'Tis said in ancient days in Lesbos Isle
Dwelt Arion, a bard whose master hand
Struck chords so wondrous sweet as to beguile
The denizens of ocean and of land;
And that his muse was such a pampered thing,
It ruled the court, it charmed a mighty king.
And held the royal favor at command.

That favored thus he left his native isle,
As wandering minstrels ever thus delight
To roam the world and with the Muses, while
The live long day in music, love and light.
To strike the lyre for subject, or for king.
Their meed of praise in measured numbers sing,
As story told, or fancy took its fight.

But still his heart to the Corinthian king,
To Periander, monarch, patron, friend,
And to his native land fondly cling,
For none so constant would his fame defend.
Whate'er should be his fate, if grief or pleasure,
In prison cells, at courts, or idle leisure.
His heart to Tarent's strand would ever tend.

He quits his native isle with saddened heart,
And sails o'er seas to Hellas' fairer shore,
He feels the pain from friendly souls to part
Touched are the chords, that make heart full sore.
But every where his voice and cithern sound,
While multitudes, the singer gather round,
And kings reward him with their richest store.

His wandering now o'er, his heart is burning
To see once more his own loved native land:
And soon be seeks a ship homeward returning,
And speeds to meet the grasp of friendship's hand.
He fears no ill, no evil omen sees;
He soon shall stand again on Tarent's strand.

He walks the deck; he feels the fresh'ning spray;
The west winds gently fan his golden hair;
He longing thinks of those who bade him stay
And warned him oft, in words of loving care,
Though billows roll in angry, howling mood,
Roar, dash and foam, boding the bard no good;
The poet singer, hopeful, hath no fear.

Arion, the sea is beautifully calm;
No threat'ning clouds bedim the azure sky;
His soul in friendship's triumph finds a balm,
Nor checks for home the ever rising sigh.
But see! his gold — his more than princely wealth,
The sailors covet and would take by stealth,
But fearing him alive, say "He must die."

"Arion!" they cry, "no longer canst thou live;
For thee the earth shall yield no honored grave;
Thy death the Fates decree; but thou canst give
Thy life unto the deep sea's darkening wave."
"And must I murdered be?" The bard replies,
"Will not my thy greed of gain suffice?
'Tis thine, if my life, my blood will save."

No, no, they loudly cry, no longer thee,
All powerful to punish as thou may,
Canst live, for living, could we ever see
Or near our monarch, Periander stay.
Not all thy riches ever could rive cheer
If lost to us, our native land so dear,
And fear compelled us from thence to stray.

Then grant, I pray, you, this my last request,
One hour to minstrelsy my soul be free,
That I as cither player may be drest,
And as I've lived that thus my death may be.
And when to memories dear no more I sing,
And notes of melody shall cease to ring.
I'll plunge me 'neath the foaming, rolling sea.

To grant this one request could do no harm
Nor take from them their illy gotten gold,
To hear him sing could only add a charm,
To thus appear the singer Bard was told.
And soon upon the deck in rich attire,
His soul attuned to true poetic fire,
He stood and inspiration made him bold.

In gold and purple raiment richly wrought
Down to his feet in graceful flowing lines,
Raiment alone by honest merit bought.
And jewels rare from the Earth's richest mines
And arms adorned with finest silken lace,
And manly arm and neck and glowing face
With health and strength, and soul benignant shines.

The cithern in his left hand lightly held,
The ivory splint as graceful in his right,
All shade of fear is from his soul expelled.
His native land appears in memory's light.
Nor mourned he as he neared the vessel's side,
But scorned the murderers in his native pride,
And sang with Hellas' shore yet full in sight;

1"It is my fate, I tremble not with fear,
The gods will guide my spirit when I die.
Murderers destroy its earthly temple here,
But Vengeance soon will Justice satisfy.
Now Nereids of the sea, make ye my grave,
I come, I seek ye 'neath the deep sea wave."
Then plunged he downward, scarcely with a sigh.

The waves embraced the singer's godlike form,
While swiftly sailed the murderer's away.
And dolphins that heard him through the rising storm,
Charmed by his melody, around him play;
And e're to threatening waves he gave his breath
One took him on his back and, safe from death,
In triumph bore him straight where Tarent lay.

Delightfully he safely sail'd along
Upon the dolphin's vaulted, shining back,
The symbol of his art — his aid in song,
The cithern, rested on the dolphin's neck;
And dancing to the bard's sweet singing.
The waves delightfully are springing.
The wanderer Arion's sacred feet to lick.

And where the singer by the Dolphin stranded,
Set foot again upon his native shore,
Safe from the perils of the ocean landed,
There stood a monument in days of yore,
Of shining brass to mark the separation,
And on the rocky promontory station
The grateful Arion thus his song did pour:

Farewell, Oh! could my heart reward thee right,
My friendly, faithful Dolphin it should be;
But I on land must quit the friendly sight,
And thou wilt roam the ocean wide and free.
Companionship again we may not find,
For gayety at court its votaries bind,
But thou my friendly Dolphin still may be.

And now in haste his homeward steps he bends,
Swift as he roamed, when in a distant land,
Corinth appears, sight new courage lends,
He soon shall grasp his patron monarch's hand.
Sweetly the cithern chords are ringing.
Joyfully roaming, cheerfully singing,
Though forest shades, green plains and sand.

And soon his Patron King in close embrace,
Clasped in his arms, his tears fall on his breast.
Now, dearest friend, he cries, my wanderings cease,
And hence I sing for friends and friendly guest.
The robbers now possess my treasure,
But as my song gave thousands pleasure,
I'll here enjoy my hard earned fame at rest.

And now to Periander he relates,
All that befell him on the ocean wild;
How robbers, scorning all the laws of State,
The threats of vengeance and persuasion mild,
Had forced him from him his hardly earned gold,
And bade him plunge beneath the ocean cold,
And how with music dolphins he beguiled.

These things described, the monarch threat'ning spoke;
If robbers venture boldly thus to prey
Thus Periander's anger to provoke,
Beneath the ocean's waves their bones shall lie.
Conceal thee, Arion, in our palace near,
They in our hands are falling; have no fear.
For them 'tis simply to confess and die.

Soon their ship in port in safety riding,
The pirates summoned to the monarch's throne
"Hast from my absent friend," he said, "no tidings?
What hast thou learned of wandering Arion?"
They say, "His glory and his growing fame,
In Hellas every where loud plaudits claim,
All shout the praise of wandering Arion."

"Arion is here," the monarch sternly cries.
"Arion, come forth! the pirate crew here see,
Whom gods protect by murder never dies.
Your deaths, base men, your monarch does decree.
The ocean's wave shall be for you a shroud,
And as your souls to gloomy Hades crowd,
The spirits of the just shall from them flee."

But Arion's heart less vengeful than their own,
Pleads with the monarch for the robbers' life;
Outlaws they are decreed, but not alone
With outlaws must they band and live in strife,
While Arion, the favored petted bard,
Will Periander safe and surely guard,
And cherish kindly till the end of life.

Thus ends Gus Schlegel — if translated right,
If not, but very little odds it makes,
For very probably in time's long flight,
Which lends enchantment to each view man takes,
I'm just as near as Gus, to honest truth,
For at the most, bard, Arion, man or youth,
Is but a myth and really no great shakes.