"Well, take my hand," said Glaucus to the bard
"And I will lead you up onto the peak
Though here, amongst the olive trees, the herd
Remain unwatched, so be it. Let us take
The ancient stair beside this whisp'ring creek
And I will go before you like a light
Discernible and constant, so to speak
A candle in the hand of one so bright
He forged the fires of stars that brighten Hellas' night"
Thus Glaucus spake, and spake he then no more
And neither did the lips whose carolling
Had thundered on each Mediterranean shore
Make sound at all but, scarred and trembling,
A hand reached out to hold the other in
And Homer's ancient fingers intertwined
With fingers free from stain nor marred by sin
And so, beside the creek, their way did wind
On a path of graven steps that wandered and inclined
Now steep ahead and yet now turning back
Upon the road that wound the canyons through
Though age and scree might have erased it's track
Fresh feet had trod and carved it's paves anew
And so came further pilgrims further through
And so came Glaucus' soft and shapely feet
That feet made soft by age did quick pursue
And winds through tattered beard and silken ringlets blew
As once had youth and beauty gone before
Unfreely for the benefit of age
Come youth and beauty now, and beauty more
(Though saying it may be a sacrilege)
To aid a dying poet's pilgrimage
Though power of force and fury Gods possess
Yet not the power of verse on tongue or page
To charm the very heart of innocence
To freely come for sake of tenderness
On Ida's slopes, adorned with perfumed pine,
Where needles soft and needles sharp lay strewn
And faultless eyes might ghostly shapes divine
They come with neither stumbling nor swoon
Toward the Summit in the heat of June
Toward the ancient altar on the peak
That they should now arrive at passing soon
And Glaucus, neither wearied, neither weak
Stopped nonetheless where sprang the whisp'ring creek
"We're nearly there," he said, and looked into
The awful, ashen orbs of Homer's eyes
"Freely have I come so far with you
Towards the ancient place of sacrifice
(And here the streamlets of our creek arise)
And will go further still if this you ask
Though the wrath of Jove be writ upon the skies
If 'tis your will then 'tis my noble task
So, Master, what you would of me, I bid you ask!"
This said Glaucus brazenly and brave
But Homer made no sound and silence kept
No movement and no gesture made he, save
Releasing Glaucus' grip, and Glaucus wept
Homer, now unaided, turned and stepped
Up to the summit where descending mist
Obscured his form from Glaucus' eyes and kept
Descending quicker and the breezes hissed
About that peak where Gods and Ghosts and Greeks persist
