Blackwood's Edinburgh magazine, Vol. 76, No. 467, September 1854

Name: Blackwood's Edinburgh magazine, Vol. 76, No. 467, September 1854
Author: Various

Various

England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals

Thoughtful a moment here he stood
            And watched the never-sleeping flood,
                The ever-changing wave;
            He knew no danger, feared no foes,
            But from his heart a prayer uprose
                To her that guards the brave.
            Wise prayer; for scarce the words are gone
            From thy free mouth, Bellerophon,
                When, struck with holy awe,
            Even at thy side in light arrayed,
            Serene with placid power displayed,
            The chaste Athenian Jove-born maid
                Thy wondering vision saw;
            And in her hand—O strangest sight!—
                A wingèd steed she led,
            That bent the knee before the knight
                And bowed its lofty head.
            “Fear not, thou son of Æolus’ race,
                Dear to the gods art thou;
            This steed, by strong Poseidon’s mace
            That leapt to life, through airy space
                Shall safely waft thee now.”
            Thus spake the goddess, wise as fair;
            And with the word, dissolved in air,
                Was seen no more. The knight
            Brushed from his eyes the dazzling glare,
                And scarce believed his sight.
            But when he saw the steed was there,
            He winged to Heaven a rapid prayer,
                And for the airy flight
            Buckled his purpose. Mounted now
                With rapid wheel he soars,
            O’er creek and crag, and rocky brow,
                And swift-receding shores.
            A lovely sight was there, I trow,
                Where high on wingèd oars
            He clove the pathless air. The sea,
            With various-twinkling brilliancy,
                Immense before him lay,
            With many a coast far-stretching seen,
            And many a high-cliffed isle between,
                And many a winding bay.
            High o’er Œnone’s isle he sails,[6]
            Where Æacus’ justest law prevails,
                And masted armies ride;
            O’er famous Sunium’s rocky steep,
            Where Pallas guards the Attic deep,
                He swept with airy pride.
            Ceos and Syros wondering saw
            His meteor-steed with humble awe;
                And sacred Delos deemed
            Apollo’s self, the fervid god
            His own ethereal regions trod,
                And with such brightness gleamed.
            Swift o’er the Bacchic isle he glides,[7]
            Where music mingles with the tides
                From many a Mænad throat.
            And nigh to Caria’s craggy shore,
            Cos with her blushing winy store
                His sweeping view can note.
            Anon, sublime he soars above
            Thy temple, Atabyrian Jove,
                The lord of cloudless Rhodes,[8]
            Where Telchins wise, with busy clamour,
            Who shape the steel beneath the hammer,

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Blackwood's Edinburgh magazine, Vol. 76, No. 467, September 1854

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