Tuesday, December 2, 2025

The Lament of Tithonus.[1]

by Julian Fowles.

Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.4 #17 (Jan 1878).


                Fair, rosy-fingered goddess—take once more
                This evil omen—this thrice hapless gift!
                Ah me! As swift the winged hours speed by,
                Prostrate, I weep this halt and lingering life,
                Draining the stale dregs of a joyless age!
                                For as each weary day, the jaded sun
                Drops his red orb upon the verge of earth,
                I look—and long for rest; and as each morn
                Sees him uprise with beams renewed, to run
                His oft-repeated, still untiring course
                Once more I look—and loathe and loathe the sight!
                                Beneath the eternal vault of heaven breaths not
                A soul on whom the shadows deeper fall!
                The brute-dull herds that browse the wide champaigne
                The swallows fluttering over me, nay more
                The insignificant and puny gnat
                That hums away his life-span of an hour;
                All, all draw happier breath than I Immortal,
                Doomed to a livelong and infirm Eternity!
                                Thrice blessed dead—ah, how I envy ye!
                That tranquil sleep 'neath the smooth-swelling sod,
                Finding safe harbourage from storm and ill;
                Would I might join ye there! The goblin, Death,
                That glares so grim upon all else, on me
                Smiles like a sweet, enchanting vision,
                Whom neither tears nor loud sclicitings
                May tempt to my embrace. Wherefore, O Death,
                Art thou thus coy? I love thee, Death, to me
                Thou showest not hideous—wherefore then dost thou
                Favour and visit those that love thee not,
                And hate thy face, whilst me that yearns for thee
                Thou shunnest to take?
                I have no place on earth;
                Kindred, and friends that as a child I knew,—
                My sire, and she that bore me— all have gone!
                Have passed longtime the ninefold, sluggish stream
                Into the dewy meads of Asphodel,
                Where I would wander! all to whom I turn
                Stare and look cold upon me, as some shadow—
                Some ageworn Monument of former years—
                Some drifting waif adown the stream of time!
                                Oh rocks—oh Caverns—hide me! bury me!
                Or shall I dare ample-browed Zeus, that he
                With blasting and far-darting bolt may crush
                And overwhelm me in forgetfulness!
                Ah no—he will not heed! Or shall I cry
                To her that once in my love-whispers joyed;
                Bright-aired Aurora, she that breaths the morn,
                Her gift too rashly given to recall?
                Alas! 'tis vain—the gods take not again
                Their favours but once proffered, once received.
                                Great Heaven! when will this end? when shall the gates
                Of shadowy Hades ope, and swallow up
                This being into nothingness absorbed!



        1. Tithonus, favourite of Aurora, Goddess of morning, was gifted by her with ‘Immortality'; she forgot however at the same time to bestow upon him 'perpetual youth', so that he dragged out an existence of everlasting age.

That's Near Enough!

by Laman Blanchard. Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol. 2 # 6 (Jul 1842). ...