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A collection of poetry by Scottish writer Robert Louis Stevenson.

Page 127 of 454
Table of Contents

Et Tu in Arcadia Vixisti

What was this earth, child of the gods, to thee? Forth from thy dreamland thou, a dreamer, cam’st And in thine ears the olden music rang, And in thy mind the doings of the dead, And those heroic ages long forgot. To a so fallen earth, alas! too late, Alas! in evil days, thy steps return, To list at noon for nightingales, to grow A dweller on the beach till Argo come That came long since, a lingerer by the pool Where that desirèd angel bathes no more.

As when the Indian to Dakota comes, Or farthest Idaho, and where he dwelt, He with his clan, a humming city finds; Thereon a while, amazed, he stares, and then To right and leftward, like a questing dog, Seeks first the ancestral altars, then the hearth Long cold with rains, and where old terror lodged, And where the dead: so thee undying Hope, With all her pack, hunts screaming through the years: Here, there, thou fleeëst; but nor here nor there The pleasant gods abide, the glory dwells.

That, that was not Apollo, not the god. This was not Venus, though she Venus seemed A moment. And though fair yon river move, She, all the way, from disenchanted fount To seas unhallowed runs; the gods forsook Long since her trembling rushes; from her plains Disconsolate, long since adventure fled; And now although the inviting river flows, And every poplared cape, and every bend Or willowy islet, win upon thy soul And to thy hopeful shallop whisper speed; Yet hope not thou at all; hope is no more; And O, long since the golden groves are dead The faëry cities vanished from the land!

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