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diff --git a/37804-0.txt b/37804-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c977589 --- /dev/null +++ b/37804-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18295 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 37804 *** +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. + + + + + BOOK II + + + TO + + THE MEMORY OF + + G. M. H. + + + 1 + + MUSE. + + Will Love again awake, + That lies asleep so long? + + POET. + + O hush! ye tongues that shake + The drowsy night with song. + + MUSE. + + It is a lady fair + Whom once he deigned to praise, + That at the door doth dare + Her sad complaint to raise. + + POET. + + She must be fair of face, + As bold of heart she seems, + If she would match her grace + With the delight of dreams. + + MUSE. + + Her beauty would surprise + Gazers on Autumn eves, + Who watched the broad moon rise + Upon the scattered sheaves. + + POET. + + O sweet must be the voice + He shall descend to hear, + Who doth in Heaven rejoice + His most enchanted ear. + + MUSE. + + The smile, that rests to play + Upon her lip, foretells + What musical array + Tricks her sweet syllables + + POET. + + And yet her smiles have danced + In vain, if her discourse + Win not the soul entranced + In divine intercourse. + + MUSE. + + She will encounter all + This trial without shame, + Her eyes men Beauty call, + And Wisdom is her name. + + POET. + + Throw back the portals then, + Ye guards, your watch that keep, + Love will awake again + That lay so long asleep. + + + 2 + + A PASSER-BY + + Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, + Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, + That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, + Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest? + Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest, + When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling, + Wilt thóu glíde on the blue Pacific, or rest + In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling. + + I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest, + Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air: + I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, + And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, + Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare; + Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest + Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair + Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. + + And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless, + I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine + That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless, + Thy port assured in a happier land than mine. + But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, + As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding, + From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line + In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding. + + + 3 + + LATE SPRING EVENING + + I saw the Virgin-mother clad in green, + Walking the sprinkled meadows at sundown; + While yet the moon's cold flame was hung between + The day and night, above the dusky town: + I saw her brighter than the Western gold, + Whereto she faced in splendour to behold. + + Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf + That trembled in the sunset glare aglow: + Herself more delicate than is the brief, + Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low, + And more delicious than 's the earliest streak + The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek. + + As if to match the sight that so did please, + A music entered, making passion fain: + Three nightingales sat singing in the trees, + And praised the Goddess for the fallen rain; + Which yet their unseen motions did arouse, + Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs. + + And o'er the treetops, scattered in mid air, + The exhausted clouds laden with crimson light + Floated, or seemed to sleep; and, highest there, + One planet broke the lingering ranks of night; + Daring day's company, so he might spy + The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye. + + And when I saw her, then I worshipped her, + And said,--O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring, + Mother of all my years, thou who dost stir + My heart to adore thee and my tongue to sing, + Flower of my fruit, of my heart's blood the fire, + Of all my satisfaction the desire! + + How art thou every year more beautiful, + Younger for all the winters thou hast cast: + And I, for all my love grows, grow more dull, + Decaying with each season overpast! + In vain to teach him love must man employ thee, + The more he learns the less he can enjoy thee. + + + 4 + + WOOING + + I know not how I came, + New on my knightly journey, + To win the fairest dame + That graced my maiden tourney. + + Chivalry's lovely prize + With all men's gaze upon her, + Why did she free her eyes + On me, to do me honour? + + Ah! ne'er had I my mind + With such high hope delighted, + Had she not first inclined, + And with her eyes invited. + + But never doubt I knew, + Having their glance to cheer me, + Until the day joy grew + Too great, too sure, too near me. + + When hope a fear became, + And passion, grown too tender, + Now trembled at the shame + Of a despised surrender; + + And where my love at first + Saw kindness in her smiling, + I read her pride, and cursed + The arts of her beguiling. + + Till winning less than won, + And liker wooed than wooing, + Too late I turned undone + Away from my undoing; + + And stood beside the door, + Whereto she followed, making + My hard leave-taking more + Hard by her sweet leave-taking. + + Her speech would have betrayed + Her thought, had mine been colder: + Her eyes' distress had made + A lesser lover bolder. + + But no! Fond heart, distrust, + Cried Wisdom, and consider: + Go free, since go thou must:-- + And so farewell I bid her. + + And brisk upon my way + I smote the stroke to sever, + And should have lost that day + My life's delight for ever: + + But when I saw her start + And turn aside and tremble;-- + Ah! she was true, her heart + I knew did not dissemble. + + + 5 + + There is a hill beside the silver Thames, + Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine: + And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems + Steeply the thickets to his floods decline. + Straight trees in every place + Their thick tops interlace, + And pendant branches trail their foliage fine + Upon his watery face. + + Swift from the sweltering pasturage he flows: + His stream, alert to seek the pleasant shade, + Pictures his gentle purpose, as he goes + Straight to the caverned pool his toil has made. + His winter floods lay bare + The stout roots in the air: + His summer streams are cool, when they have played + Among their fibrous hair. + + A rushy island guards the sacred bower, + And hides it from the meadow, where in peace + The lazy cows wrench many a scented flower, + Robbing the golden market of the bees: + And laden barges float + By banks of myosote; + And scented flag and golden flower-de-lys + Delay the loitering boat. + + And on this side the island, where the pool + Eddies away, are tangled mass on mass + The water-weeds, that net the fishes cool, + And scarce allow a narrow stream to pass; + Where spreading crowfoot mars + The drowning nenuphars, + Waving the tassels of her silken grass + Below her silver stars. + + But in the purple pool there nothing grows, + Not the white water-lily spoked with gold; + Though best she loves the hollows, and well knows + On quiet streams her broad shields to unfold: + Yet should her roots but try + Within these deeps to lie, + Not her long reaching stalk could ever hold + Her waxen head so high. + + Sometimes an angler comes, and drops his hook + Within its hidden depths, and 'gainst a tree + Leaning his rod, reads in some pleasant book, + Forgetting soon his pride of fishery; + And dreams, or falls asleep, + While curious fishes peep + About his nibbled bait, or scornfully + Dart off and rise and leap. + + And sometimes a slow figure 'neath the trees, + In ancient-fashioned smock, with tottering care + Upon a staff propping his weary knees, + May by the pathway of the forest fare: + As from a buried day + Across the mind will stray + Some perishing mute shadow,--and unaware + He passeth on his way. + + Else, he that wishes solitude is safe, + Whether he bathe at morning in the stream: + Or lead his love there when the hot hours chafe + The meadows, busy with a blurring steam; + Or watch, as fades the light, + The gibbous moon grow bright, + Until her magic rays dance in a dream, + And glorify the night. + + Where is this bower beside the silver Thames? + O pool and flowery thickets, hear my vow! + O trees of freshest foliage and straight stems, + No sharer of my secret I allow: + Lest ere I come the while + Strange feet your shades defile; + Or lest the burly oarsman turn his prow + Within your guardian isle. + + + 6 + + A WATER-PARTY + + Let us, as by this verdant bank we float, + Search down the marge to find some shady pool + Where we may rest awhile and moor our boat, + And bathe our tired limbs in the waters cool. + Beneath the noonday sun, + Swiftly, O river, run! + + Here is a mirror for Narcissus, see! + I cannot sound it, plumbing with my oar. + Lay the stern in beneath this bowering tree! + Now, stepping on this stump, we are ashore. + Guard, Hamadryades, + Our clothes laid by your trees! + + How the birds warble in the woods! I pick + The waxen lilies, diving to the root. + But swim not far in the stream, the weeds grow thick, + And hot on the bare head the sunbeams shoot. + Until our sport be done, + O merry birds, sing on! + + If but to-night the sky be clear, the moon + Will serve us well, for she is near the full. + We shall row safely home; only too soon,-- + So pleasant 'tis, whether we float or pull. + To guide us through the night, + O summer moon, shine bright! + + + 7 + + THE DOWNS + + O bold majestic downs, smooth, fair and lonely; + O still solitude, only matched in the skies: + Perilous in steep places, + Soft in the level races, + Where sweeping in phantom silence the cloudland flies; + With lovely undulation of fall and rise; + Entrenched with thickets thorned, + By delicate miniature dainty flowers adorned! + + I climb your crown, and lo! a sight surprising + Of sea in front uprising, steep and wide: + And scattered ships ascending + To heaven, lost in the blending + Of distant blues, where water and sky divide, + Urging their engines against wind and tide, + And all so small and slow + They seem to be wearily pointing the way they would go. + + The accumulated murmur of soft plashing, + Of waves on rocks dashing and searching the sands, + Takes my ear, in the veering + Baffled wind, as rearing + Upright at the cliff, to the gullies and rifts he stands; + And his conquering surges scour out over the lands; + While again at the foot of the downs + He masses his strength to recover the topmost crowns. + + + 8 + + SPRING + + ODE I + + INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY + + Again with pleasant green + Has Spring renewed the wood, + And where the bare trunks stood + Are leafy arbours seen; + And back on budding boughs + Come birds, to court and pair, + Whose rival amorous vows + Amaze the scented air. + + The freshets are unbound, + And leaping from the hill, + Their mossy banks refill + With streams of light and sound: + And scattered down the meads, + From hour to hour unfold + A thousand buds and beads + In stars and cups of gold. + + Now hear, and see, and note, + The farms are all astir, + And every labourer + Has doffed his winter coat; + And how with specks of white + They dot the brown hillside, + Or jaunt and sing outright + As by their teams they stride. + + They sing to feel the Sun + Regain his wanton strength; + To know the year at length + Rewards their labour done; + To see the rootless stake + They set bare in the ground, + Burst into leaf, and shake + Its grateful scent around. + + Ah now an evil lot + Is his, who toils for gain, + Where crowded chimneys stain + The heavens his choice forgot; + 'Tis on the blighted trees + That deck his garden dim, + And in the tainted breeze, + That sweet Spring comes to him. + + Far sooner I would choose + The life of brutes that bask, + Than set myself a task, + Which inborn powers refuse: + And rather far enjoy + The body, than invent + A duty, to destroy + The ease which nature sent; + + And country life I praise, + And lead, because I find + The philosophic mind + Can take no middle ways; + She will not leave her love + To mix with men, her art + Is all to strive above + The crowd, or stand apart. + + Thrice happy he, the rare + Prometheus, who can play + With hidden things, and lay + New realms of nature bare; + Whose venturous step has trod + Hell underfoot, and won + A crown from man and God + For all that he has done.-- + + That highest gift of all, + Since crabbèd fate did flood + My heart with sluggish blood, + I look not mine to call; + But, like a truant freed, + Fly to the woods, and claim + A pleasure for the deed + Of my inglorious name: + + And am content, denied + The best, in choosing right; + For Nature can delight + Fancies unoccupied + With ecstasies so sweet + As none can even guess, + Who walk not with the feet + Of joy in idleness. + + Then leave your joyless ways, + My friend, my joys to see. + The day you come shall be + The choice of chosen days: + You shall be lost, and learn + New being, and forget + The world, till your return + Shall bring your first regret. + + + 9 + + SPRING + + ODE II + + REPLY + + Behold! the radiant Spring, + In splendour decked anew, + Down from her heaven of blue + Returns on sunlit wing: + The zephyrs of her train + In fleecy clouds disport, + And birds to greet her reign + Summon their silvan court. + + And here in street and square + The prisoned trees contest + Her favour with the best, + To robe themselves full fair: + And forth their buds provoke, + Forgetting winter brown, + And all the mire and smoke + That wrapped the dingy town. + + Now he that loves indeed + His pleasure must awake, + Lest any pleasure take + Its flight, and he not heed; + For of his few short years + Another now invites + His hungry soul, and cheers + His life with new delights. + + And who loves Nature more + Than he, whose painful art + Has taught and skilled his heart + To read her skill and lore? + Whose spirit leaps more high, + Plucking the pale primrose, + Than his whose feet must fly + The pasture where it grows? + + One long in city pent + Forgets, or must complain: + But think not I can stain + My heaven with discontent; + Nor wallow with that sad, + Backsliding herd, who cry + That Truth must make man bad, + And pleasure is a lie. + + Rather while Reason lives + To mark me from the beast, + I'll teach her serve at least + To heal the wound she gives: + Nor need she strain her powers + Beyond a common flight, + To make the passing hours + Happy from morn till night. + + Since health our toil rewards, + And strength is labour's prize, + I hate not, nor despise + The work my lot accords; + Nor fret with fears unkind + The tender joys, that bless + My hard-won peace of mind, + In hours of idleness. + + Then what charm company + Can give, know I,--if wine + Go round, or throats combine + To set dumb music free. + Or deep in wintertide + When winds without make moan, + I love my own fireside + Not least when most alone. + + Then oft I turn the page + In which our country's name, + Spoiling the Greek of fame, + Shall sound in every age: + Or some Terentian play + Renew, whose excellent + Adjusted folds betray + How once Menander went. + + Or if grave study suit + The yet unwearied brain, + Plato can teach again, + And Socrates dispute; + Till fancy in a dream + Confront their souls with mine, + Crowning the mind supreme, + And her delights divine. + + While pleasure yet can be + Pleasant, and fancy sweet, + I bid all care retreat + From my philosophy; + Which, when I come to try + Your simpler life, will find, + I doubt not, joys to vie + With those I leave behind. + + + 10 + + ELEGY + + AMONG THE TOMBS + + Sad, sombre place, beneath whose antique yews + I come, unquiet sorrows to control; + Amid thy silent mossgrown graves to muse + With my neglected solitary soul; + And to poetic sadness care confide, + Trusting sweet Melancholy for my guide: + + They will not ask why in thy shades I stray, + Among the tombs finding my rare delight, + Beneath the sun at indolent noonday, + Or in the windy moon-enchanted night, + Who have once reined in their steeds at any shrine, + And given them water from the well divine.-- + + The orchards are all ripened, and the sun + Spots the deserted gleanings with decay; + The seeds are perfected: his work is done, + And Autumn lingers but to outsmile the May; + Bidding his tinted leaves glide, bidding clear + Unto clear skies the birds applaud the year. + + Lo, here I sit, and to the world I call, + The world my solemn fancy leaves behind, + Come! pass within the inviolable wall, + Come pride, come pleasure, come distracted mind; + Within the fated refuge, hither, turn, + And learn your wisdom ere 'tis late to learn. + + Come with me now, and taste the fount of tears; + For many eyes have sanctified this spot, + Where grief's unbroken lineage endears + The charm untimely Folly injures not, + And slays the intruding thoughts, that overleap + The simple fence its holiness doth keep. + + Read the worn names of the forgotten dead, + Their pompous legends will no smile awake; + Even the vainglorious title o'er the head + Wins its pride pardon for its sorrow's sake; + And carven Loves scorn not their dusty prize, + Though fallen so far from tender sympathies. + + Here where a mother laid her only son, + Here where a lover left his bride, below + The treasured names their own are added on + To those whom they have followed long ago: + Sealing the record of the tears they shed, + That 'where their treasure there their hearts are fled.' + + Grandfather, father, son, and then again + Child, grandchild, and great-grandchild laid beneath + Numbered in turn among the sons of men, + And gathered each one in his turn to death: + While he that occupies their house and name + To-day,--to-morrow too their grave shall claim. + + And where are all the spirits? Ah! could we tell + The manner of our being when we die, + And see beyond the scene we know so well, + The country that so much obscured doth lie! + With brightest visions our fond hopes repair, + Or crown our melancholy with despair; + + From death, still death, still would a comfort come: + Since of this world the essential joy must fall + In all distributed, in each thing some, + In nothing all, and all complete in all; + Till pleasure, ageing to her full increase, + Puts on perfection, and is throned in peace. + + Yea, sweetest peace, unsought-for, undesired, + Loathed and misnamed, 'tis thee I worship here: + Though in most black habiliments attired, + Thou art sweet peace, and thee I cannot fear. + Nay, were my last hope quenched, I here would sit + And praise the annihilation of the pit. + + Nor quickly disenchanted will my feet + Back to the busy town return, but yet + Linger, ere I my loving friends would greet, + Or touch their hands, or share without regret + The warmth of that kind hearth, whose sacred ties + Only shall dim with tears my dying eyes. + + + 11 + + DEJECTION + + Wherefore to-night so full of care, + My soul, revolving hopeless strife, + Pointing at hindrance, and the bare + Painful escapes of fitful life? + + Shaping the doom that may befall + By precedent of terror past: + By love dishonoured, and the call + Of friendship slighted at the last? + + By treasured names, the little store + That memory out of wreck could save + Of loving hearts, that gone before + Call their old comrade to the grave? + + O soul, be patient: thou shall find + A little matter mend all this; + Some strain of music to thy mind, + Some praise for skill not spent amiss. + + Again shall pleasure overflow + Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste + Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow + Half sad for sweetness run to waste. + + O happy life! I hear thee sing, + O rare delight of mortal stuff! + I praise my days for all they bring, + Yet are they only not enough. + + + 12 + + MORNING HYMN + + O golden Sun, whose ray + My path illumineth: + Light of the circling day, + Whose night is birth and death: + + That dost not stint the prime + Of wise and strong, nor stay + The changeful ordering time, + That brings their sure decay: + + Though thou, the central sphere, + Dost seem to turn around + Thy creature world, and near + As father fond art found; + + Thereon, as from above + To shine, and make rejoice + With beauty, life, and love, + The garden of thy choice, + To dress the jocund Spring + With bounteous promise gay + Of hotter months, that bring + The full perfected day; + + To touch with richest gold + The ripe fruit, ere it fall; + And smile through cloud and cold + On Winter's funeral. + + Now with resplendent flood + Gladden my waking eyes, + And stir my slothful blood + To joyous enterprise. + + Arise, arise, as when + At first God said LIGHT BE! + That He might make us men + With eyes His light to see. + + Scatter the clouds that hide + The face of heaven, and show + Where sweet Peace doth abide, + Where Truth and Beauty grow. + + Awaken, cheer, adorn, + Invite, inspire, assure + The joys that praise thy morn, + The toil thy noons mature: + + And soothe the eve of day, + That darkens back to death; + O golden Sun, whose ray + Our path illumineth! + + + 13 + + I have loved flowers that fade, + Within whose magic tents + Rich hues have marriage made + With sweet unmemoried scents: + A honeymoon delight,-- + A joy of love at sight, + That ages in an hour:-- + My song be like a flower! + + I have loved airs, that die + Before their charm is writ + Along a liquid sky + Trembling to welcome it. + Notes, that with pulse of fire + Proclaim the spirit's desire, + Then die, and are nowhere:-- + My song be like an air! + + Die, song, die like a breath, + And wither as a bloom: + Fear not a flowery death, + Dread not an airy tomb! + Fly with delight, fly hence! + 'Twas thine love's tender sense + To feast; now on thy bier + Beauty shall shed a tear. + + + + + BOOK III + + TO + + R. W. D. + + + 1 + + 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 drown in the south or shiver in the frosty north? + What seek ye or find ye in your random flying, + 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! they burn my soul, + The fires, devour my soul that once was whole: + She is scattered in fiery phantoms day by day, + But whither, whither? ay whither? away, away! + + Could I but 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! + + + 2 + + LONDON SNOW + + When men were all asleep the snow came flying, + In large white flakes falling on the city brown, + Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, + Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town; + Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing; + Lazily and incessantly floating down and down: + Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing; + Hiding difference, making unevenness even, + Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing. + All night it fell, and when full inches seven + It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness, + The clouds blew off from a high and frosty heaven; + And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness + Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare: + The eye marvelled--marvelled at the dazzling whiteness; + The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air; + No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, + And the busy morning cries came thin and spare. + Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling, + They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze + Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing; + Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees; + Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder, + 'O look at the trees!' they cried, 'O look at the trees!' + With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder, + Following along the white deserted way, + A country company long dispersed asunder: + When now already the sun, in pale display + Standing by Paul's high dome, spread forth below + His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day. + For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow; + And trains of sombre men, past tale of number, + Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go: + But even for them awhile no cares encumber + Their minds diverted; the daily word is unspoken, + The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber + At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the + charm they have broken. + + + 3 + + THE VOICE OF NATURE + + I stand on the cliff and watch the veiled sun paling + A silver field afar in the mournful sea, + The scourge of the surf, and plaintive gulls sailing + At ease on the gale that smites the shuddering lea: + Whose smile severe and chaste + June never hath stirred to vanity, nor age defaced. + In lofty thought strive, O spirit, for ever: + In courage and strength pursue thine own endeavour. + + Ah! if it were only for thee, thou restless ocean + Of waves that follow and roar, the sweep of the tides; + Wer't only for thee, impetuous wind, whose motion + Precipitate all o'errides, and turns, nor abides: + For you sad birds and fair, + Or only for thee, bleak cliff, erect in the air; + Then well could I read wisdom in every feature, + O well should I understand the voice of Nature. + + But far away, I think, in the Thames valley, + The silent river glides by flowery banks: + And birds sing sweetly in branches that arch an alley + Of cloistered trees, moss-grown in their ancient ranks: + Where if a light air stray, + 'Tis laden with hum of bees and scent of may. + Love and peace be thine, O spirit, for ever: + Serve thy sweet desire: despise endeavour. + + And if it were only for thee, entrancèd river, + That scarce dost rock the lily on her airy stem, + Or stir a wave to murmur, or a rush to quiver; + Wer't but for the woods, and summer asleep in them: + For you my bowers green, + My hedges of rose and woodbine, with walks between, + Then well could I read wisdom in every feature, + O well should I understand the voice of Nature. + + + 4 + + ON A DEAD CHILD + + Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, + With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! + Though cold and stark and bare, + The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. + + Thy mother's treasure wert thou;--alas! no longer + To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be + Thy father's pride;--ah, he + Must gather his faith together, and his strength make stronger. + + To me, as I move thee now in the last duty, + Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond; + Startling my fancy fond + With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. + + Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it: + But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff; + Yet feels to my hand as if + 'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. + + So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,-- + Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed!-- + Propping thy wise, sad head, + Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing. + + So quiet! doth the change content thee?--Death, whither + he taken thee? + To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this? + The vision of which I miss, + Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and awaken thee? + + Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us + To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark, + Unwilling, alone we embark, + And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us. + + + 5 + + THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS MISTRESS + + Because thou canst not see, + Because thou canst not know + The black and hopeless woe + That hath encompassed me: + Because, should I confess + The thought of my despair, + My words would wound thee less + Than swords can hurt the air: + + Because with thee I seem + As one invited near + To taste the faery cheer + Of spirits in a dream; + Of whom he knoweth nought + Save that they vie to make + All motion, voice and thought + A pleasure for his sake: + + Therefore more sweet and strange + Has been the mystery + Of thy long love to me, + That doth not quit, nor change, + Nor tax my solemn heart, + That kisseth in a gloom, + Knowing not who thou art + That givest, nor to whom. + + Therefore the tender touch + Is more; more dear the smile: + And thy light words beguile + My wisdom overmuch: + And O with swiftness fly + The fancies of my song + To happy worlds, where I + Still in thy love belong. + + + 6 + + Haste on, my joys! your treasure lies + In swift, unceasing flight. + O haste: for while your beauty flies + I seize your full delight. + Lo! I have seen the scented flower, + Whose tender stems I cull, + For her brief date and meted hour + Appear more beautiful. + + O youth, O strength, O most divine + For that so short ye prove; + Were but your rare gifts longer mine, + Ye scarce would win my love. + Nay, life itself the heart would spurn, + Did once the days restore + The days, that once enjoyed return, + Return--ah! nevermore. + + + 7 + + INDOLENCE + + We left the city when the summer day + Had verged already on its hot decline, + And charmèd Indolence in languor lay + In her gay gardens, 'neath her towers divine: + 'Farewell,' we said, 'dear city of youth and dream!' + And in our boat we stepped and took the stream. + + All through that idle afternoon we strayed + Upon our proposed travel well begun, + As loitering by the woodland's dreamy shade, + Past shallow islets floating in the sun, + Or searching down the banks for rarer flowers + We lingered out the pleasurable hours. + + Till when that loveliest came, which mowers home + Turns from their longest labour, as we steered + Along a straitened channel flecked with foam, + We lost our landscape wide, and slowly neared + An ancient bridge, that like a blind wall lay + Low on its buried vaults to block the way. + + Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed, + Where with its arches three it sucked the mass + Of water, that in swirl thereunder flowed, + Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass; + And pulling for the middle span, we drew + The tender blades aboard and floated through. + + But past the bridge what change we found below! + The stream, that all day long had laughed and played + Betwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow, + And with its easy flood no murmur made: + And weeds spread on its surface, and about + The stagnant margin reared their stout heads out. + + Upon the left high elms, with giant wood + Skirting the water-meadows, interwove + Their slumbrous crowns, o'ershadowing where they stood + The floor and heavy pillars of the grove: + And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank, + A footpath led along the moated bank. + + Across, all down the right, an old brick wall, + Above and o'er the channel, red did lean; + Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall, + Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green; + And crumbling to the flood, which at its base + Slid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face. + + Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backs + All windowless, neglected and awry, + With tottering coigns, and crooked chimney stacks; + And here and there an unused door, set high + Above the fragments of its mouldering stair, + With rail and broken step led out on air. + + Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds, + With empty boats and barges moored along, + And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds, + And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong. + No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke, + No voice the somnolence and silence broke. + + Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose drip + Fell without sparkle, and I rowed no more; + And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip, + But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore; + And our trim boat let her swift motion die, + Between the dim reflections floating by. + + + 8 + + I praise the tender flower, + That on a mournful day + Bloomed in my garden bower + And made the winter gay. + Its loveliness contented + My heart tormented. + + I praise the gentle maid + Whose happy voice and smile + To confidence betrayed + My doleful heart awhile: + And gave my spirit deploring + Fresh wings for soaring. + + The maid for very fear + Of love I durst not tell: + The rose could never hear, + Though I bespake her well: + So in my song I bind them + For all to find them. + + + 9 + + A winter's night with the snow about: + 'Twas silent within and cold without: + Both father and mother to bed were gone: + The son sat yet by the fire alone. + + He gazed on the fire, and dreamed again + Of one that was now no more among men: + As still he sat and never aware + How close was the spirit beside his chair. + + Nay, sad were his thoughts, for he wept and said + Ah, woe for the dead! ah, woe for the dead! + How heavy the earth lies now on her breast, + The lips that I kissed, and the hand I pressed. + + The spirit he saw not, he could not hear + The comforting word she spake in his ear: + His heart in the grave with her mouldering clay + No welcome gave--and she fled away. + + + 10 + + My bed and pillow are cold, + My heart is faint with dread, + The air hath an odour of mould, + I dream I lie with the dead: + I cannot move, + O come to me, Love, + Or else I am dead. + + The feet I hear on the floor + Tread heavily overhead: + O Love, come down to the door, + Come, Love, come, ere I be dead: + Make shine thy light, + O Love, in the night; + Or else I am dead. + + + 11 + + O thou unfaithful, still as ever dearest + That in thy beauty to my eyes appearest + In fancy rising now to re-awaken + My love unshaken; + + All thou'st forgotten, but no change can free thee, + No hate unmake thee; as thou wert I see thee, + And am contented, eye from fond eye meeting + Its ample greeting. + + O thou my star of stars, among things wholly + Devoted, sacred, dim and melancholy, + The only joy of all the joys I cherished + That hast not perished, + + Why now on others squand'rest thou the treasure, + That to be jealous of is still my pleasure: + As still I dream 'tis me whom thou invitest, + Me thou delightest? + + But day by day my joy hath feebler being, + The fading picture tires my painful seeing, + And faery fancy leaves her habitation + To desolation. + + Of two things open left for lovers parted + 'Twas thine to scorn the past and go lighthearted: + But I would ever dream I still possess it, + And thus caress it. + + + 12 + + Thou didst delight my eyes: + Yet who am I? nor first + Nor last nor best, that durst + Once dream of thee for prize; + Nor this the only time + Thou shalt set love to rhyme. + + Thou didst delight my ear: + Ah! little praise; thy voice + Makes other hearts rejoice, + Makes all ears glad that hear; + And short my joy: but yet, + O song, do not forget. + + For what wert thou to me? + How shall I say? The moon, + That poured her midnight noon + Upon his wrecking sea;-- + A sail, that for a day + Has cheered the castaway. + + + 13 + + Joy, sweetest lifeborn joy, where dost thou dwell? + Upon the formless moments of our being + Flitting, to mock the ear that heareth well, + To escape the trainèd eye that strains in seeing, + Dost thou fly with us whither we are fleeing; + Or home in our creations, to withstand + Black-wingèd death, that slays the making hand? + + The making mind, that must untimely perish + Amidst its work which time may not destroy, + The beauteous forms which man shall love to cherish, + The glorious songs that combat earth's annoy? + Thou dost dwell here, I know, divinest Joy: + But they who build thy towers fair and strong, + Of all that toil, feel most of care and wrong. + + Sense is so tender, O and hope so high, + That common pleasures mock their hope and sense; + And swifter than doth lightning from the sky + The ecstasy they pine for flashes hence, + Leaving the darkness and the woe immense, + Wherewith it seems no thread of life was woven, + Nor doth the track remain where once 'twas cloven. + + And heaven and all the stable elements + That guard God's purpose mock us, though the mind + Be spent in searching: for his old intents + We see were never for our joy designed: + They shine as doth the bright sun on the blind, + Or like his pensioned stars, that hymn above + His praise, but not toward us, that God is Love. + + For who so well hath wooed the maiden hours + As quite to have won the worth of their rich show, + To rob the night of mystery, or the flowers + Of their sweet delicacy ere they go? + Nay, even the dear occasion when we know, + We miss the joy, and on the gliding day + The special glories float and pass away. + + Only life's common plod: still to repair + The body and the thing which perisheth: + The soil, the smutch, the toil and ache and wear, + The grinding enginry of blood and breath, + Pain's random darts, the heartless spade of death; + All is but grief, and heavily we call + On the last terror for the end of all. + + Then comes the happy moment: not a stir + In any tree, no portent in the sky: + The morn doth neither hasten nor defer, + The morrow hath no name to call it by, + But life and joy are one,--we know not why,-- + As though our very blood long breathless lain + Had tasted of the breath of God again. + + And having tasted it I speak of it, + And praise him thinking how I trembled then + When his touch strengthened me, as now I sit + In wonder, reaching out beyond my ken, + Reaching to turn the day back, and my pen + Urging to tell a tale which told would seem + The witless phantasy of them that dream. + + But O most blessèd truth, for truth thou art, + Abide thou with me till my life shall end. + Divinity hath surely touched my heart; + I have possessed more joy than earth can lend: + I may attain what time shall never spend. + Only let not my duller days destroy + The memory of thy witness and my joy. + + + 14 + + The full moon from her cloudless skies + Turneth her face, I think, on me; + And from the hour when she doth rise + Till when she sets, none else will see. + + One only other ray she hath, + That makes an angle close with mine, + And glancing down its happy path + Upon another spot doth shine. + + But that ray too is sent to me, + For where it lights there dwells my heart: + And if I were where I would be, + Both rays would shine, love, where thou art. + + + 15 + + Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, + It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake + The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! + + She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee; + Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, + Already they watch the path thy feet shall take: + Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + + And if thou tarry from her,--if this could be,-- + She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee; + For thee would unashamèd herself forsake: + Awake to be loved, my heart, awake, awake! + + Awake, the land is scattered with light, and see, + Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree: + And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake; + Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + + Lo all things wake and tarry and look for thee: + She looketh and saith, 'O sun, now bring him to me. + Come more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake, + And awake my heart to be loved: awake, awake!' + + + 16 + + SONG + + I love my lady's eyes + Above the beauties rare + She most is wont to prize, + Above her sunny hair, + And all that face to face + Her glass repeats of grace. + + For those are still the same + To her and all that see: + But oh! her eyes will flame + When they do look on me: + And so above the rest + I love her eyes the best. + + Now say, [_Say, O say! saith the music_] who likes my song?-- + I knew you by your eyes, + That rest on nothing long, + And have forgot surprise; + And stray [_Stray, O stray! saith the music_] as mine will stray, + The while my love's away. + + + 17 + + Since thou, O fondest and truest, + Hast loved me best and longest, + And now with trust the strongest + The joy of my heart renewest; + + Since thou art dearer and dearer + While other hearts grow colder + And ever, as love is older, + More lovingly drawest nearer: + + Since now I see in the measure + Of all my giving and taking, + Thou wert my hand in the making, + The sense and soul of my pleasure; + + The good I have ne'er repaid thee + In heaven I pray be recorded, + And all thy love rewarded + By God, thy master that made thee. + + + 18 + + The evening darkens over + After a day so bright + The windcapt waves discover + That wild will be the night. + There's sound of distant thunder. + + The latest sea-birds hover + Along the cliff's sheer height; + As in the memory wander + Last flutterings of delight, + White wings lost on the white. + + There's not a ship in sight; + And as the sun goes under + Thick clouds conspire to cover + The moon that should rise yonder. + Thou art alone, fond lover. + + + 19 + + O youth whose hope is high, + Who dost to Truth aspire, + Whether thou live or die, + O look not back nor tire. + + Thou that art bold to fly + Through tempest, flood and fire, + Nor dost not shrink to try + Thy heart in torments dire: + + If thou canst Death defy, + If thy Faith is entire, + Press onward, for thine eye + Shall see thy heart's desire. + + Beauty and love are nigh, + And with their deathless quire + Soon shall thine eager cry + Be numbered and expire. + + + + + BOOK IV + + TO + + L. B. C. L. M. + + + 1 + + I love all beauteous things, + I seek and adore them; + God hath no better praise, + And man in his hasty days + Is honoured for them. + + I too will something make + And joy in the making; + Altho' to-morrow it seem + Like the empty words of a dream + Remembered on waking. + + + 2 + + My spirit sang all day + O my joy. + Nothing my tongue could say, + Only My joy! + + My heart an echo caught-- + O my joy-- + And spake, Tell me thy thought, + Hide not thy joy. + + My eyes gan peer around,-- + O my joy-- + What beauty hast thou found? + Shew us thy joy. + + My jealous ears grew whist;-- + O my joy-- + Music from heaven is't, + Sent for our joy? + + She also came and heard; + O my joy, + What, said she, is this word? + What is thy joy? + + And I replied, O see, + O my joy, + 'Tis thee, I cried, 'tis thee: + Thou art my joy. + + + 3 + + The upper skies are palest blue + Mottled with pearl and fretted snow: + With tattered fleece of inky hue + Close overhead the storm-clouds go. + + Their shadows fly along the hill + And o'er the crest mount one by one: + The whitened planking of the mill + Is now in shade and now in sun. + + + 4 + + The clouds have left the sky, + The wind hath left the sea, + The half-moon up on high + Shrinketh her face of dree + + She lightens on the comb + Of leaden waves, that roar + And thrust their hurried foam + Up on the dusky shore. + + Behind the western bars + The shrouded day retreats, + And unperceived the stars + Steal to their sovran seats. + + And whiter grows the foam, + The small moon lightens more; + And as I turn me home, + My shadow walks before. + + + 5 + + LAST WEEK OF FEBRUARY, 1890 + + Hark to the merry birds, hark how they sing! + Although 'tis not yet spring + And keen the air; + Hale Winter, half resigning ere he go, + Doth to his heiress shew + His kingdom fair. + + In patient russet is his forest spread, + All bright with bramble red, + With beechen moss + And holly sheen: the oak silver and stark + Sunneth his aged bark + And wrinkled boss. + + But neath the ruin of the withered brake + Primroses now awake + From nursing shades: + The crumpled carpet of the dry leaves brown + Avails not to keep down + The hyacinth blades. + + The hazel hath put forth his tassels ruffed; + The willow's flossy tuft + Hath slipped him free: + The rose amid her ransacked orange hips + Braggeth the tender tips + Of bowers to be. + + A black rook stirs the branches here and there, + Foraging to repair + His broken home: + And hark, on the ash-boughs! Never thrush did sing + Louder in praise of spring, + When spring is come. + + + 6 + + APRIL, 1885 + + Wanton with long delay the gay spring leaping cometh; + The blackthorn starreth now his bough on the eve of May: + All day in the sweet box-tree the bee for pleasure hummeth: + The cuckoo sends afloat his note on the air all day. + + Now dewy nights again and rain in gentle shower + At root of tree and flower have quenched the winter's drouth: + On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower + In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzling south. + + + 7 + + Gáy Róbin is seen no more: + He is gone with the snow, + For winter is o'er + And Robin will go. + In need he was fed, and now he is fled + Away to his secret nest. + No more will he stand + Begging for crumbs, + No longer he comes + Beseeching our hand + And showing his breast + At window and door:-- + Gay Robin is seen no more. + + Blithe Robin is heard no more: + He gave us his song + When summer was o'er + And winter was long: + He sang for his bread and now he is fled + Away to his secret nest. + And there in the green + Early and late + Alone to his mate + He pipeth unseen + And swelleth his breast; + For us it is o'er:-- + Blithe Robin is heard no more. + + + 8 + + Spring goeth all in white, + Crowned with milk-white may: + In fleecy flocks of light + O'er heaven the white clouds stray: + + White butterflies in the air; + White daisies prank the ground: + The cherry and hoary pear + Scatter their snow around. + + + 9 + + My eyes for beauty pine, + My soul for Goddës grace: + No other care nor hope is mine; + To heaven I turn my face. + + One splendour thence is shed + From all the stars above: + 'Tis namèd when God's name is said, + 'Tis Love, 'tis heavenly Love. + + And every gentle heart, + That burns with true desire, + Is lit from eyes that mirror part + Of that celestial fire. + + + 10 + + O Love, my muse, how was't for me + Among the best to dare, + In thy high courts that bowed the knee + With sacrifice and prayer? + + Their mighty offerings at thy shrine + Shamed me, who nothing bore + Their suits were mockeries of mine, + I sued for so much more. + + Full many I met that crowned with bay + In triumph home returned, + And many a master on the way + Proud of the prize I scorned. + + I wished no garland on my head + Nor treasure in my hand; + My gift the longing that me led, + My prayer thy high command, + + My love, my muse; and when I spake + Thou mad'st me thine that day, + And more than hundred hearts could take + Gav'st me to bear away. + + + 11 + + Love on my heart from heaven fell, + Soft as the dew on flowers of spring, + Sweet as the hidden drops that swell + Their honey-throated chalicing. + + Now never from him do I part, + Hosanna evermore I cry: + I taste his savour in my heart, + And bid all praise him as do I. + + Without him noughtsoever is, + Nor was afore, nor e'er shall be: + Nor any other joy than his + Wish I for mine to comfort me. + + + 12 + + The hill pines were sighing, + O'ercast and chill was the day: + A mist in the valley lying + Blotted the pleasant May. + + But deep in the glen's bosom + Summer slept in the fire + Of the odorous gorse-blossom + And the hot scent of the brier. + + A ribald cuckoo clamoured, + And out of the copse the stroke + Of the iron axe that hammered + The iron heart of the oak. + + Anon a sound appalling, + As a hundred years of pride + Crashed, in the silence falling: + And the shadowy pine-trees sighed. + + + 13 + + THE WINDMILL + + The green corn waving in the dale, + The ripe grass waving on the hill: + I lean across the paddock pale + And gaze upon the giddy mill. + + Its hurtling sails a mighty sweep + Cut thro' the air: with rushing sound + Each strikes in fury down the steep, + Rattles, and whirls in chase around. + + Beside his sacks the miller stands + On high within the open door: + A book and pencil in his hands, + His grist and meal he reckoneth o'er. + + His tireless merry slave the wind + Is busy with his work to-day: + From whencesoe'er, he comes to grind; + He hath a will and knows the way. + + He gives the creaking sails a spin, + The circling millstones faster flee, + The shuddering timbers groan within, + And down the shoot the meal runs free. + + The miller giveth him no thanks, + And doth not much his work o'erlook: + He stands beside the sacks, and ranks + The figures in his dusty book. + + + 14 + + When June is come, then all the day + I'll sit with my love in the scented hay: + And watch the sunshot palaces high, + That the white clouds build in the breezy sky. + + She singeth, and I do make her a song, + And read sweet poems the whole day long: + Unseen as we lie in our haybuilt home. + O life is delight when June is come. + + + 15 + + The pinks along my garden walks + Have all shot forth their summer stalks, + Thronging their buds 'mong tulips hot, + And blue forget-me-not. + + Their dazzling snows forth-bursting soon + Will lade the idle breath of June: + And waken thro' the fragrant night + To steal the pale moonlight. + + The nightingale at end of May + Lingers each year for their display; + Till when he sees their blossoms blown, + He knows the spring is flown. + + June's birth they greet, and when their bloom + Dislustres, withering on his tomb, + Then summer hath a shortening day; + And steps slow to decay. + + + 16 + + Fire of heaven, whose starry arrow + Pierces the veil of timeless night: + Molten spheres, whose tempests narrow + Their floods to a beam of gentle light, + To charm with a moon-ray quenched from fire + The land of delight, the land of desire! + + Smile of love, a flower planted, + Sprung in the garden of joy that art: + Eyes that shine with a glow enchanted, + Whose spreading fires encircle my heart, + And warm with a noon-ray drenched in fire + My land of delight, my land of desire! + + + 17 + + The idle life I lead + Is like a pleasant sleep, + Wherein I rest and heed + The dreams that by me sweep. + + And still of all my dreams + In turn so swiftly past, + Each in its fancy seems + A nobler than the last. + + And every eve I say, + Noting my step in bliss, + That I have known no day + In all my life like this. + + + 18 + + Angel spirits of sleep, + White-robed, with silver hair, + In your meadows fair, + Where the willows weep, + And the sad moonbeam + On the gliding stream + Writes her scattered dream: + + Angel spirits of sleep, + Dancing to the weir + In the hollow roar + Of its waters deep; + Know ye how men say + That ye haunt no more + Isle and grassy shore + With your moonlit play; + That ye dance not here, + White-robed spirits of sleep, + All the summer night + Threading dances light? + + + 19 + + ANNIVERSARY + + What is sweeter than new-mown hay, + Fresher than winds o'er-sea that blow, + Innocent above children's play, + Fairer and purer than winter snow, + Frolic as are the morns of May? + --If it should be what best I know! + + What is richer than thoughts that stray + From reading of poems that smoothly flow? + What is solemn like the delay + Of concords linked in a music slow + Dying thro' vaulted aisles away? + --If it should be what best I know! + + What gives faith to me when I pray, + Setteth my heart with joy aglow, + Filleth my song with fancies gay, + Maketh the heaven to which I go, + The gladness of earth that lasteth for aye? + --If it should be what best I know! + + But tell me thou--'twas on this day + That first we loved five years ago-- + If 'tis a thing that I can say, + Though it must be what best we know. + + + 20 + + The summer trees are tempest-torn, + The hills are wrapped in a mantle wide + Of folding rain by the mad wind borne + Across the country side. + + His scourge of fury is lashing down + The delicate-rankèd golden corn, + That never more shall rear its crown + And curtsey to the morn. + + There shews no care in heaven to save + Man's pitiful patience, or provide + A season for the season's slave, + Whose trust hath toiled and died. + + So my proud spirit in me is sad, + A wreck of fairer fields to mourn, + The ruin of golden hopes she had, + My delicate-rankèd corn. + + + 21 + + The birds that sing on autumn eves + Among the golden-tinted leaves, + Are but the few that true remain + Of budding May's rejoicing train. + + Like autumn flowers that brave the frost, + And make their show when hope is lost, + These 'mong the fruits and mellow scent + Mourn not the high-sunned summer spent. + + Their notes thro' all the jocund spring + Were mixed in merry musicking: + They sang for love the whole day long, + But now their love is all for song. + + Now each hath perfected his lay + To praise the year that hastes away: + They sit on boughs apart, and vie + In single songs and rich reply: + + And oft as in the copse I hear + These anthems of the dying year, + The passions, once her peace that stole, + With flattering love my heart console. + + + 22 + + When my love was away, + Full three days were not sped, + I caught my fancy astray + Thinking if she were dead, + + And I alone, alone: + It seemed in my misery + In all the world was none + Ever so lone as I. + + I wept; but it did not shame + Nor comfort my heart: away + I rode as I might, and came + To my love at close of day. + + The sight of her stilled my fears, + My fairest-hearted love: + And yet in her eyes were tears: + Which when I questioned of, + + O now thou art come, she cried, + 'Tis fled: but I thought to-day + I never could here abide, + If thou wert longer away. + + + 23 + + The storm is over, the land hushes to rest: + The tyrannous wind, its strength fordone, + Is fallen back in the west + To couch with the sinking sun. + The last clouds fare + With fainting speed, and their thin streamers fly + In melting drifts of the sky. + Already the birds in the air + Appear again; the rooks return to their haunt, + And one by one, + Proclaiming aloud their care, + Renew their peaceful chant. + + Torn and shattered the trees their branches again reset, + They trim afresh the fair + Few green and golden leaves withheld from the storm, + And awhile will be handsome yet. + To-morrow's sun shall caress + Their remnant of loveliness: + In quiet days for a time + Sad Autumn lingering warm + Shall humour their faded prime. + + But ah! the leaves of summer that lie on the ground! + What havoc! The laughing timbrels of June, + That curtained the birds' cradles, and screened their song, + That sheltered the cooing doves at noon, + Of airy fans the delicate throng,-- + Torn and scattered around: + Far out afield they lie, + In the watery furrows die, + In grassy pools of the flood they sink and drown, + Green-golden, orange, vermilion, golden and brown, + The high year's flaunting crown + Shattered and trampled down. + + The day is done: the tired land looks for night: + She prays to the night to keep + In peace her nerves of delight: + While silver mist upstealeth silently, + And the broad cloud driving moon in the clear sky + Lifts o'er the firs her shining shield, + And in her tranquil light + Sleep falls on forest and field. + Sée! sléep hath fallen: the trees are asleep: + The night is come. The land is wrapt in sleep. + + + 24 + + Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains, + Ye anthems of plaintive woe, + My spirit was sad when I was young; + Ah sorrowful long-ago! + But since I have found the beauty of joy + I have done with proud dismay: + For howsoe'er man hug his care + The best of his art is gay. + + And yet if voices of fancy's choir + Again in mine ear awake + Your old lament, 'tis dear to me still, + Nor all for memory's sake: + 'Tis like the dirge of sorrow dead, + Whose tears are wiped away; + Or drops of the shower when rain is o'er, + That jewel the brightened day. + + + 25 + + Say who is this with silvered hair, + So pale and worn and thin, + Who passeth here, and passeth there, + And looketh out and in? + + That useth not our garb nor tongue + And knoweth things untold: + Who teacheth pleasure to the young, + And wisdom to the old? + + No toil he maketh his by day, + No home his own by night; + But wheresoe'er he take his way, + He killeth our delight. + + Since he is come there's nothing wise + Nor fair in man or child, + Unless his deep divining eyes + Have looked on it and smiled. + + Whence came he hither all alone + Among our folk to spy? + There's nought that we can call our own, + Till he shall hap to die. + + And I would dig his grave full deep + Beneath the churchyard yew, + Lest thence his wizard eyes might peep + To mark the things we do. + + + 26 + + Crown Winter with green, + And give him good drink + To physic his spleen + Or ever he think. + + His mouth to the bowl, + His feet to the fire; + And let him, good soul, + No comfort desire. + + So merry he be, + I bid him abide: + And merry be we + This good Yuletide. + + + 27 + + The snow lies sprinkled on the beach, + And whitens all the marshy lea: + The sad gulls wail adown the gale, + The day is dark and black the sea. + Shorn of their crests the blighted waves + With driven foam the offing fleck: + The ebb is low and barely laves + The red rust of the giant wreck. + + On such a stony, breaking beach + My childhood chanced and chose to be: + 'Twas here I played, and musing made + My friend the melancholy sea. + He from his dim enchanted caves + With shuddering roar and onrush wild + Fell down in sacrificial waves + At feet of his exulting child. + + Unto a spirit too light for fear + His wrath was mirth, his wail was glee:-- + My heart is now too fixed to bow + Tho' all his tempests howl at me: + For to the gain life's summer saves, + My solemn joy's increasing store, + The tossing of his mournful waves + Makes sweetest music evermore. + + + 28 + + My spirit kisseth thine, + My spirit embraceth thee: + I feel thy being twine + Her graces over me, + In the life-kindling fold + Of God's breath; where on high, + In furthest space untold + Like a lost world I lie: + + And o'er my dreaming plains + Lightens, most pale and fair, + A moon that never wanes; + Or more, if I compare, + + Like what the shepherd sees + On late mid-winter dawns, + When thro' the branchèd trees, + O'er the white-frosted lawns, + + The huge unclouded sun, + Surprising the world whist, + Is all uprisen thereon, + Golden with melting mist. + + + 29 + + Ariel, O,--my angel, my own,-- + Whither away then art thou flown + Beyond my spirit's dominion? + That makest my heart run over with rhyme, + Renewing at will my youth for a time, + My servant, my pretty minion. + + Now indeed I have cause to mourn, + Now thou returnest scorn for scorn: + Leave me not to my folly: + For when thou art with me is none so gay + As I, and none when thou'rt away + Was ever so melancholy. + + + 30 + + LAUS DEO + + Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ + Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. + Well-doing bringeth pride, this constant thought + Humility, that thy best done is nought. + Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, + Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all: + For God requires no more than thou hast done, + And takes thy work to bless it for his own. + + + + + BOOK V + + DEDICATED TO M. G. K. + + + I + + THE WINNOWERS + + Betwixt two billows of the downs + The little hamlet lies, + And nothing sees but the bald crowns + Of the hills, and the blue skies. + + Clustering beneath the long descent + And grey slopes of the wold, + The red roofs nestle, oversprent + With lichen yellow as gold. + + We found it in the mid-day sun + Basking, what time of year + The thrush his singing has begun, + Ere the first leaves appear. + + High from his load a woodman pitched + His faggots on the stack: + Knee-deep in straw the cattle twitched + Sweet hay from crib and rack: + + And from the barn hard by was borne + A steady muffled din, + By which we knew that threshèd corn + Was winnowing, and went in. + + The sunbeams on the motey air + Streamed through the open door, + And on the brown arms moving bare, + And the grain upon the floor. + + One turns the crank, one stoops to feed + The hopper, lest it lack, + One in the bushel scoops the seed, + One stands to hold the sack. + + We watched the good grain rattle down, + And the awns fly in the draught; + To see us both so pensive grown + The honest labourers laughed: + + Merry they were, because the wheat + Was clean and plump and good, + Pleasant to hand and eye, and meet + For market and for food. + + It chanced we from the city were, + And had not gat us free + In spirit from the store and stir + Of its immensity: + + But here we found ourselves again. + Where humble harvests bring + After much toil but little grain, + 'Tis merry winnowing. + + + 2 + + THE AFFLICTION OF RICHARD + + Love not too much. But how, + When thou hast made me such, + And dost thy gifts bestow, + How can I love too much? + Though I must fear to lose, + And drown my joy in care, + With all its thorns I choose + The path of love and prayer. + + Though thou, I know not why, + Didst kill my childish trust, + That breach with toil did I + Repair, because I must: + And spite of frighting schemes, + With which the fiends of Hell + Blaspheme thee in my dreams, + So far I have hoped well. + + But what the heavenly key, + What marvel in me wrought + Shall quite exculpate thee, + I have no shadow of thought. + What am I that complain? + The love, from which began + My question sad and vain, + Justifies thee to man. + + + 3 + + Since to be loved endures, + To love is wise: + Earth hath no good but yours, + Brave, joyful eyes: + + Earth hath no sin but thine, + Dull eye of scorn: + O'er thee the sun doth pine + And angels mourn. + + + 4 + + THE GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER + + Now thin mists temper the slow-ripening beams + Of the September sun: his golden gleams + On gaudy flowers shine, that prank the rows + Of high-grown hollyhocks, and all tall shows + That Autumn flaunteth in his bushy bowers; + Where tomtits, hanging from the drooping heads + Of giant sunflowers, peck the nutty seeds; + And in the feathery aster bees on wing + Seize and set free the honied flowers, + Till thousand stars leap with their visiting: + While ever across the path mazily flit, + Unpiloted in the sun, + The dreamy butterflies + With dazzling colours powdered and soft glooms, + White, black and crimson stripes, and peacock eyes, + Or on chance flowers sit, + With idle effort plundering one by one + The nectaries of deepest-throated blooms. + + With gentle flaws the western breeze + Into the garden saileth, + Scarce here and there stirring the single trees, + For his sharpness he vaileth: + So long a comrade of the bearded corn, + Now from the stubbles whence the shocks are borne, + O'er dewy lawns he turns to stray, + As mindful of the kisses and soft play + Wherewith he enamoured the light-hearted May, + Ere he deserted her; + Lover of fragrance, and too late repents; + Nor more of heavy hyacinth now may drink, + Nor spicy pink, + Nor summer's rose, nor garnered lavender, + But the few lingering scents + Of streakèd pea, and gillyflower, and stocks + Of courtly purple, and aromatic phlox. + + And at all times to hear are drowsy tones + Of dizzy flies, and humming drones, + With sudden flap of pigeon wings in the sky, + Or the wild cry + Of thirsty rooks, that scour ascare + The distant blue, to watering as they fare + With creaking pinions, or--on business bent, + If aught their ancient polity displease,-- + Come gathering to their colony, and there + Settling in ragged parliament, + Some stormy council hold in the high trees. + + + 5 + + So sweet love seemed that April morn, + When first we kissed beside the thorn, + So strangely sweet, it was not strange + We thought that love could never change. + + But I can tell--let truth be told-- + That love will change in growing old; + Though day by day is nought to see, + So delicate his motions be. + + And in the end 'twill come to pass + Quite to forget what once he was, + Nor even in fancy to recall + The pleasure that was all in all. + + His little spring, that sweet we found, + So deep in summer floods is drowned, + I wonder, bathed in joy complete, + How love so young could be so sweet. + + + 6 + + LARKS + + What voice of gladness, hark! + In heaven is ringing? + From the sad fields the lark + Is upward winging. + + High through the mournful mist that blots our day + Their songs betray them soaring in the grey. + See them! Nay, they + In sunlight swim; above the furthest stain + Of cloud attain; their hearts in music rain + Upon the plain. + + Sweet birds, far out of sight + Your songs of pleasure + Dome us with joy as bright + As heaven's best azure. + + + 7 + + THE PALM WILLOW + + See, whirling snow sprinkles the starvèd fields, + The birds have stayed to sing; + No covert yet their fairy harbour yields. + When cometh Spring? + Ah! in their tiny throats what songs unborn + Are quenched each morn. + + The lenten lilies, through the frost that push, + Their yellow heads withhold: + The woodland willow stands a lonely bush + Of nebulous gold; + There the Spring-goddess cowers in faint attire + Of frightened fire. + + + 8 + + ASIAN BIRDS + + In this May-month, by grace + of heaven, things shoot apace. + The waiting multitude + of fair boughs in the wood, + How few days have arrayed + their beauty in green shade. + + What have I seen or heard? + it was the yellow bird + Sang in the tree: he flew + a flame against the blue; + Upward he flashed. Again, + hark! 'tis his heavenly strain. + + Another! Hush! Behold, + many, like boats of gold, + From waving branch to branch + their airy bodies launch. + What music is like this, + where each note is a kiss? + + The golden willows lift + their boughs the sun to sift: + Their sprays they droop to screen + the sky with veils of green, + A floating cage of song, + where feathered lovers throng. + + How the delicious notes + come bubbling from their throats! + Full and sweet how they are shed + like round pearls from a thread! + The motions of their flight + are wishes of delight. + + Hearing their song I trace + the secret of their grace. + Ah, could I this fair time + so fashion into rhyme, + The poem that I sing + would be the voice of spring. + + + 9 + + JANUARY + + Cold is the winter day, misty and dark: + The sunless sky with faded gleams is rent: + And patches of thin snow outlying, mark + The landscape with a drear disfigurement. + + The trees their mournful branches lift aloft: + The oak with knotty twigs is full of trust, + With bud-thronged bough the cherry in the croft; + The chestnut holds her gluey knops upthrust. + + No birds sing, but the starling chaps his bill + And chatters mockingly; the newborn lambs + Within their strawbuilt fold beneath the hill + Answer with plaintive cry their bleating dams. + + Their voices melt in welcome dreams of spring, + Green grass and leafy trees and sunny skies: + My fancy decks the woods, the thrushes sing, + Meadows are gay, bees hum and scents arise. + + And God the Maker doth my heart grow bold + To praise for wintry works not understood, + Who all the worlds and ages doth behold, + Evil and good as one, and all as good. + + + 10 + + A ROBIN + + Flame-throated robin on the topmost bough + Of the leafless oak, what singest thou? + Hark! he telleth how-- + 'Spring is coming now; Spring is coming now. + + Now ruddy are the elm-tops against the blue sky, + The pale larch donneth her jewelry; + Red fir and black fir sigh, + And I am lamenting the year gone by. + + The bushes where I nested are all cut down, + They are felling the tall trees one by one, + And my mate is dead and gone, + In the winter she died and left me lone. + + She lay in the thicket where I fear to go; + For when the March-winds after the snow + The leaves away did blow, + She was not there, and my heart is woe: + + And sad is my song, when I begin to sing, + As I sit in the sunshine this merry spring: + Like a withered leaf I cling + To the white oak-bough, while the wood doth ring. + + Spring is coming now, the sun again is gay; + Each day like a last spring's happy day.'-- + Thus sang he; then from his spray + He saw me listening and flew away. + + + 11 + + I never shall love the snow again + Since Maurice died: + With corniced drift it blocked the lane + And sheeted in a desolate plain + The country side. + + The trees with silvery rime bedight + Their branches bare. + By day no sun appeared; by night + The hidden moon shed thievish light + In the misty air. + + We fed the birds that flew around + In flocks to be fed: + No shelter in holly or brake they found. + The speckled thrush on the frozen ground + Lay frozen and dead. + + We skated on stream and pond; we cut + The crinching snow + To Doric temple or Arctic hut; + We laughed and sang at nightfall, shut + By the fireside glow. + + Yet grudged we our keen delights before + Maurice should come. + We said, In-door or out-of-door + We shall love life for a month or more, + When he is home. + + They brought him home; 'twas two days late + For Christmas day: + Wrapped in white, in solemn state, + A flower in his hand, all still and straight + Our Maurice lay. + + And two days ere the year outgave + We laid him low. + The best of us truly were not brave, + When we laid Maurice down in his grave + Under the snow. + + + 12 + + NIGHTINGALES + + Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come, + And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom + Ye learn your song: + Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there, + Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air + Bloom the year long! + + Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams: + Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams, + A throe of the heart, + Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound, + No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound, + For all our art. + + Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men + We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then, + As night is withdrawn + From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of May, + Dream, while the innumerable choir of day + Welcome the dawn. + + + 13 + + A song of my heart, as the sun peered o'er the sea, + Was born at morning to me: + And out of my treasure-house it chose + A melody, that arose + + Of all fair sounds that I love, remembered together + In one; and I knew not whether + From waves of rustling wheat it was, + Recoveringly that pass: + + Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime: + Or a descant in pairing time + Of warbling birds: or watery bells + Of rivulets in the hills: + + Or whether on blazing downs a high lark's hymn + Alone in the azure dim: + Or a sough of pines, when the midnight wold + Is solitary and cold: + + Or a lapping river-ripple all day chiding + The bow of my wherry gliding + Down Thames, between his flowery shores + Re-echoing to the oars: + + Or anthem notes, wherever in archèd quires + The unheeded music twires, + And, centuries by, to the stony shade + Flies following and to fade: + + Or a homely prattle of children's voices gay + 'Mong garden joys at play: + Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks: + Or memory of my books, + + Which hold the words that poets in many a tongue + To the irksome world have sung: + Or the voice, my happy lover, of thee + Now separated from me. + + A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brain + Long hid my thought had lain, + Forgotten dreams of a thousand days + Ingathering to its rays, + + The light of life in darkness tempering long; + Till now a perfect song, + A jewel of jewels it leapt above + To the coronal of my love. + + + 14 + + FOUNDER'S DAY. A SECULAR ODE + ON THE NINTH JUBILEE OF + ETON COLLEGE + + Christ and his Mother, heavenly maid, + Mary, in whose fair name was laid + Eton's corner, bless our youth + With truth, and purity, mother of truth! + + O ye, 'neath breezy skies of June, + By silver Thames's lulling tune, + In shade of willow or oak, who try + The golden gates of poesy; + + Or on the tabled sward all day + Match your strength in England's play, + Scholars of Henry, giving grace + To toil and force in game or race; + + Exceed the prayer and keep the fame + Of him, the sorrowful king, who came + Here in his realm a realm to found, + Where he might stand for ever crowned. + + Or whether with naked bodies flashing + Ye plunge in the lashing weir; or dashing + The oars of cedar skiffs, ye strain + Round the rushes and home again;-- + + Or what pursuit soe'er it be + That makes your mingled presence free, + When by the schoolgate 'neath the limes + Ye muster waiting the lazy chimes; + May Peace, that conquereth sin and death, + Temper for you her sword of faith; + Crown with honour the loving eyes, + And touch with mirth the mouth of the wise. + + Here is eternal spring: for you + The very stars of heaven are new; + And aged Fame again is born, + Fresh as a peeping flower of morn. + + For you shall Shakespeare's scene unroll, + Mozart shall steal your ravished soul, + Homer his bardic hymn rehearse, + Virgil recite his maiden verse. + + Now learn, love, have, do, be the best; + Each in one thing excel the rest: + Strive; and hold fast this truth of heaven-- + To him that hath shall more be given. + + Slow on your dial the shadows creep, + So many hours for food and sleep, + So many hours till study tire, + So many hours for heart's desire. + + These suns and moons shall memory save, + Mirrors bright for her magic cave; + Wherein may steadfast eyes behold + A self that groweth never old. + + O in such prime enjoy your lot, + And when ye leave regret it not; + With wishing gifts in festal state + Pass ye the angel-sworded gate. + + Then to the world let shine your light, + Children in play be lions in fight, + And match with red immortal deeds + The victory that made ring the meads: + + Or by firm wisdom save your land + From giddy head and grasping hand: + IMPROVE THE BEST; so shall your sons + Better what ye have bettered once. + + Send them here to the court of grace + Bearing your name to fill your place: + Ye in their time shall live again + The happy dream of Henry's reign: + + And on his day your steps be bent + Where, saint and king, crowned with content, + He biddeth a prayer to bless his youth + With truth, and purity, mother of truth. + + + 15 + + The north wind came up yesternight + With the new year's full moon, + And rising as she gained her height, + Grew to a tempest soon. + Yet found he not on heaven's face + A task of cloud to clear; + There was no speck that he might chase + Off the blue hemisphere, + Nor vapour from the land to drive: + The frost-bound country held + Nought motionable or alive, + That 'gainst his wrath rebelled. + There scarce was hanging in the wood + A shrivelled leaf to reave; + No bud had burst its swathing hood + That he could rend or grieve: + Only the tall tree-skeletons, + Where they were shadowed all, + Wavered a little on the stones, + And on the white church-wall. + + --Like as an artist in his mood, + Who reckons all as nought, + So he may quickly paint his nude, + Unutterable thought: + So Nature in a frenzied hour + By day or night will show + Dim indications of the power + That doometh man to woe. + Ah, many have my visions been, + And some I know full well: + I would that all that I have seen + Were fit for speech to tell.-- + + And by the churchyard as I came, + It seemed my spirit passed + Into a land that hath no name, + Grey, melancholy and vast; + Where nothing comes: but Memory, + The widowed queen of Death, + Reigns, and with fixed, sepulchral eye + All slumber banisheth. + Each grain of writhen dust, that drapes + That sickly, staring shore, + Its old chaotic change of shapes + Remembers evermore. + And ghosts of cities long decayed + And ruined shrines of Fate + Gather the paths, that Time hath made + Foolish and desolate. + + Nor winter there hath hope of spring, + Nor the pale night of day, + Since the old king with scorpion sting + Hath done himself away. + + * * * + + The morn was calm; the wind's last breath + Had fal'n: in solemn hush + The golden moon went down beneath + The dawning's crimson flush. + + + 16 + + NORTH WIND IN OCTOBER + + In the golden glade the chestnuts are fallen all; + From the sered boughs of the oak the acorns fall: + The beech scatters her ruddy fire; + The lime hath stripped to the cold, + And standeth naked above her yellow attire: + The larch thinneth her spire + To lay the ways of the wood with cloth of gold. + + Out of the golden-green and white + Of the brake the fir-trees stand upright + In the forest of flame, and wave aloft + To the blue of heaven their blue-green tuftings soft. + + But swiftly in shuddering gloom the splendours fail, + As the harrying North-wind beareth + A cloud of skirmishing hail + The grievèd woodland to smite: + In a hurricane through the trees he teareth, + Raking the boughs and the leaves rending, + And whistleth to the descending + Blows of his icy flail. + Gold and snow he mixeth in spite, + And whirleth afar; as away on his winnowing flight + He passeth, and all again for awhile is bright. + + + 17 + + FIRST SPRING MORNING + + A CHILD'S POEM. + + Look! Look! the spring is come: + O feel the gentle air, + That wanders thro' the boughs to burst + The thick buds everywhere! + The birds are glad to see + The high unclouded sun: + Winter is fled away, they sing, + The gay time is begun. + + Adown the meadows green + Let us go dance and play, + And look for violets in the lane, + And ramble far away + To gather primroses, + That in the woodland grow, + And hunt for oxlips, or if yet + The blades of bluebells show: + + There the old woodman gruff + Hath half the coppice cut, + And weaves the hurdles all day long + Beside his willow hut. + We'll steal on him, and then + Startle him, all with glee + Singing our song of winter fled + And summer soon to be. + + + 18 + + A VILLAGER + + There was no lad handsomer than Willie was + The day that he came to father's house: + There was none had an eye as soft an' blue + As Willie's was, when he came to woo. + + To a labouring life though bound thee be, + An' I on my father's ground live free, + I'll take thee, I said, for thy manly grace, + Thy gentle voice an' thy loving face. + + 'Tis forty years now since we were wed: + We are ailing an' grey needs not to be said: + But Willie's eye is as blue an' soft + As the day when he wooed me in father's croft. + + Yet changed am I in body an' mind, + For Willie to me has ne'er been kind: + Merrily drinking an' singing with the men + He 'ud come home late six nights o' the se'n. + + An' since the children be grown an' gone + He 'as shunned the house an' left me lone: + An' less an' less he brings me in + Of the little he now has strength to win. + + The roof lets through the wind an' the wet, + An' master won't mend it with us in 's debt: + An' all looks every day more worn, + An' the best of my gowns be shabby an' torn. + + No wonder if words hav' a-grown to blows; + That matters not while nobody knows: + For love him I shall to the end of life, + An' be, as I swore, his own true wife. + + An' when I am gone, he'll turn, an' see + His folly an' wrong, an' be sorry for me: + An' come to me there in the land o' bliss + To give me the love I looked for in this. + + + 19 + + Weep not to-day: why should this sadness be? + Learn in present fears + To o'ermaster those tears + That unhindered conquer thee. + + Think on thy past valour, thy future praise: + Up, sad heart, nor faint + In ungracious complaint, + Or a prayer for better days. + + Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark peace + Draweth surely nigh, + When good-night is good-bye; + For the sleeping shall not cease. + + Fight, to be found fighting: nor far away + Deem, nor strange thy doom. + Like this sorrow 'twill come, + And the day will be to-day. + + + + + NEW POEMS + + [Illustration: decoration] + + _PREVIOUS EDITION_ + + _Collected for the first time in 1899. Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. II. + See notes at end of that volume._ + + + + + NEW POEMS + + + ECLOGUE I + + THE MONTHS + + _BASIL AND EDWARD_ + + Man hath with man on earth no holier bond + Than that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread: + Nor e'er was such transcendent love more fond + Than that which Edward unto Basil led, + Wandering alone across the woody shires + To hear the living voice of that wide heart, + To see the eyes that read the world's desires, + And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme. + Diverse their lots as distant were their homes, + And since that early meeting, jealous Time + Knitting their loves had held their lives apart. + + But now again were these fine lovers met + And sat together on a rocky hill + Looking upon the vales of Somerset, + Where the far sea gleam'd o'er the bosky combes, + Satisfying their spirits the livelong day + With various mirth and revelation due + And delicate intimacy of delight, + As there in happy indolence they lay + And drank the sun, while round the breezy height + Beneath their feet rabbit and listless ewe + Nibbled the scented herb and grass at will. + + Much talked they at their ease; and at the last + Spoke Edward thus, ''Twas on this very hill + This time of the year,--but now twelve years are past,-- + That you provoked in verse my younger skill + To praise the months against your rival song; + And ere the sun had westered ten degrees + Our rhyme had brought him thro' the Zodiac. + Have you remembered?'--Basil answer'd back, + 'Guest of my solace, how could I forget? + Years fly as months that seem'd in youth so long. + The precious life that, like indifferent gold, + Is disregarded in its worth to hold + Some jewel of love that God therein would set, + It passeth and is gone.'--'And yet not all,' + Edward replied: 'The passion as I please + Of that past day I can to-day recall; + And if but you, as I, remember yet + Your part thereof, and will again rehearse, + For half an hour we may old Time outwit.' + And Basil said, 'Alas for my poor verse! + What happy memory of it still endures + Will thank your love: I have forgotten it. + Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours. + Begin you then as I that day began, + And I will follow as your answers ran.' + + + JANUARY + + ED. The moon that mounts the sun's deserted way, + Turns the long winter night to a silver day; + But setteth golden in face of the solemn sight + Of her lord arising upon a world of white. + + + FEBRUARY + + BA. I have in my heart a vision of spring begun + In a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun: + And a thrush adoreth the melting day that dies + In clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies. + + + MARCH + + ED. Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new lay + Announceth a homecome voyager every day. + Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrills + With the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils. + + + APRIL + + BA. Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads are bright; + The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light: + The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above, + And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love. + + + MAY + + ED. But if you have seen a village all red and old + In cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold, + By a hawthorn seated, or a witch-elm flowering high, + A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye! + + + JUNE + + BA. Then night retires from heaven; the high winds go + A-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern'd snow. + O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay; + In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away. + + + JULY + + ED. Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the trees + With foliage hang, drowsy the hum of bees + In the thund'rous air: the crowded scents lie low: + Thro' tangle of weeds the river runneth slow. + + + AUGUST + + BA. A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of straw + On the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw: + Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noon + From sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon. + + + SEPTEMBER + + ED. Earth's flaunting flower of passion fadeth fair + To ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air, + As the art of man makes wisdom to glorify + The beauty and love of life born else to die. + + + OCTOBER + + BA. On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, down + The golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown. + May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend, + With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend. + + + NOVEMBER + + ED. Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn: + The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn. + Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores, + And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors. + + + DECEMBER + + BA. I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time, + Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime; + And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow, + When the Christmas guest comes galloping over the snow. + + Thus they in verse alternate sang the year + For rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear, + Among the grey rocks on the mountain green + Beneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene, + Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongue + After two thousand years is ever young,-- + _Sweet the pine's murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,--_ + Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe, + Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beech + And gave to rustic clowns immortal speech, + By rocky fountain or on flowery mead + Bidding their idle flocks at will to feed, + While they, retreated to some bosky glade, + Together told their loves, and as they played + Sang what sweet thing soe'er the poet feigned: + But these were men when good Victoria reigned, + Poets themselves, who without shepherd gear + Each of his native fancy sang the year. + + + ECLOGUE II + + GIOVANNI DUPRÈ + + _LAWRENCE AND RICHARD_ + + LAWRENCE + + Look down the river--against the western sky-- + The Ponte Santa Trinità--what throng + Slowly trails o'er with waving banners high, + With foot and horse! Surely they bear along + The spoil of one whom Florence honoureth: + And hark! the drum, the trumpeting dismay, + The wail of the triumphal march of death. + + RICHARD + + 'Twill be the funeral of Giovánn Duprè + Wending to Santa Croce. Let us go + And see what relic of old splendour cheers + The dying ritual. + + LAWRENCE + + They esteem him well + To lay his bones with Michael Angelo. + Who might he be? + + RICHARD + + He too a sculptor, one + Who left a work long to resist the years. + + LAWRENCE + + You make me question further. + + RICHARD + + I can tell + All as we walk. A poor woodcarver's son, + Prenticed to cut his father's rude designs + (We have it from himself), maker of shrines, + In his mean workshop in Siena dreamed; + And saw as gods the artists of the earth, + And long'd to stand on their immortal shore, + And be as they, who in his vision gleam'd, + Dowering the world with grace for evermore. + So, taxing rest and leisure to one aim, + The boy of single will and inbred skill + Rose step by step to academic fame. + + LAWRENCE + + Do I not know him then? His figures fill + The tympana o'er Santa Croce's gate; + In the museum too, his Cain, that stands + A left-handed discobolos.... + + RICHARD + + So great + His vogue, that elder art of classic worth + Went to the wall to give his statues room; + And last--his country's praise could do no more-- + He cut the stone that honoured good Cavour. + + LAWRENCE + + I have seen the things. + + RICHARD + + He, finding in his hands + His life-desire possest, fell not in gloom, + Nor froth'd in vanity: his Sabbath earn'd + He look'd to spend in meditative rest: + So laying chisel by, he took a pen + To tell his story to his countrymen, + And prove (he did it) that the flower of all, + Rarest to attain, is in the power of all. + + LAWRENCE + + Yet nought he ever made, that I have learn'd, + In wood or stone deserved, nay not his best, + The Greek or Tuscan name for beautiful. + 'Twas level with its praise, had force to pull + Favour from fashion. + + RICHARD + + Yet he made one thing + Worthy of the lily city in her spring; + For while in vain the forms of beauty he aped, + A perfect spirit in himself he shaped; + And all his lifetime doing less than well + Where he profess'd nor doubted to excel, + Now, where he had no scholarship, but drew + His art from love, 'twas better than he knew: + And when he sat to write, lo! by him stood + The heavenly Muse, who smiles on all things good; + And for his truth's sake, for his stainless mind, + His homely love and faith, she now grew kind, + And changed the crown, that from the folk he got, + For her green laurel, and he knew it not. + + LAWRENCE + + Ah! Love of Beauty! This man then mistook + Ambition for her? + + RICHARD + + In simplicity + Erring he kept his truth; and in his book + The statue of his grace is fair to see. + + LAWRENCE + + Then buried with their great he well may be. + + RICHARD + + And number'd with the saints, not among them + Who painted saints. Join we his requiem. + + + ECLOGUE III + + FOURTH OF JUNE AT ETON + + _RICHARD AND GODFREY_ + + RICHARD + + Beneath the wattled bank the eddies swarm + In wandering dimples o'er the shady pool: + The same their chase as when I was at school; + The same the music, where in shallows warm + The current, sunder'd by the bushy isles, + Returns to join the main, and struggles free + Above the willows, gurgling thro' the piles: + Nothing is changed, and yet how changed are we! + --What can bring Godfrey to the Muses' bower? + + GODFREY + + What but brings you? The festal day of the year; + To live in boyish memories for an hour; + See and be seen: tho' you come seldom here. + + RICHARD + + Dread of the pang it was, fear to behold + What once was all myself, that kept me away. + + GODFREY + + You miss new pleasures coveting the old. + + RICHARD + + They need have prudence, who in courage lack; + 'Twas that I might go on I looked not back. + + GODFREY + + Of all our company he, who, we say, + Fruited the laughing flower of liberty! + + RICHARD + + Ah! had I my desire, so should it be. + + GODFREY + + Nay, but I know this melancholy mood; + 'Twas your poetic fancy when a boy. + + RICHARD + + For Fancy cannot live on real food: + In youth she will despise familiar joy + To dwell in mournful shades; as they grow real, + Then buildeth she of joy her far ideal. + + GODFREY + + And so perverteth all. This stream to me + Sings, and in sunny ripples lingeringly + The water saith 'Ah me! where have I lept? + Into what garden of life? what banks are these, + What secret lawns, what ancient towers and trees? + Where the young sons of heav'n, with shouts of play + Or low delighted speech, welcome the day, + As if the poetry of the earth had slept + To wake in ecstasy. O stay me! alas! + Stay me, ye happy isles, ere that I pass + Without a memory on my sullen course + By the black city to the tossing seas!' + + RICHARD + + So might this old oak say 'My heart is sere; + With greater effort every year I force + My stubborn leafage: soon my branch will crack, + And I shall fall or perish in the wrack: + And here another tree its crown will rear, + And see for centuries the boys at play: + And 'neath its boughs, on some fine holiday, + Old men shall prate as these.' Come see the game. + + GODFREY + + Yes, if you will. 'Tis all one picture fair. + + RICHARD + + Made in a mirror, and who looketh there + Must see himself. Is not a dream the same? + + GODFREY + + _Life is a dream._ + + RICHARD + + And you, who say it, seem + Dreaming to speak to a phantom in a dream. + + + 4 + + ELEGY + + THE SUMMER-HOUSE ON THE MOUND + + How well my eyes remember the dim path! + My homing heart no happier playground hath. + I need not close my lids but it appears + Through the bewilderment of forty years + To tempt my feet, my childish feet, between + Its leafy walls, beneath its arching green; + Fairer than dream of sleep, than Hope more fair + Leading to dreamless sleep her sister Care. + + There grew two fellow limes, two rising trees, + Shadowing the lawn, the summer haunt of bees, + Whose stems, engraved with many a russet scar + From the spear-hurlings of our mimic war, + Pillar'd the portico to that wide walk, + A mossy terrace of the native chalk + Fashion'd, that led thro' the dark shades around + Straight to the wooden temple on the mound. + There live the memories of my early days, + There still with childish heart my spirit plays; + Yea, terror-stricken by the fiend despair + When she hath fled me, I have found her there; + And there 'tis ever noon, and glad suns bring + Alternate days of summer and of spring, + With childish thought, and childish faces bright, + And all unknown save but the hour's delight. + + High on the mound the ivied arbour stood, + A dome of straw upheld on rustic wood: + Hidden in fern the steps of the ascent, + Whereby unto the southern front we went, + And from the dark plantation climbing free, + Over a valley look'd out on the sea. + That sea is ever bright and blue, the sky + Serene and blue, and ever white ships lie + High on the horizon steadfast in full sail, + Or nearer in the roads pass within hail, + Of naked brigs and barques that windbound ride + At their taut cables heading to the tide. + + There many an hour I have sat to watch; nay, now + The brazen disk is cold against my brow, + And in my sight a circle of the sea + Enlarged to swiftness, where the salt waves flee, + And ships in stately motion pass so near + That what I see is speaking to my ear: + I hear the waves dash and the tackle strain, + The canvas flap, the rattle of the chain + That runs out thro' the hawse, the clank of the winch + Winding the rusty cable inch by inch, + Till half I wonder if they have no care, + Those sailors, that my glass is brought to bear + On all their doings, if I vex them not + On every petty task of their rough lot + Prying and spying, searching every craft + From painted truck to gunnel, fore and aft,-- + Thro' idle Sundays as I have watch'd them lean + Long hours upon the rail, or neath its screen + Prone on the deck to lie outstretch'd at length, + Sunk in renewal of their wearied strength. + + But what a feast of joy to me, if some + Fast-sailing frigate to the Channel come + Back'd here her topsail, or brought gently up + Let from her bow the splashing anchor drop, + By faint contrary wind stay'd in her cruise, + The _Phaethon_ or dancing _Arethuse_, + Or some immense three-decker of the line, + Romantic as the tale of Troy divine; + Ere yet our iron age had doom'd to fall + The towering freeboard of the wooden wall, + And for the engines of a mightier Mars + Clipp'd their wide wings, and dock'd their soaring spars. + The gale that in their tackle sang, the wave + That neath their gilded galleries dasht so brave + Lost then their merriment, nor look to play + With the heavy-hearted monsters of to-day. + + One noon in March upon that anchoring ground + Came Napier's fleet unto the Baltic bound: + Cloudless the sky and calm and blue the sea, + As round Saint Margaret's cliff mysteriously, + Those murderous queens walking in Sabbath sleep + Glided in line upon the windless deep: + For in those days was first seen low and black + Beside the full-rigg'd mast the strange smoke-stack, + And neath their stern revolv'd the twisted fan. + Many I knew as soon as I might scan, + The heavy _Royal George_, the _Acre_ bright, + The _Hogue_ and _Ajax_, and could name aright + Others that I remember now no more; + But chief, her blue flag flying at the fore, + With fighting guns a hundred thirty and one, + The Admiral ship _The Duke of Wellington_, + Whereon sail'd George, who in her gig had flown + The silken ensign by our sisters sewn. + The iron Duke himself,--whose soldier fame + To England's proudest ship had given her name, + And whose white hairs in this my earliest scene + Had scarce more honour'd than accustom'd been,-- + Was two years since to his last haven past: + I had seen his castle-flag to fall half-mast + One morn as I sat looking on the sea, + When thus all England's grief came first to me, + Who hold my childhood favour'd that I knew + So well the face that won at Waterloo. + + But now 'tis other wars, and other men;-- + The year that Napier sail'd, my years were ten-- + Yea, and new homes and loves my heart hath found: + A priest has there usurped the ivied mound, + The bell that call'd to horse calls now to prayers, + And silent nuns tread the familiar stairs. + Within the peach-clad walls that old outlaw, + The Roman wolf, scratches with privy paw. + + + 5 + + O Love, I complain, + Complain of thee often, + Because thou dost soften + My being to pain: + + Thou makest me fear + The mind that createth, + That loves not nor hateth + In justice austere; + Who, ere he make one, + With millions toyeth, + And lightly destroyeth + Whate'er is begun. + + An' wer't not for thee, + My glorious passion, + My heart I could fashion + To sternness, as he. + + But thee, Love, he made + Lest man should defy him, + Connive and outvie him, + And not be afraid: + + Nay, thee, Love, he gave + His terrors to cover, + And turn to a lover + His insolent slave. + + + 6 + + THE SOUTH WIND + + The south wind rose at dusk of the winter day, + The warm breath of the western sea + Circling wrapp'd the isle with his cloke of cloud, + And it now reach'd even to me, at dusk of the day, + And moan'd in the branches aloud: + While here and there, in patches of dark space, + A star shone forth from its heavenly place, + As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase; + And, looking up, there fell on my face-- + Could it be drops of rain + Soft as the wind, that fell on my face? + Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn, + Suck'd by the sun from midmost calms of the main, + From groves of coral islands secretly drawn, + O'er half the round of earth to be driven, + Now to fall on my face + In silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven. + + Who art thou, in wind and darkness and soft rain + Thyself that robest, that bendest in sighing pines + To whisper thy truth? that usest for signs + A hurried glimpse of the moon, the glance of a star + In the rifted sky? + Who art thou, that with thee I + Woo and am wooed? + That robing thyself in darkness and soft rain + Choosest my chosen solitude, + Coming so far + To tell thy secret again, + As a mother her child, in her folding arm + Of a winter night by a flickering fire, + Telleth the same tale o'er and o'er + With gentle voice, and I never tire, + So imperceptibly changeth the charm, + As Love on buried ecstasy buildeth his tower, + --Like as the stem that beareth the flower + By trembling is knit to power;-- + Ah! long ago + In thy first rapture I renounced my lot, + The vanity, the despondency and the woe, + And seeking thee to know + Well was 't for me, and evermore + I am thine, I know not what. + + For me thou seekest ever, me wondering a day + In the eternal alternations, me + Free for a stolen moment of chance + To dream a beautiful dream + In the everlasting dance + Of speechless worlds, the unsearchable scheme, + To me thou findest the way, + Me and whomsoe'er + I have found my dream to share + Still with thy charm encircling; even to-night + To me and my love in darkness and soft rain + Under the sighing pines thou comest again, + And staying our speech with mystery of delight, + Of the kiss that I give a wonder thou makest, + And the kiss that I take thou takest. + + + 7 + + I climb the mossy bank of the glade: + My love awaiteth me in the shade. + + She holdeth a book that she never heedeth: + In Goddës work her spirit readeth. + + She is all to me, and I to her: + When we embrace, the stars confer. + + O my love, from beyond the sky + I am calling thy heart, and who but I? + + * * * + + Fresh as love is the breeze of June, + In the dappled shade of the summer noon. + + Catullus, throwing his heart away, + Gave fewer kisses every day. + + Heracleitus, spending his youth + In search of wisdom, had less of truth. + + Flame of fire was the poet's desire: + The thinker found that life was fire. + + O my love! my song is done: + My kiss hath both their fires in one. + + + 8 + + To my love I whisper, and say + Knowest thou why I love thee?--Nay: + Nay, she saith; O tell me again.-- + + When in her ear the secret I tell, + She smileth with joy incredible-- + + Ha! she is vain--O nay-- + Then tell us!--Nay, O nay. + + But this is in my heart, + That Love is Nature's perfect art, + And man hath got his fancy hence, + To clothe his thought in forms of sense. + + Fair are thy works, O man, and fair + Thy dreams of soul in garments rare, + Beautiful past compare, + Yea, godlike when thou hast the skill + To steal a stir of the heavenly thrill: + + But O, have care, have care! + 'Tis envious even to dare: + And many a fiend is watching well + To flush thy reed with the fire of hell. + + + 9 + + My delight and thy delight + Walking, like two angels white, + In the gardens of the night: + + My desire and thy desire + Twining to a tongue of fire, + Leaping live, and laughing higher; + Thro' the everlasting strife + In the mystery of life. + + * * * + + Love, from whom the world begun, + Hath the secret of the sun. + + Love can tell, and love alone, + Whence the million stars were strewn, + Why each atom knows its own, + How, in spite of woe and death, + Gay is life, and sweet is breath: + + This he taught us, this we knew, + Happy in his science true, + Hand in hand as we stood + Neath the shadows of the wood, + Heart to heart as we lay + In the dawning of the day. + + + 10 + + SEPTUAGESIMA + + Now all the windows with frost are blinded, + As punctual day with greedy smile + Lifts like a Cyclops evil-minded + His ruddy eyeball over the isle. + + In an hour 'tis paled, in an hour ascended + A dazzling light in the cloudless grey. + Steel is the ice; the snow unblended + Is trod to dust on the white highway. + + The lambkins frisk; the shepherd is melting + Drink for the ewes with a fire of straw: + The red flames leap at the wild air pelting + Bitterly thro' the leafless shaw. + + Around, from many a village steeple + The sabbath-bells hum over the snow: + I give a blessing to parson and people + Across the fields as away I go. + + Over the hills and over the meadows + Gay is my way till day be done: + Blue as the heaven are all the shadows, + And every light is gold in the sun. + + + 11 + + The sea keeps not the Sabbath day, + His waves come rolling evermore; + His noisy toil grindeth the shore, + And all the cliff is drencht with spray. + + Here as we sit, my love and I, + Under the pine upon the hill, + The sadness of the clouded sky, + The bitter wind, the gloomy roar, + The seamew's melancholy cry + With loving fancy suit but ill. + + We talk of moons and cooling suns, + Of geologic time and tide, + The eternal sluggards that abide + While our fair love so swiftly runs, + + Of nature that doth half consent + That man should guess her dreary scheme + Lest he should live too well content + In his fair house of mirth and dream: + + Whose labour irks his ageing heart, + His heart that wearies of desire, + Being so fugitive a part + Of what so slowly must expire. + + She in her agelong toil and care + Persistent, wearies not nor stays, + Mocking alike hope and despair. + + --Ah, but she too can mock our praise, + Enchanted on her brighter days, + + Days, that the thought of grief refuse, + Days that are one with human art, + Worthy of the Virgilian muse, + Fit for the gaiety of Mozart. + + + 12 + + Riding adown the country lanes + One day in spring, + Heavy at heart with all the pains + Of man's imagining:-- + + The mist was not yet melted quite + Into the sky: + The small round sun was dazzling white, + The merry larks sang high: + + The grassy northern slopes were laid + In sparkling dew, + Out of the slow-retreating shade + Turning from sleep anew: + + Deep in the sunny vale a burn + Ran with the lane, + O'erhung with ivy, moss and fern + It laughed in joyful strain: + + And primroses shot long and lush + Their cluster'd cream; + Robin and wren and amorous thrush + Carol'd above the stream: + + The stillness of the lenten air + Call'd into sound + The motions of all life that were + In field and farm around: + + So fair it was, so sweet and bright, + The jocund Spring + Awoke in me the old delight + Of man's imagining, + + Riding adown the country lanes: + The larks sang high.-- + O heart! for all thy griefs and pains + Thou shalt be loth to die. + + + 13 + + PATER FILIO + + Sense with keenest edge unusèd, + Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire; + Lovely feet as yet unbruisèd + On the ways of dark desire; + Sweetest hope that lookest smiling + O'er the wilderness defiling! + + Why such beauty, to be blighted + By the swarm of foul destruction? + Why such innocence delighted, + When sin stalks to thy seduction? + All the litanies e'er chaunted + Shall not keep thy faith undaunted. + + I have pray'd the sainted Morning + To unclasp her hands to hold thee; + From resignful Eve's adorning + Stol'n a robe of peace to enfold thee; + With all charms of man's contriving + Arm'd thee for thy lonely striving. + + Me too once unthinking Nature, + --Whence Love's timeless mockery took me,-- + Fashion'd so divine a creature, + Yea, and like a beast forsook me. + I forgave, but tell the measure + Of her crime in thee, my treasure. + + + 14 + + NOVEMBER + + The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled + Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun + Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed; + The short days pass unwelcomed one by one. + + Out by the ricks the mantled engine stands + Crestfallen, deserted,--for now all hands + Are told to the plough,--and ere it is dawn appear + The teams following and crossing far and near, + As hour by hour they broaden the brown bands + Of the striped fields; and behind them firk and prance + The heavy rooks, and daws grey-pated dance: + As awhile, surmounting a crest, in sharp outline + (A miniature of toil, a gem's design,) + They are pictured, horses and men, or now near by + Above the lane they shout lifting the share, + By the trim hedgerow bloom'd with purple air; + Where, under the thorns, dead leaves in huddle lie + Packed by the gales of Autumn, and in and out + The small wrens glide + With a happy note of cheer, + And yellow amorets flutter above and about, + Gay, familiar in fear. + + And now, if the night shall be cold, across the sky + Linnets and twites, in small flocks helter-skelter, + All the afternoon to the gardens fly, + From thistle-pastures hurrying to gain the shelter + Of American rhododendron or cherry-laurel: + And here and there, near chilly setting of sun, + In an isolated tree a congregation + Of starlings chatter and chide, + Thickset as summer leaves, in garrulous quarrel: + Suddenly they hush as one,-- + The tree top springs,-- + And off, with a whirr of wings, + They fly by the score + To the holly-thicket, and there with myriads more + Dispute for the roosts; and from the unseen nation + A babel of tongues, like running water unceasing, + Makes live the wood, the flocking cries increasing, + Wrangling discordantly, incessantly, + While falls the night on them self-occupied; + The long dark night, that lengthens slow, + Deepening with Winter to starve grass and tree, + And soon to bury in snow + The Earth, that, sleeping 'neath her frozen stole, + Shall dream a dream crept from the sunless pole + Of how her end shall be. + + + 15 + + WINTER NIGHTFALL + + The day begins to droop,-- + Its course is done: + But nothing tells the place + Of the setting sun. + + The hazy darkness deepens, + And up the lane + You may hear, but cannot see, + The homing wain. + + An engine pants and hums + In the farm hard by: + Its lowering smoke is lost + In the lowering sky. + + The soaking branches drip, + And all night through + The dropping will not cease + In the avenue. + + A tall man there in the house + Must keep his chair: + He knows he will never again + Breathe the spring air: + + His heart is worn with work; + He is giddy and sick + If he rise to go as far + As the nearest rick: + + He thinks of his morn of life, + His hale, strong years; + And braves as he may the night + Of darkness and tears. + + + 16 + + Since we loved,--(the earth that shook + As we kissed, fresh beauty took)-- + Love hath been as poets paint, + Life as heaven is to a saint; + + All my joys my hope excel, + All my work hath prosper'd well, + All my songs have happy been, + O my love, my life, my queen. + + + 17 + + When Death to either shall come,-- + I pray it be first to me,-- + Be happy as ever at home, + If so, as I wish, it be. + + Possess thy heart, my own; + And sing to the child on thy knee, + Or read to thyself alone + The songs that I made for thee. + + + 18 + + WISHES + + I wish'd to sing thy grace, but nought + Found upon earth that could compare: + Some day, maybe, in heaven, I thought,-- + If I should win the welcome there,-- + + There might I make thee many a song: + But now it is enough to say + I ne'er have done our life the wrong + Of wishing for a happier day. + + + 19 + + A LOVE LYRIC + + Why art thou sad, my dearest? + What terror is it thou fearest, + Braver who art than I + The fiend to defy? + + Why art thou sad, my dearest? + And why in tears appearest, + Closer than I that wert + At hiding thy hurt? + + Why art thou sad, my dearest, + Since now my voice thou hearest? + Who with a kiss restore + Thy valour of yore. + + + 20 + + ΕΡΩΣ + + Why hast thou nothing in thy face? + Thou idol of the human race, + Thou tyrant of the human heart, + The flower of lovely youth that art; + Yea, and that standest in thy youth + An image of eternal Truth, + With thy exuberant flesh so fair, + That only Pheidias might compare, + Ere from his chaste marmoreal form + Time had decayed the colours warm; + Like to his gods in thy proud dress, + Thy starry sheen of nakedness. + + Surely thy body is thy mind, + For in thy face is nought to find, + Only thy soft unchristen'd smile, + That shadows neither love nor guile, + But shameless will and power immense, + In secret sensuous innocence. + + O king of joy, what is thy thought? + I dream thou knowest it is nought, + And wouldst in darkness come, but thou + Makest the light where'er thou go. + Ah yet no victim of thy grace, + None who e'er long'd for thy embrace, + Hath cared to look upon thy face. + + + 21 + + THE FAIR BRASS + + An effigy of brass + Trodden by careless feet + Of worshippers that pass, + Beautiful and complete, + + Lieth in the sombre aisle + Of this old church unwreckt, + And still from modern style + Shielded by kind neglect. + + It shows a warrior arm'd: + Across his iron breast + His hands by death are charm'd + To leave his sword at rest, + + Wherewith he led his men + O'ersea, and smote to hell + The astonisht Saracen, + Nor doubted he did well. + + Would wé could teach our sons + His trust in face of doom, + Or give our bravest ones + A comparable tomb: + + Such as to look on shrives + The heart of half its care; + So in each line survives + The spirit that made it fair; + + So fair the characters, + With which the dusty scroll, + That tells his title, stirs + A requiem for his soul. + + Yet dearer far to me, + And brave as he are they, + Who fight by land and sea + For England at this day; + + Whose vile memorials, + In mournful marbles gilt, + Deface the beauteous walls + By growing glory built: + + Heirs of our antique shrines, + Sires of our future fame, + Whose starry honour shines + In many a noble name + + Across the deathful days, + Link'd in the brotherhood + That loves our country's praise, + And lives for heavenly good. + + + 22 + + THE DUTEOUS HEART + + Spirit of grace and beauty, + Whom men so much miscall: + Maidenly, modest duty, + I cry thee fair befall! + + Pity for them that shun thee, + Sorrow for them that hate, + Glory, hath any won thee + To dwell in high estate! + + But rather thou delightest + To walk in humble ways, + Keeping thy favour brightest + Uncrown'd by foolish praise; + In such retirement dwelling, + Where, hath the worldling been, + He straight returneth telling + Of sights that he hath seen, + + Of simple men and truest + Faces of girl and boy; + The souls whom thou enduest + With gentle peace and joy. + + Fair from my song befall thee, + Spirit of beauty and grace! + Men that so much miscall thee + Have never seen thy face. + + + 23 + + THE IDLE FLOWERS + + I have sown upon the fields + Eyebright and Pimpernel, + And Pansy and Poppy-seed + Ripen'd and scatter'd well, + + And silver Lady-smock + The meads with light to fill, + Cowslip and Buttercup, + Daisy and Daffodil; + + King-cup and Fleur-de-lys + Upon the marsh to meet + With Comfrey, Watermint, + Loose-strife and Meadowsweet; + + And all along the stream + My care hath not forgot + Crowfoot's white galaxy + And love's Forget-me-not: + + And where high grasses wave + Shall great Moon-daisies blink, + With Rattle and Sorrel sharp + And Robin's ragged pink. + + Thick on the woodland floor + Gay company shall be, + Primrose and Hyacinth + And frail Anemone, + + Perennial Strawberry-bloom, + Woodsorrel's pencilled veil, + Dishevel'd Willow-weed + And Orchis purple and pale, + + Bugle, that blushes blue, + And Woodruff's snowy gem, + Proud Foxglove's finger-bells + And Spurge with milky stem. + + High on the downs so bare, + Where thou dost love to climb, + Pink Thrift and Milkwort are, + Lotus and scented Thyme; + + And in the shady lanes + Bold Arum's hood of green, + Herb Robert, Violet, + Starwort and Celandine; + + And by the dusty road + Bedstraw and Mullein tall, + With red Valerian + And Toadflax on the wall, + + Yarrow and Chicory, + That hath for hue no like, + Silene and Mallow mild + And Agrimony's spike, + Blue-eyed Veronicas + And grey-faced Scabious + And downy Silverweed + And striped Convolvulus: + + Harebell shall haunt the banks, + And thro' the hedgerow peer + Withwind and Snapdragon + And Nightshade's flower of fear. + + And where men never sow, + Have I my Thistles set, + Ragwort and stiff Wormwood + And straggling Mignonette, + + Bugloss and Burdock rank + And prickly Teasel high, + With Umbels yellow and white, + That come to kexes dry. + + Pale Chlora shalt thou find, + Sun-loving Centaury, + Cranesbill and Sinjunwort, + Cinquefoil and Betony: + + Shock-headed Dandelion, + That drank the fire of the sun: + Hawkweed and Marigold, + Cornflower and Campion. + + Let Oak and Ash grow strong, + Let Beech her branches spread; + Let Grass and Barley throng + And waving Wheat for bread; + + Be share and sickle bright + To labour at all hours; + For thee and thy delight + I have made the idle flowers. + + But now 'tis Winter, child, + And bitter northwinds blow, + The ways are wet and wild, + The land is laid in snow. + + + 24 + + DUNSTONE HILL + + A cottage built of native stone + Stands on the mountain-moor alone, + High from man's dwelling on the wide + And solitary mountain-side, + + The purple mountain-side, where all + The dewy night the meteors fall, + And the pale stars musically set + To the watery bells of the rivulet, + + And all day long, purple and dun, + The vast moors stretch beneath the sun, + The wide wind passeth fresh and hale, + And whirring grouse and blackcock sail. + + Ah, heavenly Peace, where dost thou dwell? + Surely 'twas here thou hadst a cell, + Till flaming Love, wandering astray + With fury and blood, drove thee away.-- + + Far down across the valley deep + The town is hid in smoky sleep, + At moonless nightfall wakening slow + Upon the dark with lurid glow: + + Beyond, afar the widening view + Merges into the soften'd blue, + Cornfield and forest, hill and stream, + Fair England in her pastoral dream. + + To one who looketh from this hill + Life seems asleep, all is so still: + Nought passeth save the travelling shade + Of clouds on high that float and fade: + + Nor since this landscape saw the sun + Might other motion o'er it run, + Till to man's scheming heart it came + To make a steed of steel and flame. + + Him may you mark in every vale + Moving beneath his fleecy trail, + And tell whene'er the motions die + Where every town and hamlet lie. + + He gives the distance life to-day, + Rushing upon his level'd way + From man's abode to man's abode, + And mocks the Roman's vaunted road, + + Which o'er the moor purple and dun + Still wanders white beneath the sun, + Deserted now of men and lone + Save for this cot of native stone. + + There ever by the whiten'd wall + Standeth a maiden fair and tall, + And all day long in vacant dream + Watcheth afar the flying steam. + + + 25 + + SCREAMING TARN + + The saddest place that e'er I saw + Is the deep tarn above the inn + That crowns the mountain-road, whereby + One southward bound his way must win. + + Sunk on the table of the ridge + From its deep shores is nought to see: + The unresting wind lashes and chills + Its shivering ripples ceaselessly. + + Three sides 'tis banked with stones aslant, + And down the fourth the rushes grow, + And yellow sedge fringing the edge + With lengthen'd image all arow. + + 'Tis square and black, and on its face + When noon is still, the mirror'd sky + Looks dark and further from the earth + Than when you gaze at it on high. + + At mid of night, if one be there, + --So say the people of the hill-- + A fearful shriek of death is heard, + One sudden scream both loud and shrill. + + And some have seen on stilly nights, + And when the moon was clear and round, + Bubbles which to the surface swam + And burst as if they held the sound.-- + + 'Twas in the days ere hapless Charles + Losing his crown had lost his head, + This tale is told of him who kept + The inn upon the watershed: + + He was a lowbred ruin'd man + Whom lawless times set free from fear: + One evening to his house there rode + A young and gentle cavalier. + + With curling hair and linen fair + And jewel-hilted sword he went; + The horse he rode he had ridden far, + And he was with his journey spent. + + He asked a lodging for the night, + His valise from his steed unbound, + He let none bear it but himself + And set it by him on the ground. + + 'Here's gold or jewels,' thought the host, + 'That's carrying south to find the king.' + He chattered many a loyal word, + And scraps of royal airs gan sing. + + His guest thereat grew more at ease + And o'er his wine he gave a toast, + But little ate, and to his room + Carried his sack behind the host. + + 'Now rest you well,' the host he said, + But of his wish the word fell wide; + Nor did he now forget his son + Who fell in fight by Cromwell's side. + + Revenge and poverty have brought + Full gentler heart than his to crime; + And he was one by nature rude, + Born to foul deeds at any time. + + With unshod feet at dead of night + In stealth he to the guest-room crept, + Lantern and dagger in his hand, + And stabbed his victim while he slept. + + But as he struck a scream there came, + A fearful scream so loud and shrill: + He whelm'd the face with pillows o'er, + And lean'd till all had long been still. + + Then to the face the flame he held + To see there should no life remain:-- + When lo! his brutal heart was quell'd: + 'Twas a fair woman he had slain. + + The tan upon her face was paint, + The manly hair was torn away, + Soft was the breast that he had pierced; + Beautiful in her death she lay. + + His was no heart to faint at crime, + Tho' half he wished the deed undone. + He pulled the valise from the bed + To find what booty he had won. + + He cut the straps, and pushed within + His murderous fingers to their theft. + A deathly sweat came o'er his brow, + He had no sense nor meaning left. + + He touched not gold, it was not cold, + It was not hard, it felt like flesh. + He drew out by the curling hair + A young man's head, and murder'd fresh; + + A young man's head, cut by the neck. + But what was dreader still to see, + Her whom he had slain he saw again, + The twain were like as like can be. + + Brother and sister if they were, + Both in one shroud they now were wound,-- + Across his back and down the stair, + Out of the house without a sound. + + He made his way unto the tarn, + The night was dark and still and dank; + The ripple chuckling neath the boat + Laughed as he drew it to the bank. + + Upon the bottom of the boat + He laid his burden flat and low, + And on them laid the square sandstones + That round about the margin go. + + Stone upon stone he weighed them down, + Until the boat would hold no more; + The freeboard now was scarce an inch: + He stripp'd his clothes and push'd from shore. + + All naked to the middle pool + He swam behind in the dark night; + And there he let the water in + And sank his terror out of sight. + + He swam ashore, and donn'd his dress, + And scraped his bloody fingers clean; + Ran home and on his victim's steed + Mounted, and never more was seen. + + But to a comrade ere he died + He told his story guess'd of none: + So from his lips the crime returned + To haunt the spot where it was done. + + + 26 + + THE ISLE OF ACHILLES + + (FROM THE GREEK) + + Τὁν φἱλτατὁν σοι παἱδ' ἑμοἱ τ', Ἁχιλλἑα + ὑψει δὑμους ναἱοντα νησιωτικοὑς + Δευκἡν κατ' ἁκτἡν ἑντὁς Εὑξεἱνου πὁρου. + + Eur. And. 1250. + + Voyaging northwards by the western strand + Of the Euxine sea we came to where the land + Sinks low in salt morass and wooded plain: + Here mighty Ister pushes to the main, + Forking his turbid flood in channels three + To plough the sands wherewith he chokes the sea. + + Against his middle arm, not many a mile + In the offing of black water is the isle + Named of Achilles, or as Leukê known, + Which tender Thetis, counselling alone + With her wise sire beneath the ocean-wave + Unto her child's departed spirit gave, + Where he might still his love and fame enjoy, + Through the vain Danaan cause fordone at Troy. + Thither Achilles passed, and long fulfill'd + His earthly lot, as the high gods had will'd, + Far from the rivalries of men, from strife, + From arms, from woman's love and toil of life. + Now of his lone abode I will unfold + What there I saw, or was by others told. + + There is in truth a temple on the isle; + Therein a wooden statue of rude style + And workmanship antique with helm of lead: + Else all is desert, uninhabited; + Only a few goats browse the wind-swept rocks, + And oft the stragglers of their starving flocks + Are caught and sacrificed by whomsoe'er, + Whoever of chance or purpose hither fare: + About the fence lie strewn their bleaching bones. + + But in the temple jewels and precious stones, + Upheapt with golden rings and vials lie, + Thankofferings to Achilles, and thereby, + Written or scratch'd upon the walls in view, + Inscriptions, with the givers' names thereto, + Some in Romaic character, some Greek, + As each man in the tongue that he might speak + Wrote verse of praise, or prayer for good to come, + To Achilles most, but to Patroclus some; + For those who strongly would Achilles move + Approach him by the pathway of his love. + + Thousands of birds frequent the sheltering shrine, + The dippers and the swimmers of the brine, + Sea-mew and gull and diving cormorant, + Fishers that on the high cliff make their haunt + Sheer inaccessible, and sun themselves + Huddled arow upon the narrow shelves:-- + And surely no like wonder e'er hath been + As that such birds should keep the temple clean; + But thus they do: at earliest dawn of day + They flock to sea and in the waters play, + And when they well have wet their plumage light, + Back to the sanctuary they take flight + Splashing the walls and columns with fresh brine, + Till all the stone doth fairly drip and shine, + When off again they skim asea for more + And soon returning sprinkle steps and floor, + And sweep all cleanly with their wide-spread wings. + + * * * + + From other men I have learnt further things. + If any of free purpose, thus they tell, + Sail'd hither to consult the oracle,-- + For oracle there was,--they sacrificed + Such victims as they brought, if such sufficed, + And some they slew, some to the god set free: + But they who driven from their course at sea + Chanced on the isle, took of the goats thereon + And pray'd Achilles to accept his own. + Then made they a gift, and when they had offer'd once, + If to their question there was no response, + They added to the gift and asked again; + Yea twice and more, until the god should deign + Answer to give, their offering they renew'd; + Whereby great riches to the shrine ensued. + And when both sacrifice and gifts were made + They worship'd at the shrine, and as they pray'd + Sailors aver that often hath been seen + A man like to a god, of warrior mien, + A beauteous form of figure swift and strong; + Down on his shoulders his light hair hung long + And his full armour was enchast with gold: + While some, who with their eyes might nought behold, + Say that with music strange the air was stir'd; + And some there are, who have both seen and heard: + And if a man wish to be favour'd more, + He need but spend one night upon the shore; + To him in sleep Achilles will appear + And lead him to his tent, and with good cheer + Show him all friendliness that men desire; + Patroclus pours the wine, and he his lyre + Takes from the pole and plays the strains thereon + Which Cheiron taught him first on Pelion. + + * * * + + These things I tell as they were told to me, + Nor do I question but it well may be: + For sure I am that, if man ever was, + Achilles was a hero, both because + Of his high birth and beauty, his country's call, + His valour of soul, his early death withal, + For Homer's praise, the crown of human art; + And that above all praise he had at heart + A gentler passion in her sovran sway, + And when his love died threw his life away. + + + 27 + + AN ANNIVERSARY + + HE + + Bright, my belovèd, be thy day, + This eve of Summer's fall: + And Autumn mass his flowers gay + To crown thy festival! + + SHE + + I care not if the morn be bright, + Living in thy love-rays: + No flower I need for my delight, + Being crownèd with thy praise. + + HE + + O many years and joyfully + This sun to thee return; + Ever all men speak well of thee, + Nor any angel mourn! + + SHE + + For length of life I would not pray, + If thy life were to seek; + Nor ask what men and angels say + But when of thee they speak. + + HE + + Arise! The sky hath heard my song, + The flowers o'erhear thy praise; + And little loves are waking long + To wish thee happy days. + + + 28 + + REGINA CARA + + JUBILEE-SONG, FOR MUSIC, 1897 + + Hark! The world is full of thy praise, + England's Queen of many days; + Who, knowing how to rule the free, + Hast given a crown to monarchy. + + Honour, Truth and growing Peace + Follow Britannia's wide increase, + And Nature yield her strength unknown + To the wisdom born beneath thy throne! + + In wisdom and love firm is thy fame: + Enemies bow to revere thy name: + The world shall never tire to tell + Praise of the queen that reignèd well. + + O FELIX ANIMA, DOMINA PRAECLARA, + AMORE SEMPER CORONABERE + REGINA CARA. + + + + + LATER POEMS + + OCCASIONAL ODES &C.] + + [Illustration: decoration] + + + _PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS_ + + _1. Monthly Review. February, 1903._ + + _2. Country Life. 1906._ + + _3. 'Volunteer Haversack.' 1902._ + + _4. Daniel Press. Poems by A. Buckton. + 1901._ + + _5, 6. Saturday Review._ + + _7. 'The Sheaf.' June, 1902._ + + _8. English Review. March, 1911._ + + _9. Academy. April 1, 1905._ + + _10, 11. Monthly Review. June, 1904._ + + _13. Speaker._ + + _14. Monthly Review. March, 1902._ + + _15. 'Wayfarer's Love.' 1904._ + + _16. Saturday Review. April 13, 1907. + Book of the Oxford Pageant. July + 1907._ + + _17, 18, 19. Published with the Music by + Novello, Ewer & Co._ + + + + + LATER POEMS + + + 1 + + RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLITUDE + + AN ELEGY + + Ended are many days, and now but few + Remain; since therefore it is happy and true + That memoried joys keep ever their delight, + Like steadfast stars in the blue vault of night, + While hours of pain (among those heavenly spheres + Like falling meteors, the martyr's tears) + Dart their long trails at random, and anon, + Ere we exclaim, pass, and for aye are gone; + Therefore my heedy thought will oft restore + The long light-hearted days that are no more, + Save where in her memorial crypt they shine + Spangling the silent past with joy divine. + + But why in dream of this enchanted mood + Should all my boyhood seem a solitude? + Good reason know I, when I wander there, + In that transmuted scene, why all is fair; + The woods as when in holiday of spring + Million buds burst, and flowers are blossoming; + The meadows deep in grass, the fields unshorn + In beauty of the multitudinous corn, + Where the strait alleys hide me, wall'd between + High bloomy stalks and rustling banners green; + The gardens, too, in dazzling hues full-blown, + With wafted scent and blazing petals strewn; + The orchards reddening thro' the patient hours, + While idle autumn in his mossy bowers + Inviteth meditation to endear + The sanctuaries of the mellowing year; + And every spot wherein I loved to stray + Hath borrowed radiance of eternal day; + But why am I ever alone, alone? + Here in the corner of a field my throne, + Now in the branching chair of some tall tree + Drinking the gale in bird-like liberty; + Or to the seashore wandered in the sun + To watch the fateful waves break one by one; + Or if on basking downs supine I lie + Bathing my spirit in blue calms of the sky; + Or to the river bank am stolen by night + Hearkening unto the moonlit ripple bright + That warbles o'er the shallows of smooth stone; + Why should my memory find me all alone, + When I had such companions every day + Jocund and dear? 'Twixt glimpses of their play + 'Tis a vast solitude, wherein I see + Only myself and what I came to be. + + Yet never think, dear spirits, if now ye may + Remember aught of that brief earthly day, + Ere ye the mournful Stygian river crost, + From our familiar home too early lost,-- + O never think that I your tears forget, + Or that I loved not well, or love not yet. + Nor ye who held my heart in passion's chain,-- + As kings and queens succeed in glorious reign-- + When, as a man, I made you to outvie + God's work, and, as a god, then set you by + Among the sainted throng in holiest shrine + Of mythic creed and poetry divine; + True was my faith, and still your loves endure, + The jewels of my fancy, bright and pure. + + Nor only in fair places do I see + The picture fair now it has ceased to be: + For fate once led me, and myself some days + Did I devote, to dull laborious ways, + By soaring thought detained to tread full low,-- + Yea might I say unbeauteous paths of woe + And dreary abodes, had not my youthful sprite + Hallow'd each nook with legends of delight. + Ah! o'er that smoky town who looketh now + By winter sunset from the dark hill-brow, + Under the dying trees exultantly + Nursing the sting of human tragedy? + Or in that little room upstair'd so high, + Where London's roofs in thickest huddle lie, + Who now returns at evening to entice + To his fireside the joys of Paradise? + Once sacred was that hearth, and bright the air; + The flame of man's redemption flickered there, + In worship of those spirits, whose deathless fames + Have thrilled the stars of heaven to hear their names; + They that excell'd in wisdom to create + Beauty, with mortal passion conquering fate; + And, mid the sovran powers of elder time, + The loveliness of music and new rhyme, + The masters young that first enthrallèd me; + Of whom if I should name, whom then but thee, + Sweet Shelley, or the boy whose book was found + Thrust in thy bosom on thy body drowned? + + O mighty Muse, wooer of virgin thought, + Beside thy charm all else counteth as nought; + The revelation of thy smile doth make + Him whom thou lovest reckless for thy sake; + Earthborn of suffering, that knowest well + To call thine own, and with enamouring spell + Feedest the stolen powers of godlike youth + On dear imagination's only truth, + Building with song a temple of desire; + And with the yearning music of thy quire, + In nuptial sacrament of thought and sense + Hallowest for toil the hours of indolence: + Thou in thy melancholic beauty drest, + Subduest ill to serve thy fair behest, + With tragic tears, and sevenfold purified + Silver of mirth; and with extremest pride, + With secret doctrine and unfathomed lore + Remainest yet a child for evermore, + The only enchantress of the earth that art + To cheer his day and staunch man's bleeding heart. + + O heavenly Muse, for heavenly thee we call + Who in the fire of love refinest all, + Accurst is he who heark'neth not thy voice; + But happy he who, numbered of thy choice, + Walketh aloof from nature's clouded plan: + For all God's world is but the thought of man; + Wherein hast thou re-formed a world apart, + The mutual mirror of his better heart. + There is no foulness, misery, nor sin, + But he who loves finds his desire therein, + And there with thee in lonely commerce lives: + Nay, all that nature gave or fortune gives, + Joys that his spirit is most jealous of, + His only-embraced and best-deserving love, + Who walketh in the noon of heavenly praise, + The troubled godhead of his children's gaze, + Wear thine eternity, and are loved best + By thee transfigured and in thee possest; + Who madest beauty, and from thy boundless store + Of beauty shalt create for evermore. + + 1900. + + + 2 + + Gay Marigold is frolic, + She laughs till summer is done; + She hears the Grillie chirping + All day i' the blazing sun. + + But when the pale moon rises, + She fain her face would hide; + For the high Queen of sorrows + Disdains her empty pride. + + * * * + + Fair Primrose haunts the shadow + With children of the Spring, + Till in the bloomy woodland + The nightingale will sing. + + And when he lauds the May-night + And spirits throng the grove, + The moon shines thro' the branches + And floods her heart with love. + + + 3 + + MATRES DOLOROSAE + + Ye Spartan mothers, gentle ones, + Of lion-hearted, loving sons, + Fal'n, the flower of English youth, + To a barbarous foe in a land uncouth:-- + + O what a delicate sacrifice! + Unequal the stake and costly the price + As when the queen of Love deplor'd + Her darling by the wild-beast gor'd. + + They rode to war as if to the hunt, + But ye at home, ye bore the brunt, + Bore the siege of torturing fears, + Fed your hope on the bread of tears. + + Proud and spotless warriors they + With love or sword to lead the way; + For ye had cradled heart and hand, + The commander hearken'd to your command. + + Ah, weeping mothers, now all is o'er, + Ye know your honour and mourn no more: + Nor ask ye a name in England's story, + Who gave your dearest for her glory. + + _May 20, 1902._ + + + 4 + + A VIGNETTE + + Among the meadows + lightly going, + With worship and joy + my heart o'erflowing, + + Far from town + and toil of living, + To a holy day + my spirit giving,... + + * * * + + Thou tender flower, + I kneel beside thee + Wondering why God + so beautified thee.-- + + An answering thought + within me springeth, + A bloom of the mind + her vision bringeth. + + Between the dim hill's + distant azure + And flowery foreground + of sparkling pleasure + + I see the company + of figures sainted, + For whom the picture + of earth was painted. + + Those robèd seers + who made man's story + The crown of Nature, + Her cause his glory. + + They walk in the city + which they have builded, + The city of God + from evil shielded: + + To them for canopy + the vault of heaven, + The flowery earth + for carpet is given; + + Whereon I wander + not unknowing, + With worship and joy + my heart o'erflowing. + + 1901. + + + 5 + + MILLICENT + + Thou dimpled Millicent, of merry guesses, + Strong-limb'd and tall, tossing thy wayward tresses, + What mystery of the heart can so surprise + The mirth and music of thy brimming eyes? + + Pale-brow, thou knowest not and diest to learn + The mortal secret that doth in thee burn; + With look imploring 'If you love me, tell, + What is it in me that you love so well?' + + And suddenly thou stakest all thy charms, + And leapest on me; and in thy circling arms + When almost stifled with their wild embrace, + I feel thy hot tears sheltering on my face. + + 1901. + + + 6 + + VIVAMUS + + When thou didst give thy love to me, + Asking no more of gods or men + I vow'd I would contented be, + If Fate should grant us summers ten. + + But now that twice the term is sped, + And ever young my heart and gay, + I fear the words that then I said, + And turn my face from Fate away. + + To bid thee happily good-bye + I have no hope that I can see, + No way that I shall bravely die, + Unless I give my life for thee. + + 1901. + + + 7 + + One grief of thine + if truth be confest + Was joy to me; + for it drave to my breast + Thee, to my heart + to find thy rest. + + How long it was + I never shall know: + I watcht the earth + so stately and slow, + And the ancient things + that waste and grow. + + But now for me + what speed devours + Our heavenly life, + our brilliant hours! + How fast they fly, + the stars and flowers! + + + 8 + + In still midsummer night + When the moon is late + And the stars all watery and white + For her coming wait, + + A spirit, whose eyes are possest + By wonder new, + Passeth--her arms upon her breast + Enwrapt from the dew + In a raiment of azure fold + With diaper + Of flower'd embroidery of gold + Bestarr'd with silver. + + * * * + + The daisy folk are awake + Their carpet to spread, + And the thron'd stars gazing on her make + Fresh crowns for her head, + + Netted in her floating hair + As she drifteth free + Between the starriness of the air + And the starry lea, + + From the silent-shadow'd vale + By the west wind drawn + Aloft to melt into the pale + Moonrise of dawn. + + 1910. + + + 9 + + MELANCHOLIA + + The sickness of desire, that in dark days + Looks on the imagination of despair, + Forgetteth man, and stinteth God his praise; + Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care. + Incertainty that once gave scope to dream + Of laughing enterprise and glory untold, + Is now a blackness that no stars redeem, + A wall of terror in a night of cold. + + Fool! thou that hast impossibly desired + And now impatiently despairest, see + How nought is changed: Joy's wisdom is attired + Splendid for others' eyes if not for thee: + Not love or beauty or youth from earth is fled: + If they delite thee not, 'tis thou art dead. + + 1904. + + + 10 + + TO THE PRESIDENT OF MAGDALEN + COLLEGE, OXFORD + + Since now from woodland mist and flooded clay + I am fled beside the steep Devonian shore, + Nor stand for welcome at your gothic door, + 'Neath the fair tower of Magdalen and May, + Such tribute, Warren, as fond poets pay + For generous esteem, I write, not more + Enhearten'd than my need is, reckoning o'er + My life-long wanderings on the heavenly way: + + But well-befriended we become good friends, + Well-honour'd honourable; and all attain + Somewhat by fathering what fortune sends. + I bid your presidency a long reign, + True friend; and may your praise to greater ends + Aid better men than I, nor me in vain. + + + 11 + + TO JOSEPH JOACHIM + + Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear + Who hid her spirit of rapture from the Greek, + Whereby our art excelleth the antique, + Perfecting formal beauty to the ear; + Thou that hast been in England many a year + The interpreter who left us nought to seek, + Making Beethoven's inmost passion speak, + Bringing the soul of great Sebastian near: + + Their music liveth ever, and 'tis just + That thou, good Joachim, so high thy skill, + Rank (as thou shalt upon the heavenly hill) + Laurel'd with them, for thy ennobling trust + Remember'd when thy loving hand is still + And every ear that heard thee stopt with dust. + + + 12 + + TO THOS. FLOYD + + How fares it, friend, since I by Fate annoy'd + Left the old home in need of livelier play + For body and mind? How fare, this many a day, + The stubborn thews and ageless heart of Floyd? + If not too well with country sport employ'd, + Visit my flock, the breezy hill that they + Choose for their fold; and see, for thence you may, + From rising walls all roofless yet and void, + + The lovely city, thronging tower and spire, + The mind of the wide landscape, dreaming deep, + Grey-silvery in the vale; a shrine where keep + Memorial hopes their pale celestial fire: + Like man's immortal conscience of desire, + The spirit that watcheth in me ev'n in my sleep. + + 1906. + + + 13 + + LA GLOIRE DE VOLTAIRE + + A DIALOGUE IN VERSE. + + A. + + _Je donnerais pour revivre à vingt ans + L'or de Rothschild, la gloire de Voltaire._ + I like that: Béranger in his printems, + Voltaire and Rothschild: what three graces there + Foot it together! But of old Voltaire, + I'd ask what Béranger found so sublime + In that man's glory to adorn his rhyme. + Was it mere fame? + + B. + + Nay: for as wide a fame + Was won by the gold-garnering millionaire, + Who in the poet's verse might read his name + And what is that? when so much froth and scum + Float down the stream of Time (as Bacon saith), + What is that for deliverance from the death? + Could any sober man be proud to hold + A lease of common talk, or die consoled + For thinking that on lips of fools to come + He'll live with Pontius Pilate and Tom Thumb? + That were more like eternal punishment, + The true fool's Paradise by all consent. + Béranger thought to set a crown on merit. + + A. + + Man's merit! and to crown it in Voltaire? + The modest eye, the gentle, fearless heart, + The mouth of peace and truth, the angelic spirit! + Why Arouet was _soufflé_ with the leaven, + Of which the little flock was bid beware: + His very ambition was to play a part; + Indifferent whether he did wrong or right, + So he won credit; eager to deny + A lie that failed, by adding lie to lie; + Repaying evil unto seven-times-seven; + A fount of slander, flattery and spite; + Vain, irritable; true but to his face + Of mockery and mischievous grimace, + A monkey of the schools, the saints' despair! + + B. + + Yet for his voice half Europe stood at pause + To hear, and when he spoke rang with applause. + + A. + + Granted he was a wonder of his kind. + There is a devilish mockery in things + Which only a born devil can enjoy. + True banter is of melancholy mind, + Akin to madness; thus must Shakespeare toy + With Hamlet's reason, ere his fine art dare + Push his relentless humour to the quick; + And so his mortal thrusts pierce not the skin. + But for the superficial bickerings + That poison life and never seem to prick, + The reasonable educated grin, + Truly no wag is equal to Voltaire; + His never-dying ripple, wide and light, + Has nigh the force of Nature: to compare, + 'Tis like the ocean when the sky is bright, + And the cold north-wind tickles with surprise + The briny levels of the infinite sea. + --Shall we conclude his merit was his wit, + His magic art and versatility? + + B. + + And think of those foredoom'd in Dante's pit, + Who, sunk at bottom of the loathly slough, + Made the black mud up-bubble with their sighs; + And all because they were unkind to Mirth, + And went with smoky heart and gloomy brow + The while they lived upon the pleasant earth + In the sweet air that rallies to the sun, + And ne'er so much as smiled or gave God thanks: + Surely a sparkle of the Frenchman's fun + Had rescued all their souls. + + A. + + I think I see + The Deity who in this Heaven abides, + _Le bon Dieu_, holding both his aching sides, + With radiant face of Pan, ruddy and hairy: + Give him his famous whistles and goat-shanks, + And then present him to Alighieri. + + B. + + Nay, 'twixt the Frenchman and the Florentine + I ask no truce, grave Dante weaving well + His dark-eyed thought into a song divine, + Drawing high poetry from heaven and hell-- + And him who lightly mockt at all in turn. + + A. + + It follow'd from his mundane thought of art + That he contemn'd religion: his concern + Was comfort, taste, and wit: he had no heart + For man's attempt to build and beautify + His home in Nature; so he set all by + That wisdom had evolved with purpose kind; + Stamped it as folly, or as fraud attacked; + Never discerning how his callow zest + Was impiously defiling his own nest; + Whereas the least philosophy may find + The truths are the ideas; the sole fact + Is the long story of man's growing mind. + + B. + + Upon your thistle now I see my fig-- + Béranger thought of Voltaire as a seer, + A latter-day John Baptist in a wig; + A herald of that furious gospel-storm + Of words and blood, that made the nations fear; + When sickening France adulterously sinn'd + With Virtue, and went mad conceiving wind. + He ranks him with those captains of reform, + Luther and Calvin; who, whate'er they taught, + Led folk from superstition to free thought. + + A. + + They did. But whence or whither led Voltaire? + The steward with fifty talents given in charge, + Who spent them on himself, and liv'd at large; + His only virtue that he did not hide + The pounds, but squander'd them to serve his pride; + His praise that, cunning in his generation, + He of the heavenly treasure did not spare + To win himself an earthly habitation. + + B. + + Deny him not this laurel, nor to France + The apostolate of modern tolerance: + Their Theseus he, who slew the Minotaur, + The Dragon Persecution, in which war + He tipp'd the shafts that made the devil bleed; + And won a victory that hath overcome + Many misdoings in a well-done deed; + And more, I think, the mind of Christ revealing, + Yea, more of common-sense and human feeling + Than all the Creeds and Bulls of Christendom. + + A. + + Yet was he only one of them that slew: + The fiend had taken a deadly wound from Bayle; + And did he 'roar to see his kingdom fail' + 'Neath Robespierre, or raise his head anew? + Nay, Voltaire's teaching never cured the heart: + The lack of human feeling blots his art. + When most his phrase with indignation burns, + Still to the gallery his face he turns. + + B. + + You bear him hard. Men are of common stuff, + Each hath some fault, and he had faults enough: + But of all slanderers that ever were + A virtuous critic is the most unfair. + In greatness ever is some good to see; + And what is character, unless it be + The colour of persistent qualities, + That, like a ground in painting, balances + All hues and forms, combining with one tone + Whatever lights or shades are on it thrown? + Now Voltaire had of Nature a rich ground, + Two virtues rarely in conjunction found: + Industry, which no pedant could excel, + He matched with gaiety inexhaustible; + And with heroic courage held these fast, + As sailors nail their colours to the mast, + With ruling excellence atoning all. + Though, for the rest, he still for praise may call; + Prudent to gain, as generous to share + _Le superflu, chose si nécessaire_; + To most a rare companion above scorn, + To not a few a kind, devoted friend + Through his long battling life, which in the end + He strove with good works richly to adorn. + I have admired, and why should I abuse + A man who can so long and well amuse? + + A. + + To some Parisian art there's this objection, + 'Tis mediocrity pushed to perfection. + + B. + + 'Judge not,' say I, 'and ye shall not be judged!' + + A. + + Let me say, 'praise men, if ye would be praised:' + Let your unwholesome flattery flow ungrudged, + And with ungrudging measure shall men pour + Their stifling homage back till ye be crazed, + And sane men humour you as fools past cure. + But these wise maxims deal not with the dead, + 'Tis by example that the young are led, + And judgement owes its kindness but to them; + Nor will I praise, call you me hard or nice, + One that degraded art, and varnished vice. + They that praise ill thereby themselves condemn. + + B. + + Béranger could not praise. + + A. + + Few are who can; + Not he: if ever he assay'd to impart + A title loftier than his own renown, + Native irreverence defied his art, + His fingers soil'd the lustre of his crown. + Here he adored what he was envious of, + The vogue and dazzling fashion of the man. + But man's true praise, the poet's praise, is love. + + B. + + And that, perhaps, was hardly his affair.... + Pray, now, what set you talking of Voltaire? + + A. + + This only, that in weeding out my shelves, + In fatherly regard for babes upgrown, + Until they learn to garden for themselves, + Much as I like to keep my sets entire, + When I came out to you I had just thrown + Three of his precious works behind the fire. + + + 14 + + TO ROBERT BURNS + + AN EPISTLE ON INSTINCT + + 1 + + Thou art a poet, Robbie Burns, + Master of words and witty turns, + Of lilting songs and merry yarns, + Drinking and kissing: + There's much in all thy small concerns, + But more that's missing. + + 2 + + The wisdom of thy common sense, + Thy honest hate of vain pretence, + Thy love and wide benevolence + Full often lead thee + Where feeling is its own defence; + Yet while I read thee, + + 3 + + It seems but chance that all our race + Trod not the path of thy disgrace, + And, living freely to embrace + The moment's pleasure, + Snatch'd not a kiss of Nature's face + For all her treasure. + + 4 + + The feelings soft, the spirits gay + Entice on such a flowery way, + And sovran youth in high heyday + Hath such a fashion + To glorify the bragging sway + Of sensual passion. + + 5 + + But rakel Chance and Fortune blind + Had not the power:--Eternal Mind + Led man upon a way design'd, + By strait selection + Of pleasurable ways, to find + Severe perfection. + + 6 + + For Nature did not idly spend + Pleasure: she ruled it should attend + On every act that doth amend + Our life's condition: + 'Tis therefore not well-being's end, + But its fruition. + + 7 + + Beasts that inherited delight + In what promoted health or might, + Survived their cousins in the fight: + If some--like Adam-- + Prefer'd the wrong tree to the right, + The devil had 'em. + + 8 + + So when man's Reason took the reins, + She found that she was saved her pains; + She had but to approve the gains + Of agelong inscience, + And spin it fresh into her brains + As moral conscience. + + 9 + + But Instinct in the beasts that live + Is of three kinds; (Nature did give + To man three shakings in her sieve)-- + The first is Racial, + The second Self-preservative, + The third is Social. + + 10 + + Without the first no race could be, + So 'tis the strongest of the three; + Nay, of such forceful tyranny + 'Tis hard to attune it, + Because 'twas never made to agree + To serve the unit: + + 11 + + Art will not picture it, its name + In common talk is utter shame: + And yet hath Reason learn'd to tame + Its conflagration + Into a sacramental flame + Of consecration. + + 12 + + Those hundred thousand years, ah me! + Of budding soul! What slow degree, + With aim so dim, so true! We see, + Now that we know them, + Our humble cave-folk ancestry, + How much we owe them: + + 13 + + While with the savage beasts around + They fought at odds, yet underground + Their miserable life was sound; + Their loves and quarrels + Did well th' ideal bases found + Of art and morals: + + 14 + + One prime distinction, Good and Ill, + Was all their notion, all their skill;-- + But Unity stands next to Nil;-- + Want of analysis + Saved them from doubts that wreck the Will + With pale paralysis. + + 15 + + In vain philosophers dispute + 'Is Good or Pleasure our pursuit?'-- + The fruit likes man, not man the fruit; + The good that likes him, + The good man's pleasure 'tis to do 't; + That's how it strikes him. + + 16 + + Tho' Science hide beneath her feet + The point where moral reasonings meet, + The vicious circle is complete; + There is no lodgement + Save Aristotle's own retreat, + The just man's judgement. + + 17 + + And if thou wert not that just man, + Wild Robin, born to crown his plan, + We shall not for that matter ban + Thy petty treason, + Nor closely thy defection scan + From highest Reason. + + 18 + + Thou might'st have lived like Robin Hood + Waylaying Abbots in the wood, + Doing whate'er thee-seemèd good, + The law defying, + And 'mong the people's heroes stood + Living and dying: + + 19 + + Yet better bow than his thou bendest, + And well the poor man thou befriendest, + And oftentime an ill amendest; + When, if truth touch thee, + Sharply the arrow home thou sendest; + There's none can match thee. + + 20 + + So pity it is thou knew'st the teen + Of sad remorse: the Might-have-been + Shall not o'ercloud thy merry scene + With vain repentance, + Nor forfeit from thy spirit keen + My friendly sentence. + + + 15 + + THE PORTRAIT OF A GRANDFATHER + + With mild eyes agaze, and lips ready to speak, + Whereon the yearning of love, the warning of wisdom plays, + One portrait ever charms me and teaches me when I seek: + It is of him whom I, remembering my young days, + Imagine fathering my father; when he, in sonship afore, + Liv'd honouring and obeying the eyes now pictur'd agaze, + The lips ready to speak, that promise but speak no more. + + O high parental claim, that were not but for the knowing, + O fateful bond of duty, O more than body that bore, + The smile that guides me to right, the gaze that follows my going, + How had I stray'd without thee! and yet how few will seek + The spirit-hands, that heaven, in tender-free bestowing, + Holds to her children, to guide the wandering and aid the weak. + + And Thee! ah what of thee, thou lover of men? if truly + A painter had stell'd thee there, with thy lips ready to speak, + In all-fathering passion to souls enchanted newly, + --Tenderer call than of sire to son, or of lover to maiden,-- + Ever ready to speak to us, if we will hearken duly, + 'Come, O come unto me, ye weary and heavy-laden!' + + [1880.] + + + 16 + + AN INVITATION TO THE OXFORD + PAGEANT, JULY 1907 + + Fair lady of learning, playfellow of spring, + Who to thy towery hospice in the vale + Invitest all, with queenly claim to bring + Scholars from every land within thy pale; + If aught our pageantry may now avail + To paint thine antique story to the eye, + Inspire the scene, and bid thy herald cry + Welcome to all, and to all comers hail! + + Come hither, then he crieth, and hail to all. + Bow each his heart a pilgrim at her shrine, + Whatever chance hath led you to my call, + Ye that love pomp, and ye that seek a sign, + Or on the low earth look for things divine; + Nor ye, whom reverend Camus near-allied, + Writes in the roll of his ennobled pride, + Refrain your praise and love to mix with mine. + + Praise her, the mother of celestial moods, + Who o'er the saints' inviolate array + Hath starr'd her robe of fair beatitudes + With jewels worn by Hellas, on the day + She grew from girlhood into wisdom gay; + And hath laid by her crozier, evermore + With both hands gathering to enrich her store, + And make her courts with music ring alway. + + Love her, for that the world is in her heart, + Man's rude antiquity and doubtful goal, + The heaven-enthralling luxury of art, + The burden'd pleading of his clay-bound soul, + The mutual office of delight and dole, + The merry laugh of youth, the joy of life + Older than thought, and the unamending strife + 'Twixt liberty and politic control. + + There is none holier, not the lilied town + By Arno, whither the spirit of Athens fled, + Escap't from Hades to a less renown, + Yet joyful to be risen from the dead; + Nor she whose wide imperious arms were spread + To spoil mankind, until the avenger came + In darkening storm, and left a ruin'd name, + A triple crown, upon a vanquish't head. + + What love in myriad hearts in every clime + The vision of her beauty calls to pray'r: + Where at his feet Himâlaya sublime + Holds up aslope the Arabian floods, or where + Patriarchal Nile rears at his watery stair; + In the broad islands of the Antipodes, + By Esperanza, or in the coral seas + Where Buddha's vain pagodas throng the air; + + Or where the chivalry of Nipon smote + The wily Muscovite, intent to creep + Around the world with half his pride afloat, + And sent his battle to the soundless deep; + Or with our pilgrim-kin, and them that reap + The prairie-corn beyond cold Labrador + To California and the Alaskan shore, + Her exiled sons their pious memory keep: + + Bright memories of young poetic pleasure + In free companionship, the loving stress + Of all life-beauty lull'd in studious leisure, + When every Muse was jocund with excess + Of fine delight and tremulous happiness; + The breath of an indolent unbridled June, + When delicate thought fell from the dreamy moon: + But now strange care, sorrow, and grief oppress. + + '_Ah! fewer tears shall be_,--'tis thus they dream,-- + _Ah, fewer, softer tears, when we lie low: + On younger brows shall brighter laurel gleam: + Lovelier and earlier shall the rosebuds blow_.' + For in this hope she nurs'd them, and to know + That Truth, while men regard a tetter'd page, + Leaps on the mountains, and from age to age + Reveals the dayspring's inexhausted glow. + + Yet all their joy is mingled with regret: + As the lone scholar on a neighbouring height, + Brooding disconsolate with eyelids wet + Ere o'er the unkind world he took his flight, + Look'd down upon her festal lamps at night, + And while the far call of her warning bell + Reach't to his heart, sang us his fond farewell, + Beneath the stars thinking of lost delight; + + 'Farewell! for whether we be young or old, + Thou dost remain, but we shall pass away: + Time shall against himself thy house uphold, + And build thy sanctuary from decay; + Children unborn shall be thy pride and stay. + May Earth protect thee, and thy sons be true; + And God with heavenly food thy life renew, + Thy pleasure and thy grace from day to day.' + + + 17 + + IN MEMORY OF THE OLD-ETONIANS + + WHOSE LIVES WERE LOST IN THE S. AFRICAN WAR + + _An ode set to music by Sir Hubert Parry and performed when + K. Edward VII inaugurated the Memorial Hall at + Eton College_ + + I + + Resound! Resound! To jubilant music ring! + Your birthday trumpets sound the alarm of strenuous days. + Ye new-built walls, awake! and welcome England's King + With a high GLORY-TO-GOD, and holy cheer of praise. + Awake to fairest hope of fames unknown, unseen, + When ye-too silver and solemn with age shall be: + For all that is fair upon earth is reared with tend'rest teen, + As the burden'd years to memory flee. + + II + + Lament, O Muse of the Thames, in pride lament again, + With low melodious grief remember them in this hour!-- + Beyond your dauntless joy, my brother, was our pain. + Above all gold, my country, the lavish price of thy power-- + The ancient groves have mourn'd our sons, for whom no more + The sisterly kisses of life, the loved embraces. + Remember the love of them who came not home from the war, + The fatherly tears and the veil'd faces. + + III + + Now henceforth their shrine is builded, high and vast, + Alway drawing noble hearts to noble deeds; + In the toil of glory to be, and the tale of glory past: + While ever the laughing waves of youth pass over the meads, + And the tongue of Hellas is heard, and old Time slumbereth light + In the cradle of Peace. O let thy dancing feet + Roam in our land and abide, dear Peace, thou child of Right, + Giver of happiness, gentle and sweet. + + + 18 + + ODE TO MUSIC + + WRITTEN FOR THE BICENTENARY COMMEMORATION OF + + HENRY PURCELL + + _Music composed by Sir Hubert Parry, and performed at the + Leeds Festival and Commemoration Festival in + London, 1895_ + + I + + Myriad-voiced Queen, Enchantress of the air, + Bride of the life of man! With tuneful reed, + With string and horn and high-adoring quire + Thy welcome we prepare. + In silver-speaking mirrors of desire, + In joyous ravishment of mystery draw thou near, + With heavenly echo of thoughts, that dreaming lie + Chain'd in unborn oblivion drear, + Thy many-hearted grace restore + Unto our isle our own to be, + And make again our Graces three. + + II + + Turn, O return! In merry England + Foster'd thou wert with infant Liberty. + Her gloried oaks, that stand + With trembling leaves and giant heart + Drinking in beauty from the summer moon, + Her wild-wood once was dear to thee. + + There the birds with tiny art + Earth's immemorial cradle-tune + Warble at dawn to fern and fawn, + In the budding thickets making merry; + And for their love the primrose faint + Floods the green shade with youthful scent. + + Come, thy jocund spring renew + By hyacinthine lakes of blue: + Thy beauty shall enchant the buxom May; + And all the summer months shall strew thy way, + And rose and honeysuckle rear + Their flowery screens, till under fruit and berry + The tall brake groweth golden with the year. + + III + + Thee fair Poetry oft hath sought, + Wandering lone in wayward thought, + On level meads by gliding streams, + When summer noon is full of dreams: + And thy loved airs her soul invade, + Haunting retired the willow shade. + + Or in some walled orchard nook + She communes with her ancient book, + Beneath the branches laden low; + While the high sun o'er bosom'd snow + Smiteth all day the long hill-side + With ripening cornfields waving wide. + + There if thou linger all the year, + No jar of man can reach thine ear, + Or sweetly comes, as when the sound + From hidden villages around, + Threading the woody knolls, is borne + Of bells that dong the Sabbath morn. + + IV + + 1 + + The sea with melancholy war + Moateth about our castled shore; + His world-wide elemental moan + Girdeth our lives with tragic zone. + + He, ere men dared his watery path, + Fenced them aloof in wrath; + Their jealous brotherhoods + Sund'ring with bitter floods: + Till science grew and skill, + And their adventurous will + Challenged his boundaries, and went free + To know the round world, and the sea + From midday night to midnight sun + Binding all nations into one. + + 2 + + Yet shall his storm and mastering wave + Assure the empire to the brave; + And to his billowy bass belongs + The music of our patriot songs, + When to the wind his ridges go + In furious following, careering a-row, + Lasht with hail and withering snow: + And ever undaunted hearts outride + His rushing waters wide. + + 3 + + But when the winds fatigued or fled + Have left the drooping barks unsped, + And nothing stirs his idle plain + Save fire-breathed ships with silvery train, + While lovingly his waves he layeth, + And his slow heart in passion swells + To the pale moon in heav'n that strayeth, + And all his mighty music deep + Whispers among the heapèd shells, + Or in dark caverns lies asleep;-- + Then dreams of Peace invite, + Haunting our shore with kisses light: + Nay--even Love's Paphian Queen hath come + Out of her long retirèd home + To show again her beauty bright; + And twice or thrice in sight hath play'd + Of a young lover unaffray'd, + And all his verse immortal made. + + V + + 1 + + Love to Love calleth, + Love unto Love replieth: + From the ends of the earth, drawn by invisible bands, + Over the dawning and darkening lands + Love cometh to Love. + To the pangs of desire; + To the heart by courage and might + Escaped from hell, + From the torment of raging fire, + From the sighs of the drowning main, + From shipwreck of fear and pain, + From the terror of night. + + 2 + + All mankind by Love shall be banded + To combat Evil, the many-handed: + For the spirit of man on beauty feedeth, + The airy fancy he heedeth, + He regardeth Truth in the heavenly height, + In changeful pavilions of loveliness dight, + The sovran sun that knows not the night; + He loveth the beauty of earth, + And the sweet birds' mirth; + And out of his heart there falleth + A melody-making river + Of passion, that runneth ever + To the ends of the earth and crieth, + That yearneth and calleth; + And Love from the heart of man + To the heart of man replieth: + On the wings of desire + Love cometh to Love. + + VI + + 1 + + To me, to me, fair hearted Goddess, come, + To Sorrow come, + Where by the grave I linger dumb; + With sorrow bow thine head, + For all my beauty is dead, + Leave Freedom's vaunt and playful thought awhile, + Come with thine unimpassioned smile + Of heavenly peace, and with thy fourfold choir + Of fair uncloying harmony + Unveil the palaces where man's desire + Keepeth celestial solemnity. + + 2 + + Lament, fair hearted queen, lament with me: + For when thy seer died no song was sung, + Nor for our heroes fal'n by land or sea + Hath honour found a tongue: + Nor aught of beauty for their tomb can frame + Worthy their noble name. + Let Mirth go bare: make mute thy dancing string: + With thy majestic consolation + Sweeten our suffering. + Speak thou my woe; that from her pain + My spirit arise to see again + The Truth unknown that keeps our faith, + The Beauty unseen that bates our breath, + The heaven that doth our joy renew, + And drinketh up our tears as dew. + + VII + + DIRGE + + Man born of desire + Cometh out of the night, + A wandering spark of fire, + A lonely word of eternal thought + Echoing in chance and forgot. + + 1 + + He seeth the sun, + He calleth the stars by name, + He saluteth the flowers.-- + Wonders of land and sea, + The mountain towers + Of ice and air + He seeth, and calleth them fair: + Then he hideth his face;-- + Whence he came to pass away + Where all is forgot, + Unmade--lost for aye + With the things that are not. + + 2 + + He striveth to know, + To unravel the Mind + That veileth in horror: + He wills to adore. + In wisdom he walketh + And loveth his kind; + His labouring breath + Would keep evermore: + Then he hideth his face;-- + Whence he came to pass away + Where all is forgot, + Unmade--lost for aye + With the things that are not. + + 3 + + He dreameth of beauty, + He seeks to create + Fairer and fairer + To vanquish his Fate; + No hindrance he-- + No curse will brook, + He maketh a law + No ill shall be: + Then he hideth his face;-- + Whence he came to pass away + Where all is forgot, + Unmade--lost for aye + With the things that are not. + + VIII + + 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 who 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 by might + Alone of Heavenly love ye did excel. + + Now ye are starry names + Behind the sun ye climb + To light the glooms of Time + With deathless flames. + + IX + + Open for me the gates of delight, + The gates of the garden of man's desire; + Where spirits touch'd by heavenly fire + Have planted the trees of life.-- + Their branches in beauty are spread, + Their fruit divine + To the nations is given for bread, + And crush'd into wine. + + To thee, O man, the sun his truth hath given, + The moon hath whisper'd in love her silvery dreams; + Night hath unlockt the starry heaven, + The sea the trust of his streams: + And the rapture of woodland spring + Is stay'd in its flying; + And Death cannot sting + Its beauty undying. + + Fear and Pity disentwine + Their aching beams in colours fine; + Pain and woe forgo their might. + After darkness thy leaping sight, + After dumbness thy dancing sound, + After fainting thy heavenly flight, + After sorrow thy pleasure crown'd: + O enter the garden of thy delight, + Thy solace is found. + + X + + To us, O Queen of sinless grace, + Now at our prayer unveil thy face: + Awake again thy beauty free; + Return and make our Graces three. + And with our thronging strength to the ends of the earth + Thy myriad-voicèd loveliness go forth, + To lead o'er all the world's wide ways + God's everlasting praise, + And every heart inspire + With the joy of man in the beauty of Love's desire. + + + 19 + + A HYMN OF NATURE + + AN ODE WRITTEN FOR MUSIC + + _The music composed by Sir Hubert Parry, performed at + the Gloucester Festival, 1898_ + + I + + Power eternal, power unknown, uncreate: + Force of force, fate of fate. + + Beauty and light are thy seeing, + Wisdom and right thy decreeing, + Life of life is thy being. + In the smile of thine infinite starry gleam, + Without beginning or end, + Measure or number, + Beyond time and space, + Without foe or friend, + In the void of thy formless embrace, + All things pass as a dream + Of thine unbroken slumber. + + II + + Gloom and the night are thine: + On the face of thy mirror darkness and terror, + The smoke of thy blood, the frost of thy breath. + + In silence and woful awe + Thy harrying angels of death + Destroy whate'er thou makest-- + Makest, destroyest, destroyest and makest. + Thy gems of life thou dost squander, + Their virginal beauty givest to plunder, + Doomest to uttermost regions of age-long ice + To starve and expire: + Consumest with glance of fire, + Or back to confusion shakest + With earthquake, elemental storm and thunder. + + III + + In ways of beauty and peace + Fair desire, companion of man, + Leadeth the children of earth. + + As when the storm doth cease, + The loving sun the clouds dispelleth, + And woodland walks are sweet in spring; + The birds they merrily sing + And every flower-bud swelleth. + Or where the heav'ns o'erspan + The lonely downs + When summer is high: + Below their breezy crowns + And grassy steep + Spreadeth the infinite smile of the sunlit sea; + Whereon the white ships swim, + And steal to havens far + Across the horizon dim, + Or lie becalm'd upon the windless deep, + Like thoughts of beauty and peace, + When the storm doth cease, + And fair desire, companion of man, + Leadeth the children of earth. + + IV + + Man, born to toil, in his labour rejoiceth; + His voice is heard in the morn: + He armeth his hand and sallieth forth + To engage with the generous teeming earth, + And drinks from the rocky rills + The laughter of life. + + Or else, in crowded cities gathering close, + He traffics morn and eve + In thronging market-halls; + Or within echoing walls + Of busy arsenals + Weldeth the stubborn iron to engines vast; + Or tends the thousand looms + Where, with black smoke o'ercast, + The land mourns in deep glooms. + + Life is toil, and life is good: + There in loving brotherhood + Beateth the nation's heart of fire. + Strife! Strife! The strife is strong! + There battle thought and voice, and spirits conspire + In joyous dance around the tree of life, + And from the ringing choir + Riseth the praise of God from hearts in tuneful song. + + V + + Hark! What spirit doth entreat + The love-obedient air? + All the pomp of his delight + Revels on the ravisht night, + Wandering wilful, soaring fair: + There! 'Tis there, 'tis there. + Like a flower of primal fire + Late redeem'd by man's desire. + + Away, on wings away + My spirit far hath flown, + To a land of love and peace, + Of beauty unknown. + The world that earth-born man, + By evil undismay'd, + Out of the breath of God + Hath for his heaven made. + + Where all his dreams soe'er + Of holy things and fair + In splendour are upgrown, + Which thro' the toilsome years + Martyrs and faithful seers + And poets with holy tears + Of hope have sown. + + There, beyond power of ill, + In joy and blessing crown'd, + Christ with His lamp of truth + Sitteth upon the hill + Of everlasting youth, + And calls His saints around. + + VI + + Sweet compassionate tears + Have dimm'd my earthly sight, + Tears of love, the showers wherewith + The eternal morn is bright: + Dews of the heav'nly spheres. + With tears my eyes are wet, + Tears not of vain regret, + Tears of no lost delight, + Dews of the heav'nly spheres + Have dimm'd my earthly sight, + Sweet compassionate tears. + + VII + + Gird on thy sword, O man, thy strength endue, + In fair desire thine earth-born joy renew. + Live thou thy life beneath the making sun + Till Beauty, Truth, and Love in thee are one. + + Thro' thousand ages hath thy childhood run: + On timeless ruin hath thy glory been: + From the forgotten night of loves fordone + Thou risest in the dawn of hopes unseen. + + Higher and higher shall thy thoughts aspire, + Unto the stars of heaven, and pass away, + And earth renew the buds of thy desire + In fleeting blooms of everlasting day. + + Thy work with beauty crown, thy life with love; + Thy mind with truth uplift to God above: + For whom all is, from whom was all begun, + In whom all Beauty, Truth, and Love are one. + + + + + POEMS + IN + CLASSICAL PROSODY + + [Illustration: decoration] + + + _PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS_ + + _Fp. I._ Daniel Press. 1903. + + _" II._ _Monthly Review. July, 1903, with + an abstract of Stone's Prosody, as + there used._ + + _No. 3._ _Printed by C. H. Daniel. 1903._ + + _" 8._ _In 'Pelican,' C.C.C., Oxford._ + + _" 9._ _English Review. March, 1912._ + + _" 21._ _New Quarterly. Jan. 1909, with + an essay on the Virgilian Hexameter, + &c._ +/# + These experiments in quantitive verse were made in fulfilment of a + promise to William Johnson Stone that I would some day test his + theory. His premature death converted my consent into a serious + obligation. This personal explanation is due to myself for two + reasons: because I might otherwise appear firstly as an advocate of + the system, secondly as responsible for Stone's determination of + the lengths of English syllables. Before writing quantitive verse + it is necessary to learn to _think_ in quantities. This is no light + task, and a beginner requires fixed rules. Except for a few minor + details, which I had disputed with Mr. Stone, I was bound to take + his rules as he had elaborated them; and it was not until I had + made some progress and could think fairly well in his prosody that + I seriously criticized it. The two chief errors that I find in it + are that he relied too much on the quality of a vowel in + determining its syllabic length, and that he regarded the _h_ as + _always_ consonantal in quality. His valuation of the _er_ sound is + doubtful, but defensible and convenient, and I have never discarded + it. My earlier experiments contain therefore a good many 'false + quantities', and these, where they could not be very easily (though + _inconsistently_) amended, I have left, and marked most of them in + the text: a few false quantities do not make a poem less readable. + Thus a long mark over a syllable means that Stone reckoned it as + long, and that the verse requires it to be so pronounced, but that + I regard it as short, or at least as _doubtful_. For example on p. + 414 _Rūin_ is thus written. Of all accented long vowels in 'open' + position the long _u_ seems perhaps to retain its quantity best, + but there is evidence that Tennyson held it to be shortened, and I + do not know whether it might be an exception or go with thĕory, + pĭety, pŏetry, &c. Again, where a final syllable should be + lengthened or not shortened by position, but lacks its consonantal + support, I have put a [v] in the gap: these weak places are chiefly + due to my accepting Stone's unchanging valuation of _h_. My + emancipation from Stone's rules was gradual, so that I have not + been able to distinguish definitely my earlier experiments from the + later, in which the quantities are such as I have now come to + approve of: but my line-for-line paraphrase of Virgil is such a + later experiment. It was accompanied in the _New Quarterly_ by a + long examination of the Virgilian hexameter, to which I would refer + any one who is interested in the subject. In these English + hexameters I have used and advocate the use of Miltonic elision. + The mark ' in the text shows where I have purposely allowed a short + syllable to sustain a long place. Though the difficulty of adapting + our English syllables to the Greek rules is very great, and even + deterrent--for I cannot pretend to have attained to an absolutely + consistent scheme--yet the experiments that I have made reveal a + vast unexplored field of delicate and expressive rhythms hitherto + unknown in our poetry: and this amply rewarded me for my friendly + undertaking. +#/ + + 1 + + EPISTLE I + + TO L. M. + + WINTRY DELIGHTS + + Now in wintry delights, and long fireside meditation, + 'Twixt studies and routine paying due court to the Muses, + My solace in solitude, when broken roads barricade me + Mudbound, unvisited for months with my merry children, + Grateful t'ward Providence, and heeding a slander against me + Less than a rheum, think of me to-day, dear Līonel, and take + This letter as some account of Will Stone's versification. + + We, whose first memories reach half of a century backward, + May praise our fortune to have outliv'd so many dangers,-- + Faultiness of Nature's unruly machinery or man's--; 10 + For, once born, whatever 'tis worth, LIFE is to be held to, + Its mere persistence esteem'd as rēal attainment, + Its crown of silver reverenc'd as one promise of youth + Fruiting, of existence one needful purpose accomplish'd: + And 'twere worth the living, howe'er unkindly bereft of + Those joys and comforts, throu' which we chiefly regard it: + Nay,--set aside the pleasant unhinder'd order of our life, + Our happy enchantments of Fortune, easy surroundings, + Courteous acquaintance, dwelling in fair homes, the delight of + Long-plann'd excursions, the romance of journeying in lands + Historic, of sēeing their glory, the famous adornments 21 + Giv'n to memorial Earth by man, decorator of all-time, + (--As wē saw with virginal eyes travelling to behold them,--) + Her gorgeous palaces, [v]her tow'rs and stately cathedrals; + Where the turrets and domes of pictured Tuscany slumber, + Or the havoc'd splendours of Rome imperial, or where + Glare the fretted minarets and mosks of trespassing Islam, + And old Nilus, amid the mummied suzerainty of Egypt, + Glideth, a godly presence, consciously regardless of all things, + Save his unending toil and ēternal recollections:-- 30 + + Set these out of account, and with them too put away ART, + Those ravishings of mind, those sensuous intelligences, + By whose grace the elect enjoy their sacred aloofness + From Life's meagre affairs, in beauty's rēgenerate youth + Reading immortality's sublime revelation, adoring + Their own heav'nly desire; nor alone in worship assist they, + But take, call'd of God, part and pleasure in crēation + Of that beauty, the first of His first purposes extoll'd:-- + + Yea, set aside with these all NATURE'S beauty, the wildwood's + Flow'ry domain, the flushing, softcrowding loveliness of Spring, 40 + Lazy Summer's burning dīal, the serenely solemn spells + Of Sibylline Autumn, with gay-wing'd Plenty departing; + All fair change, whether of seasons or bright recurrent day, + Morning or eve; the divine night's wonderous empyrean; + High noon's melting azure, his thin cloud-country, the landscape + Mountainous or maritime, blue calms of midsummer Ocean, + Broad corn-grown champaign goldwaving in invisible wind, + Wide-water'd pasture, with shade of whispering aspen; + All whereby Nature winneth our love, fondly appearing + As to caress her children, or all that in exaltation 50 + Lifteth aloft our hearts to an unseen glory beyond her:-- + + Put these out of account; yea, more I say, banish also + From the credit sŭm of enjoyment those simple AFFECTIONS, + Whose common exercise informs our natural instinct; + That, set in our animal flesh-fabric, of our very lifeblood + Draw their subsistence, and even in ungenerous hearts + Root, like plants in stony deserts and 'neath pitiless snows. + Yea, put away all LOVE, the blessings and pīeties[v]of home, + All delicate heart-bonds, vital tendernesses untold, + Joys that fear to be named, feelings too holy to gaze on; 60 + And with his inviolate peace-trīumph his passionate war + Be forgone, his mighty desire, thrilling ecstasies, ardours + Of mystic reverence, his fierce flame-eager emotions, + Idolatrous service, blind faith and ritual of fire. + + If from us all these things were taken away, (that is all art + And all beauty whate'er, and all love's varied affection,) + Yet would enough subsist in other concerns to suffice us, + And feed intelligence, and make life's justification. + What this is, if you should ask me, beyond or above the rejoicing + In vegetant or brute existence, answer is easy; 70 + 'Tis the reflective effort of mind that, conscious of itself, + Fares forth exploring nature for principle and cause, + Keenly with all the cunning pleasure and instinct of a hunter, + Who, in craft fashioning weapon and sly snare, tracketh after + His prey fl[=y]ing afield, and that which his arm killeth eateth. + + History and SCĪENCE our playthings are: what an untold + Wealth of inexhaustive treasure is stored up for amusement! + Shall the amass'd Earth-structure appeal to me less than in early + Childhood an old fives-ball, whose wraps I wondering unwound, + Untwining the ravel'd worsted, that mere rubbish and waste + Of leather and shavings had bound and moulded elastic 81 + Into a perfect sphere? Shall not the celestial earth-ball + Equally entertain a mature enquiry, reward our + Examination of its contexture, conglomerated + Of layer'd débris, the erosion of infinite ages? + Tho' I lack the wizard Darwin's scīentific insight + On the barren sea-beaches of East Patagonia gazing, + I must wond'ring attend, nay learn myself to decipher + Time's rich hīeroglyph, with vast elemental pencil + Scor'd upon Earth's rocky crust,--minute shells slowly collecting 90 + Press'd to a stone, uprais'd to a mountain, again to a fine sand + Worn, burying the remains of an alien organic epoch, + In the flat accretions of new sedimentary strata; + All to be crush'd, crumpled, confused, contorted, abandon'd, + Broke, as a child's puzzle is, to be recompos'd with attention; + Nature's history-book, which shē hath torn as asham'd of; + And lest those pictures on[v]her fragmentary pages + Should too lightly reveal frustrate Antiquity, hath laid + Rūin upon rūin, revolution upon revolution: + Yet no single atom, no least insignificant grain 100 + But, having order alike of fate, and faulty disorder, + Holds a record of Time, very vestiges of the Creation; + Which who will not attend scorns blindly the only commandments + By God's finger of old inscribed on table of earth-stone. + + This for me wer' enough: yet confin'd Gēology's field + Counts not in all Scīence more than the planet to the Cosmos; + Where our central Sun, almighty material author, + And sustainer, appears as a half-consumed vanishing spark, + Bearing along with it, entangled in immensity's onward + Spiral eddies, the blacken'd dust-motes whirl'd off from around it. 110 + But tho' man's microscopical functions measure all things + By his small footprints, finger-spans and ticking of clocks, + And thereby conceive the immense--such multiple extent + As to defy Idēas of imperative cerebration,-- + None the less observing, measuring, patiently recording, + Hē mappeth out the utter wilderness of unlimited space; + Carefully weigheth a weight to the sun, reckoneth for it its path + Of trackless travelling, the precise momentary places + Of the planets and their satellites, their annual orbits, + Times, perturbations of times, and orbit of orbit. 120 + What was Alexander's subduing of Asia, or that + Sheep-worry of Europe, when pigmy Napoleon enter'd + Her sovereign chambers, and her kings with terror eclips'd? + His footsore soldiers inciting across the ravag'd plains, + Thro' bloody fields of death tramping to an ugly disaster? + Shows any crown, set above the promise (so rudely accomplisht) + Of their fair godlike young faces, a glory to compare + With the immortal olive that circles bold Galileo's + Brows, the laurel'd halo[v]of Newton's unwithering fame? 129 + Or what a child's surmise, how trifling a journey Columbus + Adventur'd, to a land like that which he sail'd from arriving, + If compar'd to Bessel's magic divination, awarding + Magnificent Sirius[v]his dark and invisible bride; + Or when Adams by Cam, (more nearly Leverrier in France,) + From the minutely measur'd vacillation of Uranus, augur'd + Where his mighty brother Neptune went wandering unnamed, + And thro' those thousand-million league-darknesses of space + Drew him slowly whene'er he pass'd, and slowly released him! + _Nil admirari!_ 'Tis surely a most shabby thinker 139 + Who, looking on Nature, finds not the reflection appalling + + And if these wonders we must with wonder abandon, + Astronomy's Cosmos, the Immense, and those physical laws + That link mind to matter, laws mutual in revelation, + Which measure and analyse Nature's primordial orgasm, + Lifegiving omnipotential LIGHT, its speed to determine, + Untwist its rainbow of various earthcoloring rays, + Counting strictly to each its own millionth-millimetred + Wave-length, and mapping out on fray'd diffraction of ether + All the adust elements and furnaced alchemy of[v]heav'n; + Laws which atone the disorder of infinit observation 150 + With tyrannous numbers and abstract theory, closing + Protean Nature with nets of principle exact; + Her metamorphoses transmuting by correlation, + All heat, all chemical concourse or electrical action, + All force and all motion of all matter, or subtle or gross:-- + If we these wonders, I say, with wonder abandon, + Nor can for mental heaviness their high study pursue, + Yet no story of adventures or fabulous exploit + Of famous'd heroes hath so rōmantic a discourse, + As these growing annals of long heav'n-scaling achievement + And far discoveries, which he who[v]idly neglecteth 161 + Is but a boor as truly ridiculous as the village clown, + In whose thought the pleasant sun-ball performeth a circuit + Daily above mother earth, and resteth nightly beneath her. + + Nor will a man, whose mind respects its own operations, + Lightly resign himself to remain in darkness uninform'd, + While any true scīence of fact lies easy within reach + Concerning Nature's ēternal essential object, + Self-matter, embodying substratum of ev'ry relation + Both of Time and Space, at once the machinery and stuff + Of those Idēas; carrier, giver, only receiver 171 + Of such perceptions as arise in sensible organs. + Now whether each element is a cōherency of equal + Strictly symmetric atoms, or among themselves the atoms are + Like animals in a herd, having each an identity distinct, + --So that atoms of gold compar'd with sulphur or iron + Are but as ancient Greeks compar'd with Chinamen and Turks;-- + Nor whether all elements are untransmutable offspring + From one kind or more thro' endless eternity changing, + Or whether invisibles claim rightly the name of immortals, + I make no[v]enquiry; matter minutely divided 181 + Showing a like paradox, with ever-continuous extent, + And, as Adam, the atom will pose as a naked assumption:-- + But since all the knowledge which man was born to attain to + Hath these only channels, (which must limit and qualify[v]it,) + We shall con the grammar, the material alphabet of life, + Yea, ev'n more from error to preserve our inquisitive mind, + Than to secure well-bēing against adversity and ill. + Surely if all is a flux, 'tis well to look into the flūid, + Inspect and question the apparent, shifty behaviour, 190 + Wherein lurketh alone our witness of all physical law, + As we read the habits unchanging of invisible things, + Their timeless chronicles, the unintelligent ethic of dust: + In which dense labyrinth he who was guiding avised me, + With caution saying 'Were this globe's area of land + Wholly cover'd from sight, pack'd close to the watery margins + With mere empty vessels, I could myself put in each one + Some different substance, and write its formula thereon.' + + Thus would speak the chemist; and Nature's superabundance, + Her vast infinitude of waste vāriety untold, 200 + As[v]her immense extent and inconceivable object, + Squandering activities throughout ēternity, dwarfeth + Man's little aim and hour, his doubtful fancy: what are we? + Our petty selfseekings, our speedily passing affections? + Life having existed so extravagantly before us; + Earth bearing so slight a regard or care for us; and all + After us unconcern'd to remain, strange, beautiful as now. + May not an idle echo[v]of an antique pōetry haunt me, + 'Friendship is all feigning, yea[v]all loving is folly only'? + --Yet doth not very mention of antique pōetry and love 210 + Quickly recall to better motions my dispirited faith? + And I see man's discontent as witness asserting + His moral idēal, that, born of Nature, is heir to + Her children's titles, which nought may cancel or impugn; + Not wer' of all her works man least, but ranking among them + Highly or ev'n as best, he wrongs himself to imagine + His soul foe to her aim, or from[v]her sanction an outlaw. + Nay, but just as man should appear more fully accordant + With things not himself, would they rank with[v]him as equals: + Judging other creatures he sets them wholly beneath him; + His disquīet among manifold and alien objects 221 + Bēing sure evidence, the effect of an understanding, + And perception allow'd by Nature solely to himself. + + Highly then is to be prais'd the resourceful wisdom of our time, + That spunged out the written science and thēories of life, + And, laying foundation of its knowledge in physical law, + Gave it prēeminence o'er all enquiry, erecting + Superstructive of all, bringing ev'ry research to the object, + Boldly a new scīence of MAN, from dreamy scholastic + Imprisoning set free, and inveterate divination, 230 + Into the light of truth, to the touch of history and fact. + Since 'the proper study of mankind is man',--nor aforetime + Was the proverb esteem'd as a truism less than it is now,-- + 'Tis strange that the method lay out of sight unaccomplisht, + And that we, so late to arrive, should first set a value + On the delusive efforts of human babyhood; and so + Witnessing impatiently the rear of their disappearance, + Upgathering the relics and vestiges of primitive man, + Should ratify[v]instinct for scīence, look to the darkness + For light, find a knowledge where 'twas most groping or unknown: 240 + While civilization's advances mutely regarding + Talk we of old scapegoats, discuss bloodrites, immolations, + Worship of ancestors; explain complexities involved + Of tribal marriages, derivation of early religions, + Priestly taboos, totems, archaic mysteries of trees, + All the devils and dreams abhorr'd of barbarous ages. + + And 'tis a far escape from wires, wheels and penny papers + And the worried congestion of our Victorian era, + Whose many inventions of world-wide luxury have changed + Life's very face:--but enough wē hear of progress, enough have 250 + Our conscious scīence and comforts trumpeted; altho' + Hardly can I, who so many years eagerly frequented + Bartholomew's fountain, not speak of things to awaken + Kind old HIPPOCRATES, howe'er hē; slumbereth, entomb'd + 'Neath the shatter'd winejars and rūined factories of Cos, + Or where hē wander'd in Thessalian Larissa: + For when his doctrine, which Rome had wisely adopted, + Sank lost with the treasures of[v]her deep-foundering empire, + No[v]art or scīence grew so contemptible, order'd 259 + So by mere folly, windy caprice, superstition and chance, + As boastful MEDICINE, with humours fit for a madhouse, + Save when some Sydenham, like Samson among the Philistines, + Strode bond-bursting along with a smile of genial instinct. + Nor when here and there some ray, in darkness arising, + Hopefully seem'd to herald the coming dawn, (as when a Laennec + Or Jenner invented his meed of worthy remembrance,) + Did one mind foresee, one seer foretell the appearance + Of that unexpected daylight that arose upon our time. + Who dream'd that living air poison'd our SURGERY, coating + All our sheeny weapons with germs of an invisible death, 270 + Till he saw the sterile steel work with immunity, and save + Quickly as its warring scimitars of victory had slain? + Saw what school-tradition for nature's kind method admir'd, + --In those lifedraining slow cures and bedridden agues,-- + Forgotten, or condemn'd as want of care in a surgeon? + Tho' MEDICINE makes not so plain an appeal to the vulgar, + Yet she lags not a whit: her pregnant thēory touches + Deeper discoveries,[v]her more complete revolution + Gives promise of wider benefits in larger abundance. + Where she nam'd the disease she now separates the bacillus; 280 + Sets the atoms of offence, those blind and sickly bloodeaters, + 'Neath lens and daylight, forcing their foul propagations, + Which had ever prosper'd in dark impunity unguest, + Now to behave in sight, deliver their poisonous extract + And their strange self-brew'd, self-slaying juice to be handled, + Experimented upon, set aside and stor'd to oppose them. + So novel and obscure a research, such hard revelations + Of Nature's cabinet,--tho' with fact amply accordant, + And by hypothesis much dark difficulty resolving, + Are not quickly receiv'd nor approv'd, and sensitive idlers, + Venturing in the profound terrible penetralia of life, 291 + Are shock'd by[v]a method that shuns not contamination + With crūel Nature's most secret processes unmaskt. + And yet in all mankind's disappointed history, now first + Have[v]his scouts push'd surely within[v]his foul enemies' lines, + And his sharpshooters descried their insidious foe, + Those swarming parasites, that barely within the detection + Of manifold search-light, have bred, swimming unsuspected + Thro' man's brain and limbs, slaying with loathly pollution + His beauty's children,[v]his sweet scīons of affection, 300 + In fev'rous torment and tears, his home desolating + Of their fair innocence, breaking[v]his proud passionate heart, + And his kindly belief in GOD'S good justice arraigning. + With what wildly directed attack, what an armory illjudged, + Has he, (alas, poor man,) with what cumbrous machination + Sought to defend himself from their Lilliputian onslaught; + Aye discharging around him, in obscure night, at a venture, + Ev'ry missile which[v]his despair confus'dly imagin'd; + His simples, compounds, specifics, chemical therapeutics, + Juice of plants, whatever was nam'd in lordly Salerno's 310 + Herbaries and gardens, vipers, snails, all animal filth, + Incredible quackeries, the pretentious jugglery of knaves, + Green electricities, saints' bones and priestly anointings. + Fools! that oppose his one scīentific intelligent hope! + Grant us an hundred years, and man shall hold in abeyance + These foul distempers, and with this world's benefactors + Shall PASTEUR obtain the reward of saintly devotion, + His crown hēroic, who fought not destiny in vain. + + 'Tis success that attracts: 'twas therefore so many workers + Ran pellmell to the schools of Nature in our generation, 320 + While other employments have lack'd their genius and pined. + Our fathers' likings wē thought semibarbarous, our art + Self-consciously sickens in qualms of an æsthetic aura, + Noisily in the shallows splashing and disporting uninspir'd. + Our famed vulgarities whether in speech, taste or amusement, + Are not amended: Is it foolish, hoping for a rescue, + First to appeal to the strong, for health to the healthy amongst us? + --For the Sophists' doctrine that GRACE is dying of old age + I hold in derision, their inkpot thēories of man, + Of his cradle of art, his deathbed of algebra;--and see 330 + How Scīence has wrought, since we went idling at Eton, + One thing above surmise:--An' if I may dare to remind you + How Vergil praises your lov'd Lucretius, (of whom + My matter and metre[v]have set you thinking, as I fear,) + In that glory which ends 'et inexorabile fatum + Subjecit pedibus strepitumque Acherontis avari': + Sounded not most empty to us such boast of a pagan, + Strangely to us tutor'd to believe, with faith mediæval, + Torture everlasting to be justly the portion of all souls, + Nor but by the elects' secret prēdestiny escaped? 340 + If you think to reply,--making this question in answer,-- + 'Did the belief disturb for a moment our pleasure in life?' + No.--And men gather in harvest on slopes of an active + Volcano: natheless the terror's ēnormity was there; + Now 'tis away: Scīence has pierced man's cloudy common-sense, + Dow'rd his homely vision with more expansive an embrace, + And the rotten foundation of old superstition exposed. + That trouble of Pascal, those vain paradoxes of Austin, + Those Semitic parables of Paul, those tomes of Aquinas, + All are thrown to the limbo of antediluvian idols, 350 + Only because we learn mankind's true history, and know + That not at all from a high perfection sinfully man fell, + But from baseness arose: We have with sympathy enter'd + Those dark caves, his joyless abodes, where with ravening brutes, + Bear or filthy hyena, he once disputed a shelter:-- + That was his Paradise, his garden of Eden,--abandon'd + Ages since to the drift and drip, the cementing accretions + Whence we now separate his bones buried in the stalagma, + His household makeshifts, his hunting tools, his adornments, + From the scatter'd skeletons of a lost prehistoric order, 360 + Its mammoth and woolly rhinoceros, the machairodos, and beasts + Whose unnamed pastures the immense Atlantic inundates. + In what corner of earth lie not dispersed the familiar + Flinty relics of his old primitive stone-cutlery? what child + Kens not now the design, the adapted structure of each one + Of those hand-labor'd chert-flakes, whether axe, chisel, or knife, + Spearhead, barb of arrow, rough plane or rudely serrate saw? + Stones that in our grandsires' time told no sermon, (awaiting + Indestructible, unnumber'd, on chary attention,) + From their prēadamite pulpits now cry Revelation. 370 + Not to a Greek his chanted epic had mortal allurement, + Conjuring old-world fancies of Ilium and of Olympus, + As this story to me, this tale primæval of unsung, + Unwritten, ancestral fate and adversity, this siege + Of courage and happiness protracted so many thousand + Thousand years in a slow persistent victory of brain + And right hand o'er all the venom'd stings, sharpnesses of fang + And dread fury whate'er Nature, tirelessly devising, + Could develop with tooth, claw, tusk, or horn to oppose them. + See now Herakles, who strangled snakes when an infant 380 + In[v]his cradle alone; and nought but those petty stonechips + For the battle: 'twas wonder above wonders his achievement: + Yea, and since he thought as a child 'twas natural in[v]him, + Meeting in existence with purposes antagonistic, + Circumstances oppos'd to desire, vast activities, which + Thwarted effort, to assume All-might as spiteful against him. + Nay, as an artist born, impell'd to devise a religion,-- + So to relate himself idēally with the immortal,-- + This quarrel of reason with what displeas'd his affections + Was not amiss. The desire and love of beauty possess man: + Art is of all that beauty the best outwardly presented; 391 + Truth to the soul is merely the best that mind can imagine. + No lover ēternal will hold to an older opinion + If but lovelier ideas, with Nature agrēeing, + Are to his understanding offer'd.... But enough: 'tis an unsolv'd + Mystery.--Yet man dreams to flatter[v]his dēity saying + 'Beautiful is Nature!' rather 'tis various, endless, + And her efforts fertile in error tho' grand in attainment. + If wé, while praising[v]her scheme and infinite order, + Are compell'd to select, our choice condemns the remainder; + Nor can wisdom honour those loathly polluting offences, 401 + Whose very names to the Muse are either accursèd or unknown. + Nay, if such foul things thou deemest worthy, the fault was + Making us, O Nature, thy judge and tearful accuser. + Turn our thought for awhile to the symphonies of Beethoven, + Or the rever'd preludes of mighty Sebastian; Is there + One work of Nature's contrivance beautiful as these? + Judg'd by beauty alone man wins, as sensuous artist; + And for other qualities, the spirit's differentia, Nature + Scarce observes them at all: that keen unfaltering insight, 410 + Whereby[v]earthly desire's roaming wildernesses are changed + Into a garden a-bloom; its wandering impossible ways + Into pillar'd avenues, alleys and fair-flow'ry terrac'd walks, + (Where GOD talks with man, as once 'twas fancied of Eden;) + That transcendental supreme interpreting of sense, + Rendering intelligence passionate with mystery, linking + Sympathy with grandeur, the reserve of dignity with play; + Those soul-formalities, the balance held 'twixt the denīal + And the betrayal of intention, whose masteries invite, + Entice, welcome ever, meet, and with kindliness embrace; 420 + Those guarded floodgates of boundless, lovely resources, + Whence nothing ill issues, no distraction nor abortion + Hindering enjoyment, but in easy security flow forth + Ecstasies of fitness, raptures and harmonies of heav'n. + Surely before such work of man, so kindly attemper'd, + Nature must be asham'd, had shē not this ready answer, + 'Fool, and who made thee?'-- + I shall not seem a deserter, + Where in an idle essay my verse to a fancy abandon'd + Praiseth others: rather while art and beauty delight us, + While hope, faith and love are warm and lively in our hearts, + Sweet our earthly desire and dear our human affection, 431 + We may, joyfully despising the pedantries of old age, + Hold to the time, nor lose the delight of mortal attainment; + Keenly rejoicing in all that wisdom approves, nor allowing + Ourselves at the challenge of younger craft to be outsailed; + But trimming our old canvas in all change of weather and wind, + Freely without fear urge o'erseas our good vessel onward, + Piloting into the far, unmapp'd futurity.--Farewell. + + + 2 + + EPISTLE II + + TO A SOCIALIST IN LONDON + + No[v]ethical system, no contemplation or action, + No reason'd attitude of mind nor principle of faith, + Neither Sōcratical wisdom nor saintly devotion, + Buildeth a fortress against heart-ache & compassionate grief, + Nor responds to desire, nor with true mastery yieldeth + Easy repose to the mind; And since all our study endeth + Emptily in full doubt,--fathoming the divine intention + In this one thing alone, that, howsōe'er it affect us, + 'Twas never intended for mortal fancy to compass,-- + I[v]have concluded that from first purposes unknown 10 + None should seek to deduce idēal laws to be liv'd by; + And, loving art, am true to the Muse, & pōetry extol: + Therefore 'twas that afore I prais'd & heartily enjoy'd + Your human verses, FRASER, when nobody bought them, + More than again I praise those serious exhortations, + Wherewith you wu'd amend the degraded people about you. + Nay tho' like a prophet with heav'n-sent dignity inspir'd, + With ready convincement and stern example assuring, + Mightily you proclaim your love-messag' in the assembly, + Exhibiting panacēas of ancient ill, propagating 20 + Out of a Scotch cerebrum the reforming zeal of a TOLSTOI, + I listen all unmov'd, as a sceptic among the believers. + Yet what a charm has an earnest soul, whom sympathy uncheckt + For human suffering has strengthen'd and dedicated + Bravely to serve his kind, to renounce his natural instinct, + And liv' apart, indulging in acts of mercy, delighted + In wisdom's rock-hewn citadel[v]her law to illustrate, + Embodying the pattern of self-integrity complete. + Yea, what a charm pervades discourse, that loftily reason'd + Points the narrow pathway throu' this world's ugly disorder; + How very fair will appear any gate of cleanliness, open 30 + From the city's tumult, its rank impurity, its dread + Vulgarity's triumph: Nay sure & bounteous as Truth, + Beautiful in confusion appeareth Simplicity's way. + --'Simple it is, (yóu say) God is good,--Nature is ample,-- + 'Earth yields plenty for all,--and all might share in abundance, + 'Were profit and labour but fairly divided among them. + 'Scarce any laws are needed in our Utopia but these,-- + 'No fruitless labour to provide mere useless adornment, + 'No money encouraging man's sloth & slavery, no rents 40 + 'Of titeld landlords, no pamper'd luxury breeding + 'Fleshly disease, worst fiend & foe of mind body and soul; + 'All should work, and only produce life's only requirements: + 'So with days all halfholidays, toil healthfully enjoy'd, + 'Each might, throu' leisure hours of amusement pīety and peace, + 'In the domestic joys & holy community partake.--' + --This wer' a downleveling, my friend; yoū need, to assure me, + Fix a limit to the folk; else, as their number is increas't, + Their happiness may dwindle away, & what was at outset + Goal & prize, the provoker of all your wise revolution, 50 + Will by subdivision disappear in course of atainment. + When goods are[v]increas'd, mouths are[v]increas'd to devour them: + If the famine be reliev'd this season in India, next dearth + Will be a worse. Yoū know how one day Herschel acosted + Súch a philanthropical Save-all, who claimed to acomplish + Some greatest happiness for a greatest number; 'Attend, man; + (Saíd-he) Resólve me anon one query: Suppose Adam and Eve + First crēated on Earth but twice ten centuries ere Christ, + That they gat four children in all, who liv'd, getting also + Four to the pair: Had thus mankind ever equaly increast 60 + By moderate families but doubling in each generation, + How many souls would now be alive to revise the conundrum + Of greatest happiness? No[v]answer? Well, 'tis a long sum. + Say if on earth such a crowd could stand. No? Pray then imágine + All earth's land as a plain, & all this company thereon, + Piled together like peas in a pintpot: How many layers? + No guess? Then how high the column? How far wu'd it extend + Into the sky?--To the moon?--Further--To the sun?--To the sun! Pshaw! + That column of happy men would reach up, as I fathom its height, + Million dīameters of Neptune's infinit' orbit.' 70 + My[v]objection annoys your kindly philanthropy?--'It proves + 'Too much.'--Yes nature shows in that scrutiny bankrupt; + Mere matter in deposit gives out. Yóu wish to determine + No limit of future polities: your actual object + Is to relieve suffering, to repeal injustice acruing + From monied inheritance, which makes a nonentity potent + For public mischief, who might, if usefully harness'd + In common employment, have assisted social order. + Why should Law give fifty talents where Nature alloys one? + For money is the talent of supreme empery: Gold, Gold 80 + Envieth all, getteth all, absorbeth, mastereth all things: + It pusheth out & thrusteth away pitilessly the weak ones, + Those ill-fated, opprest, unfortun'd needy: Beneath them + Yawns the abyss. Down down they fall, as a stream on a mountain, + With ceaseless cataract. None hearkeneth; only the silent + Grave, that darkly devours their cry of desperate anguish. + Spáre me the story; believe more feel this grief than avow it: + 'Tis put aside from thought with death's incurable evil; + Left for them, that assume mankind as cause, to lament it. + And what if all Nature ratify this merciless outrage? 90 + If her wonder of arch-wonders, her fair animal life, + Her generate creatures, her motion'd warmblooded offspring, + Haunters of the forest & royal country, her antler'd + Mild-gazers, that keep silvan sabbath idly without end; + Her herded galopers, sleeksided stately careerers + Of trembling nostril; her coy unapproachable estrays, + Stealthy treaders, climbers; her leapers furry, lissom-limb'd; + Her timorous burrowers, and grangers thrifty, the sandy + Playmates of the warren; her clumsy-footed, shaggy roamers; + Her soarers, the feather'd fast-fliers, loftily floating 100 + Sky-sailers, exiles of high solitudinous eyries; + Her perching carolers, twitterers, & sweetly singing birds; + All ocean's finny clans, mute-mouthers, watery breathers, + Furtive arrow-darters, and fan-tail'd easy balancers, + Silvery-scale, gilt-head, thorn-back, frill'd harlequinading + Globe and slimy ribbon: Shell-builders of many-chamber'd + Pearly dwellings, soft shapes mosslike or starry, adorning + With rich floral fancy the gay rock-garden of ebb-tide: + All life, from the massive-bulkt, ivory-tusht, elephantine + Centēnarian, acknowledging with crouching obeisance 110 + Man's will, ev'n to the least petty whiffling ephemeral insect, + Which in a hot sunbeam engend'ring, when summer is high, + Vaunteth an hour his speck of tinsely gaudiness and dies: + Ah! what if all & each of Nature's favorite offspring, + 'Mong many distinctions, have this portentous agreement, + MOUTH, STOMACH, INTESTINE? Question that brute apparatus, + So manifoldly devis'd, set alert with furious instinct: + What doth it interpret but this, that LIFE LIVETH ON LIFE? + That the select creatures, who[v]inherit earth's domination, + Whose happy existence is Nature's intelligent smile, 120 + Are bloody survivors of a mortal combat, a-tweenwhiles + Chanting a brief pæan for victory on the battlefield? + Since that of all their kinds most owe their prosperous estate + Unto the art, whereby they more successfully destroy'd + Their weaker brethren, more insatiably devour'd them; + And all fine qualities, their forms pictorial, admired, + Their symmetries, their grace, & beauty, the loveliness of them, + Were by Murder evolv'd, to 'scape from it or to effect it. + 'Surely again (yoū say) too much is proven, it argues + 'Mere horror & despair; unless persuasion avail us 130 + 'That the moral virtues are man's idēa, awaken'd + 'By the spirit's motions; & therefore not to be conceiv'd + 'In Nature's outward & mainly material aspect, + 'As that is understood. You, since you hold that opinion, + 'Run your own ship aground invoking Nature against me.'-- + Then withdraw the appeal, my friend, to her active alīance; + Bē pessimist Nature with a pitchfork manfully expell'd, + Not to return. Yet _soul in hand_, with brutal alegiance, + Hunters & warriors _do not forget the comandment_. + See how lively the old animal continueth in them: 140 + Of what trifling account they hold life, yet what a practis'd + Art pursue to preserve it: if I should rightly define sport + SLAUGHTER WITH DANGER, what were more serious and brave? + Their love of air, of strength, of wildness, afford us an inkling + Of the delight of beasts, with whom they might innocently + Boast a fellow-feeling, summoning them forth to the combat. + Nay dream not so quickly to see her ladyship expell'd. + Those prowling Līons of stony Kabylia, whose roar + Frights from sleep the huddled herdsmen, soon as the sudden night + Falls on Mount Atlas, those grave uxorious outlaws 150 + Wandering in the Somali desert or waste Kalahari, + Sound a challenge that amid summer-idling London is answer'd + Haply in Old Bond Street, where some fashionably attired youth + Daintily stands poising the weapon foredoom'd to appay them: + Or[v]he mentally sighteth a tiger of India, that low + Crouches among the river jungles, or hunts desolating + Grassy Tarâi, 'neath lofty Himálya, or far southward + Outacamund, Mysore's residency, the Nilgherry mountains + By Malabar; yea, and ere-long shall sight him in earnest, + Stalked as a deer, surprised where hē lay slumbering at noon + Under a rock full-gorged, or deep in reedy covert hid 160 + By the trackers disturbed: Two grand eyes shall for a moment + Glare upon either side the muzzle. Woe then to the hunter, + If hē blench! That fury beclouded in invisible speed + What marksman could arrest? what mortal abide his arrachement? + Standing above the immense carcase hē gratefully praiseth + God for a man-eater so fine, so worthy the slaying. + See him again; 'tis war: one hill-rock strongly defended + Checks advance, to be stormed at cost of half the assailants. + Gaily away they go, Highlanders, English, or Irish, 170 + Or swart Ghoorkas against the leaden hail, climbing, ascending, + Lost in a smoke, scattering, creeping, here there, ever upwards: + Till some change cometh o'er confusion. Who winneth? ah! see! + Ours have arrived, and he who led their bravery is there. + None that heard will ever forget that far-echoing cheer: + Such heard Nelson, above the crashings & thundering of guns: + At Marathon 'twas heard and all time's story remembers. + See him again, when at home visiting[v]his episcopal uncle: + That good priest contrast with this good captain, assay them: + Find a common-measure equating their rival emotions; 180 + Ēvaporate the rubbish, the degrading pestiferous fuss + Of stuck-up importance, the palatial coterie, weigh out + Then the solids: whose life would claim the award of an umpire + For greatest happiness? High-priest or soldier? Adjudge it + By their books: Let a child give sentence. Ev'n as a magnet + Turns and points to the north, so children's obstinate insight + Flies to the tale of war, hairbreadth scapes, daring achievements, + Discoveries, conquests, the romance of history: these things + Win them away from play to devour with greedy attention + Till they long to be men; while all that clerkly palaver 190 + Tastes like wormwood.--'Avast! (I hear yoū calling) Avast there! + I forbid the appeal.'--Well, style my humour atrocious; + Granted a child cannot understand; yet see what a huge growth + Stands to be extermin'd, ere you can set dibble in ground. + Nay, more yet; that mighty forest, whose wildness offends you, + And silences appal, where earth-life self-suffocating + Seethes, lavish as sun-life in a red star's fi'ry corona; + That waste magnificence, and vain fecundity, breeding + Gīants & parasites embrac'd in flowery tangle, + Interwoven alive and dead, where one tyrannous tree 200 + Blights desolating around it a swamp of rank vegetation; + Where Reason yet dreams unawakt, & throu' the solemn day + Only the monkey chatters, & discordant the parrot screams: + All this is in man's heart with dateless sympathy worshipt, + With filial reverence, & awful pīeties involv'd; + While that other picture, your formal fancy, the garden + Of your stingy promise, must that not quench his imágin'd + Idēals of beauty, his angel hope of attainment? + What to him are the level'd borders, the symmetric allotments, + Where nothing exceedeth, nothing encroacheth, nor assaileth; + Where Reason now drudgeth a sad monomaniac, all day 211 + Watering & weeding, digging & diligently manuring + Her label'd families, starch-makers, nitrogen-extract- + Purveyors, classified potherbs & empty pretenders + Of medical virtues; nay ev'n and _their_ little impulse + T'ward liberal fruiting disallow'd by stern regulation; + So many beans to a pod, with so many pods to a beanstalk; + Prun'd, pincht, economiz'd miserly til' all is abortion, + Save in such specimens as, but for an extravagant care, + Had miserably perish'd. What madness works to delude you, 220 + Bēing a man, that yoū see not mankind's predilection + Is for Magnificence, Force, Freedom, Bounty; his inborn + Love for Beauty, his aim to possess, his pride to devise it: + And from everlasting his heart is fixt with affections + Prēengag'd to a few sovranly determinate objects, + Toys of an ēternal distraction. Beautiful is GOLD, + Clear as a trumpet-call, stirring where'er it appeareth + All high pow'rs to battle; with mágisterial ardour + Glowing among the metals, elemental drops of a fire-god's + Life-blood of old outpour'd in Chāos: Mágical also 230 + EV'RY recondite j[=ew]el of Earth, with their seraphim-names, + RUBY, JACYNTH, EMERALD, AMETHYST, SAPPHIRE; amaranthine + Starry essences, elect emblems of purity, heirlooms + Of deathless glories, most like to divine imanences. + Then that heart-gladdening highpriz'd ambrosia, blending + Their dissolute purples & golds with sparkling aroma, + That ruddy juice exprest from favour'd vintages, infus'd + With cosmic laughter, when upon some sécular epact + Blandly the sun's old heart is stirr'd to a septennial smile, + Causing strangefortun'd comfort to melancholy mortals: 240 + Friend to the flésh, if mind be fatigued; rallying to the sound mind, + When succour is needed 'gainst fainting weariness of flesh; + Shall Wine not be belov'd? Or now let Aristotle answer + What goods are,--Time leaves the scholar's inventory unchang'd;-- + All Virtues & Pow'rs, Honour & Pleasure, all that in our life + Makes us self-sufficient, Friends, Riches, Comeliness, and Strength; + They that[v]have these things in plenty desire to retain them, + And win more; while they that lack are pleas'd to desire them. + Nay and since possession will leave the desire unappeasèd, + Save in mere appetites that vary with our physical state, 250 + Surely delight in goods is an ecstasy rather attendant + On their mental image, than on experienc'd operation. + So the shepherd envies the monarch, the monarch the shepherd's lot,-- + 'O what a life were this, How sweet, how lovely!' the king cries. + Whence, I say, as a man feels brave who reads of ACHILLES; + One looking on riches may learn some kindred elation, + And whatever notions of fortune, luxury, comfort, + Genius or virtue, are shown to him, only as aspects + Of possible bēing, 'tis so much gain to desire them; + Learning Magnificence in mean obscurity, tasting 260 + Something of all those goods which Fate outwardly denies him. + But say none shall again be king or prosperous or great,-- + Arguing 'all eminence is unequal, unequal is unjust',-- + Should that once come about, then alas for this merry England, + Sunk in a grey monotone of drudgery, dreamily poring + O'er her illumin'd page of history, faln to regretful + Worship of ancestors, with nought now left to delight her, + Nought to attain, save one nurst hope, one ambition only + Red Revolution, a wild Reawakening, & a Renaissance. + Impatiently enough yoū hear me, longing to refute me, 270 + While I[v]in privileg'd pulpit my period expand. + Who could allow such a list of strange miscellaneous items, + So-call'd goods, Strength, Ríches, Honour, Gold, Genius, and Wine? + Is not Wisdom above Rubies? more than Coral or Pearl? + Yours is a scheme deep-laid on true distinctive asortment, + Parting use or good from useless or evil asunder; + Dismissing accessories, while half my heathenish invoice + Are Vanity's vanities. Well; truly, as old SOLOMON said, + So they _be_: What is excepted? What scapes his araignment? + Is't Pleasure or Wisdom? Nay ask THEOLOGIA: Good-works, 280 + Saith-she, offend her nostril. If I distinguish, asserting, + Say, that if I[v]enjoyed my neighbour's excessive income + I would hire me a string-quartett not an automaton car, + You blame equally both our tastes for luxury, indeed + His shows more of a use. If man's propensity is vain, + Vulgar, inane, unworthy; 'tis also vain to bewail it: + Think you to change his skin? 'Twere scale by scale to regraft it + With purer traditions; and who shall amend the amenders? + Nay let bé the bubbles, till man grow more solid in mind, + Condemn not the follies: My neighbour's foolery were worse, + Sat he agape listening to Mozart, intently desiring 291 + All that time to be rattling alóng on a furious engine + In caoutchouc carapace, with a trail of damnable oilstench. + Yea, blame not the pleasures; they are not enough; pleasure only + Makes this life liveable: nor scout that doctrine as unsound: + Consider if mankind from puling birth to bitter death + Knew nought but the sorrows, endured unrespited always + Those agonizing assaults which no flesh wholly can escape; + Were his hunger a pang like his starvation, alievement + Thereof a worse torture, like that which full many die with; + Did love burn his soul as fire his skin; did affections 300 + Rend his will, as Turks rend men with horses asunder; + Were his labour a breathless effort; his slumber occasion + For visiting Furies to repair his temple of anguish; + Were thoughts all mockeries; slow intelligence a deception; + His mind's far ventures, her voyages into the unseen + But horror & terrified nightmare; None then had ever heard + Praise of a Crēator, nor seen any Dēity worshipped. + 'Twas for heav'nly Pleasure that God did first fashion all thing, + Nor with other benefit would holy Religion attract us 310 + Picturing of Paradise. Consult our Lady's Evangel, + Where Saint Luke,--colouring (was it unconsciously, suppose you?) + Fact and fable alike,--contrasts a beggar with a rich man, + And from holding a fool's happiness too greatly in esteem + Makes pleasure ēternal the balance of temporal evil, + And the reverse; nor shrinks, ascribing thus to the next world + Vaster inequalities, harsher perversity than this. + _You_ have a soul's paradise, its entry the loop of a needle, + Come hither & prithy tell me what I must do to be savèd + I, that feeding on Idēals in temperat' estate 320 + Seem so wealthy to poor Lazarus, so needy to Dives: + What from my heav'n-bound schooner's dispensable outfit + Has to be cast o'erboard? What see yoū here that offends you? + These myriad volumes, these tons of music:--allow them + Or disallow? Fiddle and trichord?--Must all be relinquished? + Such toys have not a place in your socīety; you say + Nobody shall make them, nor made may justly acquire them. + Yet, should a plea be alleged for life's most gracious adornment, + For contemplative art's last transcendental achievement, + Grief's almighty solace, frolicking Mirth's Purification, 330 + For Man's unparagon'd High-pōetess, inseparate Muse + Companion, the belov'd most dearly among her sisters, + Revivifīer of age, fairest instructor of all grace, + His peacemaker alert with varied sympathy, whose speech + Not to arede and love is wholly to miss the celestial + Consolatries, the divine interpreting of physical life,-- + Yoū wince? make exception? allow things musical? admit + So many faked viols, penny trumpets, and amateurish + Performers? Nay, nay! stand firm, for concession is vain. + Music is outmeasurably a barefaced luxury, her plea 340 + Will cover art, (--almost to atone art's vile imitations--); + My Japanese paintings, my fair blue Cheney, Hellenic + Statues and Caroline silver, my beautiful Aldines, + Prized more highly because so few, so fondly familiar, + Need no tongue to defend them against rude hands, that assail them + Only because their name is RARITY; hands insensate, + Rending away pitilessly the fair embroideries of life, + That close-clust'ring man, his comfort pared to the outskirts + Of[v]his discomfort, may share in meanness unenvied + But what if I[v]unveil the figure that closely beside you 350 + Half hides his Hell-charred skeleton with mysteries obscene, + That foul one, that Moloch of all Utopias, ancient + Poisoner & destroyer-elect of innumerous unborn? + Know you the story of our hive-bees, the yellow honey-makers, + Whose images from of old have haunted Pōetry, settling + On the blossoms of man's dream-garden, as on the summer-flow'rs, + Pictures of happy toil, sunny glances, gendering always + Such sweet thoughts, as be by slumbrous music awaken'd? + How all their outward happiness,--that fairy demeanour + Of busy contentment, singing at their work,--is an inborn 360 + Empty habit, the relics of a time when considerate joy + Truly possest their tiny bodies; when golden abundance + Was not a State-kept hoard; when feasts were plentiful indulg'd + With wine well-fermented, or old-stored spicy metheglin: + For they died not then miserably within the second moon + Forgotten, unrespected of all; but slept many winters, + Saw many springs, liv'd, lov'd like men, consciously rejoicing + In Nature's promises, with like hopes and recollections. + Intelligence had brought them Scīence, Genius enter'd; + Seers and sages arose, great Bees, perfecting among them 370 + Copious inventions, with man's art worthily compared. + Then was a time when that, which haps not in ages of ages, + Strangely befel: they stole from Nature's secresy one key, + Found the hidden motive which works to varīety of kind; + And thus came wondrously possest of pow'r to determine + Their children's qualities, habitudes, yea their specialized form + Masculine or feminine to produce, or asexual offspring + Redow'rd and differenced with such alternative organs + As they chose, to whate'er preferential function adapted, + Wax-pocket or honey-bag, with an instinct rightly acordant. + We know well the result, but not what causes effected 381 + Their decision to prefer so blindly the race to the unit, + As to renounce happiness for a problem, a vain abstraction; + Making home and kingdom a vast egg-factory, wherein + Food and life are stor'd up alike, and strictly proportion'd + In loveless labour with mean anxīety. Wondrous + Their reason'd motive, their altrūistic obedience + Unto a self-impos'd life-sentence of prison or toil. + Wonder wisely! then ask if these ingenious insects, + (Who made Natur' against her will their activ' acomplice, + And, methodizing anew her heartless system, averted 391 + From their house the torrent of whelming natural increase,) + Are blood-guiltless among their own-born prógeny: What skill + Keeps their peace, or what price buys it? Alack! 'tis murder, + Murder again. No worst Oriental despot, assuring + 'Gainst birthright or faction or envy his ill-gotten empire, + So decimates his kin, as do these rown-bodied egg-queens + Surprise competitors, and stab their slumbering infants, + Into the wax-cradles replunging their double-edged stings. + Or what a deed of blood some high-day, when the summer[v]hath 400 + Their clammy cells o'erbrim'd, and already ripening orchards + And late flow'rs proclaim that starving winter approacheth, + Nor will again any queen lead forth her swarm, dispeopling + Their strawbuilt citadel; then watch how these busy workers + Cease for awhile from toil; how crowding upon the devoted + Drones they fall; those easy fellows gave some provocation; + Yet 'tis a foul massacre, cold murder of unsuspecting + Life-long companions; and done bloodthirstily:--is not + Exercise of pow'r a delight? have yóu not a doctrine + That calls duty pleasure? What an if they make merry, saying + 'Lazy-livers, runagates, evil beasts, greedy devourers, 411 + 'Too happy and too long ye've liv'd, unashamed to have outliv'd + 'Your breeders, feeders, warmers and toiling attendants; + 'Had-ye ever been worthy a public good to accomplish, + 'Each had nobly perish'd long-ago. Unneeded, obese ones, + 'Impious encumbrance, whose hope of service is over, + 'Who did not, now can not, assist the community, YE DIE!' + My parable may serve. What wisdom man hath attain'd to + Came to him of Nature's goodwill throu' tardy selection: + Should her teaching accuse herself and her method impugn, + I may share with her the reproach of approving as artist 421 + Far other idēals than what seem needful in action. + This difficulty besets our time. If you have an answer, + Write me it, as you keep your salt in savour; or if toil + Grant you an indulgence, here lies fair country, direct then + Your Sabbath excursion westward, and spend a summer-day + Preaching among the lilies what you[v]have preached to the chimneys. + + + 3 + + PEACE ODE + + ON CONCLUSION OF THE BOER WAR, JUNE 1902 + + Now joy in all hearts with happy auguries, + And praise on all lips: for sunny June cometh + Chasing the thick warcloud, that outspread + Sulfurous and sullen over England. + + Full thirty moons since unwilling enmity, + Since daily suspense for hideous peril + Of brethren unrescued, beleaguer'd + Plague-stricken in cities unprovided, + + Had quencht accustom'd gaiety, from the day + When first the Dutchman's implacable folly, + The country of Shakspeare def[=y]ing, + Thought with a curse to appal the nation: + + Whose threat to quell their kinsmen in Africa + Anger'd awhile our easy democracy; + That, reckless and patient of insult, + Will not abide arrogant defīance: + + They called to arms; and war began evilly. + From slily forestor'd, well-hidden armouries, + And early advantage, the despot + Stood for a time prevalent against us: + + Till from the coil of slow-gathering battle + He rancorous, with full moneybags hurried, + Peddling to European envy + His traffic of pennyworthy slander. + + For since the first keel launch'd upon Ocean + Ne'er had before so mighty an armament + O'errun the realm of dark Poseidon, + So resolutely measur'd the waters, + + As soon from our ports in diligent passage + O'er half the round world plow'd hither & thither + The pathless Atlantic, revengeful + Soldiery pouring on Esperanza: + + Nor shows the Argive story of Ilium, + With tale of ancient auxiliar cities, + So vast a roll of wide alliance + As, rallying to the aid of England, + + Came from the swarming counties accoutering, + And misty highlands of Caledonia, + With Cambria's half-Celtic offspring, + And the ever-merry fighting Irish: + + Came too the new world's hardy Canadians, + And from remote Australia champions + Like huntsmen, and from those twin islands + Lying off antipodal beyond her, + + Under the old flag sailing across the sea: + For mighty is blood's empery, where honour + And freedom ancestral have upbuilt + Inheritance to a lovely glory. + + Thee, France, love I, fair lawgiver and scholar: + Thy lively grace, thy temper illustrious; + And thee, in all wisdom Diviner, + Germany, deep melodist immortal; + + Nor less have envied soft Italy's spirit, + In marble unveil'd and eloquent colour: + But best love I England, wer' I not + Born to her aery should envy also. + + Wherefore to-day one gift above every gift + Let us beseech, that God will accord to her + Always a right judgement in all things; + Ev'n to celestial excellencies; + + And grant us in long peace to accumulate + Joy, and to stablish friendliness and commerce, + And barter in markets for unpriced + Beauty, the pearl of unending empire. + + _May, 1902._ + + + 4 + + EVENING + + FROM WM. BLAKE[A] + + Come, rosy angel, thy coronet donning + Of starry j[=ew]els, smile upon ev'ry bed, + And grant what each day-weary mortal, + Labourer or lover, asketh of thee. + + Smile thou on our loves, enveloping the land + With dusky curtain: consider each blossom + That timely upcloseth, that opens + Her treasure of heavy-laden odours. + + Now, while the west-wind slumbereth on the lake, + Silently dost thou with delicate shimmer + O'erbloom the frowning front of awful + Night to a glance of unearthly silver. + + No hungry wild beast rangeth in our forest, + No tiger or wolf prowleth around the fold: + Keep thou from our sheepcotes the tainting + Invisible peril of the darkness. + + + 5 + + POVRE AME AMOUREUSE + + FROM LOUISE LABE, 1555 + + (_Sapphics_) + + When to my lone soft bed at eve returning + Sweet desir'd sleep already stealeth o'er me, + My spirit flīeth to the fairy-land of + her tyrannous love. + + Him then I think fondly to kiss, to hold him + Frankly then to my bosom; I that all day + Have lookèd for[v]him suffering, repining, + yea many long days. + + O blessèd sleep, with flatteries beguile me; + So,[v]if I ne'er may[v]of a surety have[v]him, + Grant to my poor soul amorous the dark gift + of this illusion. + + + 6 + + THE FOURTH DIMENSION + + (_Hendecasyllables_) + + Truest-hearted of early friends, that Eton + Long since gáve to me,--Ah! 'tis all a life-time,-- + With my faithfully festive auspication + Of Christmas merriment, this idle item. + + Plato truly believ'd his archetypal + Idēas to possess the fourth dimension: + For since our solid is triple, but always + Its shade only double, solids as _umbrae_ + Must lack equally one dimension also. + Could Plato[v]have avoided or denied it? + + So Saint Paul, when in argument opposing + To our earthly bodies bodies celestial, + Meant just those pretty Greek aforesaid abstracts + Of four Plātonical divine dimensions. + + If this be not a holy consolation + More than plumpudding and a turkey roasted, + Whereto you but address a third dimension, + Try it, pray, as a pill to aid digestion: + I can't find anything better to send you. + + + 7 + + JOHANNES MILTON, Senex + + _Scazons_ + + Since I believe in God the Father Almighty, + Man's Maker and Judge, Overruler of Fortune, + 'Twere strange should I praise anything and refuse Him praise, + Should love the creature forgetting the Crēator, + Nor unto Him[v]in suff'ring and sorrow turn me: + Nay how coud I withdraw me from[v]His embracing? + + But since that I have seen not, and cannot know Him, + Nor in my earthly temple apprehend rightly + His wisdom and the heav'nly purpose ēternal; + Therefore will I be bound to no studied system + Nor argument, nor with delusion enslave me, + Nor seek to pléase Him in any foolish invention, + Which my spirit within me, that loveth beauty + And hateth evil, hath reprov'd as unworthy: + + But I cherish my freedom in loving service, + Gratefully adoring for delight beyond asking + Or thinking, and in hours of anguish and darkness + Confiding always on[v]His excellent greatness. + + + 8 + + PYTHAGORAS + + _Seasons_ + + Thou vainly, O Man, self-deceiver, exaltest + Thyself the king and only thinker of this world, + Where life aboundeth infinite to destroy thee. + + Well-guided are thy forces and govern'd bravely, + But like a tyrant crūel or savage monster + Thou disregardest ignorantly all bēing + Save only thine own insubordinate ruling: + + As if the flowër held not a happy pact with Spring; + As if the brutes lack'd reason and sorrow's torment; + Or ev'n divine love from the small atoms grew not, + Their grave affection unto thy passion mingling. + + * * * + + An truly were it nobler and better wisdom + To fear the blind thing blindly, lest it espy thee; + And scrupulously do[v]honour to dumb creatures, + + No one offending impiously, nor forcing + To service of vile uses; ordering rather + Thy slave to beauty, compelling lovingkindness. + + So should desire, the only priestess of Nature + Divinely inspir'd, like a good monarch rule thee, + And lead thee onward in the consummate motion + Of life eternal unto heav'nly perfection. + + + _Elegiacs_ + + + 9 + + AMIEL + + Why, O Maker of all, madest thou man with affections + Tender above thyself, scrupulous and passionate? + Nay, if compassionate thou art, why, thou lover of men, + Hidest thou thy face so pitilessly from us? + If thou in priesthoods and altar-glory delitest, + In torment and tears of trouble and suffering, + Then wert thou displeas'd looking on soft human emotion, + Thou must scorn the devout love of a sire to a son. + 'Twas but vainly of old, Man, making Faith to approach thee, + Held an imagin'd scheme of providence in honour; + And, to redeem thy praise, judg'd himself cause, took upon him + Humbly the impossible burden of all misery. + Now casteth he away his books and logical idols + Leaveth again his cell of terrified penitence; + And that stony goddess, his first-born fancy, dethroning, + Hath made after his own homelier art another; + Made sweet Hope, the modest unportion'd daughter of anguish, + Whose brimming eye sees but dimly what it looketh on; + Dreaming a day when fully, without curse or horrible cross, + Thou wilt deign to reveal her vision of happiness. + + + 10 + + Ah, what a change! Thou, who didst emptily thy happiness seek + In pleasure, art finding thy pleasure in happiness. + Slave to the soul, whom thou heldest in slavery, art thou? + Thou, that wert but a vain idol, adored a goddess? + + + 11 + + WALKING HOME + + FROM THE CHINESE + + Thousand threads of rain and fine white wreathing of air-mist + Hide from us earth's greenness, hide the enarching azure. + Yet will a breath of Spring homeward convoying attend us, + And the mellow flutings of passionate Philomel. + + + 12 + + THE RUIN + + FROM THE CHINESE + + These grey stones have rung with mirth and lordly carousel; + Here proud kings mingled pōetry and ruddy wine. + All hath pass'd long ago; nought but this rūin abideth, + Sadly in eyeless trance gazing upon the river. + Wouldst thou know who here visiteth, dwelleth and singeth also, + Ask the swallows fl[=y]ing from sunny-wall'd Italy. + + + 13 + + REVENANTS + + FROM THE FRENCH + + At dead of unseen night ghosts of the departed assembling + Flit to the graves, where each in body had burial. + Ah, then rēvisiting my sad heart their desolate tomb + Troop the desires and loves vainly buried long ago. + + + 14 + + FROM THE GREEK + + Mortal though I bé, yea ephemeral, if but a moment + I gaze up to the night's starry domain of heaven, + Then no longer on earth I stand; I touch the Creator, + And my lively spirit drinketh immortality. + + + 15 + + ANNIVERSARY + + See, Love, a year is pass'd: in harvest our summer endeth: + Praising thee the solemn festival I celebrate. + Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one + In turn hath ripen'd something of our happiness. + So, lest heart-contented adown life easily floating, + We note not the passage while living in the delight, + I have honour'd always the attentive vigil of Autumn, + And thy day set apart holy to fair Memory. + + + 16 + + COMMUNION OF SAINTS + + FROM ANDRE CHENIER + + What happy bonds together unite you, ye living and dead, + Your fadeless love-bloom, your manifold memories. + + + + EPITAPHS + + 17 + + Fight well, my comrades, and prove your bravery. Me too + God call'd out, but crown'd early before the battle. + + + 18 + + I died in very flow'r: yet call me not unhappy therefore, + Ye that against sweet life once a lament have utter'd. + + + 19 + + When thou, my belovèd, diedst, I saw heaven open, + And all earthly delight inhabiting Paradise. + + + 20 + + Where thou art better I too were, dearest, anywhere, than + Wanting thy well-lov'd lovely presence anywhere. + + + 21 + + IBANT OBSCURI + + _A line for line paraphrase of a part of + Virgil's Æneid, Bk. VI._ + + They wer' amid the shadows by night in loneliness obscure + Walking forth i' the void and vasty dominyon of Ades; + As by an uncertain moonray secretly illumin'd 270 + One goeth in the forest, when heav'n is gloomily clouded, + And black night hath robb'd the colours and beauty from all things. + Here in Hell's very jaws, the threshold of darkening Orcus, + Have the avenging Cares laid their sleepless habitation, + Wailing Grief, pallid Infections, & heart-stricken Old-age, + Dismal Fear, unholy Famine, with low-groveling Want, + Forms of spectral horror, gaunt Toil and Death the devourer, + And Death's drowsy brother, Torpor; with whom, an inane rout, 278 + All the Pleasures of Sin; there also the Furies in ambusht + Chamber of iron, afore whose bars wild War bloodyhanded + Raged, and mad Discord high brandisht her venomous locks. + Midway of all this tract, with secular arms an immense elm + Reareth a crowd of branches, aneath whose leafy protection + Vain dreams thickly nestle, clinging unto the foliage on high: + And many strange creatures of monstrous form and features + Stable about th' entrance, Centaur and Scylla's abortion, + And hundred-handed Briareus, and Lerna the wildbeast + Roaring amain, and clothed in frightful flame the Chimæra, + Gorgons and Harpies, ['] and Pluto's three-bodied ogre. + In terror Æneas upheld his sword to defend him, 290 + With ready naked point confronting their dreaded onset: + And had not the Sibyl warn'd how these lively spirits were + All incorporeal, flitting in thin maskery of form, + He had assail'd their host, and wounded vainly the void air. + Hence is a road that led them a-down to the Tartarean streams, + Where Acheron's whirlpool impetuous, into the reeky + Deep of Cokytos disgorgeth, with muddy burden. + These floods one ferryman serveth, most awful of aspect, + Of squalor infernal, Chāron: all filthily unkempt + That woolly white cheek-fleece, and fiery the blood-shotten eyeballs: 300 + On one shoulder a cloak knotted-up his nudity vaunteth. + He himself plieth oar or pole, manageth tiller and sheet, + And the relics of mén in his ash-grey barge ferries over; + Already old, but green to a god and hearty will age be. + Now hitherward to the bank much folk were crowding, a medley + Of men and matrons; nor did death's injury conceal + Bravespirited heroes, young maidens beauteous unwed, + And boys borne to the grave in sight of their sorrowing sires. + Countless as in the forest, at a first white frosting of autumn + Sere leaves fall to the ground; or like whenas over the ocean + Myr[^ia]d birds come thickly flocking, when wintry December 311 + Drives them afar southward for shelter upon sunnier shores, + So throng'd they; and each his watery journey demanded, + All to the further bank stretching-oút their arms impatient: + But the sullen boatman took now one now other at will, + While some from the river forbade he', an' drave to a distance. + Æneas in wonder alike and deep pity then spake. + 'Tell-me,' said he, 'my guide, why flock these crowds to the water? + Or what seek the spirits? or by what prejudice are these + Rudely denied, while those may upon the solemn river embark?' 320 + T'whom[B] then briefly again the Avern[^ia]n priestess in answer. + 'O Son of Anchises, heavn's true-born glorious offspring, + Deep Cokytos it is thou s[^ee]st & Hell's Styg[^ia]n flood, + Whose dread sanct[^io]n alone Jove's oath from falsehood assureth. + These whom thou pitiedst, th' outcast and unburied are they; + That ferryman Chāron; those whom his bark carries over + Are the buried; nor ever may mortal across the livid lake + Journey, or e'er upon Earth his bones lie peacefully entomb'd: + Haunting a hundred years this mournful plain they wander + Doom'd for a term, which term expired they win to deliv'rance.' 330 + Then he that harken'd stood agaze, his journey arrested, + Grieving at heart and much pitying their unmerited lot. + There miserably fellow'd in death's indignity saw he + Leucaspis with his old Lycian seachieften Orontes, + Whom together from Troy in home-coming over the waters + Wild weather o'ermaster'd, engulphing both shipping and men. + And lo! his helmsman, Palinurus, in eager emotion, + Who on th' Afric course, in bright star-light, with a fair wind, + Fell by slumber opprest unheedfully into the wide sea: + Whom i' the gloom when hardly he knew, now changed in affliction, 340 + First he addrest. 'What God, tell-me O Palinurus, of all gods + Plúckt you away and drown'd i' the swift wake-water abandon'd? + For never erst nor in else hath kind responsive Apollo + Led-me astray, but alone in this thing wholly deluded, + When he aver'd that you, to remote Ausōnia steering, + Safe would arrive. Where now his truth? Is this the promis'd faith?' + But he, 'Neither again did Phœbus wrongly bespeak thee, + My general, nor yet did a god in his enmity drown me: + For the tiller, wherewith I led thy fleet's navigation, + And still clung to, was in my struggling hold of it unshipt, 350 + And came with-me' o'erboard. Ah! then, by ev'ry accurst sea, + Tho' in utter despair, far less mine own peril awed me + Than my thought o' the ship, what harm might háp to her, yawing + In the billows helmless, with a high wind and threatening gale. + Two nights and one day buffeted held I to the good spar + Windborne, with the current far-drifting, an' on the second morn + Saw, when a great wave raised me aloft, the Italyan highlands; + And swimming-on with effort got ashore, nay already was saved, + Had not there the wrecking savages, who spied-me defenceless, + Scarce clinging outwearied to a rock, half-drowned & speechless, 360 + Beát me to death for hope of an unfound booty upon me. + Now to the wind and tidewash a sport my poor body rolleth. + Wherefore thee, by heav'n's sweet light & airness, I pray, + By thy Sire's memories, thy hope of youthful Iulus, + Rescue-me from these ills, brave master; Go to Velija, + O'er my mortality's spoil cast thou th' all-hallowing dust; + Or better, if so be the goddess, heav'n's lady-Creatress, + Show-thee the way,--nor surely without high favoring impulse + Mak'st thou ventur' across these floods & black Ereban lake,-- + Give thy hand-to-me', an' o'er their watery boundary bring me 370 + Unto the haven of all, death's home of quiet abiding.' + Thus-he lamented, anon spake sternly the maid of Avernus. + 'Whence can such unruly desire, Palinurus, assail thee? + Wilt thou th' Eumenidan waters visit unburied? o'erpass + Hell's Stygian barrier? Chāron's boat unbidden enter? + Cease to believe that fate can bé by prayër averted. + Let my sooth a litel thy cruel destiny comfort + Surely the people of all thy new-found country, determin'd + By heav'n-sent omens will achieve thy purification, 379 + Build thee a tomb of honour with yearly solemnity ordain'd, + And dedicate for ever thy storied name to the headland.' + These words lighten awhile his fear, his sadness allaying, + Nor vain was the promise his name should eternally survive. + They forthwith their journey renew, tending to the water: + Whom when th' old boatman descried silently emerging + Out o' the leafy shadows, advancing t'ward the river-shore, + Angrily gave-he challenge, imperious in salutation. + 'Whosoever thou be, that approachest my river all-arm'd, + Stand to announce thyself, nor further make footing onward. + Here 'tis a place of ghosts, of night & drowsy delusion: 390 + Forbidden unto living mortals is my Stygian keel: + Truly not Alkides embarkt I cheerfully, nor took + Of Theseus or Pirithous glad custody, nay though + God-sprung were they both, warriors invincible in might: + Hé 'twas would sportively the guard of Tartarus enchain, + Yea and from the palace with gay contumely dragged him: + Théy to ravish Hell's Queen from Pluto's chamber attempted.' + Then thus th' Amphrysian prophetess spake briefly in answer. + 'No such doughty designs are ours, Cease thou to be movèd! + Nor these sheeny weapons intend force. Cerberus unvext + Surely for us may affray the spirits with 'howling eternal, 401 + And chaste Persephone enjoy her queenly seclusion. + Troian Æneas, bravest and gentlest-hearted, + Hath left earth to behold his father in out-lying Ades. + If the image ' of a so great virtue doth not affect thee, + Yet this bough'--glittering she reveal'd its golden avouchment-- + 'Thou mayst know.' Forthwith his bluster of heart was appeasèd: + Nor word gave-he, but admiring the celestial omen, + That bright sprigg of weird for so long period unseen, + Quickly he-túrneth about his boat, to the margin approaching, 410 + And the spirits, that along the gun'al benchways sat in order, + Drave he ashore, offering readyroom: but when the vessel took + Ponderous Æneas, her timbers crankily straining + Creak'd, an' a brown water came trickling through the upper seams. + Natheless both Sibyl ánd Hero, slow wafted across stream, + Safe on th' ooze & slime's hideous desolation alighted. + Hence the triple-throated bellowings of Cerberus invade + All Hell, where opposite the arrival he lies in a vast den. + But the Sibyl, who mark'd his necklaces of stiffening snakes, + Cast him a cake, poppy-drench'd with drowsiness and honey-sweeten'd. 420 + He, rabid and distending a-hungry' his triply-cavern'd jaws, + Gulp'd the proffer'd morsel; when slow he-relaxt his immense bulk, + And helplessly diffused fell out-sprawl'd over the whole cave. + Æneas fled by, and left full boldly the streamway, + That biddeth all men across but alloweth ne'er a returning. + Already now i' the air were voices heard, lamentation, + And shrilly crying of infant souls by th' entry of Ades. + Babes, whom unportion'd of sweet life, unblossoming buds, + One black day carried off and chokt in dusty corruption.-- + Next are they who falsely accused were wrongfully condemn'd + Unto the death: but here their lot by justice is order'd. 431 + Inquisitor Minos, with his urn, summoning to assembly + His silent council, their deed or slander arraigneth.-- + Next the sullen-hearted, who rashly with else-innocent hand + Their own life did-away, for hate or weariness of light, + Imperiling their souls. How gladly, if only in Earth's air, + Would-they again their toil, discomfort, and pities endure! + Fate obstructs: deep sadness now, unloveliness awful + Rings them about, & Styx with ninefold circle enarmeth.-- + Not far hence they come to a land extensive on all sides; 440 + Weeping Plain 'tis call'd:--such name such country deserveth. + Here the lovers, whom fiery passion hath cruelly consumed, + Hide in leafy alleys ' and pathways bow'ry, sequester'd + By woodland myrtle, nor hath Death their sorrow ended. + Here was Phædra to see, Procris ' and sad Eriphyle, + She of her unfilial deathdoing wound not ashamèd, + Evadne, ' and Pasiphae ' and Laodamia, + And epicene Keneus, a woman to a man metamorphos'd, + Now by Fate converted again to her old feminine form. + 'Mong these shades, her wound yet smarting ruefully, Dido + Wander'd throu' the forest-obscurity; and Æneas 451 + Standing anigh knew surely the dim form, though i' the darkness + Veil'd,--as when one seëth a young moon on the horizon, + Or thinketh to' have seen i' the gloaming her delicate horn; + Tearfully in oncelov'd accents he-lovingly addrest her. + 'Unhappy! ah! too true 'twas told me' O unhappy Dido, + Dead thou wert; to the fell extreme didst thy passion ensue. + And was it I that slew-thee? Alas! Smile falsity, ye heav'ns! + And Hell-fury attest-me', if here any sanctity reigneth, + Unwilling, O my Queen, my step thy kingdom abandon'd. 460 + Me the command of a god, who here my journey determines + Through Ereban darkness, through fields sown with desolation, + Drave-me to wrong my heart. Nay tho' deep-pain'd to desert thee + I ne'er thought to provoke thy pain of mourning eternal. + Stay yet awhile, ev'n here unlook'd-for again look upon me: + Fly-me not ere the supreme words that Fate granteth us are said.' + Thus he: but the spirit was raging, fiercely defiant, + Whom he approach'd with words to appease, with tears for atonement. + She to the ground downcast her ' eyes in fixity averted; + Nor were her features more by his pleading affected, 470 + Than wer' a face of flint, or of ensculptur'd alabaster. + At length she started disdainful, an' angrily withdrew + Into a shady thicket: where her grief kindly Sychæus + Sooth'd with other memories, first love and virginal embrace. + And ever Æneas, to remorse by deep pity soften'd, + With brimming eyes pursued her queenly figure disappearing. + Thence the Sibyl to the plain's extremest boundary led him, + Where world-fam'd warriors, a lionlike company, haunted. + Here great Tydeus saw he eclips'd, & here the benighted + Phantom of Adrastus, ' of stalwart Parthenopæus. 480 + Here long mourn'd upon earth went all that prowess of Ilium + Fallen in arms; whom, when he-beheld them, so many and great, + Much he-bewail'd. By Thersilochus his mighty brothers stood, + Children of Antenor; here Demetr[^ia]n Polyphates, + And Idæus, in old chariot-pose dreamily stalking. + Right and left the spirits flocking on stood crowding around him; + Nor their eyes have enough; they touch, find joy unwonted + Marching in equal stép, and eager of his coming enquire. + But th' Argive leaders, and they that obey'd Agamemnon + When they saw that Trojan in arms come striding among them, 490 + Old terror invaded their ranks: some fled stricken, as once + They to the ships had fled for shelter; others the alarm raise, + But their thin utterance mock'd vainly the lips wide parted. + Here too Deiphobus he espied, his fair body mangled, + Cruelly dismember'd, disfeatur'd cruelly his face, + Face and hands; and lo! shorn closely from either temple, + Gone wer' his ears, and maim'd each nostril in impious outrage. + Barely he-knew him again cow'ring shamefastly' an' hiding + His dire plight, & thus he 'his old companyon accosted. + 'Noblest Deiphobus, great Teucer's intrepid offspring, 500 + Who was it, inhuman, coveted so cruel a vengeance? + Who can hav' adventur'd on thée? That last terrible night + Thou wert said to hav' exceeded thy bravery, an' only + On thy faln enemies wert faln by weariness o'ercome. + Wherefor' upon the belov'd sea-shore thine empty sepulchral + Mound I erected, aloud on thy ghost tearfully calling. + Name and shield keep for-thee the place; but thy body, dear friend, + Found I not, to commit to the land ere sadly' I left it.' + Then the son of Priam ['] 'I thought not, friend, to reproach thee: + Thou didst all to the full, ev'n my shade's service, accomplish. 510 + 'Twas that uninterdicted adultress from Lacedæmon + Drave-me to doom, & planted in hell, her trophy triumphant. + On that night,--how vain a security and merrymaking + Then sullied us thou know'st, yea must too keenly remember,-- + When the ill-omened horse o'erleapt Troy's lofty defences, + Dragg'd in amidst our town pregnant with a burden of arm'd men. + She then, her Phrygian women in feign'd phrenzy collecting, + All with torches aflame, in wild Bacchic orgy paraded, + Flaring a signal aloft to her ambusht confederate Greeks. + I from a world of care had fled with weariful eyelids 520 + Unto my unhappy chamber', an' lay fast lockt in oblivyon, + Sunk to the depth of rest as a child that nought will awaken. + Meanwhile that paragon helpmate had robb'd me of all arms, + E'en from aneath the pillow my blade of trust purloining;-- + Then to the gate; wide flíngs she it op'n an' calls Menelaus. + Would not a so great service attach her faithful adorer? + Might not it extinguish the repute of her earlier illdeeds? + Brief-be the tale. Menelaus arrives: in company there came + His crime-counsellor Æolides. So, and more also + Déal-ye', O Gods, to the Greeks! an' if I call justly upon you.-- 530 + But thou; what fortune hitherward, in turn prithy tell me, + Sent-thee alive, whether erring upon the bewildering Ocean, + Or high-prompted of heav'n, or by Fate wearily hunted, + That to the sunless abodes and dusky demesnes thou approachest?' + Ev'n as awhile they thus converse it is already mid-day + Unperceiv'd, but aloft earth's star had turn'd to declining. + And haply' Æneas his time in parley had outgone, + Had not then the Sibyl with word of warning avized him. + 'Night hieth, Æneas; in tears our journey delayeth. + See our road, that it here in twain disparteth asunder; 540 + This to the right, skirting by th' high city-fortresses of Dis, + Endeth in Elysium, our path; but that to the leftward + Only receives their feet who wend to eternal affliction.' + Deiphobus then again, 'Speak not, great priestess, in anger; + I will away to refill my number among th' unfortun'd. + Thou, my champyon, adieu! Go where thy glory awaits thee!' + When these words he 'had spok'n, he-turn'd and hastily was fled. + Æneas then look'd where leftward, under a mountain, + Outspread a wide city lay, threefold with fortresses engirt, + Lickt by a Tartarean river of live fire, the torrent[^ia]l 550 + Red Phlegethon, and huge boulders his roundy bubbles be: + Right i' the front stareth the columnar gate adamantine, + Such that no battering warfare of mén or immortals + E'er might shake; blank-faced to the cloud its bastion upstands. + Tisiphone thereby in a bloodspotty robe sitteth alway + Night and day guarding sleeplessly the desperat entrance, + Wherefrom an awestirring groan-cry and fierce clamour outburst, + Sharp lashes, insane yells, dragg'd chains and clanking of iron. + Æneas drew back, his heart by' his hearing affrighted: + 'What manner of criminals, my guide, now tell-me,' he-question'd, 560 + 'Or what their penalties? what this great wail that ariseth?' + Answering him the divine priestess, 'Brave hero of Il[îû]m, + O'er that guilty threshold no breath of purity may come: + But Hecate, who gave-me to rule i' the groves of Avernus, + Herself led me around, & taught heav'n's high retribution. + Here Cretan Rhadamanthus in unblest empery reigneth, + Secret crime to punish,--full surely he-wringeth avowal + Even of all that on earth, by vain impunity harden'd, + Men sinning have put away from thought till[v]impenitent death. + On those convicted tremblers then leapeth avenging 570 + Tisiphone with keen flesh-whips and vipery scourges, + And of her implacable sisters inviteth attendance.' + --Now sudden on screeching hinges that portal accursèd + Flung wide its barriers.--'In what dire custody, mark thou, + Is the threshold! guarded by how grim sentry the doorway! + More terrible than they the ravin'd insatiable Hydra + That sitteth angry within. Know too that Tartarus itself + Dives sheer gaping aneath in gloomy profundity downward + Twice that height that a man looketh-up t'ward airy Olympus. + Lowest there those children of Earth, Titanian elders, 580 + In the abyss, where once they fell hurl'd, yet wallowing lie. + There the Alöīdæ saw I, th' ungainly rebel twins + Primæval, that assay'd to devastate th' Empyræan + With huge hands, and rob from Jove his kingdom immortal. + And there Salmoneus I saw, rend'ring heavy payment, + For that he idly' had mockt heav'n's fire and thunder electric; + With chariot many-yoked and torches brandishing on high + Driving among 'his Graian folk in Olympian Elis; + Exultant as a God he rode in blasphemy worshipt. 589 + Fool, who th' unreckoning tempest and deadly dreaded bolt + Thought to mimic with brass and confus'd trample of horses! + But 'him th' Omnipotent, from amidst his cloudy pavilyon, + Blasted, an' eke his rattling car and smoky pretences + Extinguish'd at a stroke, scattering ' his dust to the whirlwind. + There too huge Tityos, whom Earth that gendereth all things + Once foster'd, spreadeth-out o'er nine full roods his immense limbs. + On him a wild vulture with hook-beak greedily gorgeth + His liver upsprouting quick as that Hell-chicken eateth. + Shé diggeth and dwelleth under the vast ribs, her bloody bare neck + Lifting anon: ne'er loathes-she the food, ne'er fails the renewal. 600 + Where wer' an end their names to relate, their crimes and torments? + Some o'er whom a hanging black rock, slipping at very point of + Falling, ever threateneth: Couches luxurious invite + Softly-cushion'd to repose: Tables for banqueting outlaid + Tempt them ever-famishing: hard by them a Fury regardeth, + And should théy but a hand uplift, trembling to the dainties, + She with live firebrand and direful yell springeth on them. + Their crimes,--not to' hav lov'd a brother while love was allow'd them; + Or to' hav struck their father, or inveigled a dependant; 609 + Or who chancing alone on wealth prey'd lustfully thereon, + Nor made share with others, no greater company than they: + Some for adultery slain; some their bright swords had offended + Drawn i' the wrong: or a master's trust with perfidy had met: + Dungeon'd their penalties they await. Look not to be answer'd + What that doom, nor th' end of these men think to determine. + Sóme aye roll heavy rocks, some whirl dizzy on the revolving + Spokes of a pendant wheel: sitteth and to eternity shall sit + Unfortun'd Theseus; while sad Phlegias saddeneth hell + With vain oyez to' all loud crying a tardy repentance, + "Walk, O man, i' the fear of Gód, and learn to be righteous!" + Here another, who sold for gold his country, promoting 621 + Her tyrant; or annull'd for a base bribe th' inviolate law. + This one had unfather'd his blood with bestial incest: + All some fearful crime had dared & vaunted achievement. + What mind could harbour the offence of such recollection, + Or lend welcoming ear to the tale of iniquity and shame, + And to the pains wherewith such deeds are justly requited? + Ev'n when thus she' had spok'n, the priestess dear to Apollo, + 'But, ready, come let us ón, perform-we the order appointed! + Hast'n-we (saith-she), the wall forged on Cyclopian anvils + Now I see, an' th' archway in Ætna's furnace attemper'd, 631 + Where my lore biddeth us to depose our high-privileg'd gift.' + Then together they trace i' the drooping dimness a footpath, + Whereby, faring across, they arrive at th' arches of iron. + Æneas stept into the porch, and duly besprinkling + His body with clear water affixt his bough to the lintel; + And, having all perform'd at length with ritual exact, + They came out on a lovely pleasance, that dream'd-of oasis, + Fortunate isle, the abode o' the blest, their fair Happy Woodland. + Here is an ampler sky, those meads ar' azur'd by a gentler + Sun than th' Earth, an' a new starworld their darkness adorneth. 641 + Some were matching afoot their speed on a grassy arena, + In playful combat some wrestling upon the yellow sand, + Part in a dance-rhythm or poetry's fine phantasy engage; + While full-toga'd anear their high-priest musical Orpheus + Bade his prime sev'n tones in varied harmony discourse, + Now with finger, anon sounding with an ivory plectrum. + And here Æneas met Teucer's fortunate offspring, + High-spirited heroes, fair-favor'd sons o' the morning, + Assarac and Ilos ' and Dardan founder of Il[^iu]m: 650 + Their radiant chariots he' espied rank't empty afar off, + Their spears planted afield, their horses wandering at large, + Grazing around:--as on earth their joy had been, whether armour + Or chariot had charmed them, or if 'twer' good manage and care + Of the gallant warhorse, the delight liv'd here unabated; + Lo! then others, that about the meadow sat feasting in idless, + And chanting for joy a familyar pæan of old earth, + By fragrant laurel o'ercanopied, where 'twixt enamel'd banks + Bountiful Eridanus glides throu' their bosky retirement. + Here were men who bled for honour, their country defending; 660 + Priests, whose lives wer' a flame of chastity on God's altar; + Holy poets, content to await their crown of Apollo; + Discoverers, whose labour had aided life or ennobled; + Or who fair memories had left though kindly deserving. + On their brow a fillet pearl-white distinguisheth all these: + Whom the Sibyl, for they drew round, in question accosted, + And most Musæus, who tower'd noble among them, + Center of all that sea of bright faces looking upward. + 'Tell, happy souls, and thou poet and high mystic illustrious, + Where dwelleth Anchises? what home hath he? for 'tis in his quest 670 + We hither have made journey across Hell's watery marches.' + Thertó with brief parley rejoin'd that mystic of old-time. + 'In no certain abode we-remain: by turn the forest glade + Haunt-we, lilied stream-bank, sunny mead; and o'er valley and rock + At will rove-we: but if ye aright your purpose arede me, + Mount-ye the hill: myself will prove how easy the pathway.' + Speaking he léd: and come to the upland, sheweth a fair plain + Gleaming aneath; and they, with grateful adieu, the descent made. + Now Lord Anchises was down i' the green valley musing, + Where the spirits confin'd that await mortal resurrection 680 + While diligently he-mark'd, his thought had turn'd to his own kin, + Whose numbers he-reckon'd, an' of all their progeny foretold + Their fate and fortune, their ripen'd temper an' action. + He then, when he' espied Æneas t'ward him approaching + O'er the meadow, both hands uprais'd and ran to receive him, + Tears in his eyes, while thus his voice in high passion outbrake. + 'Ah, thou'rt come, thou'rt come! at length thy dearly belov'd grace + Conquering all hath won-thee the way. 'Tis allow'd to behold thee, + O my son,--yea again the familyar raptur' of our speech. + Nay, I look't for 't thus, counting patiently the moments, 690 + And ever expected; nor did fond fancy betray me. + From what lands, my son, from what life-dangering ocean + Art-thou arrived? full mighty perils thy path hav' opposèd: + And how nearly the dark Libyan thy destiny o'erthrew!' + Then 'he, 'Thy spirit, O my sire, 'twas thy spirit often + Sadly appearing aroused-me to seek thy fair habitation. + My fleet moors i' the blue Tyrrhene: all with-me goeth well. + Grant-me to touch thy hand as of old, and thy body embrace.' + Speaking, awhile in tears his feeling mutinied, and when + For the longing contact of mortal affection, he out-held 700 + His strong arms, the figure sustain'd them not: 'twas as empty + E'en as a windworn cloud, or a phantom of irrelevant sleep. + On the level bosom of this vale more thickly the tall trees + Grow, an' aneath quivering poplars and whispering alders + Lethe's dreamy river throu' peaceful scenery windeth. + Whereby now flitted in vast swarms many people of all lands, + As when in early summer 'honey-bees on a flowery pasture + Pill the blossoms, hurrying to' an' fro,--innumerous are they, + Revisiting the ravish'd lily cups, while all the meadow hums. + Æneas was turn'd to the sight, and marvelling inquired, 710 + 'Say, sir, what the river that there i' the vale-bottom I see? + And who they that thickly along its bank have assembled?' + Then Lord Anchises, 'The spirits for whom a second life + And body are destined ar' arriving thirsty to Lethe, + And here drink th' unmindful draught from wells of oblivyon. + My heart greatly desired of this very thing to acquaint thee, + Yea, and show-thee the men to-be-born, our glory her'after, + So to gladden thine heart where now thy voyaging endeth.' + 'Must it then be-believ'd, my sire, that a soul which attaineth + Elysium will again submit to her old body-burden? 720 + Is this well? what hap can awake such dire longing in them?' + 'I will tell thee', O son, nor keep thy wonder awaiting,' + Answereth Anchises, and all expoundeth in order. + Know first that the heavens, and th' Earth, and space fluid or void, + Night's pallid orb, day's Sun, and all his starry coævals, + Are by one spirit inly quickened, and, mingling in each part, + Mind informs the matter, nature's complexity ruling. + Thence the living creatures, man, brute, and ev'ry feather'd fowl, + And what breedeth in Ocean aneath her surface of argent: + Their seed knoweth a fiery vigour, 'tis of airy divine birth, 730 + In so far as unimpeded by an alien evil, + Nor dull'd by the body's framework condemn'd to corruption. + Hence the desires and vain tremblings that assail them, unable + Darkly prison'd to arise to celestial exaltation; + Nor when death summoneth them anon earth-life to relinquish, + Can they in all discard their stain, nor wholly away with + Mortality's plaguespots. It must-be that, O, many wild graffs + Deeply at 'heart engrain'd have rooted strangely upon them: + Wherefore must suffering purge them, yea, Justice atone them + With penalties heavy as their guilt: some purify exposed 740 + Hung to the viewless winds, or others long watery searchings + Low i' the deep wash clean, some bathe in f[^ie]ry renewal: + Each cometh unto his own retribution,--if after in ample + Elysium we attain, but a few, to the fair Happy Woodland, + Yet slow time still worketh on us to remove the defilement, + Till it hath eaten away the acquir'd dross, leaving again free + That first f[^ie]ry vigour, the celest[^ia]l virtue of our life. + All whom here thou s[^ee]st, hav' accomplished purification: + Unto the stream of Lethe a god their company calleth, + That forgetful of old failure, pain & disappointment, 750 + They may again into' earthly bodies with glad courage enter.' + + * * * + + Twín be the gates o' the house of sleep: as fable opineth 893 + One is of horn, and thence for a true dream outlet is easy: + Fair the other, shining perfected of ivory carven; + But false are the visions that thereby find passage upward. + Soon then as Anchises had spok'n, he-led the Sibyl forth + And his son, and both dismisst from th' ivory portal. + + +FINIS + + + + +INDEX + + + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES + + PAGE + +A cottage built of native stone, 354 + +A coy inquisitive spirit, 27 + +After long sleep when Psyche first awoke, 105 + +Again with pleasant green, 252 + +Ah heavenly joy, 219 + +Ah, what a change, 445 + +All earthly beauty hath one cause, 204 + +All women born, 241 + +A man that sees by chance, 206 + +Among the meadows, 372 + +And truly need there was, 113 + +An effigy of brass, 349 + +Angel spirits of sleep, 291 + +An idle June day, 206 + +A poppy grows upon the shore, 234 + +Ariel, O,--my angel, my own, 299 + +A single lamp there stood, 161 + +A song of my heart, 311 + +Assemble, all ye maidens, 238 + +At dead of unseen night, 446 + +A thousand times hath in my heart's behoof, 201 + +At times with hurried hoofs, 205 + +Awake, my heart, to be loved, 277 + +Away now, lovely Muse, 221 + +A winter's night with the snow about, 272 + + +Beautiful must be the mountains, 311 + +Beauty sat with me, 215 + +Because thou canst not see, 268 + +Behold! the radiant Spring, 255 + +Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear, 377 + +Beneath the wattled bank, 330 + +Betwixt two billows of the downs, 301 + +Bright day succeedeth unto day, 61 + +Bright, my beloved, be thy day, 363 + +But Aphrodite to the house of Zeus, 153 + +But Eros now recover'd from his hurt, 169 + +But fairest Psyche still in favour rose, 97 + + +Christ and his Mother, 313 + +Clear and gentle stream, 225 + +Close up, bright flow'rs, 71 + +Cold is the winter day, 308 + +Come gentle sleep, I woo thee, 211 + +Come, rosy angel, thy coronet donning, 441 + +Crown Winter with green, 297 + + +Dear lady, when thou frownest, 232 + +Dreary was winter, 220 + + +Ended are many days, 367 + +Eternal Father, who didst all create, 221 + + +Fair lady of learning, 390 + +Fight well, my comrades, 447 + +Fire of heaven, whose starry arrow, 290 + +Flame-throated robin, 309 + +For beauty being the best of all we know, 191 + +For thou art mine, 188 + + +Gay and lovely is earth, 53 + +Gay Marigold is frolic, 371 + +Gay Robin is seen no more, 285 + +Gird on thy sword, O man, 407 + +Gloom and the night are thine, 403 + + +Hark! the world is full of thy praise, 364 + +Hark to the merry birds, 283 + +Hark! what spirit doth entreat, 405 + +Haste on, my joys, 269 + +Heavy meanwhile at heart, 145 + +His poisoned shafts, 240 + +How coud I quarrel or blame you, 193 + +How fares it, friend, since I, 378 + +How well my eyes remember, 332 + + +I care not if I live, 203 + +I climb the mossy bank, 338 + +I died in very flow'r, 448 + +If I coud but forget and not recall, 207 + +I found to-day out walking, 233 + +I have loved flowers that fade, 263 + +I have sown upon the fields, 351 + +I heard a linnet courting, 231 + +I heard great Hector, 213 + +I know not how I came, 246 + +I live on hope, 218 + +I love all beauteous things, 281 + +I love my lady's eyes, 278 + +I made another song, 237 + +In all things beautiful, 202 + +In autumn moonlight, 215 + +I never shall love the snow again, 309 + +In midmost length of hundred-citied Crete, 89 + +In still midsummer night, 375 + +In the golden glade, 317 + +In thee my spring of life, 190 + +In this May-month, 307 + +In this neglected, ruin'd edifice, 209 + +In ways of beauty and peace, 404 + +I praise the tender flower, 272 + +I saw the Virgin-mother, 245 + +I stand on the cliff, 266 + +I travel to thee with the sun's first rays, 201 + +I will be what God made me, 218 + +I will not let thee go, 232 + +I wish'd to sing thy grace, 347 + +I would be a bird, 198 + + +_Je donnerais pour revivre à vingt ans_, 379 + +Joy, sweetest lifeborn joy, 275 + + +Let praise devote thy work, 300 + +Let us, as by this verdant bank, 250 + +Long are the hours the sun is above, 235 + +Look down the river, 327 + +Look! Look! the spring is come, 318 + +Love not too much, 302 + +Love on my heart from heaven fell, 287 + +Love that I know, 217 + +Love to Love calleth, 397 + +Lo where the virgin veiled in airy beams, 71 + + +Man, born of desire, 399 + +Man, born to toil, 404 + +Man hath with man, 323 + +Mortal though I be, yea ephemeral, 447 + +My bed and pillow are cold, 273 + +My delight and thy delight, 339 + +My eyes for beauty pine, 286 + +My lady pleases me and I please her, 202 + +Myriad-voiced Queen, 394 + +My soul is drunk with joy, 46 + +My spirit kisseth thine, 298 + +My spirit sang all day, 281 + +My wearied heart, 220 + + +No ethical system, no contemplation, 425 + +Nothing is joy without thee, 199 + +Now all the windows, 340 + +Now in wintry delights, 411 + +Now joy in all hearts, 439 + +Now since to me altho' by thee refused, 193 + +Now thin mists temper, 304 + + +O bold majestic downs, 251 + +O flesh and blood, comrade to tragic pain, 197 + +O golden Sun, whose ray, 261 + +O heavenly fire, life's life, 40 + +O Love, I complain, 335 + +O Love, my muse, 286 + +O miserable man, 37 + +_O my goddess divine_, 204 + +O my life's mischief, 205 + +O my uncared-for songs, 212 + +O my vague desires, 46, 264 + +Once I would say, 210 + +One grief of thine, 375 + +On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle, 137 + +Open for me the gates of delight, 401 + +O that the earth, or only this fair isle, 72 + +O thou unfaithful, 273 + +O weary pilgrims, 198 + +O youth whose hope is high, 280 + + +Perfect little body, 267 + +Poor withered rose, 228 + +Power eternal, power unknown, 403 + + +Rejoice, ye dead, 196, 401 + +Resound! Resound! To jubilant music ring, 393 + +Riding adown the country lanes, 342 + + +Sad, sombre place, 258 + +Say who be these, 195 + +Say who is this with silvered hair, 296 + +See, Love, a year is pass'd, 447 + +See, whirling snow, 306 + +Sense with keenest edge unused, 343 + +Since I believe in God, 443 + +Since not the enamour'd sun, 214 + +Since now from woodland mist, 377 + +Since then 'tis only pity looking back, 210 + +Since thou, O fondest and truest, 279 + +Since to be loved endures, 303 + +Since we loved, 346 + +Sometimes when my lady sits by me, 234 + +So sweet love seemed, 305 + +Spirit of grace and beauty, 350 + +Spring goeth all in white, 286 + +Spring hath her own bright days, 199 + +Sweet compassionate tears, 406 + + +Tears of love, tears of joy, 207 + +The birds that sing on autumn eves, 293 + +The cliff-top has a carpet, 229 + +The clouds have left the sky, 283 + +The dark and serious angel, 217 + +The day begins to droop, 345 + +Thee fair Poetry oft hath sought, 395 + +The evening darkens over, 279 + +The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan, 200 + +The full moon from her cloudless skies, 277 + +The green corn waving in the dale, 288 + +The hill pines were sighing, 288 + +The idle life I lead, 290 + +The image of thy love, 209 + +The lonely season in lonely lands, 314 + +The north wind came up, 315 + +The pinks along my garden walks, 289 + +The poets were good teachers, 189 + +There is a hill, 248 + +There's many a would-be poet, 192 + +There was no lad handsomer, 319 + +The saddest place, 355 + +The sea keeps not the Sabbath day, 341 + +The sea with melancholy war, 396 + +These grey stones have rung with mirth, 446 + +These meagre rhymes, 214 + +The sickness of desire, 376 + +The snow lies sprinkled on the beach, 298 + +The south wind rose at dusk, 336 + +The spirit's eager sense, 211 + +The storm is over, 294 + +The summer trees are tempest-torn, 292 + +The upper skies are palest blue, 282 + +The very names of things belov'd, 189 + +The whole world now is but the minister, 188 + +The wood is bare, 227 + +The work is done, 200 + +The world comes not to an end, 212 + +The world still goeth about to shew and hide, 197 + +They that in play can do the thing they would, 187 + +They wer' amid the shadows, 448 + +This world is unto God a work of art, 195 + +Thou art a poet, Robbie Burns, 385 + +Thou didst delight my eyes, 274 + +Thou dimpled Millicent, 374 + +Thousand threads of rain, 446 + +Thou vainly, O Man, self-deceiver, 444 + +Thus to be humbled, 203 + +Thus to thy beauty, 191 + +To me, to me, fair hearted Goddess, come, 398 + +To my love I whisper, 339 + +To us, O Queen of sinless grace, 402 + +Truest-hearted of early friends, 442 + +Turn, O return, 395 + +'Twas on the very day winter took leave, 216 + + +Voyaging northwards, 359 + + +Wanton with long delay, 284 + +Weep not to-day, 320 + +We left the city when the summer day, 270 + +What happy bonds together unite you, 447 + +What is sweeter than new-mown hay, 292 + +'What think you, sister', 121 + +What voice of gladness, 306 + +When Death to either shall come, 347 + +When first I saw thee, dearest, 216 + +When first we met, 241 + +When from the lowest ebbing, 129 + +When I see childhood, 208 + +When June is come, 289 + +When men were all asleep, 265 + +When my love was away, 294 + +When parch'd with thirst, 208 + +When sometimes in an ancient house, 194 + +When thou didst give thy love to me, 374 + +When thou, my beloved, diedst, 448 + +When to my lone soft bed, 442 + +Wherefore to-night so full of care, 260 + +Where San Miniato's convent, 196 + +Where thou art better I too were, 448 + +While Eros in his chamber hid his tears, 177 + +While yet we wait for spring, 190 + +Whither, O splendid ship, 244 + +Who builds a ship, 194 + +Who has not walked upon the shore, 236 + +Who takes the census of the living dead, 213 + +Why art thou sad, 347 + +Why hast thou nothing, 348 + +Why, O Maker of all, 445 + +Will Love again awake, 242 + +Winter was not unkind, 192 + +With mild eyes agaze, 389 + + +Ye blessed saints, 219 + +Ye Spartan mothers, 371 + +Ye thrilled me once, 296 + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] There is another alcaic translation from Blake on p. 71 in +'Demeter'. The Ode on p. 72 is iambic, and the Chorus on pp. 53, 54 is +in choriambics. + +[B] Line 321. 'T'whom' is from Milton, in imitation of Virgil's admired +Olli. It is not admitted in the ordinary prosody. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 37804 *** |