Book 10 — ATTIS

ANON.

Fair Phrygian Attis, loved of Cybele, Fired with the service of her awful shrine, Had wandered far before his restless soul Along the gleaming sand-line of the beach. At last he came to a deep shaded nook, Where giant trees thick wreathed with twisting vines Clomb the steep hills on every side but one, And rimmed the sky with a green fringe of leaves.

But toward the south wide open to the shore It seemed a lap, wherein the sun and sea Together lay warm in each other's smiles. Down the steep sides a little babbling brook Leapt with low laughter, fleeing from itself, Then, wid'ning out into a lucid pool, Crept slowly seaward through low banks of fern. Here, stretching his bare limbs upon the sward, He watched the water falling down the rocks.

His jetty hair, curled loosely on his head, Fell down upon his shoulders glistening white, The rounded symmetry of breast and limb, And the rich color of his sensuous lips Almost belied the down upon his cheek. No uncouth garments hid his perfect form, Nor marred its grace, but, naked like the gods, The ruddy sunlight bathed him in its glow.

So, as the day sank down the golden west, And the long index shadows toward the east Seemed telling of the morn that was to rise, A band of nymphs came past him where he lay Half-hidden in the grass, and to the pool Rushed with sweet rivalry and little screams To feel the water cold around their limbs. They saw him not, nor dreamed that mortal eyes In that lone glen were looking on their play.

Soon they passed on, save one who near the bank Had lain to rest till sleep stole eyes and ears. Then Attis rose and would have sought the shrine But when he saw the sleeper he stood still. He was too young to know the power of love When mighty Cybele from his far home— His home, which lay beyond the heaving sea, And which to think of even yet would bring The bitter tears into his dark-lashed eyes,— Had brought him as a priest into her fane, And bound him by an oath of dreaded wrath To be hers only, hers forevermore.

But years had passed since then, he was a man, And man's strong passion drove into his cheek The ruby symbol of its first felt power, As leaning o'er he gazed upon the nymph. She moved a little under the hot glance That burned from Attis' eyes upon her face, And seemed about to wake. Quick he drew back, Walking away a few steps towards the beach, Then turned to take one last look ere he went; She had not woke, her head lay on her arms, And her face looking toward him seemed to smile.

He could not go, he dared not longer stay, But stood and wished, and feared, and let his wish Conquer his fear; returning step by step Again he bent above her. Then, at last, The wrath of scorner Cybele forgot, He thought of nothing but his newfelt love.

Sudden she raised the lids, and her full eyes Looked straight upon him. Attis laid his hand Upon her arm to stay the flight he feared, Saying, "Fear not, 'tis only Attis, I, And 'tis my love that holds me here by thee."

She smiled back on him and her hand in his Thrilled with a touch that maddened through his veins; He bent down over her and all his soul Slid through his lips in one long burning kiss Which lovers only know.

Lo, Cybele, Her chariot, lion-drawn, grinding the sands, Stood awfully before them. Not a word Came from her lips, but her great angry eyes Dark with the wrath and vengeance of the gods Gloomed forth a hate no mortal could endure; Pale Attis looked in them but once, and then In frenzied madness fled along the shore.

Quarterly, 1871.