Chorus.
O miserable man, hear now the worst.O weak and tearful race,{38}Born to unhappiness, see now thy causeDoomed and accurst!It surely were enough, the bad and goodTogether mingled, against chance and illTo strive, and prospering by turns,Now these, now those, now folly and now skill,Alike by means well understood1180Or 'gainst all likelihood;Loveliness slaving to the unlovely willThat overrides the right and laughs at law.But always all in aweAnd imminent dread:Because there is no mischief thought or said,Imaginable or unguessed,But it may come to be; nor home of rest,Nor hour secure: but anywhere,At any moment; in the air,1190Or on the earth or sea,Or in the fairAnd tender body itself it lurks, creeps in,Or seizes suddenly,Torturing, burning, withering, devouring,Shaking, destroying; till tormented lifeSides with the slayer, not to be,And from the cruel strifeFalls to fate overpowering.Or if some patient heart,1200In toilsome steps of duty tread apart,Thinking to win her peace within herself,And thus awhile succeed:She must see others bleed,At others' misery moan,And learn the common suffering is her own,From which it is no freedom to be freed:{39}Nay, Nature, her best nurse,Is tender but to breed a finer sense,Which she may easier wound, with smart the worse1210And torture more intense.And no strength for thee but the thought of duty,Nor any solace but the love of beauty.O Right's toil unrewarded!O Love's prize unaccorded!I say this might suffice,O tearful and unstableAnd miserable man,Were't but from day to dayThy miserable lot,1220This might suffice, I say,To term thee miserable.But thou of all thine ills too must take thought,Must grow familiar till no curse astound thee,With tears recall the past,With tears the times forecast;With tears, with tears thou hastThe scapeless net spread in thy sight around thee.How then support thy fate,O miserable man, if this befall,1230That he who loves thee and would aid thee, daringTo raise an arm for thy deliverance,Must for his courage suffer worse than all?In.Bravest deliverer, for thy prophecyHas torn the veil which hid thee from my eyes,If thyself art that spirit, of whom some thingsWere darkly spoken,—nor can I doubt thou art,Being that the heaven its fire withholds not from theeNor time his secrets,—tell me now thy name,That I may praise thee rightly; and my late1240{40}Unwitting words pardon thou, and these who stillIn blinded wonder kneel not to thy love.Pr.Speak not of love. See, I am moved with hate,And fiercest anger, which will sometimes spurThe heart to extremity, till it forgetThat there is any joy save furious war.Nay, were there now another deed to do,Which more could hurt our enemy than this,Which here I stand to venture, here would I leave theeConspiring at his altar, and fly off1250To plunge the branding terror in his soul.But now the rising passion of my willAlready jars his reaching sense, alreadyFrom heaven he bids his minion Hermes forthTo bring his only rebel to his feet.Therefore no more delay, the time is short.In.I take, I take. 'Tis but for thee to give.Pr.O heavenly fire, life's life, the eye of day,Whose nimble waves upon the starry nightOf boundless ether love to play,1260Carrying commands to every gliding spriteTo feed all things with colour, from the rayOf thy bright-glancing, whiteAnd silver-spinning light:Unweaving its thin tissue for the bowOf Iris, separating countless huesOf various splendour for the grateful flowersTo crown the hasting hours,Changing their special garlands as they choose.O spirit of rage and might,1270Who canst unchain the links of winter stark,And bid earth's stubborn metals flow like oil,Her porphyrous heart-veins boil;Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark;Let now this flame, which did to life awaken{41}Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn,And thence by me was taken,And in this reed was borne,A smothered theft and gift to man below,Here with my breath revive,1280Restore thy lapsèd realm, and be the sireOf many an earthly fire.O flame, flame bright and live,Appear upon the altar as I blow.Chor.'Twas in the marish reed.See to his mouth he sets its hollow fluteAnd breathes therein with heed,As one who from a pipe with breathings muteWill music's voice evoke.—See, the curl of a cloud.1290In.The smoke, the smoke!Semichorus.Thin clouds mounting higher.In.'Tis smoke, the smoke of fire.Semichorus.Thick they come and thicker,
Quick arise and quicker,Higher still and higher.Their wreaths the wood enfold.—I see a spot of gold.They spring from a spot of gold,Red gold, deep among1300The leaves: a golden tongue.O behold, behold,Dancing tongues of gold,That leaping aloft flicker,Higher still and higher.In.'Tis fire, the flame of fire!Semichorus.The blue smoke overheadIs turned to angry red.The fire, the fire, it stirs.Hark, a crackling sound,1310{42}As when all aroundRipened pods of furzeSplit in the parching sunTheir dry caps one by one,And shed their seeds on the ground.—Ah! what clouds arise.Away! O come away.The wind-wafted smoke,Blowing all astray,Blinds and pricks my eyes.[Prometheus,after writing hisname on the altar,goes outunobserved.]Ah! I choke, I choke.—All the midst is rent:See, the twigs are allBy the flaming spentWhite and gold, and fall.How they writhe, resist,Blacken, flake, and twist,Snap in gold and fall.—See the stars that mount,Momentary bright1330Flitting specks of lightMore than eye can count.Insects of the air,As in summer nightShow a fire in flyingFlickering here and there,Waving past and dying.—Look, a common coneOf the mountain pineSolid gold is grown;1340Till its scales outshine,Standing each aloneIn the spiral rowsOf their fair design,All the brightest showsOf the sun's decline.{43}—Hark, there came a hiss,Like a startled snakeSliding through the brake.Oh, and what is this?1350Smaller flames that fleeSidelong from the tree,Hark, they hiss, they hiss.—How the gay flames flicker,Spurting, dancing, leapingQuicker yet and quicker,Higher yet and higher,—Flaming, flaring, fuming,Cracking, crackling, creeping,Hissing and consuming:1360Mighty is the fire.
In.Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he,The prophet,—nay, what say I,—the god, the giver?Chor.He is not here—he is gone.In.Search, search around.Search all, search well.Chor.He is gone,—he is not here.In.The palace gate lies open: go, Argeia,Maybe he went within: go seek him there.
[ExitAr.
Look down the sea road, down the country road:Follow him if ye see him.Chor.He is not there.In.Strain, strain your eyes: look well: search everywhere.Look townwards—is he there?Part ofChorusreturning. He is not there.—1371Other part returning.He is not there.
Argeia re-entering.
Ar.He is not there.Chor.O see!Chor.See where?{44}Chor.See on the altar—see!Chor.What see ye on the altar?Chor.Here in frontWords newly writ.Chor.What words?Chor.A name—In.Ay true—There is the name. How like a child was I,That I must wait till these dumb letters gaveThe shape and soul to knowledge: when the godStood here so self-revealed to ears and eyesThat, 'tis a god I said, yet wavering still,1380Doubting what god,—and now, who else but he?I knew him, yet not well; I knew him not:Prometheus—ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children,This name we see was writ by him we seek.'Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name,Feared and revered among the immortal gods;Divine Prometheus: see how here the largeCadmeian characters run, scoring outThe hated title of his ancient foe,—To Zeus 'twas made,—and now 'tis to Prometheus—1390Writ with the charrèd reed—theft upon theft.He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, and with his fireHath lit our sacrifice unto himself.Ió Prometheus, friend and firegiver,For good or ill thy thefts and gifts are ours.We worshipped thee unknowing.Chor.But now where is he?In.No need to search—we shall not see him more.We look in vain. The high gods when they choosePut on and off the solid visible shapeWhich more deceives our hasty sense, than when1400Seeing them not we judge they stand aloof.And he, he now is gone; his work is done:'Tis ours to see it be not done in vain.{45}Chor.What is to do? speak, bid, command, we fly.In. Go some and fetch more wood to feed the fire;And some into the city to proclaimThat fire is ours: and send out messengersTo Corinth, Sicyon, Megara and AthensAnd to Mycenæ, telling we have fire:And bid that in the temples they prepare1410Their altars, and send hither careful menTo learn of me what things the time requires.
[Exit part ofChorus.
The rest remain to end our feast; and nowSeeing this altar is no more to Zeus,But shall for ever be with smouldering heatFed for the god who first set fire thereon,Change ye your hymns, which in the praise of ZeusYe came to sing, and change the prayer for fireWhich ye were wont to raise, to high thanksgiving,Praising aloud the giver and his gift.1420
Part ofChorus. Now our happy feast hath ending,While the sun in heaven descendingSees us gathered round a lightBorn to cheer his vacant night.Praising him to-day who cameBearing far his heavenly flame:Came to crown our king's desireWith his gift of golden fire.Semichorus.My heart, my heart is freed.Now can I sing. I loose a shaft from my bow,1430A song from my heart to heaven, and watch it speed.It revels in the air, and straight to its goal doth go.I have no fear. I praise distinguishing duly:I praise the love that I love and I worship truly.Goodness I praise, not might,Nor more will I speak of wrong,{46}But of lovingkindness and right;And the god of my love shall rejoice at the sound of my song.I praise him whom I have seen:As a man he is beautiful, blending prime and youth,1440Of gentle and lovely mien,With the step and the eyes of truth,As a god,—O were I a god, but thus to be man!As a god, I set him aboveThe rest of the gods; for his gifts are pledges of love,The words of his mouth rare and precious,His eyes' glance and the smile of his lips are love.He is the oneAlone of all the gods,Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son,1450Who hates the wrongs they have done.He is the one I adore.For if there be love in heaven with evil to cope,—And he promised us more and more,—For what may we not hope?
ODE.
My soul is drunk with joy, her new desireIn far forbidden places wanders away.Her hopes with free bright-coloured wings of fireUpon the gloom of thoughtAre sailing out.1460Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall,Like butterflies, that flitAcross the mountains, or upon a wallWinking their idle fans at pleasure sit.O my vague desires!Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires:That are my soul herself in pangs sublimeRising and flying to heaven before her time:{47}What doth tempt you forthTo melt in the south or shiver in the frosty north?1470What seek ye or find ye in your random flying,For ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying?Joy, the joy of flight;They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night.Gone up, gone out of sight—and ever againFollow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain.Ah! could I controlThese vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul:Could I but quench the fire, ah! could I stayMy soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away!1480
[Enter other part ofChorus.
Part ofChor.Here is wood to feed the fire—Never let its flames expire.Sing ye still while we advanceRound the fire in measured dance,While the sun in heaven descendingSees our happy feast have ending.Weave ye still your joyous song,While we bear the wood along.Semichorus.But O return,Return, thou flower of the gods!1490Remember the limbs that toil and the hearts that yearn,Remember, and soon return!To prosper with peace and skillOur hands in the works of pleasure, beauty and use.Return, and be for us stillOur shield from the anger of Zeus.And he, if he raise his arm in anger to smite thee,And think for the good thou hast done with pain to requite thee,Vengeance I heard thee tell,And the curse I take for my own,1500That his place is prepared in hell,{48}And a greater than he shall hurl him down from his throneDown, down from his throne!For the god who shall rule mankind from the deathless skiesBy mercy and truth shall be known,In love and peace shall arise.For him,—if again I hear him thunder above,O then, if I crouch or start,I will press thy lovingkindness more to my heart,Remember the words of thy mouth rare and precious,1510Thy heart of hearts and gifts of divine love.
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"Dreams & the light imaginings of men"
Written for the ladies atSomerville College& acted by themat the inauguration of their new buildingin 1904
PREVIOUS EDITIONOxford: at the Clarendon Press, 1905
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ARGUMENT OF THE PLAY
The scene is in the flowery valley below Enna. Hades prologizes, and tells how he has come with consent of Zeus to carry off Persephone to be his queen. The Chorus of Ocean nymphs entering praise Sicily and the spring. Persephone enters with Athena and Artemis to gather flowers for the festival of Zeus. Persephone being left alone is carried off by Hades.
In the second act, which is ten days later, the Chorus deplore the loss of Persephone. Demeter entering upbraids them in a choric scene and describes her search for Persephone until she learnt her fate from Helios. Afterwards she describes her plan for compelling Zeus to restore her. Hermes brings from Zens a command to Demeter that she shall return to Olympus. She sends defiance to Zeus, and the Chorus end the scene by vowing to win Poseidon to aid Demeter.
In the third act, which is a year later, the Chorus, who have been summoned by Demeter to witness the restoration of Persephone, lament Demeter's anger. Demeter narrates the Eleusinian episode of her wanderings, until Hermes enters leading Persephone. After their greeting Demeter hears from Hermes the terms of Persephone's restoration; she is reconciled thereto by Persephone, and invites her to Eleusis. The Chorus sing and crown Persephone with flowers.
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HADES.
I am the King of Hell, nor prone to vexEternal destiny with weak complaint;Nor when I took my kingdom did I mournMy lot, from heav'n expell'd, deny'd to enjoyIts radiant revelry and ambrosial feast,Nor blamed our mighty Sisters, that not oneWould share my empire in the shades of night.But when a younger race of gods arose,And Zeus set many sons on heav'nly seats,And many daughters dower'd with new domain,10And year by year were multiply'd on earthTheir temples and their statu'd sanctities,Mirrors of man's ideas that grow apace,Yea, since man's mind was one with my desireThat Hell should have a queen,—for heav'n hath queensMany, nor on all earth reigns any kingIn unkind isolation like to me,—I claimed from Zeus that of the fair immortalsOne should be given to me to grace my throne.Willing he was, and quick to praise my rule,20And of mere justice there had granted meWhome'er I chose: but 'Brother mine,' he said,'Great as my power among the gods, this thingI cannot compass, that a child of mine,Who once hath tasted of celestial life,Should all forgo, and destitute of blissDescend into the shades, albeit to sitAn equal on thy throne. Take whom thou wilt;{52}But by triumphant force persuade, as erstI conquer'd heav'n.' Said I 'My heart is set:30I take Demeter's child Persephone;Dost thou consent?' Whereto he gave his nod.And I am come to-day with hidden powers,Ev'n unto Enna's fair Sicilian field,To rob her from the earth. 'Tis here she wandersWith all her train: nor is this flow'ry valeFairer among the fairest vales of earth,Nor any flower within this flow'ry valeFair above other flowers, as she is fairestAmong immortal goddesses, the daughter40Of gentle-eyed Demeter; and her passionIs for the flowers, and every tendernessThat I have long'd for in my fierce abodes.But she hath always in attendant guardThe dancing nymphs of Ocean, and to-dayThe wise Athena and chaste ArtemisIndulge her girlish fancy, gathering flowersTo deck the banner of my golden brother,Whose thought they guess not, tho' their presence hereAffront his will and mine. If once alone50I spy her, I can snatch her swiftly down:And after shall find favour for my fault,When I by gentle means have won her love.I hear their music now. Hither they come:I'll to my ambush in the rocky cave. [Exit.
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ACT I
Enter Chorus of Oceanides, with baskets.
OCEANIDES.
Gay and lovely is earth, man's decorate dwelling;With fresh beauty ever varying hour to hour.As now bathed in azure joy she awakenethWith bright morn to the sun's life-giving effluence,Or sunk into solemn darkness aneath the stars60In mysterious awe slumbereth out the night,Then from darkness again plunging again to day;Like dolphins in a swift herd that accompanyPoseidon's chariot when he rebukes the waves.But no country to me 'neath the enarching airIs fair as Sicily's flowery fruitful isle:Always lovely, whether winter adorn the hillsWith his silvery snow, or generous summerOutpour her heavy gold on the river-valleys.Her rare beauty giveth gaiety unto man,70A delite dear to immortals.
2
And one season of all chiefly deliteth us,When fair Spring is afield. O happy is the Spring!Now birds early arouse their pretty minstreling;Now down its rocky hill murmureth ev'ry rill;Now all bursteth anew, wantoning in the dewTheir bells of bonny blue, their chalices honey'd.Unkind frost is away; now sunny is the day;Now man thinketh aright, Life it is all delite.Now maids playfully dance o'er enamel'd meadows,80And with goldy blossom deck forehead and bosom;While old Pan rollicketh thro' the budding shadows,Voicing his merry reed, laughing aloud to leadThe echoes madly rejoicing.
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3
We be Oceanids, Persephone's lovers,Who all came hurrying joyfully from the seaEre daybreak to obey her belovëd summons.At her fancy to pluck these violets, lilies,Windflow'rs and daffodils, all for a festivalWhereat shé will adorn Zeuses honour'd banner.90And with Persephone there cometh ArtemisAnd grave Pallas ... Hilloo! Already they approach!Haste, haste! Stoop to gather! Seem busy ev'ryone!Crowd all your wicker arcs with the meadow-lilies;Lest our disreverenc'd deity should rebukeThe divine children of Ocean.
[EnterAthena,Persephone,andArtemis.Persephone has a basket half fill'd with gather'd flowers.]
ATHENA.
These then are Enna's flowery fields, and hereIn midmost isle the garden of thy choice?
PERSEPHONE.
Is not all as I promist? Feel ye notYour earthborn ecstasy concenter'd here?100Tell me, Athena, of thy wisdom, whénceCometh this joy of earth, this penetrantPalpitant exultation so unlikeThe balanc't calm of high Olympian state?Is't in the air, the tinted atmosphereWhose gauzy veil, thrown on the hills, will paintTheir features, changing with the gradual day,Rosy or azure, clouded now, and nowAgain afire? Or is it that the sun'sElectric beams—which shot in circling fans110Whirl all things with them—as they strike the earthExcite her yearning heart, till stir'd beneath{55}The rocks and silent plains, she cannot holdHer fond desires, but sends them bursting forthIn scents and colour'd blossoms of the spring?—Breathes it not in the flowers?Ath.Fair are the flowers,Dear child; and yet to me far lovelierThan all their beauty is thy love for them.Whate'er I love, I contemplate my loveMore than the object, and am so rejoic'd.120For life is one, and like a level seaLife's flood of joy. Thou wond'rest at the flowers,But I would teach thee wonder of thy wonder;Would shew thee beauty in the desert-sand,The worth of things unreckt of, and the truthThat thy desire and love may spring of evilAnd ugliness, and that Earth's ecstasyMay dwell in darkness also, in sorrow and tears.Per.I'd not believe it: why then should we pluckThe flowers and not the stalks without the flowers?130Or do thy stones breathe scent? Would not men laughTo see the banner of almighty ZeusAdorn'd with ragged roots and straws?—Dear Artemis,How lovest thou the flowers?
ARTEMIS.
I'll love them betterEver for thy sake, Cora; but for meThe joy of Earth is in the breath of lifeAnd animal motions: nor are flowery sweetsDear as the scent of life. His petal'd cup,What is it by the wild fawn's liquid eyeEloquent as love-music 'neath the moon?140Nay, not a flower in all thy garden here,Nor wer't a thousand-thousand-fold enhanc'tIn every charm, but thou wouldst turn from itTo view the antler'd stag, that in the glade{56}With the coy gaze of his majestic fearFaced thee a moment ere he turn'd to fly.Per.But why, then, hunt and kill what thou so lovest?Ar.Dost thou not pluck thy flowers?Per.'Tis not the same.Thy victims fly for life: they pant, they scream.Ar.Were they not mortal, sweet, I coud not kill them.They kill each other in their lust for life;151Nay, cruelly persecute their blemisht kin:And they that thus are exiled from the herdSlink heart-brok'n to sepulchral solitudes,Defenceless and dishonour'd; there to fallPrey to the hungry glutton of the cave,Or stand in mute pain lingering, till they dropIn their last lair upon the ancestral bones.Per.What is it that offends me?Ath.'Tis Pity, child,The mortal thought that clouds the brow of man160With dark reserve, or poisoning all deliteDrives him upon his knees in tearful prayerTo avert his momentary qualms: till ZeusAt his reiterated plaint grows wrath,And burdens with fresh curse the curse of care.And they that haunt with men are apt to takeInfection of his mind: thy mighty motherLeans to his tenderness.Per.How should man, dwellingOn earth that is so gay, himself be sad?Is not earth gay? Look on the sea, the sky,170The flowers!Ath.'Tis sad to him because 'tis gay.—For whether he consider how the flowers,—Thy miracles of beauty above praise,—Are wither'd in the moment of their glory,So that of all the mounting summer's wealthThe show is chang'd each day, and each day dies,{57}Of no more count in Nature's estimateThan crowded bubbles of the fighting foam:Or whether 'tis the sea, whose azure wavesPlay'd in the same infinity of motion180Ages ere he beheld it, and will playFor ages after him;—alike 'tis sadTo read how beauty dies and he must die.Per.Were I a man, I would not worship thee,Thou cold essential wisdom. If, as thou say'st,Thought makes men sorrowful, why help his thoughtTo quench enjoyment, who might else as IRevel among bright things, and feast his senseWith beauty well-discern'd? Nay, why came yeTo share my pastime? Ye love not the flowers.190Ath.Indeed I love thee, child; and love thy flowers,—Nor less for loving wisely. All emotions,Whether of gods or men, all loves and passions,Are of two kinds; they are either inform'd by wisdom,To reason obedient,—or they are unconducted,Flames of the burning life. The brutes of earthAnd Pan their master know these last; the firstAre seen in me: betwixt the extremes there lieInnumerable alloys and all of evil.Per.Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well:200I am a child, and ye would nurse me upA pupil in your school. I know ye twainOf all the immortals are at one in this;Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feudWith Aphrodite, and ye fear for me,Lest she should draw me to her wanton way.Fear not: my party is taken. Hark! I'll tellWhat I have chosen, what mankind shall holdDevote and consecrate to me on earth:It is the flowers: but only among the flowers210Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue,Having no other uses: I have found{58}Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not.—She loves vines, olives, orchards, 'the rich leasOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,[1]But for the idle flowers she hath little care:She will resign them willingly. And think not,Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd,Or rank a meaner goddess unto man.His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom,220Pleasures above necessities, and thusHe ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guessWhere rich men only and superfluous kingsAround their palaces reform the landTo terraces and level lawns, whereonAppointed slaves are told, to tend and feedLilies and roses and all rarest plantsFetch'd from all lands; that they—these lordly men—'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odoursMay pace in indolence: this is their bliss;230This first they do: and after, it may be,Within their garden set their academe:—But in the poorest villages, aroundThe meanest cottage, where no other solaceComforts the eye, some simple gaietyOf flowers in tended garden is seen; some pinks,Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path;Where oft at eve the grateful labourerSits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun:And even the children, that half-naked go,240Have posies in their hands, and of themselvesWill choose a queen in whom to honour Spring,Dancing before her garlanded with may.The cowslip makes them truant, they forgetThe hour of hunger and their homely feastSo they may cull the delicate primrose,Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty;With unconsider'd hecatombs assuring{59}Their dim sense of immortal mystery.—Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave250All men shall love me, shall adore my name,And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers.Ath.Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May ZeusGive thee a better province than thy thought.
[Music heard.
Ar.Listen! The nymphs are dancing. Let us go!
[They move off.
Come, Cora; wilt thou learn a hunting dance?I'll teach thee.Per.Can I learn thy hunter-stepWithout thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet?Ar.Give me thy hand.Per.Stay! stay! I have left my flowers.I follow.
[Exeunt Athena and Artemis.
[Persephone returning to right slowly.
They understand not—Now, praise be to Zeus,261That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I knowSomething that Pallas knows not.
[She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket in hand on her knees, facing the audience.]
Thou tiny flower!Art thou not wise?Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone,Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion,Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'dTill thou art seen?—And how so wisely, thou,Indifferent to the number of thy rays,270While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip,—He would not risk a seventh for all his worth,—He thought to attain unique magnificenceBy sheer simplicity—a pointed ovalBare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown oldHe will his young idea quite abandon,{60}In his dishevel'd fury wantoningBeyond belief.... Some are four-leaved: this poppyWill have but four. He, like a hurried thief,Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag—280I think he watch'd a summer-butterflyCreep out all crumpled from his winter-case,Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissueAnd sleek the velvet of his painted wings:—And so doth he.—Between such different schemes,Such widely varied loveliness, how choose?Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd,Most intimately mine; to mortal menMy emblem: tho' I never find in oneThe sum of all distinctions.—Rose were best:290But she is passion's darling, and unkindTo handle—set her by.—Choosing for odour,The violet were mine—men call her modest,Because she hides, and when in companyLacks manner and the assertive style of worth:—While this narcissus here scorns modesty,Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim:Her scent, a saturation of one tone,Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:—Whereas this iris,—she outvieth man's300Excellent artistry; elaborationConfounded with simplicity, till noneCan tell which sprang of which. Coud I but findA scented iris, I should be content:Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.—To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet;Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong theeWearing thee in Olympus.—Help! help! Ay me!
[Persephone rises to her feet, and amidst a contrivance of confused darkness Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and drags her backward. Her basket is thrown up and the flowers scattered.]
CHORUS.
I (α)Bright day succeedeth unto day—Night to pensive night—310With his towering rayOf all-fathering light—With the solemn tranceOf her starry dance.—Nought is new or strangeIn the eternal change.—As the light clouds flyO'er the tree-tops high,So the days go by.—Ripples that arrive320On the sunny shore,Dying to their liveMusic evermore.—Like pearls on a thread,—Like notes of a song,—Like the measur'd treadOf a dancing throng.—
(β)Ocëanides are we,Nereids of the foam,But we left the sea330On the earth to roamWith the fairest QueenThat the world hath seen.—{62}Why amidst our playWas she sped away?—Over hill and plainWe have sought in vain;She comes not again.—Not the Naiads knewOn their dewy lawns:—340Not the laughing crewOf the leaping Fauns.—Now, since she is gone,All our dance is slow,All our joy is done,And our song is woe.—
IISaw ye the mighty Mother, where she wentSearching the land?Nor night nor day resting from her lament,With smoky torch in hand.350Her godhead in the passion of a sorrow spentWhich not her mind coud suffer, nor heart withstand?—
2Enlanguor'd like a fasting lioness,That prowls aroundRobb'd of her whelps, in fury comfortlessUntil her lost be found:Implacable and terrible in her wild distress;And thro' the affrighted country her roars resound.—
3But lo! what form is there? Thine eyes awaken!See! see! O say,360Is not that she, the furious, the forsaken?She cometh, lo! this way;Her golden-rippling hair upon her shoulders shaken,And all her visage troubled with deep dismay.
{63}
DEMETER(entering).
Here is the hateful spot, the hollow rockWhence the fierce ravisher sprang forth—(seeing the nymphs) Ah! Ye!I know you well: ye are the nymphs of Ocean.Ye, graceful as your watery namesAnd idle as the mimic flamesThat skip upon his briny floor,370When the hot sun smiteth thereo'er;Why did ye leave your native waves?Did false Poseidon, to my hurtLeagued with my foe, bid you desertYour opalescent pearly caves,Your dances on the shelly strand?Ch.Poseidon gave us no command,Lady; it was thy child Persephone,Whose beauty drew us from the sea.Dem.Ill company ye lent, ill-fated guards!380How was she stolen from your distracted eyes?Ch.There, where thou standest now, stood she companion'dBy wise Athena and bright Artemis.We in flower-gathering dance and idle songWere wander'd off apart; we fear'd no wrong.Dem.In heav'n I heard her cry: ye nothing heard?Ch.We heard no cry—How coudst thou hear in heaven?Ask us not óf her:—we have nought to tell.—Dem.I seek not knowledge óf you, for I know.Ch.Thou knowest? Ah, mighty Queen, deign then to tellIf thou hast found her. Tell us—tell us—tell!391Dem.Oh, there are calls that love can hear,That strike not on the outward ear.None heard save I: but with a dartOf lightning-pain it pierc'd my heart,{64}That call for aid, that cry of fear.It echo'd from the mountain-steepsDown to the dark of Ocean-deeps;O'er all the isle, from ev'ry hillIt pierc'd my heart and echoes still,400Ay me! Ay me!Ch.Where is she, O mighty Queen?—Tell us—O tell!—Dem.Swift unto earth, in frenzy ledBy Cora's cry, from heav'n I sped.Immortal terror froze my mind:I fear'd, ev'n as I yearn'd to findMy child, my joy, faln from my careWrong'd or distresst, I knew not where,Cora, my Cora!Nor thought I whither first to fly,410Answ'ring the appeal of that wild cry:But still it drew me till I cameTo Enna, calling still her name,Cora, my Cora!Ch.If thou hast found her, tell us, Queen, O tell!Dem.Nine days I wander'd o'er the land.From Enna to the eastern strandI sought, and when the first night cameI lit my torch in Etna's flame.But neither 'mid the chestnut woods420That rustle o'er his stony floods;Nor yet at daybreak on the meadsWhere bountiful Symaethus leadsHis chaunting boatmen to the main;Nor where the road on Hybla's plainIs skirted by the spacious corn;Nor where embattled SyracuseWith lustrous temple fronts the morn;Nor yet by dolphin'd Arethuse;Nor when I crossed Anapus wide,430Where Cyane, his reedy bride,{65}Uprushing from her crystal well,Doth not his cold embrace repel;Nor yet by western Eryx, whereGay Aphrodite high in airBeams gladness from her marble chair;Nor 'mong the mountains that enfoldPanormos in her shell of gold,Found I my Cora: no replyCame to my call, my helpless cry,440Cora, my Cora!Ch.Hast thou not found her, then? Tell us—O tell!Dem.What wonder that I never foundHer whom I sought on mortal ground,When she—(now will ye understand?)—Dwelt in the land that is no land,The fruitless and unseason'd plainWhere all lost things are found again;Where man's distract imaginingsHead-downward hang on bat-like wings,450'Mid mummied hopes, sleep-walking cares,Crest-faln illusions and despairs,The tortur'd memories of crime,The outcasts of forgotten time?Ch.Where is she, Queen?—where?—where?Dem.Nor had I known,Had not himself high Helios seen and told me.Ch.Alas! Alas! We cannot understand—We pray, dear Queen, may great Zeus comfort thee.Dem.Yea, pray to Zeus; but pray ye for yourselves,That he have pity on you, for there is need.460Or let Zeus hear a strange, unwonted prayerThat in his peril he will aid himself;For I have said, nor coud his Stygian oathAdd any sanction to a mother's word,That, if he give not back my daughter to me,Him will I slay, and lock his pining ghost{66}In sleepy prisons of unhallowing hell.Ch.(aside). Alas! alas! she is distraught with grief.—What comfort can we make?— How reason with her?—469(toD.) This coud not be, great Queen. How coud it beThat Zeus should be destroy'd, or thou destroy him?Dem.Yea, and you too: so make your prayer betimes.Ch.We pray thee, Lady, sit thou on this bankAnd we will bring thee food; or if thou thirst,Water. We know too in what cooling cavesThe sly Fauns have bestow'd their skins of wine.Dem.Ye simple creatures, I need not these things,And stand above your pity. Think ye meA woman of the earth derang'd with grief?Nay, nay: but I have pity on your pity,480And for your kindness I will ease the troubleWherewith it wounds your gentleness: attend!Ye see this jewel here, that from my neckHangs by this golden chain.
[They crowd near to see.
Look, 'tis a picture,'Tis of Persephone.Ch.How?—Is that she?—A crown she weareth.—She was never wontThus ...—nor her robe thus—and her countenanceHath not the smile which drew us from the sea.Dem.Daedalus cut it, in the year he madeThe Zibian Aphrodite, and Hephaestus490O'erlookt and praised the work. I treasure itBeyond all other jewels that I have,And on this chain I guard it. Say now: think yeIt cannot fall loose until every linkOf all the chain be broken, or if oneBreak, will it fall?Ch.Surely if one break, Lady,The chain is broken and the jewel falls.Dem.'Tis so. Now hearken diligently. All lifeIs as this chain, and Zeus is as the jewel.{67}The universal life dwells first in the Earth,500The stones and soil; therefrom the plants and treesExhale their being; and on them the brutesFeeding elaborate their sentient life,And from these twain mankind; and in mankindA spirit lastly is form'd of subtler sortWhereon the high gods live, sustain'd thereby,And feeding on it, as plants on the soil,Or animals on plants. Now see! I hold,As well ye know, one whole link of this chain:If I should kill the plants, must not man perish?510And if he perish, then the gods must die.Ch.If this were so, thou wouldst destroy thyself.Dem.And therefore Zeus will not believe my word.Ch.Nor we believe thee, Lady: it cannot beThat thou shouldst seek to mend a private fortuneBy universal ruin, and restoreThy daughter by destruction of thyself.Dem.Ye are not mothers, or ye would not wonder.In me, who hold from great all-mother RheaHeritage of essential motherhood,520Ye would look rather for unbounded passion.Coud I, the tenderness of Nature's heart,Exist, were I unheedful to protectFrom wrong and ill the being that I gave,The unweeting passions that I fondly nurturedTo hopes of glory, the young confidenceIn growing happiness? Shall I throw byAs self-delusion the supreme ambition,Which I encourag'd till parental fondnessBore the prophetic blessing, on whose truth530My spirit throve? Oh never! nay, nay, nay!That were the one disaster, and if aidI cannot, I can mightily avenge.On irremediable wrong I shrink notTo pile immortal ruin, there to lie{68}As trophies on a carven tomb: nor lessFor that no memory of my deed survive,Nor any eye to see, nor tongue to tell.Ch.So vast injustice, Lady, were not good.Dem.To you I seem unjust involving man.540Ch.Why should man suffer in thy feud with Zeus?Dem.Let Zeus relent. There is no other way.I will destroy the seeds of plant and tree:Vineyard and orchard, oliveyard and cornlandShall all withhold their fruits, and in their steadShall flourish the gay blooms that Cora loved.There shall be dearth, and yet so gay the dearthThat all the land shall look in holidayWith mockery of foison; every fieldWith splendour aflame. For wheat the useless poppy550In sheeted scarlet; and for barley and oatsThe blue and yellow weeds that mock men's toil,Centaury and marigold in chequer'd plots:Where seed is sown, or none, shall dandelionsAnd wretched ragwort vie, orchis and irisAnd garish daisy, and for every flowerThat in this vale she pluckt, shall spring a thousand.Where'er she slept anemones shall crowd,And the sweet violet. These things shall ye see.—But I behold him whom I came to meet,560Hermes:—he, be he laden howsoe'er,Will heavier-laden to his lord return.
HERMES(entering).
Mighty Demeter, Mother of the seasons,Bountiful all-sustainer, fairest daughterOf arch-ancestral Rhea,—to thee Zeus sendethKindly message. He grieves seeing thy godheadOffended wrongly at eternal justice,'Gainst destiny ordain'd idly revolting.{69}Ever will he, thy brother, honour theeAnd willingly aid thee: but since now thy daughter570Is raised to a place on the tripartite throne,He finds thee honour'd duly and not injur'd.Wherefore he bids thee now lament no more,But with thy presence grace the courts of heav'n.Dem.Bright Hermes, Argus-slayer, born of Maia,Who bearest empty words, the mask of war,To Zeus make thine own words, that thou hast found meOffended,—that I still lament my daughter,Nor heed his summons to the courts of heav'n.Her.Giv'st thou me nought but these relentless words?Dem.I send not words, nor dost thou carry deeds.581But know, since heav'n denies my claim, I takeEarth for my battle-field. Curse and defianceShall shake his throne, and, readier then for justice,Zeus will enquire my terms: thou, on that day,Remember them; that he shall bid thee leadPersephone from Hades by the hand,And on this spot, whence she was stol'n, restore herInto mine arms. Execute that; and praiseShall rise from earth and peace return to heav'n.590Her.How dare I carry unto Zeus thy threats?Dem.Approach him with a gift: this little wallet.
[Giving a little bag of seeds.
I will not see thee again until the dayThou lead my daughter hither thro' the gates of Hell.[Going.Her.Ah! mighty Queen, the lightness of thy giftIs greater burden than thy weighty words.
[Exeunt severally r. and l.
CHORUS.
(1) Sisters! what have we heard!Our fair Persephone, the flower of the earth,By Hades stolen away, his queen to be.(others) Alas!—alas!—ay me! 600{70}(2) And great Demeter's bold relentless wordTo Hermes given,Threatening mankind with dearth.(others) Ay me! alas! alas!—(3or1) She in her sorrow strongFears not to impeach the King of Heaven,And combat wrong with wrong.—(others confusedly) What can we do?—Alas!—Back to our ocean-haunts returnTo weep and mourn.—610What use to mourn?—Nay, nay!—Away with sorrow:Let us forget to-dayAnd look for joy to-morrow:—[(1) Nay, nay! hearken to me!]Nay, how forget that on us too,—Yea, on us allThe curse will fall.—[(1) Hearken! I say!]What can we do? Alas! alas!620(1) Hearken! There's nought so light,Nothing of weight so small,But that in even balance 'twill availWholly to turn the scale.Let us our feeble force unite,And giving voice to tears,Assail Poseidon's ears;Rob pleasure from his days,Darken with sorrow all his ways,Until his shifty mind630Become to pity inclined,And 'gainst his brother turn.(others) 'Tis well, thou sayest well.(2) Yea; for if Zeus should learnThat earth and sea were both combinedAgainst his cruel intent,{71}Sooner will he relent.(others) 'Tis well—we do it—'tis well.—(1) Come let us vow. Vow all with one accordTo harden every heart640Till we have won Poseidon to our part.(all) We vow—we do it—we vow.(1) Till we have conquer'd heav'n's almighty lordAnd seen Persephone restored.(all) We vow—we vow.(1) Come then all; and, as ye go,Begin the song of woe.Song.Close up, bright flow'rs, and hang the head,Ye beauties of the plain,The Queen of Spring is with the dead,650Ye deck the earth in vain.From your deserted vale we fly,And where the salt waves mournOur song shall swell their burd'ning sighUntil sweet joy return.