Thesun was high when Psyche woke again,And turning to the place where he had lainAnd seeing no one, doubted of the thingThat she had dreamed it, till a fair gold ring,Unseen before, upon her hand she found,And touching her bright head she felt it crownedWith a bright circlet; then withal she sighed.And wondered how the oracle had lied,And wished her father knew it, and straightwayRose up and clad herself. Slow went the day,Though helped with many a solace, till came night;And therewithal the new, unseen delight,She learned to call her Love.So passed awayThe days and nights, until upon a dayAs in the shade, at noon she lay asleep.She dreamed that she beheld her sisters weep,And her old father clad in sorry guise,Grown foolish with the weight of miseries,Her friends black-clad and moving mournfully,And folk in wonder landed from the sea,At such a fall of such a matchless maid,And in some press apart her raiment laidLike precious relics, and an empty tombSet in the palace telling of her doom.Therefore she wept in sleep, and woke with tearsStill on her face, and wet hair round her ears,And went about unhappily that day,Framing a gentle speech wherewith to prayFor leave to see her sisters once again,That they might know her happy, and her painTurned all to joy, and honour come from shame.And so at last night and her lover came,And midst their fondling, suddenly she said,"O Love, a little time we have been wed,And yet I ask a boon of thee this night.""Psyche," he said, "if my heart tells me right,This thy desire may bring us bitter woe,For who the shifting chance of fate can know?Yet, forasmuch as mortal hearts are weak,To-morrow shall my folk thy sisters seek,And bear them hither; but before the dayIs fully ended must they go away.And thou—beware—for, fresh and good and true,Thou knowest not what worldly hearts may do,Or what a curse gold is unto the earth.Beware lest from thy full heart, in thy mirth,Thou tell'st the story of thy love unseen:Thy loving, simple heart, fits not a queen."Then by her kisses did she know he frowned,But close about him her fair arms she wound,Until for happiness he 'gan to smile,And in those arms forgat all else awhile.So the next day, for joy that they should come,Would Psyche further deck her strange new home,And even as she 'gan to think the thought,Quickly her will by unseen hands was wrought,Who came and went like thoughts. Yea, how should ITell of the works of gold and ivory,The gems and images, those hands brought thereThe prisoned things of earth, and sea, and air,They brought to please their mistress? Many a beast,Such as King Bacchus in his reckless feastMakes merry with—huge elephants, snow-whiteWith gilded tusks, or dusky-grey with brightAnd shining chains about their wrinkled necks;The mailed rhinoceros, that of nothing recks;Dusky-maned lions; spotted leopards fairThat through the cane-brake move, unseen as air;The deep-mouthed tiger, dread of the brown man;The eagle, and the peacock, and the swan——These be the nobles of the birds and beasts.But therewithal, for laughter at their feasts,They brought them the gods' jesters, such as beQuick-chattering apes, that yet in mockeryOf anxious men wrinkle their ugly brows;Strange birds with pouches, birds with beaks like prowsOf merchant-ships, with tufted crests like threads,With unimaginable monstrous heads.Lo, such as these, in many a gilded cageThey brought, or chained for fear of sudden rage.Then strewed they scented branches on the floor,And hung rose-garlands up by the great door,And wafted incense through the bowers and halls,And hung up fairer hangings on the walls,And filled the baths with water fresh and clear,And in the chambers laid apparel fair,And spread a table for a royal feast.Then when from all these labours they had ceased,Psyche they sung to sleep with lullabies;Who slept not long, but opening soon her eyes,Beheld her sisters on the threshold stand:Then did she run to take them by the hand,And laid her cheek to theirs, and murmured wordsOf little meaning, like the moan of birds,While they bewildered stood and gazed around,Like people who in some strange land have foundOne that they thought not of; but she at lastStood back, and from her face the strayed locks cast,And, smiling through her tears, said, "Ah, that yeShould have to weep such useless tears for me!Alas, the burden that the city bearsFor nought! O me, my father's burning tears,That into all this honour I am come!Nay, does he live yet? Is the ancient homeStill standing? do the galleys throng the quays?Do the brown Indians glitter down the waysWith rubies as of old? Yes, yes, ye smile,For ye are thinking, but a little whileApart from these has she been dwelling here;Truly, yet long enough, loved ones and dear,To make me other than I was of old,Though now when your dear faces I beholdAm I myself again. But by what roadHave ye been brought to this my new abode?""Sister," said one, "I rose up from my bedIt seems this morn, and being apparelléd,And walking in my garden, in a swoonHelpless and unattended I sank down,Wherefrom I scarce am waked, for as a dreamDost thou with all this royal glory seem,But for thy kisses and thy words, O love.""Yea, Psyche," said the other, "as I droveThe ivory shuttle through the shuttle-race,All was changed suddenly, and in this placeI found myself, and standing on my feet,Where me with sleepy words this one did greet.Now, sister, tell us whence these wonders comeWith all the godlike splendour of your home.""Sisters," she said, "more marvels shall ye seeWhen ye, have been a little while with me,Whereof I cannot tell you more than thisThat 'midst them all I dwell in ease and bliss,Well loved and wedded to a mighty lord,Fair beyond measure, from whose loving wordI know that happier days await me yet.But come, my sisters, let us now forgetTo seek for empty knowledge; ye shall takeSome little gifts for your lost sister's sake;And whatso wonders ye may see or hearOf nothing frightful have ye any fear."Wondering they went with her, and looking round,Each in the other's eyes a strange look found,For these, her mother's daughters, had no partIn her divine fresh singleness of heart,But longing to be great, remembered notHow short a time one heart on earth has got.But keener still that guarded look now grewAs more of that strange lovely place they knew,And as with growing hate, but still afeard,The unseen choirs' heart-softening strains they heard,Which did but harden these; and when at noonThey sought the shaded waters' freshening boon,And all unhidden once again they sawThat peerless beauty, free from any flaw,Which now at last had won its precious meed,Her kindness then but fed the fire of greedWithin their hearts—her gifts, the rich attireWherewith she clad them, where like sparks of fireThe many-coloured gems shone midst the pearlsThe soft silks' winding lines, the work of girlsBy the Five Rivers; their fair marvellous crowns,Their sandals' fastenings worth the rent of towns,Zones and carved rings, and nameless wonders fair,All things her faithful slaves had brought them there,Given amid kisses, made them not more glad;Since in their hearts the ravening worm they hadThat love slays not, nor yet is satisfiedWhile aught but he has aught; yet still they triedTo look as they deemed loving folk should look,And still with words of love her bounty took.So at the last all being apparelléd,Her sisters to the banquet Psyche led,Fair were they, and each seemed a glorious queenWith all that wondrous daintiness beseen,But Psyche clad in gown of dusky blueLittle adorned, with deep grey eyes that knewThe hidden marvels of Love's holy fire,Seemed like the soul of innocent desire,Shut from the mocking world, wherefrom those twainSeemed come to lure her thence with labour vain.Now having reached the place where they should eat,Ere 'neath the canopy the three took seat,The eldest sister unto Psyche said,"And he, dear love, the man that thou hast wed,Will he not wish to-day thy kin to see?Then could we tell of thy felicityThe better, to our folk and father dear."Then Psyche reddened, "Nay, he is not here,"She stammered, "neither will be here to-day,For mighty matters keep him far away.""Alas!" the younger sister said, "Say then,What is the likeness of this first of men;What sayest thou about his loving eyne,Are his locks black, or golden-red as thine?""Black-haired like me," said Psyche stammering,And looking round, "what say I? like the kingWho rules the world, he seems to me at least—Come, sisters, sit, and let us make good feast!My darling and my love ye shall beholdI doubt not soon, his crispy hair of gold,His eyes unseen; and ye shall hear his voice,That in my joy ye also may rejoice."Then did they hold their peace, although indeedHer stammering haste they did not fail to heed.But at their wondrous royal feast they satThinking their thoughts, and spoke of this or thatBetween the bursts of music, until whenThe sun was leaving the abodes of men;And then must Psyche to her sisters sayThat she was bid, her husband being away,To suffer none at night to harbour there,No, not the mother that her body bareOr father that begat her, therefore theyMust leave her now, till some still happier day.And therewithal more precious gifts she broughtWhereof not e'en in dreams they could have thoughtThings whereof noble stories might be told;And said; "These matters that you here beholdShall be the worst of gifts that you shall have;Farewell, farewell! and may the high gods saveYour lives and fame; and tell our father dearOf all the honour that I live in here,And how that greater happiness shall comeWhen I shall reach a long-enduring home."Then these, though burning through the night to stay,Spake loving words, and went upon their way,When weeping she had kissed them; but they weptSuch tears as traitors do, for as they steppedOver the threshold, in each other's eyesThey looked, for each was eager to surpriseThe envy that their hearts were filled withal,That to their lips came welling up like gall."So," said the first, "this palace without folk,These wonders done with none to strike a stroke.This singing in the air, and no one seen,These gifts too wonderful for any queen,The trance wherein we both were wrapt away,And set down by her golden house to-day——These are the deeds of gods, and not of men;And fortunate the day was to her, whenWeeping she left the house where we were born,And all men deemed her shamed and most forlorn."Then said the other, reddening in her rage,"She is the luckiest one of all this age;And yet she might have told us of her case,What god it is that dwelleth in the place,Nor sent us forth like beggars from her gate.And beggarly, O sister, is our fate,Whose husbands wring from miserable hindsWhat the first battle scatters to the winds;While she to us whom from her door she drivesAnd makes of no account or honour, givesSuch wonderful and priceless gifts as these,Fit to bedeck the limbs of goddesses!And yet who knows but she may get a fall?The strongest tower has not the highest wall,Think well of this, when you sit safe at homeBy this unto the river were they come,Where waited Zephyrus unseen, who castA languor over them that quickly passedInto deep sleep, and on the grass they sank;Then straightway did he lift them from the bank,And quickly each in her fair house set down,Then flew aloft above the sleeping town.Long in their homes they brooded over this,And how that Psyche nigh a goddess is;While all folk deemed that she quite lost had beenFor nought they said of all that they had seen.But now that night when she, with many a kiss,Had told their coming, and of that and thisThat happed, he said, "These things, O Love, are well;Glad am I that no evil thing befell.And yet, between thy father's house and meMust thou choose now; then either royallyShalt thou go home, and wed some king at last,And have no harm for all that here has passed;Or else, my love, bear as thy brave heart may,This loneliness in hope of that fair day,Which, by my head, shall come to thee; and thenShalt thou be glorious to the sons of men,And by my side shalt sit in such estateThat in all time all men shall sing thy fate."But with that word such love through her he breathed,That round about him her fair arms she wreathed;And so with loving passed the night away,And with fresh hope came on the fresh May-day.And so passed many a day and many a night.And weariness was balanced with delight,And into such a mind was Psyche brought,That little of her father's house she thought,But ever of the happy day to comeWhen she should go unto her promised home.Till she that threw the golden apple downUpon the board, and lighted up Troy town,On dusky wings came flying o'er the place,And seeing Psyche with her happy faceAsleep beneath some fair tree blossoming,Into her sleep straight cast an evil thing;Whereby she dreamed she saw her father laidPanting for breath beneath the golden shadeOf his great bed's embroidered canopy,And with his last breath moaning heavilyHer name and fancied woes; thereat she woke,And this ill dream through all her quiet broke,And when next morn her Love from her would go,And going, as it was his wont to do,Would kiss her sleeping, he must find the tearsFilling the hollows of her rosy earsAnd wetting half the golden hair that layTwixt him and her: then did he speak and say,"O Love, why dost thou lie awake and weep,Who for content shouldst have good heart to sleepThis cold hour ere the dawning?" Nought she said,But wept aloud. Then cried he, "By my head!Whate'er thou wishest I will do for thee;Yea, if it make an end of thee and me.""O Love," she said, "I scarce dare ask again,Yet is there in mine heart an aching painTo know what of my father is become:So would I send my sisters to my home,Because I doubt indeed they never toldOf all my honour in this house of gold;And now of them a great oath would I take."He said, "Alas! and hast thou been awakeFor them indeed? who in my arms asleepMightst well have been; for their sakes didst thou weep,Who mightst have smiled to feel my kiss on thee?Yet as thou wishest once more shall it be,Because my oath constrains me, and thy tears.And yet again beware, and make these fearsOf none avail; nor waver any more,I pray thee: for already to the shoreOf all delights and joys thou drawest nigh."He spoke, and from the chamber straight did flyTo highest heaven, and going softly then,Wearied the father of all gods and menWith prayers for Psyche's immortality.Meantime went Zephyrus across the sea,To bring her sisters to her arms again,Though of that message little was he fain,Knowing their malice and their cankered hearts.For now these two had thought upon their partsAnd made up a false tale for Psyche's ear;For when awaked, to her they drew anear,Sobbing, their faces in their hands they hid,Nor when she asked them why this thing they didWould answer aught, till trembling Psyche said,"Nay, nay, what is it? is our father dead?Or do ye weep these tears for shame that yeHave told him not of my felicity,To make me weep amidst my new-found bliss?Be comforted, for short the highway isTo my forgiveness: this day shall ye goAnd take him gifts, and tell him all ye knowOf this my unexpected happy lot."Amidst fresh sobs one said, "We told him notBut by good counsel did we hide the thing,Deeming it well that he should feel the stingFor once, than for awhile be glad again,And after come to suffer double pain.""Alas! what mean you, sister?" Psyche said,For terror waxing pale as are the dead."O sister, speak!" "Child, by this loving kiss,"Spake one of them, "and that remembered blissWe dwelt in when our mother was alive,Or ever we began with ills to strive,By all the hope thou hast to see againOur aged father and to soothe his pain,I charge thee tell me,—Hast thou seen the thingThou callest Husband?"Breathless, quivering,Psyche cried out, "Alas! what sayest thou?What riddles wilt thou speak unto me now?""Alas!" she said; "then is it as I thought.Sister, in dreadful places have we soughtTo learn about thy case, and thus we foundA wise man, dwelling underneath the groundIn a dark awful cave: he told to usA horrid tale thereof, and piteous,That thou wert wedded to an evil thing,A serpent-bodied fiend of poisonous sting,Bestial of form, yet therewith lacking notE'en such a soul as wicked men have got.Thus ages long agone the gods made him,And set him in a lake hereby to swim;But every hundred years he hath this grace,That he may change within this golden placeInto a fair young man by night alone.Alas, my sister, thou hast cause to groan!What sayest thou?—His words are fair and soft;He raineth loving kisses on me oft,Weeping for love; he tells me of a dayWhen from this place we both shall go away,And he shall kiss me then no more unseen,The while I sit by him a glorious queen———Alas, poor child! it pleaseth thee, his kiss?Then must I show thee why he doeth this:Because he willeth for a time to saveThy body, wretched one! that he may haveBoth child and mother for his watery hell—Ah, what a tale this is for me to tell!"Thou prayest us to save thee, and we can;Since for nought else we sought that wise old man,Who for great gifts and seeing that of kingsWe both were come, has told us all these things,And given us a fair lamp of hallowed oilThat he has wrought with danger and much toil;And thereto has he added a sharp knife,In forging which he well-nigh lost his life,About him so the devils of the pitCame swarming—O, my sister, hast thou it?"Straight from her gown the other one drew outThe lamp and knife, which Psyche, dumb with doubtAnd misery at once, took in her hand.Then said her sister, "From this doubtful landThou gav'st us royal gifts a while ago,But these we give thee, though they lack for show,Shall be to thee a better gift,—thy life.Put now in some sure place this lamp and knife,And when he sleeps rise silently from bedAnd hold the hallowed lamp above his head,And swiftly draw the charméd knife acrossHis cursed neck, thou well may'st bear the loss,Nor shall he keep his man's shape more, when heFirst feels the iron wrought so mysticly:But thou, flee unto us, we have a tale,Of what has been thy lot within this vale,When we have 'scaped therefrom, which we shall doBy virtue of strange spells the old man knew.Farewell, sweet sister! here we may not stay,Lest in returning he should pass this way;But in the vale we will not fail to waitTill thou art loosened from thine evil fate."Thus went they, and for long they said not aught,Fearful lest any should surprise their thought,But in such wise had envy conquered fear,That they were fain that eve to bide anearTheir sister's ruined home; but when they cameUnto the river, on them fell the sameResistless languor they had felt before.And from the blossoms of that flowery shoreTheir sleeping bodies soon did Zephyr bear,For other folk to hatch new ills and care.But on the ground sat Psyche all alone,The lamp and knife beside her, and no moanShe made, but silent let the long hours go,Till dark night closed around her and her woe.Then trembling she arose, for now drew nearThe time of utter loneliness and fear,And she must think of death, who until nowHad thought of ruined life, and love brought low;And with, that thought, tormenting doubt there came,And images of some unheard-of shame,Until forlorn, entrapped of gods she felt,As though in some strange hell her spirit dwelt.Yet driven by her sisters' words at last,And by remembrance of the time now past,When she stood trembling, as the oracleWith all its fearful doom upon her fell,She to her hapless wedding-chamber turned,And while the waxen tapers freshly burnedShe laid those dread gifts ready to her hand,Then quenched the lights, and by the bed did stand,Turning these matters in her troubled mind;And sometimes hoped some glorious man to findBeneath the lamp, fit bridegroom for a brideLike her; ah, then! with what joy to his sideWould she creep back in the dark silent night;But whiles she quaked at thought of what a sightThe lamp might show her; the hot rush of bloodThe knife might shed upon her as she stood,The dread of some pursuit, the hurrying out,Through rooms where every sound would seem a shoutInto the windy night among the trees,Where many a changing monstrous sight one sees,When nought at all has happed to chill the blood.But as among these evil thoughts she stood,She heard him coming, and straight crept to bed.And felt him touch her with a new-born dread,And durst not answer to his words of love.But when he slept, she rose that tale to prove.And sliding down as softly as might be,And moving through the chamber quietly,She gat the lamp within her trembling hand,And long, debating of these things, did standIn that thick darkness, till she seemed to beA dweller in some black eternity,And what she once had called the world did seemA hollow void, a colourless mad dream;For she felt so alone—three times in vainShe moved her heavy hand, three times againIt fell adown; at last throughout the placeIts flame glared, lighting up her woeful face,Whose eyes the silken carpet did but meet,Grown strange and awful, and her own wan feetAs toward the bed she stole; but come theretoBack with dosed eyes and quivering lips, she threwHer lovely head, and strove to think of it,While images of fearful things did flitBefore her eyes; thus, raising up the handThat bore the lamp, one moment did she standAs man's time tells it, and then suddenlyOpened her eyes, but scarce kept back a cryAt what she saw; for there before her layThe very Love brighter than dawn of day;And as he lay there smiling, her own nameHis gentle lips in sleep began to frame,And as to touch her face his hand did move;O then, indeed, her faint heart swelled for love,And she began to sob, and tears fell fastUpon the bed.—But as she turned at lastTo quench the lamp, there happed a little thingThat quenched her new delight, for flickeringThe treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fairA burning drop; he woke, and seeing her thereThe meaning of that sad sight knew full well,Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell.Then on her knees she fell with a great cry,For in his face she saw the thunder nigh,And she began to know what she had done,And saw herself henceforth, unloved, alone,Pass onward to the grave; and once againShe heard the voice she now must love in vain"Ah, has it come to pass? and hast thou lostA life of love, and must thou still be tossedOne moment in the sun 'twixt night and night?And must I lose what would have been delight,Untasted yet amidst immortal bliss,To wed a soul made worthy of my kiss,Set in a frame so wonderfully made?"O wavering heart, farewell! be not afraidThat I with fire will burn thy body fair,Or cast thy sweet limbs piecemeal through the air;The fates shall work thy punishment alone,And thine own memory of our kindness done."Alas! what wilt thou do? how shalt thou bearThe cruel world, the sickening still despair,The mocking, curious faces bent on thee,When thou hast known what love there is in me?O happy only, if thou couldst forget,And live unholpen, lonely, loveless yet,But untormented through the little spanThat on the earth ye call the life of man.Alas! that thou, too fair a thing to die,Shouldst so be born to double misery!"Farewell! though I, a god, can never knowHow thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will goOver thine head, and thou mayst mingle yetThe bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,Nor quite remember, till these things shall seemThe wavering memory of a lovely dream."Therewith he caught his shafts up and his bow,And striding through the chambers did he go,Light all around him; and she, wailing sore,Still followed after; but he turned no more,And when into the moonlit night he cameFrom out her sight he vanished like a flame,And on the threshold till the dawn of dayThrough all the changes of the night she lay.
Thesun was high when Psyche woke again,And turning to the place where he had lainAnd seeing no one, doubted of the thingThat she had dreamed it, till a fair gold ring,Unseen before, upon her hand she found,And touching her bright head she felt it crownedWith a bright circlet; then withal she sighed.And wondered how the oracle had lied,And wished her father knew it, and straightwayRose up and clad herself. Slow went the day,Though helped with many a solace, till came night;And therewithal the new, unseen delight,She learned to call her Love.So passed awayThe days and nights, until upon a dayAs in the shade, at noon she lay asleep.She dreamed that she beheld her sisters weep,And her old father clad in sorry guise,Grown foolish with the weight of miseries,Her friends black-clad and moving mournfully,And folk in wonder landed from the sea,At such a fall of such a matchless maid,And in some press apart her raiment laidLike precious relics, and an empty tombSet in the palace telling of her doom.Therefore she wept in sleep, and woke with tearsStill on her face, and wet hair round her ears,And went about unhappily that day,Framing a gentle speech wherewith to prayFor leave to see her sisters once again,That they might know her happy, and her painTurned all to joy, and honour come from shame.And so at last night and her lover came,And midst their fondling, suddenly she said,"O Love, a little time we have been wed,And yet I ask a boon of thee this night.""Psyche," he said, "if my heart tells me right,This thy desire may bring us bitter woe,For who the shifting chance of fate can know?Yet, forasmuch as mortal hearts are weak,To-morrow shall my folk thy sisters seek,And bear them hither; but before the dayIs fully ended must they go away.And thou—beware—for, fresh and good and true,Thou knowest not what worldly hearts may do,Or what a curse gold is unto the earth.Beware lest from thy full heart, in thy mirth,Thou tell'st the story of thy love unseen:Thy loving, simple heart, fits not a queen."Then by her kisses did she know he frowned,But close about him her fair arms she wound,Until for happiness he 'gan to smile,And in those arms forgat all else awhile.So the next day, for joy that they should come,Would Psyche further deck her strange new home,And even as she 'gan to think the thought,Quickly her will by unseen hands was wrought,Who came and went like thoughts. Yea, how should ITell of the works of gold and ivory,The gems and images, those hands brought thereThe prisoned things of earth, and sea, and air,They brought to please their mistress? Many a beast,Such as King Bacchus in his reckless feastMakes merry with—huge elephants, snow-whiteWith gilded tusks, or dusky-grey with brightAnd shining chains about their wrinkled necks;The mailed rhinoceros, that of nothing recks;Dusky-maned lions; spotted leopards fairThat through the cane-brake move, unseen as air;The deep-mouthed tiger, dread of the brown man;The eagle, and the peacock, and the swan——These be the nobles of the birds and beasts.But therewithal, for laughter at their feasts,They brought them the gods' jesters, such as beQuick-chattering apes, that yet in mockeryOf anxious men wrinkle their ugly brows;Strange birds with pouches, birds with beaks like prowsOf merchant-ships, with tufted crests like threads,With unimaginable monstrous heads.Lo, such as these, in many a gilded cageThey brought, or chained for fear of sudden rage.Then strewed they scented branches on the floor,And hung rose-garlands up by the great door,And wafted incense through the bowers and halls,And hung up fairer hangings on the walls,And filled the baths with water fresh and clear,And in the chambers laid apparel fair,And spread a table for a royal feast.Then when from all these labours they had ceased,Psyche they sung to sleep with lullabies;Who slept not long, but opening soon her eyes,Beheld her sisters on the threshold stand:Then did she run to take them by the hand,And laid her cheek to theirs, and murmured wordsOf little meaning, like the moan of birds,While they bewildered stood and gazed around,Like people who in some strange land have foundOne that they thought not of; but she at lastStood back, and from her face the strayed locks cast,And, smiling through her tears, said, "Ah, that yeShould have to weep such useless tears for me!Alas, the burden that the city bearsFor nought! O me, my father's burning tears,That into all this honour I am come!Nay, does he live yet? Is the ancient homeStill standing? do the galleys throng the quays?Do the brown Indians glitter down the waysWith rubies as of old? Yes, yes, ye smile,For ye are thinking, but a little whileApart from these has she been dwelling here;Truly, yet long enough, loved ones and dear,To make me other than I was of old,Though now when your dear faces I beholdAm I myself again. But by what roadHave ye been brought to this my new abode?""Sister," said one, "I rose up from my bedIt seems this morn, and being apparelléd,And walking in my garden, in a swoonHelpless and unattended I sank down,Wherefrom I scarce am waked, for as a dreamDost thou with all this royal glory seem,But for thy kisses and thy words, O love.""Yea, Psyche," said the other, "as I droveThe ivory shuttle through the shuttle-race,All was changed suddenly, and in this placeI found myself, and standing on my feet,Where me with sleepy words this one did greet.Now, sister, tell us whence these wonders comeWith all the godlike splendour of your home.""Sisters," she said, "more marvels shall ye seeWhen ye, have been a little while with me,Whereof I cannot tell you more than thisThat 'midst them all I dwell in ease and bliss,Well loved and wedded to a mighty lord,Fair beyond measure, from whose loving wordI know that happier days await me yet.But come, my sisters, let us now forgetTo seek for empty knowledge; ye shall takeSome little gifts for your lost sister's sake;And whatso wonders ye may see or hearOf nothing frightful have ye any fear."Wondering they went with her, and looking round,Each in the other's eyes a strange look found,For these, her mother's daughters, had no partIn her divine fresh singleness of heart,But longing to be great, remembered notHow short a time one heart on earth has got.But keener still that guarded look now grewAs more of that strange lovely place they knew,And as with growing hate, but still afeard,The unseen choirs' heart-softening strains they heard,Which did but harden these; and when at noonThey sought the shaded waters' freshening boon,And all unhidden once again they sawThat peerless beauty, free from any flaw,Which now at last had won its precious meed,Her kindness then but fed the fire of greedWithin their hearts—her gifts, the rich attireWherewith she clad them, where like sparks of fireThe many-coloured gems shone midst the pearlsThe soft silks' winding lines, the work of girlsBy the Five Rivers; their fair marvellous crowns,Their sandals' fastenings worth the rent of towns,Zones and carved rings, and nameless wonders fair,All things her faithful slaves had brought them there,Given amid kisses, made them not more glad;Since in their hearts the ravening worm they hadThat love slays not, nor yet is satisfiedWhile aught but he has aught; yet still they triedTo look as they deemed loving folk should look,And still with words of love her bounty took.So at the last all being apparelléd,Her sisters to the banquet Psyche led,Fair were they, and each seemed a glorious queenWith all that wondrous daintiness beseen,But Psyche clad in gown of dusky blueLittle adorned, with deep grey eyes that knewThe hidden marvels of Love's holy fire,Seemed like the soul of innocent desire,Shut from the mocking world, wherefrom those twainSeemed come to lure her thence with labour vain.Now having reached the place where they should eat,Ere 'neath the canopy the three took seat,The eldest sister unto Psyche said,"And he, dear love, the man that thou hast wed,Will he not wish to-day thy kin to see?Then could we tell of thy felicityThe better, to our folk and father dear."Then Psyche reddened, "Nay, he is not here,"She stammered, "neither will be here to-day,For mighty matters keep him far away.""Alas!" the younger sister said, "Say then,What is the likeness of this first of men;What sayest thou about his loving eyne,Are his locks black, or golden-red as thine?""Black-haired like me," said Psyche stammering,And looking round, "what say I? like the kingWho rules the world, he seems to me at least—Come, sisters, sit, and let us make good feast!My darling and my love ye shall beholdI doubt not soon, his crispy hair of gold,His eyes unseen; and ye shall hear his voice,That in my joy ye also may rejoice."Then did they hold their peace, although indeedHer stammering haste they did not fail to heed.But at their wondrous royal feast they satThinking their thoughts, and spoke of this or thatBetween the bursts of music, until whenThe sun was leaving the abodes of men;And then must Psyche to her sisters sayThat she was bid, her husband being away,To suffer none at night to harbour there,No, not the mother that her body bareOr father that begat her, therefore theyMust leave her now, till some still happier day.And therewithal more precious gifts she broughtWhereof not e'en in dreams they could have thoughtThings whereof noble stories might be told;And said; "These matters that you here beholdShall be the worst of gifts that you shall have;Farewell, farewell! and may the high gods saveYour lives and fame; and tell our father dearOf all the honour that I live in here,And how that greater happiness shall comeWhen I shall reach a long-enduring home."Then these, though burning through the night to stay,Spake loving words, and went upon their way,When weeping she had kissed them; but they weptSuch tears as traitors do, for as they steppedOver the threshold, in each other's eyesThey looked, for each was eager to surpriseThe envy that their hearts were filled withal,That to their lips came welling up like gall."So," said the first, "this palace without folk,These wonders done with none to strike a stroke.This singing in the air, and no one seen,These gifts too wonderful for any queen,The trance wherein we both were wrapt away,And set down by her golden house to-day——These are the deeds of gods, and not of men;And fortunate the day was to her, whenWeeping she left the house where we were born,And all men deemed her shamed and most forlorn."Then said the other, reddening in her rage,"She is the luckiest one of all this age;And yet she might have told us of her case,What god it is that dwelleth in the place,Nor sent us forth like beggars from her gate.And beggarly, O sister, is our fate,Whose husbands wring from miserable hindsWhat the first battle scatters to the winds;While she to us whom from her door she drivesAnd makes of no account or honour, givesSuch wonderful and priceless gifts as these,Fit to bedeck the limbs of goddesses!And yet who knows but she may get a fall?The strongest tower has not the highest wall,Think well of this, when you sit safe at homeBy this unto the river were they come,Where waited Zephyrus unseen, who castA languor over them that quickly passedInto deep sleep, and on the grass they sank;Then straightway did he lift them from the bank,And quickly each in her fair house set down,Then flew aloft above the sleeping town.Long in their homes they brooded over this,And how that Psyche nigh a goddess is;While all folk deemed that she quite lost had beenFor nought they said of all that they had seen.But now that night when she, with many a kiss,Had told their coming, and of that and thisThat happed, he said, "These things, O Love, are well;Glad am I that no evil thing befell.And yet, between thy father's house and meMust thou choose now; then either royallyShalt thou go home, and wed some king at last,And have no harm for all that here has passed;Or else, my love, bear as thy brave heart may,This loneliness in hope of that fair day,Which, by my head, shall come to thee; and thenShalt thou be glorious to the sons of men,And by my side shalt sit in such estateThat in all time all men shall sing thy fate."But with that word such love through her he breathed,That round about him her fair arms she wreathed;And so with loving passed the night away,And with fresh hope came on the fresh May-day.And so passed many a day and many a night.And weariness was balanced with delight,And into such a mind was Psyche brought,That little of her father's house she thought,But ever of the happy day to comeWhen she should go unto her promised home.Till she that threw the golden apple downUpon the board, and lighted up Troy town,On dusky wings came flying o'er the place,And seeing Psyche with her happy faceAsleep beneath some fair tree blossoming,Into her sleep straight cast an evil thing;Whereby she dreamed she saw her father laidPanting for breath beneath the golden shadeOf his great bed's embroidered canopy,And with his last breath moaning heavilyHer name and fancied woes; thereat she woke,And this ill dream through all her quiet broke,And when next morn her Love from her would go,And going, as it was his wont to do,Would kiss her sleeping, he must find the tearsFilling the hollows of her rosy earsAnd wetting half the golden hair that layTwixt him and her: then did he speak and say,"O Love, why dost thou lie awake and weep,Who for content shouldst have good heart to sleepThis cold hour ere the dawning?" Nought she said,But wept aloud. Then cried he, "By my head!Whate'er thou wishest I will do for thee;Yea, if it make an end of thee and me.""O Love," she said, "I scarce dare ask again,Yet is there in mine heart an aching painTo know what of my father is become:So would I send my sisters to my home,Because I doubt indeed they never toldOf all my honour in this house of gold;And now of them a great oath would I take."He said, "Alas! and hast thou been awakeFor them indeed? who in my arms asleepMightst well have been; for their sakes didst thou weep,Who mightst have smiled to feel my kiss on thee?Yet as thou wishest once more shall it be,Because my oath constrains me, and thy tears.And yet again beware, and make these fearsOf none avail; nor waver any more,I pray thee: for already to the shoreOf all delights and joys thou drawest nigh."He spoke, and from the chamber straight did flyTo highest heaven, and going softly then,Wearied the father of all gods and menWith prayers for Psyche's immortality.Meantime went Zephyrus across the sea,To bring her sisters to her arms again,Though of that message little was he fain,Knowing their malice and their cankered hearts.For now these two had thought upon their partsAnd made up a false tale for Psyche's ear;For when awaked, to her they drew anear,Sobbing, their faces in their hands they hid,Nor when she asked them why this thing they didWould answer aught, till trembling Psyche said,"Nay, nay, what is it? is our father dead?Or do ye weep these tears for shame that yeHave told him not of my felicity,To make me weep amidst my new-found bliss?Be comforted, for short the highway isTo my forgiveness: this day shall ye goAnd take him gifts, and tell him all ye knowOf this my unexpected happy lot."Amidst fresh sobs one said, "We told him notBut by good counsel did we hide the thing,Deeming it well that he should feel the stingFor once, than for awhile be glad again,And after come to suffer double pain.""Alas! what mean you, sister?" Psyche said,For terror waxing pale as are the dead."O sister, speak!" "Child, by this loving kiss,"Spake one of them, "and that remembered blissWe dwelt in when our mother was alive,Or ever we began with ills to strive,By all the hope thou hast to see againOur aged father and to soothe his pain,I charge thee tell me,—Hast thou seen the thingThou callest Husband?"Breathless, quivering,Psyche cried out, "Alas! what sayest thou?What riddles wilt thou speak unto me now?""Alas!" she said; "then is it as I thought.Sister, in dreadful places have we soughtTo learn about thy case, and thus we foundA wise man, dwelling underneath the groundIn a dark awful cave: he told to usA horrid tale thereof, and piteous,That thou wert wedded to an evil thing,A serpent-bodied fiend of poisonous sting,Bestial of form, yet therewith lacking notE'en such a soul as wicked men have got.Thus ages long agone the gods made him,And set him in a lake hereby to swim;But every hundred years he hath this grace,That he may change within this golden placeInto a fair young man by night alone.Alas, my sister, thou hast cause to groan!What sayest thou?—His words are fair and soft;He raineth loving kisses on me oft,Weeping for love; he tells me of a dayWhen from this place we both shall go away,And he shall kiss me then no more unseen,The while I sit by him a glorious queen———Alas, poor child! it pleaseth thee, his kiss?Then must I show thee why he doeth this:Because he willeth for a time to saveThy body, wretched one! that he may haveBoth child and mother for his watery hell—Ah, what a tale this is for me to tell!"Thou prayest us to save thee, and we can;Since for nought else we sought that wise old man,Who for great gifts and seeing that of kingsWe both were come, has told us all these things,And given us a fair lamp of hallowed oilThat he has wrought with danger and much toil;And thereto has he added a sharp knife,In forging which he well-nigh lost his life,About him so the devils of the pitCame swarming—O, my sister, hast thou it?"Straight from her gown the other one drew outThe lamp and knife, which Psyche, dumb with doubtAnd misery at once, took in her hand.Then said her sister, "From this doubtful landThou gav'st us royal gifts a while ago,But these we give thee, though they lack for show,Shall be to thee a better gift,—thy life.Put now in some sure place this lamp and knife,And when he sleeps rise silently from bedAnd hold the hallowed lamp above his head,And swiftly draw the charméd knife acrossHis cursed neck, thou well may'st bear the loss,Nor shall he keep his man's shape more, when heFirst feels the iron wrought so mysticly:But thou, flee unto us, we have a tale,Of what has been thy lot within this vale,When we have 'scaped therefrom, which we shall doBy virtue of strange spells the old man knew.Farewell, sweet sister! here we may not stay,Lest in returning he should pass this way;But in the vale we will not fail to waitTill thou art loosened from thine evil fate."Thus went they, and for long they said not aught,Fearful lest any should surprise their thought,But in such wise had envy conquered fear,That they were fain that eve to bide anearTheir sister's ruined home; but when they cameUnto the river, on them fell the sameResistless languor they had felt before.And from the blossoms of that flowery shoreTheir sleeping bodies soon did Zephyr bear,For other folk to hatch new ills and care.But on the ground sat Psyche all alone,The lamp and knife beside her, and no moanShe made, but silent let the long hours go,Till dark night closed around her and her woe.Then trembling she arose, for now drew nearThe time of utter loneliness and fear,And she must think of death, who until nowHad thought of ruined life, and love brought low;And with, that thought, tormenting doubt there came,And images of some unheard-of shame,Until forlorn, entrapped of gods she felt,As though in some strange hell her spirit dwelt.Yet driven by her sisters' words at last,And by remembrance of the time now past,When she stood trembling, as the oracleWith all its fearful doom upon her fell,She to her hapless wedding-chamber turned,And while the waxen tapers freshly burnedShe laid those dread gifts ready to her hand,Then quenched the lights, and by the bed did stand,Turning these matters in her troubled mind;And sometimes hoped some glorious man to findBeneath the lamp, fit bridegroom for a brideLike her; ah, then! with what joy to his sideWould she creep back in the dark silent night;But whiles she quaked at thought of what a sightThe lamp might show her; the hot rush of bloodThe knife might shed upon her as she stood,The dread of some pursuit, the hurrying out,Through rooms where every sound would seem a shoutInto the windy night among the trees,Where many a changing monstrous sight one sees,When nought at all has happed to chill the blood.But as among these evil thoughts she stood,She heard him coming, and straight crept to bed.And felt him touch her with a new-born dread,And durst not answer to his words of love.But when he slept, she rose that tale to prove.And sliding down as softly as might be,And moving through the chamber quietly,She gat the lamp within her trembling hand,And long, debating of these things, did standIn that thick darkness, till she seemed to beA dweller in some black eternity,And what she once had called the world did seemA hollow void, a colourless mad dream;For she felt so alone—three times in vainShe moved her heavy hand, three times againIt fell adown; at last throughout the placeIts flame glared, lighting up her woeful face,Whose eyes the silken carpet did but meet,Grown strange and awful, and her own wan feetAs toward the bed she stole; but come theretoBack with dosed eyes and quivering lips, she threwHer lovely head, and strove to think of it,While images of fearful things did flitBefore her eyes; thus, raising up the handThat bore the lamp, one moment did she standAs man's time tells it, and then suddenlyOpened her eyes, but scarce kept back a cryAt what she saw; for there before her layThe very Love brighter than dawn of day;And as he lay there smiling, her own nameHis gentle lips in sleep began to frame,And as to touch her face his hand did move;O then, indeed, her faint heart swelled for love,And she began to sob, and tears fell fastUpon the bed.—But as she turned at lastTo quench the lamp, there happed a little thingThat quenched her new delight, for flickeringThe treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fairA burning drop; he woke, and seeing her thereThe meaning of that sad sight knew full well,Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell.Then on her knees she fell with a great cry,For in his face she saw the thunder nigh,And she began to know what she had done,And saw herself henceforth, unloved, alone,Pass onward to the grave; and once againShe heard the voice she now must love in vain"Ah, has it come to pass? and hast thou lostA life of love, and must thou still be tossedOne moment in the sun 'twixt night and night?And must I lose what would have been delight,Untasted yet amidst immortal bliss,To wed a soul made worthy of my kiss,Set in a frame so wonderfully made?"O wavering heart, farewell! be not afraidThat I with fire will burn thy body fair,Or cast thy sweet limbs piecemeal through the air;The fates shall work thy punishment alone,And thine own memory of our kindness done."Alas! what wilt thou do? how shalt thou bearThe cruel world, the sickening still despair,The mocking, curious faces bent on thee,When thou hast known what love there is in me?O happy only, if thou couldst forget,And live unholpen, lonely, loveless yet,But untormented through the little spanThat on the earth ye call the life of man.Alas! that thou, too fair a thing to die,Shouldst so be born to double misery!"Farewell! though I, a god, can never knowHow thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will goOver thine head, and thou mayst mingle yetThe bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,Nor quite remember, till these things shall seemThe wavering memory of a lovely dream."Therewith he caught his shafts up and his bow,And striding through the chambers did he go,Light all around him; and she, wailing sore,Still followed after; but he turned no more,And when into the moonlit night he cameFrom out her sight he vanished like a flame,And on the threshold till the dawn of dayThrough all the changes of the night she lay.
Atdaybreak when she lifted up her eyes,She looked around with heavy dull surprise,And rose to enter the fair golden place;But then remembering all her piteous caseShe turned away, lamenting very sore,And wandered down unto the river shore;There, at the head of a green pool and deep,She stood so long that she forgot to weep,And the wild things about the water-sideFrom such a silent thing cared not to hide;The dace pushed 'gainst the stream, the dragon-fly,With its green-painted wing, went flickering by;The water-hen, the lustred kingfisher,Went on their ways and took no heed of her;The little reed birds never ceased to sing,And still the eddy, like a living thing,Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet.But 'midst these fair things, on that morning sweet,How could she, weary creature, find a place?She moved at last, and lifting up her face,Gathered her raiment up and cried, "Farewell,O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwellWith thee in heaven, let me now hide my headIn whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!"And with that word she leapt into the stream,But the kind river even yet did deemThat she should live, and, with all gentle care,Cast her ashore within a meadow fair.Upon the other side, where Shepherd PanSat looking down upon the water wan,Goat-legged and merry, who called out, "Fair maidWhy goest thou hurrying to the feeble shadeWhence none return? Well do I know thy pain,For I am old, and have not lived in vain;Thou wilt forget all that within a while,And on some other happy youth wilt smile;And sure he must be dull indeed if heForget not all things in his ecstasyAt sight of such a wonder made for him,That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim,Old as I am: but to the god of LovePray now, sweet child, for all things can he move."Weeping she passed him, but full reverently,And well she saw that she was not to dieTill she had filled the measure of her woe.So through the meads she passed, half blind and slow,And on her sisters somewhat now she thought;And, pondering on the evil they had wrought,The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile."Alas!" she said, "can death make folk so vile?What wonder that the gods are glorious then,Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men?Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be!Once did I think, whatso might hap to me,Still at the worst, within your arms to findA haven of pure love; then were ye kind,Then was your joy e'en as my very own—And now, and now, if I can be aloneThat is my best: but that can never be,For your unkindness still shall stay with meWhen ye are dead—But thou, my love! my dear!Wert thou not kind?—I should have lost my fearWithin a little—Yea, and e'en just nowWith angry godhead on thy lovely brow,Still thou wert kind—And art thou gone awayFor ever? I know not, but day by dayStill will I seek thee till I come to die,And nurse remembrance of felicityWithin my heart, although it wound me sore;For what am I but thine for evermore!"Thenceforth her back upon the world she turnedAs she had known it; in her heart there burnedSuch deathless love, that still untired she went:The huntsman dropping down the woody bent,In the still evening, saw her passing by,And for her beauty fain would draw anigh,But yet durst not; the shepherd on the downWondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown,As on the hill's brow, looking o'er the lands,She stood with straining eyes and clinging hands,While the wind blew the raiment from her feet;The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet,That took no heed of him, and drop his own;Like a thin dream she passed the clattering town;On the thronged quays she watched the ships come inPatient, amid the strange outlandish din;Unscared she saw the sacked towns' miseries,And marching armies passed before her eyes.And still of her the god had such a careThat none might wrong her, though alone and fair.Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day,Till all her hope had well-nigh passed away.Meanwhile the sisters, each in her own home,Waited the day when outcast she should comeAnd ask their pity; when perchance, indeed,They looked to give her shelter in her need,And with soft words such faint reproaches takeAs she durst make them for her ruin's sake;But day passed day, and still no Psyche came,And while they wondered whether, to their shame,Their plot had failed, or gained its end too well,And Psyche slain, no tale thereof could tell.—Amidst these things, the eldest sister layAsleep one evening of a summer day,Dreaming she saw the god of Love anigh,Who seemed to say unto her lovingly,"Hail unto thee, fair sister of my love;Nor fear me for that thou her faith didst prove,And found it wanting, for thou, too, art fair,Nor is her place filled; rise, and have no careFor father or for friends, but go straightwayUnto the rock where she was borne that day;There, if thou hast a will to be my bride,Put thou all fear of horrid death aside,And leap from off the cliff, and there will comeMy slaves, to bear thee up and take thee home.Haste then, before the summer night grows late,For in my house thy beauty I await!"So spake the dream; and through the night did sail,And to the other sister bore the tale,While this one rose, nor doubted of the thing,Such deadly pride unto her heart did cling;But by the tapers' light triumphantly,Smiling, her mirrored body did she eye,Then hastily rich raiment on her castAnd through the sleeping serving-people passed,And looked with changed eyes on the moonlit street,Nor scarce could feel the ground beneath her feet.But long the time seemed to her, till she cameThere where her sister once was borne to shame;And when she reached the bare cliff's rugged browShe cried aloud, "O Love, receive me now,Who am not all unworthy to be thine!"And with that word, her jewelled arms did shineOutstretched beneath the moon, and with one breathShe sprung to meet the outstretched arms of Death,The only god that waited for her there,And in a gathered moment of despairA hideous thing her traitrous life did seem.But with the passing of that hollow dreamThe other sister rose, and as she might,Arrayed herself alone in that still night,And so stole forth, and making no delayCame to the rock anigh the dawn of day;No warning there her sister's spirit gave,No doubt came nigh the fore-doomed soul to save,But with a fever burning in her blood,With glittering eyes and crimson cheeks she stoodOne moment on the brow, the while she cried,"Receive me, Love, chosen to be thy brideFrom all the million women of the world!"Then o'er the cliff her wicked limbs were hurled,Nor has the language of the earth a nameFor that surprise of terror and of shame.
Atdaybreak when she lifted up her eyes,She looked around with heavy dull surprise,And rose to enter the fair golden place;But then remembering all her piteous caseShe turned away, lamenting very sore,And wandered down unto the river shore;There, at the head of a green pool and deep,She stood so long that she forgot to weep,And the wild things about the water-sideFrom such a silent thing cared not to hide;The dace pushed 'gainst the stream, the dragon-fly,With its green-painted wing, went flickering by;The water-hen, the lustred kingfisher,Went on their ways and took no heed of her;The little reed birds never ceased to sing,And still the eddy, like a living thing,Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet.But 'midst these fair things, on that morning sweet,How could she, weary creature, find a place?She moved at last, and lifting up her face,Gathered her raiment up and cried, "Farewell,O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwellWith thee in heaven, let me now hide my headIn whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!"And with that word she leapt into the stream,But the kind river even yet did deemThat she should live, and, with all gentle care,Cast her ashore within a meadow fair.Upon the other side, where Shepherd PanSat looking down upon the water wan,Goat-legged and merry, who called out, "Fair maidWhy goest thou hurrying to the feeble shadeWhence none return? Well do I know thy pain,For I am old, and have not lived in vain;Thou wilt forget all that within a while,And on some other happy youth wilt smile;And sure he must be dull indeed if heForget not all things in his ecstasyAt sight of such a wonder made for him,That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim,Old as I am: but to the god of LovePray now, sweet child, for all things can he move."Weeping she passed him, but full reverently,And well she saw that she was not to dieTill she had filled the measure of her woe.So through the meads she passed, half blind and slow,And on her sisters somewhat now she thought;And, pondering on the evil they had wrought,The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile."Alas!" she said, "can death make folk so vile?What wonder that the gods are glorious then,Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men?Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be!Once did I think, whatso might hap to me,Still at the worst, within your arms to findA haven of pure love; then were ye kind,Then was your joy e'en as my very own—And now, and now, if I can be aloneThat is my best: but that can never be,For your unkindness still shall stay with meWhen ye are dead—But thou, my love! my dear!Wert thou not kind?—I should have lost my fearWithin a little—Yea, and e'en just nowWith angry godhead on thy lovely brow,Still thou wert kind—And art thou gone awayFor ever? I know not, but day by dayStill will I seek thee till I come to die,And nurse remembrance of felicityWithin my heart, although it wound me sore;For what am I but thine for evermore!"Thenceforth her back upon the world she turnedAs she had known it; in her heart there burnedSuch deathless love, that still untired she went:The huntsman dropping down the woody bent,In the still evening, saw her passing by,And for her beauty fain would draw anigh,But yet durst not; the shepherd on the downWondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown,As on the hill's brow, looking o'er the lands,She stood with straining eyes and clinging hands,While the wind blew the raiment from her feet;The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet,That took no heed of him, and drop his own;Like a thin dream she passed the clattering town;On the thronged quays she watched the ships come inPatient, amid the strange outlandish din;Unscared she saw the sacked towns' miseries,And marching armies passed before her eyes.And still of her the god had such a careThat none might wrong her, though alone and fair.Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day,Till all her hope had well-nigh passed away.Meanwhile the sisters, each in her own home,Waited the day when outcast she should comeAnd ask their pity; when perchance, indeed,They looked to give her shelter in her need,And with soft words such faint reproaches takeAs she durst make them for her ruin's sake;But day passed day, and still no Psyche came,And while they wondered whether, to their shame,Their plot had failed, or gained its end too well,And Psyche slain, no tale thereof could tell.—Amidst these things, the eldest sister layAsleep one evening of a summer day,Dreaming she saw the god of Love anigh,Who seemed to say unto her lovingly,"Hail unto thee, fair sister of my love;Nor fear me for that thou her faith didst prove,And found it wanting, for thou, too, art fair,Nor is her place filled; rise, and have no careFor father or for friends, but go straightwayUnto the rock where she was borne that day;There, if thou hast a will to be my bride,Put thou all fear of horrid death aside,And leap from off the cliff, and there will comeMy slaves, to bear thee up and take thee home.Haste then, before the summer night grows late,For in my house thy beauty I await!"So spake the dream; and through the night did sail,And to the other sister bore the tale,While this one rose, nor doubted of the thing,Such deadly pride unto her heart did cling;But by the tapers' light triumphantly,Smiling, her mirrored body did she eye,Then hastily rich raiment on her castAnd through the sleeping serving-people passed,And looked with changed eyes on the moonlit street,Nor scarce could feel the ground beneath her feet.But long the time seemed to her, till she cameThere where her sister once was borne to shame;And when she reached the bare cliff's rugged browShe cried aloud, "O Love, receive me now,Who am not all unworthy to be thine!"And with that word, her jewelled arms did shineOutstretched beneath the moon, and with one breathShe sprung to meet the outstretched arms of Death,The only god that waited for her there,And in a gathered moment of despairA hideous thing her traitrous life did seem.But with the passing of that hollow dreamThe other sister rose, and as she might,Arrayed herself alone in that still night,And so stole forth, and making no delayCame to the rock anigh the dawn of day;No warning there her sister's spirit gave,No doubt came nigh the fore-doomed soul to save,But with a fever burning in her blood,With glittering eyes and crimson cheeks she stoodOne moment on the brow, the while she cried,"Receive me, Love, chosen to be thy brideFrom all the million women of the world!"Then o'er the cliff her wicked limbs were hurled,Nor has the language of the earth a nameFor that surprise of terror and of shame.
Now,midst her wanderings, on a hot noontide,Psyche passed down a road, where, on each sideThe yellow cornfields lay, although as yetUnto the stalks no sickle had been set;The lark sung over them, the butterflyFlickered from ear to ear distractedly,The kestrel hung above, the weasel peeredFrom out the wheat-stalks on her unafeard,Along the road the trembling poppies shedOn the burnt grass their crumpled leaves and red;Most lonely was it, nothing Psyche knewUnto what land of all the world she drew;Aweary was she, faint and sick at heart,Bowed to the earth by thoughts of that sad partShe needs must play: some blue flower from the cornThat in her fingers erewhile she had borne,Now dropped from them, still clung unto her gown;Over the hard way hung her head adownDespairingly, but still her weary feetMoved on half conscious, her lost love to meet.So going, at the last she raised her eyes,And saw a grassy mound before her riseOver the yellow plain, and thereon wasA marble fane with doors of burnished brass,That 'twixt the pillars set about it burned;So thitherward from off the road she turned,And soon she heard a rippling water sound,And reached a stream that girt the hill around,Whose green waves wooed her body lovingly;So looking round, and seeing no soul anigh,Unclad, she crossed the shallows, and there laidHer dusty raiment in the alder-shade,And slipped adown into the shaded pool,And with the pleasure of the water coolSoothed her tired limbs awhile, then with a sighCame forth, and clad her body hastily,And up the hill made for the little fane.But when its threshold now her feet did gain,She, looking through the pillars of the shrine,Beheld therein a golden image shineOf golden Ceres; then she passed the door,And with bowed head she stood awhile beforeThe smiling image, striving for some wordThat did not name her lover and her lord,Until midst rising tears at last she prayed:"O kind one, if while yet I was a maidI ever did thee pleasure, on this dayBe kind to me, poor wanderer on the way,Who strive my love upon the earth to meet!Then let me rest my weary, doubtful feetWithin thy quiet house a little while,And on my rest if thou wouldst please to smile,And send me news of my own love and lord,It would not cost thee, lady, many a word."But straight from out the shrine a sweet voice came,"O Psyche, though of me thou hast no blame,And though indeed thou sparedst not to giveWhat my soul loved, while happy thou didst live,Yet little can I give now unto thee,Since thou art rebel, slave, and enemyUnto the love-inspiring Queen; this graceThou hast alone of me, to leave this placeFree as thou camest, though the lovely oneSeeks for the sorceress who entrapped her sonIn every land, and has small joy in aught,Until before her presence thou art brought."Then Psyche, trembling at the words she spake,Durst answer nought, nor for that counsel's sakeCould other offerings leave except her tears,As now, tormented by the new-born fearsThe words divine had raised in her, she passedThe brazen threshold once again, and castA dreary hopeless look across the plain,Whose golden beauty now seemed nought and vainUnto her aching heart; then down the hillShe went, and crossed the shallows of the rill,And wearily she went upon her way,Nor any homestead passed upon that day,Nor any hamlet, and at night lay downWithin a wood, far off from any town.There, waking at the dawn, did she behold,Through the green leaves, a glimmer as of gold,And, passing on, amidst an oak-grove foundA pillared temple gold-adorned and round,Whose walls were hung with rich and precious things,Worthy to be the ransom of great kings;And in the midst of gold and ivoryAn image of Queen Juno did she see;Then her heart swelled within her, and she thought,"Surely the gods hereto my steps have brought,And they will yet be merciful and giveSome little joy to me, that I may liveTill my Love finds me." Then upon her kneesShe fell, and prayed, "O Crown of goddesses,I pray thee, give me shelter in this place,Nor turn away from me thy much-loved face,If ever I gave golden gifts to theeIn happier times when my right hand was free."Then from the inmost shrine there came a voiceThat said, "It is so, well mayst thou rejoiceThat of thy gifts I yet have memory,Wherefore mayst thou depart forewarned and free;Since she that won the golden apple lives,And to her servants mighty gifts now givesTo find thee out, in whatso land thou art,For thine undoing; loiter not, depart!For what immortal yet shall shelter theeFrom her that rose from out the unquiet sea?"Then Psyche moaned out in her grief and fear,"Alas! and is there shelter anywhereUpon the green flame-hiding earth?" said she,"Or yet beneath it is there peace for me?O Love, since in thine arms I cannot rest,Or lay my weary head upon thy breast,Have pity yet upon thy love forlorn,Make me as though I never had been born!"Then wearily she went upon her way,And so, about the middle of the day,She came before a green and flowery place,Walled round about in manner of a chase,Whereof the gates as now were open wide;Fair grassy glades and long she saw insideBetwixt great trees, down which the unscared deerWere playing; yet a pang of deadly fear,She knew not why, shot coldly through her heart,And thrice she turned as though she would depart,And thrice returned, and in the gateway stoodWith wavering feet: small flowers as red as bloodWere growing up amid the soft green grass,And here and there a fallen rose there was,And on the trodden grass a silken lace,As though crowned revellers had passed by the placeThe restless sparrows chirped upon the wallAnd faint far music on her ears did fall,And from the trees within, the pink-foot dovesStill told their weary tale unto their loves,And all seemed peaceful more than words could say.Then she, whose heart still whispered, "Keep away."Was drawn by strong desire unto the place,So toward the greenest glade she set her face,Murmuring, "Alas! and what a wretch am I,That I should fear the summer's greenery!Yea, and is death now any more an ill,When lonely through the world I wander still."But when she was amidst those ancient groves,Whose close green leaves and choirs of moaning dovesShut out the world, then so alone she seemed,So strange, her former life was but as dreamed;Beside the hopes and fears that drew her on,Till so far through that green place she had won,That she a rose-hedged garden could beholdBefore a house made beautiful with gold;Which, to her mind beset with that past dream,And dim foreshadowings of ill fate, did seemThat very house, her joy and misery,Where that fair sight her longing eyes did seeThey should not see again; but now the soundOf pensive music echoing all around,Made all things like a picture, and from thenceBewildering odours floating, dulled her sense,And killed her fear, and, urged by strong desireTo see how all should end, she drew yet nigher,And o'er the hedge beheld the heads of girlsEmbraced by garlands fresh and orient pearls,And heard sweet voices murmuring; then a thrillOf utmost joy all memory seemed to killOf good or evil, and her eager handWas on the wicket, then her feet did standUpon new flowers, the while her dizzied eyesGazed wildly round on half-seen mysteries,And wandered from unnoting face to face.For round a fountain midst the flowery placeDid she behold full many a minstrel girl;While nigh them, on the grass in giddy whirl,Bright raiment and white limbs and sandalled feetFlew round in time unto the music sweet,Whose strains no more were pensive now nor sad,But rather a fresh sound of triumph had;And round the dance were gathered damsels fair,Clad in rich robes adorned with jewels rare;Or little hidden by some woven mist,That, hanging round them, here a bosom kissedAnd there a knee, or driven by the windAbout some lily's bowing stem was twined.But when a little Psyche's eyes grew clear,A sight they saw that brought back all her fearA hundred-fold, though neither heaven nor earthTo such a fair sight elsewhere could give birth;Because apart, upon a golden throneOf marvellous work, a woman sat alone,Watching the dancers with a smiling face,Whose beauty sole had lighted up the place.A crown there was upon her glorious head,A garland round about her girdlestead,Where matchless wonders of the hidden seaWere brought together and set wonderfully;Naked she was of all else, but her hairAbout her body rippled here and there,And lay in heaps upon the golden seat,And even touched the gold cloth where her feetLay amid roses—ah, how kind she seemed!What depths of love from out her grey eyes beamed!Well might the birds leave singing on the treesTo watch in peace that crown of goddesses,Yet well might Psyche sicken at the sight,And feel her feet wax heavy, her head light;For now at last her evil day was come,Since she had wandered to the very homeOf her most bitter cruel enemy.Half-dead, yet must she turn about to flee,But as her eyes back o'er her shoulder gazed,And with weak hands her clinging gown she raised,And from her lips unwitting came a moan,She felt strong arms about her body thrown,And, blind with fear, was haled along till sheSaw floating by her faint eyes dizzilyThat vision of the pearls and roses fresh,The golden carpet and the rosy flesh.Then, as in vain she strove to make some sound,A sweet voice seemed to pierce the air aroundWith bitter words; her doom rang in her ears,She felt the misery that lacketh tears."Come hither, damsels, and the pearl beholdThat hath no price? See now the thrice-tried gold,That all men worshipped, that a god would haveTo be his bride! how like a wretched slaveShe cowers down, and lacketh even voiceTo plead her cause! Come, damsels, and rejoice,That now once more the waiting world will move,Since she is found, the well-loved soul of love!"And thou poor wretch, what god hath led thee here?Art thou so lost in this abyss of fear,Thou canst not weep thy misery and shame?Canst thou not even speak thy shameful name?"But even then the flame of fervent loveIn Psyche's tortured heart began to move,And gave her utterance, and she said, "Alas!Surely the end of life has come to passFor me, who have been bride of very Love,Yet love still bides in me, O Seed of Jove,For such I know thee; slay me, nought is lost!For had I had the will to count the costAnd buy my love with all this misery,Thus and no otherwise the thing should be.Would I were dead, my wretched beauty gone,No trouble now to thee or any one!"And with that last word did she hang her head,As one who hears not, whatsoe'er is said;But Venus rising with a dreadful crySaid, "O thou fool, I will not let thee die!But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sownAnd many a day thy wretched lot bemoan.Thou art my slave, and not a day shall beBut I will find some fitting task for thee,Nor will I slay thee till thou hop'st again.What, thinkest thou that utterly in vainJove is my sire, and in despite my willThat thou canst mock me with thy beauty still?Come forth, O strong-armed, punish this new slave,That she henceforth a humble heart may have."All round about the damsels in a ringWere drawn to see the ending of the thing,And now as Psyche's eyes stared wildly roundNo help in any face of them she foundAs from the fair and dreadful face she turnedIn whose grey eyes such steadfast anger burned;Yet midst her agony she scarcely knewWhat thing it was the goddess bade them do,And all the pageant, like a dreadful dreamHopeless and long-enduring grew to seem;Yea, when the strong-armed through the crowd did break,Girls like to those, whose close-locked squadron shakeThe echoing surface of the Asian plain,And when she saw their threatening hands, in vainShe strove to speak, so like a dream it was;So like a dream that this should come to pass,And 'neath her feet the green earth opened not.But when her breaking heart again waxed hotWith dreadful thoughts and prayers unspeakableAs all their bitter torment on her fell,When she her own voice heard, nor knew its sound,And like red flame she saw the trees and ground,Then first she seemed to know what miseryTo helpless folk upon the earth can be.But while beneath the many moving feetThe small crushed flowers sent up their odour sweet,Above sat Venus, calm, and very fair,Her white limbs bared of all her golden hair,Into her heart all wrath cast back again,As on the terror and the helpless painShe gazed with gentle eyes, and unmoved smile;Such as in Cyprus, the fair blossomed isle,When on the altar in the summer nightThey pile the roses up for her delight,Men see within their hearts, and long that theyUnto her very body there might pray.At last to them some dainty sign she madeTo hold their cruel hands, and therewith badeTo bear her slave new gained from out her sightAnd keep her safely till the morrow's light:So her across the sunny sward they ledWith fainting limbs, and heavy downcast head,And into some nigh lightless prison castTo brood alone o'er happy days long pastAnd all the dreadful times that yet should be.But she being gone, one moment pensivelyThe goddess did the distant hills behold,Then bade her girls bind up her hair of gold,And veil her breast, the very forge of love,With raiment that no earthly shuttle wove,And 'gainst the hard earth arm her lovely feet:Then she went forth, some shepherd king to meetDeep in the hollow of a shaded vale,To make his woes a long-enduring tale.
Now,midst her wanderings, on a hot noontide,Psyche passed down a road, where, on each sideThe yellow cornfields lay, although as yetUnto the stalks no sickle had been set;The lark sung over them, the butterflyFlickered from ear to ear distractedly,The kestrel hung above, the weasel peeredFrom out the wheat-stalks on her unafeard,Along the road the trembling poppies shedOn the burnt grass their crumpled leaves and red;Most lonely was it, nothing Psyche knewUnto what land of all the world she drew;Aweary was she, faint and sick at heart,Bowed to the earth by thoughts of that sad partShe needs must play: some blue flower from the cornThat in her fingers erewhile she had borne,Now dropped from them, still clung unto her gown;Over the hard way hung her head adownDespairingly, but still her weary feetMoved on half conscious, her lost love to meet.So going, at the last she raised her eyes,And saw a grassy mound before her riseOver the yellow plain, and thereon wasA marble fane with doors of burnished brass,That 'twixt the pillars set about it burned;So thitherward from off the road she turned,And soon she heard a rippling water sound,And reached a stream that girt the hill around,Whose green waves wooed her body lovingly;So looking round, and seeing no soul anigh,Unclad, she crossed the shallows, and there laidHer dusty raiment in the alder-shade,And slipped adown into the shaded pool,And with the pleasure of the water coolSoothed her tired limbs awhile, then with a sighCame forth, and clad her body hastily,And up the hill made for the little fane.But when its threshold now her feet did gain,She, looking through the pillars of the shrine,Beheld therein a golden image shineOf golden Ceres; then she passed the door,And with bowed head she stood awhile beforeThe smiling image, striving for some wordThat did not name her lover and her lord,Until midst rising tears at last she prayed:"O kind one, if while yet I was a maidI ever did thee pleasure, on this dayBe kind to me, poor wanderer on the way,Who strive my love upon the earth to meet!Then let me rest my weary, doubtful feetWithin thy quiet house a little while,And on my rest if thou wouldst please to smile,And send me news of my own love and lord,It would not cost thee, lady, many a word."But straight from out the shrine a sweet voice came,"O Psyche, though of me thou hast no blame,And though indeed thou sparedst not to giveWhat my soul loved, while happy thou didst live,Yet little can I give now unto thee,Since thou art rebel, slave, and enemyUnto the love-inspiring Queen; this graceThou hast alone of me, to leave this placeFree as thou camest, though the lovely oneSeeks for the sorceress who entrapped her sonIn every land, and has small joy in aught,Until before her presence thou art brought."Then Psyche, trembling at the words she spake,Durst answer nought, nor for that counsel's sakeCould other offerings leave except her tears,As now, tormented by the new-born fearsThe words divine had raised in her, she passedThe brazen threshold once again, and castA dreary hopeless look across the plain,Whose golden beauty now seemed nought and vainUnto her aching heart; then down the hillShe went, and crossed the shallows of the rill,And wearily she went upon her way,Nor any homestead passed upon that day,Nor any hamlet, and at night lay downWithin a wood, far off from any town.There, waking at the dawn, did she behold,Through the green leaves, a glimmer as of gold,And, passing on, amidst an oak-grove foundA pillared temple gold-adorned and round,Whose walls were hung with rich and precious things,Worthy to be the ransom of great kings;And in the midst of gold and ivoryAn image of Queen Juno did she see;Then her heart swelled within her, and she thought,"Surely the gods hereto my steps have brought,And they will yet be merciful and giveSome little joy to me, that I may liveTill my Love finds me." Then upon her kneesShe fell, and prayed, "O Crown of goddesses,I pray thee, give me shelter in this place,Nor turn away from me thy much-loved face,If ever I gave golden gifts to theeIn happier times when my right hand was free."Then from the inmost shrine there came a voiceThat said, "It is so, well mayst thou rejoiceThat of thy gifts I yet have memory,Wherefore mayst thou depart forewarned and free;Since she that won the golden apple lives,And to her servants mighty gifts now givesTo find thee out, in whatso land thou art,For thine undoing; loiter not, depart!For what immortal yet shall shelter theeFrom her that rose from out the unquiet sea?"Then Psyche moaned out in her grief and fear,"Alas! and is there shelter anywhereUpon the green flame-hiding earth?" said she,"Or yet beneath it is there peace for me?O Love, since in thine arms I cannot rest,Or lay my weary head upon thy breast,Have pity yet upon thy love forlorn,Make me as though I never had been born!"Then wearily she went upon her way,And so, about the middle of the day,She came before a green and flowery place,Walled round about in manner of a chase,Whereof the gates as now were open wide;Fair grassy glades and long she saw insideBetwixt great trees, down which the unscared deerWere playing; yet a pang of deadly fear,She knew not why, shot coldly through her heart,And thrice she turned as though she would depart,And thrice returned, and in the gateway stoodWith wavering feet: small flowers as red as bloodWere growing up amid the soft green grass,And here and there a fallen rose there was,And on the trodden grass a silken lace,As though crowned revellers had passed by the placeThe restless sparrows chirped upon the wallAnd faint far music on her ears did fall,And from the trees within, the pink-foot dovesStill told their weary tale unto their loves,And all seemed peaceful more than words could say.Then she, whose heart still whispered, "Keep away."Was drawn by strong desire unto the place,So toward the greenest glade she set her face,Murmuring, "Alas! and what a wretch am I,That I should fear the summer's greenery!Yea, and is death now any more an ill,When lonely through the world I wander still."But when she was amidst those ancient groves,Whose close green leaves and choirs of moaning dovesShut out the world, then so alone she seemed,So strange, her former life was but as dreamed;Beside the hopes and fears that drew her on,Till so far through that green place she had won,That she a rose-hedged garden could beholdBefore a house made beautiful with gold;Which, to her mind beset with that past dream,And dim foreshadowings of ill fate, did seemThat very house, her joy and misery,Where that fair sight her longing eyes did seeThey should not see again; but now the soundOf pensive music echoing all around,Made all things like a picture, and from thenceBewildering odours floating, dulled her sense,And killed her fear, and, urged by strong desireTo see how all should end, she drew yet nigher,And o'er the hedge beheld the heads of girlsEmbraced by garlands fresh and orient pearls,And heard sweet voices murmuring; then a thrillOf utmost joy all memory seemed to killOf good or evil, and her eager handWas on the wicket, then her feet did standUpon new flowers, the while her dizzied eyesGazed wildly round on half-seen mysteries,And wandered from unnoting face to face.For round a fountain midst the flowery placeDid she behold full many a minstrel girl;While nigh them, on the grass in giddy whirl,Bright raiment and white limbs and sandalled feetFlew round in time unto the music sweet,Whose strains no more were pensive now nor sad,But rather a fresh sound of triumph had;And round the dance were gathered damsels fair,Clad in rich robes adorned with jewels rare;Or little hidden by some woven mist,That, hanging round them, here a bosom kissedAnd there a knee, or driven by the windAbout some lily's bowing stem was twined.But when a little Psyche's eyes grew clear,A sight they saw that brought back all her fearA hundred-fold, though neither heaven nor earthTo such a fair sight elsewhere could give birth;Because apart, upon a golden throneOf marvellous work, a woman sat alone,Watching the dancers with a smiling face,Whose beauty sole had lighted up the place.A crown there was upon her glorious head,A garland round about her girdlestead,Where matchless wonders of the hidden seaWere brought together and set wonderfully;Naked she was of all else, but her hairAbout her body rippled here and there,And lay in heaps upon the golden seat,And even touched the gold cloth where her feetLay amid roses—ah, how kind she seemed!What depths of love from out her grey eyes beamed!Well might the birds leave singing on the treesTo watch in peace that crown of goddesses,Yet well might Psyche sicken at the sight,And feel her feet wax heavy, her head light;For now at last her evil day was come,Since she had wandered to the very homeOf her most bitter cruel enemy.Half-dead, yet must she turn about to flee,But as her eyes back o'er her shoulder gazed,And with weak hands her clinging gown she raised,And from her lips unwitting came a moan,She felt strong arms about her body thrown,And, blind with fear, was haled along till sheSaw floating by her faint eyes dizzilyThat vision of the pearls and roses fresh,The golden carpet and the rosy flesh.Then, as in vain she strove to make some sound,A sweet voice seemed to pierce the air aroundWith bitter words; her doom rang in her ears,She felt the misery that lacketh tears."Come hither, damsels, and the pearl beholdThat hath no price? See now the thrice-tried gold,That all men worshipped, that a god would haveTo be his bride! how like a wretched slaveShe cowers down, and lacketh even voiceTo plead her cause! Come, damsels, and rejoice,That now once more the waiting world will move,Since she is found, the well-loved soul of love!"And thou poor wretch, what god hath led thee here?Art thou so lost in this abyss of fear,Thou canst not weep thy misery and shame?Canst thou not even speak thy shameful name?"But even then the flame of fervent loveIn Psyche's tortured heart began to move,And gave her utterance, and she said, "Alas!Surely the end of life has come to passFor me, who have been bride of very Love,Yet love still bides in me, O Seed of Jove,For such I know thee; slay me, nought is lost!For had I had the will to count the costAnd buy my love with all this misery,Thus and no otherwise the thing should be.Would I were dead, my wretched beauty gone,No trouble now to thee or any one!"And with that last word did she hang her head,As one who hears not, whatsoe'er is said;But Venus rising with a dreadful crySaid, "O thou fool, I will not let thee die!But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sownAnd many a day thy wretched lot bemoan.Thou art my slave, and not a day shall beBut I will find some fitting task for thee,Nor will I slay thee till thou hop'st again.What, thinkest thou that utterly in vainJove is my sire, and in despite my willThat thou canst mock me with thy beauty still?Come forth, O strong-armed, punish this new slave,That she henceforth a humble heart may have."All round about the damsels in a ringWere drawn to see the ending of the thing,And now as Psyche's eyes stared wildly roundNo help in any face of them she foundAs from the fair and dreadful face she turnedIn whose grey eyes such steadfast anger burned;Yet midst her agony she scarcely knewWhat thing it was the goddess bade them do,And all the pageant, like a dreadful dreamHopeless and long-enduring grew to seem;Yea, when the strong-armed through the crowd did break,Girls like to those, whose close-locked squadron shakeThe echoing surface of the Asian plain,And when she saw their threatening hands, in vainShe strove to speak, so like a dream it was;So like a dream that this should come to pass,And 'neath her feet the green earth opened not.But when her breaking heart again waxed hotWith dreadful thoughts and prayers unspeakableAs all their bitter torment on her fell,When she her own voice heard, nor knew its sound,And like red flame she saw the trees and ground,Then first she seemed to know what miseryTo helpless folk upon the earth can be.But while beneath the many moving feetThe small crushed flowers sent up their odour sweet,Above sat Venus, calm, and very fair,Her white limbs bared of all her golden hair,Into her heart all wrath cast back again,As on the terror and the helpless painShe gazed with gentle eyes, and unmoved smile;Such as in Cyprus, the fair blossomed isle,When on the altar in the summer nightThey pile the roses up for her delight,Men see within their hearts, and long that theyUnto her very body there might pray.At last to them some dainty sign she madeTo hold their cruel hands, and therewith badeTo bear her slave new gained from out her sightAnd keep her safely till the morrow's light:So her across the sunny sward they ledWith fainting limbs, and heavy downcast head,And into some nigh lightless prison castTo brood alone o'er happy days long pastAnd all the dreadful times that yet should be.But she being gone, one moment pensivelyThe goddess did the distant hills behold,Then bade her girls bind up her hair of gold,And veil her breast, the very forge of love,With raiment that no earthly shuttle wove,And 'gainst the hard earth arm her lovely feet:Then she went forth, some shepherd king to meetDeep in the hollow of a shaded vale,To make his woes a long-enduring tale.