathering strength and lustre, as a ship
That swims into some blue and open bay

With bright full-bosomed sails, the radiant car
Of Artemis advanced, and on the waves

Sparkled like arrows from her silver bow
The keenness of her pure and tender gaze.

Then, slowly, one by one the chiefs sought rest;
The watches being set, and men to relieve

The rowers at midseason. Fair it was
To see them as they lay! Some up the prow,

Some round the helm, in open-handed sleep;
With casques unloosed, and bucklers put aside;

The ten years' tale of war upon their cheeks,
Where clung the salt wet locks, and on their breasts

Beards, the thick growth of many a proud campaign;
And on their brows the bright invisible crown

Victory sheds from her own radiant form,
As o'er her favourites' heads she sings and soars.

But dreams came not so calmly; as around
Turbulent shores wild waves and swamping surf

Prevail, while seaward, on the tranquil deeps,
Reign placid surfaces and solemn peace,

So, from the troubled strands of memory, they
Launched and were tossed, long ere they found the tides

That lead to the gentle bosoms of pure rest.
And like to one who from a ghostly watch

In a lone house where murder hath been done,
And secret violations, pale with stealth

Emerges, staggering on the first chill gust
Wherewith the morning greets him, feeling not

Its balmy freshness on his bloodless cheek, -
But swift to hide his midnight face afar,

'Mongst the old woods and timid-glancing flowers
Hastens, till on the fresh reviving breasts

Of tender Dryads folded he forgets
The pallid witness of those nameless things,

In renovated senses lapt, and joins
The full, keen joyance of the day, so they

From sights and sounds of battle smeared with blood,
And shrieking souls on Acheron's bleak tides,

And wail of execrating kindred, slid
Into oblivious slumber and a sense

Of satiate deliciousness complete.
Leave them, O Muse, in that so happy sleep!

Leave them to reap the harvest of their toil,
While fast in moonlight the glad vessel glides,

As if instinctive to its forest home.
O Muse, that in all sorrows and all joys,