EPILOGUE

"Look, I strew beans" ...(Ferishtah, we premise,Strove this way with a scholar's cavilmentWho put the peevish question: "Sir, be frank!A good thing or a bad thing—Life is which?Shine and shade, happiness and miseryBattle it out there: which force beats, I ask?If I pick beans from out a bushelful—This one, this other,—then demand of theeWhat color names each justly in the main,—'Black' I expect, and 'White' ensues reply:No hesitation for what speck, spot, splashOf either color's opposite, intrudesTo modify thy judgment. Well, for beansSubstitute days,—show, ranged in order, Life—Then, tell me its true color! Time is short,Life's days compose a span,—as brief be speech!Black I pronounce for, like the Indian Sage,—Black—present, past, and future, interspersedWith blanks, no doubt, which simple folk style GoodBecause not Evil: no, indeed? Forsooth,Black's shade on White is White too! What's the worstOf Evil but that, past, it overshadesThe else-exempted, present?—memory,We call the plague! 'Nay, but our memory fadesAnd leaves the past unsullied!' Does it so?Why, straight the purpose of such breathing-space,Such respite from past ills, grows plain enough!What follows on remembrance of the past?Fear of the future! Life, from birth to death,Means—either looking back on harm escaped,Or looking forward to that harm's returnWith tenfold power of harming. Black, not White,Never the whole consummate quietudeLife should be, troubled by no fear!—nor hope—I 'll say, since lamplight dies in noontide, hopeLoses itself in certainty. Such lotMan's might have been: I leave the consequenceTo bolder critics or the Primal Cause;Such am not I: but, man—as man I speak:Black is the bean-throw: evil is the Life!")"Look, I strew beans,"—resumed Ferishtah,—"beansBlackish and whitish; what they figure forthShall be man's sum of moments, bad and good,That make up Life,—each moment when he feelsPleasure or pain, his poorest fact of sense,Consciousness anyhow: there 's stand the first;Whence next advance shall be from points to line,Singulars to a series, parts to whole,And moments to the Life. How look they now,Viewed in the large, those little joys and griefsRanged duly all a-row at last, like beans—These which I strew? This bean was white, this—black,Set by itself,—but see if good and badEach following either in companionship,Black have not grown less black and white less white,Till blackish seems but dun, and whitish—gray,And the whole line turns—well, or black to theeOr white belike to me—no matter which:The main result is—both are modifiedAccording to our eye's scope, power of rangeBefore and after. Black dost call this bean?What, with a whiteness in its wake, which—see—Suffuses half its neighbor?—and, in turn,Lowers its pearliness late absolute,Frowned upon by the jet which follows hard—Else wholly white my bean were. Choose a joy!Bettered it was by sorrow gone before,And sobered somewhat by the shadowy senseOf sorrow which came after or might come.Joy, sorrow,—by precedence, subsequence—Either on each, make fusion, mix in LifeThat 's both and neither wholly: gray or dun?Dun thou decidest? gray prevails, say I:Wherefore? Because my view is wide enough,Reaches from first to last nor winks at all:Motion achieves it: stop short—fast we stick,—Probably at the bean that 's blackest."Since—Son, trust me,—this I know and only this—I am in motion, and all things besideThat circle round my passage through their midst,—Motionless, these are, as regarding me:—Which means, myself I solely recognize.They too may recognize themselves, not me,For aught I know or care: but plain they serveThis, if no other purpose—stuff to tryAnd test my power upon of raying lightAnd lending hue to all things as I goMoonlike through vapor. Mark the flying orb!Think'st thou the halo, painted still afreshAt each new cloud-fleece pierced and passaged through,This was and is and will be evermoreColored in permanence? The glory swimsGirdling the glory-giver, swallowed straightBy night's abysmal gloom, unglorifiedBehind as erst before the advancer: gloom?Faced by the onward-faring, see, succeedsFrom the abandoned heaven a next surprise,And where 's the gloom now?—silver-smitten straight,One glow and variegation! So with me,Who move and make—myself—the black, the white,The good, the bad, of life's environment.Stand still! black stays black: start again! there 's whiteAsserts supremacy: the motion 's allThat colors me my moment: seen as joy?—I have escaped from sorrow, or that wasOr might have been: as sorrow?—thence shall beEscape as certain: white preceded black,Black shall give way to white as duly,—so,Deepest in black means white most imminent,Stand still,—have no before, no after!—lifeProves death, existence grows impossibleTo man like me. 'What else is blessed sleepBut death, then?' Why, a rapture of releaseFrom toil,—that 's sleep's approach: as certainly,The end of sleep means, toil is triumphed o'er:These round the blank inconsciousness betweenBrightness and brightness, either pushed to blazeJust through that blank's interposition. HenceThe use of things external: man—that 's I—Practise thereon my power of casting light,And calling substance,—when the light I castBreaks into color,—by its proper name—A truth and yet a falsity: black, white,Names each bean taken from what lay so closeAnd threw such tint: pain might mean pain indeedSeen in the passage past it,—pleasure proveNo mere delusion while I pause to look,—Though what an idle fancy was that fearWhich overhung and hindered pleasure's hue!While how, again, pain's shade enhanced the shineOf pleasure, else no pleasure! Such effectsCame of such causes. Passage at an end,—Past, present, future pains and pleasures fusedSo that one glance may gather blacks and whitesInto a lifetime,—like my bean-streak there,Why, white they whirl into, not black—for me!""Ay, but for me? The indubitable blacks,Immeasurable miseries, here, thereAnd everywhere i' the world—world outside thinePaled off so opportunely,—body's plague,Torment of soul,—where 's found thy fellowshipWith wide humanity all round aboutReeling beneath its burden? What 's despair?Behold that man, that woman, child—nay, brute!Will any speck of white unblacken lifeSplashed, splotched, dyed hell-deep now from end to endFor him or her or it—who knows? Not I!""Nor I, Son! 'It' shall stand for bird, beast, fish,Reptile, and insect even: take the last!There 's the palm-aphis, minute miracleAs wondrous every whit as thou or I:Well, and his world's the palm-frond, there he 's born,Lives, breeds, and dies in that circumference,An inch of green for cradle, pasture-ground,Purlieu and grave: the palm's use, ask of him!'To furnish these,' replies his wit: ask thine—Who see the heaven above, the earth below,Creation everywhere,—these, each and allClaim certain recognition from the treeFor special service rendered branch and bole,Top-tuft and tap-root:—for thyself, thus seen,Palms furnish dates to eat, and leaves to shade,—Maybe, thatch huts with,—have another useThan strikes the aphis. So with me, my Son!I know my own appointed patch i' the world,What pleasures me or pains there; all outside—How he, she, it, and even thou, Son, live,Are pleased or pained, is past conjecture, onceI pry beneath the semblance,—all that 's fit,To practise with,—reach where the fact may lieFathom-deep lower. There 's the first and lastOf my philosophy. Blacks blur thy white?Not mine! The aphis feeds, nor finds his leafUntenable, because a lance-thrust, nay,Lightning strikes sere a moss-patch close beside,Where certain other aphids live and love.Restriction to his single inch of white,That's law for him, the aphis: but for me,The man, the larger-souled, beside my stretchOf blacks and whites, I see a world of woeAll round about me: one such burst of blackIntolerable o'er the life I countWhite in the main, and, yea—white's faintest traceWere clean abolished once and evermore.Thus fare my fellows, swallowed up in gloomSo far as I discern: how far is that?God's care be God's! 'T is mine—to boast no joyUnsobered by such sorrows of my kindAs sully with their shade my life that shines.""Reflected possibilities of pain,Forsooth, just chasten pleasure! Pain itself,—Fact and not fancy, does not this affectThe general color?""Here and there a touchTaught me, betimes, the artifice of things—That all about, external to myself,Was meant to be suspected,—not revealedDemonstrably a cheat,—but half seen through,Lest white should rule unchecked along the lineTherefore white may not triumph. All the same,Of absolute and irretrievableAnd all-subduing black,—black's soul of blackBeyond white's power to disintensify,—Of that I saw no sample: such may wreckMy life and ruin my philosophyTo-morrow, doubtless: hence the constant shadeCast on life's shine,—the tremor that intrudesWhen firmest seems my faith in white. Dost ask'Who is Ferishtah, hitherto exemptFrom black experience? Why, if God be just,Were sundry fellow-mortals singled outTo undergo experience for his sake,Just that the gift of pain, bestowed on them,In him might temper to the due degreeJoy's else-excessive largess?' Why, indeed!Back are we brought thus to the starting-point—Man's impotency, God's omnipotence,These stop my answer. Aphis that I am,How leave my inch-allotment, pass at willInto my fellow's liberty of range,Enter into his sense of black and white,As either, seen by me from outside, seemsPredominatingly the color? Life,Lived by my fellow, shall I pass intoAnd myself live there? No—no more than passFrom Persia, where in sun since birth I baskDaily, to some ungracious land afar,Told of by travellers, where the night of snowSmothers up day, and fluids lose themselvesFrozen to marble. How I bear the sun,Beat though he may unduly, that I know:How blood once curdled ever creeps again,Baffles conjecture: yet since people liveSomehow, resist a clime would conquer me,Somehow provided for their sake must dawnCompensative resource. 'No sun, no grapes,—Then, no subsistence!'—were it wisely said?Or this well-reasoned—'Do I dare feel warmthAnd please my palate here with Persia's vine,Though, over-mounts,—to trust the traveller,—Snow, feather-thick, is falling while I feast?What if the cruel winter force his wayHere also?' Son, the wise reply were this:When cold from over-mounts spikes through and throughBlood, bone and marrow of Ferishtah,—then,Time to look out for shelter—time, at least,To wring the hands and cry 'No shelter serves!'Shelter, of some sort, no experienced chillWarrants that I despair to find.""No less,Doctors have differed here; thou say'st thy say;Another man's experience masters thine,Flat controverted by the sourly-Sage,The Indian witness who, with facultyFine as Ferishtah's, found no white at allChequer the world's predominating black,No good oust evil from supremacy,So that Life's best was that it led to death.How of his testimony?""Son, supposeMy camel told me: 'Threescore days and tenI traversed hill and dale, yet never foundFood to stop hunger, drink to stay my drouth;Yet, here I stand alive, which take in proofThat to survive was found impossible!''Nay, rather take thou, non-surviving beast,'(Reply were prompt,) 'on flank this thwack of staffNowise affecting flesh that 's dead and dry!Thou wincest? Take correction twice, amendNext time thy nomenclature! Call white—white!'The sourly-Sage, for whom life's best was death,Lived out his seventy years, looked hale, laughed loud.Liked—above all—his dinner,—lied, in short.""Lied is a rough phrase: say he fell from truthIn climbing towards it!—sure less faulty soThan had he sat him down and stayed contentWith thy safe orthodoxy, 'White, all white,White everywhere for certain I should seeDid I but understand how white is black,As clearer sense than mine would.' Clearer sense,—Whose may that be? Mere human eyes I boast,And such distinguish colors in the main,However any tongue, that 's human too,Please to report the matter. Dost thou blameA soul that strives but to see plain, speak true,Truth at all hazards? Oh, this false for real,This emptiness which feigns solidity,—Ever some gray that 's white and dun that 's black,—When shall we rest upon the thing itselfNot on its semblance?—Soul—too weak, forsooth,To cope with fact—wants fiction everywhere!Mine tires of falsehood: truth at any cost!""Take one and try conclusions—this, suppose!God is all-good, all-wise, all-powerful: truth?Take it and rest there. What is man? Not God:None of these absolutes therefore,—yet himself,A creature with a creature's qualities.Make them agree, these two conceptions! EachAbolishes the other. Is man weak,Foolish and bad? He must be Ahriman,Co-equal with an Ormuzd, Bad with Good,Or else a thing made at the Prime Sole Will,Doing a maker's pleasure—with resultsWhich—call, the wide world over, 'what must be'—But, from man's point of view, and only pointPossible to his powers, call—evidenceOf goodness, wisdom, strength? we mock ourselvesIn all that 's best of us,—man 's blind but sureCraving for these in very deed not word,Reality and not illusions. Well,—Since these nowhere exist—nor there where causeMust have effect, nor here where craving meansCraving unfollowed by fit consequenceAnd full supply, aye sought for, never found—These—what are they but man's own rule of right?A scheme of goodness recognized by man,Although by man unrealizable,—Not God's with whom to will were to perform:Nowise performed here, therefore never willed.What follows but that God, who could the best,Has willed the worst,—while man, with power to matchWill with performance, were deservedlyHailed the supreme—provided ... here 's the touchThat breaks the bubble ... this concept of man'sWere man's own work, his birth of heart and brain,His native grace, no alien gift at all.The bubble breaks here. Will of man create?No more than this my hand which strewed the beansProduced them also from its finger-tips.Back goes creation to its source, source primeAnd ultimate, the single and the sole.""How reconcile discordancy,—uniteNotion and notion—God that only canYet does not,—man that would indeedBut just as surely cannot,—both in one?What help occurs to thy intelligence?""Ah, the beans,—or,—example better yet,—A carpet-web I saw once leave the loomAnd lie at gorgeous length in Ispahan!The weaver plied his work with lengths of silkDyed each to match some jewel as it might,And wove them, this by that. 'How comes it, friend,'—(Quoth I)—'that while, apart, this fiery hue,That watery dimness, either shocks the eye,So blinding bright, or else offends again,By dulness,—yet the two, set each by each,Somehow produce a color born of both,A medium profitable to the sight?''Such medium is the end whereat I aim,'—Answered my craftsman: 'there 's no single tinctWould satisfy the eye's desire to tasteThe secret of the diamond: join extremesResults a serviceable medium-ghost,The diamond's simulation. Even soI needs must blend the quality of manWith quality of God, and so assistMere human sight to understand my Life,What is, what should be,—understand therebyWherefore I hate the first and love the last,—Understand why things so present themselvesTo me, placed here to prove I understand.Thus, from beginning runs the chain to end,And binds me plain enough. By consequence,I bade thee tolerate,—not kick and cuffThe man who held that natures did in factBlend so, since so thyself must have them blendIn fancy, if it take a flight so far.""A power, confessed past knowledge, nay, past thought,—Thus thought thus known!""To know of, think about—Is all man's sum of faculty effectsWhen exercised on earth's least atom, Son!What was, what is, what may such atom be?No answer! Still, what seems it to man's sense?An atom with some certain propertiesKnown about, thought of as occasion needs,—Man's—but occasions of the universe?Unthinkable, unknowable to man.Yet, since to think and know fire through and throughExceeds man, is the warmth of fire unknown,Its uses—are they so unthinkable?Pass from such obvious power to powers unseen,Undreamed of save in their sure consequence:Take that, we spoke of late, which draws to groundThe staff my hand lets fall: it draws, at least—Thus much man thinks and knows, if nothing more.""Ay, but man puts no mind into such power!He neither thanks it, when an apple drops,Nor prays it spare his pate while underneath.Does he thank Summer though it plumped the rind?Why thank the other force—whate'er its name—Which gave him teeth to bite and tongue to tasteAnd throat to let the pulp pass? Force and force,No end of forces! Have they mind like man?""Suppose thou visit our lord Shalim-Shah,Bringing thy tribute as appointed. 'HereCome I to pay my due!' Whereat one slaveObsequious spreads a carpet for thy foot,His fellow offers sweetmeats, while a thirdPrepares a pipe: what thanks or praise have they?Such as befit prompt service. GratitudeGoes past them to the Shah whose gracious nodSet all the sweet civility at work;But for his ordinance, I much suspect,My scholar had been left to cool his heelsUncarpeted, or warm them—likelier still—With bastinado for intrusion. SlavesNeeds must obey their master: 'force and force,No end of forces,' act as bids some forceSupreme o'er all and each: where find that one?How recognize him? Simply as thou didstThe Shah—by reasoning 'Since I feel a debt,Behooves me pay the same to one awareI have my duty, he his privilege.'Didst thou expect the slave who charged thy pipeWould serve as well to take thy tribute-bagAnd save thee further trouble?""Be it so!The sense within me that I owe a debtAssures me—somewhere must be somebodyReady to take his due. All comes to this—Where due is, there acceptance follows: findHim who accepts the due! and why look far?Behold thy kindred compass thee about!Ere thou wast born and after thou shalt die,Heroic man stands forth as Shahan-Shah.Rustem and Gew, Gudarz and all the rest,How come they short of lordship that 's to seek?Dead worthies! but men live undoubtedlyGifted as Sindokht, sage Sulayman's match,Valiant like Kawah: ay, and while earth lastsSuch heroes shall abound there—all for theeWho profitest by all the present, past,And future operation of thy race.Why, then, o'erburdened with a debt of thanks,Look wistful for some hand from out the cloudsTo take it, when, all round, a multitudeWould ease thee in a trice?""Such tendered thanksWould tumble back to who craved riddance, Son!—Who but my sorry self? See! stars are out—Stars which, unconscious of thy gaze beneath,Go glorifying, and glorify thee too—Those Seven Thrones, Zurah's beauty, weird Parwin!Whether shall love and praise to stars be paidOr—say—some Mubid who, for good to theeBlind at thy birth, by magic all his ownOpened thine eyes, and gave the sightless sight,Let the stars' glory enter? Say his charmWorked while thyself lay sleeping: as he wentThou wakedst: 'What a novel sense have I!Whom shall I love and praise?' 'The stars, each orbThou standest rapt beneath,' proposes one:'Do not they live their life, and please themselves,And so please thee? What more is requisite?'Make thou this answer: 'If indeed no mageOpened my eyes and worked a miracle,Then let the stars thank me who apprehendThat such an one is white, such other blue!But for my apprehension both were blank.Cannot I close my eyes and bid my brainMake whites and blues, conceive without stars' help,New qualities of color? were my sightLost or misleading, would yon red—I judgeA ruby's benefaction—stand for aughtBut green from vulgar glass? Myself appraiseLustre and lustre: should I overlookFomalhaut and declare some fen-fire king,Who shall correct me, lend me eyes he trustsNo more than I trust mine? My mage for me!I never saw him: if he never was,I am the arbitrator!' No, my Son!Let us sink down to thy similitude:I eat my apple, relish what is ripe—The sunny side, admire its raritySince half the tribe is wrinkled, and the restHide commonly a maggot in the core,—And down Zerdusht goes with due smack of lips:But—thank an apple? He who made my mouthTo masticate, my palate to approve,My maw to further the concoction—HimI thank,—but for whose work, the orchard's wealthMight prove so many gall-nuts—stocks or stonesFor aught that I should think, or know, or care.""Why from the world," Ferishtah smiled, "should thanksGo to this work of mine? If worthy praise,Praised let it be and welcome: as verse ranks,So rate my verse: if good therein outweighsAught faulty judged, judge justly! Justice says;Be just to fact, or blaming or approving:But—generous? No, nor loving!"Loving! what claim to love has work of mine?Concede my life were emptied of its gainsTo furnish forth and fill work's strict confine,Who works so for the world's sake—he complainsWith cause when hate, not love, rewards his pains.I looked beyond the world for truth and beauty:Sought, found, and did my duty."

"Look, I strew beans" ...

(Ferishtah, we premise,Strove this way with a scholar's cavilmentWho put the peevish question: "Sir, be frank!A good thing or a bad thing—Life is which?Shine and shade, happiness and miseryBattle it out there: which force beats, I ask?If I pick beans from out a bushelful—This one, this other,—then demand of theeWhat color names each justly in the main,—'Black' I expect, and 'White' ensues reply:No hesitation for what speck, spot, splashOf either color's opposite, intrudesTo modify thy judgment. Well, for beansSubstitute days,—show, ranged in order, Life—Then, tell me its true color! Time is short,Life's days compose a span,—as brief be speech!Black I pronounce for, like the Indian Sage,—Black—present, past, and future, interspersedWith blanks, no doubt, which simple folk style GoodBecause not Evil: no, indeed? Forsooth,Black's shade on White is White too! What's the worstOf Evil but that, past, it overshadesThe else-exempted, present?—memory,We call the plague! 'Nay, but our memory fadesAnd leaves the past unsullied!' Does it so?Why, straight the purpose of such breathing-space,Such respite from past ills, grows plain enough!What follows on remembrance of the past?Fear of the future! Life, from birth to death,Means—either looking back on harm escaped,Or looking forward to that harm's returnWith tenfold power of harming. Black, not White,Never the whole consummate quietudeLife should be, troubled by no fear!—nor hope—I 'll say, since lamplight dies in noontide, hopeLoses itself in certainty. Such lotMan's might have been: I leave the consequenceTo bolder critics or the Primal Cause;Such am not I: but, man—as man I speak:Black is the bean-throw: evil is the Life!")

(Ferishtah, we premise,

Strove this way with a scholar's cavilment

Who put the peevish question: "Sir, be frank!

A good thing or a bad thing—Life is which?

Shine and shade, happiness and misery

Battle it out there: which force beats, I ask?

If I pick beans from out a bushelful—

This one, this other,—then demand of thee

What color names each justly in the main,—

'Black' I expect, and 'White' ensues reply:

No hesitation for what speck, spot, splash

Of either color's opposite, intrudes

To modify thy judgment. Well, for beans

Substitute days,—show, ranged in order, Life—

Then, tell me its true color! Time is short,

Life's days compose a span,—as brief be speech!

Black I pronounce for, like the Indian Sage,—

Black—present, past, and future, interspersed

With blanks, no doubt, which simple folk style Good

Because not Evil: no, indeed? Forsooth,

Black's shade on White is White too! What's the worst

Of Evil but that, past, it overshades

The else-exempted, present?—memory,

We call the plague! 'Nay, but our memory fades

And leaves the past unsullied!' Does it so?

Why, straight the purpose of such breathing-space,

Such respite from past ills, grows plain enough!

What follows on remembrance of the past?

Fear of the future! Life, from birth to death,

Means—either looking back on harm escaped,

Or looking forward to that harm's return

With tenfold power of harming. Black, not White,

Never the whole consummate quietude

Life should be, troubled by no fear!—nor hope—

I 'll say, since lamplight dies in noontide, hope

Loses itself in certainty. Such lot

Man's might have been: I leave the consequence

To bolder critics or the Primal Cause;

Such am not I: but, man—as man I speak:

Black is the bean-throw: evil is the Life!")

"Look, I strew beans,"—resumed Ferishtah,—"beansBlackish and whitish; what they figure forthShall be man's sum of moments, bad and good,That make up Life,—each moment when he feelsPleasure or pain, his poorest fact of sense,Consciousness anyhow: there 's stand the first;Whence next advance shall be from points to line,Singulars to a series, parts to whole,And moments to the Life. How look they now,Viewed in the large, those little joys and griefsRanged duly all a-row at last, like beans—These which I strew? This bean was white, this—black,Set by itself,—but see if good and badEach following either in companionship,Black have not grown less black and white less white,Till blackish seems but dun, and whitish—gray,And the whole line turns—well, or black to theeOr white belike to me—no matter which:The main result is—both are modifiedAccording to our eye's scope, power of rangeBefore and after. Black dost call this bean?What, with a whiteness in its wake, which—see—Suffuses half its neighbor?—and, in turn,Lowers its pearliness late absolute,Frowned upon by the jet which follows hard—Else wholly white my bean were. Choose a joy!Bettered it was by sorrow gone before,And sobered somewhat by the shadowy senseOf sorrow which came after or might come.Joy, sorrow,—by precedence, subsequence—Either on each, make fusion, mix in LifeThat 's both and neither wholly: gray or dun?Dun thou decidest? gray prevails, say I:Wherefore? Because my view is wide enough,Reaches from first to last nor winks at all:Motion achieves it: stop short—fast we stick,—Probably at the bean that 's blackest.

"Look, I strew beans,"—resumed Ferishtah,—"beans

Blackish and whitish; what they figure forth

Shall be man's sum of moments, bad and good,

That make up Life,—each moment when he feels

Pleasure or pain, his poorest fact of sense,

Consciousness anyhow: there 's stand the first;

Whence next advance shall be from points to line,

Singulars to a series, parts to whole,

And moments to the Life. How look they now,

Viewed in the large, those little joys and griefs

Ranged duly all a-row at last, like beans

—These which I strew? This bean was white, this—black,

Set by itself,—but see if good and bad

Each following either in companionship,

Black have not grown less black and white less white,

Till blackish seems but dun, and whitish—gray,

And the whole line turns—well, or black to thee

Or white belike to me—no matter which:

The main result is—both are modified

According to our eye's scope, power of range

Before and after. Black dost call this bean?

What, with a whiteness in its wake, which—see—

Suffuses half its neighbor?—and, in turn,

Lowers its pearliness late absolute,

Frowned upon by the jet which follows hard—

Else wholly white my bean were. Choose a joy!

Bettered it was by sorrow gone before,

And sobered somewhat by the shadowy sense

Of sorrow which came after or might come.

Joy, sorrow,—by precedence, subsequence—

Either on each, make fusion, mix in Life

That 's both and neither wholly: gray or dun?

Dun thou decidest? gray prevails, say I:

Wherefore? Because my view is wide enough,

Reaches from first to last nor winks at all:

Motion achieves it: stop short—fast we stick,—

Probably at the bean that 's blackest.

"Since—Son, trust me,—this I know and only this—I am in motion, and all things besideThat circle round my passage through their midst,—Motionless, these are, as regarding me:—Which means, myself I solely recognize.They too may recognize themselves, not me,For aught I know or care: but plain they serveThis, if no other purpose—stuff to tryAnd test my power upon of raying lightAnd lending hue to all things as I goMoonlike through vapor. Mark the flying orb!Think'st thou the halo, painted still afreshAt each new cloud-fleece pierced and passaged through,This was and is and will be evermoreColored in permanence? The glory swimsGirdling the glory-giver, swallowed straightBy night's abysmal gloom, unglorifiedBehind as erst before the advancer: gloom?Faced by the onward-faring, see, succeedsFrom the abandoned heaven a next surprise,And where 's the gloom now?—silver-smitten straight,One glow and variegation! So with me,Who move and make—myself—the black, the white,The good, the bad, of life's environment.Stand still! black stays black: start again! there 's whiteAsserts supremacy: the motion 's allThat colors me my moment: seen as joy?—I have escaped from sorrow, or that wasOr might have been: as sorrow?—thence shall beEscape as certain: white preceded black,Black shall give way to white as duly,—so,Deepest in black means white most imminent,Stand still,—have no before, no after!—lifeProves death, existence grows impossibleTo man like me. 'What else is blessed sleepBut death, then?' Why, a rapture of releaseFrom toil,—that 's sleep's approach: as certainly,The end of sleep means, toil is triumphed o'er:These round the blank inconsciousness betweenBrightness and brightness, either pushed to blazeJust through that blank's interposition. HenceThe use of things external: man—that 's I—Practise thereon my power of casting light,And calling substance,—when the light I castBreaks into color,—by its proper name—A truth and yet a falsity: black, white,Names each bean taken from what lay so closeAnd threw such tint: pain might mean pain indeedSeen in the passage past it,—pleasure proveNo mere delusion while I pause to look,—Though what an idle fancy was that fearWhich overhung and hindered pleasure's hue!While how, again, pain's shade enhanced the shineOf pleasure, else no pleasure! Such effectsCame of such causes. Passage at an end,—Past, present, future pains and pleasures fusedSo that one glance may gather blacks and whitesInto a lifetime,—like my bean-streak there,Why, white they whirl into, not black—for me!"

"Since—

Son, trust me,—this I know and only this—

I am in motion, and all things beside

That circle round my passage through their midst,—

Motionless, these are, as regarding me:

—Which means, myself I solely recognize.

They too may recognize themselves, not me,

For aught I know or care: but plain they serve

This, if no other purpose—stuff to try

And test my power upon of raying light

And lending hue to all things as I go

Moonlike through vapor. Mark the flying orb!

Think'st thou the halo, painted still afresh

At each new cloud-fleece pierced and passaged through,

This was and is and will be evermore

Colored in permanence? The glory swims

Girdling the glory-giver, swallowed straight

By night's abysmal gloom, unglorified

Behind as erst before the advancer: gloom?

Faced by the onward-faring, see, succeeds

From the abandoned heaven a next surprise,

And where 's the gloom now?—silver-smitten straight,

One glow and variegation! So with me,

Who move and make—myself—the black, the white,

The good, the bad, of life's environment.

Stand still! black stays black: start again! there 's white

Asserts supremacy: the motion 's all

That colors me my moment: seen as joy?—

I have escaped from sorrow, or that was

Or might have been: as sorrow?—thence shall be

Escape as certain: white preceded black,

Black shall give way to white as duly,—so,

Deepest in black means white most imminent,

Stand still,—have no before, no after!—life

Proves death, existence grows impossible

To man like me. 'What else is blessed sleep

But death, then?' Why, a rapture of release

From toil,—that 's sleep's approach: as certainly,

The end of sleep means, toil is triumphed o'er:

These round the blank inconsciousness between

Brightness and brightness, either pushed to blaze

Just through that blank's interposition. Hence

The use of things external: man—that 's I—

Practise thereon my power of casting light,

And calling substance,—when the light I cast

Breaks into color,—by its proper name

—A truth and yet a falsity: black, white,

Names each bean taken from what lay so close

And threw such tint: pain might mean pain indeed

Seen in the passage past it,—pleasure prove

No mere delusion while I pause to look,—

Though what an idle fancy was that fear

Which overhung and hindered pleasure's hue!

While how, again, pain's shade enhanced the shine

Of pleasure, else no pleasure! Such effects

Came of such causes. Passage at an end,—

Past, present, future pains and pleasures fused

So that one glance may gather blacks and whites

Into a lifetime,—like my bean-streak there,

Why, white they whirl into, not black—for me!"

"Ay, but for me? The indubitable blacks,Immeasurable miseries, here, thereAnd everywhere i' the world—world outside thinePaled off so opportunely,—body's plague,Torment of soul,—where 's found thy fellowshipWith wide humanity all round aboutReeling beneath its burden? What 's despair?Behold that man, that woman, child—nay, brute!Will any speck of white unblacken lifeSplashed, splotched, dyed hell-deep now from end to endFor him or her or it—who knows? Not I!"

"Ay, but for me? The indubitable blacks,

Immeasurable miseries, here, there

And everywhere i' the world—world outside thine

Paled off so opportunely,—body's plague,

Torment of soul,—where 's found thy fellowship

With wide humanity all round about

Reeling beneath its burden? What 's despair?

Behold that man, that woman, child—nay, brute!

Will any speck of white unblacken life

Splashed, splotched, dyed hell-deep now from end to end

For him or her or it—who knows? Not I!"

"Nor I, Son! 'It' shall stand for bird, beast, fish,Reptile, and insect even: take the last!There 's the palm-aphis, minute miracleAs wondrous every whit as thou or I:Well, and his world's the palm-frond, there he 's born,Lives, breeds, and dies in that circumference,An inch of green for cradle, pasture-ground,Purlieu and grave: the palm's use, ask of him!'To furnish these,' replies his wit: ask thine—Who see the heaven above, the earth below,Creation everywhere,—these, each and allClaim certain recognition from the treeFor special service rendered branch and bole,Top-tuft and tap-root:—for thyself, thus seen,Palms furnish dates to eat, and leaves to shade,—Maybe, thatch huts with,—have another useThan strikes the aphis. So with me, my Son!I know my own appointed patch i' the world,What pleasures me or pains there; all outside—How he, she, it, and even thou, Son, live,Are pleased or pained, is past conjecture, onceI pry beneath the semblance,—all that 's fit,To practise with,—reach where the fact may lieFathom-deep lower. There 's the first and lastOf my philosophy. Blacks blur thy white?Not mine! The aphis feeds, nor finds his leafUntenable, because a lance-thrust, nay,Lightning strikes sere a moss-patch close beside,Where certain other aphids live and love.Restriction to his single inch of white,That's law for him, the aphis: but for me,The man, the larger-souled, beside my stretchOf blacks and whites, I see a world of woeAll round about me: one such burst of blackIntolerable o'er the life I countWhite in the main, and, yea—white's faintest traceWere clean abolished once and evermore.Thus fare my fellows, swallowed up in gloomSo far as I discern: how far is that?God's care be God's! 'T is mine—to boast no joyUnsobered by such sorrows of my kindAs sully with their shade my life that shines."

"Nor I, Son! 'It' shall stand for bird, beast, fish,

Reptile, and insect even: take the last!

There 's the palm-aphis, minute miracle

As wondrous every whit as thou or I:

Well, and his world's the palm-frond, there he 's born,

Lives, breeds, and dies in that circumference,

An inch of green for cradle, pasture-ground,

Purlieu and grave: the palm's use, ask of him!

'To furnish these,' replies his wit: ask thine—

Who see the heaven above, the earth below,

Creation everywhere,—these, each and all

Claim certain recognition from the tree

For special service rendered branch and bole,

Top-tuft and tap-root:—for thyself, thus seen,

Palms furnish dates to eat, and leaves to shade,

—Maybe, thatch huts with,—have another use

Than strikes the aphis. So with me, my Son!

I know my own appointed patch i' the world,

What pleasures me or pains there; all outside—

How he, she, it, and even thou, Son, live,

Are pleased or pained, is past conjecture, once

I pry beneath the semblance,—all that 's fit,

To practise with,—reach where the fact may lie

Fathom-deep lower. There 's the first and last

Of my philosophy. Blacks blur thy white?

Not mine! The aphis feeds, nor finds his leaf

Untenable, because a lance-thrust, nay,

Lightning strikes sere a moss-patch close beside,

Where certain other aphids live and love.

Restriction to his single inch of white,

That's law for him, the aphis: but for me,

The man, the larger-souled, beside my stretch

Of blacks and whites, I see a world of woe

All round about me: one such burst of black

Intolerable o'er the life I count

White in the main, and, yea—white's faintest trace

Were clean abolished once and evermore.

Thus fare my fellows, swallowed up in gloom

So far as I discern: how far is that?

God's care be God's! 'T is mine—to boast no joy

Unsobered by such sorrows of my kind

As sully with their shade my life that shines."

"Reflected possibilities of pain,Forsooth, just chasten pleasure! Pain itself,—Fact and not fancy, does not this affectThe general color?"

"Reflected possibilities of pain,

Forsooth, just chasten pleasure! Pain itself,—

Fact and not fancy, does not this affect

The general color?"

"Here and there a touchTaught me, betimes, the artifice of things—That all about, external to myself,Was meant to be suspected,—not revealedDemonstrably a cheat,—but half seen through,Lest white should rule unchecked along the lineTherefore white may not triumph. All the same,Of absolute and irretrievableAnd all-subduing black,—black's soul of blackBeyond white's power to disintensify,—Of that I saw no sample: such may wreckMy life and ruin my philosophyTo-morrow, doubtless: hence the constant shadeCast on life's shine,—the tremor that intrudesWhen firmest seems my faith in white. Dost ask'Who is Ferishtah, hitherto exemptFrom black experience? Why, if God be just,Were sundry fellow-mortals singled outTo undergo experience for his sake,Just that the gift of pain, bestowed on them,In him might temper to the due degreeJoy's else-excessive largess?' Why, indeed!Back are we brought thus to the starting-point—Man's impotency, God's omnipotence,These stop my answer. Aphis that I am,How leave my inch-allotment, pass at willInto my fellow's liberty of range,Enter into his sense of black and white,As either, seen by me from outside, seemsPredominatingly the color? Life,Lived by my fellow, shall I pass intoAnd myself live there? No—no more than passFrom Persia, where in sun since birth I baskDaily, to some ungracious land afar,Told of by travellers, where the night of snowSmothers up day, and fluids lose themselvesFrozen to marble. How I bear the sun,Beat though he may unduly, that I know:How blood once curdled ever creeps again,Baffles conjecture: yet since people liveSomehow, resist a clime would conquer me,Somehow provided for their sake must dawnCompensative resource. 'No sun, no grapes,—Then, no subsistence!'—were it wisely said?Or this well-reasoned—'Do I dare feel warmthAnd please my palate here with Persia's vine,Though, over-mounts,—to trust the traveller,—Snow, feather-thick, is falling while I feast?What if the cruel winter force his wayHere also?' Son, the wise reply were this:When cold from over-mounts spikes through and throughBlood, bone and marrow of Ferishtah,—then,Time to look out for shelter—time, at least,To wring the hands and cry 'No shelter serves!'Shelter, of some sort, no experienced chillWarrants that I despair to find."

"Here and there a touch

Taught me, betimes, the artifice of things—

That all about, external to myself,

Was meant to be suspected,—not revealed

Demonstrably a cheat,—but half seen through,

Lest white should rule unchecked along the line

Therefore white may not triumph. All the same,

Of absolute and irretrievable

And all-subduing black,—black's soul of black

Beyond white's power to disintensify,—

Of that I saw no sample: such may wreck

My life and ruin my philosophy

To-morrow, doubtless: hence the constant shade

Cast on life's shine,—the tremor that intrudes

When firmest seems my faith in white. Dost ask

'Who is Ferishtah, hitherto exempt

From black experience? Why, if God be just,

Were sundry fellow-mortals singled out

To undergo experience for his sake,

Just that the gift of pain, bestowed on them,

In him might temper to the due degree

Joy's else-excessive largess?' Why, indeed!

Back are we brought thus to the starting-point—

Man's impotency, God's omnipotence,

These stop my answer. Aphis that I am,

How leave my inch-allotment, pass at will

Into my fellow's liberty of range,

Enter into his sense of black and white,

As either, seen by me from outside, seems

Predominatingly the color? Life,

Lived by my fellow, shall I pass into

And myself live there? No—no more than pass

From Persia, where in sun since birth I bask

Daily, to some ungracious land afar,

Told of by travellers, where the night of snow

Smothers up day, and fluids lose themselves

Frozen to marble. How I bear the sun,

Beat though he may unduly, that I know:

How blood once curdled ever creeps again,

Baffles conjecture: yet since people live

Somehow, resist a clime would conquer me,

Somehow provided for their sake must dawn

Compensative resource. 'No sun, no grapes,—

Then, no subsistence!'—were it wisely said?

Or this well-reasoned—'Do I dare feel warmth

And please my palate here with Persia's vine,

Though, over-mounts,—to trust the traveller,—

Snow, feather-thick, is falling while I feast?

What if the cruel winter force his way

Here also?' Son, the wise reply were this:

When cold from over-mounts spikes through and through

Blood, bone and marrow of Ferishtah,—then,

Time to look out for shelter—time, at least,

To wring the hands and cry 'No shelter serves!'

Shelter, of some sort, no experienced chill

Warrants that I despair to find."

"No less,Doctors have differed here; thou say'st thy say;Another man's experience masters thine,Flat controverted by the sourly-Sage,The Indian witness who, with facultyFine as Ferishtah's, found no white at allChequer the world's predominating black,No good oust evil from supremacy,So that Life's best was that it led to death.How of his testimony?"

"No less,

Doctors have differed here; thou say'st thy say;

Another man's experience masters thine,

Flat controverted by the sourly-Sage,

The Indian witness who, with faculty

Fine as Ferishtah's, found no white at all

Chequer the world's predominating black,

No good oust evil from supremacy,

So that Life's best was that it led to death.

How of his testimony?"

"Son, supposeMy camel told me: 'Threescore days and tenI traversed hill and dale, yet never foundFood to stop hunger, drink to stay my drouth;Yet, here I stand alive, which take in proofThat to survive was found impossible!''Nay, rather take thou, non-surviving beast,'(Reply were prompt,) 'on flank this thwack of staffNowise affecting flesh that 's dead and dry!Thou wincest? Take correction twice, amendNext time thy nomenclature! Call white—white!'The sourly-Sage, for whom life's best was death,Lived out his seventy years, looked hale, laughed loud.Liked—above all—his dinner,—lied, in short."

"Son, suppose

My camel told me: 'Threescore days and ten

I traversed hill and dale, yet never found

Food to stop hunger, drink to stay my drouth;

Yet, here I stand alive, which take in proof

That to survive was found impossible!'

'Nay, rather take thou, non-surviving beast,'

(Reply were prompt,) 'on flank this thwack of staff

Nowise affecting flesh that 's dead and dry!

Thou wincest? Take correction twice, amend

Next time thy nomenclature! Call white—white!'

The sourly-Sage, for whom life's best was death,

Lived out his seventy years, looked hale, laughed loud.

Liked—above all—his dinner,—lied, in short."

"Lied is a rough phrase: say he fell from truthIn climbing towards it!—sure less faulty soThan had he sat him down and stayed contentWith thy safe orthodoxy, 'White, all white,White everywhere for certain I should seeDid I but understand how white is black,As clearer sense than mine would.' Clearer sense,—Whose may that be? Mere human eyes I boast,And such distinguish colors in the main,However any tongue, that 's human too,Please to report the matter. Dost thou blameA soul that strives but to see plain, speak true,Truth at all hazards? Oh, this false for real,This emptiness which feigns solidity,—Ever some gray that 's white and dun that 's black,—When shall we rest upon the thing itselfNot on its semblance?—Soul—too weak, forsooth,To cope with fact—wants fiction everywhere!Mine tires of falsehood: truth at any cost!"

"Lied is a rough phrase: say he fell from truth

In climbing towards it!—sure less faulty so

Than had he sat him down and stayed content

With thy safe orthodoxy, 'White, all white,

White everywhere for certain I should see

Did I but understand how white is black,

As clearer sense than mine would.' Clearer sense,—

Whose may that be? Mere human eyes I boast,

And such distinguish colors in the main,

However any tongue, that 's human too,

Please to report the matter. Dost thou blame

A soul that strives but to see plain, speak true,

Truth at all hazards? Oh, this false for real,

This emptiness which feigns solidity,—

Ever some gray that 's white and dun that 's black,—

When shall we rest upon the thing itself

Not on its semblance?—Soul—too weak, forsooth,

To cope with fact—wants fiction everywhere!

Mine tires of falsehood: truth at any cost!"

"Take one and try conclusions—this, suppose!God is all-good, all-wise, all-powerful: truth?Take it and rest there. What is man? Not God:None of these absolutes therefore,—yet himself,A creature with a creature's qualities.Make them agree, these two conceptions! EachAbolishes the other. Is man weak,Foolish and bad? He must be Ahriman,Co-equal with an Ormuzd, Bad with Good,Or else a thing made at the Prime Sole Will,Doing a maker's pleasure—with resultsWhich—call, the wide world over, 'what must be'—But, from man's point of view, and only pointPossible to his powers, call—evidenceOf goodness, wisdom, strength? we mock ourselvesIn all that 's best of us,—man 's blind but sureCraving for these in very deed not word,Reality and not illusions. Well,—Since these nowhere exist—nor there where causeMust have effect, nor here where craving meansCraving unfollowed by fit consequenceAnd full supply, aye sought for, never found—These—what are they but man's own rule of right?A scheme of goodness recognized by man,Although by man unrealizable,—Not God's with whom to will were to perform:Nowise performed here, therefore never willed.What follows but that God, who could the best,Has willed the worst,—while man, with power to matchWill with performance, were deservedlyHailed the supreme—provided ... here 's the touchThat breaks the bubble ... this concept of man'sWere man's own work, his birth of heart and brain,His native grace, no alien gift at all.The bubble breaks here. Will of man create?No more than this my hand which strewed the beansProduced them also from its finger-tips.Back goes creation to its source, source primeAnd ultimate, the single and the sole."

"Take one and try conclusions—this, suppose!

God is all-good, all-wise, all-powerful: truth?

Take it and rest there. What is man? Not God:

None of these absolutes therefore,—yet himself,

A creature with a creature's qualities.

Make them agree, these two conceptions! Each

Abolishes the other. Is man weak,

Foolish and bad? He must be Ahriman,

Co-equal with an Ormuzd, Bad with Good,

Or else a thing made at the Prime Sole Will,

Doing a maker's pleasure—with results

Which—call, the wide world over, 'what must be'—

But, from man's point of view, and only point

Possible to his powers, call—evidence

Of goodness, wisdom, strength? we mock ourselves

In all that 's best of us,—man 's blind but sure

Craving for these in very deed not word,

Reality and not illusions. Well,—

Since these nowhere exist—nor there where cause

Must have effect, nor here where craving means

Craving unfollowed by fit consequence

And full supply, aye sought for, never found—

These—what are they but man's own rule of right?

A scheme of goodness recognized by man,

Although by man unrealizable,—

Not God's with whom to will were to perform:

Nowise performed here, therefore never willed.

What follows but that God, who could the best,

Has willed the worst,—while man, with power to match

Will with performance, were deservedly

Hailed the supreme—provided ... here 's the touch

That breaks the bubble ... this concept of man's

Were man's own work, his birth of heart and brain,

His native grace, no alien gift at all.

The bubble breaks here. Will of man create?

No more than this my hand which strewed the beans

Produced them also from its finger-tips.

Back goes creation to its source, source prime

And ultimate, the single and the sole."

"How reconcile discordancy,—uniteNotion and notion—God that only canYet does not,—man that would indeedBut just as surely cannot,—both in one?What help occurs to thy intelligence?"

"How reconcile discordancy,—unite

Notion and notion—God that only can

Yet does not,—man that would indeed

But just as surely cannot,—both in one?

What help occurs to thy intelligence?"

"Ah, the beans,—or,—example better yet,—A carpet-web I saw once leave the loomAnd lie at gorgeous length in Ispahan!The weaver plied his work with lengths of silkDyed each to match some jewel as it might,And wove them, this by that. 'How comes it, friend,'—(Quoth I)—'that while, apart, this fiery hue,That watery dimness, either shocks the eye,So blinding bright, or else offends again,By dulness,—yet the two, set each by each,Somehow produce a color born of both,A medium profitable to the sight?''Such medium is the end whereat I aim,'—Answered my craftsman: 'there 's no single tinctWould satisfy the eye's desire to tasteThe secret of the diamond: join extremesResults a serviceable medium-ghost,The diamond's simulation. Even soI needs must blend the quality of manWith quality of God, and so assistMere human sight to understand my Life,What is, what should be,—understand therebyWherefore I hate the first and love the last,—Understand why things so present themselvesTo me, placed here to prove I understand.Thus, from beginning runs the chain to end,And binds me plain enough. By consequence,I bade thee tolerate,—not kick and cuffThe man who held that natures did in factBlend so, since so thyself must have them blendIn fancy, if it take a flight so far."

"Ah, the beans,—or,—example better yet,—

A carpet-web I saw once leave the loom

And lie at gorgeous length in Ispahan!

The weaver plied his work with lengths of silk

Dyed each to match some jewel as it might,

And wove them, this by that. 'How comes it, friend,'—

(Quoth I)—'that while, apart, this fiery hue,

That watery dimness, either shocks the eye,

So blinding bright, or else offends again,

By dulness,—yet the two, set each by each,

Somehow produce a color born of both,

A medium profitable to the sight?'

'Such medium is the end whereat I aim,'—

Answered my craftsman: 'there 's no single tinct

Would satisfy the eye's desire to taste

The secret of the diamond: join extremes

Results a serviceable medium-ghost,

The diamond's simulation. Even so

I needs must blend the quality of man

With quality of God, and so assist

Mere human sight to understand my Life,

What is, what should be,—understand thereby

Wherefore I hate the first and love the last,—

Understand why things so present themselves

To me, placed here to prove I understand.

Thus, from beginning runs the chain to end,

And binds me plain enough. By consequence,

I bade thee tolerate,—not kick and cuff

The man who held that natures did in fact

Blend so, since so thyself must have them blend

In fancy, if it take a flight so far."

"A power, confessed past knowledge, nay, past thought,—Thus thought thus known!"

"A power, confessed past knowledge, nay, past thought,

—Thus thought thus known!"

"To know of, think about—Is all man's sum of faculty effectsWhen exercised on earth's least atom, Son!What was, what is, what may such atom be?No answer! Still, what seems it to man's sense?An atom with some certain propertiesKnown about, thought of as occasion needs,—Man's—but occasions of the universe?Unthinkable, unknowable to man.Yet, since to think and know fire through and throughExceeds man, is the warmth of fire unknown,Its uses—are they so unthinkable?Pass from such obvious power to powers unseen,Undreamed of save in their sure consequence:Take that, we spoke of late, which draws to groundThe staff my hand lets fall: it draws, at least—Thus much man thinks and knows, if nothing more."

"To know of, think about—

Is all man's sum of faculty effects

When exercised on earth's least atom, Son!

What was, what is, what may such atom be?

No answer! Still, what seems it to man's sense?

An atom with some certain properties

Known about, thought of as occasion needs,

—Man's—but occasions of the universe?

Unthinkable, unknowable to man.

Yet, since to think and know fire through and through

Exceeds man, is the warmth of fire unknown,

Its uses—are they so unthinkable?

Pass from such obvious power to powers unseen,

Undreamed of save in their sure consequence:

Take that, we spoke of late, which draws to ground

The staff my hand lets fall: it draws, at least—

Thus much man thinks and knows, if nothing more."

"Ay, but man puts no mind into such power!He neither thanks it, when an apple drops,Nor prays it spare his pate while underneath.Does he thank Summer though it plumped the rind?Why thank the other force—whate'er its name—Which gave him teeth to bite and tongue to tasteAnd throat to let the pulp pass? Force and force,No end of forces! Have they mind like man?"

"Ay, but man puts no mind into such power!

He neither thanks it, when an apple drops,

Nor prays it spare his pate while underneath.

Does he thank Summer though it plumped the rind?

Why thank the other force—whate'er its name—

Which gave him teeth to bite and tongue to taste

And throat to let the pulp pass? Force and force,

No end of forces! Have they mind like man?"

"Suppose thou visit our lord Shalim-Shah,Bringing thy tribute as appointed. 'HereCome I to pay my due!' Whereat one slaveObsequious spreads a carpet for thy foot,His fellow offers sweetmeats, while a thirdPrepares a pipe: what thanks or praise have they?Such as befit prompt service. GratitudeGoes past them to the Shah whose gracious nodSet all the sweet civility at work;But for his ordinance, I much suspect,My scholar had been left to cool his heelsUncarpeted, or warm them—likelier still—With bastinado for intrusion. SlavesNeeds must obey their master: 'force and force,No end of forces,' act as bids some forceSupreme o'er all and each: where find that one?How recognize him? Simply as thou didstThe Shah—by reasoning 'Since I feel a debt,Behooves me pay the same to one awareI have my duty, he his privilege.'Didst thou expect the slave who charged thy pipeWould serve as well to take thy tribute-bagAnd save thee further trouble?"

"Suppose thou visit our lord Shalim-Shah,

Bringing thy tribute as appointed. 'Here

Come I to pay my due!' Whereat one slave

Obsequious spreads a carpet for thy foot,

His fellow offers sweetmeats, while a third

Prepares a pipe: what thanks or praise have they?

Such as befit prompt service. Gratitude

Goes past them to the Shah whose gracious nod

Set all the sweet civility at work;

But for his ordinance, I much suspect,

My scholar had been left to cool his heels

Uncarpeted, or warm them—likelier still—

With bastinado for intrusion. Slaves

Needs must obey their master: 'force and force,

No end of forces,' act as bids some force

Supreme o'er all and each: where find that one?

How recognize him? Simply as thou didst

The Shah—by reasoning 'Since I feel a debt,

Behooves me pay the same to one aware

I have my duty, he his privilege.'

Didst thou expect the slave who charged thy pipe

Would serve as well to take thy tribute-bag

And save thee further trouble?"

"Be it so!The sense within me that I owe a debtAssures me—somewhere must be somebodyReady to take his due. All comes to this—Where due is, there acceptance follows: findHim who accepts the due! and why look far?Behold thy kindred compass thee about!Ere thou wast born and after thou shalt die,Heroic man stands forth as Shahan-Shah.Rustem and Gew, Gudarz and all the rest,How come they short of lordship that 's to seek?Dead worthies! but men live undoubtedlyGifted as Sindokht, sage Sulayman's match,Valiant like Kawah: ay, and while earth lastsSuch heroes shall abound there—all for theeWho profitest by all the present, past,And future operation of thy race.Why, then, o'erburdened with a debt of thanks,Look wistful for some hand from out the cloudsTo take it, when, all round, a multitudeWould ease thee in a trice?"

"Be it so!

The sense within me that I owe a debt

Assures me—somewhere must be somebody

Ready to take his due. All comes to this—

Where due is, there acceptance follows: find

Him who accepts the due! and why look far?

Behold thy kindred compass thee about!

Ere thou wast born and after thou shalt die,

Heroic man stands forth as Shahan-Shah.

Rustem and Gew, Gudarz and all the rest,

How come they short of lordship that 's to seek?

Dead worthies! but men live undoubtedly

Gifted as Sindokht, sage Sulayman's match,

Valiant like Kawah: ay, and while earth lasts

Such heroes shall abound there—all for thee

Who profitest by all the present, past,

And future operation of thy race.

Why, then, o'erburdened with a debt of thanks,

Look wistful for some hand from out the clouds

To take it, when, all round, a multitude

Would ease thee in a trice?"

"Such tendered thanksWould tumble back to who craved riddance, Son!—Who but my sorry self? See! stars are out—Stars which, unconscious of thy gaze beneath,Go glorifying, and glorify thee too—Those Seven Thrones, Zurah's beauty, weird Parwin!Whether shall love and praise to stars be paidOr—say—some Mubid who, for good to theeBlind at thy birth, by magic all his ownOpened thine eyes, and gave the sightless sight,Let the stars' glory enter? Say his charmWorked while thyself lay sleeping: as he wentThou wakedst: 'What a novel sense have I!Whom shall I love and praise?' 'The stars, each orbThou standest rapt beneath,' proposes one:'Do not they live their life, and please themselves,And so please thee? What more is requisite?'Make thou this answer: 'If indeed no mageOpened my eyes and worked a miracle,Then let the stars thank me who apprehendThat such an one is white, such other blue!But for my apprehension both were blank.Cannot I close my eyes and bid my brainMake whites and blues, conceive without stars' help,New qualities of color? were my sightLost or misleading, would yon red—I judgeA ruby's benefaction—stand for aughtBut green from vulgar glass? Myself appraiseLustre and lustre: should I overlookFomalhaut and declare some fen-fire king,Who shall correct me, lend me eyes he trustsNo more than I trust mine? My mage for me!I never saw him: if he never was,I am the arbitrator!' No, my Son!Let us sink down to thy similitude:I eat my apple, relish what is ripe—The sunny side, admire its raritySince half the tribe is wrinkled, and the restHide commonly a maggot in the core,—And down Zerdusht goes with due smack of lips:But—thank an apple? He who made my mouthTo masticate, my palate to approve,My maw to further the concoction—HimI thank,—but for whose work, the orchard's wealthMight prove so many gall-nuts—stocks or stonesFor aught that I should think, or know, or care."

"Such tendered thanks

Would tumble back to who craved riddance, Son!

—Who but my sorry self? See! stars are out—

Stars which, unconscious of thy gaze beneath,

Go glorifying, and glorify thee too

—Those Seven Thrones, Zurah's beauty, weird Parwin!

Whether shall love and praise to stars be paid

Or—say—some Mubid who, for good to thee

Blind at thy birth, by magic all his own

Opened thine eyes, and gave the sightless sight,

Let the stars' glory enter? Say his charm

Worked while thyself lay sleeping: as he went

Thou wakedst: 'What a novel sense have I!

Whom shall I love and praise?' 'The stars, each orb

Thou standest rapt beneath,' proposes one:

'Do not they live their life, and please themselves,

And so please thee? What more is requisite?'

Make thou this answer: 'If indeed no mage

Opened my eyes and worked a miracle,

Then let the stars thank me who apprehend

That such an one is white, such other blue!

But for my apprehension both were blank.

Cannot I close my eyes and bid my brain

Make whites and blues, conceive without stars' help,

New qualities of color? were my sight

Lost or misleading, would yon red—I judge

A ruby's benefaction—stand for aught

But green from vulgar glass? Myself appraise

Lustre and lustre: should I overlook

Fomalhaut and declare some fen-fire king,

Who shall correct me, lend me eyes he trusts

No more than I trust mine? My mage for me!

I never saw him: if he never was,

I am the arbitrator!' No, my Son!

Let us sink down to thy similitude:

I eat my apple, relish what is ripe—

The sunny side, admire its rarity

Since half the tribe is wrinkled, and the rest

Hide commonly a maggot in the core,—

And down Zerdusht goes with due smack of lips:

But—thank an apple? He who made my mouth

To masticate, my palate to approve,

My maw to further the concoction—Him

I thank,—but for whose work, the orchard's wealth

Might prove so many gall-nuts—stocks or stones

For aught that I should think, or know, or care."

"Why from the world," Ferishtah smiled, "should thanksGo to this work of mine? If worthy praise,Praised let it be and welcome: as verse ranks,So rate my verse: if good therein outweighsAught faulty judged, judge justly! Justice says;Be just to fact, or blaming or approving:But—generous? No, nor loving!

"Why from the world," Ferishtah smiled, "should thanks

Go to this work of mine? If worthy praise,

Praised let it be and welcome: as verse ranks,

So rate my verse: if good therein outweighs

Aught faulty judged, judge justly! Justice says;

Be just to fact, or blaming or approving:

But—generous? No, nor loving!

"Loving! what claim to love has work of mine?Concede my life were emptied of its gainsTo furnish forth and fill work's strict confine,Who works so for the world's sake—he complainsWith cause when hate, not love, rewards his pains.I looked beyond the world for truth and beauty:Sought, found, and did my duty."

"Loving! what claim to love has work of mine?

Concede my life were emptied of its gains

To furnish forth and fill work's strict confine,

Who works so for the world's sake—he complains

With cause when hate, not love, rewards his pains.

I looked beyond the world for truth and beauty:

Sought, found, and did my duty."

Oh, Love—no, Love! All the noise below, Love,Groanings all and moanings—none of Life I lose!All of Life's a cry just of weariness and woe, Love—"Hear at least, thou happy one!" How can I, Love, but choose?Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me—Much as when the moon's might frees a space from cloud—Iridescent splendors: gloom—would else confound me—Barriered off and banished far—bright-edged the blackest shroud!Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the facesFaint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old?"What"—they smile—"our names, our deeds so soon erasesTime upon his tablet where Life's glory lies enrolled?"Was it for mere fool's-play, make-believe and mumming,So we battled it like men, not boylike sulked or whined?Each of us heard clang God's 'Come!' and each was coming:Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind!"How of the field's fortune? That concerned our Leader!Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right:Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder,Lay the blame or lit the praise: no care for cowards: fight!"Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that 's under,Wide our world displays its worth, man's strife and strife's success;All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder,Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less.Only, at heart's utmost joy and triumph, terrorSudden turns the blood to ice: a chill wind disencharmsAll the late enchantment! What if all be error—If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms?Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati,Venice:December 1, 1883.

Oh, Love—no, Love! All the noise below, Love,

Groanings all and moanings—none of Life I lose!

All of Life's a cry just of weariness and woe, Love—

"Hear at least, thou happy one!" How can I, Love, but choose?

Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me—Much as when the moon's might frees a space from cloud—Iridescent splendors: gloom—would else confound me—Barriered off and banished far—bright-edged the blackest shroud!

Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me

—Much as when the moon's might frees a space from cloud—

Iridescent splendors: gloom—would else confound me—

Barriered off and banished far—bright-edged the blackest shroud!

Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the facesFaint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old?"What"—they smile—"our names, our deeds so soon erasesTime upon his tablet where Life's glory lies enrolled?

Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the faces

Faint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old?

"What"—they smile—"our names, our deeds so soon erases

Time upon his tablet where Life's glory lies enrolled?

"Was it for mere fool's-play, make-believe and mumming,So we battled it like men, not boylike sulked or whined?Each of us heard clang God's 'Come!' and each was coming:Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind!

"Was it for mere fool's-play, make-believe and mumming,

So we battled it like men, not boylike sulked or whined?

Each of us heard clang God's 'Come!' and each was coming:

Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind!

"How of the field's fortune? That concerned our Leader!Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right:Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder,Lay the blame or lit the praise: no care for cowards: fight!"

"How of the field's fortune? That concerned our Leader!

Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right:

Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder,

Lay the blame or lit the praise: no care for cowards: fight!"

Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that 's under,Wide our world displays its worth, man's strife and strife's success;All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder,Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less.

Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that 's under,

Wide our world displays its worth, man's strife and strife's success;

All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder,

Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less.

Only, at heart's utmost joy and triumph, terrorSudden turns the blood to ice: a chill wind disencharmsAll the late enchantment! What if all be error—If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms?

Only, at heart's utmost joy and triumph, terror

Sudden turns the blood to ice: a chill wind disencharms

All the late enchantment! What if all be error—

If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms?

Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati,Venice:December 1, 1883.

Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati,Venice:

December 1, 1883.

"Tutti ga i so gusti, e mi go i mii."(Venetian saying.)

Mr. Rawdon Brown was an Englishman who went to Venice on some temporary errand, and lived there for forty years, dying in that city in the summer of 1883. He had an enthusiastic love for Venice, and is mentioned in books of travel as one who knew the city thoroughly. The Venetian saying means that "everybody follows his taste as I follow mine." Toni was the gondolier and attendant of Brown. The inscription on Brown's tomb is given in the third and fourth lines.G. W. Cooke.

Sighed Rawdon Brown: "Yes, I 'm departing, Toni!I needs must, just this once before I die,Revisit England:AnglusBrown am I,Although my heart 's Venetian. Yes, old crony—Venice and London—London 's 'Death the bony'Compared with Life—that 's Venice! What a sky,A sea, this morning! One last look! Good-by,Cà Pesaro! No, lion—I 'm a coneyTo weep! I 'm dazzled; 't is that sun I viewRippling the ... the ...Cospetto, Toni! DownWith carpet-bag, and off with valise-straps!Bella Venezia, non ti lascio più!"Nor did Brown ever leave her: well, perhapsBrowning, next week, may find himself quite Brown!November 28, 1883.

Sighed Rawdon Brown: "Yes, I 'm departing, Toni!

I needs must, just this once before I die,

Revisit England:AnglusBrown am I,

Although my heart 's Venetian. Yes, old crony—

Venice and London—London 's 'Death the bony'

Compared with Life—that 's Venice! What a sky,

A sea, this morning! One last look! Good-by,

Cà Pesaro! No, lion—I 'm a coney

To weep! I 'm dazzled; 't is that sun I view

Rippling the ... the ...Cospetto, Toni! Down

With carpet-bag, and off with valise-straps!

Bella Venezia, non ti lascio più!"

Nor did Brown ever leave her: well, perhaps

Browning, next week, may find himself quite Brown!

November 28, 1883.

Inscribed in an Album presented to Mr. Arthur Chappell, of the Saint James Hall Saturday and Monday popular concerts.

"Enter my palace," if a prince should say—"Feast with the Painters! See, in bounteous row,They range from Titian up to Angelo!"Could we be silent at the rich survey?A host so kindly, in as great a wayInvites to banquet, substitutes for showSound that 's diviner still, and bids us knowBach like Beethoven; are we thankless, pray?Thanks, then, to Arthur Chappell,—thanks to himWhose every guest henceforth not idly vaunts"Sense has received the utmost Nature grants,My cup was filled with rapture to the brim,When, night by night,—ah, memory, how it haunts!—Music was poured by perfect ministrants,By Halle, Schumann, Piatti, Joachim.April 5, 1884.

"Enter my palace," if a prince should say—

"Feast with the Painters! See, in bounteous row,

They range from Titian up to Angelo!"

Could we be silent at the rich survey?

A host so kindly, in as great a way

Invites to banquet, substitutes for show

Sound that 's diviner still, and bids us know

Bach like Beethoven; are we thankless, pray?

Thanks, then, to Arthur Chappell,—thanks to himWhose every guest henceforth not idly vaunts"Sense has received the utmost Nature grants,My cup was filled with rapture to the brim,When, night by night,—ah, memory, how it haunts!—Music was poured by perfect ministrants,By Halle, Schumann, Piatti, Joachim.

Thanks, then, to Arthur Chappell,—thanks to him

Whose every guest henceforth not idly vaunts

"Sense has received the utmost Nature grants,

My cup was filled with rapture to the brim,

When, night by night,—ah, memory, how it haunts!—

Music was poured by perfect ministrants,

By Halle, Schumann, Piatti, Joachim.

April 5, 1884.

At Dr. F. J. Furnivall's suggestion, Browning was asked to contribute a sonnet to theShakesperean Show-Bookof the "Shakesperean Show" held in Albert Hall, London, on May 29–31, 1884, to pay off the debt on the Hospital for Women, in Fulham Road. The poet sent to the committee a sonnet on the names of Jehovah and Shakespeare.

Shakespeare!—to such name's sounding, what succeedsFitly as silence? Falter forth the spell,—Act follows word, the speaker knows full well,Nor tampers with its magic more than needs.Two names there are: That which the Hebrew readsWith his soul only: if from lips it fell,Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven and hell,Would own "Thou didst create us!" Naught impedesWe voice the other name, man's most of might,Awesomely, lovingly: let awe and loveMutely await their working, leave to sightAll of the issue as—below—above—Shakespeare's creation rises: one remove,Though dread—this finite from that infinite.March 12, 1884.

Shakespeare!—to such name's sounding, what succeeds

Fitly as silence? Falter forth the spell,—

Act follows word, the speaker knows full well,

Nor tampers with its magic more than needs.

Two names there are: That which the Hebrew reads

With his soul only: if from lips it fell,

Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven and hell,

Would own "Thou didst create us!" Naught impedes

We voice the other name, man's most of might,

Awesomely, lovingly: let awe and love

Mutely await their working, leave to sight

All of the issue as—below—above—

Shakespeare's creation rises: one remove,

Though dread—this finite from that infinite.

March 12, 1884.

ON LEVI LINCOLN THAXTER

Born in Watertown, Massachusetts, February 1, 1824.Died May 31, 1884.

Mr. Thaxter was early a student of Browning's genius and in his later years gave readings from his poems, which were singularly interpretative. The boulder over his grave bears these lines.

Thou, whom these eyes saw never! Say friends trueWho say my soul, helped onward by my song,Though all unwittingly, has helped thee too?I gave of but the little that I knew:How were the gift requited, while alongLife's path I pace, couldst thou make weakness strong!Help me with knowledge—for Life's Old—Death's New!R. B. to L. L. T.,April, 1885.

Thou, whom these eyes saw never! Say friends true

Who say my soul, helped onward by my song,

Though all unwittingly, has helped thee too?

I gave of but the little that I knew:

How were the gift requited, while along

Life's path I pace, couldst thou make weakness strong!

Help me with knowledge—for Life's Old—Death's New!

R. B. to L. L. T.,April, 1885.

Contributed to a volume edited by Andrew Reid, in which a number of leaders of English thought answered the question, "Why I am a Liberal?"

"Why?" Because all I haply can and do,All that I am now, all I hope to be,—Whence comes it save from fortune setting freeBody and soul the purpose to pursue,God traced for both? If fetters, not a few,Of prejudice, convention, fall from me,These shall I bid men—each in his degreeAlso God-guided—bear, and gayly, too?But little do or can the best of us:That little is achieved through Liberty.Who, then, dares hold, emancipated thus,His fellow shall continue bound? Not I,Who live, love, labor freely, nor discussA brother's right to freedom. That is "Why."

"Why?" Because all I haply can and do,

All that I am now, all I hope to be,—

Whence comes it save from fortune setting free

Body and soul the purpose to pursue,

God traced for both? If fetters, not a few,

Of prejudice, convention, fall from me,

These shall I bid men—each in his degree

Also God-guided—bear, and gayly, too?

But little do or can the best of us:That little is achieved through Liberty.Who, then, dares hold, emancipated thus,His fellow shall continue bound? Not I,Who live, love, labor freely, nor discussA brother's right to freedom. That is "Why."

But little do or can the best of us:

That little is achieved through Liberty.

Who, then, dares hold, emancipated thus,

His fellow shall continue bound? Not I,

Who live, love, labor freely, nor discuss

A brother's right to freedom. That is "Why."

IN MEMORIAM J. MILSAND, OBIIT IV. SEPTEMBER, MDCCCLXXXVI.

Absens Absentem Auditque Videtque.

A PROLOGUE

(Hymn in Mercurium, v. 559. Eumenides, vv. 693–4, 697–8. Alcestis, vv. 12, 33.)

Apollo.(From above.) Flame at my footfall, Parnassus! Apollo,Breaking ablaze on thy topmost peak,Burns thence, down to the depths—dread hollow—Haunt of the Dire Ones. Haste! They wreakWrath on Admetus whose respite I seek.The Fates.(Below. Darkness.) Dragonwise couched in the womb of our Mother,Coiled at thy nourishing heart's core, Night!Dominant Dreads, we, one by the other,Deal to each mortal his dole of lightOn earth—the upper, the glad, the bright.Clotho.Even so: thus from my loaded spindlePlucking a pinch of the fleece, lo, "Birth"Brays from my bronze lip: life I kindle:Look, 't is a man! go, measure on earthThe minute thy portion, whatever its worth!Lachesis.Woe-purfled, weal-prankt,—if it speed, if it linger,—Life's substance and show are determined by me,Who, meting out, mixing with sure thumb and finger,Lead life the due length: is all smoothness and glee,All tangle and grief? Take the lot, my decree!Atropos.—Which I make an end of: the smooth as the tangledMy shears cut asunder: each snap shrieks "One moreMortal makes sport for us Moirai who dangledThe puppet grotesquely till earth's solid floorProved film he fell through, lost in Naught as before."Clo.I spin thee a thread. Live, Admetus! Produce him!Lac.Go,—brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose himA goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,Men crown him, he stands at the height,—Atr.He is ...Apollo.(Entering: Light.)"Dead?"Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise youMaking and marring the fortunes of Man?Huddling—no marvel, your enemy eyes you—Head by head bat-like, blots under the banOf daylight earth's blessing since time began!The Fates.Back to thy blest earth, prying Apollo!Shaft upon shaft transpierce with thy beamsEarth to the centre,—spare but this hollowHewn out of Night's heart, where our mystery seemsMewed from day's malice: wake earth from her dreams!Apol.Crones, 't is your dusk selves I startle from slumber:Day's god deposes you—queens Night-crowned!—Plying your trade in a world ye encumber,Fashioning Man's web of life—spun, wound,Left the length ye allot till a clip strews the ground!Behold I bid truce to your doleful amusement—Annulled by a sunbeam!The Fates.Boy, are not we peers?Apol.You with the spindle grant birth: whose inducementBut yours—with the niggardly digits—endearsTo mankind chance and change, good and evil? Your shears ...Atr.Ay, mine end the conflict: so much is no fable.We spin, draw to length, cut asunder: what then?So it was, and so is, and so shall be: art ableTo alter life's law for ephemeral men?Apol.Nor able nor willing. To threescore and tenExtend but the years of Admetus! DisasterO'ertook me, and, banished by Zeus, I becameA servant to one who forbore me though master:True lovers were we. Discontinue your game,Let him live whom I loved, then hate on, all the same!The Fates.And what if we granted—law-flouter, use-trampler—His life at the suit of an upstart? Judge, thou—Of joy were it fuller, of span because ampler?For love's sake, not hate's, end Admetus—ay, now—Not a gray hair on head, nor a wrinkle on brow!For, boy, 't is illusion: from thee comes a glimmerTransforming to beauty life blank at the best.Withdraw—and how looks life at worst, when to shimmerSucceeds the sure shade, and Man's lot frowns—confessedMere blackness chance-brightened? Whereof shall attestThe truth this same mortal, the darling thou stylest,Whom love would advantage,—eke out, day by day,A life which 't is solely thyself reconcilestThy friend to endure,—life with hope: take awayHope's gleam from Admetus, he spurns it. For, say—What 's infancy? Ignorance, idleness, mischief:Youth ripens to arrogance, foolishness, greed:Age—impotence, churlishness, rancor: callthischiefOf boons for thy loved one? Much rather bid speedOur function, let live whom thou hatest indeed!Persuade thee, bright boy-thing! Our eld be instructive!Apol.And certes youth owns the experience of age.Ye hold then, grave seniors, my beams are productive—They solely—of good that 's mere semblance, engageMan's eye—gilding evil, Man's true heritage?The Fates.So, even so! From without,—at due distanceIf viewed,—set a-sparkle, reflecting thy rays,—Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,The counterfeit goes, the reality stays—An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb.Apol.What crazePossesses the fool then whose fancy conceits himAs happy?The Fates.Man happy?Apol.If otherwise—solveThis doubt which besets me! What friend ever greets himExcept with "Live long as the seasons revolve,"Not "Death to thee straightway"? Your doctrines absolveSuch hailing from hatred: yet Man should know best.He talks it, and glibly, as life were a loadMan fain would be rid of: when put to the test,He whines "Let it lie, leave me trudging the roadThat is rugged so far, but methinks" ...The Fates.Ay, 't is owedTo that glamour of thine, he bethinks him "Once pastThe stony, some patch, nay, a smoothness of swarthAwaits my tired foot: life turns easy at last"—Thy largess so lures him, he looks for rewardOf the labor and sorrow.Apol.It seems, then—debarredOf illusion—(I needs must acknowledge the plea)Man desponds and despairs. Yet,—still further to drawDue profit from counsel,—suppose there should beSome power in himself, some compensative lawBy virtue of which, independently ...The Fates.Faugh!Strength hid in the weakling!What bowl-shape hast there,Thus laughingly proffered? A gift to our shrine?Thanks—worsted in argument! Not so? DeclareIts purpose!Apol.I proffer earth's product, not mine.Taste, try, and approve Man's invention of—Wine!The Fates.We feeding suck honeycombs.Apol.Sustenance meagre!Such fare breeds the fumes that show all things amiss.Quaff wine,—how the spirits rise nimble and eager,Unscale the dim eyes! To Man's cup grant one kissOf your lip, then allow—no enchantment like this!Clo.Unhook wings, unhood brows! Dost hearken?Lach.I listen:I see—smell the food these fond mortals preferTo our feast, the bee's bounty!Atr.The thing leaps! But—glistenIts best, I withstand it—unless all concurIn adventure so novel.Apol.Ye drink?The Fates.We demur.Apol.Sweet Trine, be indulgent nor scout the contrivanceOf Man—Bacchus-prompted! The juice, I uphold,Illuminates gloom without sunny connivance,Turns fear into hope and makes cowardice bold,—Touching all that is leadlike in life turns it gold!The Fates.Faith foolish as false!Apol.But essay it, soft sisters!Then mock as ye may. Lift the chalice to lip!Good: thou next—and thou! Seems the web, to you twistersOf life's yarn, so worthless?Clo.Who guessed that one sipWould impart such a lightness of limb?Lach.I could skipIn a trice from the pied to the plain in my woof!What parts each from either? A hair's breadth, no inch.Once learn the right method of stepping aloof,Though on black next foot falls, firm I fix it, nor flinch,—Such my trust white succeeds!Atr.One could live—at a pinch!Apol.What, beldames? Earth's yield, by Man's skill, can effectSuch a cure of sick sense that ye spy the relationOf evil to good? But drink deeper, correctBlear sight more convincingly still! Take your stationBeside me, drain dregs! Now for edification!Whose gift have ye gulped? Thank not me but my brother,Blithe Bacchus, our youngest of godships. 'T was heFound all boons to all men, by one god or otherAlready conceded, so judged there must beNew guerdon to grace the new advent, you see!Else how would a claim to Man's homage arise?The plan lay arranged of his mixed woe and weal,So disposed—such Zeus' will—with design to make wiseThe witless—that false things were mingled with real,Good with bad: such the lot whereto law set the seal.Now, human of instinct—since Semele's son,Yet minded divinely—since fathered by Zeus,With naught Bacchus tampered, undid not things done,Owned wisdom anterior, would spare wont and use,Yet change—without shock to old rule—introduce.Regard how your cavern from crag-tip to baseFrowns sheer, height and depth adamantine, one death!I rouse with a beam the whole rampart, displaceNo splinter—yet see how my flambeau, beneathAnd above, bids this gem wink, that crystal unsheathe!Withdraw beam—disclosure once more Night forbids youOf spangle and sparkle—Day's chance-gift, surmisedRock's permanent birthright: my potency rids youNo longer of darkness, yet light—recognized—Proves darkness a mask: day lives on though disguised.If Bacchus by wine's aid avail so to flusterYour sense, that life's fact grows from adverse and thwartTo helpful and kindly by means of a cluster—Mere hand-squeeze, earth's nature sublimed by Man's art—Shall Bacchus claim thanks wherein Zeus has no part?Zeus—wisdom anterior? No, maids, be admonished!If morn's touch at base worked such wonders, much moreHad noontide in absolute glory astonishedYour den, filled a-top to o'erflowing. I pourNo such mad confusion. 'T is Man's to exploreUp and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason:No torch, it suffices—held deftly and straight.Eyes, purblind at first, feel their way in due season,Accept good with bad, till unseemly debateTurns concord—despair, acquiescence in fate.Who works this but Zeus? Are not instinct and impulse,Not concept and incept his work through Man's soulOn Man's sense? Just as wine ere it reach brain must brim pulse,Zeus' flash stings the mind that speeds body to goal,Bids pause at no part but press on, reach the whole.For petty and poor is the part ye envisageWhen—(quaff away, cummers!)—ye view, last and first,As evil Man's earthly existence. Come!Isage,Isinfancy—manhood—so uninterspersedWith good—some faint sprinkle?Clo.I 'd speak if I durst.Apol.Draughts dregward loose tongue-tie.Lach.I 'd see, did no webSet eyes somehow winking.Apol.Drains-deep lies their purge—True collyrium!Atr.Words, surging at high-tide, soon ebbFrom starved ears.Apol.Drink but down to the source, they resurge.Join hands! Yours and yours too! A dance or a dirge?Cho.Quashed be our quarrel! Sourly and smilingly,Bare and gowned, bleached limbs and browned,Drive we a dance, three and one, reconcilingly,Thanks to the cup where dissension is drowned,Defeat proves triumphant and slavery crowned.Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morningPale and depart in a passion of tears?Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning!Love once—e'en love's disappointment endears!A minute's success pays the failure of years.Manhood—the actual? Nay, praise the potential!(Bound upon bound, foot it around!)Whatis?No, whatmaybe—sing! that 's Man's essential!(Ramp, tramp, stamp and compoundFancy with fact—the lost secret is found!)Age? Why, fear ends there: the contest concluded,Mandidlive his life,didescape from the fray:Not scratchless but unscathed, he somehow eludedEach blow fortune dealt him, and conquers to-day:To-morrow—new chance and fresh strength,—might we say?Laud then Man's life—no defeat but a triumph![Explosion from the earth's centre.Clo.Ha, loose hands!Lach.I reel in a swound.Atro.Horror yawns under me, while from on high—humph!Lightnings astound, thunders resound,Vault-roof reverberates, groans the ground![Silence.Apol.I acknowledge.The Fates.Hence, trickster! Straight sobered are we!The portent assures 't was our tongue spoke the truth,Not thine. While the vapor encompassed us threeWe conceived and bore knowledge—a bantling uncouth,Old brains shudder back from: so—take it, rash youth!Lick the lump into shape till a cry comes!Apol.I hear.The Fates. Dumb music, dead eloquence! Say it, or sing!What was quickened in us and thee also?Apol.I fear.The Fates.Half female, half male—go, ambiguous thing!While we speak—perchance sputter—pick up what we fling!Known yet ignored, nor divined nor unguessed,Such is Man's law of life. Do we strive to declareWhat is ill, what is good in our spinning? Worst, best,Change hues of a sudden: now here and now thereFlits the sign which decides: all about yet nowhere.'T is willed so,—that Man's life be lived, first to last,Up and down, through and through—not in portions, forsooth,To pick and to choose from. Our shuttles fly fast,Weave living, not life sole and whole: as age—youth,So death completes living, shows life in its truth.Man learningly lives: till death helps him—no lore!It is doom and must be. Dost submit?Apol.I assent—Concede but Admetus! So much if no moreOf my prayer grant as peace-pledge! Be gracious, though, blent,Good and ill, love and hate streak your life-gift!The Fates.Content!Such boon we accord in due measure. Life's termWe lengthen should any be moved for love's sakeTo forego life's fulfilment, renounce in the germFruit mature—bliss or woe—either infinite. TakeOr leave thy friend's lot: on his head be the stake!Apol.On mine, griesly gammers! Admetus, I know thee!Thou prizest the right these unwittingly giveThy subjects to rush, pay obedience they owe thee!Importunate one with another they striveFor the glory to die that their king may survive.Friends rush: and who first in all Pheræ appearsBut thy father to serve as thy substitute?Clo.Bah!Apol.Ye wince? Then his mother, well stricken in years,Advances her claim—or his wife—Lach.Tra-la-la!Apol.But he spurns the exchange, rather dies!Atro.Ha, ha, ha![Apollo ascends. Darkness.

Apollo.(From above.) Flame at my footfall, Parnassus! Apollo,

Breaking ablaze on thy topmost peak,

Burns thence, down to the depths—dread hollow—

Haunt of the Dire Ones. Haste! They wreak

Wrath on Admetus whose respite I seek.

The Fates.(Below. Darkness.) Dragonwise couched in the womb of our Mother,Coiled at thy nourishing heart's core, Night!Dominant Dreads, we, one by the other,Deal to each mortal his dole of lightOn earth—the upper, the glad, the bright.

The Fates.(Below. Darkness.) Dragonwise couched in the womb of our Mother,

Coiled at thy nourishing heart's core, Night!

Dominant Dreads, we, one by the other,

Deal to each mortal his dole of light

On earth—the upper, the glad, the bright.

Clotho.Even so: thus from my loaded spindlePlucking a pinch of the fleece, lo, "Birth"Brays from my bronze lip: life I kindle:Look, 't is a man! go, measure on earthThe minute thy portion, whatever its worth!

Clotho.Even so: thus from my loaded spindle

Plucking a pinch of the fleece, lo, "Birth"

Brays from my bronze lip: life I kindle:

Look, 't is a man! go, measure on earth

The minute thy portion, whatever its worth!

Lachesis.Woe-purfled, weal-prankt,—if it speed, if it linger,—Life's substance and show are determined by me,Who, meting out, mixing with sure thumb and finger,Lead life the due length: is all smoothness and glee,All tangle and grief? Take the lot, my decree!

Lachesis.Woe-purfled, weal-prankt,—if it speed, if it linger,—

Life's substance and show are determined by me,

Who, meting out, mixing with sure thumb and finger,

Lead life the due length: is all smoothness and glee,

All tangle and grief? Take the lot, my decree!

Atropos.—Which I make an end of: the smooth as the tangledMy shears cut asunder: each snap shrieks "One moreMortal makes sport for us Moirai who dangledThe puppet grotesquely till earth's solid floorProved film he fell through, lost in Naught as before."

Atropos.—Which I make an end of: the smooth as the tangled

My shears cut asunder: each snap shrieks "One more

Mortal makes sport for us Moirai who dangled

The puppet grotesquely till earth's solid floor

Proved film he fell through, lost in Naught as before."

Clo.I spin thee a thread. Live, Admetus! Produce him!

Lac.Go,—brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose himA goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,Men crown him, he stands at the height,—

Lac.Go,—brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!

He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose him

A goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,

Men crown him, he stands at the height,—

Atr.He is ...

Apollo.(Entering: Light.)"Dead?"

Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise youMaking and marring the fortunes of Man?Huddling—no marvel, your enemy eyes you—Head by head bat-like, blots under the banOf daylight earth's blessing since time began!

Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise you

Making and marring the fortunes of Man?

Huddling—no marvel, your enemy eyes you—

Head by head bat-like, blots under the ban

Of daylight earth's blessing since time began!

The Fates.Back to thy blest earth, prying Apollo!Shaft upon shaft transpierce with thy beamsEarth to the centre,—spare but this hollowHewn out of Night's heart, where our mystery seemsMewed from day's malice: wake earth from her dreams!

The Fates.Back to thy blest earth, prying Apollo!

Shaft upon shaft transpierce with thy beams

Earth to the centre,—spare but this hollow

Hewn out of Night's heart, where our mystery seems

Mewed from day's malice: wake earth from her dreams!

Apol.Crones, 't is your dusk selves I startle from slumber:Day's god deposes you—queens Night-crowned!—Plying your trade in a world ye encumber,Fashioning Man's web of life—spun, wound,Left the length ye allot till a clip strews the ground!

Apol.Crones, 't is your dusk selves I startle from slumber:

Day's god deposes you—queens Night-crowned!

—Plying your trade in a world ye encumber,

Fashioning Man's web of life—spun, wound,

Left the length ye allot till a clip strews the ground!

Behold I bid truce to your doleful amusement—Annulled by a sunbeam!

Behold I bid truce to your doleful amusement—

Annulled by a sunbeam!

The Fates.Boy, are not we peers?

Apol.You with the spindle grant birth: whose inducementBut yours—with the niggardly digits—endearsTo mankind chance and change, good and evil? Your shears ...

Apol.You with the spindle grant birth: whose inducement

But yours—with the niggardly digits—endears

To mankind chance and change, good and evil? Your shears ...

Atr.Ay, mine end the conflict: so much is no fable.We spin, draw to length, cut asunder: what then?So it was, and so is, and so shall be: art ableTo alter life's law for ephemeral men?

Atr.Ay, mine end the conflict: so much is no fable.

We spin, draw to length, cut asunder: what then?

So it was, and so is, and so shall be: art able

To alter life's law for ephemeral men?

Apol.Nor able nor willing. To threescore and ten

Extend but the years of Admetus! DisasterO'ertook me, and, banished by Zeus, I becameA servant to one who forbore me though master:True lovers were we. Discontinue your game,Let him live whom I loved, then hate on, all the same!

Extend but the years of Admetus! Disaster

O'ertook me, and, banished by Zeus, I became

A servant to one who forbore me though master:

True lovers were we. Discontinue your game,

Let him live whom I loved, then hate on, all the same!

The Fates.And what if we granted—law-flouter, use-trampler—His life at the suit of an upstart? Judge, thou—Of joy were it fuller, of span because ampler?For love's sake, not hate's, end Admetus—ay, now—Not a gray hair on head, nor a wrinkle on brow!

The Fates.And what if we granted—law-flouter, use-trampler—

His life at the suit of an upstart? Judge, thou—

Of joy were it fuller, of span because ampler?

For love's sake, not hate's, end Admetus—ay, now—

Not a gray hair on head, nor a wrinkle on brow!

For, boy, 't is illusion: from thee comes a glimmerTransforming to beauty life blank at the best.Withdraw—and how looks life at worst, when to shimmerSucceeds the sure shade, and Man's lot frowns—confessedMere blackness chance-brightened? Whereof shall attest

For, boy, 't is illusion: from thee comes a glimmer

Transforming to beauty life blank at the best.

Withdraw—and how looks life at worst, when to shimmer

Succeeds the sure shade, and Man's lot frowns—confessed

Mere blackness chance-brightened? Whereof shall attest

The truth this same mortal, the darling thou stylest,Whom love would advantage,—eke out, day by day,A life which 't is solely thyself reconcilestThy friend to endure,—life with hope: take awayHope's gleam from Admetus, he spurns it. For, say—

The truth this same mortal, the darling thou stylest,

Whom love would advantage,—eke out, day by day,

A life which 't is solely thyself reconcilest

Thy friend to endure,—life with hope: take away

Hope's gleam from Admetus, he spurns it. For, say—

What 's infancy? Ignorance, idleness, mischief:Youth ripens to arrogance, foolishness, greed:Age—impotence, churlishness, rancor: callthischiefOf boons for thy loved one? Much rather bid speedOur function, let live whom thou hatest indeed!

What 's infancy? Ignorance, idleness, mischief:

Youth ripens to arrogance, foolishness, greed:

Age—impotence, churlishness, rancor: callthischief

Of boons for thy loved one? Much rather bid speed

Our function, let live whom thou hatest indeed!

Persuade thee, bright boy-thing! Our eld be instructive!

Apol.And certes youth owns the experience of age.Ye hold then, grave seniors, my beams are productive—They solely—of good that 's mere semblance, engageMan's eye—gilding evil, Man's true heritage?

Apol.And certes youth owns the experience of age.

Ye hold then, grave seniors, my beams are productive

—They solely—of good that 's mere semblance, engage

Man's eye—gilding evil, Man's true heritage?

The Fates.So, even so! From without,—at due distanceIf viewed,—set a-sparkle, reflecting thy rays,—Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,The counterfeit goes, the reality stays—An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb.

The Fates.So, even so! From without,—at due distance

If viewed,—set a-sparkle, reflecting thy rays,—

Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,

The counterfeit goes, the reality stays—

An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb.

Apol.What craze

Possesses the fool then whose fancy conceits himAs happy?

Possesses the fool then whose fancy conceits him

As happy?

The Fates.Man happy?

Apol.If otherwise—solveThis doubt which besets me! What friend ever greets himExcept with "Live long as the seasons revolve,"Not "Death to thee straightway"? Your doctrines absolve

Apol.If otherwise—solve

This doubt which besets me! What friend ever greets him

Except with "Live long as the seasons revolve,"

Not "Death to thee straightway"? Your doctrines absolve

Such hailing from hatred: yet Man should know best.He talks it, and glibly, as life were a loadMan fain would be rid of: when put to the test,He whines "Let it lie, leave me trudging the roadThat is rugged so far, but methinks" ...

Such hailing from hatred: yet Man should know best.

He talks it, and glibly, as life were a load

Man fain would be rid of: when put to the test,

He whines "Let it lie, leave me trudging the road

That is rugged so far, but methinks" ...

The Fates.Ay, 't is owed

To that glamour of thine, he bethinks him "Once pastThe stony, some patch, nay, a smoothness of swarthAwaits my tired foot: life turns easy at last"—Thy largess so lures him, he looks for rewardOf the labor and sorrow.

To that glamour of thine, he bethinks him "Once past

The stony, some patch, nay, a smoothness of swarth

Awaits my tired foot: life turns easy at last"—

Thy largess so lures him, he looks for reward

Of the labor and sorrow.

Apol.It seems, then—debarred

Of illusion—(I needs must acknowledge the plea)Man desponds and despairs. Yet,—still further to drawDue profit from counsel,—suppose there should beSome power in himself, some compensative lawBy virtue of which, independently ...

Of illusion—(I needs must acknowledge the plea)

Man desponds and despairs. Yet,—still further to draw

Due profit from counsel,—suppose there should be

Some power in himself, some compensative law

By virtue of which, independently ...

The Fates.Faugh!Strength hid in the weakling!What bowl-shape hast there,Thus laughingly proffered? A gift to our shrine?Thanks—worsted in argument! Not so? DeclareIts purpose!

The Fates.Faugh!

Strength hid in the weakling!

What bowl-shape hast there,

Thus laughingly proffered? A gift to our shrine?

Thanks—worsted in argument! Not so? Declare

Its purpose!

Apol.I proffer earth's product, not mine.Taste, try, and approve Man's invention of—Wine!

Apol.I proffer earth's product, not mine.

Taste, try, and approve Man's invention of—Wine!

The Fates.We feeding suck honeycombs.

Apol.Sustenance meagre!Such fare breeds the fumes that show all things amiss.Quaff wine,—how the spirits rise nimble and eager,Unscale the dim eyes! To Man's cup grant one kissOf your lip, then allow—no enchantment like this!

Apol.Sustenance meagre!

Such fare breeds the fumes that show all things amiss.

Quaff wine,—how the spirits rise nimble and eager,

Unscale the dim eyes! To Man's cup grant one kiss

Of your lip, then allow—no enchantment like this!

Clo.Unhook wings, unhood brows! Dost hearken?

Lach.I listen:I see—smell the food these fond mortals preferTo our feast, the bee's bounty!

Lach.I listen:

I see—smell the food these fond mortals prefer

To our feast, the bee's bounty!

Atr.The thing leaps! But—glistenIts best, I withstand it—unless all concurIn adventure so novel.

Atr.The thing leaps! But—glisten

Its best, I withstand it—unless all concur

In adventure so novel.

Apol.Ye drink?

The Fates.We demur.

Apol.Sweet Trine, be indulgent nor scout the contrivanceOf Man—Bacchus-prompted! The juice, I uphold,Illuminates gloom without sunny connivance,Turns fear into hope and makes cowardice bold,—Touching all that is leadlike in life turns it gold!

Apol.Sweet Trine, be indulgent nor scout the contrivance

Of Man—Bacchus-prompted! The juice, I uphold,

Illuminates gloom without sunny connivance,

Turns fear into hope and makes cowardice bold,—

Touching all that is leadlike in life turns it gold!

The Fates.Faith foolish as false!

Apol.But essay it, soft sisters!Then mock as ye may. Lift the chalice to lip!Good: thou next—and thou! Seems the web, to you twistersOf life's yarn, so worthless?

Apol.But essay it, soft sisters!

Then mock as ye may. Lift the chalice to lip!

Good: thou next—and thou! Seems the web, to you twisters

Of life's yarn, so worthless?

Clo.Who guessed that one sipWould impart such a lightness of limb?

Clo.Who guessed that one sip

Would impart such a lightness of limb?

Lach.I could skip

In a trice from the pied to the plain in my woof!What parts each from either? A hair's breadth, no inch.Once learn the right method of stepping aloof,Though on black next foot falls, firm I fix it, nor flinch,—Such my trust white succeeds!

In a trice from the pied to the plain in my woof!

What parts each from either? A hair's breadth, no inch.

Once learn the right method of stepping aloof,

Though on black next foot falls, firm I fix it, nor flinch,

—Such my trust white succeeds!

Atr.One could live—at a pinch!

Apol.What, beldames? Earth's yield, by Man's skill, can effectSuch a cure of sick sense that ye spy the relationOf evil to good? But drink deeper, correctBlear sight more convincingly still! Take your stationBeside me, drain dregs! Now for edification!

Apol.What, beldames? Earth's yield, by Man's skill, can effect

Such a cure of sick sense that ye spy the relation

Of evil to good? But drink deeper, correct

Blear sight more convincingly still! Take your station

Beside me, drain dregs! Now for edification!

Whose gift have ye gulped? Thank not me but my brother,Blithe Bacchus, our youngest of godships. 'T was heFound all boons to all men, by one god or otherAlready conceded, so judged there must beNew guerdon to grace the new advent, you see!

Whose gift have ye gulped? Thank not me but my brother,

Blithe Bacchus, our youngest of godships. 'T was he

Found all boons to all men, by one god or other

Already conceded, so judged there must be

New guerdon to grace the new advent, you see!

Else how would a claim to Man's homage arise?The plan lay arranged of his mixed woe and weal,So disposed—such Zeus' will—with design to make wiseThe witless—that false things were mingled with real,Good with bad: such the lot whereto law set the seal.

Else how would a claim to Man's homage arise?

The plan lay arranged of his mixed woe and weal,

So disposed—such Zeus' will—with design to make wise

The witless—that false things were mingled with real,

Good with bad: such the lot whereto law set the seal.

Now, human of instinct—since Semele's son,Yet minded divinely—since fathered by Zeus,With naught Bacchus tampered, undid not things done,Owned wisdom anterior, would spare wont and use,Yet change—without shock to old rule—introduce.

Now, human of instinct—since Semele's son,

Yet minded divinely—since fathered by Zeus,

With naught Bacchus tampered, undid not things done,

Owned wisdom anterior, would spare wont and use,

Yet change—without shock to old rule—introduce.

Regard how your cavern from crag-tip to baseFrowns sheer, height and depth adamantine, one death!I rouse with a beam the whole rampart, displaceNo splinter—yet see how my flambeau, beneathAnd above, bids this gem wink, that crystal unsheathe!

Regard how your cavern from crag-tip to base

Frowns sheer, height and depth adamantine, one death!

I rouse with a beam the whole rampart, displace

No splinter—yet see how my flambeau, beneath

And above, bids this gem wink, that crystal unsheathe!

Withdraw beam—disclosure once more Night forbids youOf spangle and sparkle—Day's chance-gift, surmisedRock's permanent birthright: my potency rids youNo longer of darkness, yet light—recognized—Proves darkness a mask: day lives on though disguised.

Withdraw beam—disclosure once more Night forbids you

Of spangle and sparkle—Day's chance-gift, surmised

Rock's permanent birthright: my potency rids you

No longer of darkness, yet light—recognized—

Proves darkness a mask: day lives on though disguised.

If Bacchus by wine's aid avail so to flusterYour sense, that life's fact grows from adverse and thwartTo helpful and kindly by means of a cluster—Mere hand-squeeze, earth's nature sublimed by Man's art—Shall Bacchus claim thanks wherein Zeus has no part?

If Bacchus by wine's aid avail so to fluster

Your sense, that life's fact grows from adverse and thwart

To helpful and kindly by means of a cluster—

Mere hand-squeeze, earth's nature sublimed by Man's art—

Shall Bacchus claim thanks wherein Zeus has no part?

Zeus—wisdom anterior? No, maids, be admonished!If morn's touch at base worked such wonders, much moreHad noontide in absolute glory astonishedYour den, filled a-top to o'erflowing. I pourNo such mad confusion. 'T is Man's to explore

Zeus—wisdom anterior? No, maids, be admonished!

If morn's touch at base worked such wonders, much more

Had noontide in absolute glory astonished

Your den, filled a-top to o'erflowing. I pour

No such mad confusion. 'T is Man's to explore

Up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason:No torch, it suffices—held deftly and straight.Eyes, purblind at first, feel their way in due season,Accept good with bad, till unseemly debateTurns concord—despair, acquiescence in fate.

Up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason:

No torch, it suffices—held deftly and straight.

Eyes, purblind at first, feel their way in due season,

Accept good with bad, till unseemly debate

Turns concord—despair, acquiescence in fate.

Who works this but Zeus? Are not instinct and impulse,Not concept and incept his work through Man's soulOn Man's sense? Just as wine ere it reach brain must brim pulse,Zeus' flash stings the mind that speeds body to goal,Bids pause at no part but press on, reach the whole.

Who works this but Zeus? Are not instinct and impulse,

Not concept and incept his work through Man's soul

On Man's sense? Just as wine ere it reach brain must brim pulse,

Zeus' flash stings the mind that speeds body to goal,

Bids pause at no part but press on, reach the whole.

For petty and poor is the part ye envisageWhen—(quaff away, cummers!)—ye view, last and first,As evil Man's earthly existence. Come!Isage,Isinfancy—manhood—so uninterspersedWith good—some faint sprinkle?

For petty and poor is the part ye envisage

When—(quaff away, cummers!)—ye view, last and first,

As evil Man's earthly existence. Come!Isage,

Isinfancy—manhood—so uninterspersed

With good—some faint sprinkle?

Clo.I 'd speak if I durst.

Apol.Draughts dregward loose tongue-tie.

Lach.I 'd see, did no webSet eyes somehow winking.

Lach.I 'd see, did no web

Set eyes somehow winking.

Apol.Drains-deep lies their purge—True collyrium!

Apol.Drains-deep lies their purge

—True collyrium!

Atr.Words, surging at high-tide, soon ebbFrom starved ears.

Atr.Words, surging at high-tide, soon ebb

From starved ears.

Apol.Drink but down to the source, they resurge.Join hands! Yours and yours too! A dance or a dirge?

Apol.Drink but down to the source, they resurge.

Join hands! Yours and yours too! A dance or a dirge?

Cho.Quashed be our quarrel! Sourly and smilingly,Bare and gowned, bleached limbs and browned,Drive we a dance, three and one, reconcilingly,Thanks to the cup where dissension is drowned,Defeat proves triumphant and slavery crowned.

Cho.Quashed be our quarrel! Sourly and smilingly,

Bare and gowned, bleached limbs and browned,

Drive we a dance, three and one, reconcilingly,

Thanks to the cup where dissension is drowned,

Defeat proves triumphant and slavery crowned.

Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morningPale and depart in a passion of tears?Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning!Love once—e'en love's disappointment endears!A minute's success pays the failure of years.

Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morning

Pale and depart in a passion of tears?

Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning!

Love once—e'en love's disappointment endears!

A minute's success pays the failure of years.

Manhood—the actual? Nay, praise the potential!(Bound upon bound, foot it around!)Whatis?No, whatmaybe—sing! that 's Man's essential!(Ramp, tramp, stamp and compoundFancy with fact—the lost secret is found!)

Manhood—the actual? Nay, praise the potential!

(Bound upon bound, foot it around!)

Whatis?No, whatmaybe—sing! that 's Man's essential!

(Ramp, tramp, stamp and compound

Fancy with fact—the lost secret is found!)

Age? Why, fear ends there: the contest concluded,Mandidlive his life,didescape from the fray:Not scratchless but unscathed, he somehow eludedEach blow fortune dealt him, and conquers to-day:To-morrow—new chance and fresh strength,—might we say?

Age? Why, fear ends there: the contest concluded,

Mandidlive his life,didescape from the fray:

Not scratchless but unscathed, he somehow eluded

Each blow fortune dealt him, and conquers to-day:

To-morrow—new chance and fresh strength,—might we say?

Laud then Man's life—no defeat but a triumph![Explosion from the earth's centre.

Clo.Ha, loose hands!

Lach.I reel in a swound.

Atro.Horror yawns under me, while from on high—humph!Lightnings astound, thunders resound,Vault-roof reverberates, groans the ground![Silence.

Atro.Horror yawns under me, while from on high—humph!

Lightnings astound, thunders resound,

Vault-roof reverberates, groans the ground![Silence.

Apol.I acknowledge.

The Fates.Hence, trickster! Straight sobered are we!The portent assures 't was our tongue spoke the truth,Not thine. While the vapor encompassed us threeWe conceived and bore knowledge—a bantling uncouth,Old brains shudder back from: so—take it, rash youth!

The Fates.Hence, trickster! Straight sobered are we!

The portent assures 't was our tongue spoke the truth,

Not thine. While the vapor encompassed us three

We conceived and bore knowledge—a bantling uncouth,

Old brains shudder back from: so—take it, rash youth!

Lick the lump into shape till a cry comes!

Apol.I hear.

The Fates. Dumb music, dead eloquence! Say it, or sing!What was quickened in us and thee also?

The Fates. Dumb music, dead eloquence! Say it, or sing!

What was quickened in us and thee also?

Apol.I fear.

The Fates.Half female, half male—go, ambiguous thing!While we speak—perchance sputter—pick up what we fling!

The Fates.Half female, half male—go, ambiguous thing!

While we speak—perchance sputter—pick up what we fling!

Known yet ignored, nor divined nor unguessed,Such is Man's law of life. Do we strive to declareWhat is ill, what is good in our spinning? Worst, best,Change hues of a sudden: now here and now thereFlits the sign which decides: all about yet nowhere.

Known yet ignored, nor divined nor unguessed,

Such is Man's law of life. Do we strive to declare

What is ill, what is good in our spinning? Worst, best,

Change hues of a sudden: now here and now there

Flits the sign which decides: all about yet nowhere.

'T is willed so,—that Man's life be lived, first to last,Up and down, through and through—not in portions, forsooth,To pick and to choose from. Our shuttles fly fast,Weave living, not life sole and whole: as age—youth,So death completes living, shows life in its truth.

'T is willed so,—that Man's life be lived, first to last,

Up and down, through and through—not in portions, forsooth,

To pick and to choose from. Our shuttles fly fast,

Weave living, not life sole and whole: as age—youth,

So death completes living, shows life in its truth.

Man learningly lives: till death helps him—no lore!It is doom and must be. Dost submit?

Man learningly lives: till death helps him—no lore!

It is doom and must be. Dost submit?

Apol.I assent—Concede but Admetus! So much if no moreOf my prayer grant as peace-pledge! Be gracious, though, blent,Good and ill, love and hate streak your life-gift!

Apol.I assent—

Concede but Admetus! So much if no more

Of my prayer grant as peace-pledge! Be gracious, though, blent,

Good and ill, love and hate streak your life-gift!

The Fates.Content!

Such boon we accord in due measure. Life's termWe lengthen should any be moved for love's sakeTo forego life's fulfilment, renounce in the germFruit mature—bliss or woe—either infinite. TakeOr leave thy friend's lot: on his head be the stake!

Such boon we accord in due measure. Life's term

We lengthen should any be moved for love's sake

To forego life's fulfilment, renounce in the germ

Fruit mature—bliss or woe—either infinite. Take

Or leave thy friend's lot: on his head be the stake!

Apol.On mine, griesly gammers! Admetus, I know thee!Thou prizest the right these unwittingly giveThy subjects to rush, pay obedience they owe thee!Importunate one with another they striveFor the glory to die that their king may survive.

Apol.On mine, griesly gammers! Admetus, I know thee!

Thou prizest the right these unwittingly give

Thy subjects to rush, pay obedience they owe thee!

Importunate one with another they strive

For the glory to die that their king may survive.

Friends rush: and who first in all Pheræ appearsBut thy father to serve as thy substitute?

Friends rush: and who first in all Pheræ appears

But thy father to serve as thy substitute?

Clo.Bah!

Apol.Ye wince? Then his mother, well stricken in years,Advances her claim—or his wife—

Apol.Ye wince? Then his mother, well stricken in years,

Advances her claim—or his wife—

Lach.Tra-la-la!

Apol.But he spurns the exchange, rather dies!

Atro.Ha, ha, ha![Apollo ascends. Darkness.

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