Andromeda and Other Poems - Charles Kingsley - Bog

Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward, Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired Æthiop people, Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver, Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus, Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athené, Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle; Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo. Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the blue salt water, Fearing all things that have life in the womb of the seas and the livers, Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the main, like the Phoenics, Manful with black-beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region, Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the sea-floods, scourge of Poseidon. Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils of the slow-footed oxen, Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard-earned gold of the harvest, Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirting the woodland, Inland the floods came yearly; and after the waters a monster, Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the slime of the Nile-bank, Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward, Daily returning to feed with the dawn, and devoured of the fairest, Cattle, and children, and maids, till the terrified people fled inland. Fasting in sackcloth and ashes they came, both the king and his people, Came to the mountain of oaks, to the house of the terrible sea-gods, Hard by the gulf in the rocks, where of old the world-wide deluge Sank to the inner abyss; and the lake where the fish of the goddess, Holy, undying, abide; whom the priests feed daily with dainties.