PROSERPINE.ACT I.Scene; a beautiful plain, shadowed on one side by an overhanging rock, on the other a chesnut wood. Etna at a distance.Enter Ceres, Proserpine, Ino and Eunoe.PROSERPINA.Dear Mother, leave me not! I love to restUnder the shadow of that hanging caveAnd listen to your tales. Your ProserpineEntreats you stay; sit on this shady bank,And as I twine a wreathe tell once againThe combat of the Titans and the Gods;Or how the Python fell beneath the dartOf dread Apollo; or of Daphne’s change,—That coyest Grecian maid, whose pointed leavesNow shade her lover’s brow. And I the whileGathering the starry flowers of this fair plainWill weave a chaplet, Mother, for thy hair.But without thee, the plain I think is vacant,Its[1]blossoms fade,—its tall fresh grasses droop,Nodding their heads like dull things half asleep;—Go not, dear Mother, from your Proserpine.CERES.My lovely child, it is high Jove’s command:—The golden self-moved seats surround his throne,The nectar is poured out by Ganymede,And the ambrosia fills the golden baskets;They drink, for Bacchus is already there,But none will eat till I dispense the food.I must away—dear Proserpine, farewel!—Eunoe can tell thee how the giants fell;Or dark-eyed Ino sing the saddest changeOf Syrinx or of Daphne, or the doomOf impious Prometheus, and the boyOf fair Pandora, Mother of mankind.This only charge I leave thee and thy nymphs,—Depart not from each other; be thou circledBy that fair guard, and then no earth-born PowerWould tempt my wrath, and steal thee from their sight[.]But wandering alone, by feint or force,You might be lost, and I might never knowThy hapless fate. Farewel, sweet daughter mine,Remember my commands.PROSERPINA.—Mother, farewel!Climb the bright sky with rapid wings; and swiftAs a beam shot from great Apollo’s bowRebounds from the calm mirror of the seaBack to his quiver in the Sun, do thouReturn again to thy loved Proserpine.(Exit Ceres.)And now, dear Nymphs, while the hot sun is highDarting his influence right upon the plain,Let us all sit beneath the narrow shadeThat noontide Etna casts.—And, Ino, sweet,Come hither; and while idling thus we rest,Repeat in verses sweet the tale which saysHow great Prometheus from Apollo’s carStole heaven’s fire—a God-like gift for Man!Or the more pleasing tale of Aphrodite;How she arose from the salt Ocean’s foam,And sailing in her pearly shell, arrivedOn Cyprus sunny shore, where myrtles[2]bloomedAnd sweetest flowers, to welcome Beauty’s Queen;And ready harnessed on the golden sandsStood milk-white doves linked to a sea-shell car,With which she scaled the heavens, and took her seatAmong the admiring Gods.EUNOE.Proserpine’s taleIs sweeter far than Ino’s sweetest aong.PROSERPINA.Ino, you knew erewhile a River-God,Who loved you well and did you oft enticeTo his transparent waves and flower-strewn banks.He loved high poesy and wove sweet sounds,And would sing to you as you sat reclinedOn the fresh grass beside his shady cave,From which clear waters bubbled, dancing forth,And spreading freshness in the noontide air.When you returned you would enchant our earsWith tales and songs which did entice the fauns,[3]With Pan their King from their green haunts, to hear.Tell me one now, for like the God himself,Tender they were and fanciful, and wraptThe hearer in sweet dreams of shady groves,Blue skies, and clearest, pebble-paved streams.INO.I will repeat the tale which most I loved;Which tells how lily-crowned Arethusa,Your favourite Nymph, quitted her native Greece,Flying the liquid God Alpheus, who followed,Cleaving the desarts of the pathless deep,And rose in Sicily, where now she flowsThe clearest spring of Enna’s gifted plain.(By Shelley)[4]Arethusa aroseFrom her couch of snows,In the Acroceraunian mountains,—From cloud, and from crag,With many a jag,Shepherding her bright fountains.She leapt down the rocksWith her rainbow locks,Streaming among the streams,—Her steps paved with greenThe downward ravine,Which slopes to the Western gleams:—And gliding and springing,She went, ever singingIn murmurs as soft as sleep;The Earth seemed to love herAnd Heaven smiled above her,As she lingered towards the deep.Then Alpheus boldOn his glacier cold,With his trident the mountains strook;And opened a chasmIn the rocks;—with the spasmAll Erymanthus shook.And the black south windIt unsealed behindThe urns of the silent snow,And earthquake and thunderDid rend in sunderThe bars of the springs below:—And the beard and the hairOf the river God wereSeen through the torrent’s sweepAs he followed the lightOf the fleet nymph’s flightTo the brink of the Dorian deep.Oh, save me! oh, guide me!And bid the deep hide me,For he grasps me now by the hair!The loud ocean heard,To its blue depth stirred,And divided at her prayer[,]And under the waterThe Earth’s white daughterFled like a sunny beam,Behind her descendedHer billows unblendedWith the brackish Dorian stream:—Like a gloomy stainOn the Emerald mainAlpheus rushed behind,As an eagle pursueingA dove to its ruin,Down the streams of the cloudy wind.Under the bowersWhere the Ocean PowersSit on their pearled thrones,Through the coral woodsOf the weltering floods,Over heaps of unvalued stones;Through the dim beams,Which amid the streamsWeave a network of coloured light,And under the caves,Where the shadowy wavesAre as green as the forest’s[5]night:—Outspeeding the shark,And the sword fish dark,Under the Ocean foam,[6]And up through the riftsOf the mountain clifts,They passed to their Dorian Home.And now from their fountainsIn Enna’s mountains,Down one vale where the morning basks,Like friends once parted,Grown single heartedThey ply their watery tasks.At sunrise they leapFrom their cradles steepIn the cave of the shelving hill[,—]At noontide they flowThrough the woods belowAnd the meadows of asphodel,—And at night they sleepIn the rocking deepBeneath the Ortygian shore;—Like spirits that lieIn the azure sky,When they love, but live no more.PROSERPINA.Thanks, Ino dear, you have beguiled an hourWith poesy that might make pause to listThe nightingale in her sweet evening song.But now no more of ease and idleness,The sun stoops to the west, and Enna’s plainIs overshadowed by the growing formOf giant Etna:—Nymphs, let us arise,And cull the sweetest flowers of the field,And with swift fingers twine a blooming wreatheFor my dear Mother’s rich and waving hair.EUNOE.Violets blue and white anemoniesBloom on the plain,—but I will climb the browOf that o’erhanging hill, to gather thenceThat loveliest rose, it will adorn thy crown;Ino, guard Proserpine till my return.(Exit.)INO.How lovely is this plain!—Nor Grecian vale,Nor bright Ausonia’s ilex bearing shores,The myrtle bowers of Aphrodite’s sweet isle,Or Naxos burthened with the luscious vine,Can boast such fertile or such verdant fieldsAs these, which young Spring sprinkles with her stars;—Nor Crete which boasts fair Amalthea’s hornCan be compared with the bright golden[7]fieldsOf Ceres, Queen of plenteous Sicily.PROSERPINA.Sweet Ino, well I know the love you bearMy dearest Mother prompts your partial voice,And that love makes you doubly dear to me.But you are idling,—look[,] my lap is fullOf sweetest flowers;—haste to gather more,That before sunset we may make our crown.Last night as we strayed through that glade, methoughtThe wind that swept my cheek bore on its wingsThe scent of fragrant violets, hidBeneath the straggling underwood; Haste, sweet,To gather them; fear not—I will not stray.INO.Nor fear that I shall loiter in my task.(Exit.)(By Shelley.)PROSERPINA.(sings as she gathers her flowers.)Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,Thou from whose immortal bosomGods, and men, and beasts have birth,Leaf, and blade, and bud, and blossom,Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child Proserpine.If with mists of evening dewThou dost nourish these young flowersTill they grow in scent and hueFairest children of the hours[,]Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child Proserpine.(she looks around.)My nymphs have left me, neglecting the commandsOf my dear Mother. Where can they have strayed?Her caution makes me fear to be alone;—I’ll pass that yawning cave and seek the springOf Arethuse, where water-lilies bloomPerhaps the nymph now wakes tending her waves,She loves me well and oft desires my stay,—The lilies shall adorn my mother’s crown.(Exit.)(After a pause enter Eunoe.)EUNOE.I’ve won my prize! look at this fragrant rose!But where is Proserpine? Ino has strayedToo far I fear, and she will be fatigued,As I am now, by my long toilsome search.Enter Ino.Oh! you here, Wanderer! Where is Proserpine?INO.My lap’s heaped up with sweets; dear Proserpine,You will not chide me now for idleness;—Look here are all the treasures of the field,—First these fresh violets, which crouched beneathA mossy rock, playing at hide and seekWith both the sight and sense through the high fern;Star-eyed narcissi & the drooping bellsOf hyacinths; and purple polianthus,Delightful flowers are these; but where is she,The loveliest of them all, our Mistress dear?EUNOE.I know not, even now I left her here,Guarded by you, oh Ino, while I climbedUp yonder steep for this most worthless rose:—Know you not where she is? Did you forgetCeres’ behest, and thus forsake her child?INO.Chide not, unkind Eunoe, I but wentDown that dark glade, where underneath the shadeOf those high trees the sweetest violets grow,—I went at her command. Alas! Alas!My heart sinks down; I dread she may be lost;—Eunoe, climb the hill, search that ravine,Whose close, dark sides may hide her from our view:—Oh, dearest, haste! Is that her snow-white robe?EUNOE.No;—’tis a faun[8]beside its sleeping Mother,Browsing the grass;—what will thy Mother say,Dear Proserpine, what will bright Ceres feel,If her return be welcomed not by thee?INO.These are wild thoughts,—& we are wrong to fearThat any ill can touch the child of heaven;She is not lost,—trust me, she has but strayedUp some steep mountain path, or in yon dell,Or to the rock where yellow wall-flowers grow,Scaling with venturous step the narrow pathWhich the goats fear to tread;—she will returnAnd mock our fears.EUNOE.The sun now dips his beamsIn the bright sea; Ceres descends at eveFrom Jove’s high conclave; if her much-loved childShould meet her not in yonder golden field,Where to the evening wind the ripe grain wavesIts yellow head, how will her heart misgive.Let us adjure the Naiad of yon brook[,]She may perchance have seen our Proserpine,And tell us to what distant field she’s strayed:—Wait thou, dear Ino, here, while I repairTo the tree-shaded source of her swift stream.(ExitEunoe.)INO.Why does my heart misgive? & scalding tears,That should but mourn, now prophecy her loss?Oh, Proserpine! Where’er your luckless fateHas hurried you,—to wastes of desart sand,Or black Cymmerian cave, or dread Hell,Yet Ino still will follow! Look where EunoeComes, with down cast eyes and faltering steps,I fear the worst;—Re-enter Eunoe.Has she not then been seen?EUNOE.Alas, all hope is vanished! Hymera saysShe slept the livelong day while the hot beamsOf Phœbus drank her waves;—nor did she wakeUntil her reed-crowned head was wet with dew;—If she had passed her grot she slept the while.INO.Alas! Alas! I see the golden car,And hear the flapping of the dragons wings,Ceres descends to Earth. I dare not stay,I dare not meet the sorrow of her look[,]The angry glance of her severest eyes.EUNOE.Quick up the mountain! I will search the dell,She must return, or I will never more.(Exit.)INO.And yet I will not fly, though I fear muchHer angry frown and just reproach, yet shameShall quell this childish fear, all hope of safetyFor her lost child rests but in her high power,And yet I tremble as I see her come.Enter Ceres.CERES.Where is my daughter? have I aught to dread?Where does she stray? Ino, you answer not;—She was aye wont to meet me in yon field,—Your looks bode ill;—I fear my child is lost.INO.Eunoe now seeks her track among the woods;Fear not, great Ceres, she has only strayed.CERES.Alas! My boding heart,—I dread the worst.Oh, careless nymphs! oh, heedless Proserpine!And did you leave her wandering by herself?She is immortal,—yet unusual fearRuns through my veins. Let all the woods be sought,Let every dryad, every gamesome faun[9]Tell where they last beheld her snowy feetTread the soft, mossy paths of the wild wood.But that I see the base of Etna firmI well might fear that she had fallen a preyTo Earth-born Typheus, who might have arisenAnd seized her as the fairest child of heaven,That in his dreary caverns she lies bound;It is not so: all is as safe and calmAs when I left my child. Oh, fatal day!Eunoe does not return: in vain she seeksThrough the black woods and down the darksome glades,And night is hiding all things from our view.I will away, and on the highest topOf snowy Etna, kindle two clear flames.Night shall not hide her from my anxious search,No moment will I rest, or sleep, or pauseTill she returns, until I clasp againMy only loved one, my lost Proserpine.END OF ACT FIRST.Footnotes[1]There is an apostropheonthe s.[2]MS.mytles.[3]MS.fawns[4]Inserted in a later hand, here as p. 18.[5]The intended place of the apostrophe is not clear.[6]MS.Ocean’ foamas if a genitive was meant; but cf.Ocean foamin the Song of Apollo (Midas).[7]MS.the bright gold fields.[8]MS.fawn.[9]MS.fawn.ACT IIScene.The Plain of Enna as before.Enter Ino & Eunoe.EUNOE.How weary am I! and the hot sun flushesMy cheeks that else were white with fear and grief[.]E’er since that fatal day, dear sister nymph,On which we lost our lovely Proserpine,I have but wept and watched the livelong nightAnd all the day have wandered through the woods[.]INO.How all is changed since that unhappy eve!Ceres forever weeps, seeking her child,And in her rage has struck the land with blight;Trinacria mourns with her;—its fertile fieldsAre dry and barren, and all little brooksStruggling scarce creep within their altered banks;The flowers that erst were wont with bended heads,To gaze within the clear and glassy wave,Have died, unwatered by the failing stream.—And yet their hue but mocks the deeper griefWhich is the fountain of these bitter tears.But who is this, that with such eager looksHastens this way?—EUNOE.’Tis fairest Arethuse,A stranger naiad, yet you know her well.INO.My eyes were blind with tears.Enter Arethusa.Dear Arethuse,Methinks I read glad tidings in your eyes,Your smiles are the swift messengers that bearA tale of coming joy, which we, alas!Can answer but with tears, unless you bringTo our grief solace, Hope to our Despair.Have you found Proserpine? or know you whereThe loved nymph wanders, hidden from our search?ARETHUSE.Where is corn-crowned Ceres? I have hastenedTo ease her anxious heart.EUNOE.Oh! dearest Naiad,Herald of joy! Now will great Ceres blessThy welcome coming & more welcome tale.INO.Since that unhappy day when Ceres lostHer much-loved child, she wanders through the isle;Dark blight is showered from her looks of sorrow;—And where tall corn and all seed-bearing grassRose from beneath her step, they wither nowFading under the frown of her bent brows:The springs decrease;—the fields whose delicate greenWas late her chief delight, now please alone,Because they, withered, seem to share her grief.ARETHUSE.Unhappy Goddess! how I pity thee!INO.At night upon high Etna’s topmost peakShe lights two flames, that shining through the isleLeave dark no wood, or cave, or mountain path,Their sunlike splendour makes the moon-beams dim,And the bright stars are lost within their day.She’s in yon field,—she comes towards this plain,Her loosened hair has fallen on her neck,Uncircled by the coronal of grain:—Her cheeks are wan,—her step is faint & slow.Enter Ceres.CERES.I faint with weariness: a dreadful thirstPossesses me! Must I give up the search?Oh! never, dearest Proserpine, untilI once more clasp thee in my vacant arms!Help me, dear Arethuse! fill some deep shellWith the clear waters of thine ice-cold spring,And bring it me;—I faint with heat and thirst.ARETHUSE.My words are better than my freshest waves[:]I saw your Proserpine—CERES.Arethusa, where?Tell me! my heart beats quick, & hope and fearCause my weak limbs to fail me.—ARETHUSE.Sit, Goddess,Upon this mossy bank, beneath the shadeOf this tall rock, and I will tell my tale.The day you lost your child, I left my source.With my Alpheus I had wandered downThe sloping shore into the sunbright sea;And at the coast we paused, watching the wavesOf our mixed waters dance into the main:—When suddenly I heard the thundering treadOf iron hoofed steeds trampling the ground,And a faint shriek that made my blood run cold.I saw the King of Hell in his black car,And in his arms he bore your fairest child,Fair as the moon encircled by the night,—But that she strove, and cast her arms aloft,And cried, “My Mother!”—When she saw me nearShe would have sprung from his detested arms,And with a tone of deepest grief, she cried,“Oh, Arethuse!” I hastened at her call—But Pluto when he saw that aid was nigh,Struck furiously the green earth with his spear,Which yawned,—and down the deep Tartarian gulphHis black car rolled—the green earth closed above.CERES.(starting up)Is this thy doom, great Jove? & shall Hell’s kingQuitting dark Tartarus, spread grief and tearsAmong the dwellers of your bright abodes?Then let him seize the earth itself, the stars,—And all your wide dominion be his prey!—Your sister calls upon your love, great King!As you are God I do demand your help!—Restore my child, or let all heaven sink,And the fair world be chaos once again!INO.Look[!] in the East that loveliest bow is formed[;]Heaven’s single-arched bridge, it touches nowThe Earth, and ’mid the pathless wastes of heavenIt paves a way for Jove’s fair Messenger;—Iris descends, and towards this field she comes.ARETHUSE.Sovereign of Harvests, ’tis the MessengerThat will bring joy to thee. Thine eyes light upWith sparkling hope, thy cheeks are pale with dread.Enter Iris.CERES.Speak, heavenly Iris! let thy words be pouredInto my drooping soul, like dews of eveOn a too long parched field.—Where is my Proserpine?IRIS.Sister of Heaven, as by Joves throne I stoodThe voice of thy deep prayer arose,—it filledThe heavenly courts with sorrow and dismay:The Thunderer frowned, & heaven shook with dreadI bear his will to thee, ’tis fixed by fate,Nor prayer nor murmur e’er can alter it.If Proserpine while she has lived in hellHas not polluted by Tartarian foodHer heavenly essence, then she may return,And wander without fear on Enna’s plain,Or take her seat among the Gods above.If she has touched the fruits of Erebus,She never may return to upper air,But doomed to dwell amidst the shades of death,The wife of Pluto and the Queen of Hell.CERES.Joy treads upon the sluggish heels of care!The child of heaven disdains Tartarian food.Pluto[,] give up thy prey! restore my child!IRIS.Soon she will see again the sun of Heaven,By gloomy shapes, inhabitants of Hell,Attended, and again behold the fieldOf Enna, the fair flowers & the streams,Her late delight,—& more than all, her Mother.INO.Our much-loved, long-lost Mistress, do you come?And shall once more your nymphs attend your steps?Will you again irradiate this isle—That drooped when you were lost?[1]& once againTrinacria smile beneath your Mother’s eye?(Ceres and her companions are ranged on one side in eager expectation; from, the cave on the other, enter Proserpine, attended by various dark & gloomy shapes bearing torches; among which Ascalaphus. Ceres & Proserpine embrace;—her nymphs surround her.)CERES.Welcome, dear Proserpine! Welcome to light,To this green earth and to your Mother’s arms.You are too beautiful for Pluto’s Queen;In the dark Stygian air your blooming cheeksHave lost their roseate tint, and your bright formHas faded in that night unfit for thee.PROSERPINA.Then I again behold thee, Mother dear:—Again I tread the flowery plain of Enna,And clasp thee, Arethuse, & you, my nymphs;I have escaped from hateful Tartarus,The abode of furies and all loathed shapesThat thronged around me, making hell more black.Oh! I could worship thee, light giving Sun,Who spreadest warmth and radiance o’er the world.Look at[2]the branches of those chesnut trees,That wave to the soft breezes, while their stemsAre tinged with red by the sun’s slanting rays.And the soft clouds that float ’twixt earth and sky.How sweet are all these sights! There all is night!No God like that (pointing to the sun)smiles on the Elysian plains,The air [is] windless, and all shapes are still.IRIS.And must I interpose in this deep joy,And sternly cloud your hopes? Oh! answer me,Art thou still, Proserpine, a child of light?Or hast thou dimmed thy attributes of HeavenBy such Tartarian food as must for everCondemn thee to be Queen of Hell & Night?PROSERPINA.No, Iris, no,—I still am pure as thee:Offspring of light and air, I have no stainOf Hell. I am for ever thine, oh, Mother!CERES.(to the shades from Hell)Begone, foul visitants to upper air!Back to your dens! nor stain the sunny earthBy shadows thrown from forms so foul—Crouch in!Proserpine, child of light, is not your Queen!(to the nymphs)Quick bring my car,—we will ascend to heaven,Deserting Earth, till by decree of Jove,Eternal laws shall bind the King of HellTo leave in peace the offspring of the sky.ASCALAPHUS.Stay, Ceres! By the dread decree of JoveYour child is doomed to be eternal QueenOf Tartarus,—nor may she dare ascendThe sunbright regions of Olympian Jove,Or tread the green Earth ’mid attendant nymphs.Proserpine, call to mind your walk last eve,When as you wandered in Elysian groves,Through bowers for ever green, and mossy walks,Where flowers never die, nor wind disturbsThe sacred calm, whose silence soothes the dead,Nor interposing clouds, with dun wings, dimIts mild and silver light, you plucked its fruit,You ate of a pomegranate’s seeds—CERES.Be silent,Prophet of evil, hateful to the Gods!Sweet Proserpine, my child, look upon me.You shrink; your trembling form & pallid cheeksWould make his words seem true which are most false[.]Thou didst not taste the food of Erebus;—Offspring of Gods art thou,—nor Hell, nor JoveShall tear thee from thy Mother’s clasping arms.PROSERPINA.If fate decrees, can we resist? farewel!Oh! Mother, dearer to your child than light,Than all the forms of this sweet earth & sky,Though dear are these, and dear are my poor nymphs,Whom I must leave;—oh! can immortals weep?And can a Goddess die as mortals do,Or live & reign where it is death to be?Ino, dear Arethuse, again you loseYour hapless Proserpine, lost to herselfWhen she quits you for gloomy Tartarus.CERES.Is there no help, great Jove? If she departI will descend with her—the Earth shall loseIts proud fertility, and ErebusShall bear my gifts throughout th’ unchanging year.Valued till now by thee, tyrant of Gods!My harvests ripening by Tartarian firesShall feed the dead with Heaven’s ambrosial food.Wilt thou not then repent, brother unkind,Viewing the barren earth with vain regret,Thou didst not shew more mercy to my child?INO.We will all leave the light and go with thee,In Hell thou shalt be girt by Heaven-born nymphs,Elysium shall be Enna,—thou’lt not mournThy natal plain, which will have lost its worthHaving lost thee, its nursling and its Queen.ARETHUSE.I will sink down with thee;—my lily crownShall bloom in Erebus, portentous lossTo Earth, which by degrees will fade & fallIn envy of our happier lot in Hell;—And the bright sun and the fresh winds of heavenShall light its depths and fan its stagnant air.(They cling round Proserpine; the Shades of Hell seperate and stand between them.)ASCALAPHUS.Depart! She is our Queen! Ye may not come!Hark to Jove’s thunder! shrink away in fearFrom unknown forms, whose tyranny ye’ll feelIn groans and tears if ye insult their power.IRIS.Behold Jove’s balance hung in upper sky;There are ye weighed,—to that ye must submit.CERES.Oh! Jove, have mercy on a Mother’s prayer!Shall it be nought to be akin to thee?And shall thy sister, Queen of fertile Earth,Derided be by these foul shapes of Hell?Look at the scales, they’re poized with equal weights!What can this mean? Leave me not[,] Proserpine[,]Cling to thy Mother’s side! He shall not dareDivide the sucker from the parent stem.(embraces her)ASCALAPHUS.He is almighty! who shall set the boundsTo his high will? let him decide our plea!Fate is with us, & Proserpine is ours!(He endeavours to part Ceres & Proserpine, the nymphs prevent him.)CERES.Peace, ominous bird of Hell & Night! Depart!Nor with thy skriech disturb a Mother’s grief,Avaunt! It is to Jove we pray, not thee.IRIS.Thy fate, sweet Proserpine, is sealed by Jove,When Enna is starred by flowers, and the sunShoots his hot rays strait on the gladsome land,When Summer reigns, then thou shalt live on Earth,And tread these plains, or sporting with your nymphs,Or at your Mother’s side, in peaceful joy.But when hard frost congeals the bare, black ground,The trees have lost their leaves, & painted birdsWailing for food sail through the piercing air;Then you descend to deepest night and reignGreat Queen of Tartarus, ’mid[3]shadows dire,Offspring of Hell,—or in the silent grovesOf, fair Elysium through which Lethe runs,The sleepy river; where the windless airIs never struck by flight or song of bird,—But all is calm and clear, bestowing rest,After the toil of life, to wretched men,Whom thus the Gods reward for sufferingsGods cannot know; a throng of empty shades!The endless circle of the year will bringJoy in its turn, and seperation sad;Six months to light and Earth,—six months to Hell.PROSERPINA.Dear Mother, let me kiss that tear which stealsDown your pale cheek altered by care and grief.This is not misery; ’tis but a slight changeProm our late happy lot. Six months with thee,Each moment freighted with an age of love:And the six short months in saddest TartarusShall pass in dreams of swift returning joy.Six months together we shall dwell on earth,Six months in dreams we shall companions be,Jove’s doom is void; we are forever joined.CERES.Oh, fairest child! sweet summer visitor!Thy looks cheer me, so shall they cheer this landWhich I will fly, thou gone. Nor seed of grass,Or corn shall grow, thou absent from the earth;But all shall lie beneath in hateful nightUntil at thy return, the fresh green springs,The fields are covered o’er with summer plants.And when thou goest the heavy grain will droopAnd die under my frown, scattering the seeds,That will not reappear till your return.Farewel, sweet child, Queen of the nether world,There shine as chaste Diana’s silver carIslanded in the deep circumfluous night.Giver of fruits! for such thou shalt be styled,Sweet Prophetess of Summer, coming forthFrom the slant shadow of the wintry earth,In thy car drawn by snowy-breasted swallows!Another kiss, & then again farewel!Winter in losing thee has lost its all,And will be doubly bare, & hoar, & drear,Its bleak winds whistling o’er the cold pinched groundWhich neither flower or grass will decorate.And as my tears fall first, so shall the treesShed their changed leaves upon your six months tomb:The clouded air will hide from Phœbus’ eyeThe dreadful change your absence operates.Thus has black Pluto changed the reign of Jove,He seizes half the Earth when he takes thee.THE ENDFootnotes[1]MS.this isle?—That drooped when you were lost[2]MS. Look at—the branches.[3]MS.mid
Scene; a beautiful plain, shadowed on one side by an overhanging rock, on the other a chesnut wood. Etna at a distance.
Enter Ceres, Proserpine, Ino and Eunoe.
PROSERPINA.Dear Mother, leave me not! I love to restUnder the shadow of that hanging caveAnd listen to your tales. Your ProserpineEntreats you stay; sit on this shady bank,And as I twine a wreathe tell once againThe combat of the Titans and the Gods;Or how the Python fell beneath the dartOf dread Apollo; or of Daphne’s change,—That coyest Grecian maid, whose pointed leavesNow shade her lover’s brow. And I the whileGathering the starry flowers of this fair plainWill weave a chaplet, Mother, for thy hair.But without thee, the plain I think is vacant,Its[1]blossoms fade,—its tall fresh grasses droop,Nodding their heads like dull things half asleep;—Go not, dear Mother, from your Proserpine.
CERES.My lovely child, it is high Jove’s command:—The golden self-moved seats surround his throne,The nectar is poured out by Ganymede,And the ambrosia fills the golden baskets;They drink, for Bacchus is already there,But none will eat till I dispense the food.I must away—dear Proserpine, farewel!—Eunoe can tell thee how the giants fell;Or dark-eyed Ino sing the saddest changeOf Syrinx or of Daphne, or the doomOf impious Prometheus, and the boyOf fair Pandora, Mother of mankind.This only charge I leave thee and thy nymphs,—Depart not from each other; be thou circledBy that fair guard, and then no earth-born PowerWould tempt my wrath, and steal thee from their sight[.]But wandering alone, by feint or force,You might be lost, and I might never knowThy hapless fate. Farewel, sweet daughter mine,Remember my commands.
PROSERPINA.—Mother, farewel!Climb the bright sky with rapid wings; and swiftAs a beam shot from great Apollo’s bowRebounds from the calm mirror of the seaBack to his quiver in the Sun, do thouReturn again to thy loved Proserpine.
(Exit Ceres.)
And now, dear Nymphs, while the hot sun is highDarting his influence right upon the plain,Let us all sit beneath the narrow shadeThat noontide Etna casts.—And, Ino, sweet,Come hither; and while idling thus we rest,Repeat in verses sweet the tale which saysHow great Prometheus from Apollo’s carStole heaven’s fire—a God-like gift for Man!Or the more pleasing tale of Aphrodite;How she arose from the salt Ocean’s foam,And sailing in her pearly shell, arrivedOn Cyprus sunny shore, where myrtles[2]bloomedAnd sweetest flowers, to welcome Beauty’s Queen;And ready harnessed on the golden sandsStood milk-white doves linked to a sea-shell car,With which she scaled the heavens, and took her seatAmong the admiring Gods.
EUNOE.Proserpine’s taleIs sweeter far than Ino’s sweetest aong.
PROSERPINA.Ino, you knew erewhile a River-God,Who loved you well and did you oft enticeTo his transparent waves and flower-strewn banks.He loved high poesy and wove sweet sounds,And would sing to you as you sat reclinedOn the fresh grass beside his shady cave,From which clear waters bubbled, dancing forth,And spreading freshness in the noontide air.When you returned you would enchant our earsWith tales and songs which did entice the fauns,[3]With Pan their King from their green haunts, to hear.Tell me one now, for like the God himself,Tender they were and fanciful, and wraptThe hearer in sweet dreams of shady groves,Blue skies, and clearest, pebble-paved streams.
INO.I will repeat the tale which most I loved;Which tells how lily-crowned Arethusa,Your favourite Nymph, quitted her native Greece,Flying the liquid God Alpheus, who followed,Cleaving the desarts of the pathless deep,And rose in Sicily, where now she flowsThe clearest spring of Enna’s gifted plain.
(By Shelley)[4]
Arethusa aroseFrom her couch of snows,In the Acroceraunian mountains,—From cloud, and from crag,With many a jag,Shepherding her bright fountains.She leapt down the rocksWith her rainbow locks,Streaming among the streams,—Her steps paved with greenThe downward ravine,Which slopes to the Western gleams:—And gliding and springing,She went, ever singingIn murmurs as soft as sleep;The Earth seemed to love herAnd Heaven smiled above her,As she lingered towards the deep.
Then Alpheus boldOn his glacier cold,With his trident the mountains strook;And opened a chasmIn the rocks;—with the spasmAll Erymanthus shook.And the black south windIt unsealed behindThe urns of the silent snow,And earthquake and thunderDid rend in sunderThe bars of the springs below:—And the beard and the hairOf the river God wereSeen through the torrent’s sweepAs he followed the lightOf the fleet nymph’s flightTo the brink of the Dorian deep.
Oh, save me! oh, guide me!And bid the deep hide me,For he grasps me now by the hair!The loud ocean heard,To its blue depth stirred,And divided at her prayer[,]And under the waterThe Earth’s white daughterFled like a sunny beam,Behind her descendedHer billows unblendedWith the brackish Dorian stream:—Like a gloomy stainOn the Emerald mainAlpheus rushed behind,As an eagle pursueingA dove to its ruin,Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowersWhere the Ocean PowersSit on their pearled thrones,Through the coral woodsOf the weltering floods,Over heaps of unvalued stones;Through the dim beams,Which amid the streamsWeave a network of coloured light,And under the caves,Where the shadowy wavesAre as green as the forest’s[5]night:—Outspeeding the shark,And the sword fish dark,Under the Ocean foam,[6]And up through the riftsOf the mountain clifts,They passed to their Dorian Home.
And now from their fountainsIn Enna’s mountains,Down one vale where the morning basks,Like friends once parted,Grown single heartedThey ply their watery tasks.At sunrise they leapFrom their cradles steepIn the cave of the shelving hill[,—]At noontide they flowThrough the woods belowAnd the meadows of asphodel,—And at night they sleepIn the rocking deepBeneath the Ortygian shore;—Like spirits that lieIn the azure sky,When they love, but live no more.
PROSERPINA.Thanks, Ino dear, you have beguiled an hourWith poesy that might make pause to listThe nightingale in her sweet evening song.But now no more of ease and idleness,The sun stoops to the west, and Enna’s plainIs overshadowed by the growing formOf giant Etna:—Nymphs, let us arise,And cull the sweetest flowers of the field,And with swift fingers twine a blooming wreatheFor my dear Mother’s rich and waving hair.
EUNOE.Violets blue and white anemoniesBloom on the plain,—but I will climb the browOf that o’erhanging hill, to gather thenceThat loveliest rose, it will adorn thy crown;Ino, guard Proserpine till my return.
(Exit.)
INO.How lovely is this plain!—Nor Grecian vale,Nor bright Ausonia’s ilex bearing shores,The myrtle bowers of Aphrodite’s sweet isle,Or Naxos burthened with the luscious vine,Can boast such fertile or such verdant fieldsAs these, which young Spring sprinkles with her stars;—Nor Crete which boasts fair Amalthea’s hornCan be compared with the bright golden[7]fieldsOf Ceres, Queen of plenteous Sicily.
PROSERPINA.Sweet Ino, well I know the love you bearMy dearest Mother prompts your partial voice,And that love makes you doubly dear to me.But you are idling,—look[,] my lap is fullOf sweetest flowers;—haste to gather more,That before sunset we may make our crown.Last night as we strayed through that glade, methoughtThe wind that swept my cheek bore on its wingsThe scent of fragrant violets, hidBeneath the straggling underwood; Haste, sweet,To gather them; fear not—I will not stray.
INO.Nor fear that I shall loiter in my task.
(Exit.)
(By Shelley.)
PROSERPINA.(sings as she gathers her flowers.)Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,Thou from whose immortal bosomGods, and men, and beasts have birth,Leaf, and blade, and bud, and blossom,Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child Proserpine.
If with mists of evening dewThou dost nourish these young flowersTill they grow in scent and hueFairest children of the hours[,]Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child Proserpine.
(she looks around.)
My nymphs have left me, neglecting the commandsOf my dear Mother. Where can they have strayed?Her caution makes me fear to be alone;—I’ll pass that yawning cave and seek the springOf Arethuse, where water-lilies bloomPerhaps the nymph now wakes tending her waves,She loves me well and oft desires my stay,—The lilies shall adorn my mother’s crown.
(Exit.)
(After a pause enter Eunoe.)
EUNOE.I’ve won my prize! look at this fragrant rose!But where is Proserpine? Ino has strayedToo far I fear, and she will be fatigued,As I am now, by my long toilsome search.
Enter Ino.
Oh! you here, Wanderer! Where is Proserpine?
INO.My lap’s heaped up with sweets; dear Proserpine,You will not chide me now for idleness;—Look here are all the treasures of the field,—First these fresh violets, which crouched beneathA mossy rock, playing at hide and seekWith both the sight and sense through the high fern;Star-eyed narcissi & the drooping bellsOf hyacinths; and purple polianthus,Delightful flowers are these; but where is she,The loveliest of them all, our Mistress dear?
EUNOE.I know not, even now I left her here,Guarded by you, oh Ino, while I climbedUp yonder steep for this most worthless rose:—Know you not where she is? Did you forgetCeres’ behest, and thus forsake her child?
INO.Chide not, unkind Eunoe, I but wentDown that dark glade, where underneath the shadeOf those high trees the sweetest violets grow,—I went at her command. Alas! Alas!My heart sinks down; I dread she may be lost;—Eunoe, climb the hill, search that ravine,Whose close, dark sides may hide her from our view:—Oh, dearest, haste! Is that her snow-white robe?
EUNOE.No;—’tis a faun[8]beside its sleeping Mother,Browsing the grass;—what will thy Mother say,Dear Proserpine, what will bright Ceres feel,If her return be welcomed not by thee?
INO.These are wild thoughts,—& we are wrong to fearThat any ill can touch the child of heaven;She is not lost,—trust me, she has but strayedUp some steep mountain path, or in yon dell,Or to the rock where yellow wall-flowers grow,Scaling with venturous step the narrow pathWhich the goats fear to tread;—she will returnAnd mock our fears.
EUNOE.The sun now dips his beamsIn the bright sea; Ceres descends at eveFrom Jove’s high conclave; if her much-loved childShould meet her not in yonder golden field,Where to the evening wind the ripe grain wavesIts yellow head, how will her heart misgive.Let us adjure the Naiad of yon brook[,]She may perchance have seen our Proserpine,And tell us to what distant field she’s strayed:—Wait thou, dear Ino, here, while I repairTo the tree-shaded source of her swift stream.
(ExitEunoe.)
INO.Why does my heart misgive? & scalding tears,That should but mourn, now prophecy her loss?Oh, Proserpine! Where’er your luckless fateHas hurried you,—to wastes of desart sand,Or black Cymmerian cave, or dread Hell,Yet Ino still will follow! Look where EunoeComes, with down cast eyes and faltering steps,I fear the worst;—
Re-enter Eunoe.
Has she not then been seen?
EUNOE.Alas, all hope is vanished! Hymera saysShe slept the livelong day while the hot beamsOf Phœbus drank her waves;—nor did she wakeUntil her reed-crowned head was wet with dew;—If she had passed her grot she slept the while.
INO.Alas! Alas! I see the golden car,And hear the flapping of the dragons wings,Ceres descends to Earth. I dare not stay,I dare not meet the sorrow of her look[,]The angry glance of her severest eyes.
EUNOE.Quick up the mountain! I will search the dell,She must return, or I will never more.
(Exit.)
INO.And yet I will not fly, though I fear muchHer angry frown and just reproach, yet shameShall quell this childish fear, all hope of safetyFor her lost child rests but in her high power,And yet I tremble as I see her come.
Enter Ceres.
CERES.Where is my daughter? have I aught to dread?Where does she stray? Ino, you answer not;—She was aye wont to meet me in yon field,—Your looks bode ill;—I fear my child is lost.
INO.Eunoe now seeks her track among the woods;Fear not, great Ceres, she has only strayed.
CERES.Alas! My boding heart,—I dread the worst.Oh, careless nymphs! oh, heedless Proserpine!And did you leave her wandering by herself?She is immortal,—yet unusual fearRuns through my veins. Let all the woods be sought,Let every dryad, every gamesome faun[9]Tell where they last beheld her snowy feetTread the soft, mossy paths of the wild wood.But that I see the base of Etna firmI well might fear that she had fallen a preyTo Earth-born Typheus, who might have arisenAnd seized her as the fairest child of heaven,That in his dreary caverns she lies bound;It is not so: all is as safe and calmAs when I left my child. Oh, fatal day!Eunoe does not return: in vain she seeksThrough the black woods and down the darksome glades,And night is hiding all things from our view.I will away, and on the highest topOf snowy Etna, kindle two clear flames.Night shall not hide her from my anxious search,No moment will I rest, or sleep, or pauseTill she returns, until I clasp againMy only loved one, my lost Proserpine.
END OF ACT FIRST.
Footnotes
[1]There is an apostropheonthe s.
[2]MS.mytles.
[3]MS.fawns
[4]Inserted in a later hand, here as p. 18.
[5]The intended place of the apostrophe is not clear.
[6]MS.Ocean’ foamas if a genitive was meant; but cf.Ocean foamin the Song of Apollo (Midas).
[7]MS.the bright gold fields.
[8]MS.fawn.
[9]MS.fawn.
Scene.The Plain of Enna as before.Enter Ino & Eunoe.
EUNOE.How weary am I! and the hot sun flushesMy cheeks that else were white with fear and grief[.]E’er since that fatal day, dear sister nymph,On which we lost our lovely Proserpine,I have but wept and watched the livelong nightAnd all the day have wandered through the woods[.]
INO.How all is changed since that unhappy eve!Ceres forever weeps, seeking her child,And in her rage has struck the land with blight;Trinacria mourns with her;—its fertile fieldsAre dry and barren, and all little brooksStruggling scarce creep within their altered banks;The flowers that erst were wont with bended heads,To gaze within the clear and glassy wave,Have died, unwatered by the failing stream.—And yet their hue but mocks the deeper griefWhich is the fountain of these bitter tears.But who is this, that with such eager looksHastens this way?—
EUNOE.’Tis fairest Arethuse,A stranger naiad, yet you know her well.
INO.My eyes were blind with tears.
Enter Arethusa.
Dear Arethuse,Methinks I read glad tidings in your eyes,Your smiles are the swift messengers that bearA tale of coming joy, which we, alas!Can answer but with tears, unless you bringTo our grief solace, Hope to our Despair.Have you found Proserpine? or know you whereThe loved nymph wanders, hidden from our search?
ARETHUSE.Where is corn-crowned Ceres? I have hastenedTo ease her anxious heart.
EUNOE.Oh! dearest Naiad,Herald of joy! Now will great Ceres blessThy welcome coming & more welcome tale.
INO.Since that unhappy day when Ceres lostHer much-loved child, she wanders through the isle;Dark blight is showered from her looks of sorrow;—And where tall corn and all seed-bearing grassRose from beneath her step, they wither nowFading under the frown of her bent brows:The springs decrease;—the fields whose delicate greenWas late her chief delight, now please alone,Because they, withered, seem to share her grief.
ARETHUSE.Unhappy Goddess! how I pity thee!
INO.At night upon high Etna’s topmost peakShe lights two flames, that shining through the isleLeave dark no wood, or cave, or mountain path,Their sunlike splendour makes the moon-beams dim,And the bright stars are lost within their day.She’s in yon field,—she comes towards this plain,Her loosened hair has fallen on her neck,Uncircled by the coronal of grain:—Her cheeks are wan,—her step is faint & slow.
Enter Ceres.
CERES.I faint with weariness: a dreadful thirstPossesses me! Must I give up the search?Oh! never, dearest Proserpine, untilI once more clasp thee in my vacant arms!Help me, dear Arethuse! fill some deep shellWith the clear waters of thine ice-cold spring,And bring it me;—I faint with heat and thirst.
ARETHUSE.My words are better than my freshest waves[:]I saw your Proserpine—
CERES.Arethusa, where?Tell me! my heart beats quick, & hope and fearCause my weak limbs to fail me.—
ARETHUSE.Sit, Goddess,Upon this mossy bank, beneath the shadeOf this tall rock, and I will tell my tale.The day you lost your child, I left my source.With my Alpheus I had wandered downThe sloping shore into the sunbright sea;And at the coast we paused, watching the wavesOf our mixed waters dance into the main:—When suddenly I heard the thundering treadOf iron hoofed steeds trampling the ground,And a faint shriek that made my blood run cold.I saw the King of Hell in his black car,And in his arms he bore your fairest child,Fair as the moon encircled by the night,—But that she strove, and cast her arms aloft,And cried, “My Mother!”—When she saw me nearShe would have sprung from his detested arms,And with a tone of deepest grief, she cried,“Oh, Arethuse!” I hastened at her call—But Pluto when he saw that aid was nigh,Struck furiously the green earth with his spear,Which yawned,—and down the deep Tartarian gulphHis black car rolled—the green earth closed above.
CERES.(starting up)Is this thy doom, great Jove? & shall Hell’s kingQuitting dark Tartarus, spread grief and tearsAmong the dwellers of your bright abodes?Then let him seize the earth itself, the stars,—And all your wide dominion be his prey!—Your sister calls upon your love, great King!As you are God I do demand your help!—Restore my child, or let all heaven sink,And the fair world be chaos once again!
INO.Look[!] in the East that loveliest bow is formed[;]Heaven’s single-arched bridge, it touches nowThe Earth, and ’mid the pathless wastes of heavenIt paves a way for Jove’s fair Messenger;—Iris descends, and towards this field she comes.
ARETHUSE.Sovereign of Harvests, ’tis the MessengerThat will bring joy to thee. Thine eyes light upWith sparkling hope, thy cheeks are pale with dread.
Enter Iris.
CERES.Speak, heavenly Iris! let thy words be pouredInto my drooping soul, like dews of eveOn a too long parched field.—Where is my Proserpine?
IRIS.Sister of Heaven, as by Joves throne I stoodThe voice of thy deep prayer arose,—it filledThe heavenly courts with sorrow and dismay:The Thunderer frowned, & heaven shook with dreadI bear his will to thee, ’tis fixed by fate,Nor prayer nor murmur e’er can alter it.If Proserpine while she has lived in hellHas not polluted by Tartarian foodHer heavenly essence, then she may return,And wander without fear on Enna’s plain,Or take her seat among the Gods above.If she has touched the fruits of Erebus,She never may return to upper air,But doomed to dwell amidst the shades of death,The wife of Pluto and the Queen of Hell.
CERES.Joy treads upon the sluggish heels of care!The child of heaven disdains Tartarian food.Pluto[,] give up thy prey! restore my child!
IRIS.Soon she will see again the sun of Heaven,By gloomy shapes, inhabitants of Hell,Attended, and again behold the fieldOf Enna, the fair flowers & the streams,Her late delight,—& more than all, her Mother.
INO.Our much-loved, long-lost Mistress, do you come?And shall once more your nymphs attend your steps?Will you again irradiate this isle—That drooped when you were lost?[1]& once againTrinacria smile beneath your Mother’s eye?
(Ceres and her companions are ranged on one side in eager expectation; from, the cave on the other, enter Proserpine, attended by various dark & gloomy shapes bearing torches; among which Ascalaphus. Ceres & Proserpine embrace;—her nymphs surround her.)
CERES.Welcome, dear Proserpine! Welcome to light,To this green earth and to your Mother’s arms.You are too beautiful for Pluto’s Queen;In the dark Stygian air your blooming cheeksHave lost their roseate tint, and your bright formHas faded in that night unfit for thee.
PROSERPINA.Then I again behold thee, Mother dear:—Again I tread the flowery plain of Enna,And clasp thee, Arethuse, & you, my nymphs;I have escaped from hateful Tartarus,The abode of furies and all loathed shapesThat thronged around me, making hell more black.Oh! I could worship thee, light giving Sun,Who spreadest warmth and radiance o’er the world.Look at[2]the branches of those chesnut trees,That wave to the soft breezes, while their stemsAre tinged with red by the sun’s slanting rays.And the soft clouds that float ’twixt earth and sky.How sweet are all these sights! There all is night!No God like that (pointing to the sun)smiles on the Elysian plains,The air [is] windless, and all shapes are still.
IRIS.And must I interpose in this deep joy,And sternly cloud your hopes? Oh! answer me,Art thou still, Proserpine, a child of light?Or hast thou dimmed thy attributes of HeavenBy such Tartarian food as must for everCondemn thee to be Queen of Hell & Night?
PROSERPINA.No, Iris, no,—I still am pure as thee:Offspring of light and air, I have no stainOf Hell. I am for ever thine, oh, Mother!
CERES.(to the shades from Hell)Begone, foul visitants to upper air!Back to your dens! nor stain the sunny earthBy shadows thrown from forms so foul—Crouch in!Proserpine, child of light, is not your Queen!
(to the nymphs)
Quick bring my car,—we will ascend to heaven,Deserting Earth, till by decree of Jove,Eternal laws shall bind the King of HellTo leave in peace the offspring of the sky.
ASCALAPHUS.Stay, Ceres! By the dread decree of JoveYour child is doomed to be eternal QueenOf Tartarus,—nor may she dare ascendThe sunbright regions of Olympian Jove,Or tread the green Earth ’mid attendant nymphs.Proserpine, call to mind your walk last eve,When as you wandered in Elysian groves,Through bowers for ever green, and mossy walks,Where flowers never die, nor wind disturbsThe sacred calm, whose silence soothes the dead,Nor interposing clouds, with dun wings, dimIts mild and silver light, you plucked its fruit,You ate of a pomegranate’s seeds—
CERES.Be silent,Prophet of evil, hateful to the Gods!Sweet Proserpine, my child, look upon me.You shrink; your trembling form & pallid cheeksWould make his words seem true which are most false[.]Thou didst not taste the food of Erebus;—Offspring of Gods art thou,—nor Hell, nor JoveShall tear thee from thy Mother’s clasping arms.
PROSERPINA.If fate decrees, can we resist? farewel!Oh! Mother, dearer to your child than light,Than all the forms of this sweet earth & sky,Though dear are these, and dear are my poor nymphs,Whom I must leave;—oh! can immortals weep?And can a Goddess die as mortals do,Or live & reign where it is death to be?Ino, dear Arethuse, again you loseYour hapless Proserpine, lost to herselfWhen she quits you for gloomy Tartarus.
CERES.Is there no help, great Jove? If she departI will descend with her—the Earth shall loseIts proud fertility, and ErebusShall bear my gifts throughout th’ unchanging year.Valued till now by thee, tyrant of Gods!My harvests ripening by Tartarian firesShall feed the dead with Heaven’s ambrosial food.Wilt thou not then repent, brother unkind,Viewing the barren earth with vain regret,Thou didst not shew more mercy to my child?
INO.We will all leave the light and go with thee,In Hell thou shalt be girt by Heaven-born nymphs,Elysium shall be Enna,—thou’lt not mournThy natal plain, which will have lost its worthHaving lost thee, its nursling and its Queen.
ARETHUSE.I will sink down with thee;—my lily crownShall bloom in Erebus, portentous lossTo Earth, which by degrees will fade & fallIn envy of our happier lot in Hell;—And the bright sun and the fresh winds of heavenShall light its depths and fan its stagnant air.
(They cling round Proserpine; the Shades of Hell seperate and stand between them.)
ASCALAPHUS.Depart! She is our Queen! Ye may not come!Hark to Jove’s thunder! shrink away in fearFrom unknown forms, whose tyranny ye’ll feelIn groans and tears if ye insult their power.
IRIS.Behold Jove’s balance hung in upper sky;There are ye weighed,—to that ye must submit.
CERES.Oh! Jove, have mercy on a Mother’s prayer!Shall it be nought to be akin to thee?And shall thy sister, Queen of fertile Earth,Derided be by these foul shapes of Hell?Look at the scales, they’re poized with equal weights!What can this mean? Leave me not[,] Proserpine[,]Cling to thy Mother’s side! He shall not dareDivide the sucker from the parent stem.
(embraces her)
ASCALAPHUS.He is almighty! who shall set the boundsTo his high will? let him decide our plea!Fate is with us, & Proserpine is ours!
(He endeavours to part Ceres & Proserpine, the nymphs prevent him.)
CERES.Peace, ominous bird of Hell & Night! Depart!Nor with thy skriech disturb a Mother’s grief,Avaunt! It is to Jove we pray, not thee.
IRIS.Thy fate, sweet Proserpine, is sealed by Jove,When Enna is starred by flowers, and the sunShoots his hot rays strait on the gladsome land,When Summer reigns, then thou shalt live on Earth,And tread these plains, or sporting with your nymphs,Or at your Mother’s side, in peaceful joy.But when hard frost congeals the bare, black ground,The trees have lost their leaves, & painted birdsWailing for food sail through the piercing air;Then you descend to deepest night and reignGreat Queen of Tartarus, ’mid[3]shadows dire,Offspring of Hell,—or in the silent grovesOf, fair Elysium through which Lethe runs,The sleepy river; where the windless airIs never struck by flight or song of bird,—But all is calm and clear, bestowing rest,After the toil of life, to wretched men,Whom thus the Gods reward for sufferingsGods cannot know; a throng of empty shades!The endless circle of the year will bringJoy in its turn, and seperation sad;Six months to light and Earth,—six months to Hell.
PROSERPINA.Dear Mother, let me kiss that tear which stealsDown your pale cheek altered by care and grief.This is not misery; ’tis but a slight changeProm our late happy lot. Six months with thee,Each moment freighted with an age of love:And the six short months in saddest TartarusShall pass in dreams of swift returning joy.Six months together we shall dwell on earth,Six months in dreams we shall companions be,Jove’s doom is void; we are forever joined.
CERES.Oh, fairest child! sweet summer visitor!Thy looks cheer me, so shall they cheer this landWhich I will fly, thou gone. Nor seed of grass,Or corn shall grow, thou absent from the earth;But all shall lie beneath in hateful nightUntil at thy return, the fresh green springs,The fields are covered o’er with summer plants.And when thou goest the heavy grain will droopAnd die under my frown, scattering the seeds,That will not reappear till your return.Farewel, sweet child, Queen of the nether world,There shine as chaste Diana’s silver carIslanded in the deep circumfluous night.Giver of fruits! for such thou shalt be styled,Sweet Prophetess of Summer, coming forthFrom the slant shadow of the wintry earth,In thy car drawn by snowy-breasted swallows!Another kiss, & then again farewel!Winter in losing thee has lost its all,And will be doubly bare, & hoar, & drear,Its bleak winds whistling o’er the cold pinched groundWhich neither flower or grass will decorate.And as my tears fall first, so shall the treesShed their changed leaves upon your six months tomb:The clouded air will hide from Phœbus’ eyeThe dreadful change your absence operates.Thus has black Pluto changed the reign of Jove,He seizes half the Earth when he takes thee.
THE END
Footnotes
[1]MS.this isle?—That drooped when you were lost
[2]MS. Look at—the branches.
[3]MS.mid