And first of all thou knowest, O heartless tamer of continents and races, Rider of Ocean's Bucephaluses, Thou knowest the worth of the few, Who dare live free ...

Within the limits of a general introduction it would be difficult to enter every nook and corner of the poet's world. We must even pa.s.s over some of the most potent influences of his life. The national dreams of the Modern Greeks have a splendid dwelling in the thought of Palamas, who follows with restlessness his people's woes and exults in their joys. A group of poems dedicated to the "Land that Rose in Arms" and published in the last volume of the poet's work, the _Town and Wilderness_, form his n.o.blest patriotic expression. The present world-conflict has naturally stirred him to new compositions, of which his "Europe" is preeminently noteworthy as ill.u.s.trating faithfully the various aspects of the poet's genius. This poem appeared first in the _Noumas_, an Athenian periodical, and was then published in the last volume of the poet's works, the _Altars_.[2]

EUROPE

I. THE WAR

Deer-like the East pants terror-struck! The West, A flame ablaze that leaps amid the skies!

Nations are wolves! and Hatreds are afoot, Whetting their bayonets!

With force gigantic, lo, the bursting forth Of the barbarian sweeps on, age-wrought; Oceans are cleft and swallow Gorgon-ships, Castles of might afloat!

What sorcerers, in Earth's deep bosom buried, Beat into shape the metal? For what kings Slave they? What crowns forge they? The tower-ships, The ports, the oceans quake!

Lovingly the dream born of dream flies high Air wandering amid the eagles; yet O victory! Lord of the azure, man Spreads horror even there.

Methinks the Niebelungen of the Night Startle sun's radiance ... And ye, the Rhine's Water-born Nymphs, are lashed and swept away By monstrous hurricanes.

Siegfried, the hero of the golden hair, Makes men and elements before him kneel.

War is the arbiter of rising worlds; And Violence, arbitress.

Franks, Anglo-Saxons, Alemanni, Hungars!

Europe, a viper! And the armies, dragons!

Here, Uhlans are destroyers pitiless; And there, the Cossacks' bands!

From endless sweeps of steppes, the Slav blows forth An endless squall, the havoc's ruthless vow!

Liberty is the phantom; and the slave, The stern reality.

Helvetians, Scandinavians, Latins, Russians, The martyr Pole, heroic Flanders' land, All, small and great, forward to battle rush With one man's violence!

Beating thy breast, thou clingest to thy throne, Storm-wrapped, O worshipper of G.o.ds that fade, Hypatia thou, the Frenchman's ruling queen, Blood-bred Democracy!

The Vosgic towers tremble! And G.o.d's wrath, Valkyrie, the awful Nymph, wind-ridden sweeps, A rider pitiless that threatens thee, O Paris n.o.ble-born!

Our age's honored prophet, Tamerlan!

A shadow's dream, Messiah of sweet Peace!

Enthroned in judgment stands America.

While from far Asia's depths,

The Indian hermits and gold-gatherers With yellow Mongols are afoot! With them, The sons of Oceania, Kerman, And Africa; Semites,

War-glad Turanians and Aryans, Lands that the Adriatic kisses, Rumans, Our brother Serb, a wall!--Let Austria's Cataract burst and roar!

Vosges and Carpathians and Balkans quake!

Ridges and mountains tremble! The oceans roar!

Five Continents' pa.s.sionate wraths and hatreds Revel in festival!

But lo, the Briton with sea-battling sceptre That binds the restless waves to his command-- What Caesars' fetters forges he anew Upon the island rock?

And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth And makes of thee a valley of sad tears, O paradisial land of old Ionia; And here, our Mother Greece,

Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king!

Wax-pale, the world stands listening and holds Its breath, benumbed with fright!

II. THE THINKER

But lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, Whatever race has given him his blood, Watches from his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped And he stirs not.

With pity's quivering and terror's chill, In tears and ruins, he plucks a fruitful joy From the great Drama, watching thoughtfully The hidden law.

And lo, the thinker, whatever is his soul, Whatever race has given him his blood, Abides in his unruffled haunts calm-wrapped And meditates:

Old age? No! Nor the youth of a new life.

All is the same, Europe and Law, the shark!

And never changes--hear ye not?--the march Of history.

A splinter in the powerful's hands, O powerless, Yet sometimes--comfort thee--his mate and friend!

The powerful's blind hand even thou, O Science, Often shalt be.

Is War the Father of all things? And is The lava messenger of l.u.s.ty growth?

How can the creature grow from monster seed?

Who knows? Pa.s.s on!

Even if some great dream be born of flesh And the wroth tempest fling a new world forth, Even if over the tumult Europe stand United, one;

And if the state of a new people rise Founded upon the ruins of the world, Still always thou wilt burn, O Fury's torch, Amid the darkness.

Even if thou wilt come to states in ruins And empty thrones, O power of juster race, Always the tender and the harsh shall be; Shepherd and flocks!

Unless, O man, something is destined thee That thou, O History, foretellest not: An evolution unbelievable To gazing worlds.

III. THE POET

The poet: Miracle-working lo, the seed Of blessed dreams, sown in his heart, takes roots; He is like mind entranced in ecstasy, Born upon wings!

Under his wings, all things are images Of creatures beautiful for him to sing, Whether they are roses April-born Or warring legions!

And neither the war's roaring gun nor yet The river of red blood swift-flowing on Can make the flower fade that fills my breast With fragrances!

I am the faithful friend of song; therefore, I tremble not like child before a blackman; Midst blood and flames and lashings horrible, I bring thee, Love!

Thy footprints mark a shining trail of lights New-risen, guiding with their gleams my steps; The restless gambol of thy fire, Dawn's smile Upon my night.

Thine eyes, O Fountainhead of Beauty's stream, Mirror within them all things beautiful: And lo, the eagles of the Czars, on wings Sky-roaming, sail.

The war, when thine eyes look on it, becomes Under the magic of thy glance pure wine Of holiness. The German is the wonder Of deed and thought;