MIDAS.

The Hours have oped the palace of the dawn

And through the Eastern gates of Heaven, Aurora

Comes charioted on light, her wind-swift steeds,

Winged with roseate clouds, strain up the steep.

She loosely holds the reins, her golden hair,

Its strings outspread by the sweet morning breeze[,]

Blinds the pale stars. Our rural tasks begin;

The young lambs bleat pent up within the fold,

The herds low in their stalls, & the blithe cock

Halloos most loudly to his distant mates.

But who are these we see? these are not men,

Divine of form & sple[n]didly arrayed,

They sit in solemn conclave. Is that Pan,

Our Country God, surrounded by his Fauns?

And who is he whose crown of gold & harp

Are attributes of high Apollo?

ZOPYRION.

Best

Your majesty retire; we may offend.

MIDAS.

Aye, and at the base thought the coward blood

Deserts your trembling lips; but follow me.

Oh Gods! for such your bearing is, & sure

No mortal ever yet possessed the gold

That glitters on your silken robes; may one,

Who, though a king, can boast of no descent

More noble than Deucalion’s stone-formed men[,]

May I demand the cause for which you deign

To print upon this worthless Phrygian earth

The vestige of your gold-inwoven sandals,

Or why that old white-headed man sits there

Upon that grassy throne, & looks as he

Were stationed umpire to some weighty cause[?]

TMOLUS.

God Pan with his blithe pipe which the Fauns love

Has challenged Phœbus of the golden lyre[,]

Saying his Syrinx can give sweeter notes

Than the stringed instrument Apollo boasts.

I judge between the parties. Welcome, King,

I am old Tmolus, God of that bare Hill,

You may remain and hear th’ Immortals sing.

MIDAS.

[aside] My judgement is made up before I hear;

Pan is my guardian God, old-horned Pan,

The Phrygian’s God who watches o’er our flocks;

No harmony can equal his blithe pipe.

  The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,

    Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries,

  From the broad moonlight of the sky,

    Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes

  Waken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn,

  Tells them that dreams & that the moon is gone.

  Then I arise, and climbing Heaven’s blue dome,

    I walk over the mountains & the waves,

  Leaving my robe upon the Ocean foam,—

    My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves

  Are filled with my bright presence & the air

  Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.

  The sunbeams are my shafts with which I kill

    Deceit, that loves the night & fears the day;

  All men who do, or even imagine ill

    Fly me, and from the glory of my ray

  Good minds and open actions take new might

  Until diminished by the reign of night.

  I feed the clouds, the rainbows & the flowers

    With their etherial colours; the moon’s globe

  And the pure stars in their eternal bowers

    Are cinctured with my power as with a robe;

  Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine

  Are portions of one power, which is mine.

  I stand at noon upon the peak of heaven,

    Then with unwilling steps I wander down

  Into the clouds of the Atlantic even—

    For grief that I depart they weep & frown [;]

  What look is more delightful than the smile

  With which I soothe them from the western isle [?]

  I am the eye with which the Universe

    Beholds itself & knows it is divine.

  All harmony of instrument or verse,

    All prophecy, all medecine is mine;

  All light of art or nature;—to my song

  Victory and praise, in its own right, belong.

  From the forests and highlands

    We come, we come;

  From the river-girt islands

    W[h]ere loud waves are dumb,

      Listening my sweet pipings;

  The wind in the reeds & the rushes,

    The bees on the bells of thyme,

  The birds on the myrtle bushes[,]

    The cicale above in the lime[,]

  And the lizards below in the grass,

  Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was

       Listening my sweet pipings.

  Liquid Peneus was flowing,

    And all dark Tempe lay

  In Pelion’s shadow, outgrowing

    The light of the dying day

      Speeded by my sweet pipings.

  The Sileni, & Sylvans, & Fauns

    And the nymphs of the woods & the waves

  To the edge of the moist river-lawns,

    And the brink of the dewy caves[,]

  And all that did then attend & follow

  Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo!

      With envy of my sweet pipings.

  I sang of the dancing stars,

    I sang of the daedal Earth—-

  And of heaven—& the giant wars—

      And Love, & death, [&] birth,

      And then I changed my pipings,

  Singing how down the vale of Menalus,

    I pursued a maiden & clasped a reed,

  Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!

    It breaks in our bosom & then we bleed!

  All wept, as I think both ye now would

  If envy or age had not frozen your blood,

      At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

TMOLUS.

Phœbus, the palm is thine. The Fauns may dance

To the blithe tune of ever merry Pan;

But wisdom, beauty, & the power divine

Of highest poesy lives within thy strain.

Named by the Gods the King of melody,

Receive from my weak hands a second crown.

PAN.

Old Grey-beard, you say false! you think by this

To win Apollo with his sultry beams

To thaw your snowy head, & to renew

The worn out soil of your bare, ugly hill.

I do appeal to Phrygian Midas here;

Let him decide, he is no partial judge.

MIDAS.

Immortal Pan, to my poor, mortal ears

Your sprightly song in melody outweighs

His drowsy tune; he put me fast asleep,

As my prime minister, Zopyrion, knows;

But your gay notes awoke me, & to you,

If I were Tmolus, would I give the prize.

APOLLO.

And who art thou who dar’st among the Gods

Mingle thy mortal voice? Insensate fool!

Does not the doom of Marsyas fill with dread

Thy impious soul? or would’st thou also be

Another victim to my justest wrath?

But fear no more;—thy punishment shall be

But as a symbol of thy blunted sense.

Have asses’ ears! and thus to the whole world

Wear thou the marks of what thou art,

Let Pan himself blush at such a judge.  ¹⁰

MIDAS.

What said he? is it true, Zopyrion?

Yet if it be; you must not look on me,

But shut your eyes, nor dare behold my shame.

Ah! here they are! two long, smooth asses[’] ears!

They stick upright! Ah, I am sick with shame!

ZOPYRION.

I cannot tell your Majesty my grief,

Or how my soul’s oppressed with the sad change

That has, alas! befallen your royal ears.

MIDAS.

A truce to your fine speeches now, Zopyrion;

To you it appertains to find some mode

Of hiding my sad chance, if not you die.

ZOPYRION.

Great King, alas! my thoughts are dull & slow[;]

Pardon my folly, might they not be cut,

Rounded off handsomely, like human ears [?]

MIDAS.

(feeling his ears)

They’re long & thick; I fear ’twould give me pain;

And then if vengeful Phœbus should command

Another pair to grow—that will not do.

ZOPYRION.

You wear a little crown of carved gold,

Which just appears to tell you are a king;

If that were large and had a cowl of silk,

Studded with gems, which none would dare gainsay,

Then might you—

MIDAS.

Now you have it! friend,

I will reward you with some princely gift.

But, hark! Zopyrion, not a word of this;

If to a single soul you tell my shame

You die. I’ll to the palace the back way

And manufacture my new diadem,

The which all other kings shall imitate

As if they also had my asses[’] ears.

ZOPYRION.

(watching Midas off)

He cannot hear me now, and I may laugh!

I should have burst had he staid longer here.

Two long, smooth asses’ ears that stick upright;

Oh, that Apollo had but made him bray!

I’ll to the palace; there I’ll laugh my fill

With—hold! What were the last words that Midas said?

I may not speak—not to my friends disclose

The strangest tale? ha! ha! and when I laugh

I must not tell the cause? none know the truth?

None know King Midas has—but who comes here?

It is Asphalion: he knows not this change;

I must look grave & sad; for now a smile

If Midas knows it may prove capital.

Yet when I think of those—oh! I shall die,

In either way, by silence or by speech.

ZOPYRION.

What[!] you know it too?

Then I may laugh;—oh, what relief is this!

How does he look, the courtiers gathering round?

Does he hang down his head, & his ears too?

Oh, I shall die! (laughs.)

ASPHALION.

He is a queer old dog,

Yet not so laughable. ’Tis true, he’s drunk,

And sings and reels under the broad, green leaves,

And hanging clusters of his crown of grapes.—

ZOPYRION.

A crown of grapes! but can that hide his ears[?]

ASPHALION.

His ears!—Oh, no! they stick upright between.

When Midas saw him—

ZOPYRION.

Whom then do you mean?

Did you not say—

ASPHALION.

I spoke of old Silenus;

Who having missed his way in these wild woods,

And lost his tipsey company—was found

Sucking the juicy clusters of the vines

That sprung where’er he trod:—and reeling on

Some shepherds found him in yon ilex wood.

They brought him to the king, who honouring him

For Bacchus’ sake, has gladly welcomed him,

And will conduct him with solemnity

To the disconsolate Fauns from whom he’s strayed.

But have you seen the new-fashioned diadem  ¹¹

That Midas wears?—

ZOPYRION.

Ha! he has got it on!—

Know you the secret cause why with such care

He hides his royal head? you have not seen—

ASPHALION.

Seen what?

ZOPYRION.

Ah! then, no matter:— (turns away agitated.)

I dare not sneak or stay[;]

If I remain I shall discover all.

ASPHALION.

I see the king has trusted to your care

Some great state secret which you fain would hide.

I am your friend, trust my fidelity,

If you’re in doubt I’ll be your counsellor.

ZOPYRION.

(with great importance.)

Secret, Asphalion! How came you to know?

If my great master (which I do not say)

Should think me a fit friend in whom to pour

The weighty secrets of his royal heart,

Shall I betray his trust? It is not so;—

I am a poor despised slave.—No more!

Join we the festal band which will conduct

Silenus to his woods again?

ASPHALION.

My friend,

Wherefore mistrust a faithful heart? Confide

The whole to me;—I will be still as death.

ZOPYRION.

As death! you know not what you say; farewell[!]

A little will I commune with my soul,

And then I’ll join you at the palace-gate.

ASPHALION.

Will you then tell me?—

ZOPYRION.

Cease to vex, my friend,

Your soul and mine with false suspicion, (aside) Oh!

I am choked! I’d give full ten years of my life

To tell, to laugh—& yet I dare not speak.

ASPHALION.

Zopyrion, remember that you hurt

The trusting bosom of a faithful friend

By your unjust concealment.

ZOPYRION.

Oh, he’s gone!

To him I dare not speak, nor yet to Lacon;

No human ears may hear what must be told.

I cannot keep it in, assuredly;

I shall some night discuss it in my sleep.

It will not keep! Oh! greenest reeds that sway

And nod your feathered heads beneath the sun,

Be you depositaries of my soul,

Be you my friends in this extremity[:]

I shall not risk my head when I tell you

The fatal truth, the heart oppressing fact,

That royal Midas has got asses’ ears.

Oh! how my soul’s relieved! I feel so light!

Although you cannot thank me for my trust,

Dear, faithful reeds, I love you tenderly;

Mute friends, ye helped me in my greatest need.

Farewel! I know ye will be still as death;

Nor tell the passing winds or running waves

BACCHUS.

I have wandered many hours through the paths

And wildernesses of that ilex wood,

Tracing where’er I went my tipsey friend

By the red juice of grapes that stained the ground,

And by the curling branches of the vines

That, springing where he trod, have curled around

The knotty trunks of those eternal trees.

I too have lost my way; nor can I tell

To what barbarian land the wanderer’s come.

I hope no power contemptuous of mine

Has hurt my foster-father;—Who comes here?

’Tis he surrounded by a jocund throng

Of priests and bacchant women, bearing spears

Blunted with pine cones & with ivy wreathed,

And here and there they cry, “Bacchus! Evoe!”

As if the Nysian impulse just began.

And who is he who with a stately crown

Outshines the rest? He seems to be a king;

But were he even an ass on his hind legs

He shall have rich reward if he have saved

And welcomed with due honour my old faun.

SILENUS.

(very drunk) Again I find you, Bacchus, runaway!

Welcome, my glorious boy! Another time

Stray not; or leave your poor old foster-father

In the wild mazes of a wood, in which

I might have wandered many hundred years,

Had not some merry fellows helped me out,

And had not this king kindly welcomed me,

I might have fared more ill than you erewhile

In Pentheus’ prisons, that death fated rogue.

BACCHUS.

(to Midas.) To you I owe great thanks & will reward

Your hospitality. Tell me your name

And what this country is.

MIDAS.

My name is Midas—

THE REEDS.

(nodding their heads).

Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.

MIDAS.

(turning round & seizing Zopyrion).

Villain, you lie! he dies who shall repeat

Those traitrous words. Seize on Zopyrion!

THE REEDS.

Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.

MIDAS.

Search through the crowd; it is a woman’s voice

That dares belie her king, & makes her life

A forfeit to his fury.

ASPHALION.

There is no woman here.

BACCHUS.

Calm yourself, Midas; none believe the tale,

Some impious man or gamesome faun dares feign

In vile contempt of your most royal ears.

Off with your crown, & shew the world the lie!

MIDAS.

(holding his crown tight)

Never! What[!] shall a vile calumnious slave

Dictate the actions of a crowned king?

Zopyrion, this lie springs from you—you perish!

ZOPYRION.

I, say that Midas has got asses’ ears?

May great Apollo strike me with his shaft

If to a single soul I ever told

So false, so foul a calumny!

BACCHUS.

Midas!

THE REEDS.

Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.

BACCHUS.

Silence! or by my Godhead I strike dead

Who shall again insult the noble king.

Midas, you are my friend, for you have saved

And hospitably welcomed my old faun;

Choose your reward, for here I swear your wish,

Whatever it may be, shall be fulfilled.

ZOPYRION.

(aside) Sure he will wish his asses’ ears in Styx.

MIDAS.

What[!] may I choose from out the deep, rich mine

Of human fancy, & the wildest thoughts

That passed till now unheeded through my brain,

A wish, a hope, to be fulfilled by you?

Nature shall bend her laws at my command,

And I possess as my reward one thing

That I have longed for with unceasing care.

BACCHUS.

Pause, noble king, ere you express this wish[.]

Let not an error or rash folly spoil

My benefaction; pause and then declare,

For what you ask shall be, as I have sworn.

MIDAS.

Let all I touch be gold, most glorious gold!

Let me be rich! and where I stretch my hands,

(That like Orion I could touch the stars!)

Be radiant gold! God Bacchus, you have sworn,

I claim your word,—my ears are quite forgot!

THE REEDS.

Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.

MIDAS.

You lie, & yet I care not—

ZOPYRION.

(aside to Midas) Yet might I

But have advised your Majesty, I would

Have made one God undo the other’s work—

MIDAS.

(aside to Zopyr).

Advise yourself, my friend, or you may grow

Shorter by a head ere night.—I am blessed,

Happier than ever earthly man could boast.

Do you fulfil your words?

BACCHUS.

Yes, thoughtless man!

And much I fear if you have not the ears

You have the judgement of an ass. Farewel!

I found you rich & happy; & I leave you,

Though you know it not, miserably poor.

Your boon is granted,—touch! make gold! Some here

Help carry old Silenus off, who sleeps

The divine sleep of heavy wine. Farewel!

MIDAS.

Bacchus, divine, how shall I pay my thanks[?]