BOOK I

POETICAL WORKS

OF

ROBERT BRIDGES

UNIFORM EDITION OF

ROBERT BRIDGES' POETICAL WORKS

_In Seven Volumes, Small Post 8vo, 6s. each._

_CONTENTS_

VOLUME I: Prometheus the Firegiver--Eros and Psyche--The Growth

of Love--Notes.

VOLUME II: Shorter Poems--New Poems--Notes.

VOLUME III: The First Part of Nero--Achilles in Scyros--Notes.

VOLUME IV: Palicio--The Return of Ulysses--Notes.

VOLUME V: The Christian Captives--Humours of the Court--Notes.

VOLUME VI: The Feast of Bacchus--Second Part of the History of

Nero--Notes.

VOLUME VII in preparation

*** This Volume completes the Uniform Edition of Mr. Robert

Bridges' Works.

LONDON: SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.

[Illustration: Robert Bridges

Aug 1912]

POETICAL WORKS

OF

ROBERT BRIDGES

EXCLUDING

THE EIGHT DRAMAS

[Illustration: colophon]

HENRY FROWDE

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE

1912

OXFORD: HORACE HART

PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

NOTE

This book consists of the Poems and Masks (as apart

from the Dramas) contained in the collected editions of

the Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, together with two

groups of Later Poems and Poems in Classical Prosody

now published for the first time or now first collected.

A record of the previous publication of the poems will be

found in the bibliographical notes prefixed to the various

sections of the present book.

The spelling of certain words is not uniform throughout

the poems. This is due to observance of the text of the

earlier editions of different dates, in the notes to which the

author's justification of these peculiarities was given.

CONTENTS

PAGE

PROMETHEUS THE FIREGIVER. A Mask in the Greek

Manner 1

DEMETER. A Mask 49

EROS AND PSYCHE 87

THE GROWTH OF LOVE 185

SHORTER POEMS.

Book I 225

Book II 242

Book III 264

Book IV 281

Book V 301

NEW POEMS 321

LATER POEMS 365

POEMS IN CLASSICAL PROSODY 409

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 465

PROMETHEUS THE FIREGIVER

_A Mask

in the Greek Manner_

[Illustration: decoration]

_PREVIOUS EDITIONS_

1. _Private Press of H. Daniel. Oxford, 1883._

2. _Chiswick Press. G. Bell & Sons, 1884._

3. _Clarendon Press. Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. I, 1898._

ARGUMENT

_Prometheus coming on earth to give fire to men appears

before the palace of Inachus in Argos on a festival of Zeus.

He interrupts the ceremony by announcing fire and persuades

Inachus to dare the anger of Zeus and accept the gift. Inachus

fetching Argeia his wife from the palace has in turn to quiet

her fears. He asks a prophecy of Prometheus who foretells the

fate of Io their daughter. Prometheus then setting flame to the

altar and writing his own name thereon in the place of Zeus

disappears._

_The Chorus sing (1) a Hymn to Zeus with the stories of the

birth of Zeus and the marriage of Hera with the dances of the

Curetes and the Hesperides, (2) their anticipation of fire with

an Ode on Wonder, (3) a Tragic Hymn on the lot of man,

(4) a Fire-chorus, (5) a final Chorus in praise of Prometheus._

_All the characters are good. Prometheus prologizes. He

carries a long reed._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_PROMETHEUS._

_INACHUS._

_ARGEIA._

_SERVANT._

_IO_ (_persona muta_).

_CHORUS:_ _Youths and maidens of the house of Inachus._

_The SCENE is in ARGOS before the palace of Inachus.

An altar inscribed to Zeus is at the

centre of the stage._

PROMETHEUS

THE FIREGIVER

_PROMETHEUS._

From high Olympus and the ætherial courts,

Where mighty Zeus our angry king confirms

The Fates' decrees and bends the wills of the gods,

I come: and on the earth step with glad foot.

This variegated ocean-floor of the air,

The changeful circle of fair land, that lies

Heaven's dial, sisterly mirror of night and day:

The wide o'er-wandered plain, this nether world

My truant haunt is, when from jealous eyes

I steal, for hither 'tis I steal, and here 10

Unseen repair my joy: yet not unseen

Methinks, nor seen unguessed of him I seek.

Rather by swath or furrow, or where the path

Is walled with corn I am found, by trellised vine

Or olive set in banks or orchard trim:

I watch all toil and tilth, farm, field and fold,

And taste the mortal joy; since not in heaven

Among our easeful gods hath facile time

A touch so keen, to wake such love of life

As stirs the frail and careful being, who here, 20

The king of sorrows, melancholy man,

Bows at his labour, but in heart erect

A god stands, nor for any gift of god

Would barter his immortal-hearted prime.

Could I but win this world from Zeus for mine,

With not a god to vex my happy rule,

I would inhabit here and leave high heaven:

So much I love it and its race of men,

Even as he hates them, hates both them, and me

For loving what he hates, and would destroy me, 30

Outcast in the scorn of all his cringing crew,

For daring but to save what he would slay:

And me must first destroy. Thus he denieth

My heart's wish, thus my counsel sets at naught,

Which him saved once, when all at stake he stood

Uprisen in rebellion to overthrow

The elderseated Titans, for I that day

Gave him the counsels which his foes despised.

Unhappy they, who had still their blissful seats

Preserved and their Olympian majesty, 40

Had they been one with me. Alas, my kin!

But he, when he had taken the throne and chained

His foes in wasteful Tartarus, said no more

Where is Prometheus our wise counsellor?

What saith Prometheus? tell us, O Prometheus,

What Fate requires! but waxing confident

And wanton, as a youth first tasting power,

He wrecked the timeless monuments of heaven,

The witness of the wisdom of the gods,

And making all about him new, beyond 50

Determined to destroy the race of men,

And that create afresh or else have none.

Then his vain mind imagined a device,

And at his bidding all the opposèd winds

Blew, and the scattered clouds and furlèd snows,

From every part of heaven together flying,

He with brute hands in huge disorder heaped:

They with the winds' weight and his angry breath

Were thawed: in cataracts they fell, and earth

In darkness deep and whelmèd tempest lay, 60

Drowned 'neath the waters. Yet on the mountain-tops

Some few escaped, and some, thus warned by me,

Made shift to live in vessels which outrode

The season and the fury of the flood.

And when his rain was spent and from clear skies

Zeus looking down upon the watery world,

Beheld these few, the remnant of mankind,

Who yet stood up and breathed; he next withdrew

The seeds of fire, that else had still lain hid

In withered branch and the blue flakes of flint 70

For man to exact and use, but these withdrawn,

Man with the brutes degraded would be man

No more; and so the tyrant was content.

But I, despised again, again upheld

The weak, and pitying them sent sweet Hope,

Bearer of dreams, enchantress fond and kind,

From heaven descending on the unhindered rays

Of every star, to cheer with visions fair

Their unamending pains. And now this day

Behold I come bearing the seal of all 80

Which Hope had promised: for within this reed

A prisoner I bring them stolen from heaven,

The flash of mastering fire, and it have borne

So swift to earth, that when yon noontide sun

Rose from the sea at morning I was by,

And unperceived of Hêlios plunged the point

I' the burning axle, and withdrew a tongue

Of breathing flame, which lives to leap on earth

For man the father of all fire to come.

And hither have I brought it even to Argos 90

Unto king Inachus, him having chosen

Above all mortals to receive my gift:

For he is hopeful, careful, wise, and brave.

He first, when first the floods left bare the land,

Grew warm with enterprise, and gathered men

Together, and disposed their various tasks

For common weal combined; for soon were seen

The long straight channels dwindling on the plain,

Which slow from stagnant pool and wide morass

The pestilent waters to the rivers bore: 100

Then in the ruined dwellings and old tombs

He dug, unbedding from the wormèd ooze

Vessels and tools of trade and husbandry;

Wherewith, all seasonable works restored,

Oil made he and wine anew, and taught mankind

To live not brutally though without fire,

Tending their flocks and herds and weaving wool,

Living on fruit and milk and shepherds' fare,

Till time should bring back flame to smithy and hearth,

Or Zeus relent. Now at these gates I stand, 110

At this mid hour, when Inachus comes forth

To offer sacrifice unto his foe.

For never hath his faithful zeal forborne

To pay the power, though hard, that rules the world

The smokeless sacrifice; which first to-day

Shall smoke, and rise at heaven in flame to brave

The baffled god. See here a servant bears

For the cold altar ceremonial wood:

My shepherd's cloak will serve me for disguise.

_SERVANT._

With much toil have I hewn these sapless logs. 120

PR. But toil brings health, and health is happiness.

SERV. Here's one I know not--nay, how came he here

Unseen by me? I pray thee, stranger, tell me

What wouldst thou at the house of Inachus?

PR. Intruders, friend, and travellers have glib tongues,

Silence will question such.

SERV. If 'tis a message,

To-day is not thy day--who sent thee hither?

PR. The business of my leisure was well guessed:

But he that sent me hither is I that come.

SERV. I smell the matter--thou wouldst serve the house?

PR. 'Twas for that very cause I fled my own. 131

SERV. From cruelty or fear of punishment?

PR. Cruel was my master, for he slew his father.

His punishments thou speakest of are crimes.

SERV. Thou dost well flying one that slew his father.

PR. Thy lord, they say, is kind.

SERV. Well, thou wilt see

Thou may'st at once begin--come, give a hand.

PR. A day of freedom is a day of pleasure:

And what thou doest have I never done,

And understanding not might mar thy work. 140

SERV. Ay true--there is a right way and a wrong

In laying wood.

PR. Then let me see thee lay it:

The sight of a skill'd hand will teach an art.

SERV. Thou seest this faggot which I now unbind,

How it is packed within.

PR. I see the cones

And needles of the fir, which by the wind

In melancholy places ceaselessly

Sighing are strewn upon the tufted floor.

SERV. These took I from a sheltered bank, whereon

The sun looks down at noon; for there is need 150

The things be dry. These first I spread; and then

Small sticks that snap i' the hand.

PR. Such are enough

To burden the slow flight of labouring rooks,

When on the leafless tree-tops in young March

Their glossy herds assembling soothe the air

With cries of solemn joy and cawings loud.

And such the long-necked herons will bear to mend

Their airy platform, when the loving spring

Bids them take thought for their expected young.

SERV. See even so I cross them and cross them so: 160

Larger and by degrees a steady stack

Have built, whereon the heaviest logs may lie:

And all of sun-dried wood: and now 'tis done.

PR. And now 'tis done, what means it now 'tis done?

SERV. Well, thus 'tis rightly done: but why 'tis so

I cannot tell, nor any man here knows;

Save that our master when he sacrificeth,

As thou wilt hear anon, speaketh of fire;

And fire he saith is good for gods and men;

And the gods have it and men have it not: 170

And then he prays the gods to send us fire;

And we, against they send it, must have wood

Laid ready thus as I have shewn thee here.

PR. To-day he sacrificeth?

SERV. Ay, this noon.

Hark! hear'st thou not? they come. The solemn flutes

Warn us away; we must not here be seen

In these our soilèd habits, yet may stand

Where we may hear and see and not be seen.

[_Exeunt R._

_Enter_ CHORUS, _and from the palace_ INACHUS _bearing cakes: he

comes to stand behind the altar_.

_CHORUS._

God of Heaven!

We praise thee, Zeus most high, 180

To whom by eternal Fate was given

The range and rule of the sky;

When thy lot, first of three

Leapt out, as sages tell,

And won Olympus for thee,

Therein for ever to dwell:

But the next with the barren sea

To grave Poseidôn fell,

And left fierce Hades his doom, to be

The lord and terror of hell. 190

(2) Thou sittest for aye

Encircled in azure bright,

Regarding the path of the sun by day,

And the changeful moon by night:

Attending with tireless ears

To the song of adoring love,

With which the separate spheres

Are voicèd that turn above:

And all that is hidden under

The clouds thy footing has furl'd 200

Fears the hand that holdeth the thunder,

The eye that looks on the world.

_Semichorus of youths._

Of all the isles of the sea

Is Crete most famed in story:

Above all mountains famous to me

Is Ida and crowned with glory.

There guarded of Heaven and Earth

Came Rhea at fall of night

To hide a wondrous birth

From the Sire's unfathering sight. 210

The halls of Cronos rang

With omens of coming ill,

And the mad Curêtes danced and sang

Adown the slopes of the hill.

Then all the peaks of Gnossus kindled red

Beckoning afar unto the sinking sun,

he thro' the vaporous west plunged to his bed,

Sunk, and the day was done.

But they, though he was fled,

Such light still held, as oft 220

Hanging in air aloft,

At eve from shadowed ship

The Egyptian sailor sees:

Or like the twofold tip

That o'er the topmost trees

Flares on Parnassus, and the Theban dames

Quake at the ghostly flames.

Then friendly night arose

To succour Earth, and spread

Her mantle o'er the snows 230

And quenched their rosy red;

But in the east upsprings

Another light on them,

Selêné with white wings

And hueless diadem.

Little could she befriend

Her father's house and state,

Nor her weak beams defend

Hyperion from his fate.

Only where'er she shines, 240

In terror looking forth,

She sees the wailing pines

Stoop to the bitter North:

Or searching twice or thrice

Along the rocky walls,

She marks the columned ice

Of frozen waterfalls:

But still the darkened cave

Grew darker as she shone,

Wherein was Rhea gone 250

Her child to bear and save.

[_They dance._

Then danced the Dactyls and Curêtes wild,

And drowned with yells the cries of mother and child;

Big-armed Damnámeneus gan prance and shout:

And burly Acmon struck the echoes out:

And Kermis leaped and howled: and Titias pranced

And broad Cyllenus tore the air and danced:

While deep within the shadowed cave at rest

Lay Rhea, with her babe upon her breast.

_INACHUS._

If any here there be whose impure hands 260

Among pure hands, or guilty heart among

Our guiltless hearts be stained with blood or wrong,

Let him depart!

If there be any here in whom high Zeus

Seeing impiety might turn away,

Now from our sacrifice and from his sin

Let him depart!

_Semichorus of maidens._

I have chosen to praise

Hêra the wife, and bring

A hymn for the feast on marriage days 270

To the wife of the gods' king.

How on her festival

The gods had loving strife,

Which should give of them all

The fairest gift to the wife.

But Earth said, Fair to see

Is mine and yields to none,

I have grown for her joy a sacred tree,

With apples of gold thereon.

Then Hêra, when she heard what Earth had given, 280

Smiled for her joy, and longed and came to see:

On dovewings flying from the height of heaven,

Down to the golden tree:

As tired birds at even

Come flying straight to house

On their accustomed boughs.

'Twas where, on tortured hands

Bearing the mighty pole.

Devoted Atlas stands:

And round his bowed head roll 290

Day-light and night, and stars unmingled dance,

Nor can he raise his glance.

She saw the rocky coast

Whereon the azured waves

Are laced in foam, or lost

In water-lighted caves;

The olive island where,

Amid the purple seas,

Night unto Darkness bare

The four Hesperides: 300

And came into the shade

Of Atlas, where she found

The garden Earth had made

And fenced with groves around.

And in the midst it grew

Alone, the priceless stem,

As careful, clear and true

As graving on a gem.

Nature had kissèd Art

And borne a child to stir 310

With jealousy the heart

Of heaven's Artificer.

From crown to swelling root

It mocked the goddess' praise,

The green enamelled sprays,

The emblazoned golden fruit.

[_They dance_

And 'neath the tree, with hair and zone unbound,

The fair Hesperides aye danced around,

And Ægle danced and sang 'O welcome, Queen!'

And Erytheia sang 'The tree is green!' 320

And Hestia danced and sang 'The fruit is gold!'

And Arethusa sang 'Fair Queen, behold!'

And all joined hands and danced about the tree,

And sang 'O Queen, we dance and sing for thee!'

IN. If there be any here who has complaint

Against our rule or claim or supplication,

Now in the name of Zeus let it appear,

Now let him speak!

_Prometheus re-enters._

PR. All hail, most worthy king, such claim have I.

IN. May grace be with thee, stranger; speak thy mind.

PR. To Argos, king of Argos, at thy house 331

I bring long journeying to an end this hour,

Bearing no idle message for thine ears.

For know that far thy fame has reached, and men

That ne'er have seen thee tell that thou art set

Upon the throne of virtue, that goodwill

And love thy servants are, that in thy land

Joy, honour, trust and modesty abide

And drink the air of peace, that kings must see

Thy city, would they know their peoples' good 340

And stablish them therein by wholesome laws.

But one thing mars the tale, for o'er thy lands

Travelling I have not seen from morn till eve,

Either from house or farm or labourer's cot,

In any village, nor this town of Argos

A blue-wreathed smoke arise: the hearths are cold,

This altar cold: I see the wood and cakes

Unbaken--O king, where is the fire?

IN. If hither, stranger, thou wert come to find

That which thou findest wanting, join with us 350

Now in our sacrifice, take food within,

And having learnt our simple way of life

Return unto thy country whence thou camest.

But hast thou skill or knowledge of this thing,

How best it may be sought, or by what means

Hope to be reached, O speak! I wait to hear.

PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.

IN. On earth there is fire thou sayest!

PR. There is fire.

IN. On earth this day!

PR. There is fire on earth this day.

IN. This is a sacred place, a solemn hour, 360

Thy speech is earnest: yet even if thou speak truth,

O welcome messenger of happy tidings,

And though I hear aright, yet to believe

Is hard: thou canst not know what words thou speakest

Into what ears: they never heard before

This sound but in old tales of happier times,

In sighs of prayer and faint unhearted hope:

Maybe they heard not rightly, speak again!

PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.

IN. Yes, yes, again. Now let sweet Music blab 370

Her secret and give o'er; here is a trumpet

That mocks her method. Yet 'tis but the word.

Maybe thy fire is not the fire I seek;

Maybe though thou didst see it, now 'tis quenched,

Or guarded out of reach: speak yet again

And swear by heaven's truth is there fire or no;

And if there be, what means may make it mine.

PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day:

But not as thou dost seek it to be found.

IN. How seeking wrongly shall I seek aright? 380

PR. Thou prayest here to Zeus, and him thou callest

Almighty, knowing he could grant thy prayer:

That if 'twere but his will, the journeying sun

Might drop a spark into thine outstretched hand:

That at his breath the splashing mountain brooks

That fall from Orneæ, and cold Lernè's pool

Would change their element, and their chill streams

Bend in their burning banks a molten flood:

That at his word so many messengers

Would bring thee fire from heaven, that not a hearth 390

In all thy land but straight would have a god

To kneel and fan the flame: and yet to him,

It is to him thou prayest.

IN. Therefore to him.

PR. Is this thy wisdom, king, to sow thy seed

Year after year in this unsprouting soil?

Hast thou not proved and found the will of Zeus

A barren rock for man with prayer to plough?

IN. His anger be averted! we judge not god

Evil, because our wishes please him not.

Oft our shortsighted prayers to heaven ascending 400

Ask there our ruin, and are then denied

In kindness above granting: were 't not so,

Scarce could we pray for fear to pluck our doom

Out of the merciful withholding hands.

PR. Why then provokest thou such great goodwill

In long denial and kind silence shown?

IN. Fie, fie! Thou lackest piety: the god's denial

Being nought but kindness, there is hope that he

Will make that good which is not:--or if indeed

Good be withheld in punishment, 'tis well 410

Still to seek on and pray that god relent.

PR. O Sire of Argos, Zeus will not relent.

IN. Yet fire thou say'st is on the earth this day.

PR. Not of his knowledge nor his gift, O king.

IN. By kindness of what god then has man fire?

PR. I say but on the earth unknown to Zeus.

IN. How boastest thou to know, not of his knowledge?

PR. I boast not: he that knoweth not may boast.

IN. Thy daring words bewilder sense with sound.

PR. I thought to find thee ripe for daring deeds. 420

IN. And what the deed for which I prove unripe?

PR. To take of heaven's fire.

IN. And were I ripe,

What should I dare, beseech you?

PR. The wrath of Zeus.

IN. Madman, pretending in one hand to hold

The wrath of god and in the other fire.

PR. Thou meanest rather holding both in one.

IN. Both impious art thou and incredible.

PR. Yet impious only till thou dost believe.

IN. And what believe? Ah, if I could believe!

It was but now thou saidst that there was fire, 430

And I was near believing; I believed:

Now to believe were to be mad as thou.

CHORUS. He may be mad and yet say true--maybe

The heat of prophecy like a strong wine

Shameth his reason with exultant speech.

PR. Thou say'st I am mad, and of my sober words

Hast called those impious which thou fearest true,

Those which thou knowest good, incredible.

Consider ere thou judge: be first assured

All is not good for man that seems god's will. 440

See, on thy farming skill, thy country toil

Which bends to aid the willing fruits of earth,

And would promote the seasonable year,

The face of nature is not always kind:

And if thou search the sum of visible being

To find thy blessing featured, 'tis not there:

Her best gifts cannot brim the golden cup

Of expectation which thine eager arms

Lift to her mouthèd horn--what then is this

Whose wide capacity outbids the scale 450

Of prodigal beauty, so that the seeing eye

And hearing ear, retiring unamazed

Within their quiet chambers, sit to feast

With dear imagination, nor look forth

As once they did upon the varying air?

Whence is the fathering of this desire

Which mocks at fated circumstance? nay though

Obstruction lie as cumbrous as the mountains,

Nor thy particular hap hath armed desire

Against the brunt of evil,--yet not for this 460

Faints man's desire: it is the unquenchable

Original cause, the immortal breath of being:

Nor is there any spirit on Earth astir,

Nor 'neath the airy vault, nor yet beyond

In any dweller in far-reaching space,

Nobler or dearer than the spirit of man:

That spirit which lives in each and will not die,

That wooeth beauty, and for all good things

Urgeth a voice, or in still passion sigheth,

And where he loveth draweth the heart with him. 470

Hast thou not heard him speaking oft and oft,

Prompting thy secret musings and now shooting

His feathered fancies, or in cloudy sleep

Piling his painted dreams? O hark to him!

For else if folly shut his joyous strength

To mope in her dark prison without praise,

The hidden tears with which he wails his wrong

Will sour the fount of life. O hark to him!

Him may'st thou trust beyond the things thou seest.

For many things there be upon this earth 480

Unblest and fallen from beauty, to mislead

Man's mind, and in a shadow justify

The evil thoughts and deeds that work his ill;

Fear, hatred, lust and strife, which, if man question

The heavenborn spirit within him, are not there.

Yet are they bold of face, and Zeus himself,

Seeing that Mischief held her head on high,

Lest she should go beyond his power to quell

And draw the inevitable Fate that waits

On utmost ill, himself preventing Fate 490

Hasted to drown the world, and now would crush

Thy little remnant: but among the gods

Is one whose love and courage stir for thee;

Who being of manlike spirit, by many shifts

Has stayed the hand of the enemy, who crieth

Thy world is not destroyed, thy good shall live:

Thou hast more power for good than Zeus for ill,

More courage, justice, more abundant art,

More love, more joy, more reason: though around thee

Rank-rooting evil bloom with poisonous crown, 500

Though wan and dolorous and crooked things

Have made their home with thee, thy good shall live.

Know thy desire: and know that if thou seek it,

And seek, and seek, and fear not, thou shall find.

SEM. (_youths_). Is this a god that speaketh thus?

SEM. (_maidens_). He speaketh as a man

In love or great affliction yields his soul.

IN. Thou, whencesoe'er thou comest, whoe'er thou art,

Who breakest on our solemn sacrifice

With solemn words, I pray thee not depart 510

Till thou hast told me more. This fire I seek

Not for myself, whose thin and silvery hair

Tells that my toilsome age nears to its end,

But for my children and the aftertime,

For great the need thereof, wretched our state;

Nay, set by what has been, our happiness

Is very want, so that what now is not

Is but the measure of what yet may be.

And first are barest needs, which well I know

Fire would supply, but I have hope beyond, 520

That Nature in recovering her right

Would kinder prove to man who seeks to learn

Her secrets and unfold the cause of life.

So tell me, if thou knowest, what is fire?

Doth earth contain it? or, since from the sun

Fire reaches us, since in the glimmering stars

And pallid moon, in lightning, and the glance

Of tracking meteors that at nightfall show

How in the air a thousand sightless things

Travel, and ever on their windswift course 530

Flame when they list and into darkness go,--

Since in all these a fiery nature dwells,

Is fire an airy essence, a thing of heaven,

That, could we poise it, were an alien power

To make our wisdom less, our wonder more?

PR. Thy wish to know is good, and happy is he

Who thus from chance and change has launched his mind

To dwell for ever with undisturbèd truth.

This high ambition doth not prompt his hand

To crime, his right and pleasure are not wronged 540

By folly of his fellows, nor his eye

Dimmed by the griefs that move the tears of men.

Son of the earth, and citizen may be

Of Argos or of Athens and her laws,

But still the eternal nature, where he looks,

O'errules him with the laws which laws obey,

And in her heavenly city enrols his heart.

IN. Thus ever have I held of happiness,

The child of heavenly truth, and thus have found it

In prayer and meditation and still thought, 550

And thus my peace of mind based on a floor

That doth not quaver like the joys of sense:

Those I possess enough in seeing my slaves

And citizens enjoy, having myself

Tasted for once and put their sweets away.

But of that heavenly city, of which thou sayest

Her laws o'errule us, have I little learnt,

For when my wandering spirit hath dared alone

The unearthly terror of her voiceless halls,

She hath fallen from delight, and without guide 560

Turned back, and from her errand fled for fear.

PR. Think not that thou canst all things know, nor deem

Such knowledge happiness: the all-knowing Fates

No pleasure have, who sit eternally

Spinning the unnumbered threads that Time hath woven,

And weaves, upgathering in his furthest house

To store from sight; but what 'tis joy to learn

Or use to know, that may'st thou ask of right.

IN. Then tell me, for thou knowest, what is fire?

PR. Know then, O king, that this fair earth of men, 570

The Olympus of the gods, and all the heavens

Are lesser kingdoms of the boundless space

Wherein Fate rules; they have their several times,

Their seasons and the limit of their thrones,

And from the nature of eternal things

Springing, themselves are changed; even as the trees

Or birds or beasts of earth, which now arise

To being, now in turn decay and die.

The heaven and earth thou seest, for long were held

By Fire, a raging power, to whom the Fates 580

Decreed a slow diminishing old age,

But to his daughter, who is that gentle goddess,

Queen of the clear and azure firmament,

In heaven called Hygra, but by mortals Air,

To her, the child of his slow doting years,

Was given a beauteous youth, not long to outlast

His life, but be the pride of his decay,

And win to gentler sway his lost domains.

And when the day of time arrived, when Air

Took o'er from her decrepit sire the third 590

Of the Sun's kingdoms, the one-moonèd earth,

Straight came she down to her inheritance.

Gaze on the sun with thine unshaded eye

And shrink from what she saw. Forests of fire

Whose waving trunks, sucking their fuel, reared

In branched flame roaring, and their torrid shades

Aye underlit with fire. The mountains lifted

And fell and followed like a running sea,

And from their swelling flanks spumed froth of fire;

Or, like awakening monsters, mighty mounds 600

Rose on the plain awhile.

SEM. (_maidens_). He discovers a foe.

SEM. (_youths_). An enemy he paints.

PR. These all she quenched,

Or charmed their fury into the dens and bowels

Of earth to smoulder, there the vital heat

To hold for her creation, which then--to her aid

Summoning high Reason from his home in heaven,--

She wrought anew upon the temperate lands.

SEM. (_maidens_). 'Twas well Air won this kingdom of her sire.

SEM. (_youths_). Now say how made she green this home of fire.

PR. The waters first she brought, that in their streams

And pools and seas innumerable things 611

Brought forth, from whence she drew the fertile seeds

Of trees and plants, and last of footed life,

That wandered forth, and roaming to and fro,

The rejoicing earth peopled with living sound.

Reason advised, and Reason praised her toil;

Which when she had done she gave him thanks, and said,

'Fair comrade, since thou praisest what is done,

Grant me this favour ere thou part from me:

Make thou one fair thing for me, which shall suit 620

With what is made, and be the best of all.'

'Twas evening, and that night Reason made man.

SEM. (_maidens_). Children of Air are we, and live by fire.

SEM. (_youths_). The sons of Reason dwelling on the earth.

SEM. (_maidens_). Folk of a pleasant kingdom held between

Fire's reign of terror and the latter day

When dying, soon in turn his child must die.

SEM. (_youths_). Having a wise creator, above time

Or youth or change, from whom our kind inherit

The grace and pleasure of the eternal gods. 630

IN. But how came gods to rule this earth of Air?

PR. They also were her children who first ruled,

Cronos, Iapetus, Hypérion,

Theia and Rhea, and other mighty names

That are but names--whom Zeus drave out from heaven,

And with his tribe sits on their injured thrones.

IN. There is no greater god in heaven than he.

PR. Nor none more cruel nor more tyrannous.

IN. But what can man against the power of god?

PR. Doth not man strive with him? thyself dost pray.

IN. That he may pardon our contrarious deeds. 641

PR. Alas! Alas! what more contrarious deed,

What greater miracle of wrong than this,

That man should know his good and take it not?

To what god wilt thou pray to pardon this?

In vain was reason given, if man therewith

Shame truth, and name it wisdom to cry down

The unschooled promptings of his best desire.

The beasts that have no speech nor argument

Confute him, and the wild hog in the wood 650

That feels his longing, hurries straight thereto,

And will not turn his head.

IN. How mean'st thou this?

PR. Thou hast desired the good, and now canst feel

How hard it is to kill the heart's desire.

IN. Shall Inachus rise against Zeus, as he

Rose against Cronos and made war in heaven?

PR. I say not so, yet, if thou didst rebel,

The tongue that counselled Zeus should counsel thee.

SEM. (_maidens_). This is strange counsel.

SEM. (_youths_). He is not

A counsellor for gods or men. 660

IN. O that I knew where I might counsel find,

That one were sent, nay, were't the least of all

The myriad messengers of heaven, to me!

One that should say 'This morn I stood with Zeus,

He hath heard thy prayer and sent me: ask a boon,

What thing thou wilt, it shall be given thee.'

PR. What wouldst thou say to such a messenger?

IN. No need to ask then what I now might ask,

How 'tis the gods, if they have care for mortals,

Slubber our worst necessities--and the boon, 670

No need to tell him that.

PR. Now, king, thou seest

Zeus sends no messenger, but I am here.

IN. Thy speech is hard, and even thy kindest words

Unkind. If fire thou hast, in thee 'tis kind

To proffer it: but thou art more unkind

Yoking heaven's wrath therewith. Nay, and how knowest thou

Zeus will be angry if I take of it?

Thou art a prophet: ay, but of the prophets

Some have been taken in error, and honest time

Has honoured many with forgetfulness. 680

I'll make this proof of thee; Show me thy fire--

Nay, give't me now--if thou be true at all,

Be true so far: for the rest there's none will lose,

Nor blame thee being false--where is thy fire?

PR. O rather, had it thus been mine to give,

I would have given it thus: not adding aught

Of danger or diminishment or loss;

So strong is my goodwill; nor less than this

My knowledge, but in knowledge all my power.

Yet since wise guidance with a little means 690

Can more than force unminded, I have skill

To conjure evil and outcompass strength.

Now give I thee my best, a little gift

To work a world of wonder; 'tis thine own

Of long desire, and with it I will give

The cunning of invention and all arts

In which thy hand instructed may command,

Interpret, comfort, or ennoble nature;

With all provision that in wisdom is,

And what prevention in foreknowledge lies. 700

IN. Great is the gain.

PR. O king, the gain is thine,

The penalty I more than share.

IN. Enough,

I take thy gift; nor hast thou stood more firm

To every point of thy strange chequered tale,

Revealing, threatening, offering more and more,

And never all, than I to this resolve.

PR. I knew thy heart would fail not at the hour.

IN. Nay, failed I now, what were my years of toil

More than the endurance of a harnessed brute,

Flogged to his daily work, that cannot view 710

The high design to which his labour steps?

And I of all men were dishonoured most

Shrinking in fear, who never shrank from toil,

And found abjuring, thrusting stiffly back,

The very gift for which I stretched my hands.

What though I suffer? are these wintry years

Of growing desolation to be held

As cherishable as the suns of spring?

Nay, only joyful can they be in seeing

Long hopes accomplished, long desires fulfilled. 720

And since thou hast touched ambition on the side

Of nobleness, and stirred my proudest hope,

And wilt fulfil this, shall I count the cost?

Rather decay will triumph, and cold death

Be lapped in glory, seeing strength arise

From weakness, from the tomb go forth a flame.

PR. 'Tis well; thou art exalted now, the grace

Becomes thy valiant spirit.

IN. Lo! on this day

Which hope despaired to see, hope manifests

A vision bright as were the dreams of youth; 730

When life was easy as a sleeper's faith

Who swims in the air and dances on the sea;

When all the good that scarce by toil is won,

Or not at all is won, is as a flower

Growing in plenty to be plucked at will:

Is it a dream again or is it truth,

This vision fair of Greece inhabited?

A fairer sight than all fair Iris sees,

Footing her airy arch of colours spun

From Ida to Olympus, when she stays 740

To look on Greece and thinks the sight is fair;

Far fairer now, clothed with the works of men.

PR. Ay, fairer far: for nature's varied pleasaunce

Without man's life is but a desert wild,

Which most, where most she mocks him, needs his aid.

She knows her silence sweeter when it girds

His murmurous cities, her wide wasteful curves

Larger beside his economic line;

Or what can add a mystery to the dark,

As doth his measured music when it moves 750

With rhythmic sweetness through the void of night?

Nay, all her loveliest places are but grounds

Of vantage, where with geometric hand,

True square and careful compass he may come

To plan and plant and spread abroad his towers,

His gardens, temples, palaces and tombs.

And yet not all thou seest, with trancèd eye

Looking upon the beauty that shall be,

The temple-crownèd heights, the wallèd towns,

Farms and cool summer seats, nor the broad ways 760

That bridge the rivers and subdue the mountains,

Nor all that travels on them, pomp or war

Or needful merchandise, nor all the sails

Piloting over the wind-dappled blue

Of the summer-soothed Ægean, to thy mind

Can picture what shall be: these are the face

And form of beauty, but her heart and life

Shall they be who shall see it, born to shield

A happier birthright with intrepid arms,

To tread down tyranny and fashion forth 770

A virgin wisdom to subdue the world,

To build for passion an eternal song,

To shape her dreams in marble, and so sweet

Their speech, that envious Time hearkening shall stay

In fear to snatch, and hide his rugged hand.

Now is the birthday of thy conquering youth,

O man, and lo! Thy priest and prophet stand

Beside the altar and have blessed the day.

IN. Ay, blessed be this day. Where is thy fire?

Or is aught else to do, ere I may take? 780

PR. This was my message, speak and there is fire.

IN. There shall be fire. Await me here awhile.

I go to acquaint my house, and bring them forth.

[_Exit._

CHORUS.

Hearken, O Argos, hearken!

There will be fire.

And thou, O Earth, give ear!

There will be fire.

SEM. (_maidens_). Who shall be sent to fetch this fire for the king?

SEM. (_youths_). Shall we put forth in boats to reap,

And shall the waves for harvest yield 790

The rootless flames that nimbly leap

Upon their ever-shifting field?

SEM. (_maidens_). Or we in olive-groves go shake

And beat the fruiting sprays, till all

The silv'ry glitter which they make

Beneath into our baskets fall?

SEM. (_youths_). To bind in sheaves and bear away

The white unshafted darts of day?

SEM. (_maidens_). And from the shadow one by one

Pick up the playful oes of sun? 800

SEM. (_youths_). Or wouldst thou mine a passage deep

Until the darksome fire is found,

Which prisoned long in seething sleep

Vexes the caverns underground?

SEM. (_maidens_). Or bid us join our palms perchance,

To cup the slant and chinkèd beam,

Which mounting morn hath sent to dance

Across our chamber while we dream?

SEM. (_youths_). Say whence and how shall we fetch this fire for the king?

Our hope is impatient of vain debating. 810

SEM. (_maidens_). My heart is stirred at the name of the wondrous thing,

And trembles awaiting.

_ODE._

A coy inquisitive spirit, the spirit of wonder,

Possesses the child in his cradle, when mortal things

Are new, yet a varied surface and nothing under.

It busies the mind on trifles and toys and brings

Her grasp from nearer to further, from smaller to greater,

And slowly teaches flight to her fledgeling wings.

Where'er she flutters and falls surprises await her:

She soars, and beauty's miracles open in sight, 820

The flowers and trees and beasts of the earth ; and later

The skies of day, the moon and the stars of night;

'Neath which she scarcely venturing goes demurely,

With mystery clad, in the awe of depth and height.

O happy for still unconscious, for ah ! how surely,

How soon and surely will disenchantment come,

When first to herself she boasts to walk securely,

And drives the master spirit away from his home;

Seeing the marvellous things that make the morning

Are marvels of every-day, familiar, and some 830

Have lost with use, like earthly robes, their adorning,

As earthly joys the charm of a first delight,

And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning;

Until--

O tarry not long, dear needed sprite!

Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest

To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright:

To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest;

Wherein--

from the smile of beauty afar forecasting

The pleasure of god, thou livest at peace and yearnest

With wonder everlasting. 840

SECOND PART

_Re-enter from the palace_ INACHUS, _with_ ARGEIA _and_ IO.

_INACHUS._

That but a small and easy thing now seems,

Which from my house when I came forth at noon

A dream was and beyond the reach of man.

'Tis now a fancy of the will, a word,

Liberty's lightest prize. Yet still as one

Who loiters on the threshold of delight,

Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure,

I dally--Come, Argeia, and share my triumph!

And set our daughter by thee; though her eyes

Are young, there are no eyes this day so young 850

As shall forget this day--while one thing more

I ask of thee; this evil, will it light

On me or on my house or on mankind?

PR. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus

A second time failing will not again

Measure his spite against their better fate.

And now the terror, which awhile o'er Earth

Its black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend

And gnaw the tyrant's heart: for there is whispered

A word gone forth to scare the mighty gods; 860

How one must soon be born, and born of men,

Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven,

And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind

In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall

This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king;

Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece.

IN. Then on my house 'twill be. Know'st thou no more?

PR. Know I no more? Ay, if my purpose fail

'Tis not for lack of knowing: if I suffer,

'Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, 870

Or let brave resolution walk unarmed.

My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus,

The direful penalties his oath hath laid

On every good that I in heart and hand

Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats,

Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine,

Am bound the more. Nay, nor his evil minions,

Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will.

_ARGEIA._

Alas, alas, what heavy words are these,

That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, 880

That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow

Sighs in his heart? I came to share a triumph:

All is dismay and terror. What is this?

IN. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee

The winter-withering hope of my whole life

Has flower'd to-day in amaranth: what the hope

Thou knowest, who hast shared; but the condition

I told thee not and thou hast heard: this prophet,

Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus

Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth 890

With us that take it.

AR. O doleful change, I came

In pious purpose, nay, I heard within

The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said,

The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside

His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer

Of Inachus his servant; let him hear.

O let him turn away now lest he hear.

Nay, frown not on me; though a woman's voice

That counsels is but heard impatiently,

Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900

By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit,

By our long happiness and hope of more,

Hear me and let me speak.

IN. Well, wife, speak on.

AR. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite:

Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not?

Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well,

He will not bound his kindness in a day.

Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon

And fetch thy son Phorôneus, for his stake

In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910

'Twere well Phorôneus and Ægialeus

Were both here: maybe they would both refuse

The strange conditions which this stranger brings.

Were we not happy too before he came?

Doth he not offer us unhappiness?

Bid him depart, and at some other time,

When you have well considered, then return.

IN. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear.

AR. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough

Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men? 920

Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take,

Which vain Salmoneus, son of Æolus,

Made boast to have, and from his rattling car

Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him

The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent

One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky

Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen

In memory, and he was not, or for burial

Rode with the ashes of his royal city

Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. 930

And after him his brother Athamas,

King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell

For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son;

And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled

Into the sea, preferring there to woo

The choking waters, rather than that the arm

Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong.

For which old crimes the gods yet unappeased

Demand a sacrifice, and the king's son

Dreads the priest's knife, and all the city mourns. 940

Or shall I say what shameful fury it was

With which Poseidon smote Pasiphaë,

But for neglect of a recorded vow:

Or how Actæon fared of Artemis

When he surprised her, most himself surprised:

And even while he looked his boasted bow

Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran

A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense

Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear

Which bade him fly, and faster, as behind 950

He heard his hounds give tongue, that through the wood

Were following, closing, caught him and tore him down.

And many more thus perished in their prime;

Lycaon and his fifty sons, whom Zeus

In their own house spied on, and unawares

Watching at hand, from his disguise arose.

And overset the table where they sat

Around their impious feast and slew them all:

Alcyonè and Ceyx, queen and king,

Who for their arrogance were changed to birds: 960

And Cadmus now a serpent, once a king:

And saddest Niobe, whom not the love

Of Leto aught availed, when once her boast

Went out, though all her crime was too much pride

Of heaven's most precious gift, her children fair.

Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons;

But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve.

And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks

On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night

Who dance all day by Achelous' stream, 970

The once proud mother lies, herself a rock,

And in cold breast broods o'er the goddess' wrong.

IN. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still.

Or if thou fear, fear passion; for the freshes

Of tenderness and motherly love will drown

The eye of judgment: yet, since even excess

Of the soft quality fits woman well,

I praise thee; nor would ask thee less to aid

With counsel, than in love to share my choice.

Tho' weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark 980

This balance, how the good of all outweighs

The good of one or two, though these be us.

Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice

Which in another thou wert first to praise.

AR. Alas for me, for thee and for our children,

Who, being our being, having all our having,

If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust.

IN. O deem not a man's children are but those

Out of his loins engendered--our spirit's love

Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue 990

Cometh of ancestry more pure than blood,

And counts her seed as sand upon the shore.

Happy is he whose body's sons proclaim

Their father's honour, but more blest to whom

The world is dutiful, whose children spring

Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud

Rise to regenerate when they call him sire.

AR. Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy

Nobleness cheaply being linked with thee.

Forgive my weakness; see, I now am bold; 1000

Tell me the worst I'll hear and wish 'twere more.

IN. Retire--thy tears perchance may stir again.

AR. Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear.

PR. Bid me not tell if ye have fear to hear;

But have no fear. Knowledge of future things

Can nothing change man's spirit: and though he seem

To aim his passion darkly, like a shaft

Shot toward some fearful sound in thickest night,

He hath an owl's eye, and must blink at day.

The springs of memory, that feed alike 1010

His thought and action, draw from furthest time

Their constant source, and hardly brook constraint

Of actual circumstance, far less attend

On glassed futurity; nay, death itself,

His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain,

The certainty foreknown of things unknown,

Cannot discourage his habitual being

In its appointed motions, to make waver

His eager hand, nor loosen the desire

Of the most feeble melancholy heart 1020

Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams.

IN. Since then I long to know, now something say

Of what will come to mine when I am gone.

PR. And let the maid too hear, for 'tis of her

I speak, to tell her whither she should turn

The day ye drive her forth from hearth and home.

IN. What say'st thou? drive her out? and we? from home?

Banish the comfort of our eyes? Nay rather

Believe that these obedient hands will tear

The heart out of my breast, ere it do this. 1030

PR. When her wild cries arouse the house at night,

And, running to her bed, ye see her set

Upright in trancèd sleep, her starting hair

With deathly sweat bedewed, in horror shaking,

Her eyeballs fixed upon the unbodied dark,

Through which a draping mist of luminous gloom

Drifts from her couch away,--when, if asleep,

She walks as if awake, and if awake

Dreams, and as one who nothing hears or sees,

Lives in a sick and frantic mood, whose cause 1040

She understands not or is loth to tell--

AR. Ah, ah, my child, my child!--Dost thou feel aught?

Speak to me--nay, 'tis nothing--hearken not.

PR. Ye then distraught with sorrow, neither knowing

Whether to save were best or lose, will seek

Apollo's oracle.

IN. And what the answer?

Will it discover nought to avert this sorrow?

PR. Or else thy whole race perish root and branch.

IN. Alas! Alas!

PR. Yet shall she live though lost; from human form

Changed, that thou wilt not know thy daughter more. 1051

IN. Woe, woe! my thought was praying for her death.

PR. In Hera's temple shall her prison be

At high Mycenæ, till from heaven be sent

Hermes, with song to soothe and sword to slay

The beast whose hundred eyes devour the door.

IN. Enough, enough is told, unless indeed,

The beast once slain, thou canst restore our child.

PR. Nay, with her freedom will her wanderings

Begin. Come hither, child--nay, let her come: 1060

What words remain to speak will not offend her.

And shall in memory quicken, when she looks

To learn where she should go;--for go she must,

Stung by the venomous fly, whose angry flight

She still will hear about her, till she come

To lay her sevenfold-carried burden down

Upon the Æthiop shore where he shall reign.

IN. But say--say first, what form--

PR. In snow-white hide

Of those that feel the goad and wear the yoke. 1069

IN. Round-hoofed, or such as tread with cloven foot?

PR. Wide-horned, large-eyed, broad-fronted, and the feet

Cloven which carry her to her far goal.

IN. Will that of all these evils be the term?

PR. Ay, but the journey first which she must learn.

Hear now, my child; the day when thou art free,

Leaving the lion-gate, descend and strike

The Trêtan road to Nemea, skirting wide

The unhunted forest o'er the watered plain

To walled Cleônæ, whence the traversed stream

To Corinth guides: there enter not, but pass 1080

To narrow Isthmus, where Poseidon won

A country from Apollo, and through the town

Of Crommyon, till along the robber's road

Pacing, thy left eye meet the westering sun

O'er Geraneia, and thou reach the hill

Of Megara, where Car thy brother's babe

In time shall rule; next past Eleusis climb

Stony Panactum and the pine-clad slopes

Of Phyle; shun the left-hand way, and keep

The rocks; the second day thy feet shall tread 1090

The plains of Græa, whence the roadway serves

Aulis and Mycalessus to the point

Of vext Euripus: fear not then the stream,

Nor scenting think to taste, but plunging in

Breast its salt current to the further shore.

For on this island mayst thou lose awhile

Thy maddening pest, and rest and pasture find,

And from the heafs of bold Macistus see

The country left and sought: but when thou feel

Thy torment urge, move down, recross the flood, 1100

And west by Harma's fencèd gap arrive

At seven-gated Thebes: thy friendly goddess

Ongan Athenè has her seat without.

CHOR. Now if she may not stay thy toilsome destined steps,

I pray that she may slay for thee the maddening fly.

PR. Keep not her sanctuary long, but seek

Bœotian Ascra, where the Muses' fount,

Famed Aganippè, wells: Ocalea

Pass, and Tilphusa's northern steeps descend

By Alalcomenæ, the goddess' town. 1110

Guard now the lake's low shore, till thou have crossed

Hyrcana and Cephissus, the last streams

Which feed its reedy pools, when thou shalt come

Between two mountains that enclose the way

By peakèd Abæ to Hyampolis.

The right-hand path that thither parts the vale

Opes to Cyrtonè and the Locrian lands;

Toward Elateia thou, where o'er the marsh

A path with stones is laid; and thence beyond

To Thronium, Tarphè, and Thermopylæ, 1120

Where rocky Lamia views the Maliac gulf.

CHOR. If further she should go, will she not see

That other Argos, the Dodonian land?

PR. Crossing the Phthian hills thou next shall reach

Pharsalus, and Olympus' peakèd snows

Shall guide thee o'er the green Pelasgic plains

For many a day, but to Argissa come

Let old Peneius thy slow pilot be

Through Tempè, till they turn upon his left

Crowning the wooded slopes with splendours bare. 1130

Thence issuing forth on the Pierian shore

Northward of Ossa thou shalt touch the lands

Of Macedon.

CHOR. Alas, we wish thee speed,

But bid thee here farewell; for out of Greece

Thou goest 'mongst the folk whose chattering speech

Is like the voice of birds, nor home again

Wilt thou return.

PR. Thy way along the coast

Lies till it southward turn, when thou shalt seek

Where wide on Strymon's plain the hindered flood

Spreads like a lake; thy course to his oppose 1140

And face him to the mountain whence he comes:

Which doubled, Thrace receives thee: barbarous names

Of mountain, town and river, and a people

Strange to thine eyes and ears, the Agathyrsi,

Of pictured skins, who owe no marriage law,

And o'er whose gay-spun garments sprent with gold

Their hanging hair is blue. Their torrent swim

That measures Europe in two parts, and go

Eastward along the sea, to mount the lands

Beyond man's dwelling, and the rising steeps 1150

That face the sun untrodden and unnamed.--

Know to earth's verge remote thou then art come,

The Scythian tract and wilderness forlorn,

Through whose rude rocks and frosty silences

No path shall guide thee then, nor my words now.

There as thou toilest o'er the treacherous snows,

A sound then thou shall hear to stop thy breath,

And prick thy trembling ears; a far-off cry,

Whose throat seems the white mountain and its passion

The woe of earth. Flee not, nor turn not back: 1160

Let thine ears drink and guide thine eyes to see

That sight whose terrors shall assuage thy terror,

Whose pain shall kill thy pain. Stretched on the rock,

Naked to scorching sun, to pinching frost,

To wind and storm and beaks of wingèd fiends

From year to year he lies. Refrain to ask

His name and crime--nay, haply when thou see him

Thou wilt remember--'tis thy tyrant's foe,

Man's friend, who pays his chosen penalty.

Draw near, my child, for he will know thy need, 1170

And point from land to land thy further path.

CHORUS.

O miserable man, hear now the worst.

O weak and tearful race,

Born to unhappiness, see now thy cause

Doomed and accurst!

It surely were enough, the bad and good

Together mingled, against chance and ill

To strive, and prospering by turns,

Now these, now those, now folly and now skill,

Alike by means well understood 1180

Or 'gainst all likelihood;

Loveliness slaving to the unlovely will

That overrides the right and laughs at law.

But always all in awe

And imminent dread:

Because there is no mischief thought or said,

Imaginable or unguessed,

But it may come to be; nor home of rest,

Nor hour secure: but anywhere,

At any moment; in the air, 1190

Or on the earth or sea,

Or in the fair

And tender body itself it lurks, creeps in,

Or seizes suddenly,

Torturing, burning, withering, devouring,

Shaking, destroying; till tormented life

Sides with the slayer, not to be,

And from the cruel strife

Falls to fate overpowering.

Or if some patient heart, 1200

In toilsome steps of duty tread apart,

Thinking to win her peace within herself,

And thus awhile succeed:

She must see others bleed,

At others' misery moan,

And learn the common suffering is her own,

From which it is no freedom to be freed:

Nay, Nature, her best nurse,

Is tender but to breed a finer sense,

Which she may easier wound, with smart the worse 1210

And torture more intense.

And no strength for thee but the thought of duty,

Nor any solace but the love of beauty.

O Right's toil unrewarded!

O Love's prize unaccorded!

I say this might suffice,

O tearful and unstable

And miserable man,

Were't but from day to day

Thy miserable lot, 1220

This might suffice, I say,

To term thee miserable.

But thou of all thine ills too must take thought,

Must grow familiar till no curse astound thee,

With tears recall the past,

With tears the times forecast;

With tears, with tears thou hast

The scapeless net spread in thy sight around thee.

How then support thy fate,

O miserable man, if this befall, 1230

That he who loves thee and would aid thee, daring

To raise an arm for thy deliverance,

Must for his courage suffer worse than all?

IN. Bravest deliverer, for thy prophecy

Has torn the veil which hid thee from my eyes,

If thyself art that spirit, of whom some things

Were darkly spoken,--nor can I doubt thou art,

Being that the heaven its fire withholds not from thee

Nor time his secrets,--tell me now thy name,

That I may praise thee rightly; and my late 1240

Unwitting words pardon thou, and these who still

In blinded wonder kneel not to thy love.

PR. Speak not of love. See, I am moved with hate,

And fiercest anger, which will sometimes spur

The heart to extremity, till it forget

That there is any joy save furious war.

Nay, were there now another deed to do,

Which more could hurt our enemy than this,

Which here I stand to venture, here would I leave thee

Conspiring at his altar, and fly off 1250

To plunge the branding terror in his soul.

But now the rising passion of my will

Already jars his reaching sense, already

From heaven he bids his minion Hermes forth

To bring his only rebel to his feet.

Therefore no more delay, the time is short.

IN. I take, I take. 'Tis but for thee to give.

PR. O heavenly fire, life's life, the eye of day,

Whose nimble waves upon the starry night

Of boundless ether love to play, 1260

Carrying commands to every gliding sprite

To feed all things with colour, from the ray

Of thy bright-glancing, white

And silver-spinning light:

Unweaving its thin tissue for the bow

Of Iris, separating countless hues

Of various splendour for the grateful flowers

To crown the hasting hours,

Changing their special garlands as they choose.

O spirit of rage and might, 1270

Who canst unchain the links of winter stark,

And bid earth's stubborn metals flow like oil,

Her porphyrous heart-veins boil;

Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark;

Let now this flame, which did to life awaken

Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn,

And thence by me was taken,

And in this reed was borne,

A smothered theft and gift to man below,

Here with my breath revive, 1280

Restore thy lapsèd realm, and be the sire

Of many an earthly fire.

O flame, flame bright and live,

Appear upon the altar as I blow.

CHOR. 'Twas in the marish reed.

See to his mouth he sets its hollow flute

And breathes therein with heed,

As one who from a pipe with breathings mute

Will music's voice evoke.--

See, the curl of a cloud. 1290

IN. The smoke, the smoke!

SEMICHORUS. Thin clouds mounting higher.

IN. 'Tis smoke, the smoke of fire.

SEMICHORUS. Thick they come and thicker,

Quick arise and quicker,

Higher still and higher.

Their wreaths the wood enfold.

--I see a spot of gold.

They spring from a spot of gold,

Red gold, deep among 1300

The leaves: a golden tongue.

O behold, behold,

Dancing tongues of gold,

That leaping aloft flicker,

Higher still and higher.

IN. 'Tis fire, the flame of fire!

SEMICHORUS. The blue smoke overhead

Is turned to angry red.

The fire, the fire, it stirs.

Hark, a crackling sound, 1310

As when all around

Ripened pods of furze

Split in the parching sun

Their dry caps one by one,

And shed their seeds on the ground.

--Ah! what clouds arise.

Away! O come away.

The wind-wafted smoke,

Blowing all astray,

Blinds and pricks my eyes.

[PROMETHEUS, _after writing his name on the altar, goes out unobserved_.]

Ah! I choke, I choke.

--All the midst is rent:

See, the twigs are all

By the flaming spent

White and gold, and fall.

How they writhe, resist,

Blacken, flake, and twist,

Snap in gold and fall.

--See the stars that mount,

Momentary bright 1330

Flitting specks of light

More than eye can count.

Insects of the air,

As in summer night

Show a fire in flying

Flickering here and there,

Waving past and dying.

--Look, a common cone

Of the mountain pine

Solid gold is grown; 1340

Till its scales outshine,

Standing each alone

In the spiral rows

Of their fair design,

All the brightest shows

Of the sun's decline.

--Hark, there came a hiss,

Like a startled snake

Sliding through the brake.

Oh, and what is this? 1350

Smaller flames that flee

Sidelong from the tree,

Hark, they hiss, they hiss.

--How the gay flames flicker,

Spurting, dancing, leaping

Quicker yet and quicker,

Higher yet and higher,

--Flaming, flaring, fuming,

Cracking, crackling, creeping,

Hissing and consuming: 1360

Mighty is the fire.

IN. Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he,

The prophet,--nay, what say I,--the god, the giver?

CHOR. He is not here--he is gone.

IN. Search, search around.

Search all, search well.

CHOR. He is gone,--he is not here.

IN. The palace gate lies open: go, Argeia,

Maybe he went within: go seek him there.

[_Exit_ AR.

Look down the sea road, down the country road:

Follow him if ye see him.

CHOR. He is not there.

IN. Strain, strain your eyes: look well: search everywhere.

Look townwards--is he there?

_Part of_ CHORUS _returning_. He is not there.-- 1371

_Other part returning._ He is not there.

_Argeia re-entering._

AR. He is not there.

CHOR. O see!

CHOR. See where?

CHOR. See on the altar--see!

CHOR. What see ye on the altar?

CHOR. Here in front

Words newly writ.

CHOR. What words?

CHOR. A name--

IN. Ay true--

There is the name. How like a child was I,

That I must wait till these dumb letters gave

The shape and soul to knowledge: when the god

Stood here so self-revealed to ears and eyes

That, 'tis a god I said, yet wavering still, 1380

Doubting what god,--and now, who else but he?

I knew him, yet not well; I knew him not:

Prometheus--ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children,

This name we see was writ by him we seek.

'Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name,

Feared and revered among the immortal gods;

Divine Prometheus: see how here the large

Cadmeian characters run, scoring out

The hated title of his ancient foe,--

To Zeus 'twas made,--and now 'tis to Prometheus-- 1390

Writ with the charrèd reed--theft upon theft.

He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, and with his fire

Hath lit our sacrifice unto himself.

Ió Prometheus, friend and firegiver,

For good or ill thy thefts and gifts are ours.

We worshipped thee unknowing.

CHOR. But now where is he?

IN. No need to search--we shall not see him more.

We look in vain. The high gods when they choose

Put on and off the solid visible shape

Which more deceives our hasty sense, than when 1400

Seeing them not we judge they stand aloof.

And he, he now is gone; his work is done:

'Tis ours to see it be not done in vain.

CHOR. What is to do? speak, bid, command, we fly.

In. Go some and fetch more wood to feed the fire;

And some into the city to proclaim

That fire is ours: and send out messengers

To Corinth, Sicyon, Megara and Athens

And to Mycenæ, telling we have fire:

And bid that in the temples they prepare 1410

Their altars, and send hither careful men

To learn of me what things the time requires.

[_Exit part of_ CHORUS.

The rest remain to end our feast; and now

Seeing this altar is no more to Zeus,

But shall for ever be with smouldering heat

Fed for the god who first set fire thereon,

Change ye your hymns, which in the praise of Zeus

Ye came to sing, and change the prayer for fire

Which ye were wont to raise, to high thanksgiving,

Praising aloud the giver and his gift. 1420

_Part of_ CHORUS. Now our happy feast hath ending,

While the sun in heaven descending

Sees us gathered round a light

Born to cheer his vacant night.

Praising him to-day who came

Bearing far his heavenly flame:

Came to crown our king's desire

With his gift of golden fire.

SEMICHORUS. My heart, my heart is freed.

Now can I sing. I loose a shaft from my bow, 1430

A song from my heart to heaven, and watch it speed.

It revels in the air, and straight to its goal doth go.

I have no fear. I praise distinguishing duly:

I praise the love that I love and I worship truly.

Goodness I praise, not might,

Nor more will I speak of wrong,

But of lovingkindness and right;

And the god of my love shall rejoice at the sound of my song.

I praise him whom I have seen:

As a man he is beautiful, blending prime and youth, 1440

Of gentle and lovely mien,

With the step and the eyes of truth,

As a god,--O were I a god, but thus to be man!

As a god, I set him above

The rest of the gods; for his gifts are pledges of love,

The words of his mouth rare and precious,

His eyes' glance and the smile of his lips are love.

He is the one

Alone of all the gods,

Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son, 1450

Who hates the wrongs they have done.

He is the one I adore.

For if there be love in heaven with evil to cope,--

And he promised us more and more,--

For what may we not hope?

_ODE._

My soul is drunk with joy, her new desire

In far forbidden places wanders away.

Her hopes with free bright-coloured wings of fire

Upon the gloom of thought

Are sailing out. 1460

Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall,

Like butterflies, that flit

Across the mountains, or upon a wall

Winking their idle fans at pleasure sit.

O my vague desires!

Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires:

That are my soul herself in pangs sublime

Rising and flying to heaven before her time:

What doth tempt you forth

To melt in the south or shiver in the frosty north? 1470

What seek ye or find ye in your random flying,

For ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying?

Joy, the joy of flight;

They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night.

Gone up, gone out of sight--and ever again

Follow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain.

Ah! could I control

These vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul:

Could I but quench the fire, ah! could I stay

My soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away! 1480

[_Enter other part of_ CHORUS.

_Part of_ CHOR. Here is wood to feed the fire--

Never let its flames expire.

Sing ye still while we advance

Round the fire in measured dance,

While the sun in heaven descending

Sees our happy feast have ending.

Weave ye still your joyous song,

While we bear the wood along.

SEMICHORUS. But O return,

Return, thou flower of the gods! 1490

Remember the limbs that toil and the hearts that yearn,

Remember, and soon return!

To prosper with peace and skill

Our hands in the works of pleasure, beauty and use.

Return, and be for us still

Our shield from the anger of Zeus.

And he, if he raise his arm in anger to smite thee,

And think for the good thou hast done with pain to requite thee,

Vengeance I heard thee tell,

And the curse I take for my own, 1500

That his place is prepared in hell,

And a greater than he shall hurl him down from his throne

Down, down from his throne!

For the god who shall rule mankind from the deathless skies

By mercy and truth shall be known,

In love and peace shall arise.

For him,--if again I hear him thunder above,

O then, if I crouch or start,

I will press thy lovingkindness more to my heart,

Remember the words of thy mouth rare and precious, 1510

Thy heart of hearts and gifts of divine love.

DEMETER

_A Mask_

"_Dreams & the light imaginings of men_"

[Illustration: decoration]

WRITTEN FOR THE LADIES AT

SOMERVILLE COLLEGE

& ACTED BY THEM

AT THE INAUGURATION OF THEIR NEW BUILDING

IN 1904

[Illustration: decoration]

_PREVIOUS EDITION_

_Oxford: at the Clarendon Press, 1905_

ARGUMENT OF THE PLAY

_The scene is in the flowery valley below Enna. Hades

prologizes, and tells how he has come with consent of Zeus to

carry off Persephone to be his queen. The Chorus of Ocean

nymphs entering praise Sicily and the spring. Persephone

enters with Athena and Artemis to gather flowers for the

festival of Zeus. Persephone being left alone is carried off by

Hades._

_In the second act, which is ten days later, the Chorus deplore

the loss of Persephone. Demeter entering upbraids them in

a choric scene and describes her search for Persephone until

she learnt her fate from Helios. Afterwards she describes her

plan for compelling Zeus to restore her. Hermes brings from

Zens a command to Demeter that she shall return to Olympus.

She sends defiance to Zeus, and the Chorus end the scene by

vowing to win Poseidon to aid Demeter._

_In the third act, which is a year later, the Chorus, who

have been summoned by Demeter to witness the restoration of

Persephone, lament Demeter's anger. Demeter narrates the

Eleusinian episode of her wanderings, until Hermes enters

leading Persephone. After their greeting Demeter hears from

Hermes the terms of Persephone's restoration; she is reconciled

thereto by Persephone, and invites her to Eleusis. The Chorus

sing and crown Persephone with flowers._

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_HADES._ }

_DEMETER._ }

_PERSEPHONE._

_ATHENA._

_ARTEMIS._ }

_HERMES._ }

_Chorus of OCEANIDES._

DEMETER

_HADES._

I am the King of Hell, nor prone to vex

Eternal destiny with weak complaint;

Nor when I took my kingdom did I mourn

My lot, from heav'n expell'd, deny'd to enjoy

Its radiant revelry and ambrosial feast,

Nor blamed our mighty Sisters, that not one

Would share my empire in the shades of night.

But when a younger race of gods arose,

And Zeus set many sons on heav'nly seats,

And many daughters dower'd with new domain, 10

And year by year were multiply'd on earth

Their temples and their statu'd sanctities,

Mirrors of man's ideas that grow apace,

Yea, since man's mind was one with my desire

That Hell should have a queen,--for heav'n hath queens

Many, nor on all earth reigns any king

In unkind isolation like to me,--

I claimed from Zeus that of the fair immortals

One should be given to me to grace my throne.

Willing he was, and quick to praise my rule, 20

And of mere justice there had granted me

Whome'er I chose: but 'Brother mine,' he said,

'Great as my power among the gods, this thing

I cannot compass, that a child of mine,

Who once hath tasted of celestial life,

Should all forgo, and destitute of bliss

Descend into the shades, albeit to sit

An equal on thy throne. Take whom thou wilt;

But by triumphant force persuade, as erst

I conquer'd heav'n.' Said I 'My heart is set: 30

I take Demeter's child Persephone;

Dost thou consent?' Whereto he gave his nod.

And I am come to-day with hidden powers,

Ev'n unto Enna's fair Sicilian field,

To rob her from the earth. 'Tis here she wanders

With all her train: nor is this flow'ry vale

Fairer among the fairest vales of earth,

Nor any flower within this flow'ry vale

Fair above other flowers, as she is fairest

Among immortal goddesses, the daughter 40

Of gentle-eyed Demeter; and her passion

Is for the flowers, and every tenderness

That I have long'd for in my fierce abodes.

But she hath always in attendant guard

The dancing nymphs of Ocean, and to-day

The wise Athena and chaste Artemis

Indulge her girlish fancy, gathering flowers

To deck the banner of my golden brother,

Whose thought they guess not, tho' their presence here

Affront his will and mine. If once alone 50

I spy her, I can snatch her swiftly down:

And after shall find favour for my fault,

When I by gentle means have won her love.

I hear their music now. Hither they come:

I'll to my ambush in the rocky cave. [_Exit._

ACT I

_Enter Chorus of Oceanides, with baskets._

_OCEANIDES._

Gay and lovely is earth, man's decorate dwelling;

With fresh beauty ever varying hour to hour.

As now bathed in azure joy she awakeneth

With bright morn to the sun's life-giving effluence,

Or sunk into solemn darkness aneath the stars 60

In mysterious awe slumbereth out the night,

Then from darkness again plunging again to day;

Like dolphins in a swift herd that accompany

Poseidon's chariot when he rebukes the waves.

But no country to me 'neath the enarching air

Is fair as Sicily's flowery fruitful isle:

Always lovely, whether winter adorn the hills

With his silvery snow, or generous summer

Outpour her heavy gold on the river-valleys.

Her rare beauty giveth gaiety unto man, 70

A delite dear to immortals.

2

And one season of all chiefly deliteth us,

When fair Spring is afield. O happy is the Spring!

Now birds early arouse their pretty minstreling;

Now down its rocky hill murmureth ev'ry rill;

Now all bursteth anew, wantoning in the dew

Their bells of bonny blue, their chalices honey'd.

Unkind frost is away; now sunny is the day;

Now man thinketh aright, Life it is all delite.

Now maids playfully dance o'er enamel'd meadows, 80

And with goldy blossom deck forehead and bosom;

While old Pan rollicketh thro' the budding shadows,

Voicing his merry reed, laughing aloud to lead

The echoes madly rejoicing.

3

We be Oceanids, Persephone's lovers,

Who all came hurrying joyfully from the sea

Ere daybreak to obey her belovëd summons.

At her fancy to pluck these violets, lilies,

Windflow'rs and daffodils, all for a festival

Whereat shé will adorn Zeuses honour'd banner. 90

And with Persephone there cometh Artemis

And grave Pallas ... Hilloo! Already they approach!

Haste, haste! Stoop to gather! Seem busy ev'ryone!

Crowd all your wicker arcs with the meadow-lilies;

Lest our disreverenc'd deity should rebuke

The divine children of Ocean.

[_Enter_ ATHENA, PERSEPHONE, _and_ ARTEMIS. _Persephone has

a basket half fill'd with gather'd flowers._]

_ATHENA._

These then are Enna's flowery fields, and here

In midmost isle the garden of thy choice?

_PERSEPHONE._

Is not all as I promist? Feel ye not

Your earthborn ecstasy concenter'd here? 100

Tell me, Athena, of thy wisdom, whénce

Cometh this joy of earth, this penetrant

Palpitant exultation so unlike

The balanc't calm of high Olympian state?

Is't in the air, the tinted atmosphere

Whose gauzy veil, thrown on the hills, will paint

Their features, changing with the gradual day,

Rosy or azure, clouded now, and now

Again afire? Or is it that the sun's

Electric beams--which shot in circling fans 110

Whirl all things with them--as they strike the earth

Excite her yearning heart, till stir'd beneath

The rocks and silent plains, she cannot hold

Her fond desires, but sends them bursting forth

In scents and colour'd blossoms of the spring?--

Breathes it not in the flowers?

ATH. Fair are the flowers,

Dear child; and yet to me far lovelier

Than all their beauty is thy love for them.

Whate'er I love, I contemplate my love

More than the object, and am so rejoic'd. 120

For life is one, and like a level sea

Life's flood of joy. Thou wond'rest at the flowers,

But I would teach thee wonder of thy wonder;

Would shew thee beauty in the desert-sand,

The worth of things unreckt of, and the truth

That thy desire and love may spring of evil

And ugliness, and that Earth's ecstasy

May dwell in darkness also, in sorrow and tears.

PER. I'd not believe it: why then should we pluck

The flowers and not the stalks without the flowers? 130

Or do thy stones breathe scent? Would not men laugh

To see the banner of almighty Zeus

Adorn'd with ragged roots and straws?--Dear Artemis,

How lovest thou the flowers?

_ARTEMIS._

I'll love them better

Ever for thy sake, Cora; but for me

The joy of Earth is in the breath of life

And animal motions: nor are flowery sweets

Dear as the scent of life. His petal'd cup,

What is it by the wild fawn's liquid eye

Eloquent as love-music 'neath the moon? 140

Nay, not a flower in all thy garden here,

Nor wer't a thousand-thousand-fold enhanc't

In every charm, but thou wouldst turn from it

To view the antler'd stag, that in the glade

With the coy gaze of his majestic fear

Faced thee a moment ere he turn'd to fly.

PER. But why, then, hunt and kill what thou so lovest?

AR. Dost thou not pluck thy flowers?

PER. 'Tis not the same.

Thy victims fly for life: they pant, they scream.

AR. Were they not mortal, sweet, I coud not kill them.

They kill each other in their lust for life; 151

Nay, cruelly persecute their blemisht kin:

And they that thus are exiled from the herd

Slink heart-brok'n to sepulchral solitudes,

Defenceless and dishonour'd; there to fall

Prey to the hungry glutton of the cave,

Or stand in mute pain lingering, till they drop

In their last lair upon the ancestral bones.

PER. What is it that offends me?

ATH. 'Tis Pity, child,

The mortal thought that clouds the brow of man 160

With dark reserve, or poisoning all delite

Drives him upon his knees in tearful prayer

To avert his momentary qualms: till Zeus

At his reiterated plaint grows wrath,

And burdens with fresh curse the curse of care.

And they that haunt with men are apt to take

Infection of his mind: thy mighty mother

Leans to his tenderness.

PER. How should man, dwelling

On earth that is so gay, himself be sad?

Is not earth gay? Look on the sea, the sky, 170

The flowers!

ATH. 'Tis sad to him because 'tis gay.--

For whether he consider how the flowers,

--Thy miracles of beauty above praise,--

Are wither'd in the moment of their glory,

So that of all the mounting summer's wealth

The show is chang'd each day, and each day dies,

Of no more count in Nature's estimate

Than crowded bubbles of the fighting foam:

Or whether 'tis the sea, whose azure waves

Play'd in the same infinity of motion 180

Ages ere he beheld it, and will play

For ages after him;--alike 'tis sad

To read how beauty dies and he must die.

PER. Were I a man, I would not worship thee,

Thou cold essential wisdom. If, as thou say'st,

Thought makes men sorrowful, why help his thought

To quench enjoyment, who might else as I

Revel among bright things, and feast his sense

With beauty well-discern'd? Nay, why came ye

To share my pastime? Ye love not the flowers. 190

ATH. Indeed I love thee, child; and love thy flowers,--

Nor less for loving wisely. All emotions,

Whether of gods or men, all loves and passions,

Are of two kinds; they are either inform'd by wisdom,

To reason obedient,--or they are unconducted,

Flames of the burning life. The brutes of earth

And Pan their master know these last; the first

Are seen in me: betwixt the extremes there lie

Innumerable alloys and all of evil.

PER. Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well: 200

I am a child, and ye would nurse me up

A pupil in your school. I know ye twain

Of all the immortals are at one in this;

Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feud

With Aphrodite, and ye fear for me,

Lest she should draw me to her wanton way.

Fear not: my party is taken. Hark! I'll tell

What I have chosen, what mankind shall hold

Devote and consecrate to me on earth:

It is the flowers: but only among the flowers 210

Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue,

Having no other uses: I have found

Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not.--

She loves vines, olives, orchards, 'the rich leas

Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,[1]

But for the idle flowers she hath little care:

She will resign them willingly. And think not,

Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd,

Or rank a meaner goddess unto man.

His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom, 220

Pleasures above necessities, and thus

He ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guess

Where rich men only and superfluous kings

Around their palaces reform the land

To terraces and level lawns, whereon

Appointed slaves are told, to tend and feed

Lilies and roses and all rarest plants

Fetch'd from all lands; that they--these lordly men--

'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odours

May pace in indolence: this is their bliss; 230

This first they do: and after, it may be,

Within their garden set their academe:--

But in the poorest villages, around

The meanest cottage, where no other solace

Comforts the eye, some simple gaiety

Of flowers in tended garden is seen; some pinks,

Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path;

Where oft at eve the grateful labourer

Sits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun:

And even the children, that half-naked go, 240

Have posies in their hands, and of themselves

Will choose a queen in whom to honour Spring,

Dancing before her garlanded with may.

The cowslip makes them truant, they forget

The hour of hunger and their homely feast

So they may cull the delicate primrose,

Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty;

With unconsider'd hecatombs assuring

Their dim sense of immortal mystery.--

Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave 250

All men shall love me, shall adore my name,

And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers.

ATH. Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May Zeus

Give thee a better province than thy thought.

[_Music heard._

AR. Listen! The nymphs are dancing. Let us go!

[_They move off._

Come, Cora; wilt thou learn a hunting dance?

I'll teach thee.

PER. Can I learn thy hunter-step

Without thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet?

AR. Give me thy hand.

PER. Stay! stay! I have left my flowers.

I follow. [_Exeunt Athena and Artemis._

[_Persephone returning to right slowly._

They understand not--Now, praise be to Zeus, 261

That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know

Something that Pallas knows not.

[_She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels

to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket

in hand on her knees, facing the audience._]

Thou tiny flower!

Art thou not wise?

Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone,

Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion,

Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd

Till thou art seen?--And how so wisely, thou,

Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270

While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip,

--He would not risk a seventh for all his worth,--

He thought to attain unique magnificence

By sheer simplicity--a pointed oval

Bare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown old

He will his young idea quite abandon,

In his dishevel'd fury wantoning

Beyond belief.... Some are four-leaved: this poppy

Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief,

Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag-- 280

I think he watch'd a summer-butterfly

Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case,

Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue

And sleek the velvet of his painted wings:--

And so doth he.--Between such different schemes,

Such widely varied loveliness, how choose?

Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd,

Most intimately mine; to mortal men

My emblem: tho' I never find in one

The sum of all distinctions.--Rose were best: 290

But she is passion's darling, and unkind

To handle--set her by.--Choosing for odour,

The violet were mine--men call her modest,

Because she hides, and when in company

Lacks manner and the assertive style of worth:--

While this narcissus here scorns modesty,

Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim:

Her scent, a saturation of one tone,

Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:--

Whereas this iris,--she outvieth man's 300

Excellent artistry; elaboration

Confounded with simplicity, till none

Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find

A scented iris, I should be content:

Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.--

To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet;

Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee

Wearing thee in Olympus.--Help! help! Ay me!

[_Persephone rises to her feet, and amidst a contrivance of confused

darkness Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and

drags her backward. Her basket is thrown up and the flowers

scattered._]

ACT II

_CHORUS._

I (α)

Bright day succeedeth unto day--

Night to pensive night-- 310

With his towering ray

Of all-fathering light--

With the solemn trance

Of her starry dance.--

Nought is new or strange

In the eternal change.--

As the light clouds fly

O'er the tree-tops high,

So the days go by.--

Ripples that arrive 320

On the sunny shore,

Dying to their live

Music evermore.--

Like pearls on a thread,--

Like notes of a song,--

Like the measur'd tread

Of a dancing throng.--

(β)

Ocëanides are we,

Nereids of the foam,

But we left the sea 330

On the earth to roam

With the fairest Queen

That the world hath seen.--

Why amidst our play

Was she sped away?--

Over hill and plain

We have sought in vain;

She comes not again.--

Not the Naiads knew

On their dewy lawns:-- 340

Not the laughing crew

Of the leaping Fauns.--

Now, since she is gone,

All our dance is slow,

All our joy is done,

And our song is woe.--

II

Saw ye the mighty Mother, where she went

Searching the land?

Nor night nor day resting from her lament,

With smoky torch in hand. 350

Her godhead in the passion of a sorrow spent

Which not her mind coud suffer, nor heart withstand?--

2

Enlanguor'd like a fasting lioness,

That prowls around

Robb'd of her whelps, in fury comfortless

Until her lost be found:

Implacable and terrible in her wild distress;

And thro' the affrighted country her roars resound.--

3

But lo! what form is there? Thine eyes awaken!

See! see! O say, 360

Is not that she, the furious, the forsaken?

She cometh, lo! this way;

Her golden-rippling hair upon her shoulders shaken,

And all her visage troubled with deep dismay.

_DEMETER_ (_entering_).

Here is the hateful spot, the hollow rock

Whence the fierce ravisher sprang forth--

(_seeing the nymphs_) Ah! Ye!

I know you well: ye are the nymphs of Ocean.

Ye, graceful as your watery names

And idle as the mimic flames

That skip upon his briny floor, 370

When the hot sun smiteth thereo'er;

Why did ye leave your native waves?

Did false Poseidon, to my hurt

Leagued with my foe, bid you desert

Your opalescent pearly caves,

Your dances on the shelly strand?

CH. Poseidon gave us no command,

Lady; it was thy child Persephone,

Whose beauty drew us from the sea.

DEM. Ill company ye lent, ill-fated guards! 380

How was she stolen from your distracted eyes?

CH. There, where thou standest now, stood she companion'd

By wise Athena and bright Artemis.

We in flower-gathering dance and idle song

Were wander'd off apart; we fear'd no wrong.

DEM. In heav'n I heard her cry: ye nothing heard?

CH. We heard no cry--How coudst thou hear in heaven?

Ask us not óf her:--we have nought to tell.--

DEM. I seek not knowledge óf you, for I know.

CH. Thou knowest? Ah, mighty Queen, deign then to tell

If thou hast found her. Tell us--tell us--tell! 391

DEM. Oh, there are calls that love can hear,

That strike not on the outward ear.

None heard save I: but with a dart

Of lightning-pain it pierc'd my heart,

That call for aid, that cry of fear.

It echo'd from the mountain-steeps

Down to the dark of Ocean-deeps;

O'er all the isle, from ev'ry hill

It pierc'd my heart and echoes still, 400

Ay me! Ay me!

CH. Where is she, O mighty Queen?--Tell us--O tell!--

DEM. Swift unto earth, in frenzy led

By Cora's cry, from heav'n I sped.

Immortal terror froze my mind:

I fear'd, ev'n as I yearn'd to find

My child, my joy, faln from my care

Wrong'd or distresst, I knew not where,

Cora, my Cora!

Nor thought I whither first to fly, 410

Answ'ring the appeal of that wild cry:

But still it drew me till I came

To Enna, calling still her name,

Cora, my Cora!

CH. If thou hast found her, tell us, Queen, O tell!

DEM. Nine days I wander'd o'er the land.

From Enna to the eastern strand

I sought, and when the first night came

I lit my torch in Etna's flame.

But neither 'mid the chestnut woods 420

That rustle o'er his stony floods;

Nor yet at daybreak on the meads

Where bountiful Symaethus leads

His chaunting boatmen to the main;

Nor where the road on Hybla's plain

Is skirted by the spacious corn;

Nor where embattled Syracuse

With lustrous temple fronts the morn;

Nor yet by dolphin'd Arethuse;

Nor when I crossed Anapus wide, 430

Where Cyane, his reedy bride,

Uprushing from her crystal well,

Doth not his cold embrace repel;

Nor yet by western Eryx, where

Gay Aphrodite high in air

Beams gladness from her marble chair;

Nor 'mong the mountains that enfold

Panormos in her shell of gold,

Found I my Cora: no reply

Came to my call, my helpless cry, 440

Cora, my Cora!

CH. Hast thou not found her, then? Tell us--O tell!

DEM. What wonder that I never found

Her whom I sought on mortal ground,

When she--(now will ye understand?)--

Dwelt in the land that is no land,

The fruitless and unseason'd plain

Where all lost things are found again;

Where man's distract imaginings

Head-downward hang on bat-like wings, 450

'Mid mummied hopes, sleep-walking cares,

Crest-faln illusions and despairs,

The tortur'd memories of crime,

The outcasts of forgotten time?

CH. Where is she, Queen?--where?--where?

DEM. Nor had I known,

Had not himself high Helios seen and told me.

CH. Alas! Alas! We cannot understand--

We pray, dear Queen, may great Zeus comfort thee.

DEM. Yea, pray to Zeus; but pray ye for yourselves,

That he have pity on you, for there is need. 460

Or let Zeus hear a strange, unwonted prayer

That in his peril he will aid himself;

For I have said, nor coud his Stygian oath

Add any sanction to a mother's word,

That, if he give not back my daughter to me,

Him will I slay, and lock his pining ghost

In sleepy prisons of unhallowing hell.

CH. (_aside_). Alas! alas! she is distraught with grief.--

What comfort can we make?-- How reason with her?-- 469

(_to_ D.) This coud not be, great Queen. How coud it be

That Zeus should be destroy'd, or thou destroy him?

DEM. Yea, and you too: so make your prayer betimes.

CH. We pray thee, Lady, sit thou on this bank

And we will bring thee food; or if thou thirst,

Water. We know too in what cooling caves

The sly Fauns have bestow'd their skins of wine.

DEM. Ye simple creatures, I need not these things,

And stand above your pity. Think ye me

A woman of the earth derang'd with grief?

Nay, nay: but I have pity on your pity, 480

And for your kindness I will ease the trouble

Wherewith it wounds your gentleness: attend!

Ye see this jewel here, that from my neck

Hangs by this golden chain.

[_They crowd near to see._

Look, 'tis a picture,

'Tis of Persephone.

CH. How?--Is that she?--

A crown she weareth.--She was never wont

Thus ...--nor her robe thus--and her countenance

Hath not the smile which drew us from the sea.

DEM. Daedalus cut it, in the year he made

The Zibian Aphrodite, and Hephaestus 490

O'erlookt and praised the work. I treasure it

Beyond all other jewels that I have,

And on this chain I guard it. Say now: think ye

It cannot fall loose until every link

Of all the chain be broken, or if one

Break, will it fall?

CH. Surely if one break, Lady,

The chain is broken and the jewel falls.

DEM. 'Tis so. Now hearken diligently. All life

Is as this chain, and Zeus is as the jewel.

The universal life dwells first in the Earth, 500

The stones and soil; therefrom the plants and trees

Exhale their being; and on them the brutes

Feeding elaborate their sentient life,

And from these twain mankind; and in mankind

A spirit lastly is form'd of subtler sort

Whereon the high gods live, sustain'd thereby,

And feeding on it, as plants on the soil,

Or animals on plants. Now see! I hold,

As well ye know, one whole link of this chain:

If I should kill the plants, must not man perish? 510

And if he perish, then the gods must die.

CH. If this were so, thou wouldst destroy thyself.

DEM. And therefore Zeus will not believe my word.

CH. Nor we believe thee, Lady: it cannot be

That thou shouldst seek to mend a private fortune

By universal ruin, and restore

Thy daughter by destruction of thyself.

DEM. Ye are not mothers, or ye would not wonder.

In me, who hold from great all-mother Rhea

Heritage of essential motherhood, 520

Ye would look rather for unbounded passion.

Coud I, the tenderness of Nature's heart,

Exist, were I unheedful to protect

From wrong and ill the being that I gave,

The unweeting passions that I fondly nurtured

To hopes of glory, the young confidence

In growing happiness? Shall I throw by

As self-delusion the supreme ambition,

Which I encourag'd till parental fondness

Bore the prophetic blessing, on whose truth 530

My spirit throve? Oh never! nay, nay, nay!

That were the one disaster, and if aid

I cannot, I can mightily avenge.

On irremediable wrong I shrink not

To pile immortal ruin, there to lie

As trophies on a carven tomb: nor less

For that no memory of my deed survive,

Nor any eye to see, nor tongue to tell.

CH. So vast injustice, Lady, were not good.

DEM. To you I seem unjust involving man. 540

CH. Why should man suffer in thy feud with Zeus?

DEM. Let Zeus relent. There is no other way.

I will destroy the seeds of plant and tree:

Vineyard and orchard, oliveyard and cornland

Shall all withhold their fruits, and in their stead

Shall flourish the gay blooms that Cora loved.

There shall be dearth, and yet so gay the dearth

That all the land shall look in holiday

With mockery of foison; every field

With splendour aflame. For wheat the useless poppy 550

In sheeted scarlet; and for barley and oats

The blue and yellow weeds that mock men's toil,

Centaury and marigold in chequer'd plots:

Where seed is sown, or none, shall dandelions

And wretched ragwort vie, orchis and iris

And garish daisy, and for every flower

That in this vale she pluckt, shall spring a thousand.

Where'er she slept anemones shall crowd,

And the sweet violet. These things shall ye see.

--But I behold him whom I came to meet, 560

Hermes:--he, be he laden howsoe'er,

Will heavier-laden to his lord return.

_HERMES_ (_entering_).

Mighty Demeter, Mother of the seasons,

Bountiful all-sustainer, fairest daughter

Of arch-ancestral Rhea,--to thee Zeus sendeth

Kindly message. He grieves seeing thy godhead

Offended wrongly at eternal justice,

'Gainst destiny ordain'd idly revolting.

Ever will he, thy brother, honour thee

And willingly aid thee: but since now thy daughter 570

Is raised to a place on the tripartite throne,

He finds thee honour'd duly and not injur'd.

Wherefore he bids thee now lament no more,

But with thy presence grace the courts of heav'n.

DEM. Bright Hermes, Argus-slayer, born of Maia,

Who bearest empty words, the mask of war,

To Zeus make thine own words, that thou hast found me

Offended,--that I still lament my daughter,

Nor heed his summons to the courts of heav'n.

HER. Giv'st thou me nought but these relentless words?

DEM. I send not words, nor dost thou carry deeds. 581

But know, since heav'n denies my claim, I take

Earth for my battle-field. Curse and defiance

Shall shake his throne, and, readier then for justice,

Zeus will enquire my terms: thou, on that day,

Remember them; that he shall bid thee lead

Persephone from Hades by the hand,

And on this spot, whence she was stol'n, restore her

Into mine arms. Execute that; and praise

Shall rise from earth and peace return to heav'n. 590

HER. How dare I carry unto Zeus thy threats?

DEM. Approach him with a gift: this little wallet.

[_Giving a little bag of seeds._

I will not see thee again until the day

Thou lead my daughter hither thro' the gates of Hell. [_Going._

HER. Ah! mighty Queen, the lightness of thy gift

Is greater burden than thy weighty words.

[_Exeunt severally r. and l._

_CHORUS._

(1) Sisters! what have we heard!

Our fair Persephone, the flower of the earth,

By Hades stolen away, his queen to be.

(_others_) Alas!--alas!--ay me! 600

(2) And great Demeter's bold relentless word

To Hermes given,

Threatening mankind with dearth.

(_others_) Ay me! alas! alas!--

(3 _or_ 1) She in her sorrow strong

Fears not to impeach the King of Heaven,

And combat wrong with wrong.--

(_others confusedly_) What can we do?--Alas!--

Back to our ocean-haunts return

To weep and mourn.-- 610

What use to mourn?--

Nay, nay!--Away with sorrow:

Let us forget to-day

And look for joy to-morrow:--

[(1) Nay, nay! hearken to me!]

Nay, how forget that on us too,--

Yea, on us all

The curse will fall.--

[(1) Hearken! I say!]

What can we do? Alas! alas! 620

(1) Hearken! There's nought so light,

Nothing of weight so small,

But that in even balance 'twill avail

Wholly to turn the scale.

Let us our feeble force unite,

And giving voice to tears,

Assail Poseidon's ears;

Rob pleasure from his days,

Darken with sorrow all his ways,

Until his shifty mind 630

Become to pity inclined,

And 'gainst his brother turn.

(_others_) 'Tis well, thou sayest well.

(2) Yea; for if Zeus should learn

That earth and sea were both combined

Against his cruel intent,

Sooner will he relent.

(_others_) 'Tis well--we do it--'tis well.--

(1) Come let us vow. Vow all with one accord

To harden every heart 640

Till we have won Poseidon to our part.

(_all_) We vow--we do it--we vow.

(1) Till we have conquer'd heav'n's almighty lord

And seen Persephone restored.

(_all_) We vow--we vow.

(1) Come then all; and, as ye go,

Begin the song of woe.

_Song._

Close up, bright flow'rs, and hang the head,

Ye beauties of the plain,

The Queen of Spring is with the dead, 650

Ye deck the earth in vain.

From your deserted vale we fly,

And where the salt waves mourn

Our song shall swell their burd'ning sigh

Until sweet joy return.

ACT III

_CHORUS._

_Song._

Lo where the virgin veilëd in airy beams,

All-holy Morn, in splendor awakening,

Heav'n's gate hath unbarrèd, the golden

Aerial lattices set open.

With music endeth night's prisoning terror, 660

With flow'ry incense: Haste to salute the sun,

That for the day's chase, like a huntsman,

With flashing arms cometh o'er the mountain.

_Inter se._ That were a song for Artemis--I have heard

Men thus salute the rising sun in spring--

--See, we have wreaths enough and garlands plenty

To hide our lov'd Persephone from sight

If she should come.--But think you she will come?--

If one might trust the heavens, it is a morn

Promising happiness--'Tis like the day 670

That brought us all our grief a year ago.--

_ODE._

O that the earth, or only this fair isle wer' ours

Amid the ocean's blue billows,

With flow'ry woodland, stately mountain and valley,

Cascading and lilied river;

Nor ever a mortal envious, laborious,

By anguish or dull care opprest,

Should come polluting with remorseful countenance

Our haunt of easy gaiety.

For us the grassy slopes, the country's airiness, 680

The lofty whispering forest,

Where rapturously Philomel invoketh the night

And million eager throats the morn;

With doves at evening softly cooing, and mellow

Cadences of the dewy thrush.

We love the gentle deer, the nimble antelope;

Mice love we and springing squirrels;

To watch the gaudy flies visit the blooms, to hear

On ev'ry mead the grasshopper.

All thro' the spring-tide, thro' the indolent summer, 690

(If only this fair isle wer' ours)

Here might we dwell, forgetful of the weedy caves

Beneath the ocean's blue billows.

_Enter Demeter._

CH. Hail, mighty Mother!--Welcome, great Demeter!--

(1) This day bring joy to thee, and peace to man!

DEM. I welcome you, my loving true allies,

And thank you, who for me your gentle tempers

Have stiffen'd in rebellion, and so long

Harass'd the foe. Here on this field of flowers

I have bid you share my victory or defeat. 700

For Hermes hath this day command from Zeus

To lead our lost Persephone from Hell,

Hither whence she was stolen.--And yet, alas!

Tho' Zeus is won, some secret power thwarts me;

All is not won: a cloud is o'er my spirit.

Wherefore not yet I boast, nor will rejoice

Till mine eyes see her, and my arms enfold her,

And breast to breast we meet in fond embrace.

CH. Well hast thou fought, great goddess, so to wrest

Zeus from his word. We thank thee, call'd to share 710

Thy triumph, and rejoice. Yet O, we pray,

Make thou this day a day of peace for man!

Even if Persephone be not restored,

Whether Aidoneus hold her or release,

Relent thou.--Stay thine anger, mighty goddess;

Nor with thy hateful famine slay mankind.

DEM. Say not that word 'relent' lest Hades hear!

CH. Consider rather if mankind should hear.

DEM. Do ye love man?

CH. We have seen his sorrows, Lady ...

DEM. And what can ye have seen that I know not?--

His sorrow?--Ah my sorrow!--and ye bid 721

Me to relent; whose deeds of fond compassion

Have in this year of agony built up

A story for all time that shall go wand'ring

Further than I have wander'd;--whereto all ears

Shall hearken ever, as ye will hearken now.

CH. Happy are we, who first shall hear the tale

From thine own lips, and tell it to the sea.

DEM. Attend then while I tell.--

--Parting from Hermes hence, anger'd at heart, 730

Self-exiled from the heav'ns, forgone, alone,

My anguish fasten'd on me, as I went

Wandering an alien in the haunts of men.

To screen my woe I put my godhead off,

Taking the likeness of a worthy dame,

A woman of the people well in years;

Till going unobserv'd, it irked me soon

To be unoccupy'd save by my grief,

While men might find distraction for their sorrows

In useful toil. Then, of my pity rather 740

Than hope to find their simple cure my own,

I took resolve to share and serve their needs,

And be as one of them.

CH. Ah, mighty goddess,

Coudst thou so put thy dignities away,

And suffer the familiar brunt of men?

DEM. In all things even as they.--And sitting down

One evening at Eleusis, by the well

Under an olive-tree, likening myself

Outwardly to some kindly-hearted matron,

Whose wisdom and experience are of worth 750

Either where childhood clamorously speaks

The engrossing charge of Aphrodite's gifts,

Or merry maidens in wide-echoing halls

Want sober governance;--to me, as there

I sat, the daughters of King Keleos came,

Tall noble damsels, as kings' daughters are,

And, marking me a stranger, they drew from me

A tale told so engagingly, that they

Grew fain to find employment for my skill;

--As men devise in mutual recompense, 760

Hoping the main advantage for themselves;--

And so they bad me follow, and I enter'd

The palace of King Keleos, and received

There on my knees the youngest of the house,

A babe, to nurse him as a mother would:

And in that menial service I was proud

To outrun duty and trust: and there I liv'd

Disguised among the maidens many months.

CH. Often as have our guesses aim'd, dear Lady,

Where thou didst hide thyself, oft as we wonder'd 770

What chosen work was thine, none ever thought

That thou didst deign to tend a mortal babe.

DEM. What life I led shall be for men to tell.

But for this babe, the nursling of my sorrow,

Whose peevish cry was my consoling care,

How much I came to love him ye shall hear.

CH. What was he named, Lady?

DEM. Demophoön.

Yea, ye shall hear how much I came to love him.

For in his small epitome I read

The trouble of mankind; in him I saw 780

The hero's helplessness, the countless perils

In ambush of life's promise, the desire

Blind and instinctive, and the will perverse.

His petty needs were man's necessities;

In him I nurst all mortal natur', embrac'd

With whole affection to my breast, and lull'd

Wailing humanity upon my knee.

CH. We see thou wilt not now destroy mankind.

DEM. What I coud do to save man was my thought.

And, since my love was center'd in the boy, 790

My thought was first for him, to rescue him;

That, thro' my providence, he ne'er should know

Suffering, nor disease, nor fear of death.

Therefore I fed him on immortal food,

And should have gain'd my wish, so well he throve,

But by ill-chance it hapt, once, as I held him

Bathed in the fire at midnight (as was my wont),--

His mother stole upon us, and ascare

At the strange sight, screaming in loud dismay

Compel'd me to unmask, and leave for ever 800

The halls of Keleos, and my work undone.

CH. 'Twas pity that she came!--Didst thou not grieve to lose

The small Demophoön?--Coudst thou not save him?

DEM. I had been blinded. Think ye for yourselves ...

What vantage were it to mankind at large

That one should be immortal,--if all beside

Must die and suffer misery as before?

CH. Nay, truly. And great envy borne to one

So favour'd might have more embitter'd all.

DEM. I had been foolish. My sojourn with men 810

Had warpt my mind with mortal tenderness.

So, questioning myself what real gift

I might bestow on man to help his state,

I saw that sorrow was his life-companion,

To be embrac't bravely, not weakly shun'd:

That as by toil man winneth happiness,

Thro' tribulation he must come to peace.

How to make sorrow his friend then,--this my task.

Here was a mystery ... and how persuade

This thorny truth?... Ye do not hearken me. 820

CH. Yea, honour'd goddess, yea, we hearken still:

Stint not thy tale.

DEM. Ye might not understand.

My tale to you must be a tale of deeds--

How first I bade King Keleos build for me

A temple in Eleusis, and ordain'd

My worship, and the mysteries of my thought;

Where in the sorrow that I underwent

Man's state is pattern'd; and in picture shewn

The way of his salvation.... Now with me

--Here is a matter grateful to your ears-- 830

Your lov'd Persephone hath equal honour,

And in the spring her festival of flowers:

And if she should return ... [_Listening._

Ah! hark! what hear I?

CH. We hear no sound.

DEM. Hush ye! Hermes: he comes.

CH. What hearest thou?

DEM. Hermes; and not alone.

She is there. 'Tis she: I have won.

CH. Where? where?

DEM. (_aside_). Ah! can it be that out of sorrow's night,

From tears, from yearning pain, from long despair,

Into joy's sunlight I shall come again?--

Aside! stand ye aside! 840

_Enter Hermes leading Persephone._

HER. Mighty Demeter, lo! I execute

The will of Zeus and here restore thy daughter.

DEM. I have won.

PER. Sweet Mother, thy embrace is as the welcome

Of all the earth, thy kiss the breath of life.

DEM. Ah! but to me, Cora! Thy voice again...

My tongue is trammel'd with excess of joy.

PER. Arise, my nymphs, my Oceanides!

My Nereids all, arise! and welcome me!

Put off your strange solemnity! arise! 850

CH. Welcome! all welcome, fair Persephone!

(1) We came to welcome thee, but fell abash'd

Seeing thy purple robe and crystal crown.

PER. Arise and serve my pleasure as of yore.

DEM. And thou too doff thy strange solemnity,

That all may see thee as thou art, my Cora,

Restor'd and ever mine. Put off thy crown!

PER. Awhile! dear Mother--what thou say'st is true;

I am restor'd to thee, and evermore

Shall be restor'd. Yet am I none the less 860

Evermore Queen of Hades: and 'tis meet

I wear the crown, the symbol of my reign.

DEM. What words are these, my Cora! Evermore

Restor'd to me thou say'st ... 'tis well--but then

Evermore Queen of Hades ... what is this?

I had a dark foreboding till I saw thee:

Alas, alas! it lives again: destroy it!

Solve me this riddle quickly, if thou mayest.

PER. Let Hermes speak, nor fear thou. All is well.

HER. Divine Demeter, thou hast won thy will, 870

And the command of Zeus have I obey'd.

Thy daughter is restor'd, and evermore

Shall be restor'd to thee as on this day.

But Hades holding to his bride, the Fates

Were kind also to him, that she should be

His queen in Hades as thy child on earth.

Yearly, as spring-tide cometh, she is thine

While flowers bloom and all the land is gay;

But when thy corn is gather'd, and the fields

Are bare, and earth withdraws her budding life 880

From the sharp bite of winter's angry fang,

Yearly will she return and hold her throne

With great Aidoneus and the living dead:

And she hath eaten with him of such fruit

As holds her his true bride for evermore.

DEM. Alas! alas!

PER. Rejoice, dear Mother. Let not vain lament

Trouble our joy this day, nor idle tears.

DEM. Alas! from my own deed my trouble comes:

He gave thee of the fruit which I had curs'd: 890

I made the poison that enchanted thee.

PER. Repent not in thy triumph, but rejoice,

Who hast thy will in all, as I have mine.

DEM. I have but half my will, how hast thou more?

PER. It was my childish fancy (thou rememb'rest),

I would be goddess of the flowers: I thought

That men should innocently honour me

With bloodless sacrifice and spring-tide joy.

Now Fate, that look'd contrary, hath fulfill'd

My project with mysterious efficacy: 900

And as a plant that yearly dieth down

When summer is o'er, and hideth in the earth,

Nor showeth promise in its wither'd leaves

That it shall reawaken and put forth

Its blossoms any more to deck the spring;

So I, the mutual symbol of my choice,

Shall die with winter, and with spring revive.

How without winter coud I have my spring?

How come to resurrection without death?

Lo thus our joyful meeting of to-day, 910

Born of our separation, shall renew

Its annual ecstasy, by grief refresht:

And no more pall than doth the joy of spring

Yearly returning to the hearts of men.

See then the accomplishment of all my hope:

Rejoice, and think not to put off my crown.

DEM. What hast thou seen below to reconcile thee

To the dark moiety of thy strange fate?

PER. Where have I been, mother? what have I seen?

The downward pathway to the gates of death: 920

The skeleton of earthly being, stript

Of all disguise: the sudden void of night:

The spectral records of unwholesome fear:--

Why was it given to me to see these things?

The ruin'd godheads, disesteem'd, condemn'd

To toil of deathless mockery: conquerors

In the reverse of glory, doom'd to rule

The multitudinous army of their crimes:

The naked retribution of all wrong:--

Why was it given to me to see such things? 930

DEM. Not without terror, as I think, thou speakest,

Nor as one reconcil'd to brook return.

PER. But since I have seen these things, with salt and fire

My spirit is purged, and by this crystal crown

Terror is tamed within me. If my words

Seem'd to be tinged with terror, 'twas because

I knew one hour of terror (on the day

That took me hence) and with that memory

Colour'd my speech, using the terms which paint

The blindfold fears of men, who little reckon 940

How they by holy innocence and love,

By reverence and gentle lives may win

A title to the fair Elysian fields,

Where the good spirits dwell in ease and light

And entertainment of those fair desires

That made earth beautiful ... brave souls that spent

Their lives for liberty and truth, grave seers

Whose vision conquer'd darkness, pious poets

Whose words have won Apollo's deathless praise,

Who all escape Hell's mysteries, nor come nigh 950

The Cave of Cacophysia.

DEM. Mysteries!

What mysteries are these? and what the Cave?

PER. The mysteries of evil, and the cave

Of blackness that obscures them. Even in hell

The worst is hidden, and unfructuous night

Stifles her essence in her truthless heart.

DEM. What is the arch-falsity? I seek to know

The mystery of evil. Hast thou seen it?

PER. I have seen it. Coud I truly rule my kingdom

Not having seen it?

DEM. Tell me what it is. 960

PER. 'Tis not that I forget it; tho' the thought

Is banisht from me. But 'tis like a dream

Whose sense is an impression lacking words.

DEM. If it would pain thee telling ...

PER. Nay, but surely

The words of gods and men are names of things

And thoughts accustom'd: but of things unknown

And unimagin'd are no words at all.

DEM. And yet will words sometimes outrun the thought.

PER. What can be spoken is nothing: 'twere a path

That leading t'ward some prospect ne'er arrived. 970

DEM. The more thou holdest back, the more I long.

PER. The outward aspect only mocks my words.

DEM. Yet what is outward easy is to tell.

PER. Something is possible. This cavern lies

In very midmost of deep-hollow'd hell.

O'er its torn mouth the black Plutonic rock

Is split in sharp disorder'd pinnacles

And broken ledges, whereon sit, like apes

Upon a wither'd tree, the hideous sins

Of all the world: once having seen within 980

The magnetism is heavy on them, and they crawl

Palsied with filthy thought upon the peaks;

Or, squatting thro' long ages, have become

Rooted like plants into the griping clefts:

And there they pullulate, and moan, and strew

The rock with fragments of their mildew'd growth.

DEM. Cora, my child! and hast thou seen these things!

PER. Nay but the outward aspect, figur'd thus

In mere material loathsomeness, is nought

Beside the mystery that is hid within. 990

DEM. Search thou for words, I pray, somewhat to tell.

PER. Are there not matters past the thought of men

Or gods to know?

DEM. Thou meanest wherefore things

Should be at all? Or, if they be, why thus,

As hot, cold, hard and soft: and wherefore Zeus

Had but two brothers; why the stars of heaven

Are so innumerable, constellated

Just as they are; or why this Sicily

Should be three-corner'd? Yes, thou sayest well,

Why things are as they are, nor gods nor men 1000

Can know. We say that Fate appointed thus,

And are content.--

PER. Suppose, dear Mother, there wer' a temple in heaven,

Which, dedicated to the unknown Cause

And worship of the unseen, had power to draw

All that was worthy and good within its gate:

And that the spirits who enter'd there became

Not only purified and comforted,

But that the mysteries of the shrine were such,

That the initiated bathed in light 1010

Of infinite intelligence, and saw

The meaning and the reason of all things,

All at a glance distinctly, and perceived

The origin of all things to be good,

And the énd good, and that what appears as evil

Is as a film of dust, that faln thereon,

May,--at one stroke of the hand,--

Be brush'd away, and show the good beneath,

Solid and fair and shining: If moreover

This blessëd vision were of so great power 1020

That none coud e'er forget it or relapse

To doubtful ignorance:--I say, dear Mother,

Suppose that there were such a temple in heaven.

DEM. O child, my child! that were a temple indeed.

'Tis such a temple as man needs on earth;

A holy shrine that makes no pact with sin,

A worthy shrine to draw the worthy and good,

A shrine of wisdom trifling not with folly,

A shrine of beauty, where the initiated

Drank love and light.... Strange thou shouldst speak of it.

I have inaugurated such a temple 1031

These last days in Eleusis, have ordain'd

These very mysteries!--Strange thou speakest of it.

But by what path return we to the Cave

Of Cacophysia?

PER. By this path, dear Mother.

The Cave of Cacophysia is in all things

T'ward evil, as that temple were t'ward good.

I enter'd in. Outside the darkness was

But as accumulated sunlessness;

Within 'twas positive as light itself, 1040

A blackness that extinguished: Yet I knew,

For Hades told me, that I was to see;

And so I waited, till a forking flash

Of sudden lightning dazzlingly reveal'd

All at a glance. As on a pitchy night

The warder of some high acropolis

Looks down into the dark, and suddenly

Sees all the city with its roofs and streets,

Houses and walls, clear as in summer noon,

And ere he think of it, 'tis dark again,-- 1050

So I saw all within the Cave, and held

The vision, 'twas so burnt upon my sense.

DEM. What saw'st thou, child? what saw'st thou?

PER. Nay, the things

Not to be told, because there are no words

Of gods or men to paint the inscrutable

And full initiation of hell.--I saw

The meaning and the reason of all things,

All at a glance, and in that glance perceiv'd

The origin of all things to be evil,

And the énd evil: that what seems as good 1060

Is as a bloom of gold that spread thereo'er

May, by one stroke of the hand,

Be brush'd away, and leave the ill beneath

Solid and foul and black....

DEM. Now tell me, child,

If Hades love thee, that he sent thee thither.

PER. He said it coud not harm me: and I think

It hath not. [_Going up to Demeter, who kisses her._

DEM. Nay it hath not, ... and I know

The power of evil is no power at all

Against eternal good. 'Tis fire on water,

As darkness against sunlight, like a dream 1070

To waken'd will. Foolish was I to fear

That aught coud hurt thee, Cora. But to-day

Speak we no more.... This mystery of Hell

Will do me service: I'll not tell thee now:

But sure it is that Fate o'erruleth all

For good or ill: and we (no more than men)

Have power to oppose, nor any will nor choice

Beyond such wisdom as a fisher hath

Who driven by sudden gale far out to sea

Handles his fragile boat safe thro' the waves, 1080

Making what harbour the wild storm allows.

To-day hard-featured and inscrutable Fate

Stands to mine eyes reveal'd, nor frowns upon me.

I thought to find thee as I knew thee, and fear'd

Only to find thee sorrowful: I find thee

Far other than thou wert, nor hurt by Hell.

I thought I must console thee, but 'tis thou

Playest the comforter: I thought to teach thee,

And had prepared my lesson, word by word;

But thou art still beyond me. One thing only 1090

Of all my predetermin'd plan endures:

My purpose was to bid thee to Eleusis

For thy spring festival, which three days hence

Inaugurates my temple. Thou wilt come?

PER. I come. And art thou reconcil'd, dear Mother?

DEM. Joy and surprise make tempest in my mind;

When their bright stir is o'er, there will be peace.

But ere we leave this flowery field, the scene

Of strange and beauteous memories evermore,

I thank thee, Hermes, for thy willing service. 1100

PER. I thank thee, son of Maia, and bid farewell.

HER. Have thy joy now, great Mother; and have thou joy,

Fairest Persephone, Queen of the Spring.

_CHORUS._

Fair Persephone, garlands we bring thee,

Flow'rs and spring-tide welcome sing thee.

Hades held thee not,

Darkness quell'd thee not.

Gay and joyful welcome!

Welcome, Queen, evermore.

Earth shall own thee, 1110

Thy nymphs crown thee,

Garland thee and crown thee,

Crown thee Queen evermore.

EROS & PSYCHE

_A narrative Poem

in twelve measures_

[Illustration: decoration]

THE STORY DONE INTO ENGLISH

FROM THE LATIN

OF

APULEIUS

[Illustration: decoration]

_L'anima semplicetta che sa nulla._

_O latest born, O loveliest vision far

Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy._

_PREVIOUS EDITIONS_

1. _Chiswick Press for Bell & Sons._ 1885.

2. _Do. do. revised._ 1894.

3. _Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. I_. 1898.

FIRST QUARTER

SPRING

PSYCHE'S EARTHLY PARENTAGE · WORSHIPPED BY

MEN · & PERSECUTED BY APHRODITE · SHE IS

LOVED & CARRIED OFF BY EROS

MARCH

1

In midmost length of hundred-citied Crete,

The land that cradl'd Zeus, of old renown,

Where grave Demeter nurseried her wheat,

And Minos fashion'd law, ere he went down

To judge the quaking hordes of Hell's domain,

There dwelt a King on the Omphalian plain

Eastward of Ida, in a little town.

2

Three daughters had this King, of whom my tale

Time hath preserved, that loveth to despise

The wealth which men misdeem of much avail,

Their glories for themselves that they devise;

For clerkly is he, old hard-featured Time,

And poets' fabl'd song and lovers' rhyme

He storeth on his shelves to please his eyes.

3

These three princesses all were fairest fair;

And of the elder twain 'tis truth to say

That if they stood not high above compare,

Yet in their prime they bore the palm away;

Outwards of loveliness; but Nature's mood,

Gracious to make, had grudgingly endued

And marr'd by gifting ill the beauteous clay.

4

And being in honour they were well content

To feed on lovers' looks and courtly smiles,

To hang their necks with jewel'd ornament,

And gold, that vanity in vain beguiles,

And live in gaze, and take their praise for due,

To be the fairest maidens then to view

Within the shores of Greece and all her isles.

5

But of that youngest one, the third princess,

There is no likeness; since she was as far

From pictured beauty as is ugliness,

Though on the side where heavenly wonders are,

Ideals out of being and above,

Which music worshippeth, but if love love,

'Tis, as the poet saith, to love a star.

6

Her vision rather drave from passion's heart

What earthly soil it had afore possest;

Since to man's purer unsubstantial part

The brightness of her presence was addrest:

And such as mock'd at God, when once they saw

Her heavenly glance, were humbl'd, and in awe

Of things unseen, return'd to praise the Best.

7

And so before her, wheresoe'er she went,

Hushing the crowd a thrilling whisper ran,

And silent heads were reverently bent;

Till from the people the belief began

That Love's own mother had come down on earth,

Sweet Cytherea, or of mortal birth

A greater Goddess was vouchsaf't to man.

8

Then Aphrodite's statue in its place

Stood without worshippers; if Cretans pray'd

For beauty or for children, love or grace,

The prayer and vow were offer'd to the maid;

Unto the maid their hymns of praise were sung,

Their victims bled for her, for her they hung

Garland and golden gift, and none forbade.

9

And thence opinion spread beyond the shores,

From isle to isle the wonder flew, it came

Across the Ægæan on a thousand oars,

Athens and Smyrna caught the virgin's fame;

And East or West, where'er the tale had been,

The adoration of the foam-born queen

Fell to neglect, and men forgot her name.

10

No longer to high Paphos now 'twas sail'd;

The fragrant altar by the Graces served

At Cnidus was forsaken; pilgrims fail'd

The rocky island to her name reserved,

Proud Ephyra, and Meropis renown'd;

'Twas all for Crete her votaries were bound,

And to the Cretan maid her worship swerved.

11

Which when in heaven great Aphrodite saw,

Who is the breather of the year's bright morn,

Fount of desire and beauty without flaw,

Herself the life that doth the world adorn;

Seeing that without her generative might

Nothing can spring upon the shores of light,

Nor any bud of joy or love be born;

12

She, when she saw the insult, did not hide

Her indignation, that a mortal frail

With her eterne divinity had vied,

Her fair Hellenic empire to assail,

For which she had fled the doom of Ninus old,

And left her wanton images unsoul'd

In Babylon and Zidon soon to fail.

13

'Not long,' she cried, 'shall that poor girl of Crete

God it in my despite; for I will bring

Such mischief on the sickly counterfeit

As soon shall cure her tribe of worshipping:

Her beauty will I mock with loathèd lust,

Bow down her dainty spirit to the dust,

And leave her long alive to feel the sting.'

14

With that she calls to her her comely boy,

The limber scion of the God of War,

The fruit adulterous, which for man's annoy

To that fierce partner Cytherea bore,

Eros, the ever young, who only grew

In mischief, and was Cupid named anew

In westering aftertime of latin lore.

15

What the first dawn of manhood is, the hour

When beauty, from its fleshy bud unpent,

Flaunts like the corol of a summer flower,

As if all life were for that ornament,

Such Eros seemed in years, a trifler gay,

The prodigal of an immortal day

For ever spending, and yet never spent.

16

His skin is brilliant with the nimble flood

Of ichor, that comes dancing from his heart,

Lively as fire, and redder than the blood,

And maketh in his eyes small flashes dart,

And curleth his hair golden, and distilleth

Honey on his tongue, and all his body filleth

With wanton lightsomeness in every part.

17

Naked he goeth, but with sprightly wings

Red, iridescent, are his shoulders fledged.

A bow his weapon, which he deftly strings,

And little arrows barb'd and keenly edged;

And these he shooteth true; but else the youth

For all his seeming recketh naught of truth,

But most deceiveth where he most is pledged.

18

'Tis he that maketh in men's heart a strife

Between remorseful reason and desire,

Till with life lost they lose the love of life,

And by their own hands wretchedly expire;

Or slain in bloody rivalries they miss

Even the short embracement of their bliss,

His smile of fury and his kiss of fire.

19

He makes the strong man weak, the weak man wild;

Ruins great business and purpose high;

Brings down the wise to folly reconciled,

And martial captains on their knees to sigh:

He changeth dynasties, and on the head

Of duteous heroes, who for honour bled,

Smircheth the laurel that can never die.

20

Him then she call'd, and gravely kissing told

The great dishonour to her godhead done;

And how, if he from that in heaven would hold,

On earth he must maintain it as her son;

The rather that his weapons were most fit,

As was his skill ordain'd to champion it;

And flattering thus his ready zeal she won.

21

Whereon she quickly led him down on earth,

And show'd him PSYCHE, thus the maid was named;

Whom when she show'd, but coud not hide her worth,

She grew with envy tenfold more enflamed.

'But if,' she cried, 'thou smite her as I bid,

Soon shall our glory of this affront be rid,

And she and all her likes for ever shamed.

22

'Make her to love the loathliest, basest wretch,

Deform'd in body, and of moonstruck mind,

A hideous brute and vicious, born to fetch

Anger from dogs and cursing from the blind.

And let her passion for the monster be

As shameless and detestable as he

Is most extreme and vile of humankind.'

23

Which said, when he agreed, she spake no more,

But left him to his task, and took her way

Beside the ripples of the shell-strewn shore,

The southward stretching margin of a bay,

Whose sandy curves she pass'd, and taking stand

Upon its taper horn of furthest land,

Lookt left and right to rise and set of day.

24

Fair was the sight; for now, though full an hour

The sun had sunk, she saw the evening light

In shifting colour to the zenith tower,

And grow more gorgeous ever and more bright.

Bathed in the warm and comfortable glow,

The fair delighted queen forgot her woe,

And watch'd the unwonted pageant of the night.

25

Broad and low down, where late the sun had been

A wealth of orange-gold was thickly shed,

Fading above into a field of green,

Like apples ere they ripen into red;

Then to the height a variable hue

Of rose and pink and crimson freak'd with blue,

And olive-border'd clouds o'er lilac led.

26

High in the opposèd west the wondering moon

All silvery green in flying green was fleec't;

And round the blazing South the splendour soon

Caught all the heaven, and ran to North and East;

And Aphrodite knew the thing was wrought

By cunning of Poseidon, and she thought

She would go see with whom he kept his feast.

27

Swift to her wish came swimming on the waves

His lovely ocean nymphs, her guides to be,

The Nereids all, who live among the caves

And valleys of the deep, Cymodocè,

Agavè, blue-eyed Hallia and Nesæa,

Speio, and Thoë, Glaucè and Actæa,

Iaira, Melitè and Amphinomè,

28

Apseudès and Nemertès, Callianassa,

Cymothoë, Thaleia, Limnorrhea,

Clymenè, Ianeira and Ianassa,

Doris and Panopè and Galatea,

Dynamenè, Dexamenè and Maira,

Ferusa, Doto, Proto, Callianeira,

Amphithoë, Oreithuia and Amathea.

29

And after them sad Melicertes drave

His chariot, that with swift unfellied wheel,

By his two dolphins drawn along the wave,

Flew as they plunged, yet did not dip nor reel,

But like a plough that shears the heavy land

Stood on the flood, and back on either hand

O'erturn'd the briny furrow with its keel.

30

Behind came Tritons, that their conches blew,

Greenbearded, tail'd like fish, all sleek and stark;

And hippocampi tamed, a bristly crew,

The browzers of old Proteus' weedy park,

Whose chiefer Mermen brought a shell for boat,

And balancing its hollow fan afloat,

Push'd it to shore and bade the queen embark:

31

And then the goddess stept upon the shell

Which took her weight; and others threw a train

Of soft silk o'er her, that unfurl'd to swell

In sails, at breath of flying Zephyrs twain;

And all her way with foam in laughter strewn,

With stir of music and of conches blown,

Was Aphrodite launch'd upon the main.

APRIL

1

But fairest Psyche still in favour rose,

Nor knew the jealous power against her sworn;

And more her beauty now surpass't her foe's,

Since 'twas transfigured by the spirit forlorn,

That writeth, to the perfecting of grace,

Immortal question in a mortal face,

The vague desire whereunto man is born.

2

Already in good time her sisters both,

Whose honest charms were never famed as hers,

With princes of the isle had plighted troth,

And gone to rule their foreign courtiers;

But she, exalted evermore beyond

Their loveliness, made yet no lover fond,

And gain'd but number to her worshippers.

3

To joy in others' joy had been her lot,

And now that that was gone she wept to see

How her transcendent beauty overshot

The common aim of all felicity.

For love she sigh'd; and had some peasant rude

For true love's sake in simple passion woo'd,

Then Psyche had not scorn'd his wife to be.

4

For what is Beauty, if it doth not fire

The loving answer of an eager soul?

Since 'tis the native food of man's desire,

And doth to good our varying world control;

Which, when it was not, was for Beauty's sake

Desired and made by Love, who still doth make

A beauteous path thereon to Beauty's goal.

5

Should all men by some hateful venom die,

The pity were that o'er the unpeopl'd sphere

The sun would still bedeck the evening sky

And the unimaginable hues appear,

With none to mark the rose and gold and green;

That Spring should walk the earth, and nothing seen

Of her fresh delicacy year by year.

6

And if some beauteous things,--whose heavenly worth

And function overpass our mortal sense,--

Lie waste and unregarded on the earth

By reason of our gross intelligence,

These are not vain, because in nature's scheme

It lives that we shall grow from dream to dream

In time to gather an enchantment thence.

7

Even as we see the fairest works of men

Awhile neglected, and the makers die;

But Truth comes weeping to their graves, and then

Their fames victoriously mounting high

Do battle with the regnant names of eld,

To win their seats; as when the Gods rebel'd

Against their sires and drave them from the sky.

8

But to be praised for beauty and denied

The meed of beauty, this was yet unknown:

The best and bravest men have ever vied

To win the fairest women for their own.

Thus Psyche spake, or reason'd in her mind,

Disconsolate; and with self-pity pined,

In the deserted halls wandering alone.

9

And grievèd grew the King to see her woe:

And blaming first the gods for her disease,

He purposed to their oracle to go

To question how he might their wrath appease,

Or, if that might not be, the worst to hear,--

Which is the last poor hope of them that fear.--

So he took his ship upon the northern seas,

10

And journeying to the shrine of Delphi went,

The temple of Apollo Pythian,

Where when the god he question'd if 'twas meant

That Psyche should be wed, and to what man,

The tripod shook, and o'er the vaporous well

The chanting Pythoness gave oracle,

And thus in priestly verse the sentence ran:

11

_High on the topmost rock with funeral feast

Convey and leave the maid, nor look to find

A mortal husband, but a savage beast,

The viperous scourge of gods and humankind;

Who shames and vexes all, and as he flies

With sword and fire, Zeus trembles in the skies,

And groans arise from souls to hell consigned._

12

With which reply the King return'd full sad:

For though he nothing more might understand,

Yet in the bitter bidding that he had

No man made question of the plain command,

That he must sacrifice the tender flower

Of his own blood to a demonian power,

Upon the rocky mount with his own hand.

13

Some said that she to Talos was devote,

The metal giant, who with mile-long stride

Cover'd the isle, walking around by rote

Thrice every day at his appointed tide;

Who shepherded the sea-goats on the coast,

And, as he past, caught up and live would roast,

Pressing them to his burning ribs and side:

14

Whose head was made of fine gold-beaten work

Of silver pure his arms and gleaming chest,

Thence of green-bloomèd bronze far as the fork,

Of iron weather-rusted all the rest.

One single vein he had, which running down

From head to foot was open in his crown,

And closèd by a nail; such was this pest.

15

A little while they spent in sad delay,

Then order'd, as the oracle had said,

The cold feast and funereal display

Wherewith the fated bridal should be sped:

And their black pageantry and vain despairing

When Psyche saw, and for herself preparing

The hopeless ceremonial of the dead,

16

Then spake she to the King and said 'O Sire,

Why wilt thou veil those venerable eyes

With piteous tears, which must of me require

More tears again than for myself arise?

Then, on the day my beauty first o'erstept

Its mortal place it had been well to have wept;

But now the fault beyond our ruing lies.

17

'As to be worship'd was my whole undoing,

So my submission must the forfeit pay:

And welcome were the morning of my wooing,

Tho' after it should dawn no other day.

Up to the mountain! for I hear the voice

Of my belovèd on the winds, _Rejoice,

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away_!'

18

With such distemper'd speech, that little cheer'd

Her mourning house, she went to choose with care

The raiment for her day of wedlock weird,

Her body as for burial to prepare;

But laved with bridal water, from the stream

Where Hera bathed; for still her fate supreme

Was doubtful, whether Love or Death it were:

19

Love that is made of joy, and Death of fear:

Nay, but not these held Psyche in suspense;

Hers was the hope that following by the bier

Boweth its head beneath the dark immense:

Her fear the dread of life that turns to hide

Its tragic tears, what hour the happy bride

Ventures for love her maiden innocence.

20

They set on high upon the bridal wain

Her bed for bier, and yet no corpse thereon;

But like as when unto a warrior slain

And not brought home the ceremonies done

Are empty, for afar his body brave

Lies lost, deep buried by the wandering wave

Or 'neath the foes his fury fell upon,--

21

So was her hearse: and with it went afore,

Singing the solemn dirge that moves to tears,

The singers; and behind, clad as for war,

The King uncrown'd among his mournful peers,

All 'neath their armour robed in linen white;

And in their left were shields, and in their right

Torches they bore aloft instead of spears.

22

And next the virgin tribe in white forth sail'd,

With wreaths of dittany; and 'midst them there

Went Psyche, all in lily-whiteness veil'd,

The white Quince-blossom chapleting her hair:

And last the common folk, a weeping crowd,

Far as the city-gates with wailings loud

Follow'd the sad procession in despair.

23

Thus forth and up the mount they went, until

The funeral chariot must be left behind,

Since road was none for steepness of the hill;

And slowly by the narrow path they wind:

All afternoon their white and scatter'd file

Toil'd on distinct, ascending many a mile

Over the long brown slopes and crags unkind.

24

But ere unto the snowy peak they came

Of that stormshapen pyramid so high,

'Twas evening, and with footsteps slow and lame

They gather'd up their lagging company:

And then her sire, even as Apollo bade,

Set on the topmost rock the hapless maid,

With trembling hands and melancholy cry.

25

And now the sun was sunk; only the peak

Flash'd like a jewel in the deepening blue:

And from the shade beneath none dared to speak,

But all look'd up, where glorified anew

Psyche sat islanded in living day.

Breathless they watcht her, till the last red ray

Fled from her lifted arm that waved adieu.

26

There left they her, turning with sad farewells

To haste their homeward course, as best they might:

But night was crowding up the barren fells,

And hid full soon their rocky path from sight;

And each unto his stumbling foot to hold

His torch was fain, for o'er the moon was roll'd

A mighty cloud from heaven, to blot her light.

27

And thro' the darkness for long while was seen

That armour'd train with waving fires to thread

Downwards, by pass, defile, and black ravine,

Each leading on the way that he was led.

Slowly they gain'd the plain, and one by one

Into the shadows of the woods were gone,

Or in the clinging mists were quench'd and fled.

28

But unto Psyche, pondering o'er her doom

In tearful silence on her stony chair,

A Zephyr straying out of heaven's wide room

Rush'd down, and gathering round her unaware

Fill'd with his breath her vesture and her veil;

And like a ship, that crowding all her sail

Leans to accompany the tranquil air,

29

She yielded, and was borne with swimming brain

And airy joy, along the mountain side,

Till, hid from earth by ridging summits twain,

They came upon a valley deep and wide;

Where the strong Zephyr with his burden sank,

And laid her down upon a grassy bank,

'Mong thyme and violets and daisies pied.

30

And straight upon the touch of that sweet bed

Both woe and wonder melted fast away:

And sleep with gentle stress her sense o'erspread,

Gathering as darkness doth on drooping day:

And nestling to the ground, she slowly drew

Her wearied limbs together, and, ere she knew,

Wrapt in forgetfulness and slumber lay.

MAY

1

After long sleep when Psyche first awoke

Among the grasses 'neath the open skies,

And heard the mounting larks, whose carol spoke

Delighted invitation to arise,

She lay as one who after many a league

Hath slept off memory with his long fatigue,

And waking knows not in what place he lies:

2

Anon her quickening thought took up its task,

And all came back as it had happ'd o'ernight;

The sad procession of the wedding mask,

The melancholy toiling up the height,

The solitary rock where she was left;

And thence in dark and airy waftage reft,

How on the flowers she had been disburden'd light.

3

Thereafter she would rise and see what place

That voyage had its haven in, and found

She stood upon a little hill, whose base

Shelved off into the valley all around;

And all round that the steep cliffs rose away,

Save on one side where to the break of day

The widening dale withdrew in falling ground.

4

There, out from over sea, and scarce so high

As she, the sun above his watery blaze

Upbroke the grey dome of the morning sky,

And struck the island with his level rays;

Sifting his gold thro' lazy mists, that still

Climb'd on the shadowy roots of every hill,

And in the tree-tops breathed their silvery haze.

5

At hand on either side there was a wood;

And on the upward lawn, that sloped between,

Not many paces back a temple stood,

By even steps ascending from the green;

With shaft and pediment of marble made,

It fill'd the passage of the rising glade,

And there withstay'd the sun in dazzling sheen.

6

Too fair for human art, so Psyche thought,

It might the fancy of some god rejoice;

Like to those halls which lame Hephæstos wrought,

Original, for each god to his choice,

In high Olympus; where his matchless lyre

Apollo wakes, and the responsive choir

Of Muses sing alternate with sweet voice.

7

Wondering she drew anigh, and in a while

Went up the steps as she would entrance win,

And faced her shadow 'neath the peristyle

Upon the golden gate, whose flanges twin--

As there she stood, irresolute at heart

To try--swung to her of themselves apart;

Whereat she past between and stood within.

8

A foursquare court it was with marble floor'd,

Embay'd about with pillar'd porticoes,

That echo'd in a somnolent accord

The music of a fountain, which arose

Sparkling in air, and splashing in its tank;

Whose wanton babble, as it swell'd or sank,

Gave idle voice to silence and repose.

9

Thro' doors beneath the further colonnade,

Like a deep cup's reflected glooms of gold,

The inner rooms glow'd with inviting shade:

And, standing in the court, she might behold

Cedar, and silk, and silver; and that all

The pargeting of ceiling and of wall

Was fresco'd o'er with figures manifold.

10

Then making bold to go within, she heard

Murmur of gentle welcome in her ear;

And seeing none that coud have spoken word,

She waited: when again Lady, draw near;

Enter! was cried; and now more voices came

From all the air around calling her name,

And bidding her rejoice and have no fear.

11

And one, if she would rest, would show her bed,

Pillow'd for sleep, with fragrant linen fine;

One, were she hungry, had a table spread

Like as the high gods have it when they dine:

Or, would she bathe, were those would heat the bath;

The joyous cries contending in her path,

Psyche, they said, What wilt thou? all is thine.

12

Then Psyche would have thank'd their service true,

But that she fear'd her echoing words might scare

Those sightless tongues; and well by dream she knew

The voices of the messengers of prayer,

Which fly upon the gods' commandment, when

They answer the supreme desires of men,

Or for a while in pity hush their care.

13

'Twas fancy's consummation, and because

She would do joy no curious despite,

She made no wonder how the wonder was;

Only concern'd to take her full delight.

So to the bath,--what luxury could be

Better enhanced by eyeless ministry?--

She follows with the voices that invite.

14

There being deliciously refresht, from soil

Of earth made pure by water, fire, and air,

They clad her in soft robes of Asian toil,

Scented, that in her queenly wardrobe were;

And led her forth to dine, and all around

Sang as they served, the while a choral sound

Of strings unseen and reeds the burden bare.

15

P athetic strains and passionate they wove,

U rgent in ecstasies of heavenly sense;

R esponsive rivalries, that, while they strove

C ombined in full harmonious suspense,

E ntrancing wild desire, then fell at last

L ull'd in soft closes, and with gay contrast

L aunch'd forth their fresh unwearied excellence.

16

Now Psyche, when her twofold feast was o'er,

Would feed her eye; and choosing for her guide

A low-voiced singer, bade her come explore

The wondrous house; until on every side

As surfeited with beauty, and seeing nought

But what was rich and fair beyond her thought,

And all her own, thus to the voice she cried:

17

'Am I indeed a goddess, or is this

But to be dead: and through the gates of death

Passing unwittingly doth man not miss

Body nor memory nor living breath;

Nor by demerits of his deeds is cast,

But, paid with the desire he holdeth fast,

Is holp with all his heart imagineth?'

18

But her for all reply the wandering tongue

Call'd to the chamber where her bed was laid

With flower'd broideries of linen hung:

And round the walls in painting were portray'd

Love's victories over the gods renown'd.

Ares and Aphrodite here lay bound

In the fine net that dark Hephæstus made:

19

Here Zeus, in likeness of a tawny bull,

Stoop'd on the Cretan shore his mighty knee,

While off his back Europa beautiful

Stept pale against the blue Carpathian sea;

And here Apollo, as he caught amazed

Daphne, for lo! her hands shot forth upraised

In leaves, her feet were rooted like a tree:

20

Here Dionysos, springing from his car

At sight of Ariadne; here uplept

Adonis to the chase, breaking the bar

Of Aphrodite's arm for love who wept:

He spear in hand, with leashèd dogs at strain;

A marvellous work. But Psyche soon grown fain

Of rest, betook her to her bed and slept.

21

Nor long had slept, when at a sudden stir

She woke; and one, that thro' the dark made way,

Drew near, and stood beside; and over her

The curtain rustl'd. Trembling now she lay,

Fainting with terror: till upon her face

A kiss, and with two gentle arms' embrace,

A voice that call'd her name in loving play.

22

Though for the darkness she coud nothing see,

She wish'd not then for what the night denied:

This was the lover she had lack'd, and she,

Loving his loving, was his willing bride.

O'erjoy'd she slept again, o'erjoy'd awoke

At break of morn upon her love to look;

When lo! his empty place lay by her side.

23

So all that day she spent in company

Of the soft voices; and Of right, they said,

Art thou our Lady now. Be happily

Thy bridal morrow by thy servants sped.

But she but long'd for night, if that might bring

Her lover back; and he on secret wing

Came with the dark, and in the darkness fled.

24

And this was all her life; for every night

He came, and though his name she never learn'd,

Nor was his image yielded to her sight

At morn or eve, she neither look'd nor yearn'd

Beyond her happiness: and custom brought

An ease to pleasure; nor would Psyche's thought

Have ever to her earthly home return'd,

25

But that one night he said 'Psyche, my soul,

Sad danger threatens us: thy sisters twain

Come to the mountain top, whence I thee stole,

And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain.

Answer them not: for it must end our love

If they should hear or spy thee from above.'

And Psyche said 'Their cry shall be in vain.'

26

But being again alone, she thought 'twas hard

On her own blood; and blamed her joy as thief

Of theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr'd;

When she their care might be their care's relief.

All day she brooded on her father's woe,

And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!

Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.

27

Then question'd why she wept, she all confest;

And begg'd of him she might but once go nigh

To set her sire's and sisters' fears at rest;

Till he for pity coud not but comply:

'Only if they should ask thee of thy love

Discover nothing to their ears above.'

And Psyche said 'In vain shall be their cry.'

28

And yet with day no sooner was alone,

Than she for loneliness her promise rued:

That having so much pleasure for her own,

'Twas all unshared and spent in solitude.

And when at night her love flew to his place,

More than afore she shamed his fond embrace,

And piteously with tears her plaint renew'd.

29

The more he now denied, the more she wept;

Nor would in anywise be comforted,

Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept,

Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed,

And see themselves the palace where she reign'd.

And he, by force of tears at last constrain'd,

Granted her wish unwillingly, and said:

30

'Much to our peril hast thou won thy will;

Thy sisters' love, seeing thee honour'd so,

Will sour to envy, and with jealous skill

Will pry to learn the thing that none may know.

Answer not, nor inquire; for know that I

The day thou seest my face far hence shall fly,

And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.'

31

But Psyche said, 'Thy love is more than life;

To have thee leaveth nothing to be won:

For should the noonday prove me to be wife

Even of the beauteous Eros, who is son

Of Cypris, I coud never love thee more.'

Whereat he fondly kisst her o'er and o'er,

And peace was 'twixt them till the night was done.

SECOND QUARTER

SUMMER

PSYCHE'S SISTERS · SNARING HER TO DESTRUCTION ·

ARE THEMSELVES DESTROYED

JUNE

1

And truly need there was to the old King

For consolation: since the mournful day

Of Psyche's fate he took no comforting,

But only for a speedy death would pray;

And on his head his hair grew silver-white.

--Such on life's topmost bough is sorrow's blight,

When the stout heart is cankering to decay.

2

Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quick

Comfort and solace to their sire to lend.

But as not seldom they who nurse the sick

Will take the malady from them they tend,

So happ'd it now; for they who fail'd to cheer

Grew sad themselves, and in that palace drear

Increased the evil that they came to mend.

3

And them the unhappy father sent to seek

Where Psyche had been left, if they might find

What monster held her on the savage peak;

Or if she there had died of hunger pined,

And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter'd bones

Might still be gather'd from the barren stones;

Or if her fate had left no trace behind.

4

So just upon this time her sisters both

Climb'd on the cliff that hung o'er Psyche's vale;

And finding there no sign, to leave were loth

Ere well assured she lurk'd not within hail.

So calling loud her name, 'Psyche!' they cried,

'Psyche, O Psyche!' and when none replied

They sank upon the rocks to weep and wail.

5

But Psyche heard their voices where she sat,

And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleet

Those mourners down unto the grassy plat

'Midst of her garden, where she had her seat.

Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pair

Came swiftly sinking on his buoyant air,

And stood upon the terrace at her feet.

6

Upsprang she then, and kiss'd them and embraced,

And said 'Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn.

I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced,

But blest above all days since I was born:

Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and see

How little cause has been to grieve for me,

And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.'

7

So entering by the golden gate, or e'er

The marvel of their hither flight had waned,

Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhere

Their eyes that lit on beauty were enchain'd;

And Psyche's airy service, as she bade,

Perform'd its magic office, and display'd

The riches of the palace where she reign'd.

8

And through the perfumed chambers they were led,

And bathed therein; and after, set to sup,

Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed,

And wine more precious than its golden cup.

Till seeing nothing lack'd and naught was theirs,

Their happiness fell from them unawares,

And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up.

9

At last one said 'Psyche, since not alone

Thou livest here in joy, as well we wot,

Who is the man who should these wonders own,

Or god, I say, and still appeareth not?

What is his name? What rank and guise hath he,

Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth thee

Above all others in thy blissful lot?'

10

But Psyche when that wistful speech she heard

Was ware of all her spouse had warn'd her of:

And uttering a disingenuous word,

Said 'A youth yet unbearded is my love;

He goeth hunting on the plains to-day,

And with his dogs hath wander'd far away;

And not till eve can he return above.'

11

Then fearing to be nearer plied, she rose

And brought her richest jewels one by one,

Bidding them choose and take whate'er they chose;

And beckoning the Zephyr spake anon

That he should waft her sisters to the peak;

The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak,

They rose on high, and in the wind were gone.

12

Nor till again they came upon the road,

Which from the mountain shoulder o'er the plain

Led to the city of their sire's abode,

Found they their tongues, though full of high disdain

Their hearts were, but kept silence, till the strength

Of pride and envious hatred burst at length

In voice, and thus the elder gan complain:

13

'Cruel and unjust fortune! that of three

Sisters, whose being from one fountain well'd,

Exalts the last so high from her degree,

And leaves the first to be so far excel'd.

My husband is a poor and niggard churl

To him, whoe'er he be, that loves the girl.

Oh! in what godlike state her house is held!'

14

'Ay,' said the other, 'to a gouty loon

Am I not wedded? Lo! thy hurt is mine:

But never call me woman more, if soon

I cannot lure her from her height divine.

Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to save

The wealth of which so grudgingly she gave;

Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine.

15

'She but received us out of pride, to show

Her state, well deeming that her happiness

Was little worth while there was none to know;

So is our lot uninjured if none guess.

Reveal we nothing therefore, but the while

Together scheme this wanton to beguile,

And bring her boasting godhead to distress.'

16

So fresh disordering their dress and hair,

With loud lament they to their sire return,

Telling they found not Psyche anywhere,

And of her sure mischance could nothing learn:

And with that lie the wounded man they slew,

Hiding the saving truth which well they knew;

Nor did his piteous grief their heart concern.

17

Meanwhile her unknown lover did not cease

To warn poor Psyche how her sisters plan'd

To undermine her love and joy and peace;

And urged how well she might their wiles withstand,

By keeping them from her delight aloof:

For better is security than proof,

And malice held afar than near at hand.

18

'And, dearest wife,' he said, 'since 'tis not long

Ere one will come to share thy secrecy,

And be thy babe and mine; let nothing wrong

The happy months of thy maternity.

If thou keep trust, then shalt thou see thy child

A god; but if to pry thou be beguiled,

The lot of both is death and misery.'

19

Then Psyche's simple heart was fill'd with joy,

And counting to herself the months and days,

Look'd for the time, when she should bear a boy

To be her growing stay and godlike praise.

And 'O be sure,' she said, 'be sure, my pride

Having so rich a promise cannot slide,

Even if my love coud fail which thee obeys.'

20

And so most happily her life went by,

In thoughts of love dear to her new estate;

Until at length the evil day drew nigh,

When now her sisters, joined in jealous hate,

Set forth again, and plotted by the way

How they might best allure her to betray

Her secret; with what he their angle bait.

21

That night her husband spake to her, and said

'Psyche, thy sisters come: and when they climb

The peak they will not tarry to be sped

Down by the Zephyr, as that other time,

But winging to the wind will cast themselves

Out in the air, and on the rocky shelves

Be dasht, and pay the penalty of crime.

22

'So let it be, and so shall we be saved.'

Which meditated vengeance of his fear

When Psyche heard, now for their life she craved,

Whose mere distress erewhile had toucht her near.

Around her lover's neck her arms she threw,

And pleaded for them by her faith so true,

Although they went on doom in judgment clear.

23

In terror of bloodguiltiness she now

Forgot all other danger; she adjured,

Or using playfulness deep sobs would plow

Her soft entreaties, not to be endured:

Till he at last was fain once more to grant

The service of the Zephyr, to enchant

That wicked couple from their fate assured.

24

So ere 'twas noon were noises at the door

Of knocking loud and voices high in glee;

Such as within that vale never before

Had been, and now seem'd most unmeet to be.

And Psyche blush'd, though being alone, and rose

To meet her sisters and herself unclose

The gate that made them of her palace free.

25

Fondly she kiss'd them, and with kindly cheer

Sought to amuse; and they with outward smile

O'ermask'd their hate, and called her sweet and dear,

Finding affection easy to beguile:

And all was smooth, until at last one said

'Tell us, I pray, to whom 'tis thou art wed;

'Mong gods or men, what is his rank and style?

26

'Thou canst not think to hide the truth from us,

Who knew thy peevish sorrows when a maid,

And see thee now so glad and rapturous,

As changed from what thou wert as light from shade;

Thy jewels, too, the palace of a king,

Nor least the serviceable spiriting,

By everything thy secret is betray'd:

27

'And yet thou talkest of thy wondrous man

No more than if his face thou didst not know.'

At which incontinently she began,

Forgetful of her word a month ago,

Answering 'A merchant rich, of middle age,

My husband is; and o'er his features sage

His temples are already touch'd with snow.

28

'But 'gainst his wish since hither ye were brought

'Twere best depart.' Then her accustom'd spell

Sped them upon the summit quick as thought;

And being alone her doing pleased her well:

So was she vext to find her love at night

More sad than ever, of her sisters' spite

Speaking as one that coud the end foretell.

29

'And ere long,' said he, 'they will spy again:

Let them be dash'd upon the rocks and die;

'Tis they must come to death or thou to pain,

To separation, Psyche, thou and I;

Nay, and our babe to ill. I therefore crave

Thou wilt not even once more these vipers save,

Nor to thy love his only boon deny.'

30

But Psyche would not think her sisters' crime

So gross and strange, nor coud her danger see;

Since 'twere so easy, if at any time

They show'd the venom of their hearts, that she

Should fan them off upon the willing gust.

So she refused, and claiming truer trust,

Would in no wise unto their death agree.

JULY

1

'What think you, sister:' thus one envious fiend

To other spake upon their homeward route,

'What of the story that our wit hath glean'd

Of this mysterious lover, who can shoot

In thirty days from beardless youth to prime,

With wisdom in his face before his time,

And snowy locks upon his head to boot?

2

'Ay,' said the other, 'true, she lied not well;

And thence I gather knows no more than we:

For surely 'tis a spirit insensible

To whom she is wedded, one she cannot see.

'Tis that I fear; for if 'tis so, her child

Will be a god, and she a goddess styled,

Which, though I die to let it, shall not be.

3

'Lament we thus no longer. Come, consult

What may be done.' And home they came at night,

Yet not to rest, but of their plots occult

Sat whispering on their beds; and ere 'twas light

Resolving on the deed coud not defer;

But roused the sleeping house with sudden stir,

And sallied forth alone to work their spite.

4

And with the noon were climb'd upon the peak,

And swam down on the Zephyr as before;

But now with piercing cry and doleful shriek

They force their entrance through the golden door,

Feigning the urgency of bitter truth;

Such as deforms a friendly face with ruth,

When kindness may not hide ill tidings more.

5

Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din,

And saw their countenances wan and worn

With travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin,

Their hair dishevel'd and their habits torn,

For trembling scarce coud ask what ill had hapt;

And they alert with joy to see her trapt,

Launch'd forth amain, and on their drift were borne.

6

'O Psyche, happiest certainly and blest

Up to this hour,' they said, 'thou surely wert,

Being of thy fearful peril unpossest;

Which now we would not tell but to avert.

But we in solemn truth thy spouse have found

To be the dragon of this mountain ground,

Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt.

7

'As yesternight we rode upon the wind

He issued to pursue us from the wood;

We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn'd,

His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl'd hood.

Lo, now betimes the oracle, which said

How to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed,

Is plainly for thy safety understood.

8

'Long time hath he been known to all that dwell

Upon the plain; but now his secret lair

Have we discover'd, which none else coud tell:

Though many women fallen in his snare

Hath he enchanted; who, tradition saith,

Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel death

They pass in turn upon the summits bare.

9

Renounce the spells of this accursed vale.

We come to save thee, but we dare not stay;

Among these sightless spirits our senses quail.

Fly with us, fly!' Then Psyche, for her soul

Was soft and simple, lost her self-control,

And, thinking only of the horrid tale,

10

'Dear sisters,' said she, and her sobbing speech

Was broken by her terror, 'it is true

That much hath hapt to stablish what ye teach;

For ne'er hath it been granted me to view

My husband; and, for aught I know, he may

Be even that cruel dragon, which ye say

Peer'd at you from the forest to pursue.

11

''Tis sure that scarcely can I win his grace

To see you here; and still he mischief vows

If ever I should ask to see his face,

Which, coming in the dark, he ne'er allows.

Therefore, if ye can help, of pity show,

Since doubt I must, how I may come to know

What kind of spirit it is that is my spouse.'

12

Then to her cue the younger was afore:

'Hide thou a razor,' cried she, 'near thy bed;

And have a lamp prepared, but whelm thereo'er

Some cover, that no light be from it shed.

And when securely in first sleep he lies,

Look on him well, and ere he can arise,

Gashing his throat, cut off his hideous head.'

13

Which both persuading, off they flew content,

Divining that whate'er she was forbid

Was by her lover for her safety meant,

Which only coud be sure while he was hid.

But Psyche, to that miserable deed

Being now already in her mind agreed,

Wander'd alone, and knew not what she did.

14

Now she would trust her lover, now in turn

Made question of his bidding as unjust;

But thirsting curiosity to learn

His secret overcame her simple trust,

O'ercame her spoken troth, o'ercame her fear;

And she prepared, as now the hour drew near,

The mean contrivances, nor felt disgust.

15

She set the lamp beneath a chair, and cloked

Thickly its rebel lustre from the eye:

And laid the knife, to mortal keenness stroked,

Within her reach, where she was wont to lie:

And took her place full early; but her heart

Beat fast, and stay'd her breath with sudden start,

Feeling her lover's arm laid fond thereby.

16

But when at last he slept, then she arose,

All faint and tremulous: and though it be

That wrong betrayeth innocence with shews

Of novelty, its guilt from shame to free,

Yet 'twas for shame her hand so strangely shook

That held the steel, and from the cloke that took

The lamp, and raised it o'er the bed to see.

17

She had some fear she might not well discern

By that small flame a monster in the gloom;

When lo! the air about her seem'd to burn,

And bright celestial radiance fill'd the room.

Too plainly O she saw, O fair to see!

Eros, 'twas Eros' self, her lover, he,

The God of love, reveal'd in deathless bloom.

18

Her fainting strength forsook her; on her knees

Down by the bed she sank; the shameless knife

Fell flashing, and her heart took thought to seize

Its desperate haft, and end her wicked life.

Yet coud she not her loving eyes withdraw

From her fair sleeping lover, whom she saw

Only to know she was no more his wife.

19

O treasure of all treasures, late her own!

O loss above all losses, lost for aye!

Since there was no repentance coud atone

For her dishonour, nor her fate withstay.

But yet 'twas joy to have her love in sight;

And, to the rapture yielding while she might,

She gazed upon his body where he lay.

20

Above all mortal beauty, as was hers,

She saw a rival; but if passion's heart

Be rightly read by subtle questioners,

It owns a wanton and a gentler part.

And Psyche wonder'd, noting every sign

By which the immortal God, her spouse divine,

Betray'd the image of our earthly art;

21

His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks,

And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl'd chin,

The full and cushion'd eye, that idly speaks

Of self-content and vanity within,

The forward, froward ear, and smooth to touch

His body sleek, but rounded overmuch

For dignity of mind and pride akin.

22

She noted that the small irradiant wings,

That from his shoulders lay along at rest,

Were yet disturb'd with airy quiverings,

As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest;

She feared he was awaking, but they kept

Their sweet commotion still, and still he slept,

And still she gazed with never-tiring zest.

23

And now the colour of her pride and joy

Outflush'd the hue of Eros; she, so cold,

To have fired the passion of the heartless boy,

Whom none in heaven or earth were found to hold!

Psyche, the earthborn, to be prized above

The heavenly Graces by the God of love,

And worshipt by his wantonness untold!

24

Nay, for that very thing she loved him more,

More than herself her sweet self's complement:

Until the sight of him again upbore

Her courage, and renew'd her vigour spent.

And looking now around, she first espied

Where at the bed's foot, cast in haste aside,

Lay his full quiver, and his bow unbent.

25

One of those darts, of which she had heard so oft,

She took to try if 'twas so very keen;

And held its point against her finger soft

So gently, that to touch it scarce was seen;

Yet was she sharply prickt, and felt the fire

Run through her veins; and now a strange desire

Troubl'd her heart, which ne'er before had been:

26

Straight sprang she to her lover on the bed,

And kisst his cheek, and was not satisfied:

When, O the lamp, held ill-balanced o'erhead,

One drop of burning oil spill'd from its side

On Eros' naked shoulder as he slept,

Who waken'd by the sudden smart uplept

Upon the floor, and all the mischief eyed.

27

With nervous speed he seized his bow, and past

Out of the guilty chamber at a bound;

But Psyche, following his flight as fast,

Caught him, and crying threw her arms around:

Till coming to the court he rose in air;

And she, close clinging in her last despair,

Was dragg'd, and then lost hold and fell to ground.

28

Wailing she fell; but he, upon the roof

Staying his feet, awhile his flight delay'd:

And turning to her as he stood aloof

Beside a cypress, whose profoundest shade

Drank the reflections of the dreamy night

In its stiff pinnacle, the nimble light

Of million stars upon his body play'd:

29

'O simple-hearted Psyche,' thus he spake,

And she upraised her piteous eyes and hands,

'O simple-hearted Psyche, for thy sake

I dared to break my mother's stern commands;

And gave thee godlike marriage in the place

Of vilest shame; and, not to hurt thy grace,

Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands.

30

'But thou, for doubt I was some evil beast,

Hast mock'd the warnings of my love, to spy

Upon my secret, which concern'd thee least,

Seeing that thy joy was never touch'd thereby.

By faithless prying thou hast work'd thy fall,

And, even as I foretold thee, losest all

For looking on thy happiness too nigh:

31

'Which loss may be thine ample punishment.

But to those fiends, by whom thou wert misled,

Go tell each one in turn that I have sent

This message, that I love her in thy stead;

And bid them by their love haste hither soon.'

Whereat he fled; and Psyche in a swoon

Fell back upon the marble floor as dead.

AUGUST

1

When from the lowest ebbing of her blood

The fluttering pulses thrill'd and swell'd again,

Her stricken heart recovering force to flood

With life the sunken conduits of her brain,

Then Psyche, where she had fallen, numb and cold

Arose, but scarce her quaking sense control'd,

Seeing the couch where she that night had lain.

2

The level sunbeams search'd the grassy ground

For diamond dewdrops. Ah! was this the place?

Where was the court, her home? she look'd around

And question'd with her memory for a space.

There was the cypress, there the well-known wood,

That wall'd the spot: 'twas here her palace stood,

As surely as 'twas vanish'd without trace.

3

Was all a dream? To think that all was dreamt

Were now the happier thought; but arguing o'er

That dream it was, she fell from her attempt,

Feeling the wifely burden that she bore.

Nay, true, 'twas true. She had had all and lost;

The joy, the reckless wrong, the heavy cost

Were hers, the dead end now, and woe in store.

4

What to be done? Fainting and shelterless

Upon the mountain it were death to bide:

And harbour knew she none, where her distress

Might comfort find, or love's dishonour hide;

Nor felt she any dread like that of home:

Yet forth she must, albeit to rove and roam

An outcast o'er the country far and wide.

5

Anon she marvel'd noting from the vale

A path lead downward to the plain below,

Crossing the very site, whereon the pale

Of all her joy had stood few hours ago;

A run of mountain beasts, that keep their track

Through generations, and for ages back

Had trod the self-same footing to and fro.

6

That would she try: so forth she took her way,

Turning her face from the dishonour'd dell,

Adown the broadening eastward lawns, which lay

In gentle slant, till suddenly they fell

In sheer cliff: whence the path that went around,

Clomb by the bluffs, or e'er it downward wound

Beneath that precipice impassable.

7

There once she turn'd, and gazing up the slope

She bid the scene of all her joy adieu;

'Ay, and farewell,' she cried, 'farewell to hope,

Since there is none will rescue me anew,

Who have kill'd God's perfection with a doubt.'

Which said, she took the path that led about,

And hid the upland pleasance from her view.

8

But soon it left her, entering 'neath the shade

Of cedar old and russeted tall pine,

Whose mighty tops, seen from the thorny glade,

Belted the hills about; and now no sign

Had she to guide her, save the slow descent.

But swiftly o'er the springy floor she went,

And drew the odorous air like draughts of wine.

9

Then next she past a forest thick and dark

With heavy ilexes and platanes high,

And came to long lush grass; and now coud mark

By many a token that the plain was nigh.

When lo! a river: to whose brink at last

Being come, upon the bank her limbs she cast,

And through her sad tears watch'd the stream go by.

10

And now the thought came o'er her that in death

There was a cure for sorrow, that before

Her eyes ran Lethe, she might take one breath

Of water and be freed for evermore.

Leaning to look into her tomb, thereon

She saw the horror of her image wan,

And up she rose at height to leap from shore.

11

When suddenly a mighty voice, that fell

With fury on her ears, their sense to scare,

That bounding from the tree trunks like the yell

Of hundred brazen trumpets, cried 'Forbear!

Forbear, fond maid, that froward step to take,

For life can cure the ills that love may make;

But for the harm of death is no repair.'

12

Then looking up she saw an uncouth form

Perch'd on the further bank, whose parted lips

Volley'd their friendly warning in a storm:

A man he might have been, but for the tips

Of horns appearing from his shaggy head,

For o'er his matted beard his face was red,

And all his shape was manlike to the hips.

13

In forehead low, keen eye, and nostril flat

He bore the human grace in mean degree,

But, set beneath his body squat and fat,

Legs like a goat's, and from the hairy knee

The shank fell spare; and, though crosswise he put

His limbs in easeful posture, for the foot

The beast's divided hoof was plain to see.

14

Him then she knew the mighty choric God,

The great hill-haunting and tree-loving Pan;

Whom Zeus had laught to see when first he trod

Olympus, neither god nor beast nor man:

Who every rocky peak and snowy crest

Of the Aspran mountains for his own possest,

And all their alps with bacchic rout o'erran:

15

Whom, when his pipe he plays on loud and sweet,

And o'er the fitted reeds his moist lip flees,

Around in measured step with nimble feet

Water-nymphs dance and Hamadryades:

And all the woodland's airy folk, who shun

Man's presence, to his frolic pastime run

From their perennial wells and sacred trees.

16

Now on his knee his pipe laid by, he spoke

With flippant tongue, wounding unwittingly

The heart he sought to cheer with jest and joke.

'And what hast thou to do with misery,'

He said, 'who hast such beauty as might gain

The love of Eros? Cast away thy pain,

And give thy soul to mirth and jollity.

17

'Thy mortal life is but a brittle vase,

But as thee list with wine or tears to fill;

For all the drops therein are Ohs and Ahs

Of joy or grief according to thy will;

And wouldst thou learn of me my merry way,

I'd teach thee change thy lover every day,

And prize the cup that thou wert fain to spill.

18

'Nay, if thou plunge thou shalt not drown nor sink,

For I will to thee o'er the stream afloat,

And bear thee safe; and O I know a drink

For care, that makes sweet music in the throat.

Come live with me, my love; I'll cure thy chance:

For I can laugh and quaff, and pipe and dance,

Swim like a fish, and caper like a goat.'

19

Speaking, his brute divinity explored

The secret of her silence; and old Pan

Grew kind and told her of a shallow ford

Where lower down the stream o'er pebbles ran,

And one might pass at ease with ankles dry:

Whither she went, and crossing o'er thereby,

Her lonely wanderings through the isle began.

20

But none coud tell, no, nor herself had told

Where food she found, or shelter through the land

By day or night; until by fate control'd

She came by steep ways to the southern strand,

Where, sacred to the Twins and Britomart,

Pent in its rocky theatre apart,

A little town stood on the level sand.

21

'Twas where her younger sister's husband reign'd:

And Psyche to the palace gate drew near,

Helplessly still by Eros' hest constrain'd,

And knocking begg'd to see her sister dear;

But when in state stepp'd down that haughty queen,

And saw the wan face spent with tears and teen,

She smiled, and said 'Psyche, what dost thou here?'

22

Then Psyche told how, having well employ'd

Their means, and done their bidding not amiss,

Looking on him her hand would have destroy'd,

'Twas Eros; whom in love leaning to kiss,

Even as she kisst, a drop of burning oil

Fall'n from the lamp had served her scheme to foil,

Discovering her in vision of her bliss;

23

Wherewith the god stung, like a startled bird

Arose in air, and she fell back in swoon;

'But ere he parted,' said she, 'he confer'd

On thee the irrecoverable boon

By prying lost to me: _Go tell_, he said,

_Thy sister that I love her in thy stead,

And bid her by her love haste hither soon_.

24

Which when that heart of malice heard, it took

The jealous fancy of her silly lust:

And pitilessly with triumphant look

She drank the flattery, and gave full trust;

And leaving Psyche ere she more coud tell,

Ran off to bid her spouse for aye farewell,

And in his ear this ready lie she thrust:

25

'My dearest sister Psyche, she whose fate

We mourn'd, hath reappear'd alive and hale,

But brings sad news; my father dies: full late

These tidings come, but love may yet avail;

Let me be gone.' And stealing blind consent,

Forth on that well-remember'd road she went,

And climb'd upon the peak above the dale.

26

There on the topmost rock, where Psyche first

Had by her weeping sire been left to die,

She stood a moment, in her hope accurst

Being happy; and the cliffs took up her cry

With chuckling mockery from her tongue above,

_Zephyr, sweet Zephyr, waft me to my love_!

When off she lept upon his wings to fly.

27

But as a dead stone, from a height let fall,

Silent and straight is gather'd by the force

Of earth's vast mass upon its weight so small,

In speed increasing as it nears its source

Of motion--by which law all things soe'er

Are clutch'd and dragg'd and held--so fell she there,

Like a dead stone, down in her headlong course.

28

The disregardful silence heard her strike

Upon the solid crags; her dismal shriek

Rang on the rocks and died out laughter-like

Along the vale in hurried trebles weak;

And soon upon her, from their skiey haunt

Fell to their feast the great birds bald and gaunt

And gorged on her fair flesh with bloody beak.

29

But Psyche, when her sister was gone forth,

Went out again her wandering way to take:

And following a stream that led her north,

After some days she pass'd the Corian Lake,

Whereby Athena's temple stands, and he

Who traverses the isle from sea to sea

May by the plain his shortest journey make:

30

Till on the northern coast arrived she came

Upon a city built about a port,

The which she knew, soon as she heard the name,

Was where her elder sister had her court;

To whom, as Eros had commanded her,

She now in turn became the messenger

Of vengeful punishment, that fell not short:

31

For she too hearing gan her heart exalt,

Nor pity felt for Psyche's tears and moans,

But, fellow'd with that other in her fault,

Follow'd her to her fate upon the stones;

And from the peak leaping like her below

The self-same way unto the self-same woe,

Lay dasht to death upon her sister's bones.

THIRD QUARTER

AUTUMN

PSYCHE'S WANDERINGS

SEPTEMBER

1

On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle,

Westward of Drepanon, along a reach

Which massy Cyamum for many a mile

Jutting to sea delivers from the breach

Of North and East,--returning to embay

The favour'd shore--an ancient city lay,

Aptera, which is _Wingless_ in our speech.

2

And hence the name; that here in rocky cove,

Thence called Museion, was the trial waged

What day the Sirens with the Muses strove,

By jealous Hera in that war engaged:

Wherein the daughters of Mnemosynè

O'ercame the chauntresses who vex'd the sea,

Nor vengeance spared them by their pride enraged.

3

For those strange creatures, who with women's words

And wiles made ravenous prey of passers-by,

Were throated with the liquid pipe of birds:

Of love they sang; and none, who sail'd anigh

Through the grey hazes of the cyanine sea,

Had wit the whirlpool of that song to flee,

Nor fear'd the talon hook'd and feather'd thigh.

4

But them the singers of the gods o'ercame,

And pluck'd them of their plumage, where in fright

They vainly flutter'd off to hide their shame,

Upon two rocks that lie within the bight,

Under the headland, barren and alone;

Which, being with the scatter'd feathers strewn,

Were by the folk named Leukæ, which is _White_.

5

Thereon about this time the snowy gull,

Minion of Aphrodite, being come,

Plumed himself, standing on the sea-wrack dull,

That drifted from the foot of Cyamum;

And 'twas his thought, that had the goddess learnt

The tale of Psyche loved and Eros burnt,

She ne'er so long had kept aloof and dumb.

6

Wherefore that duteous gossip of Love's queen

Devised that he the messenger would be;

And rising from the rock, he skim'd between

The chasing waves--such grace have none but he;--

Into the middle deep then down he dived,

And rowing with his glistening wings arrived

At Aphrodite's bower beneath the sea.

7

The eddies from his silver pinions swirl'd

The crimson, green, and yellow floss, that grew

About the caves, and at his passing curl'd

Its graceful silk, and gently waved anew:

Till, oaring here and there, the queen he found

Stray'd from her haunt unto a sandy ground,

Dappl'd with eye-rings in the sunlight blue.

8

She, as he came upon her from above,

With Hora play'd; Hora, her herald fair,

That lays the soft necessity of Love

On maidens' eyelids, and with tender care

Marketh the hour, as in all works is fit:

And happy they in love who time outwit,

Fondly constrained in her season rare.

9

But he with garrulous and laughing tongue

Broke up his news; how Eros, fallen sick,

Lay tossing on his bed, to frenzy stung

By such a burn as did but barely prick:

A little bleb, no bigger than a pease,

Upon his shoulder 'twas, that kill'd his ease,

Fever'd his heart, and made his breathing thick.

10

'For which disaster hath he not been seen

This many a day at all in any place:

And thou, dear mistress,' piped he, 'hast not been

Thyself amongst us now a dreary space:

The pining mortals suffer from a dearth

Of love; and for this sadness of the earth

Thy family is darken'd with disgrace.

11

'Now on the secret paths of dale and wood,

Where lovers walk'd are lovers none to find:

And friends, besworn to equal brotherhood,

Forget their faith, and part with words unkind:

In the first moon thy honey-bond is loath'd:

And I coud tell even of the new-betroth'd

That fly o'ersea, and leave their loves behind.

12

'Summer is over, but the merry pipe,

That wont to cheer the harvesting, is mute:

And in the vineyards, where the grape is ripe,

No voice is heard of them that take the fruit.

No workman singeth at eve nor maiden danceth:

All joy is dead, and as the year advanceth

The signs of woe increase on man and brute.

13

''Tis plain that if thy pleasure longer pause,

Thy mighty rule on earth hath seen its day:

The race must come to perish, and no cause

But that thou sittest with thy nymphs at play,

While on a Cretan hill thy truant boy

Hath with his pretty mistress turn'd to toy,

And less for pain than love pineth away.'

14

'Ha! Mistress!' cried she; 'Hath my beardless son

Been hunting for himself his lovely game?

Some young Orestiad hath his fancy won?

Some Naiad? say; or is a Grace his flame?

Or maybe Muse, and then 'tis Erato,

The trifling wanton. Tell me, if thou know,

Woman or goddess is she? and her name.'

15

Then said the snowy gull, 'O heavenly queen,

What is my knowledge, who am but a bird?

Yet is she only mortal, as I ween,

And namèd Psyche, if I rightly heard.'--

But Aphrodite's look daunted his cheer,

Ascare he fled away, screaming in fear,

To see what wrath his simple tale had stirr'd.

16

He flasht his pens, and sweeping widely round

Tower'd to air; so swift in all his way,

That whence he dived he there again was found

As soon as if he had but dipt for prey:

And now, or e'er he join'd his wailful flock,

Once more he stood upon the Sirens' rock,

And preen'd his ruffl'd quills for fresh display.

17

But as ill tidings will their truth assure

Without more witness than their fatal sense,

So, since was nothing bitterer to endure,

The injured goddess guess'd the full offence:

And doubted only whether first to smite

Or Psyche for her new presumptuous flight,

Or Eros for his disobedience.

18

But full of anger to her son she went,

And found him in his golden chamber laid;

And with him sweet Euphrosynè, attent

Upon his murmur'd wants, aye as he bade

Shifted the pillows with each fretful whim;

But scornfully his mother look'd at him,

And reckless of his pain gan thus upbraid:

19

'O worthy deeds, I say, and true to blood,

The crown and pledge of promise! thou that wast

In estimation my perpetual bud,

Now fruiting thus untimely to my cost;

Backsliding from commandment, ay, and worse,

With bliss to favour one I bade thee curse,

And save the life I left with thee for lost!

20

'Thou too to burn with love, and love of her

Whom I did hate; and to thy bed to take

My rival, that my trusted officer

Might of mine enemy my daughter make!

Dost thou then think my love for thee so fond,

And miserably doting, that the bond

By such dishonour strainèd will not break?

21

'Or that I cannot bear another son

As good as thou; or, if I choose not bear,

Not beg as good a lusty boy of one

Of all my nymphs,--and some have boys to spare,--

Whom I might train, to whom thine arms made o'er

Should do me kinder service than before,

To smite my foes and keep my honour fair?

22

'For thou hast ever mockt me, and beguiled

In amours strange my God, thy valiant sire:

And having smirch'd our fame while yet a child

Wilt further foul it now with earthly fire.

But I--do as thou may--have vow'd to kill

Thy fancied girl, whether thou love her still,

Or of her silly charms already tire.

23

'Tell me but where she hides.' And Eros now,

Proud in his woe, boasted his happy theft:

Confessing he had loved her well, and how

By her own doing she was lost and left;

And homeless in such sorrow as outwent

The utmost pain of other punishment,

Was wandering of his love and favour reft.

24

By which was Cypris gladden'd, not appeased,

But hid her joy and spake no more her threat:

And left with face like one that much displeased

Hath yet betray'd that he can wrong forget.

When lo! as swiftly she came stepping down

From her fair house into the heavenly town

The Kronian sisters on the way she met;

25

Hera, the Wife of Zeus, her placid front

Dark with the shadow of his troubl'd reign,

And tall Demeter, who with men once wont,

Holding the high Olympians in disdain

For Persephassa's rape; which now forgiven,

She had return'd unto the courts of Heaven,

And 'mong the immortals liv'd at peace again:

26

Whose smile told Aphrodite that they knew

The meaning of her visit; and a flush

Of anger answer'd them, while hot she grew.

But Hera laugh'd outright: 'Why thou dost blush!

Now see we modest manners on my life!

And all thy little son has got a wife

Can make the crimson to thy forehead rush.

27

'Didst think he, whom thou madest passion's prince,

No privy dart then for himself would poise?

Nay, by the cuckoo on my sceptre, since

'Twas love that made thee mother of his joys,

Art thou the foremost to his favour bound;

As thou shouldst be the last to think to sound

The heart, and least of all thy wanton boy's.'

28

But her Demeter, on whose stalwart arm

She lean'd, took up: 'If thou wilt hark to me,

This Psyche,' said she, 'hath the heavenly charm,

And will become immortal. And maybe

To marry with a woman is as well

As wed a god and live below in Hell:

As 'twas my lot in child of mine to see.'

29

Which things they both said, fearing in their hearts

That savage Eros, if they mockt his case,

Would kill their peace with his revengeful darts,

And bring them haply to a worse disgrace:

But Aphrodite, saying 'Good! my dames;

Behind this smoke I see the spite that flames,'

Left them, and on her journey went apace.

30

For having purposed she would hold no truce

With Psyche or her son, 'twas in her mind

To go forthwith unto the throne of Zeus,

And beg that Hermes might be sent to find

The wanderer; and secure that in such quest

He would not fail, she ponder'd but how best

She might inflict her vengeance long-design'd.

OCTOBER

1

Heavy meanwhile at heart, with bruisèd feet

Was Psyche wandering many nights and days

Upon the paths of hundred-citied Crete,

And chose to step the most deserted ways;

Being least unhappy when she went unseen;

Since else her secret sorrow had no screen

From the plain question of men's idle gaze.

2

Yet wheresoe'er she went one hope she had;

Like mortal mourners, who 'gainst reason strong

Hope to be unexpectedly made glad

With sight of their dead friends, so much they long;

So she for him, whom loss a thousandfold

Endear'd and made desired; nor coud she hold

He would not turn and quite forgive her wrong.

3

Wherefore her eager eyes in every place

Lookt for her lover; and 'twixt hope and fear

She follow'd oft afar some form of grace,

In pain alike to lose or venture near.

And still this thought cheer'd her fatigue, that he,

Or on some hill, or by some brook or tree,

But waited for her coming to appear.

4

And then for comfort many an old love-crost

And doleful ditty would she gently sing,

Writ by sad poets of a lover lost,

Now sounding sweeter for her sorrowing:

_Echo, sweet Echo, watching up on high,

Say hast thou seen to-day my love go by,

Or where thou sittest by thy mossy spring?_

5

_Or say ye nymphs, that from the crystal rills,

When ye have bathed your limbs from morn till eve,

Flying at midnight to the bare-topt hills,

Beneath the stars your mazy dances weave,

Say, my deserter whom ye well may know

By his small wings, his quiver, and his bow,

Say, have ye seen my love, whose loss I grieve?_

6

Till climb'd one evening on a rocky steep

Above the plain of Cisamos, that lay,

Robb'd of its golden harvest, in the deep

Mountainous shadows of the dying day,

She saw a temple, whose tall columns fair

Recall'd her home; and 'O if thou be there,

My love,' she cried, 'fly not again away.'

7

Swiftly she ran, and entering by the door

She stood alone within an empty fane

Of great Demeter: and, behold, the floor

Was litter'd with thank-offerings of grain,

With wheat and barley-sheaves together heapt

In holy harvest-home of them that reapt

The goddess plenteous gifts upon the plain;

8

And on the tithe the tackle of the tithe

Thrown by in such confusion, as are laid

Upon the swath sickle, and hook, and scythe,

When midday drives the reapers to the shade.

And Psyche, since had come no priestess there

To trim the temple, in her pious care

Forgat herself, and lent her duteous aid.

9

She drew the offerings from the midst aside,

And piled the sheaves at every pillar's base;

And sweeping therebetween a passage wide,

Made clear of corn and chaff the temple space:

As countrymen who bring their wheat to mart,

Set out their show along the walls apart

By their allotted stations, each in place;

10

Thus she, and felt no weariness,--such strength

Hath duty to support our feeble frame,--

Till all was set in order, and at length

Up to the threshold of the shrine she came:

When lo! before her face with friendly smile,

Tall as a pillar of the peristyle,

The goddess stood reveal'd, and call'd her name.

11

'Unhappy Psyche,' said she, 'know'st thou not

How Aphrodite to thy hurt is sworn?

And thou, thy peril and her wrath forgot,

Spendest thy thought my temple to adorn.

Take better heed!'--And Psyche, at the voice

Even of so little comfort, gan rejoice,

And at her feet pour'd out this prayer forlorn.

12

'O Gracious giver of the golden grain,

Hide me, I pray thee, from her wrath unkind:

For who can pity as canst thou my pain,

Who wert thyself a wanderer, vex'd in mind

For loss of thy dear Corè once, whenas,

Ravisht to hell by fierce Agesilas,

Thou soughtest her on earth and coudst not find.

13

'How coud thy feet bear thee to western night,

And where swart Libyans watch the sacred tree,

And thrice to ford o'er Achelous bright,

And all the streams of beauteous Sicily?

And thrice to Enna cam'st thou, thrice, they tell,

Satest athirst by Callichorus' well,

Nor tookest of the spring to comfort thee.

14

'By that remember'd anguish of thine heart,

Lady, have pity even on me, and show

Where I may find my love; and take my part

For peace, I pray, against my cruel foe:

Or if thou canst not from her anger shield,

Here let me lie among the sheaves conceal'd

Such time till forth I may in safety go.'

15

Demeter answer'd, 'Nay, though thou constrain

My favour with thy plea, my help must still

Be hidden, else I work for thee in vain

To thwart my mighty sister in her will.

Thou must fly hence: Yet though I not oppose,

Less will I aid her; and if now I close

My temple doors to thee, take it not ill.'

16

Then Psyche's hope founder'd; as when a ship,

The morrow of the gale can hardly ride

The swollen seas, fetching a deeper dip

At every wave, and through her gaping side

And o'er her shattered bulwark ever drinks,

Till plunging in the watery wild she sinks,

To scoop her grave beneath the crushing tide:

17

So with each word her broken spirit drank

Its doom; and overwhelm'd with deep despair

She turn'd away, and coming forth she sank

Silently weeping on the temple stair,

In midmost night, forspent with long turmoil:

But sleep, the gracious pursuivant of toil,

Came swiftly down, and nursed away her care.

18

And when the sun awaked her with his beams

She found new hope, that still her sorrow's cure

Lay with the gods, who in her morning dreams

Had sent her comfort in a vision sure;

Wherein the Cretan-born, almightiest god,

Cloud-gathering Zeus himself had seem'd to nod,

And bid her with good heart her woes endure.

19

So coming that same day unto a shrine

Of Hera, she took courage and went in:

And like to one that to the cell divine

For favour ventures or a suit to win,

She drew anigh the altar, from her face

Wiping the tears, ere to the heavenly grace,

As thus she pray'd, she would her prayer begin.

20

'Most honour'd Lady, who from ancient doom

Wert made heaven's wife, and art on earth besought

With gracious happiness of all to whom

Thy holy wedlock hath my burden brought,

Save me from Aphrodite's fell pursuit,

And guard unto the birth Love's hapless fruit,

Which she for cruel spite would bring to nought.

21

'As once from her thou wert not shamed to take

Her beauty's zone, thy beauty to enhance;

For which again Zeus loved thee, to forsake

His warlike ire in faithful dalliance;

Show me what means may win my Love to me,

Or how that I may come, if so may be,

Within the favour of his countenance.

22

'If there be any place for tears or prayer,

If there be need for succour in distress,

Now is the very hour of all despair,

Here is the heart of grief and bitterness.

Motherly pity, bend thy face and grant

One beam of ruth to thy poor suppliant,

Nor turn me from thine altar comfortless.'

23

Even as she pray'd a cloud spread through the cell,

And 'mid the wreathings of the vapour dim

The goddess grew in glory visible,

Like some barbaric queen in festal trim;

Such the attire and ornaments she wore,

When o'er the forgèd threshold of the floor

Of Zeus's house she stept to visit him.

24

From either ear, ring'd to its piercèd lobe

A triple jewel hung, with gold enchas't;

And o'er her breasts her wide ambrosial robe

With many a shining golden clasp was brac't;

The flowering on its smooth embroider'd lawn

Gather'd to colour where the zone was drawn

In fringe of golden tassels at her waist.

25

Her curling hair with plaited braid and brail,

Pendant or loop'd about her head divine,

Lay hidden half beneath a golden veil,

Bright as the rippling ocean in sunshine:

And on the ground, flashing whene'er she stept,

Beneath her feet the dazzling lightnings lept

From the gold network of her sandals fine.

26

Thus Hera stood in royal guise bedeckt

Before poor Psyche on the stair that knelt,

Whose new-nursed hope at that display was checkt

And all her happier thoughts gan fade and melt.

She saw no kindness in such haughty mien,

And venturing not to look upon the queen,

Bow'd down in woe to hear her sentence dealt.

27

And thus the goddess spake, 'In vain thou suest,

Most miserable Psyche; though my heart

Be full of hate for her whose hate thou ruest,

And pride and pity move me to thy part:

Yet not till Zeus make known his will, coud I,

Least of the blameless gods that dwell on high,

Assist thee, wert thou worthier than thou art.

28

'But know if Eros love thee, that thy hopes

Should rest on him; and I would bid thee go

Where in his mother's house apart he mopes

Grieving for loss of thee in secret woe:

For should he take thee back, there is no power

In earth or heaven will hurt thee from that hour,

Nay, not if Zeus himself should prove thy foe.'

29

Thus saying she was gone, and Psyche now

Surprised by comfort rose and went her way,

Resolved in heart, and only wondering how

'Twas possible to come where Eros lay;

Since that her feet, however she might roam,

Coud never travel to the heavenly home

Of Love, beyond the bounds of mortal day:

30

Yet must she come to him. And now 'twas proved

How that to Lovers, as is told in song,

Seeking the way no place is far removed;

Nor is there any obstacle so strong,

Nor bar so fix'd that it can hinder them:

And how to reach heaven's gate by stratagem

Vex'd not the venturous heart of Psyche long.

31

To face her enemy might well avail:

Wherefore to Cypris' shrine her steps she bent,

Hoping the goddess in her hate might hale

Her body to the skies for punishment,

Whate'er to be; yet now her fiercest wrath

Seem'd happiest fortune, seeing 'twas the path

Whereby alone unto her love she went.

NOVEMBER

1

But Aphrodite to the house of Zeus

Being bound, bade beckon out her milkwhite steeds,

Four doves, that ready to her royal use

In golden cages stood and peck'd the seeds:

Best of the nimble air's high-sailing folk

That wore with pride the marking of her yoke,

And cooed in envy of her gentle needs.

2

These drew in turn her chariot, when in state

Along the heaven with all her train she fared;

And oft in journeying to the skiey gate

Of Zeus's palace high their flight had dared,

Which darkest vapour and thick glooms enshroud

Above all else in the perpetual cloud,

Wherethro' to mount again they stood prepared,

3

Sleeking their feathers, by her shining car;

The same Hephæstos wrought for her, when he,

Bruised in his hideous fall from heaven afar,

Was nursed by Thetis, and Eurynomè,

The daughter of the ever-refluent main;

With whom he dwelt till he grew sound again,

Down in a hollow cave beside the sea:

4

And them for kindness done was prompt to serve,

Forging them brooches rich in make and mode,

Earrings, and supple chains of jointed curve,

And other trinkets, while he there abode:

And none of gods or men knew of his home,

But they two only; and the salt sea-foam

To and fro past his cavern ever flow'd.

5

'Twas then he wrought this work within the cave,

Emboss'd with rich design, a moonèd car;

And when return'd to heaven to Venus gave,

In form imagined like her crescent star;

Which circling nearest earth, maketh at night

To wakeful mortal men shadow and light

Alone of all the stars in heaven that are.

6

Two slender wheels it had, with fretted tires

Of biting adamant, to take firm hold

Of cloud or ether; and their whirling fires

Threw off the air in halo where they roll'd:

And either nave that round the axle turn'd

A ruby was, whose steady crimson burn'd

Betwixt the twin speed-mingling fans of gold.

7

Thereon the naked goddess mounting, shook

The reins; whereat the doves their wings outspread,

And rising high their flight to heaven they took:

And all the birds, that in those courts were bred,

Of her broad eaves the nested families,

Sparrows and swallows, join'd their companies

Awhile and twitter'd to her overhead.

8

But onward she with fading tracks of flame

Sped swiftly, till she reacht her journey's end:

And when within the house of Zeus she came,

She pray'd the Sire of Heaven that he would lend

Hermes, the Argus-slayer, for her hest;

And he being granted her at her request,

She went forthwith to seek him and to send.

9

Who happ'd within the palace then to wait

Upon the almighty pleasure; and her tale

Was quickly told, and he made answer straight

That he would find the truant without fail;

Asking the goddess by what signs her slave

Might best be known, and what the price she gave

For capture, or admitted for the bail.

10

All which he took his silver stile to write

In letters large upon a waxed board;

Her age and name, her colour, face and height,

Her home, and parentage, and the reward:

And then read o'er as 'twas to be proclaim'd.

And she took oath to give the price she named,

Without demur, when Psyche was restored.

11

Then on his head he closely set his cap

With earèd wings erect, and o'er his knee

He cross'd each foot in turn to prove the strap

That bound his wingèd sandals, and shook free

His chlamys, and gat up, and in his hand

Taking his fair white-ribbon'd herald's wand,

Lept forth on air, accoutred cap-a-pè.

12

And piloting along the mid-day sky,

Held southward, till the narrow map of Crete

Lay like a fleck in azure 'neath his eye;

When down he came, and as an eagle fleet

Drops in some combe, then checks his headlong stoop

With wide-flung wing, wheeling in level swoop

To strike the bleating quarry with his feet,

13

Thus he alighted; and in every town

In all the isle before the close of day

Had cried the message, which he carried down,

Of Psyche, Aphrodite's runaway;

That whosoever found the same and caught,

And by such time unto her temple brought,

To him the goddess would this guerdon pay:

14

SIX HONIED KISSES FROM HER ROSY MOUTH

WOULD CYTHEREA GIVE, AND ONE BESIDE

TO QUENCH AT HEART FOR AYE LOVE'S MORTAL DROUTH:

BUT UNTO HIM THAT HID HER, WOE BETIDE!

Which now was on all tongues, and Psyche's name

Herself o'erheard, or ever nigh she came

To Aphrodite's temple where she hied.

15

When since she found her way to heaven was safe,

She only wisht to make it soon and sure;

Nor fear'd to meet the goddess in her chafe,

So she her self-surrender might secure,

And not be given of other for the price;

Nor was there need of any artifice

Her once resplendent beauty to obscure.

16

For now so changed she was by heavy woe,

That for the little likeness that she bore

To her description she was fear'd to go

Within the fane; and when she stood before

The priestess, scarce coud she with oath persuade

That she was Psyche, the renownèd maid,

Whom men had left the temple to adore.

17

But when to Hermes she was shown and given,

He took no doubt, but eager to be quit,

And proud of speed, return'd with her to heaven,

And left her with the proclamation writ,

Hung at her neck, the board with letters large,

At Aphrodite's gate with those in charge;

And up whence first he came made haste to flit.

18

But hapless Psyche fell, for so it chanced,

To moody SYNETHEA'S care, the one

Of Aphrodite's train whom she advanced

To try the work abandon'd by her son.

Who by perpetual presence made ill end

Of good or bad; though she coud both amend,

And merit praise for work by her begun.

19

But she to better thought her heart had shut,

And proved she had a spite beyond compare:

Nor coud the keenest taunts her anger glut,

Which she when sour'd was never wont to spare:

And now she mock'd at Psyche's shame and grief,

As only she might do, and to her chief

Along the courtyard dragg'd her by the hair.

20

Nor now was Aphrodite kinder grown:

Having her hated rival in her power,

She laught for joy, and in triumphant tone

Bade her a merry welcome to her bower:

''Tis fit indeed daughters-in-law should wait

Upon their mothers; but thou comest late,

Psyche; I lookt for thee before this hour.

21

'And yet,' thus gave she rein to jeer and gibe,

'Forgive me if I held thee negligent,

Or if accustom'd vanity ascribe

An honour to myself that was not meant.

Thy lover is it, who so dearly prized

The pretty soul, then left her and despised?

To him more like thy heavenward steps were bent:

22

'Nor without reason: Zeus, I tell thee, swoon'd

To hear the story of the drop of oil,

The revelation and the ghastly wound:

My merriment is but my fear's recoil.

But if my son was unkind, thou shalt see

How kind a goddess can his mother be

To bring thy tainted honour clear of soil.'

23

And so, to match her promise with her mirth,

Two of her ministers she call'd in ken,

That work the melancholy of the earth;

MERIMNA that with care perplexes, when

The hearts of mortals have the gods forgot,

And LYPÈ, that her sorrow spares them not,

When mortals have forgot their fellow men.

24

These, like twin sharks that in a fair ship's wake

Swim constant, showing 'bove the water blue

Their shearing fins, and hasty ravin make

Of overthrow or offal, so these two

On Aphrodite's passing follow hard;

And now she offer'd to their glut's regard

Sweet Psyche, with command their wont to do.

25

But in what secret chamber their foul task

These soul-tormentors plied, or what their skill,

Pity of tender nature may not ask,

Nor poet stain his rhyme with such an ill.

But they at last themselves turn'd from their rack,

Weary of cruelty, and led her back,

Saying that further torture were to kill.

26

Then when the goddess saw her, more she mockt

'Art thou the woman of the earth,' she said,

'That hast in sorceries mine Eros lockt,

And stood thyself for worship in my stead?

Looking that I should pity thee, or care

For what illicit offspring thou may'st bear;

Or let thee to that god my son be wed?

27

'I know thy trick; and thou art one of them

Who steal love's favour in the gentle way,

Wearing submission for a diadem,

Patience and suffering for thy rich array:

Thou wilt be modest, kind, implicit, so

To rest thy wily spirit out of show

That it may leap the livelier into play:

28

'Devout at doing nothing, if so be

The grace become thee well; but active yet

Above all others be there none to see

Thy business, and thine eager face asweat.

Lo! I will prove thy talent: thou may'st live,

And all that thou desirest will I give,

If thou perform the task which I shall set.'

29

She took her then aside, and bade her heed

A heap of grains piled high upon the floor,

Millet and mustard, hemp and poppy seed,

And fern-bloom's undistinguishable spore,

All kinds of pulse, of grasses, and of spice,

Clover and linseed, rape, and corn, and rice,

Dodder, and sesame, and many more.

30

'Sort me these seeds' she said; 'it now is night,

I will return at morning; if I find

That thou hast separated all aright,

Each grain from other grain after its kind,

And set them in unmingl'd heaps apart,

Then shall thy wish be granted to thine heart.

Whereat she turn'd, and closed the door behind.

FOURTH QUARTER

WINTER

PSYCHE'S TRIALS AND RECEPTION

INTO HEAVEN

DECEMBER

1

A single lamp there stood beside the heap,

And shed thereon its mocking golden light;

Such as might tempt the weary eye to sleep

Rather than prick the nerve of taskèd sight.

Yet Psyche, not to fail for lack of zeal,

With good will sat her down to her ordeal,

Sorting the larger seeds as best she might.

2

When lo! upon the wall, a shadow past

Of doubtful shape, across the chamber dim

Moving with speed: and seeing nought that cast

The shade, she bent her down the flame to trim;

And there the beast itself, a little ant,

Climb'd up in compass of the lustre scant,

Upon the bowl of oil ran round the rim.

3

Smiling to see the creature of her fear

So dwarf'd by truth, she watcht him where he crept,

For mere distraction telling in his ear

What straits she then was in, and telling wept.

Whereat he stood and trim'd his horns; but ere

Her tale was done resumed his manner scare,

Ran down, and on his way in darkness kept.

4

But she intent drew forth with dextrous hand

The larger seeds, or push'd the smaller back,

Or light from heavy with her breathing fan'd.

When suddenly she saw the floor grow black,

And troops of ants, flowing in noiseless train,

Moved to the hill of seeds, as o'er a plain

Armies approach a city for attack;

5

And gathering on the grain, began to strive

With grappling horns: and each from out the heap

His burden drew, and all their motion live

Struggled and slid upon the surface steep.

And Psyche wonder'd, watching them, to find

The creatures separated kind from kind:

Till dizzied with the sight she fell asleep.

6

And when she woke 'twas with the morning sound

Of Aphrodite's anger at the door,

Whom high amaze stay'd backward, as she found

Her foe asleep with all her trouble o'er:

And round the room beheld, in order due,

The piles arranged distinct and sorted true,

Grain with grain, seed with seed, and spore with spore.

7

She fiercely cried 'Thou shalt not thus escape;

For to this marvel dar'st thou not pretend.

There is but one that could this order shape,

Demeter,--but I knew her not thy friend.

Therefore another trial will I set,

In which she cannot aid thee nor abet,

But thou thyself must bring it fair to end.'

8

Thereon she sped her to the bounds of Thrace,

And set her by a river deep and wide,

And said 'To east beyond this stream, a race

Of golden-fleecèd sheep at pasture bide.

Go seek them out; and this thy task, to pull

But one lock for me of their precious wool,

And give it in my hands at eventide:

9

'This do and thou shalt have thy heart's desire.'

Which said, she fled and left her by the stream:

And Psyche then, with courage still entire,

Had plunged therein; but now of great esteem

Her life she rated, while it lent a spell

Wherein she yet might hope to quit her well,

And in one winning all her woes redeem.

10

There as she stood in doubt, a fluting voice

Rose from the flood, 'Psyche, be not afraid

To hear a reed give tongue, for 'twas of choice

That I from mortal flesh a plant was made.

My name is Syrinx; once from mighty Pan

Into the drowning river as I ran,

A fearful prayer my steps for ever stay'd.

11

'But by that change in many climes I live;

And Pan, my lover, who to me alone

Is true and does me honour, I forgive--

Nor if I speak in sorrow is't my own:

Rather for thee my voice I now uplift

To warn thee plunge not in the river swift,

Nor seek the golden sheep to men unknown.

12

'If thou should cross the stream, which may not be,

Thou coudst not climb upon the hanging rocks,

Nor ever, as the goddess bade thee, see

The pasture of the yellow-fleecèd flocks:

Or if thou coud, their herded horns would gore

And slay thee on the crags, or thrust thee o'er

Ere thou coudst rob them of their golden locks.

13

'The goddess means thy death. But I can show

How thy obedience yet may thwart her will.

At noon the golden flocks descend below,

Leaving the scented herbage of the hill,

And where the shelving banks to shallows fall,

Drink at the rippling water one and all,

Nor back return till they have drawn their fill.

14

'I will command a thornbush, that it stoop

Over some ram that steppeth by in peace,

And him in all its prickles firmly coop,

Making thee seizure of his golden fleece;

So without peril of his angry horns

Shalt thou be quit: for he upon the thorns

Must leave his ransom ere he win release.'

15

Then Psyche thankt her for her kind befriending,

And hid among the rushes looking east;

And when noon came she saw the flock descending

Out of the hills; and lo! one golden beast

Caught in a thornbush; and the mighty brute

Struggl'd and tore it from its twisted root

Into the stream, or e'er he was releas't.

16

And when they water'd were and gone, the breeze

Floated the freighted thorn where Psyche lay:

Whence she unhook'd the golden wool at ease,

And back to heaven for passage swift gan pray.

And Hermes, who was sent to be her guide

Ifso she lived, came down at eventide,

And bore her thither ere the close of day.

17

But when the goddess saw the locks of gold

Held to her hands, her heart with wrath o'erran:

'Most desperate thou, and by abetting bold,

That dost outwit me, prove thee as I can.

Yet this work is not thine: there is but one

Of all the gods who coud the thing have done.

Hast thou a friend too in the lusty Pan?

18

'I'll give thee trial where he cannot aid.'

Which said, she led her to a torrid land,

Level and black, but not with flood or shade,

For nothing coud the mighty heat withstand,

Which aye from morn till eve the naked sun

Pour'd on that plain, where never foot had run,

Nor any herb sprung on its molten sand.

19

Far off a gloomy mountain rose alone:

And Aphrodite, thither pointing, said

'There lies thy task. Out of the topmost stone

Of yonder hill upwells a fountain head.

Take thou this goblet; brimming must thou bring

Its cup with water from that sacred spring,

If ever to my son thou wouldst be wed.'

20

Saying, she gave into her hands a bowl

Cut of one crystal, open, broad and fair;

And bade her at all hazard keep it whole,

For heaven held nought beside so fine or rare.

Then was she gone; and Psyche on the plain

Now doubted if she ever should regain

The love of Eros, strove she howsoe'er.

21

Yet as a helmsman, at the word to tack,

Swiftly without a thought puts down his helm,

So Psyche turn'd to tread that desert black,

Since was no fear that coud her heart o'erwhelm;

Nor knew she that she went the fount to seek

Of cold Cocytus, springing to the peak,

Secretly from his source in Pluto's realm.

22

All night and day she journey'd, and at last

Come to the rock gazed up in vain around:

Nothing she saw but precipices vast

O'er ruined scarps, with rugged ridges crown'd:

And creeping to a cleft to rest in shade,

Or e'er the desperate venture she assay'd,

She fell asleep upon the stony ground.

23

A dream came to her, thus: she stood alone

Within her palace in the high ravine;

Where nought but she was changed, but she to stone.

Worshippers throng'd the court, and still were seen

Folk flying from the peak, who, ever more

Flying and flying, lighted on the floor,

_Hail!_ cried they, _wife of Eros, adorèd queen_!

24

A hurtling of the battl'd air disturb'd

Her sunken sense, and waked her eyes to meet

The kingly bird of Zeus, himself that curb'd

His swooping course, alighting at her feet;

With motion gentle, his far-darting eye

In kindness dim'd upon her, he drew nigh,

And thus in words unveil'd her foe's deceit:

25

'In vain, poor Psyche, hast thou hither striven

Across the fiery plain toiling so well;

Cruelly to destruction art thou driven

By her, whose hate thou canst not quit nor quell.

No mortal foot may scale this horrid mount,

And those black waters of its topmost fount

Are guarded by the hornèd snakes of hell.

26

'Its little rill is an upleaping jet

Of cold Cocytus, which for ever licks

Earth's base, and when with Acheron 'tis met,

Its waters with that other cannot mix,

Which holds the elemental air dissolved;

But with it in its ceaseless course revolved

Issues unmingl'd in the lake of Styx.

27

'The souls of murderers, in guise of fish,

Scream as they swim therein and wail for cold,

Their times of woe determined by the wish

Of them they murder'd on the earth of old:

Whom each five years they see, whene'er they make

Their passage to the Acherusian lake,

And there release may win from pains condoled.

28

'For if the pitying ear of them they slew

Be haply piercèd by their voices spare,

Then are they freed from pain; as are some few,

But, for the most, again they forward fare

To Tartarus obscene, and outcast thence

Are hurried back into the cold intense,

And with new company their torments share.

29

'Its biting lymph may not be touch'd of man

Or god, unless the Fates have so ordain'd;

Nor coud I in thy favour break the ban,

Nor pass the dragons that thereby are chain'd,

Didst thou not bear the sacred cup of Zeus;

Which, for thy peril lent, shall turn to use,

And truly do the service which it feign'd.'

30

Thus as he spake, his talons made he ring

Around the crystal bowl, and soaring high

Descended as from heaven upon the spring:

Nor dared the hornèd snakes of hell deny

The minister of Zeus, that bore his cup,

To fill it with their trusted water up,

Thence to the King of heaven therewith to fly.

31

But he to Psyche bent his gracious speed,

And bidding her to mount his feather'd back

Bore her aloft as once young Ganymede;

Nor ever made his steady flight to slack,

Ere that he set her down beside her goal,

And gave into her hands the crystal bowl

Unspill'd, o'erbrimming with the water black.

JANUARY

1

But Eros now recover'd from his hurt,

Felt other pangs; for who would not relent

Weighing the small crime and unmatch'd desert

Of Psyche with her cruel punishment?

And shamed he grew to be so near allied

To her, who by her taunts awoke his pride,

As his compassion by her spite unspent.

2

Which Aphrodite seeing, wax'd more firm

That he should never meet with Psyche more;

And had in thought already set the term

To their communion with that trial sore,

Which sent her forth upon a quest accurst,

And not to be accomplisht, that of thirst

She there might perish on hell's torrid shore.

3

And now it chanced that she had called her son

Into her presence-chamber, to unfold

Psyche's destruction, that her fate might stun

What love remained by duty uncontrol'd;

And he to hide his tears' rebellious storm

Was fled; when in his place another form

Rose 'neath the golden lintel; and behold

4

Psyche herself, in slow and balanced strain,

Poising the crystal bowl with fearful heed,

Her eyes at watch upon the steadied plane,

And whole soul gather'd in the single deed.

Onward she came, and stooping to the floor

Set down the cup unspill'd and brimming o'er

At Aphrodite's feet, and rose up freed.

5

Surprise o'ercame the goddess, and she too

Stood like a statue, but with passion pale:

Till, when her victim nothing spake, she threw

Some kindness in her voice, and bade her hail;

But in the smiling judge 'twas plain to see--

Saying 'What water bringst thou here to me?'--

That justice over hate should not prevail.

6

Then Psyche said 'This is the biting flood

Of black Cocytus, silver'd with the gleam

Of souls, that guilty of another's blood

Are pent therein, and as they swim they scream.

The hornèd snakes of hell, upon the mount

Enchain'd, for ever guard the livid fount:

And but the Fates can grant to touch the stream.'

7

'Wherefore,' the goddess cried, ''tis plain that none

But one I wot of coud this thing have wrought.

That which another doth may well be done,

Nor thou the nearer to my promise brought.

Thou buildest on a hope to be destroy'd,

If thou accept conditions, and avoid

Thy parcel, nor thyself accomplish aught.

8

'Was it not kindness in me, being averse

To all thy wish, to yield me thus to grant

Thy heart's desire,--and nothing loathe I worse,--

If thou wouldst only work as well as want?

See, now I will not yet be all denial,

But offer thee one last determining trial;

And let it be a mutual covenant:

9

'This box,' and in her hands she took a pyx

Square-cut, of dark obsidian's rarest green,

'Take; and therewith beyond Tartarean Styx

Go thou, and entering Hades' house obscene,

Say to Persephonè, _If 'tis thy will

To shew me so much favour, prithee fill

This little vase with beauty for Love's queen_.

10

'_She begs but what shall well o'erlast a day;

For of her own was much of late outspent

In nursing of her son, in bed who lay

Wounded by me, who for the gift am sent._

Then bring me what she gives, and with all speed;

For truth to say I stand, thou seest, in need

Of some such charm in my disparagement.

11

'If thou return to me with that acquist,

Having thyself the journey made, I swear

That day to give thee whatsoe'er thou list,

An be it my son. Now, Psyche, wilt thou dare?'

And Psyche said 'If this thou truly mean,

I will go down to Tartarus obscene,

And beg of Hades' queen thy beauty there.

12

'Show me the way.' But Aphrodite said,

'That may'st thou find. Yet I will place thee whence

A way there is: mortals have on it sped;

Ay, and return'd thereby: so let us hence.'

Then swift to earth her willing prey she bore,

And left her on the wide Laconian shore,

Alone, at midnight, in the darkness dense.

13

'Twas winter; and as shivering Psyche sat

Waiting for morn, she question'd in her mind

What place the goddess meant, arrived whereat

She might descend to hell, or how should find

The way which Gods to living men deny.

'No Orpheus, nay, nor Hercules am I,'

Said she, 'to loosen where the great Gods bind.'

14

And when at length the long-delaying dawn

Broke on the peaks of huge Taÿgetus,

And Psyche through the skirts of dark withdrawn

Look'd on that promontory mountainous,

And saw high-crested Taleton in snow,

Her heart sank, and she wept with head bent low

The malice of her foe dispiteous.

15

And seeing near at hand an ancient tower,

Deserted now, but once a hold of men,

She came thereto, and, though 'twas all her power,

Mounted its steep unbroken stair again.

'Surely,' she said, for now a second time

She thought to die--'this little height I climb

Will prove my shortest road to Pluto's den.

16

'Hence must I come to Tartarus; once there

Turn as I may,' and straight to death had sprung;

When in the mossy tower the imprison'd air

Was shaken, and the hoary stones gave tongue,

'Stand firm! Stand firm!' that rugged voice outcried;

'Of such as choose despondency for guide

Hast thou not heard what bitterest fate is sung?

17

'Hearken; for I the road and means can teach

How thou may'st come to hell and yet escape.

And first must thou, that upper gate to reach,

Along these seagirt hills thy journey shape,

To where the land in sea dips furthest South

At Tænarus and Hades' earthly mouth,

Hard by Poseidon's temple at the cape.

18

'Thereby may one descend: but they that make

That passage down must go provided well.

So take in either hand a honey-cake

Of pearlèd barley mix'd with hydromel;

And in thy mouth two doits, first having bound

The pyx beneath thy robe enwrap'd around:

Thus set thou forth; and mark what more I tell.

19

'When thou hast gone alone some half thy road

Thou wilt o'ertake a lame outwearied ass;

And one that beats him, tottering 'neath his load

Of loosely bundl'd wood, will cry _Alas;

Help me, kind friend, my faggots to adjust_!

But thou that silly cripple's words mistrust;

'Tis planted for thy death. Note it and pass.

20

'And when thy road the Stygian river joins,

Where woolly Charon ferries o'er the dead,

He will demand his fare: one of thy coins

Force with thy tongue between thy teeth, thy head

Offering instead of hand to give the doit.

His fingers in this custom are adroit,

And thine must not set down the barleybread.

21

'Then in his crazy bark as, ferrying o'er

The stream, thou sittest, one that seems to float

Rather than swim, midway 'twixt shore and shore,

Will stretch his fleshless hand upon the boat,

And beg thee of thy pity take him in.

Shut thy soft ear unto his clamour thin,

Nor for a phantom deed thyself devote.

22

'Next, on the further bank when thou art stept,

Three wizen'd women weaving at the woof

Will stop, and pray thee in their art adept

To free their tangl'd threads. Hold thou aloof;

For this and other traps thy foe hath plan'd

To make thee drop the cakes out of thy hand,

Putting thy prudence to perpetual proof.

23

'For by one cake thou comest into Hell,

And by one cake departest; since the hound

That guards the gate is ever pleasèd well

To taste man's meal, or sweeten'd grain unground.

Cast him a cake; for that thou may'st go free

Even to the mansion of Persephonè,

Withouten stay or peril, safe and sound.

24

'She will receive thee kindly; thou decline

Her courtesies, and make the floor thy seat;

Refusing what is offer'd, food or wine;

Save only beg a crust of bread to eat.

Then tell thy mission, and her present take;

Which when thou hast, set forth with pyx and cake,

One in each hand, while yet thou may'st retreat.

25

'Giving thy second cake to Cerberus,

The coin to Charon, and that way whereby

Thou camest following, thou comest thus

To see again the starry choir on high.

But guard thou well the pyx, nor once uplift

The lid to look on Persephassa's gift;

Else 'tis in vain I bid thee now not die.'

26

Then Psyche thank'd the tower, and stoopt her mouth

To kiss the stones upon his rampart hoary;

And coming down his stair went hasting south,

Along the steep Tænarian promontory;

And found the cave and temple by the cape,

And took the cakes and coins, and made escape

Beneath the earth, according to his story.

27

And overtook the ass, but lent no aid;

And offer'd Charon with her teeth his fee;

And pass'd the floating ghost, in vain who pray'd;

And turned her back upon the weavers three;

And threw the honey-cake to that hell-hound

Three-headed Cerberus; and safe and sound,

Came to the mansion of Persephonè.

28

Kindly received, she courtesy declined:

Sat on the ground; ate not, save where she lay,

A crust of bread; reveal'd the goddess' mind;

The gift took; and return'd upon her way:

Gave Cerberus his cake, Charon his fare,

And saw through Hell's mouth to the purple air

And one by one the keen stars melt in day.

29

Awhile from so long journeying in the shades

Resting at Tænarus she came to know

How, up the eastern coast some forty stades,

There stood a temple of her goddess foe.

There would she make her offering, there reclaim

The prize, which now 'twas happiness to name,

The joy that should redeem all passèd woe.

30

And wending by the sunny shore at noon,

She with her pyx, and wondering what it hid,

Of what kind, what the fashion of the boon

Coud be, that she to look on was forbid,--

Alas for Innocence so hard to teach!--

At fancy's prick she sat her on the beach,

And to content desire lifted the lid.

31

She saw within nothing: But o'er her sight

That looked on nothing gan a darkness creep.

A cloudy poison, mix'd of Stygian night,

Rapt her to deadly and infernal sleep.

Backward she fell, like one when all is o'er,

And lay outstretch'd, as lies upon the shore

A drown'd corpse cast up by the murmuring deep.

FEBRUARY

1

While Eros in his chamber hid his tears,

Mourning the loss of Psyche and her fate,

The rumour of her safety reacht his ears

And how she came to Aphrodite's gate:

Whereat with hope return'd his hardihood,

And secretly he purposed while he coud

Himself to save her from the goddess' hate.

2

Then learning what he might and guessing more,

His ready wit came soon to understand

The journey to the far Laconian shore;

Whither to fly and seek his love he plan'd:

And making good escape in dark of night,

Ere the sun crost his true meridian flight

He by Teuthronè struck the southern strand.

3

There as it chanct he found that snowy bird

Of Crete, that late made mischief with his queen,

And now along the cliffs with wings unstir'd

Sail'd, and that morn had cross'd the sea between:

Whom as he past he hail'd, and question'd thus,

'O snowy gull, if thou from Tænarus

Be come, say, hast thou there my Psyche seen?'

4

The gull replied 'Thy Psyche have I seen;

Walking beside the sea she joy'th to bear

A pyx of dark obsidian's rarest green,

Wherein she gazeth on her features fair.

She is not hence by now six miles at most.'

Then Eros bade him speed, and down the coast

Held on his passage through the buoyant air.

5

With eager eye he search'd the salty marge,

Boding all mischief from his mother's glee;

And wondering of her wiles, and what the charge

Shut in the dark obsidian pyx might be.

And lo! at last, outstretch'd beside the rocks,

Psyche as lifeless; and the open box

Laid with the weedy refuse of the sea.

6

He guess'd all, flew down, and beside her knelt,

With both his hands stroking her temples wan;

And for the poison with his fingers felt,

And drew it gently from her; and anon

She slowly from those Stygian fumes was freed;

Which he with magic handling and good heed

Replaced in pyx, and shut the lid thereon.

7

'O Psyche,' thus, and kissing her he cried,

'O simple-hearted Psyche, once again

Hast thou thy foolish longing gratified,

A second time hath prying been thy bane.

But lo! I, love, am come, for I am thine:

Nor ever more shall any fate malign,

Or spite of goddess smite our love in twain.

8

'Let now that I have saved thee twice outweigh

The once that I deserted thee: and thou

Hast much obey'd for once to disobey,

And wilt no more my bidding disallow.

Take up thy pyx; to Aphrodite go,

And claim the promise of thy mighty foe;

Maybe that she will grant it to thee now.

9

'If she should yet refuse, despair not yet!'

Then Psyche, when she felt his arms restore

Their old embrace, and as their bodies met,

Knew the great joy that grief is pardon'd for;

And how it doth first ecstasy excel,

When love well-known, long-lost, and mournèd well

In long days of no hope, comes home once more.

10

But Eros leaping up with purpose keen

Into the air, as only love can fly,

Bore her to heaven, and setting her unseen

At Aphrodite's golden gate,--whereby

They came as night was close on twilight dim,--

There left, and bidding her say nought of him

Went onward to the house of Zeus most high.

11

Where winning audience of the heavenly sire,

Who well disposed to him was used to be,

He told the story of his strong desire;

And boldly begg'd that Zeus would grant his plea

That he might have sweet Psyche for his wife,

And she be dower'd with immortal life,

Since she was worthy, by his firm decree.

12

And great Zeus smiled; and at the smile of Zeus

All heaven was glad, and on the earth below

Was calm and peace awhile and sorrow's truce:

The sun shone forth and smote the winter snow,

The flowërs sprang, the birds gan sing and pair,

And mortals, as they drew the brighten'd air,

Marvel'd, and quite forgot their common woe.

13

Yet gave the Thunderer not his full consent

Without some words: 'At length is come the day,'

Thus spake he, 'when for all thy youth misspent,

Thy mischief-making and thy wanton play

Thou art upgrown to taste the sweet and sour:

Good shall it work upon thee: from this hour

Look we for better things. And this I say,

14

'That since thy birth, which all we took for bliss,

Thou hast but mock'd us; and no less on me

Hast brought disfavour and contempt, ywiss,

Than others that have had to do with thee:

Till only such as vow'd themselves aloof

From thee and thine were held in good approof;

And few there were, who thus of shame went free.

15

'That punishment is shapen as reward

Is like thy fortune: but our good estate

We honour, while we sit to be adored:

And thus 'twas written in the book of Fate.

Not for thy pleasure, but the general weal

Grant I the grace for which thou here dost kneel;

And that which I determine shall not wait.'

16

So wingèd Hermes through the heaven he sped,

To warn the high celestials to his hall,

Where they should Psyche see with Eros wed,

And keep the day with feast ambrosial.

And Hermes, flying through the skiey ways

Of high Olympus, spread sweet Psyche's praise,

And bade the mighty gods obey his call.

17

Then all the Kronian gods and goddesses

Assembl'd at his cry,--and now 'twas known

Why Zeus had smiled,--the lesser majesties

Attending them before his royal throne.

Athena, mistress good of them that know,

Came, and Apollo, warder off of woe,

Who had to Psyche's sire her fate foreshown;

18

Demeter, giver of the golden corn,

Fair Hebe, honour'd at her Attic shrine,

And Artemis with hunting spear and horn,

And Dionysos, planter of the vine,

With old Poseidon from the barren sea,

And Leto, and the lame Hephæstos, he

Himself who built those halls with skill divine.

19

And ruddy Pan with many a quip and quirk

Air'd 'mong those lofty gods his mirth illbred,

Bearing a mighty bowl of cretan work:

Stern Arês, with his crisp hair helmeted,

Came, and retirèd Hestia, and the god

Hermes, with wingèd cap and ribbon'd rod,

By whom the company was heralded.

20

And Hera sat by Zeus, and all around

The Muses, that of learning make their choice;

Who, when Apollo struck his strings to sound,

Sang in alternate music with sweet voice:

And righteous Themis, and the Graces three

Ushering the anger'd Aphrodite; she

Alone of all were there might not rejoice

21

But ere they sat to feast, Zeus bade them fill

The cup ambrosial of immortal life,

And said 'If Psyche drink,--and 'tis my will,--

There is an end of this unhappy strife.

Nor can the goddess, whose mislike had birth

From too great honour paid the bride on earth,

Forbid her any more for Eros' wife.'

22

Then Aphrodite said 'So let it be.'

And Psyche was brought in, with such a flush

Of joy upon her face, as there to see

Was fairer to love's eye than beauty's blush.

And then she drank the eternal wine, whose draught

Can Terror cease: which flesh hath never quafft,

Nor doth it flow from grape that mortals crush.

23

And next stood Eros forth, and took her hand,

And kisst her happy face before them all:

And Zeus proclaim'd them married, and outban'd

From heaven whoever should that word miscall.

And then all sat to feast, and one by one

Pledged Psyche ere they drank and cried _Well done!_

And merry laughter rang throughout the hall.

24

So thus was Eros unto Psyche wed,

The heavenly bridegroom to his earthly bride,

Who won his love, in simple maidenhead:

And by her love herself she glorified,

And him from wanton wildness disinclined;

Since in his love for her he came to find

A joy unknown through all Olympus wide.

25

And Psyche for her fall was quite forgiven,

Since 'gainst herself when tempted to rebel,

By others' malice on her ruin driven,

Only of sweet simplicity she fell:--

Wherein who fall may fall unto the skies;--

And being foolish she was yet most wise,

And took her trials patiently and well.

26

And Aphrodite since her full defeat

Is kinder and less jealous than before,

And smiling on them both, calls Psyche sweet;

But thinks her son less manly than of yore:

Though still she holds his arm of some renown,

When he goes smiting mortals up and down,

Piercing their marrow with his weapons sore.

27

_So now in steadfast love and happy state_

They hold for aye their mansion in the sky,

And send down heavenly peace on those who mate,

In virgin love, to find their joy thereby:

Whom gently Eros shooteth, and apart

Keepeth for them from all his sheaf that dart

Which Psyche in his chamber pickt to try.

28

Now in that same month Psyche bare a child,

Who straight in heaven was named Hedonè

In mortal tongues by other letters styled;

Whom all to love, however named, agree:

Whom in our noble English JOY we call,

And honour them among us most of all,

Whose happy children are as fair as she.

29

_ENVOY_

IT IS MY PRAYER THAT SHE MAY SMILE ON ALL

WHO READ MY TALE AS SHE HATH SMILED ON ME.

THE GROWTH OF LOVE

[Illustration: decoration]

_PREVIOUS EDITIONS_

1. _XXIV Sonnets. Ed. Bumpus, 1876._

2. _LXXIX Sonnets. Daniel Press, 1889.

This edition was copied in America._

3. _Do. do. Black letter. 1890._

4. _LXIX Sonnets. Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. I, 1898._

THE GROWTH

OF LOVE

1

They that in play can do the thing they would,

Having an instinct throned in reason's place,

--And every perfect action hath the grace

Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood--

These are the best: yet be there workmen good

Who lose in earnestness control of face,

Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base

Reach to their end by steps well understood.

Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains

Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve,

--Even as a painter breathlessly who strains

His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve--

Behold me, now that I have cast my chains,

Master of the art which for thy sake I serve.

2

For thou art mine: and now I am ashamed

To have usèd means to win so pure acquist,

And of my trembling fear that might have misst

Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd;

And am as happy but to hear thee named,

As are those gentle souls by angels kisst

In pictures seen leaving their marble cist

To go before the throne of grace unblamed.

Nor surer am I water hath the skill

To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed

In delicate ordination as I will,

Than that to be myself is all I need

For thee to be most mine: so I stand still,

And save to taste my joy no more take heed.

3

The whole world now is but the minister

Of thee to me: I see no other scheme

But universal love, from timeless dream

Waking to thee his joy's interpreter.

I walk around and in the fields confer

Of love at large with tree and flower and stream,

And list the lark descant upon my theme,

Heaven's musical accepted worshipper.

Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud

'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce;

And nature now dearly with thee endued

No more in shame ponders her old excuse,

But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude,

So kindly hath she grown to her new use.

4

The very names of things belov'd are dear,

And sounds will gather beauty from their sense,

As many a face thro' love's long residence

Groweth to fair instead of plain and sere:

But when I say thy name it hath no peer,

And I suppose fortune determined thence

Her dower, that such beauty's excellence

Should have a perfect title for the ear.

Thus may I think the adopting Muses chose

Their sons by name, knowing none would be heard

Or writ so oft in all the world as those,--

Dan Chaucer, mighty Shakespeare, then for third

The classic Milton, and to us arose

Shelley with liquid music in the word.

5

The poets were good teachers, for they taught

Earth had this joy; but that 'twould ever be

That fortune should be perfected in me,

My heart of hope dared not engage the thought.

So I stood low, and now but to be caught

By any self-styled lords of the age with thee

Vexes my modesty, lest they should see

I hold them owls and peacocks, things of nought.

And when we sit alone, and as I please

I taste thy love's full smile, and can enstate

The pleasure of my kingly heart at ease,

My thought swims like a ship, that with the weight

Of her rich burden sleeps on the infinite seas

Becalm'd, and cannot stir her golden freight.

6

While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry

And blackening east that so embitters March,

Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch,

And driven dust and withering snowflake fly:

Already in glimpses of the tarnish'd sky

The sun is warm and beckons to the larch,

And where the covert hazels interarch

Their tassell'd twigs, fair beds of primrose lie.

Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid

A million buds but stay their blossoming;

And trustful birds have built their nests amid

The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing

Till one soft shower from the south shall bid,

And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring.

7

In thee my spring of life hath bid the while

A rose unfold beyond the summer's best,

The mystery of joy made manifest

In love's self-answering and awakening smile,

Whereby the lips in wonder reconcile

Passion with peace, and show desire at rest,--

A grace of silence by the Greek unguesst,

That bloom'd to immortalize the Tuscan style:

When first the angel-song that faith hath ken'd

Fancy pourtray'd, above recorded oath

Of Israel's God, or light of poem pen'd;

The very countenance of plighted troth

'Twixt heaven and earth, where in one moment blend

The hope of one and happiness of both.

8

For beauty being the best of all we know

Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims

Of nature, and on joys whose earthly names

Were never told can form and sense bestow;

And man hath sped his instinct to outgo

The step of science; and against her shames

Imagination stakes out heavenly claims,

Building a tower above the head of woe.

Nor is there fairer work for beauty found

Than that she win in nature her release

From all the woes that in the world abound:

Nay with his sorrow may his love increase,

If from man's greater need beauty redound,

And claim his tears for homage of his peace.

9

Thus to thy beauty doth my fond heart look,

That late dismay'd her faithless faith forbore;

And wins again her love lost in the lore

Of schools and script of many a learned book:

For thou what ruthless death untimely took

Shalt now in better brotherhood restore,

And save my batter'd ship that far from shore

High on the dismal deep in tempest shook.

So in despite of sorrow lately learn'd

I still hold true to truth since thou art true,

Nor wail the woe which thou to joy hast turn'd:

Nor come the heavenly sun and bathing blue

To my life's need more splendid and unearn'd

Than hath thy gift outmatch'd desire and due.

10

Winter was not unkind because uncouth;

His prison'd time made me a closer guest,

And gave thy graciousness a warmer zest,

Biting all else with keen and angry tooth:

And bravelier the triumphant blood of youth

Mantling thy cheek its happy home possest,

And sterner sport by day put strength to test,

And custom's feast at night gave tongue to truth.

Or say hath flaunting summer a device

To match our midnight revelry, that rang

With steel and flame along the snow-girt ice?

Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang

On dewy eves in spring, did they entice

To gentler love than winter's icy fang?

11

There's many a would-be poet at this hour,

Rhymes of a love that he hath never woo'd,

And o'er his lamplit desk in solitude

Deems that he sitteth in the Muses' bower:

And some the flames of earthly love devour,

Who have taken no kiss of Nature, nor renew'd

In the world's wilderness with heavenly food

The sickly body of their perishing power.

So none of all our company, I boast,

But now would mock my penning, coud they see

How down the right it maps a jagged coast;

Seeing they hold the manlier praise to be

Strong hand and will, and the heart best when most

'Tis sober, simple, true, and fancy-free.

12

How coud I quarrel or blame you, most dear,

Who all thy virtues gavest and kept back none;

Kindness and gentleness, truth without peer,

And beauty that my fancy fed upon?

Now not my life's contrition for my fault

Can blot that day, nor work me recompence,

Tho' I might worthily thy worth exalt,

Making thee long amends for short offence.

For surely nowhere, love, if not in thee

Are grace and truth and beauty to be found;

And all my praise of these can only be

A praise of thee, howe'er by thee disown'd:

While still thou must be mine tho' far removed,

And I for one offence no more beloved.

13

Now since to me altho' by thee refused

The world is left, I shall find pleasure still;

The art that most I have loved but little used

Will yield a world of fancies at my will:

And tho' where'er thou goest it is from me,

I where I go thee in my heart must bear;

And what thou wert that wilt thou ever be,

My choice, my best, my loved, and only fair.

Farewell, yet think not such farewell a change

From tenderness, tho' once to meet or part

But on short absence so coud sense derange

That tears have graced the greeting of my heart;

They were proud drops and had my leave to fall,

Not on thy pity for my pain to call.

14

When sometimes in an ancient house where state

From noble ancestry is handed on,

We see but desolation thro' the gate,

And richest heirlooms all to ruin gone;

Because maybe some fancied shame or fear,

Bred of disease or melancholy fate,

Hath driven the owner from his rightful sphere

To wander nameless save to pity or hate:

What is the wreck of all he hath in fief,

When he that hath is wrecking? nought is fine

Unto the sick, nor doth it burden grief

That the house perish when the soul doth pine.

Thus I my state despise, slain by a sting

So slight 'twould not have hurt a meaner thing.

15

Who builds a ship must first lay down the keel

Of health, whereto the ribs of mirth are wed:

And knit, with beams and knees of strength, a bed

For decks of purity, her floor and ceil.

Upon her masts, Adventure, Pride, and Zeal,

To fortune's wind the sails of purpose spread:

And at the prow make figured maidenhead

O'erride the seas and answer to the wheel.

And let him deep in memory's hold have stor'd

Water of Helicon: and let him fit

The needle that doth true with heaven accord:

Then bid her crew, love, diligence and wit

With justice, courage, temperance come aboard,

And at her helm the master reason sit.

16

This world is unto God a work of art,

Of which the unaccomplish'd heavenly plan

Is hid in life within the creature's heart,

And for perfection looketh unto man.

Ah me! those thousand ages: with what slow

Pains and persistence were his idols made,

Destroy'd and made, ere ever he coud know

The mighty mother must be so obey'd.

For lack of knowledge and thro' little skill

His childish mimicry outwent his aim;

His effort shaped the genius of his will;

Till thro' distinction and revolt he came,

True to his simple terms of good and ill,

Seeking the face of Beauty without blame.

17

Say who be these light-bearded, sunburnt faces

In negligent and travel-stain'd array,

That in the city of Dante come to-day,

Haughtily visiting her holy places?

O these be noble men that hide their graces,

True England's blood, her ancient glory's stay,

By tales of fame diverted on their way

Home from the rule of oriental races.

Life-trifling lions these, of gentle eyes

And motion delicate, but swift to fire

For honour, passionate where duty lies,

Most loved and loving: and they quickly tire

Of Florence, that she one day more denies

The embrace of wife and son, of sister or sire.

18

Where San Miniato's convent from the sun

At forenoon overlooks the city of flowers

I sat, and gazing on her domes and towers

Call'd up her famous children one by one:

And three who all the rest had far outdone,

Mild Giotto first, who stole the morning hours,

I saw, and god-like Buonarroti's powers,

And Dante, gravest poet, her much-wrong'd son.

Is all this glory, I said, another's praise?

Are these heroic triumphs things of old,

And do I dead upon the living gaze?

Or rather doth the mind, that can behold

The wondrous beauty of the works and days,

Create the image that her thoughts enfold?

19

Rejoice, ye dead, where'er your spirits dwell,

Rejoice that yet on earth your fame is bright;

And that your names, remember'd day and night,

Live on the lips of those that love you well.

'Tis ye that conquer'd have the powers of hell,

Each with the special grace of your delight:

Ye are the world's creators, and thro' might

Of everlasting love ye did excel.

Now ye are starry names, above the storm

And war of Time and nature's endless wrong

Ye flit, in pictured truth and peaceful form,

Wing'd with bright music and melodious song,--

The flaming flowers of heaven, making May-dance

In dear Imagination's rich pleasance.

20

THE world still goeth about to shew and hide,

Befool'd of all opinion, fond of fame:

But he that can do well taketh no pride,

And see'th his error, undisturb'd by shame:

So poor's the best that longest life can do,

The most so little, diligently done;

So mighty is the beauty that doth woo,

So vast the joy that love from love hath won.

God's love to win is easy, for He loveth

Desire's fair attitude, nor strictly weighs

The broken thing, but all alike approveth

Which love hath aim'd at Him: that is heaven's praise:

And if we look for any praise on earth,

'Tis in man's love: all else is nothing worth.

21

O FLESH and blood, comrade to tragic pain

And clownish merriment; whose sense could wake

Sermons in stones, and count death but an ache,

All things as vanity, yet nothing vain:

The world, set in thy heart, thy passionate strain

Reveal'd anew; but thou for man didst make

Nature twice natural, only to shake

Her kingdom with the creatures of thy brain.

Lo, Shakespeare, since thy time nature is loth

To yield to art her fair supremacy;

In conquering one thou hast so enrichèd both.

What shall I say? for God--whose wise decree

Confirmeth all He did by all He doth--

Doubled His whole creation making thee.

22

I would be a bird, and straight on wings I arise,

And carry purpose up to the ends of the air:

In calm and storm my sails I feather, and where

By freezing cliffs the unransom'd wreckage lies:

Or, strutting on hot meridian banks, surprise

The silence: over plains in the moonlight bare

I chase my shadow, and perch where no bird dare

In treetops torn by fiercest winds of the skies.

Poor simple birds, foolish birds! then I cry,

Ye pretty pictures of delight, unstir'd

By the only joy of knowing that ye fly;

Ye are nót what ye are, but rather, sum'd in a word,

The alphabet of a god's idea, and I

Who master it, I am the only bird.

23

O weary pilgrims, chanting of your woe,

That turn your eyes to all the peaks that shine,

Hailing in each the citadel divine

The which ye thought to have enter'd long ago;

Until at length your feeble steps and slow

Falter upon the threshold of the shrine,

And your hearts overburden'd doubt in fine

Whether it be Jerusalem or no:

Dishearten'd pilgrims, I am one of you;

For, having worshipp'd many a barren face,

I scarce now greet the goal I journey'd to:

I stand a pagan in the holy place;

Beneath the lamp of truth I am found untrue,

And question with the God that I embrace.

24

Spring hath her own bright days of calm and peace;

Her melting air, at every breath we draw,

Floods heart with love to praise God's gracious law:

But suddenly--so short is pleasure's lease--

The cold returns, the buds from growing cease,

And nature's conquer'd face is full of awe;

As now the trait'rous north with icy flaw

Freezes the dew upon the sick lamb's fleece,

And 'neath the mock sun searching everywhere

Rattles the crispèd leaves with shivering din:

So that the birds are silent with despair

Within the thickets; nor their armour thin

Will gaudy flies adventure in the air,

Nor any lizard sun his spotted skin.

25

Nothing is joy without thee: I can find

No rapture in the first relays of spring,

In songs of birds, in young buds opening,

Nothing inspiriting and nothing kind;

For lack of thee, who once wert throned behind

All beauty, like a strength where graces cling,--

The jewel and heart of light, which everything

Wrestled in rivalry to hold enshrined.

Ah! since thou'rt fled, and I in each fair sight

The sweet occasion of my joy deplore,

Where shall I seek thee best, or whom invite

Within thy sacred temples and adore?

Who shall fill thought and truth with old delight,

And lead my soul in life as heretofore?

26

The work is done, and from the fingers fall

The bloodwarm tools that brought the labour thro':

The tasking eye that overrunneth all

Rests, and affirms there is no more to do.

Now the third joy of making, the sweet flower

Of blessed work, bloometh in godlike spirit;

Which whoso plucketh holdeth for an hour

The shrivelling vanity of mortal merit.

And thou, my perfect work, thou'rt of to-day;

To-morrow a poor and alien thing wilt be,

True only should the swift life stand at stay:

Therefore farewell, nor look to bide with me.

Go find thy friends, if there be one to love thee:

Casting thee forth, my child, I rise above thee.

27

The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan,

Or else what grisly beast of scaly chine

That champ'd the ocean-wrack and swash'd the brine,

Before the new and milder days of man,

Had never rib nor bray nor swindging fan

Like his iron swimmer of the Clyde or Tyne,

Late-born of golden seed to breed a line

Of offspring swifter and more huge of plan.

Straight is her going, for upon the sun

When once she hath look'd, her path and place are plain;

With tireless speed she smiteth one by one

The shuddering seas and foams along the main;

And her eased breath, when her wild race is run,

Roars thro' her nostrils like a hurricane.

28

A thousand times hath in my heart's behoof

My tongue been set his passion to impart;

A thousand times hath my too coward heart

My mouth reclosed and fix'd it to the roof;

Then with such cunning hath it held aloof,

A thousand times kept silence with such art

That words coud do no more: yet on thy part

Hath silence given a thousand times reproof.

I should be bolder, seeing I commend

Love, that my dilatory purpose primes,

But fear lest with my fears my hope should end:

Nay, I would truth deny and burn my rhymes,

Renew my sorrows rather than offend,

A thousand times, and yet a thousand times.

29

I travel to thee with the sun's first rays,

That lift the dark west and unwrap the night;

I dwell beside thee when he walks the height,

And fondly toward thee at his setting gaze.

I wait upon thy coming, but always--

Dancing to meet my thoughts if they invite--

Thou hast outrun their longing with delight,

And in my solitude dost mock my praise.

Now doth my drop of time transcend the whole:

I see no fame in Khufu's pyramid,

No history where loveless Nile doth roll.

--This is eternal life, which doth forbid

Mortal detraction to the exalted soul,

And from her inward eye all fate hath hid.

30

My lady pleases me and I please her;

This know we both, and I besides know well

Wherefore I love her, and I love to tell

My love, as all my loving songs aver.

But what on her part could the passion stir,

Tho' 'tis more difficult for love to spell,

Yet can I dare divine how this befel,

Nor will her lips deny it if I err.

She loves me first because I love her, then

Loves me for knowing why she should be loved.

And that I love to praise her, loves again.

So from her beauty both our loves are moved,

And by her beauty are sustain'd; nor when

The earth falls from the sun is this disproved.

31

In all things beautiful, I cannot see

Her sit or stand, but love is stir'd anew:

'Tis joy to watch the folds fall as they do,

And all that comes is past expectancy.

If she be silent, silence let it be;

He who would bid her speak might sit and sue

The deep-brow'd Phidian Jove to be untrue

To his two thousand years' solemnity.

Ah, but her launchèd passion, when she sings,

Wins on the hearing like a shapen prow

Borne by the mastery of its urgent wings:

Or if she deign her wisdom, she doth show

She hath the intelligence of heavenly things,

Unsullied by man's mortal overthrow.

32

Thus to be humbled: 'tis that ranging pride

No refuge hath; that in his castle strong

Brave reason sits beleaguer'd, who so long

Kept field, but now must starve where he doth hide;

That industry, who once the foe defied,

Lies slaughter'd in the trenches; that the throng

Of idle fancies pipe their foolish song,

Where late the puissant captains fought and died.

Thus to be humbled: 'tis to be undone;

A forest fell'd; a city razed to ground;

A cloak unsewn, unwoven and unspun

Till not a thread remains that can be wound.

And yet, O lover, thee, the ruin'd one,

Love who hath humbled thus hath also crown'd.

33

I care not if I live, tho' life and breath

Have never been to me so dear and sweet.

I care not if I die, for I coud meet--

Being so happy--happily my death.

I care not if I love; to-day she saith

She loveth, and love's history is complete.

Nor care I if she love me; at her feet

My spirit bows entranced and worshippeth.

I have no care for what was most my care,

But all around me see fresh beauty born,

And common sights grown lovelier than they were:

I dream of love, and in the light of morn

Tremble, beholding all things very fair

And strong with strength that puts my strength to scorn.

34

_O my goddess divine_ sometimes I say:--

Now let this word for ever and all suffice;

Thou art insatiable, and yet not twice

Can even thy lover give his soul away:

And for my acts, that at thy feet I lay;

For never any other, by device

Of wisdom, love or beauty, could entice

My homage to the measure of this day.

I have no more to give thee: lo, I have sold

My life, have emptied out my heart, and spent

Whate'er I had; till like a beggar, bold

With nought to lose, I laugh and am content.

A beggar kisses thee; nay, love, behold,

I fear not: thou too art in beggarment.

35

All earthly beauty hath one cause and proof,

To lead the pilgrim soul to beauty above:

Yet lieth the greater bliss so far aloof,

That few there be are wean'd from earthly love.

Joy's ladder it is, reaching from home to home,

The best of all the work that all was good;

Whereof 'twas writ the angels aye upclomb,

Down sped, and at the top the Lord God stood.

But I my time abuse, my eyes by day

Center'd on thee, by night my heart on fire--

Letting my number'd moments run away--

Nor e'en 'twixt night and day to heaven aspire:

So true it is that what the eye seeth not

But slow is loved, and loved is soon forgot.

36

O my life's mischief, once my love's delight,

That drew'st a mortgage on my heart's estate,

Whose baneful clause is never out of date,

Nor can avenging time restore my right:

Whom first to lose sounded that note of spite,

Whereto my doleful days were tuned by fate:

That art the well-loved cause of all my hate,

The sun whose wandering makes my hopeless night:

Thou being in all my lacking all I lack,

It is thy goodness turns my grace to crime,

Thy fleetness from my goal which holds me back;

Wherefore my feet go out of step with time,

My very grasp of life is old and slack,

And even my passion falters in my rhyme.

37

At times with hurried hoofs and scattering dust

I race by field or highway, and my horse

Spare not, but urge direct in headlong course

Unto some fair far hill that gain I must:

But near arrived the vision soon mistrust,

Rein in, and stand as one who sees the source

Of strong illusion, shaming thought to force

From off his mind the soil of passion's gust.

My brow I bare then, and with slacken'd speed

Can view the country pleasant on all sides,

And to kind salutation give good heed:

I ride as one who for his pleasure rides,

And stroke the neck of my delighted steed,

And seek what cheer the village inn provides.

38

An idle June day on the sunny Thames,

Floating or rowing as our fancy led,

Now in the high beams basking as we sped,

Now in green shade gliding by mirror'd stems;

By lock and weir and isle, and many a spot

Of memoried pleasure, glad with strength and skill,

Friendship, good wine, and mirth, that serve not ill

The heavenly Muse, tho' she requite them not:

I would have life--thou saidst--all as this day,

Simple enjoyment calm in its excess,

With not a grief to cloud, and not a ray

Of passion overhot my peace to oppress;

With no ambition to reproach delay,

Nor rapture to disturb its happiness.

39

A man that sees by chance his picture, made

As once a child he was, handling some toy,

Will gaze to find his spirit within the boy,

Yet hath no secret with the soul pourtray'd:

He cannot think the simple thought which play'd

Upon those features then so frank and coy;

'Tis his, yet oh! not his: and o'er the joy

His fatherly pity bends in tears dismay'd.

Proud of his prime maybe he stand at best,

And lightly wear his strength, or aim it high,

In knowledge, skill and courage self-possest:--

Yet in the pictured face a charm doth lie,

The one thing lost more worth than all the rest,

Which seeing, he fears to say _This child was I_.

40

Tears of love, tears of joy and tears of care,

Comforting tears that fell uncomforted,

Tears o'er the new-born, tears beside the dead,

Tears of hope, pride and pity, trust and prayer,

Tears of contrition; all tears whatsoe'er

Of tenderness or kindness had she shed

Who here is pictured, ere upon her head

The fine gold might be turn'd to silver there.

The smile that charm'd the father hath given place

Unto the furrow'd care wrought by the son;

But virtue hath transform'd all change to grace:

So that I praise the artist, who hath done

A portrait, for my worship, of the face

Won by the heart my father's heart that won.

41

If I coud but forget and not recall

So well my time of pleasure and of play,

When ancient nature was all new and gay,

Light as the fashion that doth last enthrall,--

Ah mighty nature, when my heart was small,

Nor dream'd what fearful searchings underlay

The flowers and leafy ecstasy of May,

The breathing summer sloth, the scented fall:

Coud I forget, then were the fight not hard,

Press'd in the mêlée of accursed things,

Having such help in love and such reward:

But that 'tis I who once--'tis this that stings--

Once dwelt within the gate that angels guard,

Where yet I'd be had I but heavenly wings.

42

When I see childhood on the threshold seize

The prize of life from age and likelihood,

I mourn time's change that will not be withstood,

Thinking how Christ said _Be like one of these_.

For in the forest among many trees

Scarce one in all is found that hath made good

The virgin pattern of its slender wood,

That courtesied in joy to every breeze;

But scath'd, but knotted trunks that raise on high

Their arms in stiff contortion, strain'd and bare;

Whose patriarchal crowns in sorrow sigh.

So, little children, ye--nay nay, ye ne'er

From me shall learn how sure the change and nigh,

When ye shall share our strength and mourn to share.

43

When parch'd with thirst, astray on sultry sand

The traveller faints, upon his closing ear

Steals a fantastic music: he may hear

The babbling fountain of his native land.

Before his eyes the vision seems to stand,

Where at its terraced brink the maids appear,

Who fill their deep urns at its waters clear,

And not refuse the help of lover's hand.

O cruel jest--he cries, as some one flings

The sparkling drops in sport or shew of ire--

O shameless, O contempt of holy things.

But never of their wanton play they tire,

As not athirst they sit beside the springs,

While he must quench in death his lost desire.

44

The image of thy love, rising on dark

And desperate days over my sullen sea,

Wakens again fresh hope and peace in me,

Gleaming above upon my groaning bark.

Whate'er my sorrow be, I then may hark

A loving voice: whate'er my terror be,

This heavenly comfort still I win from thee,

To shine my lodestar that wert once my mark.

Prodigal nature makes us but to taste

One perfect joy, which given she niggard grows;

And lest her precious gift should run to waste,

Adds to its loss a thousand lesser woes:

So to the memory of the gift that graced

Her hand, her graceless hand more grace bestows.

45

In this neglected, ruin'd edifice

Of works unperfected and broken schemes,

Where is the promise of my early dreams,

The smile of beauty and the pearl of price?

No charm is left now that could once entice

Wind-wavering fortune from her golden streams,

And full in flight decrepit purpose seems,

Trailing the banner of his old device.

Within the house a frore and numbing air

Has chill'd endeavour: sickly memories reign

In every room, and ghosts are on the stair:

And hope behind the dusty window-pane

Watches the days go by, and bow'd with care

Forecasts her last reproach and mortal stain.

46

Once I would say, before thy vision came,

_My joy_, _my life_, _my love_, and with some kind

Of knowledge speak, and think I knew my mind

Of heaven and hope, and each word hit its aim.

Whate'er their sounds be, now all mean the same,

Denoting each the fair that none can find;

Or if I say them, 'tis as one long blind

Forgets the sights that he was used to name.

Now if men speak of love, 'tis not my love;

Nor are their hopes nor joys mine, nor their life

Of praise the life that I think honour of:

Nay tho' they turn from house and child and wife

And self, and in the thought of heaven above

Hold, as do I, all mortal things at strife.

47

Since then 'tis only pity looking back,

Fear looking forward, and the busy mind

Will in one woeful moment more upwind

Than lifelong years unroll of bitter or black;

What is man's privilege, his hoarding knack

Of memory with foreboding so combined,

Whereby he comes to dream he hath of kind

The perpetuity which all things lack?

Which but to hope is doubtful joy, to have

Being a continuance of what, alas,

We mourn, and scarcely bear with to the grave;

Or something so unknown that it o'erpass

The thought of comfort, and the sense that gave

Cannot consider it thro' any glass.

48

Come gentle sleep, I woo thee: come and take

Not now the child into thine arms, from fright

Composed by drowsy tune and shaded light,

Whom ignorant of thee thou didst nurse and make;

Nor now the boy, who scorn'd thee for the sake

Of growing knowledge or mysterious night,

Tho' with fatigue thou didst his limbs invite,

And heavily weigh the eyes that would not wake;

No, nor the man severe, who from his best

Failing, alert fled to thee, that his breath,

Blood, force and fire should come at morn redrest;

But me, from whom thy comfort tarrieth,

For all my wakeful prayer sent without rest

To thee, O shew and shadow of my death.

49

The spirit's eager sense for sad or gay

Filleth with what he will our vessel full:

Be joy his bent, he waiteth not joy's day

But like a child at any toy will pull:

If sorrow, he will weep for fancy's sake,

And spoil heaven's plenty with forbidden care.

What fortune most denies we slave to take;

Nor can fate load us more than we can bear.

Since pleasure with the having disappeareth,

He who hath least in hand hath most at heart,

While he keep hope: as he who alway feareth

A grief that never comes hath yet the smart;

And heavier far is our self-wrought distress,

For when God sendeth sorrow, it doth bless.

50

The world comes not to an end: her city-hives

Swarm with the tokens of a changeless trade,

With rolling wheel, driver and flagging jade,

Rich men and beggars, children, priests and wives.

New homes on old are set, as lives on lives;

Invention with invention overlaid:

But still or tool or toy or book or blade

Shaped for the hand, that holds and toils and strives.

The men to-day toil as their fathers taught,

With little better'd means; for works depend

On works and overlap, and thought on thought:

And thro' all change the smiles of hope amend

The weariest face, the same love changed in nought:

In this thing too the world comes not to an end.

51

O my uncared-for songs, what are ye worth,

That in my secret book with so much care

I write you, this one here and that one there,

Marking the time and order of your birth?

How, with a fancy so unkind to mirth,

A sense so hard, a style so worn and bare,

Look ye for any welcome anywhere

From any shelf or heart-home on the earth?

Should others ask you this, say then I yearn'd

To write you such as once, when I was young,

Finding I should have loved and thereto turn'd.

'Twere something yet to live again among

The gentle youth beloved, and where I learn'd

My art, be there remember'd for my song.

52

Who takes the census of the living dead,

Ere the day come when memory shall o'ercrowd

The kingdom of their fame, and for that proud

And airy people find no room nor stead?

Ere hoarding Time, that ever thrusteth back

The fairest treasures of his ancient store,

Better with best confound, so he may pack

His greedy gatherings closer, more and more?

Let the true Muse rewrite her sullied page,

And purge her story of the men of hate,

That they go dirgeless down to Satan's rage

With all else foul, deform'd and miscreate:

She hath full toil to keep the names of love

Honour'd on earth, as they are bright above.

53

I heard great Hector sounding war's alarms,

Where thro' the listless ghosts chiding he strode,

As tho' the Greeks besieged his last abode,

And he his Troy's hope still, her king-at-arms.

But on those gentle meads, which Lethe charms

With weary oblivion, his passion glow'd

Like the cold night-worm's candle, and only show'd

Such mimic flame as neither heats nor harms.

'Twas plain to read, even by those shadows quaint,

How rude catastrophe had dim'd his day,

And blighted all his cheer with stern complaint:

_To arms! to arms!_ what more the voice would say

Was swallow'd in the valleys, and grew faint

Upon the thin air, as he pass'd away.

54

Since not the enamour'd sun with glance more fond

Kisses the foliage of his sacred tree,

Than doth my waking thought arise on thee,

Loving none near thee, like thee nor beyond;

Nay, since I am sworn thy slave, and in the bond

Is writ my promise of eternity;

Since to such high hope thou'st encouraged me,

That if thou look but from me I despond;

Since thou'rt my all in all, O think of this:

Think of the dedication of my youth:

Think of my loyalty, my joy, my bliss:

Think of my sorrow, my despair and ruth,

My sheer annihilation if I miss:

Think--if thou shouldst be false--think of thy truth.

55

These meagre rhymes, which a returning mood

Sometimes o'errateth, I as oft despise;

And knowing them illnatured, stiff and rude,

See them as others with contemptuous eyes.

Nay, and I wonder less at God's respect

For man, a minim jot in time and space,

Than at the soaring faith of His elect,

That gift of gifts, the comfort of His grace.

O truth unsearchable, O heavenly love,

Most infinitely tender, so to touch

The work that we can meanly reckon of:

Surely--I say--we are favour'd overmuch.

But of this wonder, what doth most amaze

Is that we know our love is held for praise.

56

Beauty sat with me all the summer day,

Awaiting the sure triumph of her eye;

Nor mark'd I till we parted, how, hard by,

Love in her train stood ready for his prey.

She, as too proud to join herself the fray,

Trusting too much to her divine ally,

When she saw victory tarry, chid him--'Why

Dost thou not at one stroke this rebel slay?'

Then generous Love, who holds my heart in fee,

Told of our ancient truce: so from the fight

We straight withdrew our forces, all the three.

Baffled but not dishearten'd she took flight

Scheming new tactics: Love came home with me,

And prompts my measured verses as I write.

57

In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan

Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence,

'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon

In melancholy and godlike indolence:

When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal prime

To fond pretence of immortality,

Vieweth all moments from the birth of time,

All things whate'er have been or yet shall be.

And like the garden, where the year is spent,

The ruin of old life is full of yearning,

Mingling poetic rapture of lament

With flowers and sunshine of spring's sure returning;

Only in visions of the white air wan

By godlike fancy seized and dwelt upon.

58

When first I saw thee, dearest, if I say

The spells that conjure back the hour and place,

And evermore I look upon thy face,

As in the spring of years long pass'd away;

No fading of thy beauty's rich array,

No detriment of age on thee I trace,

But time's defeat written in spoils of grace,

From rivals robb'd, whom thou didst pity and slay.

So hath thy growth been, thus thy faith is true,

Unchanged in change, still to my growing sense,

To life's desire the same, and nothing new:

But as thou wert in dream and prescience

At love's arising, now thou stand'st to view

In the broad noon of his magnificence.

59

'Twas on the very day winter took leave

Of those fair fields I love, when to the skies

The fragrant Earth was smiling in surprise

At that her heaven-descended, quick reprieve,

I wander'd forth my sorrow to relieve;

Yet walk'd amid sweet pleasure in such wise

As Adam went alone in Paradise,

Before God of His pity fashion'd Eve.

And out of tune with all the joy around

I laid me down beneath a flowering tree,

And o'er my senses crept a sleep profound;

In which it seem'd that thou wert given to me,

Rending my body, where with hurried sound

I feel my heart beat, when I think of thee.

60

Love that I know, love I am wise in, love,

My strength, my pride, my grace, my skill untaught,

My faith here upon earth, my hope above,

My contemplation and perpetual thought:

The pleasure of my fancy, my heart's fire,

My joy, my peace, my praise, my happy theme,

The aim of all my doing, my desire

Of being, my life by day, by night my dream:

Love, my sweet melancholy, my distress,

My pain, my doubt, my trouble, my despair,

My only folly and unhappiness,

And in my careless moments still my care:

O love, sweet love, earthly love, love divine,

Say'st thou to-day, O love, that thou art mine?

61

The dark and serious angel, who so long

Vex'd his immortal strength in charge of me,

Hath smiled for joy and fled in liberty

To take his pastime with the peerless throng.

Oft had I done his noble keeping wrong,

Wounding his heart to wonder what might be

God's purpose in a soul of such degree;

And there he had left me but for mandate strong.

But seeing thee with me now, his task at close

He knoweth, and wherefore he was bid to stay,

And work confusion of so many foes:

The thanks that he doth look for, here I pay,

Yet fear some heavenly envy, as he goes

Unto what great reward I cannot say.

62

I will be what God made me, nor protest

Against the bent of genius in my time,

That science of my friends robs all the best,

While I love beauty, and was born to rhyme.

Be they our mighty men, and let me dwell

In shadow among the mighty shades of old,

With love's forsaken palace for my cell;

Whence I look forth and all the world behold,

And say, These better days, in best things worse,

This bastardy of time's magnificence,

Will mend in fashion and throw off the curse,

To crown new love with higher excellence.

Curs'd tho' I be to live my life alone,

My toil is for man's joy, his joy my own.

63

I live on hope and that I think do all

Who come into this world, and since I see

Myself in swim with such good company,

I take my comfort whatsoe'er befall.

I abide and abide, as if more stout and tall

My spirit would grow by waiting like a tree;

And, clear of others' toil, it pleaseth me

In dreams their quick ambition to forestall.

And if thro' careless eagerness I slide

To some accomplishment, I give my voice

Still to desire, and in desire abide.

I have no stake abroad; if I rejoice

In what is done or doing, I confide

Neither to friend nor foe my secret choice.

64

Ye blessed saints, that now in heaven enjoy

The purchase of those tears, the world's disdain,

Doth Love still with his war your peace annoy,

Or hath Death freed you from his ancient pain?

Have ye no springtide, and no burst of May

In flowers and leafy trees, when solemn night

Pants with love-music, and the holy day

Breaks on the ear with songs of heavenly light?

What make ye and what strive for? keep ye thought

Of us, or in new excellence divine

Is old forgot? or do ye count for nought

What the Greek did and what the Florentine?

We keep your memories well: O in your store

Live not our best joys treasured evermore?

65

Ah heavenly joy! But who hath ever heard,

Who hath seen joy, or who shall ever find

Joy's language? There is neither speech nor word;

Nought but itself to teach it to mankind.

Scarce in our twenty thousand painful days

We may touch something: but there lives--beyond

The best of art, or nature's kindest phase--

The hope whereof our spirit is fain and fond:

The cause of beauty given to man's desires

Writ in the expectancy of starry skies,

The faith which gloweth in our fleeting fires,

The aim of all the good that here we prize;

Which but to love, pursue and pray for well

Maketh earth heaven, and to forget it, hell.

66

My wearied heart, whenever, after all,

Its loves and yearnings shall be told complete,

When gentle death shall bid it cease to beat,

And from all dear illusions disenthrall:

However then thou shalt appear to call

My fearful heart, since down at others' feet

It bade me kneel so oft, I'll not retreat

From thee, nor fear before thy feet to fall.

And I shall say, 'Receive this loving heart

Which err'd in sorrow only; and in sin

Took no delight; but being forced apart

From thee, without thee hoping thee to win,

Most prized what most thou madest as thou art

On earth, till heaven were open to enter in.'

67

Dreary was winter, wet with changeful sting

Of clinging snowfall and fast-flying frost;

And bitterer northwinds then withheld the spring,

That dallied with her promise till 'twas lost.

A sunless and half-hearted summer drown'd

The flowers in needful and unwelcom'd rain;

And Autumn with a sad smile fled uncrown'd

From fruitless orchards and unripen'd grain.

But coud the skies of this most desolate year

In its last month learn with our love to glow,

Men yet should rank its cloudless atmosphere

Above the sunsets of five years ago:

Of my great praise too part should be its own,

Now reckon'd peerless for thy love alone.

68

Away now, lovely Muse, roam and be free:

Our commerce ends for aye, thy task is done:

Tho' to win thee I left all else unwon,

Thou, whom I most have won, art not for me.

My first desire, thou too forgone must be,

Thou too, O much lamented now, tho' none

Will turn to pity thy forsaken son,

Nor thy divine sisters will weep for thee.

None will weep for thee: thou return, O Muse,

To thy Sicilian fields: I once have been

On thy loved hills, and where thou first didst use

Thy sweetly balanced rhyme, O thankless queen,

Have pluck'd and wreath'd thy flowers; but do thou choose

Some happier brow to wear thy garlands green.

69

Eternal Father, who didst all create,

In whom we live, and to whose bosom move,

To all men be Thy name known, which is Love,

Till its loud praises sound at heaven's high gate.

Perfect Thy kingdom in our passing state,

That here on earth Thou may'st as well approve

Our service, as Thou ownest theirs above,

Whose joy we echo and in pain await.

Grant body and soul each day their daily bread:

And should in spite of grace fresh woe begin,

Even as our anger soon is past and dead

Be Thy remembrance mortal of our sin:

By Thee in paths of peace Thy sheep be led,

And in the vale of terror comforted.

[Illustration: Robert Bridges]

SHORTER POEMS

_in Five Books_

_PREVIOUS EDITIONS_

1. _Bks. I-IV. Clarendon Press. Geo. Bell & Sons, Oct. 1890._

_Reprinted, Nov. 1890, 1891, 1894._

2. _Bks. I-V. Private Press of H. Daniel. Oxford, 1894._

3. _Do. do. Clarendon Press. George Bell & Sons, 1896._

4. _Cheap issue of 3. 1899. Reprinted, 1899._

5. _Poetical works of R. B. Smith, Elder & Co., 1899, vol. II._

_An account of earlier issues of first four books is given in notes

at end of 5._

SHORTER POEMS

BOOK I

DEDICATED TO H. E. W.

1

ELEGY

Clear and gentle stream!

Known and loved so long,

That hast heard the song

And the idle dream

Of my boyish day;

While I once again

Down thy margin stray,

In the selfsame strain

Still my voice is spent,

With my old lament

And my idle dream,

Clear and gentle stream!

Where my old seat was

Here again I sit,

Where the long boughs knit

Over stream and grass

A translucent eaves:

Where back eddies play

Shipwreck with the leaves,

And the proud swans stray,

Sailing one by one

Out of stream and sun,

And the fish lie cool

In their chosen pool.

Many an afternoon

Of the summer day

Dreaming here I lay;

And I know how soon,

Idly at its hour,

First the deep bell hums

From the minster tower,

And then evening comes,

Creeping up the glade,

With her lengthening shade,

And the tardy boon

Of her brightening moon.

Clear and gentle stream!

Ere again I go

Where thou dost not flow,

Well does it beseem

Thee to hear again

Once my youthful song,

That familiar strain

Silent now so long:

Be as I content

With my old lament

And my idle dream,

Clear and gentle stream.

2

ELEGY

The wood is bare: a river-mist is steeping

The trees that winter's chill of life bereaves:

Only their stiffened boughs break silence, weeping

Over their fallen leaves;

That lie upon the dank earth brown and rotten,

Miry and matted in the soaking wet:

Forgotten with the spring, that is forgotten

By them that can forget.

Yet it was here we walked when ferns were springing,

And through the mossy bank shot bud and blade:-

Here found in summer, when the birds were singing,

A green and pleasant shade.

'Twas here we loved in sunnier days and greener;

And now, in this disconsolate decay,

I come to see her where I most have seen her,

And touch the happier day.

For on this path, at every turn and corner,

The fancy of her figure on me falls;

Yet walks she with the slow step of a mourner,

Nor hears my voice that calls.

So through my heart there winds a track of feeling,

A path of memory, that is all her own:

Whereto her phantom beauty ever stealing

Haunts the sad spot alone.

About her steps the trunks are bare, the branches

Drip heavy tears upon her downcast head;

And bleed from unseen wounds that no sun stanches,

For the year's sun is dead.

And dead leaves wrap the fruits that summer planted:

And birds that love the South have taken wing.

The wanderer, loitering o'er the scene enchanted,

Weeps, and despairs of spring.

3

Poor withered rose and dry,

Skeleton of a rose,

Risen to testify

To love's sad close:

Treasured for love's sweet sake,

That of joy past

Thou might'st again awake

Memory at last.

Yet is thy perfume sweet;

Thy petals red

Yet tell of summer heat,

And the gay bed:

Yet, yet recall the glow

Of the gazing sun,

When at thy bush we two

Joined hands in one.

But, rose, thou hast not seen,

Thou hast not wept

The change that passed between,

Whilst thou hast slept.

To me thou seemest yet

The dead dream's thrall:

While I live and forget

Dream, truth and all.

Thou art more fresh than I,

Rose, sweet and red:

Salt on my pale cheeks lie

The tears I shed.

4

THE CLIFF-TOP

The cliff-top has a carpet

Of lilac, gold and green:

The blue sky bounds the ocean,

The white clouds scud between.

A flock of gulls are wheeling

And wailing round my seat;

Above my head the heaven,

The sea beneath my feet.

THE OCEAN.

Were I a cloud I'd gather

My skirts up in the air,

And fly I well know whither,

And rest I well know where.

As pointed the star surely,

The legend tells of old,

Where the wise kings might offer

Myrrh, frankincense, and gold;

Above the house I'd hover

Where dwells my love, and wait

Till haply I might spy her

Throw back the garden-gate.

There in the summer evening

I would bedeck the moon;

I would float down and screen her

From the sun's rays at noon;

And if her flowers should languish,

Or wither in the drought

Upon her tall white lilies

I'd pour my heart's blood out:

So if she wore one only,

And shook not out the rain,

Were I a cloud, O cloudlet,

I had not lived in vain.

[_A cloud speaks._

A CLOUD.

But were I thou, O ocean,

I would not chafe and fret

As thou, because a limit

To thy desires is set.

I would be blue, and gentle,

Patient, and calm, and see

If my smiles might not tempt her,

My love, to come to me.

I'd make my depths transparent,

And still, that she should lean

O'er the boat's edge to ponder

The sights that swam between.

I would command strange creatures,

Of bright hue and quick fin,

To stir the water near her,

And tempt her bare arm in.

I'd teach her spend the summer

With me: and I can tell,

That, were I thou, O ocean,

My love should love me well.

* * *

But on the mad cloud scudded,

The breeze it blew so stiff;

And the sad ocean bellowed,

And pounded at the cliff.

5

I heard a linnet courting

His lady in the spring:

His mates were idly sporting,

Nor stayed to hear him sing

His song of love.--

I fear my speech distorting

His tender love.

The phrases of his pleading

Were full of young delight;

And she that gave him heeding

Interpreted aright

His gay, sweet notes,--

So sadly marred in the reading,--

His tender notes.

And when he ceased, the hearer

Awaited the refrain,

Till swiftly perching nearer

He sang his song again,

His pretty song:--

Would that my verse spake clearer

His tender song!

Ye happy, airy creatures!

That in the merry spring

Think not of what misfeatures

Or cares the year may bring;

But unto love

Resign your simple natures,

To tender love.

6

Dear lady, when thou frownest,

And my true love despisest,

And all thy vows disownest

That sealed my venture wisest;

I think thy pride's displeasure

Neglects a matchless treasure

Exceeding price and measure.

But when again thou smilest,

And love for love returnest,

And fear with joy beguilest,

And takest truth in earnest;

Then, though I sheer adore thee,

The sum of my love for thee

Seems poor, scant, and unworthy.

7

I will not let thee go.

Ends all our month-long love in this?

Can it be summed up so,

Quit in a single kiss?

I will not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds,

As the soft south can blow

And toss the feathered seeds,

Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Had not the great sun seen, I might;

Or were he reckoned slow

To bring the false to light,

Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

The stars that crowd the summer skies

Have watched us so below

With all their million eyes,

I dare not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Have we not chid the changeful moon,

Now rising late, and now

Because she set too soon,

And shall I let thee go?

I will not let thee go.

Have not the young flowers been content,

Plucked ere their buds could blow,

To seal our sacrament?

I cannot let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

I hold thee by too many bands:

Thou sayest farewell, and lo!

I have thee by the hands,

And will not let thee go.

8

I found to-day out walking

The flower my love loves best.

What, when I stooped to pluck it,

Could dare my hand arrest?

Was it a snake lay curling

About the root's thick crown?

Or did some hidden bramble

Tear my hand reaching down?

There was no snake uncurling,

And no thorn wounded me;

'Twas my heart checked me, sighing

She is beyond the sea.

9

A poppy grows upon the shore,

Bursts her twin cup in summer late:

Her leaves are glaucous-green and hoar,

Her petals yellow, delicate.

Oft to her cousins turns her thought,

In wonder if they care that she

Is fed with spray for dew, and caught

By every gale that sweeps the sea.

She has no lovers like the red,

That dances with the noble corn:

Her blossoms on the waves are shed,

Where she stands shivering and forlorn.

10

Sometimes when my lady sits by me

My rapture's so great, that I tear

My mind from the thought that she's nigh me,

And strive to forget that she's there.

And sometimes when she is away

Her absence so sorely does try me,

That I shut to my eyes, and assay

To think she is there sitting by me.

11

Long are the hours the sun is above,

But when evening comes I go home to my love.

I'm away the daylight hours and more,

Yet she comes not down to open the door.

She does not meet me upon the stair,--

She sits in my chamber and waits for me there.

As I enter the room she does not move:

I always walk straight up to my love;

And she lets me take my wonted place

At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face.

There as I sit, from her head thrown back

Her hair falls straight in a shadow black.

Aching and hot as my tired eyes be,

She is all that I wish to see.

And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear,

She says all things that I wish to hear.

Dusky and duskier grows the room,

Yet I see her best in the darker gloom.

When the winter eves are early and cold,

The firelight hours are a dream of gold.

And so I sit here night by night,

In rest and enjoyment of love's delight.

But a knock at the door, a step on the stair

Will startle, alas, my love from her chair.

If a stranger comes she will not stay:

At the first alarm she is off and away.

And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne,

That I sit so much by myself alone.

12

Who has not walked upon the shore,

And who does not the morning know,

The day the angry gale is o'er,

The hour the wind has ceased to blow?

The horses of the strong south-west

Are pastured round his tropic tent,

Careless how long the ocean's breast

Sob on and sigh for passion spent.

The frightened birds, that fled inland

To house in rock and tower and tree,

Are gathering on the peaceful strand,

To tempt again the sunny sea;

Whereon the timid ships steal out

And laugh to find their foe asleep,

That lately scattered them about,

And drave them to the fold like sheep.

The snow-white clouds he northward chased

Break into phalanx, line, and band:

All one way to the south they haste,

The south, their pleasant fatherland.

From distant hills their shadows creep,

Arrive in turn and mount the lea,

And flit across the downs, and leap

Sheer off the cliff upon the sea;

And sail and sail far out of sight.

But still I watch their fleecy trains,

That piling all the south with light,

Dapple in France the fertile plains.

13

I made another song,

In likeness of my love:

And sang it all day long,

Around, beneath, above;

I told my secret out,

That none might be in doubt.

I sang it to the sky,

That veiled his face to hear

How far her azure eye

Outdoes his splendid sphere;

But at her eyelids' name

His white clouds fled for shame.

I told it to the trees,

And to the flowers confest,

And said not one of these

Is like my lily drest;

Nor spathe nor petal dared

Vie with her body bared.

I shouted to the sea,

That set his waves a-prance;

Her floating hair is free,

Free are her feet to dance;

And for thy wrath, I swear

Her frown is more to fear.

And as in happy mood

I walked and sang alone,

At eve beside the wood

I met my love, my own:

And sang to her the song

I had sung all day long.

14

ELEGY

ON A LADY WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER

BETROTHED KILLED

Assemble, all ye maidens, at the door,

And all ye loves, assemble; far and wide

Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before

Has been deferred to this late eventide:

For on this night the bride,

The days of her betrothal over,

Leaves the parental hearth for evermore;

To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover.

Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain

Yet all unvisited, the silken gown:

Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain

Her dearer friends provided: sere and brown

Bring out the festal crown,

And set it on her forehead lightly:

Though it be withered, twine no wreath again;

This only is the crown she can wear rightly.

Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold,

And wrap her warmly, for the night is long,

In pious hands the flaming torches hold,

While her attendants, chosen from among

Her faithful virgin throng,

May lay her in her cedar litter,

Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold,

Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.

Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be

Not without music, nor with these alone;

But let the viol lead the melody,

With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan

Of sinking semitone;

And, all in choir, the virgin voices

Rest not from singing in skilled harmony

The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices.

Let the priests go before, arrayed in white,

And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow,

Next they that bear her, honoured on this night,

And then the maidens, in a double row,

Each singing soft and low,

And each on high a torch upstaying:

Unto her lover lead her forth with light,

With music, and with singing, and with praying.

'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came,

And found her trusty window open wide,

And knew the signal of the timorous flame,

That long the restless curtain would not hide

Her form that stood beside;

As scarce she dared to be delighted,

Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame

To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.

But now for many days the dewy grass

Has shown no markings of his feet at morn:

And watching she has seen no shadow pass

The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne

Upon her ear forlorn.

In vain has she looked out to greet him;

He has not come, he will not come, alas!

So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come:

The bark is ready to receive its freight:

Let some prepare her place therein, and some

Embark the litter with its slender weight:

The rest stand by in state,

And sing her a safe passage over;

While she is oared across to her new home,

Into the arms of her expectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch,

Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams,

The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch

The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,--

Thou, when the torchlight gleams,

When thou shalt see the slow procession,

And when thine ears the fitful music catch,

Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession.

15

RONDEAU

His poisoned shafts, that fresh he dips

In juice of plants that no bee sips,

He takes, and with his bow renown'd

Goes out upon his hunting ground,

Hanging his quiver at his hips.

He draws them one by one, and clips

Their heads between his finger-tips,

And looses with a twanging sound

His poisoned shafts.

But if a maiden with her lips

Suck from the wound the blood that drips,

And drink the poison from the wound,

The simple remedy is found

That of their deadly terror strips

His poisoned shafts.

16

TRIOLET

When first we met we did not guess

That Love would prove so hard a master;

Of more than common friendliness

When first we met we did not guess.

Who could foretell this sore distress,

This irretrievable disaster

When first we met?--We did not guess

That Love would prove so hard a master.

17

TRIOLET

All women born are so perverse

No man need boast their love possessing.

If nought seem better, nothing's worse:

All women born are so perverse.

From Adam's wife, that proved a curse

Though God had made her for a blessing,

All women born are so perverse

No man need boast their love possessing.