Which said, when he agreed, she spake no more,_Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

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.

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.

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:

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

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:

_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 consign’d._

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.

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:

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.

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,

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.

‘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!_’

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:

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.

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,—

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

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.

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

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

’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.

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.

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.

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:

‘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?’

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:

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

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.’

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.

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.’

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.

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:

‘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.’

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.

EROS & PSYCHE

SECOND QUARTER

SUMMER

PSYCHE’S SISTERS · SNARING HER TO DESTRUCTION

· ARE THEMSELVES DESTROYED

JUNE

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.’

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.

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.

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?’

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.’

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.