Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1

Chapter III: Part 3

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‘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!’

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

‘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.’

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.’

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 lie their angle bait.

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.

‘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.

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.

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.

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?

‘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:

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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

‘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?’

‘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.

‘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.

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.

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 could ask what ill had hapt;
And they alert with joy to see her trapt,
Launch’d forth amain, and on their drift were borne.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘Fly with us while thou mayst: no more delay;
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,

‘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.

‘’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.’

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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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;

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.

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.

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!

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.

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:

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.

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.

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:

‘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.

‘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:

‘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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.’

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

But none could 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.

‘Twas where her younger sister’s husband reign’d:
And Psyche to the palace gate drew near,
Helplessly still by Eros’ best 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?’

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;

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_.’

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 could tell,
Ran off to bid her spouse for aye farewell,
And in his ear this ready lie she thrust:

‘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.

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.

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 so’er
Are clutch’d and dragg’d and held--so fell she there,
Like a dead stone, down in her headlong course.

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.

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:

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:

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.

EROS & PSYCHE

THIRD QUARTER

AUTUMN

PSYCHE’S WANDERINGS

SEPTEMBER

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.

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.

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.

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_.

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.

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.

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.

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 constrainèd in her season rare.

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.

‘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.

‘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 could tell even of the new-betroth’d
That fly o’ersea, and leave their loves behind.

‘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.

‘’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.’

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.

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:

‘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!

‘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?

‘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?

‘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.

‘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.

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;

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:

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.

‘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.’

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.’

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.

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

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.

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 could she hold
He would not turn and quite forgive her wrong.

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.

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?_

_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?_

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.’

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;

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.

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;

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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.’

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:

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.

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.

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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

‘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.’

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.
Could never travel to the heavenly home
Of Love, beyond the bounds of mortal day:

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.

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

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.

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,

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:

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.

’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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

All which he took his silver stile to write
In letters large upon a waxèd 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.

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.

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,

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1Chapter III: Part 3

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