“Is there a knight or squire who dare
Dive into yonder abyss?
A golden goblet lies buried there,
Above it the waters boil and hiss.
Whoever presents it again to my sight
Shall keep it for ever: I grant him the right.”
Thus spake the King, and speaking, hurled
The cup from the cliff where he stood,
Into the seething gulf which whirled
Far below in Charybdis' flood.
“Again, I demand, is there any so bold
As to search in these depths for my goblet of gold?”
Never a word spake Knight or Squire,
But stood with downcast eyes;
Nor does one of the band aspire
To earn for himself the golden prize.
“Is there none,” once more the monarch cried,
“Who will venture to fathom the depths of the tide?
Yet, never a one the silence broke
Till a noble Squire and proud,
Hurling aside his girdle and cloak,
Stepped from the ranks of the faltering crowd;
And there was not a witness of the scene
But noted with wonder his gallant mien.
And as he approached the angry brow
And gazed beneath, he saw
The flood which Charybdis swallowed but now
Rolling back from her terrible maw.
And with the distant thunder's boom,
Burst foaming from that dismal womb.
It writhes and it bubbles, it curdles and seethes,
Like water and flame at bay;
And billow on billow in steaming wreaths
Break sky-high in eternal spray.
—Yet no relief:—and it seems that the main
Is great with an ocean, yet labours in vain.
But at last the tumult abates, and lo!
A black and silent well
Gapes through the foam, and seems to go
To the very bottom-most depths of Hell.
And the bounding waves in the pride of their might
Are drawn to the vortex, and vanish from sight.
Quickly the youth, ere the fury revives,
Commits his soul to God:
One cry of horror from all—he dives,
And disappears in the hurtling flood.
The cruel jaws close over their prey,
Th' adventurous swimmer is lost for aye.
All is still save a hoarse and muttering sound
Borne from the depths without cease;
And from lip to lip the prayer goes round:
—“Noble young hero, rest in peace!”
But hoarser and hoarser resounds the cry,
And the critical moments will never go by.
If the crown itself in the gulf were thrown,
And the finder should wear it as King,
Yet would I not chose, for the sake of the crown,
So dear a prize from the deep to bring.
No living soul shall ever tell
What is hid in the womb of this watery Hell.
Full many a craft in yon terrible reel
Has vanished beneath the wave:
But at most some shattered mast or keel
Returns from the all-devouring grave.
—And the sigh of the storm comes clearer and clearer,
The moan of the tempest ever nearer.
It writhes and it bubbles, it curdles and seethes
Like water and flame at bay;
And billow on billow in steaming wreaths
Break sky-high in eternal spray.
And with the distant thunder's boom
Rise boiling from that dismal womb.
—But see! Through the darkling waters there
A something of snowy white!
A glistening neck the sea lays bare,
And an arm which wrestles with desperate might.
—“It is he! In his other hand, behold!
He brandishes gaily the goblet of gold.”
And a deep and powerful breath he drew
As he hailed the light of day.
And the joyful shout resounds anew:
—“He is safe! It cannot drag him away.
His arm has been able his spirit to save
From the boiling depths of the watery grave.”
He lands: and the people press around,
A cheering and jubilant ring;
As, lowly kneeling upon the ground,
He proffers the golden cup to his King.
The King to his daughter makes a sign,
And she fills the goblet with sparkling wine.
“Long live the King! Ah! happy ye
Who live in this rosy light!
It is awful yonder beneath the sea!
To tempt the Gods can never be right.
And never, I warn you, be so bold
As to seek what the Gods in their mercy withhold.
“With lightning speed I was downwards whirled,
When from a rocky seam
A counter-torrent was upwards hurled,
And I writhed in the grip of a double stream.
And like a top in its dizzy course,
Was hurried away by the mastering force.
“But God, unto whom I fervently cried
(As I thought) with my latest breath,
Showed me a coral ledge at my side:
—I clutched it, and thus eluded death.
And there on the rocks hung the goblet of gold,
Which else had descended to fathoms untold.
“For below me it still lay fathoms deep
In a distant, purple, gloom:
And although the ear should happily sleep,
No rest for the eye in that horrible tomb;
For Salamanders and Dragons dwell
Rampant, there in the jaws of Hell.
“Around in an odious crowd they press,
—And in loathsome masses sway;
The Dog-fish, marvel of ugliness,
The staring Cod, and the spiny Ray;
And, with cruel teeth full grinning at me,
The Shark, that ubiquitous scourge of the sea.
“And there I clung, with terror possessed,
Alone with the hideous brood;
One only living human breast
In the midst of this awful solitude;
Far from the voice or help of men,
Deep interned in the monsters' den.
“And methought, in my terror, one crept towards me,
With an hundred arms outhung:
He snatched—and in my agony
I released the coral to which I clung.
—Again I was seized by the whirl in its might;
But 'twas well, for it hurried me back to the light.”
Almost bewildered stood the King,
And said: “The goblet is won;
And I promise thee also this costly ring
Enriched with many a royal stone,
If thou plunge again, and bring me word
What visions the bottom-most depths afford.”
His daughter listened with anxious heart,
And from coaxing lips came the prayer:
“—Nay, father, enough of this terrible sport,
He has done for you what none other dare.
And if your keen mind further knowledge desire,
'Tis the turn of the knights to abash the young squire.”
Then the monarch flung the cup amain
Into the whirling sea.
“Bring me,” he cried, “the goblet again,
And I dub thee knight of the first degree,
And this very day thou shalt her embrace,
As thy spouse, who now pleads with such earnest grace.”
Then a heaven-born might possessed his soul,
And his eyes with ardour flashed,
As over her features the blushes stole,
Then faded, and left her pale and abashed.
Such a glorious prize he is bound to win.
—For life or for death he plunges in.
The roaring breakers come and go
As the thundering echoes proclaim;
All eyes are bent on the gulf below,
But the waves come ever and ever the same.
Boiling they rise, and boiling retire,
But none bears back the gallant young squire.
Dive into yonder abyss?
A golden goblet lies buried there,
Above it the waters boil and hiss.
Whoever presents it again to my sight
Shall keep it for ever: I grant him the right.”
Thus spake the King, and speaking, hurled
The cup from the cliff where he stood,
Into the seething gulf which whirled
Far below in Charybdis' flood.
“Again, I demand, is there any so bold
As to search in these depths for my goblet of gold?”
Never a word spake Knight or Squire,
But stood with downcast eyes;
Nor does one of the band aspire
To earn for himself the golden prize.
“Is there none,” once more the monarch cried,
“Who will venture to fathom the depths of the tide?
Yet, never a one the silence broke
Till a noble Squire and proud,
Hurling aside his girdle and cloak,
Stepped from the ranks of the faltering crowd;
And there was not a witness of the scene
But noted with wonder his gallant mien.
And as he approached the angry brow
And gazed beneath, he saw
The flood which Charybdis swallowed but now
Rolling back from her terrible maw.
And with the distant thunder's boom,
Burst foaming from that dismal womb.
It writhes and it bubbles, it curdles and seethes,
Like water and flame at bay;
And billow on billow in steaming wreaths
Break sky-high in eternal spray.
—Yet no relief:—and it seems that the main
Is great with an ocean, yet labours in vain.
But at last the tumult abates, and lo!
A black and silent well
Gapes through the foam, and seems to go
To the very bottom-most depths of Hell.
And the bounding waves in the pride of their might
Are drawn to the vortex, and vanish from sight.
Quickly the youth, ere the fury revives,
Commits his soul to God:
One cry of horror from all—he dives,
And disappears in the hurtling flood.
The cruel jaws close over their prey,
Th' adventurous swimmer is lost for aye.
All is still save a hoarse and muttering sound
Borne from the depths without cease;
And from lip to lip the prayer goes round:
—“Noble young hero, rest in peace!”
But hoarser and hoarser resounds the cry,
And the critical moments will never go by.
If the crown itself in the gulf were thrown,
And the finder should wear it as King,
Yet would I not chose, for the sake of the crown,
So dear a prize from the deep to bring.
No living soul shall ever tell
What is hid in the womb of this watery Hell.
Full many a craft in yon terrible reel
Has vanished beneath the wave:
But at most some shattered mast or keel
Returns from the all-devouring grave.
—And the sigh of the storm comes clearer and clearer,
The moan of the tempest ever nearer.
It writhes and it bubbles, it curdles and seethes
Like water and flame at bay;
And billow on billow in steaming wreaths
Break sky-high in eternal spray.
And with the distant thunder's boom
Rise boiling from that dismal womb.
—But see! Through the darkling waters there
A something of snowy white!
A glistening neck the sea lays bare,
And an arm which wrestles with desperate might.
—“It is he! In his other hand, behold!
He brandishes gaily the goblet of gold.”
And a deep and powerful breath he drew
As he hailed the light of day.
And the joyful shout resounds anew:
—“He is safe! It cannot drag him away.
His arm has been able his spirit to save
From the boiling depths of the watery grave.”
He lands: and the people press around,
A cheering and jubilant ring;
As, lowly kneeling upon the ground,
He proffers the golden cup to his King.
The King to his daughter makes a sign,
And she fills the goblet with sparkling wine.
“Long live the King! Ah! happy ye
Who live in this rosy light!
It is awful yonder beneath the sea!
To tempt the Gods can never be right.
And never, I warn you, be so bold
As to seek what the Gods in their mercy withhold.
“With lightning speed I was downwards whirled,
When from a rocky seam
A counter-torrent was upwards hurled,
And I writhed in the grip of a double stream.
And like a top in its dizzy course,
Was hurried away by the mastering force.
“But God, unto whom I fervently cried
(As I thought) with my latest breath,
Showed me a coral ledge at my side:
—I clutched it, and thus eluded death.
And there on the rocks hung the goblet of gold,
Which else had descended to fathoms untold.
“For below me it still lay fathoms deep
In a distant, purple, gloom:
And although the ear should happily sleep,
No rest for the eye in that horrible tomb;
For Salamanders and Dragons dwell
Rampant, there in the jaws of Hell.
“Around in an odious crowd they press,
—And in loathsome masses sway;
The Dog-fish, marvel of ugliness,
The staring Cod, and the spiny Ray;
And, with cruel teeth full grinning at me,
The Shark, that ubiquitous scourge of the sea.
“And there I clung, with terror possessed,
Alone with the hideous brood;
One only living human breast
In the midst of this awful solitude;
Far from the voice or help of men,
Deep interned in the monsters' den.
“And methought, in my terror, one crept towards me,
With an hundred arms outhung:
He snatched—and in my agony
I released the coral to which I clung.
—Again I was seized by the whirl in its might;
But 'twas well, for it hurried me back to the light.”
Almost bewildered stood the King,
And said: “The goblet is won;
And I promise thee also this costly ring
Enriched with many a royal stone,
If thou plunge again, and bring me word
What visions the bottom-most depths afford.”
His daughter listened with anxious heart,
And from coaxing lips came the prayer:
“—Nay, father, enough of this terrible sport,
He has done for you what none other dare.
And if your keen mind further knowledge desire,
'Tis the turn of the knights to abash the young squire.”
Then the monarch flung the cup amain
Into the whirling sea.
“Bring me,” he cried, “the goblet again,
And I dub thee knight of the first degree,
And this very day thou shalt her embrace,
As thy spouse, who now pleads with such earnest grace.”
Then a heaven-born might possessed his soul,
And his eyes with ardour flashed,
As over her features the blushes stole,
Then faded, and left her pale and abashed.
Such a glorious prize he is bound to win.
—For life or for death he plunges in.
The roaring breakers come and go
As the thundering echoes proclaim;
All eyes are bent on the gulf below,
But the waves come ever and ever the same.
Boiling they rise, and boiling retire,
But none bears back the gallant young squire.
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