Nor now was Aphrodite kinder grown:_Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1

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.

‘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:

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.

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 mayst bear;

Or let thee to that god my son be wed?

‘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:

‘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 mayst live,

And all that thou desirest will I give,

If thou perform the task which I shall set.’

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.

‘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.

EROS & PSYCHE

FOURTH QUARTER

WINTER

PSYCHE’S TRIALS AND RECEPTION

INTO HEAVEN

DECEMBER

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.

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.

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.

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;

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.

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.

She fiercely cried ‘Thou shalt not thus escape;

For to this marvel dar’st thou not pretend.

There is but one that coud 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.’

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:

‘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.

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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

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?

‘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.

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.’

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.

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.

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.

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!_

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:

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.’

‘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.

‘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:

‘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_.

‘_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.

‘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.

‘Show me the way.’ But Aphrodite said,

‘That mayst 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.

’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.’

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.

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.

‘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?

‘Hearken; for I the road and means can teach

How thou mayst 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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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 mayst go free

Even to the mansion of Persephonè,

Withouten stay or peril, safe and sound.

‘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 mayst retreat.

‘Giving thy second cake to Cerberus,

The coin to Charon, and that way whereby

Thou earnest 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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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?’

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.

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.

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.

‘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.