Shall my soulForget the agonized message which he sent,Bidding me come? For that accursèd robe,Stained with the poisonous accursèd blood,Even in the midmost flush of sacrificeClung to him a devouring fire, and ateThe piteous flesh from his dear limbs, and stungHis great soft soul to madness. When I came,Knowing it was my work, he bent on me,Wise as a god through suffering and the nearInevitable Death, so that no wordOf mine was needed, such a tender lookOf mild reproach as smote me. 'Couldst not thouTrust me, who never loved as I love thee?What need was there of magical arts to drawThe love that never wavered? I have livedAs he lives who through perilous paths must pass,And lifelong trials, striving to keep downThe brute within him, born of too much strengthAnd sloth and vacuous days; by difficult toils,Labours endured, and hard-fought fights with ill,Now vanquished, now triumphant; and sometimes,In intervals of too long labour, findingHis nature grown too strong for him, falls proneAwhile a helpless prey, then once againRises and spurns his chains, and fares anewAlong the perilous ways. Dearest, I wouldThat thou wert wedded to some knight who stayedAt home within thy gates, and were contentTo see thee happy. But for me the fierceRude energies of life, the mighty thews,The god-sent hate of Wrong, these drove me forthTo quench the thirst of battle. See, this maid,This is the bride I destined for our sonWho grows to manhood. Do thou see to herWhen I am dead, for soon I know againThe frenzy comes, and with it ceasing, death.Go, therefore, ere I harm thee when my strengthHas lost its guidance. Thou wert rich in love,Be now as rich in faith. Dear, for thy wrongI do forgive thee.'
When I saw the glareOf madness fire his eyes, and my ears heardThe groans the torture wrung from his great soul,I fled with broken heart to the white shrine,And knelt in prayer, but still my sad ear tookThe agony of his cries.
Then I who knewThere was no hope in god or man for meWho had destroyed my Love, and with him slainThe champion of the suffering race of men,And knowing that my soul, though innocentOf blood, was guilty of unfaith and vileMistrust, and wrapt in weakness like a cloak,And made the innocent tool of hate and wrong,Against all love and good; grown sick and filledWith hatred of myself, rose from my knees,And went a little space apart, and foundA gnarled tree on the cliff, and with my scarfStrangling myself, swung lifeless.
But in deathI found him not. For, building a vast pileOf scented woods on Oeta, as they tell,My hero with his own hand lighted it,And when the mighty pyre flamed far and wideOver all lands and seas, he climbed on itAnd laid him down to die; but pitying Zeus,Before the swift flames reached him, in a cloudDescending, snatched the strong brave soul to heaven,And set him mid the stars.
Wherefore am IOf all the blameless shades within this placeThe most unhappy, if of blame, indeed,I bear no load. For what is Sin itself,But Error when we miss the road which leadsUp to the gate of heaven? Ignorance!What if we be the cause of ignorance?Being blind who might have seen! Yet do I knowBut self-inflicted pain, nor stain there isUpon my soul such as they bear who knowThe dreadful scourge with which the stern judge stillLashes their sins. I am forgiven, I know,Who loved so much, and one day, if Zeus will,I shall go free from hence, and join my Lord,And be with him again."
And straight I seemed,Passing, to look upon some scarce-spent life,Which knows to-day the irony of FateIn self-inflicted pain.
Together clungThe ghosts whom next I saw, bound three in oneBy some invisible bond. A sire of portGod-like as Zeus, to whom on either handA tender stripling clung. I knew them well,As all men know them. One fair youth spake low:"Father, it does not pain me now, to beDrawn close to thee, and by a double bond,With this my brother." And the other: "Nay,Nor me, O father; but I bless the chainWhich binds our souls in union. If some traceOf pain still linger, heed it not—'tis past:Still let us cling to thee."
He with grave eyesFull of great tenderness, upon his sonsLooked with the father's gaze, that is so farMore sweet, and sad, and tender, than the gazeOf mothers,—now on this one, now on that,Regarding them. "Dear sons, whom on the earthI loved and cherished, it was hard to watchYour pain; but now 'tis finished, and we standFor ever, through all future days of time,Symbols of patient suffering undeserved,Endured and vanquished. Yet sad memory stillBrings back our time of trial.
For the dayBroke fair when I, the dread Poseidon's priest,Joyous because the unholy strife was done,And seeing the blue waters now left freeOf hostile keels—save where upon the vergeFar off the white sails faded—rose at dawn,And white robed, and in garb of sacrifice,And with the sacred fillet round my brows,Stood at the altar; and behind, ye twain,Decked by your mother's hand with new-cleansed robes,And with fresh flower-wreathed chaplets on your curls,Attended, and your clear young voices madeMusic that touched your father's eyes with tears,If not the careless gods. I seem to hearThose high sweet accents mounting in the hymnWhich rose to all the blessed gods who dweltUpon the far Olympus—Zeus, the Lord,And Sovereign Heré, and the immortal choirOf Deities, but chiefly to the dreadPoseidon, him who sways the purple seaAs with a sceptre, shaking the fixed earthWith stress of thundering surges. By the shrineThe meek-eyed victim, for the sacrifice,Stood with his gilded horns. The hymns were done,And I in act to strike, when all the crowdWho knelt behind us, with a common fearCried, with a cry that well might freeze the blood,And then, with fearful glances towards the sea,Fled, leaving us alone—me, the high priest,And ye, the acolytes; forlorn of men,Alone, but with our god.
But we stirred not:We could not flee, who in the solemn actOf worship, and the ecstasy which comesTo the believer's soul, saw heaven revealed,The mysteries unveiled, the inner skyWhich meets the enraptured gaze. How should we fearWho thus were god-encircled! So we stoodWhile the long ritual spent itself, nor castAn eye upon the sea. Till as I cameTo that great act which offers up a lifeBefore life's Lord, and the full mysteryWas trembling to completion, quick I heardA stifled cry of agony, and knewMy children's voices. And the father's heart,Which is far more than rite or service doneBy man for god, seeing that it is divineAnd comes from God to men—this rising in me,Constrained me, and I ceased my prayer, and turnedTo succour you, and lo! the awful coilsWhich crushed your lives already, bound me roundAnd crushed me also, as you clung to me,In common death. Some god had heard the prayer,And lo! we were ourselves the sacrifice—The priest, the victim, the accepted life,The blood, the pain, the salutary loss.
Was it not better thus to cease and dieTogether in one blest moment, mid the flushAnd ecstasy of worship, and to knowOurselves the victims? They were wrong who taughtThat 'twas some jealous goddess who destroyedOur lives, revengeful for discovered wiles,Or hateful of our land. Not readilyShould such base passions sway the immortal gods;But rather do I hold it sooth indeedThat Zeus himself it was, who pityingThe ruin he foreknew, yet might not stay,Since mightier Fate decreed it, sent in hasteThose dreadful messengers, and bade them takeThe pious lives he loved, before the dinOf midnight slaughter woke, and the fair townFlamed pitifully to the skies, and allWas blood and ruin. Surely it was bestTo die as we did, and in death to live,A vision for all ages of high painWhich passes into beauty, and is mergedIn one accordant whole, as discords mergeIn that great Harmony which ceaseless ringsFrom the tense chords of life, than to have livedOur separate lives, and died our separate deaths,And left no greater mark than drops which rainUpon the unbounded sea. Those hosts which fellBefore the Scæan gate upon the sand,Nor found a bard to sing their fate, but leftTheir bones to dogs and kites—were they more blestThan we who, in the people's sight beforeIlium's unshattered towers, lay down to dieOur swift miraculous death? Dear sons, and good,Dear children of my love, how doubly dearFor this our common sorrow; suffering weavesNot only chains of darkness round, but bindsA golden glittering link, which though withdrawnOr felt no longer, knits us soul to soul,In indissoluble bonds, and draws our livesSo close, that though the individual lifeBe merged, there springs a common life which growsTo such dread beauty, as has power to takeThe sting from sorrow, and transform the painInto transcendent joy: as from the stormThe unearthly rainbow draws its myriad huesAnd steeps the world in fairness. All our livesAre notes that fade and sink, and so are mergedIn the full harmony of Being. Dear sons,Cling closer to me. Life nor Death has tornOur lives asunder, as for some, but drawnTheir separate strands together in a knotCloser than Life itself, stronger than Death,Insoluble as Fate."
Then they three clungTogether—the strong father and young sons,And in their loving eyes I saw the PainFade into Joy, Suffering in Beauty lost,And Death in Love!
By a still sullen pool,Into its dark depths gazing, lay the ghostWhom next I passed. In form, a lovely youth,Scarce passed from boyhood. Golden curls were his,And wide blue eyes. The semblance of a smileCame on his lip—a girl's but for the downWhich hardly shaded it; but the pale cheekWas soft as any maiden's, and his robeWas virginal, and at his breast he boreThe perfumed amber cup which, when March comesGems the dry woods and windy wolds, and speaksThe resurrection.
Looking up, he said:"Methought I saw her then, my love, my fair,My beauty, my ideal; the dim cloudsLifted, methought, a little—or was itFond Fancy only? For I know that hereNo sunbeam cleaves the twilight, but a mistCreeps over all the sky and fields and pools,And blots them; and I know I seek in vainMy earth-sought beauty, nor can Fancy bringAn answer to my thought from these blind depthsAnd unawakened skies. Yet has use madeThe quest so precious, that I keep it here,Well knowing it is vain.
On the old earth'Twas otherwise, when in fair ThessalyI walked regardless of all nymphs who soughtMy love, but sought in vain, whether it wereDryad or Naiad from the woods or streams,Or white-robed Oread fleeting on the sideOf fair Olympus, echoing back my sighs,In vain, for through the mountains day by dayI wandered, and along the foaming brooks,And by the pine-woods dry, and never tookA thought for love, nor ever 'mid the throngOf loving nymphs who knew me beautifulI dallied, unregarding; till they saidSome died for love of me, who loved not one.And yet I cared not, wandering still aloneAmid the mountains by the scented pines.
Till one fair day, when all the hills were still,Nor any breeze made murmur through the boughs,Nor cloud was on the heavens, I wandered slow,Leaving the nymphs who fain with dance and songHad kept me 'midst the glades, and strayed awayAmong the pines, enwrapt in fantasy,And by the beechen dells which clothe the feetOf fair Olympus, wrapt in fantasy,Weaving the thin and unembodied shapesWhich Fancy loves to body forth, and leaveIn marble or in song; and so strayed downTo a low sheltered vale above the plains,Where the lush grass grew thick, and the stream stayedIts garrulous tongue; and last upon the bankOf a still pool I came, where was no flowOf water, but the depths were clear as air,And nothing but the silvery gleaming sideOf tiny fishes stirred. There lay I downUpon the flowery bank, and scanned the deep,Half in a waking dream.
Then swift there rose,From those enchanted depths, a face more fairThan ever I had dreamt of, and I knewMy sweet long-sought ideal: the thick curls,Like these, were golden, and the white robe showedLike this; but for the wondrous eyes and lips,The tender loving glance, the sunny smileUpon the rosy mouth, these knew I not,Not even in dreams; and yet I seemed to traceMyself within them too, as who should findHis former self expunged, and him transformedTo some high thin ideal, separateFrom what he was, by some invisible bar,And yet the same in difference. As I movedMy arms to clasp her to me, lo! she movedHer eager arms to mine, smiled to my smile,Looked love to love, and answered longing eyesWith longing. When my full heart burst in words,'Dearest, I love thee,' lo! the lovely lips,'Dearest, I love thee,' sighed, and through the airThe love-lorn echo rang. But when I longedTo answer kiss with kiss, and stooped my lipsTo her sweet lips in that long thrill which strainsSoul unto soul, the cold lymph came betweenAnd chilled our love, and kept us separate soulsWhich fain would mingle, and the self-same heavenRose, a blue vault above us, and no shadeOf earthly thing obscured us, as we layTwo reflex souls, one and yet different,Two sundered souls longing to be at one.
There, all day long, until the light was goneAnd took my love away, I lay and lovedThe image, and when night was come, 'Farewell,'I whispered, and she whispered back, 'Farewell,'With oh, such yearning! Many a day we spentBy that clear pool together all day long.And many a clouded hour on the wet grassI lay beneath the rain, and saw her not,And sickened for her; and sometimes the poolWas thick with flood, and hid her; and sometimesSome cold wind ruffled those clear wells, and leftBut glimpses of her, and I rose at eveUnsatisfied, a cold chill in my limbsAnd fever at my heart: until, too soon!The summer faded, and the skies were hid,And my love came not, but a quenchless thirstWasted my life. And all the winter longThe bright sun shone not, or the thick ribbed iceObscured her, and I pined for her, and knewMy life ebb from me, till I grew too weakTo seek her, fearing I should see no moreMy dear. And so the long dead winter wanedAnd the slow spring came back.
And one blithe day,When life was in the woods, and the birds sang,And soft airs fanned the hills, I knew againSome gleam of hope within me, and againWith feeble limbs crawled forth, and felt the springBlossom within me; and the flower-starred glades,The bursting trees, the building nests, the songs,The hurry of life revived me; and I crept,Ghost-like, amid the joy, until I flungMy panting frame, and weary nerveless limbs,Down by the cold still pool.
And lo! I sawMy love once more, not beauteous as of old,But oh, how changed! the fair young cheek grown pale,The great eyes, larger than of yore, gaze forthWith a sad yearning look; and a great painAnd pity took me which were more than love,And with a loud and wailing voice I cried,'Dearest, I come again. I pine for thee,'And swift she answered back, 'I pine for thee;''Come to me, oh, my own,' I cried, and she—'Come to me, oh, my own.' Then with a cryOf love I joined myself to her, and plungedBeneath the icy surface with a kiss,And fainted, and am here.
And now, indeed,I know not if it was myself I sought,As some tell, or another. For I holdThat what we seek is but our other self,Other and higher, neither wholly likeNor wholly different, the half-life the godsRetained when half was given—one the manAnd one the woman; and I longed to roundThe imperfect essence by its complement,For only thus the perfect life stands forthWhole, self-sufficing. Worse it is to liveIll-mated than imperfect, and to moveFrom a false centre, not a perfect sphere,But with a crooked bias sent obliqueAthwart life's furrows. 'Twas myself, indeed,Thus only that I sought, that lovers useTo see in that they love, not that which is,But that their fancy feigns, and view themselvesReflected in their love, yet glorified,And finer and more pure.
Wherefore it is:All love which finds its own ideal mateIs happy—happy that which gives itselfUnto itself, and keeps, through long calm years,The tranquil image in its eyes, and knowsFulfilment and is blest, and day by dayWears love like a white flower, nor holds it lessThough sharp winds bite, or hot suns fade, or ageSully its perfect whiteness, but inhalesIts fragrance, and is glad. But happier stillHe who long seeks a high goal unattained,And wearies for it all his days, nor knowsPossession sate his thirst, but still pursuesThe fleeting loveliness—now seen, now lost,But evermore grown fairer, till at lastHe stretches forth his arms and takes the fairIn one long rapture, and its name is Death."
Thus he; and seeing me stand grave: "Farewell.If ever thou shouldst happen on a woodIn Thessaly, upon the plain-ward spursOf fair Olympus, take the path which windsThrough the close vale, and thou shalt see the poolWhere once I found my life. And if in SpringThou go there, round the margin thou shalt knowThese amber blooms bend meekly, smiling downUpon the crystal surface. Pluck them not.But kneel a little while, and breathe a prayerTo the fair god of Love, and let them be.For in those tender flowers is hid the lifeThat once was mine. All things are bound in oneIn earth and heaven, nor is there any gulf'Twixt things that live,—the flower that was a life,The life that is a flower,—but one sure chainBinds all, as now I know.
If there are stillFair Oreads on the hills, say to them, sir,They must no longer pine for me, but findSome worthier lover, who can love again;For I have found my love."
And to the poolHe turned, and gazed with lovely eyes, and showedFair as an angel.
Leaving him enwraptIn musings, to a gloomy pass I cameBetween dark rocks, where scarce a gleam of light,Not even the niggard light of that dim land,Might enter; and the soil was black and bare,Nor even the thin growths which scarcely clothedThe higher fields might live. Hard by a caveWhich sloped down steeply to the lowest depths,Whence dreadful sounds ascended, seated still,Her head upon her hands, I saw a maidWith eyes fixed on the ground—not TartarusIt was, but Hades; and she knew no pain,Except her painful thought. Yet there it seemed,As here, the unequal measure which awaitsThe adjustment, and meanwhile, inspires the strifeWhich rears life's palace walls; and fills the sailWhich bears our bark across unfathomed seas,To its last harbour; this bore sway there too,And 'twas a luckless shade which sat and weptAmid the gloom, though blameless. Suddenly,She raised her head, and lo! the long curls, writhedTangled, and snake-like—as the dripping hairOf a dead girl who freed from life and shame,From out the cruel wintry flow, is laidStark on the snow with dreadful staring eyesLike hers. For when she raised her eyes to mine,They chilled my blood, so great a woe they bore;And as she gazed, wide-eyed, I knew my pulseBeat slow, and my limbs stiffen. Then they wore,At length, a softer look, and life revivedWithin my breast as thus she softly spoke:
"Nay, friend, I would not harm thee. I have knownGreat sorrow, and sometimes it racks me still,And turns me into stone, and makes my eyesAs dreadful as of yore; and yet it comesBut seldom, as thou sawest, now, for TimeAnd Death have healing hands. Only I loveTo sit within the darkness here, nor faceThe throng of happier ghosts; if any ghostOf happiness come here. For on the earthThey wronged me bitterly, and turned to stoneMy heart, till scarce I knew if e'er I wasThe happy girl of yore.
That youth who dreamsUp yonder by the margin of the lake,Knew but a cold ideal love, but meLove in unearthly guise, but bodily form,Seized and betrayed.
I was a priestess once,Of stern Athené, doing day by dayDue worship; raising, every dawn that came,My cold pure hymns to take her virgin ear;Nor sporting with the joyous companyOf youths and maids, who at the neighbouring shrineOf Aphrodité served. Nor dance nor songAllured me, nor the pleasant days of youthAnd twilights 'mid the vines. They held me coldWho were my friends in childhood. For my soulWas virginal, and at the virgin shrineI knelt, athirst for knowledge. Day by dayThe long cold ritual sped, the liturgiesWere done, the barren hymns of praise went upBefore the goddess, and the ecstasyOf faith possessed me wholly, till almostI knew not I was woman. Yet I knewThat I was fair to see, and fit to shareSome natural honest love, and bear the loadOf children like the rest; only my soulWas lost in higher yearnings.
Like a god,He burst upon those pallid lifeless days,Bringing fresh airs and salt, as from the sea,And wrecked my life. How should a virgin knowDeceit, who never at the joyous shrineOf Cypris knelt, but ever lived apart,And so grew guilty? For if I had spentMy days among the throng, either my faultWere blameless, or undone. For innocenceThe tempter spreads his net. For innocenceThe gods keep all their terrors. InnocenceIt is that bears the burden, which for guiltIs lightened, and the spoiler goes his way,Uncaring, joyous, leaving her alone,The victim and unfriended.
Was it justIn her, my mistress, who had had my youth,To wreak such vengeance on me? I had erred,It may be; but on him, whose was the guilt,No heaven-sent vengeance lighted, but he spedAway to other hearts across the deep,Careless and free; but me, the cold stern eyesOf the pure goddess withered; and the scornOf maids, despised before, and the great blankOf love, whose love was gone—this wrung my heart,And froze my blood; set on my brow despair,And turned my gaze to stone, and filled my eyesWith horror, and stiffened the soft curls which onceLay smooth and fair into such snake-like ringsAs made my aspect fearful. All who saw,Shrank from me and grew cold, and felt the warm,Full tide of life freeze in them, seeing in meLove's work, who sat wrapt up and lost in shame,As in a cloak, consuming my own heart,And was in hell already. As they gazedUpon me, my despair looked forth so coldFrom out my eyes, that if some spoiler cameFresh from his wickedness, and looked on them,Their glare would strike him dead; and those fair curlsWhich once the accursèd toyed with, grew to beThe poisonous things thou seest; and so, with hateOf man's injustice and the gods', who knewMe blameless, and yet punished me; and sickOf life and love, and loathing earth and sky,And feeding on my sorrow, Hate at lastLeft me a Fury.
Ah, the load of lifeWhich lives for hatred! We are made to love—We women, and the injury which turnsThe honey of our lives to gall, transformsThe angel to the fiend. For it is sweetTo know the dreadful sense of strength, and smiteAnd leave the tyrant dead with a glance; ay! sweet,In that fierce lust of power, to slay the lifeWhich harmed not, when the suppliants' cry ascendsTo ears which hate has deafened. So I livedLong time in misery; to my sleepless eyesNo healing slumbers coming; but at length,Zeus and the goddess pitying, I knewSoft rest once more veiling my dreadful gazeIn peaceful slumbers. Then a blessed dreamI dreamt. For, lo! a god-like knight in mailOf gold, who sheared with his keen flashing blade;With scarce a pang of pain, the visage coldWhich too great sorrow left me; at one strokeClean from the trunk, and then o'er land and sea,Invisible, sped with winged heels, to where,Upon a sea-worn cape, a fair young maid,More blameless even than I was, chained and bound,Waited a monster from the deep and stoodIn innocent nakedness. Then, as he rose,Loathsome, from out the depths, a monstrous growth,A creature wholly serpent, partly man,The wrongs that I had known, stronger than death,Rose up with such black hate in me again,And wreathed such hissing poison through my hair,And shot such deadly glances from my eyes,That nought that saw might live. And the vile wormWas slain, and she delivered. Then I dreamtMy mistress, whom I thought so stern to me,Athené, set those dreadful staring eyes,And that despairing visage, on her shieldOf chastity, and bears it evermoreTo fright the waverer from the wrong he would,And strike the unrepenting spoiler, dead."
Then for a little paused she, while I sawAgain her eyes grown dreadful, till once more,And with a softer glance:
"From that blest dreamI woke not on the earth, but only here.And now my pain is lightened since I knowMy dream, which was a dream within the dreamWhich is our life, fulfilled. And I have savedAnother through my suffering, and through herA people. Oh, strange chain of sacrifice,That binds an innocent life, and from its bloodAnd sorrow works out joy! Oh, mysteryOf pain and evil! wrong grown salutary,And mighty to redeem! If thou shouldst seeA woman on the earth, who pays to-dayLike penalty of sin, and the new gods(For after Saturn, Zeus ruled; after himIt may be there are others) love to takeThe tender heart of girlhood, and to immureWithin a cold and cloistered cell the lifeWhich nature meant to bless, and if Love comeHold her accursèd; or to some poor maid,Forlorn and trusting, still the tempter comesAnd works his wrong, and leaves her in despairAnd shame and all abhorrence, while he goesHis way unpunished,—if thou know her eyesFreeze thee like mine—oh! bid her lose her painIn succouring others—say to her that TimeAnd Death have healing hands, and here there comesTo the forgiven transgressor only painEnough to chasten joy!"
And a soft tearTrembled within her eyes, and her sweet gazeWas as the Magdalen's, the horror goneAnd a great radiance come.
Then as I passedTo upper air, I saw two figures riseTogether, one a woman with a graveFair face not all unhappy, and the robesAnd presence of a queen; and with her walkedThe fairest youth that ever maiden's dreamConceived. And as they came, the throng of ghosts,For these who were not wholly ghosts, arose,And did them homage. Not the chain of loveBound them, but such calm kinship as is bredOf long and difficult pilgrimages borneThrough common perils by two souls which shareA common weary exile. Nor as ghostsThese showed, but rather like two lives which hungSuspended in a trance. A halo of lifePlayed round them, and they brought a sweet brisk airTasting of earth and heaven, like sojournersWho stayed but for awhile, and knew a swiftRelease await them. First the youth it wasWho spake thus as they passed:
"Dread Queen, once moreI feel life stir within me, and my bloodRun faster, while a new strange cycle turnsAnd grows completed. Soon on the dear earthUnder the lively light of fuller day,I shall revive me of my wound; and thou,Passing with me yon cold and lifeless stream,And the grim monster who will fawn on thee,Shalt issue in royal pomp, and wreathed with flowers,Upon the cheerful earth, leaving behindA deeper winter for the ghosts who dwellWithin these sunless haunts; and I shall lieOnce more within loved arms, and thou shalt seeThy early home, and kiss thy mother's cheek,And be a girl again. But not for long;For ere the bounteous Autumn spreads her huesOf gold and purple, a cold voice will callAnd bring us to these wintry lands once more,As erst so often. Blest are we, indeed,Above the rest, and yet I would I knewThe careless joys of old.
For in hot youth,Oh, it was sweet to greet the balmy nightThat was love's nurse, and feel the weary eyesClosed by soft kisses,—sweet at early dawnTo wake refreshed and, scarce from loving armsLeaping, to issue forth, with winding horn,By dewy heath and brake, and taste the fairYoung breath of early morning; and 'twas sweetTo chase the bounding quarry all day longWith my true hounds and rapid steed, and gayCompanions of my youth, and with the eveTo turn home laden with the spoil, and takeThe banquet which awaited, and sweet winePoured out, and kisses pressed on loving lips;Circled by snowy arms. Oh, it was sweetTo be alive and young!
For sure it isThe gods gave not quick pulses and hot bloodAnd strength and beauty for no end, but wouldThat we should use them wisely; and the fair,Sweet mistress of my service was, indeed,Worthy of all observance. Oh, her eyesWhen I lay bleeding! All day long we rode,I and my youthful peers, with horse and hound,And knew the joy of swift pursuit and toilAnd peril. At the last, a fierce boar turnedAt bay, and with his gleaming tusks o'erthrewMy steed, and as I fell upon the flowers,Pierced me as with a sword. Then, as I lay,I knew the strange slow chill which, stealing, tellsThe young that it is death. Yet knew I notOf pain or fear, only great pity, indeed,That she should lose her love, who was so fondAnd gracious. But when, lifting my dim gaze,I saw her bend o'er me,—the lovely eyesSuffused with tears, and her sweet smile replacedBy agonized sorrow,—for a while I stayedLife's ebbing tide, and raised my cold, white lips,With a faint smile, to hers. Then, with a kiss—One long last kiss, we mingled, and I knewNo more.
But even in death, so strong is Love,I could not wholly die; and year by year,When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forthAcross the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,Being a goddess and in heaven, but smoothsMy path to the old earth, where still I knowOnce more the sweet lost days, and once againBlossom on that soft breast, and am againA youth, and rapt in love; and yet not allAs careless as of yore; but seem to knowThe early spring of passion, tamed by timeAnd suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,Less fitful, but more strong."
Then the sad Queen"Fair youth, thy lot I know, for I am oldAs the old earth and yet as young as isThe budding spring, and I was here a Queen,When Love was not or Time, and to my armsThou camest as a little child, to dwellWithin the halls of Death, for without DeathThere were nor Birth nor Love, nor would Life yearnTo lose itself within another life,And dying, to be born. I, too, have diedFor love in part, and live again through love;For in the far-off years, when Time was young,And Love unborn on earth, and Zeus in heavenRuled, a young sovereign; I, a maiden, dweltWith dread Demeter on the lovely plainsOf sunny Sicily. There, day by day,I sported with the maiden goddesses,In virgin freedom. Budding age made gayOur lightsome feet, and on the flowery slopesWe wandered daily, gathering flowers to weaveIn careless garlands for our locks, and passedThe days in innocent gladness. Thought of LoveThere came not to us, for as yet the earthWas virginal, nor yet had Eros comeWith his delicious pain.
And one fair morn—Not all the ages blot it—on the sideOf Ætna we were straying. There was thenSummer nor winter, springtide nor the timeOf harvest, but the soft unfailing sunShone always, and the sowing time was oneWith reaping; fruit and flower together sprungUpon the trees; and blade and ripened earTogether clothed the plains. There, as I strayed,Sudden a black cloud down the rugged sideOf Ætna, mixed with fire and dreadful soundOf thunder, rolled around me, and I heardThe maids who were my fellows turn and fleeWith shrieks and cries for me.
But I, I knewNo terror while the god o'ershadowed me,Hiding my life in his, nor when I weptMy flowers all withered, and my blood ran slowWithin a wintry land. Some voice there wasWhich said, 'Fear not. Thou shalt return and seeThy mother again, only a little whileFate wills that thou shouldst tarry, and becomeQueen of another world. Thou seest that allThy flowers are faded. They shall live againOn earth, as thou shalt, as thou livest nowThe Life of Death—for what is Death but LifeSuspended as in sleep? The changeless ruleWhere life was constant, and the sun o'erhead,Blazed forth for ever, changes and is hiddenAwhile. This region which thou seest, where allThe trees are lifeless, and the flowers are dead,Is but the self-same earth on which erewhileThou sportedst fancy free.'
So, without fearI wandered on this bare land, seeing farUpon the sky the peaks of my own hillsAnd crests of my own woods. Till, when I grewHungered, ere yet another form I saw;Along the silent alleys journeying,And leafless groves; a fair and mystic treeRose like a heart in shape, and 'mid its leavesOne golden mystic fruit with a fair seedHid in it. This, with childish hand, I tookAnd ate, and straight I knew the tree was Life,And the fruit Death, and the hid seed was Love.
Ah, sweet strange fruit! the which if any tasteThey may no longer keep their lives of oldOr their own selves unchanged, but some weird changeAnd subtle alchemy comes which can transmuteThe blood, and mould the spirits of gods and menIn some new magical form. Not as before,Our life comes to us, though the passion cools,No, never as before. My mother cameToo late to seek me. She had power to raiseA life from out Death's grasp, but from the armsOf Love she might not take me, nor undoLove's past for all her strength. She came and soughtWith fires her daughter over land and sea,Beyond the paths of all the setting stars,In vain, and over all the earth in vain,Seeking whom love disguised. Then on all landsShe cast the spell of barrenness; the wheatWas blighted in the ear, the purple grapesBlushed no more on the vines, and all the godsWere sorrowful, seeing the load of illMy rape had laid on men. Last, Zeus himself,Pitying the evil that was done, sent forthHis messenger beyond the western rimTo fetch me back to earth.
But not the sameHe found me who had eaten of Love's seed,But changed into another; nor could his powerPrevail to keep me wholly on the earth,Or make me maid again. The wintry lifeIs homelier often than the summer blazeOf happiness unclouded; so, when SpringComes on the world, I, coming, cross with thee,Year after year, the cruel icy stream;And leave this anxious sceptre and the shadesOf those in hell, or those for whom, though blest,No Spring comes, till the last great Spring which bringsNew heavens and new earth; and lay my headUpon my mother's bosom, and grow young,And am a girl again.
A soft air breathesAcross the stream and fills these barren fieldsWith the sweet odours of the earth. I knowAgain the perfume of the violetsWhich bloom on Ætna's side. Soon we shall passTogether to our home, while round our feetThe crocus flames like gold, the wind-flowers whiteWave their soft petals on the breeze, and allThe choir of flowers lift up their silent songTo the unclouded heavens. Thou, fair boy,Shalt lie within thy love's white arms again,And I within my mother's. Sweet is LoveIn ceasing and renewal; nay, in theseIt lives and has its being. Thou couldst not keepThy youth as now, if always on the breastOf love too late a lingerer thou hadst knownPossession sate thee. Nor might I have keptMy mother's heart, if I had lived to ripeAnd wither on the stalk. Time calls and ChangeCommands both men and gods, and speeds us onWe know not whither; but the old earth smilesSpring after Spring, and the seed bursts againOut of its prison mould, and the dead livesRenew themselves, and rise aloft and soarAnd are transformed, clothing themselves with changeTill the last change be done."
As thus she spake,I saw a gleam of light flash from the eyesOf all the listening shades, and a great joyThrill through the realms of Death.
And then againA youthful shade I saw, a comely boy,With lip and cheek just touched with manly down,And strong limbs wearing Spring; in mien and garbA youthful chieftain, with a perfect faceOf fresh young beauty, clustered curls divine,And chiselled features like a sculptured god,But warm and breathing life; only the eyes,The fair large eyes, were full of dreaming thought,And seemed to gaze beyond the world of sight,On a hid world of beauty. Him I stayed,Accosting with soft words of courtesy;And, on a bank of scentless flowers reclined,He answered thus:
"Not for the garish sunI long, nor for the splendours of high noonIn this dim land I languish; for of yoreFull often, when the swift chase swept alongThrough the brisk morn, or when my comrades calledTo wrestling, or the foot-race, or to cleaveThe sunny stream, I loved to walk apart,Self-centred, sole; and when the laughing girlsTo some fair stripling's oaten melodyMade ready for the dance, I heeded not;Nor when to the loud trumpet's blast and blareMy peers rode forth to battle. For, one eve,In Latmos, after a long day in June,I stayed to rest me on a sylvan hill,Where often youth and maid were wont to meetTowards moonrise; and deep slumber fell on meMusing on Love, just as the ruddy orbRose on the lucid night, set in a frameOf blooming myrtle and sharp tremulous plane;Deep slumber fell, and loosed my limbs in rest.
Then, as the full orb poised upon the peak,There came a lovely vision of a maid,Who seemed to step as from a golden carOut of the low-hung moon. No mortal form,Such as ofttimes of yore I knew and claspedAt twilight 'mid the vines at the mad feastOf Dionysus, or the fair maids coldWho streamed in white processions to the shrineOf the chaste Virgin Goddess; but a shapeRicher and yet more pure. No thinnest veilObscured her; but each exquisite limb revealed,Gleamed like a golden statue subtly wroughtBy a great sculptor on the architraveOf some high temple-front—only in herThe form was soft and warm, and charged with life,And breathing. As I seemed to gaze on her,Nearer she drew and gazed; and as I laySupine, as in a spell, the radiance stoopedAnd kissed me on the lips, a chaste, sweet kiss,Which drew my spirit with it. So I sleptEach night upon the hill, until the dawnCame in her silver chariot from the East,And chased my Love away. But ever thusDissolved in love as in a heaven-sent dream,Whenever the bright circle of the moonClimbed from the hills, whether in leafy JuneOr harvest-tide, or when they leapt and pressedRed-thighed the spouting must, I walked apartFrom all, and took no thought for mortal maid,Nor nimble joys of youth; but night by nightI stole, when all were sleeping, to the hill,And slumbered and was blest; until I grewPossest by love so deep, I seemed to liveIn slumber only, while the waking dayShowed faint as any vision.
So I turnedPaler and paler with the months, and climbedThe steep with laboured steps and difficult breath,But still I climbed. Ay, though the wintry frostChained fast the streams and whitened all the fields,I sought my mistress through the leafless groves,And slumbered and was happy, till the dawnReturning found me stretched out, cold and stark,With life's fire nigh burnt out. Till one clear night,When the birds shivered in the pines, and allThe inner heavens stood open, lo! she came,Brighter and kinder still, and kissed my eyesAnd half-closed lips, and drew my soul through them,And in one precious ecstasy dissolvedMy life. And thenceforth, ever on the hillI lie unseen of man; a cold, white form,Still young, through all the ages; but my soul,Clothed in this thin presentment of old days,Walks this dim land, where never moonrise comes,Nor day-break, but a twilight waiting-time,No more; and, ah! how weary! Yet I judgeMy lot a higher far than his who spendsHis youth on swift hot pleasure, quickly past;Or theirs, my equals', who through long calm yearsGrew sleek in dull content of wedded livesAnd fair-grown offspring. Many a day for them,While I was wandering here, and my bones bleachedUpon the rocks, the sweet autumnal sunBeamed, and the grapes grew purple. Many a dayThey heaped up gold, they knelt at festivals,They waxed in high report and fame of men,They gave their girls in marriage; while for meUpon the untrodden peaks, the cold, grey morn,The snows, the rains, the winds, the untempered blaze,Beat year by year, until I turned to stone,And the great eagles shrieked at me, and wheeledAffrighted. Yet I judge it better indeedTo seek in life, as now I know I sought,Some fair impossible Love, which slays our life,Some fair ideal raised too high for man;And failing to grow mad, and cease to be,Than to decline, as they do who have foundBroad-paunched content and weal and happiness:And so an end. For one day, as I know,The high aim unfulfilled fulfils itself;The deep, unsatisfied thirst is satisfied;And through this twilight, broken suddenly,The inmost heaven, the lucent stars of God,The Moon of Love, the Sun of Life; and I,I who pine here—I on the Latmian hillShall soar aloft and find them."
With the word,There beamed a shaft of dawn athwart the skies,And straight the sentinel thrush within the yewSang out reveillé to the hosts of day,Soldierly; and the pomp and rush of lifeBegan once more, and left me there aloneAmid the awaking world.
Nay, not alone.One fair shade lingered in the fuller day,The last to come, when now my dream had grownHalf mixed with waking thoughts, as grows a dreamIn summer mornings when the broader lightDazzles the sleeper's eyes; and is most fairOf all and best remembered, and becomesPart of our waking life, when older dreamsGrow fainter, and are fled. So this remainedThe fairest of the visions that I knew,Most precious and most dear.
The increasing lightShone through her, finer than the thinnest shade,And yet most full of beauty; golden wings,From her fair shoulders springing, seemed to liftHer stainless feet from the cold ground and snatchTheir wearer into air; and in her eyesWas such fair glance as comes from virgin love,Long chastened and triumphant. Every traceOf earth had vanished from her, and she showedAs one who walks a saint already in life,Virgin or mother. ImmortalityBreathed from those radiant eyes which yet had passedBetween the gates of death. I seemed to hearThe Soul of mortals speaking:
"I was bornOf a great race and mighty, and was grownFair, as they said, and good, and kept a lifePure from all stain of passion. Love I knew not,Who was absorbed in duty; and the MotherOf gods and men, seeing my life more calmThan human, hating my impassive heart,Sent down her perfect son in wrath to earth,And bade him break me.
But when Eros came,It did repent him of the task, for LoveIs kin to Duty.
And within my lifeI knew miraculous change, and a soft flameWherefrom the snows of Duty flushed to rose,And the chill icy flow of mind was turnedTo a warm stream of passion. Long I livedNot knowing what had been, nor recognizedA Presence walking with me through my life,As if by night, his face and form concealed:A gracious voice alone, which none but IMight hear, sustained me, and its name was Love.
Not as the earthly loves which throb and flushRound earthly shrines was mine, but a pure spirit,Lovelier than all embodied love, more pureAnd wonderful; but never on his eyesI looked, which still were hidden, and I knew notThe fashion of his nature; for by night,When visual eyes are blind, but the soul sees,Came he, and bade me seek not to enquireOr whence he came or wherefore. Nor knew IHis name. And always ere the coming day,As if he were the Sun-god, lingeringWith some too well-loved maiden, he would riseAnd vanish until eve. But all my beingThrilled with my fair unearthly visitantTo higher duty and more glorious meedOf action than of old, for it was LoveThat came to me, who might not know his name.
Thus, ever rapt by dreams divine, I knewThe scorn that comes from weaker souls, which miss,Being too low of nature, the great joyRevealed to others higher; nay, my sisters,Who being of one blood with me, made choiceTo tread the lower ways of daily life,Grew jealous of me, bidding me take heedLest haply 'twas some monstrous fiend I loved,Such as in fable ofttimes sought and wonThe innocent hearts of maids. Long time I heldMy love too dear for doubt, who was so sweetAnd lovable. But at the last the sneers,The mystery which hid him, the swift flightBefore the coming dawn, the shape concealed,The curious girlish heart, these worked on meWith an unsatisfied thirst. Not his own words:'Dear, I am with thee only while I keepMy visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst seeMy face, I must forsake thee: the high godsLink Love with Faith, and he withdraws himselfFrom the full gaze of Knowledge'—not even theseCould cure me of my longing, or the fearThose mocking voices worked; who fain would learnThe worst that might befall.
And one sad night,Just as the day leapt from the hills and broughtThe hour when he should go: with tremulous hands,Lighting my midnight lamp in fear, I stoodLong time uncertain, and at length turned roundAnd gazed upon my love. He lay asleep,And oh, how fair he was! The flickering lightFell on the fairest of the gods, stretched outIn happy slumber. Looking on his locksOf gold, and faultless face and smile, and limbsMade perfect, a great joy and trembling took meWho was most blest of women, and in aweAnd fear I stooped to kiss him. One warm drop—From the full lamp within my trembling hand,Or a glad tear from my too happy eyes,Fell on his shoulder.
Then the god unclosedHis lovely eyes, and with great pity spake:'Farewell! There is no Love except with Faith,And thine is dead! Farewell! I come no more.'And straightway from the hills the full red sunLeapt up, and as I clasped my love again,The lovely vision faded from his place,And came no more.
Then I, with breaking heart,Knowing my life laid waste by my own hand,Went forth and would have sought to hide my lifeWithin the stream of Death; but Death came notTo aid me who not yet was meet for Death.
Then finding that Love came not back to me,I thought that in the temples of the godsHaply he dwelt, and so from fane to faneI wandered over earth, and knelt in each,Enquiring for my Love; and I would askThe priests and worshippers, 'Is this Love's shrine?Sirs, have you seen the god?' But never at allI found him. For some answered, 'This is calledThe Shrine of Knowledge;' and another, 'This,The Shrine of Beauty;' and another, 'Strength;'And yet another, 'Youth.' And I would kneelAnd say a prayer to my Love, and riseAnd seek another. Long, o'er land and sea,I wandered, till I was not young or fair,Grown wretched, seeking my lost Love; and last,Came to the smiling, hateful shrine where ruledThe queen of earthly love and all delight,Cypris, but knelt not there, but asked of oneWho seemed her priest, if Eros dwelt with her.
Then to the subtle-smiling goddess' selfThey led me. She with hatred in her eyes:'What! thou to seek for Love, who art grown thinAnd pale with watching! He is not for thee.What Love is left for such? Thou didst despiseLove, and didst dwell apart. Love sits withinThe young maid's eyes, making them beautiful.Love is for youth, and joy, and happiness;And not for withered lives. Ho! bind her fast.Take her and set her to the vilest tasks,And bend her pride by solitude and tears,Who will not kneel to me, but dares to seekA disembodied love. My son has goneAnd left thee for thy fault, and thou shalt knowThe misery of my thralls.'
Then in her houseThey bound me to hard tasks and vile, and keptMy life from honour, chained among her slavesAnd lowest ministers, taking despiteAnd injury for food, and set to bindTheir wounds whom she had tortured, and to feedThe pitiful lives which in her prisons pentLanguished in hopeless pain. There is no sightOf suffering but I saw it, and was setTo succour it; and all my woman's heartWas torn with the ineffable miseriesWhich love and life have worked; and dwelt long timeIn groanings and in tears.
And then, oh joy!Oh miracle! once more at length againI felt Love's arms around me, and the kissOf Love upon my lips, and in the chillOf deepest prison cells, 'mid vilest tasks,The glow of his sweet breath, and the warm touchOf his invisible hand, and his sweet voice,Ay, sweeter than of old, and tenderer,Speak to me, pierce me, hold me, fold me roundWith arms Divine, till all the sordid earthWas hued like heaven, and Life's dull prison-houseTurned to a golden palace, and those low tasksGrew to be higher works and nobler gainsThan any gains of knowledge, and at lastHe whispered softly, 'Dear, unclose thine eyes.Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,But am thine own for ever.'
Then with wingsOf gold we soared, I looking in his eyes,Over yon dark broad river, and this dim land,Scarce for an instant staying till we reachedThe inmost courts of heaven.
But sometimes stillI come here for a little, and speak a wordOf peace to those who wait. The slow wheel turns,The cycles round themselves and grow complete,The world's year whitens to the harvest-tide,And one word only am I sent to sayTo those dear souls, who wait here, or who nowBreathe earthly air—one universal wordTo all things living, and the word is 'Love.'"
Then soared she visibly before my gaze,And the heavens took her, and I knew my eyesHad seen the soul of man, the deathless soul,Defeated, struggling, purified, and blest.
Then all the choir of happy waiting shades,Heroes and queens, fair maidens and brave youths,Swept by me, rhythmic, slow, as if they trodSome unheard measure, passing where I stoodIn fair procession, each with a faint smileUpon the lip, signing "Farewell, oh shade!It shall be well with thee, as 'tis with us,If only thou art true. The world of Life,The world of Death, are but opposing sidesOf one great orb, and the Light shines on both.Oh, happy happy shade! Farewell! Farewell!"And so they passed away.