Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Greece and Turkey in Europe: Vol. XIX. 1876–79.
Ithaca
By Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton (1809–1885)T
A sundry-colored and strange-featured way,
Our hearts have followed; now the pleasant care
Is near its end,—the oars’ sweet-echoed play
Falls on the cliffs of Ithaca’s deep bay;
The enemy, on whose impetuous breast
The hero rode undaunted, night and day,
(Such was Minerva’s power and Jove’s behest,)
Scorns the inglorious strife, and lays his wrath to rest.
Gay-garlanded, with grand triumphal song?
Leaps he upon the strand, and proudly vows
Dire vengeance unto all who did him wrong?
Not so; for him, all force and passion strong,
And fretful tumult, for a while is o’er,—
He is borne gently, placidly along,
And laid upon his own belovéd shore,
Even as a wearied child, in quiet sleep once more!
That strikes with such resistless power on me
As this pure artist-touch, this tender ray,
A perfect, simple light of poesy:
Not the nice wiles of chaste Penelope,—
Not the poor pining dog that died of joy,—
Not the gray smoke the wanderer yearned to see,
Whose wavings he had traced, a careless boy,
Sweet as they are, for me this preference can destroy.
Still make rich tracery in the sacred cave,
Where peasants the dark-shadowed fountain cold
Hail by the name the poet found or gave,
Where on the eagle height the walls outbrave
All time, and only the full-fruited vine
Trails o’er the home—it may be o’er the grave—
Of him for whom these memories combine,—
Rest, care-worn mortal, rest, and let his sleep be thine.