So I, who ne'er forsake my votaries, Lest in the cross-way none the honey-cake Should tender, nor pour out the dog's hot life; Lest at my fane the priests disconsolate
Should dress my image with some faded poor Few crowns, made favors of, nor dare object Such slackness to my worshippers who turn Elsewhere the trusting heart and loaded hand,
As they had climbed Olumpos to report Of Artemis and nowhere found her throne — I interposed: and, this eventful night ( While round the funeral pyre the populace
Stood with fierce light on their black robes which bound Each sobbing head, while yet their hair they clipped O'er the dead body of their withered prince, And, in his palace, Theseus prostrated
On the cold hearth, his brow cold as the slab ‘ T was bruised on, groaned away the heavy grief — As the pyre fell, and down the cross logs crashed Sending a crowd of sparkles through the night,
And the gay fire, elate with mastery, Towered like a serpent o'er the clotted jars Of wine, dissolving oils and frankincense, And splendid gums like gold ) my potency
Conveyed the perished man to my retreat In the thrice-venerable forest here. And this white-bearded sage who squeezes now The berried plant, is Phoibos’ son of fame,
Asclepios, whom my radiant brother taught The doctrine of each herb and flower and root, To know their secret'st virtue and express The saving soul of all: who so has soothed
With layers the torn brow and murdered cheeks, Composed the hair and brought its gloss again, And called the red bloom to the pale skin back, And laid the strips and lagged ends of flesh
Even once more, and slacked the sinew's knot Of every tortured limb — that now he lies As if mere sleep possessed him underneath These interwoven oaks and pines. Oh cheer,
Divine presenter of the healing rod, Thy snake, with ardent throat and lulling eye, Twines his lithe spires around! I say, much cheer! Proceed thou with thy wisest pharmacies!
And ye, white crowd of woodland sister-nymphs, Ply, as the sage directs, these buds and leaves That strew the turf around the twain! While I Await, in fitting silence, the event.
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