Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1

Chapter II: Part 2

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_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
To narrow Isthmus, where Poseidon won 1080
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
The plains of Græa, whence the roadway serves
Aulis and Mycalessus to the point 1091
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,
And west by Harma’s fencèd gap arrive
At seven-gated Thebes: thy friendly goddess
Ongan Athenè has her seat without. 1102

_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.
Guard now the lake’s low shore, till thou have crossed
Hyrcana and Cephissus, the last streams 1111
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,
Where rocky Lamia views the Maliac gulf.

_Chor._ If further she should go, will she not see
That other Argos, the Dodonian land? 1122

_Pr._ Crossing the Phthian hills thou next shalt 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.
Thence issuing forth on the Pierian shore
Northward of Ossa thou shalt touch the lands
Of Macedon.

_Chor._ Alas, we wish thee speed, 1132
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
And face him to the mountain whence he comes:
Which doubled, Thrace receives thee: barbarous names 1141
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
That face the sun untrodden and unnamed.--1150
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 shalt 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:
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, 1163
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,
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 1173
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
Or ’gainst all likelihood;
Loveliness slaving to the unlovely will
That overrides the right and laughs at law.

But always all in awe 1183
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,
Or on the earth or sea,
Or in the fair
And tender body itself it lurks, creeps in,
Or seizes suddenly, 1193
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,
In toilsome steps of duty tread apart, 1200
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
And torture more intense. 1210

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,
This might suffice, I say, 1220
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,
That he who loves thee and would aid thee, daring
To raise an arm for thy deliverance, 1231
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
Unwitting words pardon thou, and these who still
In blinded wonder kneel not to thy love. 1241

_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
To plunge the branding terror in his soul.
But now the rising passion of my will 1251
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,
Carrying commands to every gliding sprite
To feed all things with colour, from the ray
Of thy bright-glancing, white 1162
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,
Who canst unchain the links of winter stark,
And bid earth’s stubborn metals flow like oil,
Her porphyrous heart-veins boil; 1272
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,
Restore thy lapsèd realm, and be the sire
Of many an earthly fire. 1281

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.

_In._ The smoke, the smoke! 1290

_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
The leaves: a golden tongue. 1300
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,
As when all around 1310
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,

[_Prometheus, after writing his name on the altar, goes out unobserved._]

Blinds and pricks my eyes.
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
Flitting specks of light 1330
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;
Till its scales outshine, 1340
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?
Smaller flames that flee 1350
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:
Mighty is the fire. 1360

_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.—

_Other part returning._ He is not there.

_Ar. re-entering._ He is not there. 1371

_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,
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, 1382
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--
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. 1392
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
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. 1402

_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
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, 1413
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.

_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. 1423
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,
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, 1435
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,
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 1447
Alone of all the gods,
Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son,
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.
Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall,
Like butterflies, that flit 1461
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?
What seek ye or find ye in your random flying,
For ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying?
Joy, the joy of flight; 1472
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!

[_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. 1485
Weave ye still your joyous song,
While we bear the wood along.

_Semichorus._ But O return,
Return, thou flower of the gods!
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. 1495
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,
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. 1505
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,
Thy heart of hearts and gifts of divine love.

EROS & PSYCHE

A NARRATIVE POEM IN
TWELVE MEASURES

THE STORY DONE INTO
ENGLISH FROM THE
LATIN OF APULEIUS

_L’anima semplicetta che sa nulla._

DANTE

_O latest-born, O loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy._

KEATS

EROS & PSYCHE

FIRST QUARTER

SPRING

PSYCHE’S EARTHLY PARENTAGE · WORSHIPPED
BY MEN · & PERSECUTED BY
APHRODITE · SHE IS LOVED & CARRIED
OFF BY EROS

EROS & PSYCHE

MARCH

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 worshipeth, but if love love,
’Tis, as the poet saith, to love a star.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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;

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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

’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.

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.

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.

Whereon she quickly led him down on earth,
And show’d him PSYCHE, thus the maid was named;
Whom when she show’d, but could 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.

‘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.’

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.

Fair was the sight; for now, though full an hour
The sun had sunk, she saw the evening light
In shifting colour to the zenith tower,
And grow more gorgeous ever and more bright.
Bathed in the warm and comfortable glow,
The fair delighted queen forgot her woe,
And watch’d the unwonted pageant of the night.

Broad and low down, where late the sun had been,
A wealth of orange-gold was thickly shed,
Fading above into a field of green,
Like apples ere they ripen into red;
Then to the height a variable hue
Of rose and pink and crimson freak’d with blue,
And olive-border’d clouds o’er lilac led.

High in the opposèd west the wondering moon
All silvery green in flying green was fleec’t;
And round the blazing South the splendour soon
Caught all the heaven, and ran to North and East;
And Aphrodite knew the thing was wrought
By cunning of Poseidon, and she thought
She would go see with whom he kept his feast.

Swift to her wish came swimming on the waves
His lovely ocean nymphs, her guides to be,
The Nereids all, who live among the caves
And valleys of the deep, Cymodocè,
Agavè, blue-eyed Hallia and Nesæa,
Speio, and Thoë, Glaucè and Actæa,
Iaira, Melitè and Amphinomè,

Apseudès and Nemertès, Callianassa,
Cymothoë, Thaleia, Limnorrhea,
Clymenè, Ianeira and Ianassa,
Doris and Panopè and Galatea,
Dynamenè, Dexamenè and Maira,
Ferusa, Doto, Proto, Callianeira,
Amphithoë, Oreithuia and Amathea.

And after them sad Melicertes drave
His chariot, that with swift unfellied wheel,
By his two dolphins drawn along the wave,
Flew as they plunged, yet did not dip nor reel,
But like a plough that shears the heavy land
Stood on the flood, and back on either hand
O’erturn’d the briny furrow with its keel.

Behind came Tritons, that their conches blew,
Greenbearded, tail’d like fish, all sleek and stark;
And hippocampi tamed, a bristly crew,
The browzers of old Proteus’ weedy park,
Whose chiefer Mermen brought a shell for boat,
And balancing its hollow fan afloat,
Push’d it to shore and bade the queen embark:

And then the goddess stept upon the shell
Which took her weight; and others threw a train
Of soft silk o’er her, that unfurl’d to swell
In sails, at breath of flying Zephyrs twain;
And all her way with foam in laughter strewn,
With stir of music and of conches blown,
Was Aphrodite launch’d upon the main.

APRIL

But fairest Psyche still in favour rose,
Nor knew the jealous power against her sworn:
And more her beauty now surpass’t her foe’s,
Since ’twas transfigured by the spirit forlorn,
That writeth, to the perfecting of grace,
Immortal question in a mortal face,
The vague desire whereunto man is born.

Already in good time her sisters both,
Whose honest charms were never famed as hers,
With princes of the isle had plighted troth,
And gone to rule their foreign courtiers;
But she, exalted evermore beyond
Their loveliness, made yet no lover fond,
And gain’d but number to her worshippers.

To joy in others’ joy had been her lot,
And now that that was gone she wept to see
How her transcendent beauty overshot
The common aim of all felicity.
For love she sigh’d; and had some peasant rude
For true love’s sake in simple passion woo’d,
Then Psyche had not scorn’d his wife to be.

For what is Beauty, if it doth not fire
The loving answer of an eager soul?
Since ’tis the native food of man’s desire,
And doth to good our varying world control;
Which, when it was not, was for Beauty’s sake
Desired and made by Love, who still doth make
A beauteous path thereon to Beauty’s goal.

Should all men by some hateful venom die,
The pity were that o’er the unpeopl’d sphere
The sun would still bedeck the evening sky
And the unimaginable hues appear,
With none to mark the rose and gold and green;
That Spring should walk the earth, and nothing seen
Of her fresh delicacy year by year.

And if some beauteous things,--whose heavenly worth
And function overpass our mortal sense,—
Lie waste and unregarded on the earth
By reason of our gross intelligence,
These are not vain, because in nature’s scheme
It lives that we shall grow from dream to dream
In time to gather an enchantment thence.

Even as we see the fairest works of men
Awhile neglected, and the makers die;
But Truth comes weeping to their graves, and then
Their fames victoriously mounting high
Do battle with the regnant names of eld,
To win their seats; as when the Gods rebel’d
Against their sires and drave them from the sky.

But to be praised for beauty and denied
The meed of beauty, this was yet unknown:
The best and bravest men have ever vied
To win the fairest women for their own.
Thus Psyche spake, or reason’d in her mind,
Disconsolate; and with self-pity pined,
In the deserted halls wandering alone.

And grievèd grew the King to see her woe:
And blaming first the gods for her disease,
He purposed to their oracle to go
To question how he might their wrath appease,
Or, if that might not be, the worst to hear,—
Which is the last poor hope of them that fear.—
So he took his ship upon the northern seas,

And journeying to the shrine of Delphi went,
The temple of Apollo Pythian,
Where when the god he question’d if ’twas meant
That Psyche should be wed, and to what man,
The tripod shook, and o’er the vaporous well
The chanting Pythoness gave oracle,
And thus in priestly verse the sentence ran:

_High on the topmost rock with funeral feast
Convey and leave the maid, nor look to find
A mortal husband, but a savage beast,
The viperous scourge of gods and humankind;
Who shames and vexes all, and as he flies
With sword and fire, Zeus trembles in the skies,
And groans arise from souls to hell consign’d._

With which reply the King return’d full sad:
For though he nothing more might understand,
Yet in the bitter bidding that he had
No man made question of the plain command,
That he must sacrifice the tender flower
Of his own blood to a demonian power,
Upon the rocky mount with his own hand.

Some said that she to Talos was devote,
The metal giant, who with mile-long stride
Cover’d the isle, walking around by rote
Thrice every day at his appointed tide;
Who shepherded the sea-goats on the coast,
And, as he past, caught up and live would roast,
Pressing them to his burning ribs and side:

Whose head was made of fine gold-beaten work,
Of silver pure his arms and gleaming chest,
Thence of green-bloomèd bronze far as the fork,
Of iron weather-rusted all the rest.
One single vein he had, which running down
From head to foot was open in his crown,
And closèd by a nail; such was this pest.

A little while they spent in sad delay,
Then order’d, as the oracle had said,
The cold feast and funereal display
Wherewith the fated bridal should be sped:
And their black pageantry and vain despairing
When Psyche saw, and for herself preparing
The hopeless ceremonial of the dead,

Then spake she to the King and said ‘O Sire,
Why wilt thou veil those venerable eyes
With piteous tears, which must of me require
More tears again than for myself arise?
Then, on the day my beauty first o’erstept
Its mortal place it had been well to have wept;
But now the fault beyond our ruing lies.

‘As to be worship’d was my whole undoing,
So my submission must the forfeit pay:
And welcome were the morning of my wooing,
Tho’ after it should dawn no other day.
Up to the mountain! for I hear the voice
Of my belovèd on the winds, _Rejoice,
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!_’

With such distemper’d speech, that little cheer’d
Her mourning house, she went to choose with care
The raiment for her day of wedlock weird,
Her body as for burial to prepare;
But laved with bridal water, from the stream
Where Hera bathed; for still her fate supreme
Was doubtful, whether Love or Death it were:

Love that is made of joy, and Death of fear:
Nay, but not these held Psyche in suspense;
Hers was the hope that following by the bier
Boweth its head beneath the dark immense:
Her fear the dread of life that turns to hide
Its tragic tears, what hour the happy bride
Ventures for love her maiden innocence.

They set on high upon the bridal wain
Her bed for bier, and yet no corpse thereon;
But like as when unto a warrior slain
And not brought home the ceremonies done
Are empty, for afar his body brave
Lies lost, deep buried by the wandering wave,
Or ’neath the foes his fury fell upon,—

So was her hearse: and with it went afore,
Singing the solemn dirge that moves to tears,
The singers; and behind, clad as for war,
The King uncrown’d among his mournful peers,
All ’neath their armour robed in linen white;
And in their left were shields, and in their right
Torches they bore aloft instead of spears.

And next the virgin tribe in white forth sail’d,
With wreaths of dittany; and ’midst them there
Went Psyche, all in lily-whiteness veil’d,
The white Quince-blossom chapleting her hair:
And last the common folk, a weeping crowd,
Far as the city-gates with wailings loud
Follow’d the sad procession in despair.

Thus forth and up the mount they went, until
The funeral chariot must be left behind,
Since road was none for steepness of the hill;
And slowly by the narrow path they wind:
All afternoon their white and scatter’d file
Toil’d on distinct, ascending many a mile
Over the long brown slopes and crags unkind.

But ere unto the snowy peak they came
Of that stormshapen pyramid so high,
’Twas evening, and with footsteps slow and lame
They gather’d up their lagging company:
And then her sire, even as Apollo bade,
Set on the topmost rock the hapless maid,
With trembling hands and melancholy cry.

And now the sun was sunk; only the peak
Flash’d like a jewel in the deepening blue:
And from the shade beneath none dared to speak,
But all look’d up, where glorified anew
Psyche sat islanded in living day.
Breathless they watcht her, till the last red ray
Fled from her lifted arm that waved adieu.

There left they her, turning with sad farewells
To haste their homeward course, as best they might:
But night was crowding up the barren fells,
And hid full soon their rocky path from sight;
And each unto his stumbling foot to hold
His torch was fain, for o’er the moon was roll’d
A mighty cloud from heaven, to blot her light.

And thro’ the darkness for long while was seen
That armour’d train with waving fires to thread
Downwards, by pass, defile, and black ravine,
Each leading on the way that he was led.
Slowly they gain’d the plain, and one by one
Into the shadows of the woods were gone,
Or in the clinging mists were quench’d and fled.

But unto Psyche, pondering o’er her doom
In tearful silence on her stony chair,
A Zephyr straying out of heaven’s wide room
Rush’d down, and gathering round her unaware
Fill’d with his breath her vesture and her veil;
And like a ship, that crowding all her sail
Leans to accompany the tranquil air,

She yielded, and was borne with swimming brain
And airy joy, along the mountain side,
Till, hid from earth by ridging summits twain,
They came upon a valley deep and wide;
Where the strong Zephyr with his burden sank,
And laid her down upon a grassy bank,
’Mong thyme and violets and daisies pied.

And straight upon the touch of that sweet bed
Both woe and wonder melted fast away:
And sleep with gentle stress her sense o’erspread,
Gathering as darkness doth on drooping day:
And nestling to the ground, she slowly drew
Her wearied limbs together, and, ere she knew,
Wrapt in forgetfulness and slumber lay.

MAY

After long sleep when Psyche first awoke
Among the grasses ’neath the open skies,
And heard the mounting larks, whose carol spoke
Delighted invitation to arise,
She lay as one who after many a league
Hath slept off memory with his long fatigue,
And waking knows not in what place he lies:

Anon her quickening thought took up its task,
And all came back as it had happ’d o’ernight;
The sad procession of the wedding mask,
The melancholy toiling up the height,
The solitary rock where she was left;
And thence in dark and airy waftage reft,
How on the flowers she had been disburden’d light.

Thereafter she would rise and see what place
That voyage had its haven in, and found
She stood upon a little hill, whose base
Shelved off into the valley all around;
And all round that the steep cliffs rose away,
Save on one side where to the break of day
The widening dale withdrew in falling ground.

There, out from over sea, and scarce so high
As she, the sun above his watery blaze
Upbroke the grey dome of the morning sky,
And struck the island with his level rays;
Sifting his gold thro’ lazy mists, that still
Climb’d on the shadowy roots of every hill,
And in the tree-tops breathed their silvery haze.

At hand on either side there was a wood;
And on the upward lawn, that sloped between,
Not many paces back a temple stood,
By even steps ascending from the green;
With shaft and pediment of marble made,
It fill’d the passage of the rising glade,
And there withstay’d the sun in dazzling sheen.

Too fair for human art, so Psyche thought,
It might the fancy of some god rejoice;
Like to those halls which lame Hephæstos wrought,
Original, for each god to his choice,
In high Olympus; where his matchless lyre
Apollo wakes, and the responsive choir
Of Muses sing alternate with sweet voice.

Wondering she drew anigh, and in a while
Went up the steps as she would entrance win,
And faced her shadow ’neath the peristyle
Upon the golden gate, whose flanges twin--
As there she stood, irresolute at heart
To try--swung to her of themselves apart;
Whereat she past between and stood within.

A foursquare court it was with marble floor’d,
Embay’d about with pillar’d porticoes,
That echo’d in a somnolent accord
The music of a fountain, which arose
Sparkling in air, and splashing in its tank;
Whose wanton babble, as it swell’d or sank,
Gave idle voice to silence and repose.

Thro’ doors beneath the further colonnade,
Like a deep cup’s reflected glooms of gold,
The inner rooms glow’d with inviting shade:
And, standing in the court, she might behold
Cedar, and silk, and silver; and that all
The pargeting of ceiling and of wall
Was fresco’d o’er with figures manifold.

Then making bold to go within, she heard
Murmur of gentle welcome in her ear;
And seeing none that coud have spoken word,
She waited: when again Lady, draw near;
Enter! was cried; and now more voices came
From all the air around calling her name,
And bidding her rejoice and have no fear.

And one, if she would rest, would show her bed,
Pillow’d for sleep, with fragrant linen fine;
One, were she hungry, had a table spread
Like as the high gods have it when they dine:
Or, would she bathe, were those would heat the bath;
The joyous cries contending in her path,
Psyche, they said, What wilt thou? all is thine.

Then Psyche would have thank’d their service true,
But that she fear’d her echoing words might scare
Those sightless tongues; and well by dream she knew
The voices of the messengers of prayer,
Which fly upon the gods’ commandment, when
They answer the supreme desires of men,
Or for a while in pity hush their care.

’Twas fancy’s consummation, and because
She would do joy no curious despite,
She made no wonder how the wonder was;
Only concern’d to take her full delight.
So to the bath,--what luxury could be
Better enhanced by eyeless ministry?—
She follows with the voices that invite.

There being deliciously refresht, from soil
Of earth made pure by water, fire, and air,
They clad her in soft robes of Asian toil,
Scented, that in her queenly wardrobe were;
And led her forth to dine, and all around
Sang as they served, the while a choral sound
Of strings unseen and reeds the burden bare.

P athetic strains and passionate they wove,
U rgent in ecstasies of heavenly sense;
R esponsive rivalries, that, while they strove,
C ombined in full harmonious suspense,
E ntrancing wild desire, then fell at last
L ull’d in soft closes, and with gay contrast
L aunch’d forth their fresh unwearied excellence.

Now Psyche, when her twofold feast was o’er,
Would feed her eye; and choosing for her guide
A low-voiced singer, bade her come explore
The wondrous house; until on every side
As surfeited with beauty, and seeing nought
But what was rich and fair beyond her thought,
And all her own, thus to the voice she cried:

‘Am I indeed a goddess, or is this
But to be dead; and through the gates of death
Passing unwittingly doth man not miss
Body nor memory nor living breath;
Nor by demerits of his deeds is cast,
But, paid with the desire he holdeth fast,
Is holp with all his heart imagineth?’

But her for all reply the wandering tongue
Call’d to the chamber where her bed was laid,
With flower’d broideries of linen hung:
And round the walls in painting were portray’d
Love’s victories over the gods renown’d.
Ares and Aphrodite here lay bound
In the fine net that dark Hephæstus made:

Here Zeus, in likeness of a tawny bull,
Stoop’d on the Cretan shore his mighty knee,
While off his back Europa beautiful
Stept pale against the blue Carpathian sea;
And here Apollo, as he caught amazed
Daphne, for lo! her hands shot forth upraised
In leaves, her feet were rooted like a tree:

Here Dionysos, springing from his car
At sight of Ariadne; here uplept
Adonis to the chase, breaking the bar
Of Aphrodite’s arm for love who wept:
He spear in hand, with leashèd dogs at strain;
A marvellous work. But Psyche soon grown fain
Of rest, betook her to her bed and slept.

Nor long had slept, when at a sudden stir
She woke; and one, that thro’ the dark made way,
Drew near, and stood beside; and over her
The curtain rustl’d. Trembling now she lay,
Fainting with terror: till upon her face
A kiss, and with two gentle arms’ embrace,
A voice that call’d her name in loving play.

Though for the darkness she coud nothing see,
She wish’d not then for what the night denied:
This was the lover she had lack’d, and she,
Loving his loving, was his willing bride.
O’erjoy’d she slept again, o’erjoy’d awoke
At break of morn upon her love to look;
When lo! his empty place lay by her side.

So all that day she spent in company
Of the soft voices; and Of right, they said,
Art thou our Lady now. Be happily
Thy bridal morrow by thy servants sped.
But she but long’d for night, if that might bring
Her lover back; and he on secret wing
Came with the dark, and in the darkness fled.

And this was all her life; for every night
He came, and though his name she never learn’d,
Nor was his image yielded to her sight
At morn or eve, she neither look’d nor yearn’d
Beyond her happiness: and custom brought
An ease to pleasure; nor would Psyche’s thought
Have ever to her earthly home return’d,

But that one night he said ‘Psyche, my soul,
Sad danger threatens us: thy sisters twain
Come to the mountain top, whence I thee stole,
And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain.
Answer them not: for it must end our love
If they should hear or spy thee from above.’
And Psyche said ‘Their cry shall be in vain.’

But being again alone, she thought ’twas hard
On her own blood; and blamed her joy as thief
Of theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr’d;
When she their care might be their care’s relief.
All day she brooded on her father’s woe,
And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!
Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.

Then question’d why she wept, she all confest;
And begg’d of him she might but once go nigh
To set her sire’s and sisters’ fears at rest;
Till he for pity coud not but comply:
‘Only if they should ask thee of thy love
Discover nothing to their ears above.’
And Psyche said ‘In vain shall be their cry.’

And yet with day no sooner was alone,
Than she for loneliness her promise rued:
That having so much pleasure for her own,
’Twas all unshared and spent in solitude.
And when at night her love flew to his place,
More than afore she shamed his fond embrace,
And piteously with tears her plaint renew’d.

The more he now denied, the more she wept;
Nor would in anywise be comforted,
Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept,
Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed,
And see themselves the palace where she reign’d.
And he by force of tears at last constrain’d,
Granted her wish unwillingly, and said:

‘Much to our peril hast thou won thy will;
Thy sisters’ love, seeing thee honour’d so,
Will sour to envy, and with jealous skill
Will pry to learn the thing that none may know.
Answer not, nor inquire; for know that I
The day thou seest my face far hence shall fly,
And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.’

But Psyche said, ‘Thy love is more than life;
To have thee leaveth nothing to be won:
For should the noonday prove me to be wife
Even of the beauteous Eros, who is son
Of Cypris, I coud never love thee more.’
Whereat he fondly kisst her o’er and o’er,
And peace was ’twixt them till the night was done.

EROS & PSYCHE

SECOND QUARTER
SUMMER

PSYCHE’S SISTERS · SNARING HER TO DESTRUCTION
· ARE THEMSELVES DESTROYED

JUNE

And truly need there was to the old King
For consolation: since the mournful day
Of Psyche’s fate he took no comforting,
But only for a speedy death would pray;
And on his head his hair grew silver-white.
--Such on life’s topmost bough is sorrow’s blight,
When the stout heart is cankering to decay.

Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quick
Comfort and solace to their sire to lend.
But as not seldom they who nurse the sick
Will take the malady from them they tend,
So happ’d it now; for they who fail’d to cheer
Grew sad themselves, and in that palace drear
Increased the evil that they came to mend.

And them the unhappy father sent to seek
Where Psyche had been left, if they might find
What monster held her on the savage peak;
Or if she there had died of hunger pined,
And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter’d bones
Might still be gather’d from the barren stones;
Or if her fate had left no trace behind.

So just upon this time her sisters both
Climb’d on the cliff that hung o’er Psyche’s vale;
And finding there no sign, to leave were loth
Ere well assured she lurk’d not within hail.
So calling loud her name, ‘Psyche!’ they cried,
‘Psyche, O Psyche!’ and when none replied
They sank upon the rocks to weep and wail.

But Psyche heard their voices where she sat,
And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleet
Those mourners down unto the grassy plat
’Midst of her garden, where she had her seat.
Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pair
Came swiftly sinking on his buoyant air,
And stood upon the terrace at her feet.

Upsprang she then, and kiss’d them and embraced,
And said ‘Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn.
I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced,
But blest above all days since I was born:
Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and see
How little cause has been to grieve for me,
And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.’

So entering by the golden gate, or e’er
The marvel of their hither flight had waned,
Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhere
Their eyes that lit on beauty were enchain’d;
And Psyche’s airy service, as she bade,
Perform’d its magic office, and display’d
The riches of the palace where she reign’d.

And through the perfumed chambers they were led,
And bathed therein; and after, set to sup,
Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed,
And wine more precious than its golden cup.
Till seeing nothing lack’d and naught was theirs,
Their happiness fell from them unawares,
And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up.

At last one said ‘Psyche, since not alone
Thou livest here in joy, as well we wot,
Who is the man who should these wonders own,
Or god, I say, and still appeareth not?
What is his name? What rank and guise hath he,
Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth thee
Above all others in thy blissful lot?’

But Psyche when that wistful speech she heard
Was ware of all her spouse had warn’d her of:
And uttering a disingenuous word,
Said ‘A youth yet unbearded is my love;
He goeth hunting on the plains to-day,
And with his dogs hath wander’d far away;
And not till eve can he return above.’

Then fearing to be nearer plied, she rose
And brought her richest jewels one by one,
Bidding them choose and take whate’er they chose;
And beckoning the Zephyr spake anon
That he should waft her sisters to the peak;
The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak,
They rose on high, and in the wind were gone.

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:

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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1Chapter II: Part 2

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