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24And this was all her life; for every nightHe came, and though his name she never learn'd,Nor was his image yielded to her sightAt morn or eve, she neither look'd nor yearn'dBeyond her happiness: and custom broughtAn ease to pleasure; nor would Psyche's thoughtHave ever to her earthly home return'd,
25But that one night he said 'Psyche, my soul,Sad danger threatens us: thy sisters twainCome to the mountain top, whence I thee stole,And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain.Answer them not: for it must end our loveIf they should hear or spy thee from above.'And Psyche said 'Their cry shall be in vain.'
26But being again alone, she thought 'twas hardOn her own blood; and blamed her joy as thiefOf theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr'd;When she their care might be their care's relief.All day she brooded on her father's woe,And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.
27Then question'd why she wept, she all confest;And begg'd of him she might but once go nighTo set her sire's and sisters' fears at rest;Till he for pity coud not but comply:'Only if they should ask thee of thy loveDiscover nothing to their ears above.'And Psyche said 'In vain shall be their cry.'
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28And yet with day no sooner was alone,Than she for loneliness her promise rued:That having so much pleasure for her own,'Twas all unshared and spent in solitude.And when at night her love flew to his place,More than afore she shamed his fond embrace,And piteously with tears her plaint renew'd.
29The more he now denied, the more she wept;Nor would in anywise be comforted,Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept,Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed,And see themselves the palace where she reign'd.And he, by force of tears at last constrain'd,Granted her wish unwillingly, and said:
30'Much to our peril hast thou won thy will;Thy sisters' love, seeing thee honour'd so,Will sour to envy, and with jealous skillWill pry to learn the thing that none may know.Answer not, nor inquire; for know that IThe day thou seest my face far hence shall fly,And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.'
31But Psyche said, 'Thy love is more than life;To have thee leaveth nothing to be won:For should the noonday prove me to be wifeEven of the beauteous Eros, who is sonOf Cypris, I coud never love thee more.'Whereat he fondly kisst her o'er and o'er,And peace was 'twixt them till the night was done.
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SUMMER
PSYCHE'S SISTERS · SNARING HER TO DESTRUCTION ·ARE THEMSELVES DESTROYED
JUNE
1And truly need there was to the old KingFor consolation: since the mournful dayOf Psyche's fate he took no comforting,But only for a speedy death would pray;And on his head his hair grew silver-white.—Such on life's topmost bough is sorrow's blight,When the stout heart is cankering to decay.
2Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quickComfort and solace to their sire to lend.But as not seldom they who nurse the sickWill take the malady from them they tend,So happ'd it now; for they who fail'd to cheerGrew sad themselves, and in that palace drearIncreased the evil that they came to mend.
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3And them the unhappy father sent to seekWhere Psyche had been left, if they might findWhat monster held her on the savage peak;Or if she there had died of hunger pined,And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter'd bonesMight still be gather'd from the barren stones;Or if her fate had left no trace behind.
4So just upon this time her sisters bothClimb'd on the cliff that hung o'er Psyche's vale;And finding there no sign, to leave were lothEre well assured she lurk'd not within hail.So calling loud her name, 'Psyche!' they cried,'Psyche, O Psyche!' and when none repliedThey sank upon the rocks to weep and wail.
5But Psyche heard their voices where she sat,And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleetThose mourners down unto the grassy plat'Midst of her garden, where she had her seat.Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pairCame swiftly sinking on his buoyant air,And stood upon the terrace at her feet.
6Upsprang she then, and kiss'd them and embraced,And said 'Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn.I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced,But blest above all days since I was born:Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and seeHow little cause has been to grieve for me,And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.'
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7So entering by the golden gate, or e'erThe marvel of their hither flight had waned,Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhereTheir eyes that lit on beauty were enchain'd;And Psyche's airy service, as she bade,Perform'd its magic office, and display'dThe riches of the palace where she reign'd.
8And through the perfumed chambers they were led,And bathed therein; and after, set to sup,Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed,And wine more precious than its golden cup.Till seeing nothing lack'd and naught was theirs,Their happiness fell from them unawares,And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up.
9At last one said 'Psyche, since not aloneThou livest here in joy, as well we wot,Who is the man who should these wonders own,Or god, I say, and still appeareth not?What is his name? What rank and guise hath he,Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth theeAbove all others in thy blissful lot?'
10But Psyche when that wistful speech she heardWas ware of all her spouse had warn'd her of:And uttering a disingenuous word,Said 'A youth yet unbearded is my love;He goeth hunting on the plains to-day,And with his dogs hath wander'd far away;And not till eve can he return above.'
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11Then fearing to be nearer plied, she roseAnd brought her richest jewels one by one,Bidding them choose and take whate'er they chose;And beckoning the Zephyr spake anonThat he should waft her sisters to the peak;The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak,They rose on high, and in the wind were gone.
12Nor till again they came upon the road,Which from the mountain shoulder o'er the plainLed to the city of their sire's abode,Found they their tongues, though full of high disdainTheir hearts were, but kept silence, till the strengthOf pride and envious hatred burst at lengthIn voice, and thus the elder gan complain:
13'Cruel and unjust fortune! that of threeSisters, whose being from one fountain well'd,Exalts the last so high from her degree,And leaves the first to be so far excel'd.My husband is a poor and niggard churlTo him, whoe'er he be, that loves the girl.Oh! in what godlike state her house is held!'
14'Ay,' said the other, 'to a gouty loonAm I not wedded? Lo! thy hurt is mine:But never call me woman more, if soonI cannot lure her from her height divine.Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to saveThe wealth of which so grudgingly she gave;Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine.
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15'She but received us out of pride, to showHer state, well deeming that her happinessWas little worth while there was none to know;So is our lot uninjured if none guess.Reveal we nothing therefore, but the whileTogether scheme this wanton to beguile,And bring her boasting godhead to distress.'
16So fresh disordering their dress and hair,With loud lament they to their sire return,Telling they found not Psyche anywhere,And of her sure mischance could nothing learn:And with that lie the wounded man they slew,Hiding the saving truth which well they knew;Nor did his piteous grief their heart concern.
17Meanwhile her unknown lover did not ceaseTo warn poor Psyche how her sisters plan'dTo undermine her love and joy and peace;And urged how well she might their wiles withstand,By keeping them from her delight aloof:For better is security than proof,And malice held afar than near at hand.
18'And, dearest wife,' he said, 'since 'tis not longEre one will come to share thy secrecy,And be thy babe and mine; let nothing wrongThe happy months of thy maternity.If thou keep trust, then shalt thou see thy childA god; but if to pry thou be beguiled,The lot of both is death and misery.'
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19Then Psyche's simple heart was fill'd with joy,And counting to herself the months and days,Look'd for the time, when she should bear a boyTo be her growing stay and godlike praise.And 'O be sure,' she said, 'be sure, my prideHaving so rich a promise cannot slide,Even if my love coud fail which thee obeys.'
20And so most happily her life went by,In thoughts of love dear to her new estate;Until at length the evil day drew nigh,When now her sisters, joined in jealous hate,Set forth again, and plotted by the wayHow they might best allure her to betrayHer secret; with what he their angle bait.
21That night her husband spake to her, and said'Psyche, thy sisters come: and when they climbThe peak they will not tarry to be spedDown by the Zephyr, as that other time,But winging to the wind will cast themselvesOut in the air, and on the rocky shelvesBe dasht, and pay the penalty of crime.
22'So let it be, and so shall we be saved.'Which meditated vengeance of his fearWhen Psyche heard, now for their life she craved,Whose mere distress erewhile had toucht her near.Around her lover's neck her arms she threw,And pleaded for them by her faith so true,Although they went on doom in judgment clear.
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23In terror of bloodguiltiness she nowForgot all other danger; she adjured,Or using playfulness deep sobs would plowHer soft entreaties, not to be endured:Till he at last was fain once more to grantThe service of the Zephyr, to enchantThat wicked couple from their fate assured.
24So ere 'twas noon were noises at the doorOf knocking loud and voices high in glee;Such as within that vale never beforeHad been, and now seem'd most unmeet to be.And Psyche blush'd, though being alone, and roseTo meet her sisters and herself uncloseThe gate that made them of her palace free.
25Fondly she kiss'd them, and with kindly cheerSought to amuse; and they with outward smileO'ermask'd their hate, and called her sweet and dear,Finding affection easy to beguile:And all was smooth, until at last one said'Tell us, I pray, to whom 'tis thou art wed;'Mong gods or men, what is his rank and style?
26'Thou canst not think to hide the truth from us,Who knew thy peevish sorrows when a maid,And see thee now so glad and rapturous,As changed from what thou wert as light from shade;Thy jewels, too, the palace of a king,Nor least the serviceable spiriting,By everything thy secret is betray'd:
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27'And yet thou talkest of thy wondrous manNo more than if his face thou didst not know.'At which incontinently she began,Forgetful of her word a month ago,Answering 'A merchant rich, of middle age,My husband is; and o'er his features sageHis temples are already touch'd with snow.
28'But 'gainst his wish since hither ye were brought'Twere best depart.' Then her accustom'd spellSped them upon the summit quick as thought;And being alone her doing pleased her well:So was she vext to find her love at nightMore sad than ever, of her sisters' spiteSpeaking as one that coud the end foretell.
29'And ere long,' said he, 'they will spy again:Let them be dash'd upon the rocks and die;'Tis they must come to death or thou to pain,To separation, Psyche, thou and I;Nay, and our babe to ill. I therefore craveThou wilt not even once more these vipers save,Nor to thy love his only boon deny.'
30But Psyche would not think her sisters' crimeSo gross and strange, nor coud her danger see;Since 'twere so easy, if at any timeThey show'd the venom of their hearts, that sheShould fan them off upon the willing gust.So she refused, and claiming truer trust,Would in no wise unto their death agree.
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JULY
1'What think you, sister:' thus one envious fiendTo other spake upon their homeward route,'What of the story that our wit hath glean'dOf this mysterious lover, who can shootIn thirty days from beardless youth to prime,With wisdom in his face before his time,And snowy locks upon his head to boot?
2'Ay,' said the other, 'true, she lied not well;And thence I gather knows no more than we:For surely 'tis a spirit insensibleTo whom she is wedded, one she cannot see.'Tis that I fear; for if 'tis so, her childWill be a god, and she a goddess styled,Which, though I die to let it, shall not be.
3'Lament we thus no longer. Come, consultWhat may be done.' And home they came at night,Yet not to rest, but of their plots occultSat whispering on their beds; and ere 'twas lightResolving on the deed coud not defer;But roused the sleeping house with sudden stir,And sallied forth alone to work their spite.
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4And with the noon were climb'd upon the peak,And swam down on the Zephyr as before;But now with piercing cry and doleful shriekThey force their entrance through the golden door,Feigning the urgency of bitter truth;Such as deforms a friendly face with ruth,When kindness may not hide ill tidings more.
5Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din,And saw their countenances wan and wornWith travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin,Their hair dishevel'd and their habits torn,For trembling scarce coud ask what ill had hapt;And they alert with joy to see her trapt,Launch'd forth amain, and on their drift were borne.
6'O Psyche, happiest certainly and blestUp to this hour,' they said, 'thou surely wert,Being of thy fearful peril unpossest;Which now we would not tell but to avert.But we in solemn truth thy spouse have foundTo be the dragon of this mountain ground,Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt.
7'As yesternight we rode upon the windHe issued to pursue us from the wood;We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn'd,His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl'd hood.Lo, now betimes the oracle, which saidHow to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed,Is plainly for thy safety understood.
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8'Long time hath he been known to all that dwellUpon the plain; but now his secret lairHave we discover'd, which none else coud tell:Though many women fallen in his snareHath he enchanted; who, tradition saith,Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel deathThey pass in turn upon the summits bare.
9Renounce the spells of this accursed vale.We come to save thee, but we dare not stay;Among these sightless spirits our senses quail.Fly with us, fly!' Then Psyche, for her soulWas soft and simple, lost her self-control,And, thinking only of the horrid tale,
10'Dear sisters,' said she, and her sobbing speechWas broken by her terror, 'it is trueThat much hath hapt to stablish what ye teach;For ne'er hath it been granted me to viewMy husband; and, for aught I know, he mayBe even that cruel dragon, which ye sayPeer'd at you from the forest to pursue.
11''Tis sure that scarcely can I win his graceTo see you here; and still he mischief vowsIf ever I should ask to see his face,Which, coming in the dark, he ne'er allows.Therefore, if ye can help, of pity show,Since doubt I must, how I may come to knowWhat kind of spirit it is that is my spouse.'
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12Then to her cue the younger was afore:'Hide thou a razor,' cried she, 'near thy bed;And have a lamp prepared, but whelm thereo'erSome cover, that no light be from it shed.And when securely in first sleep he lies,Look on him well, and ere he can arise,Gashing his throat, cut off his hideous head.'
13Which both persuading, off they flew content,Divining that whate'er she was forbidWas by her lover for her safety meant,Which only coud be sure while he was hid.But Psyche, to that miserable deedBeing now already in her mind agreed,Wander'd alone, and knew not what she did.
14Now she would trust her lover, now in turnMade question of his bidding as unjust;But thirsting curiosity to learnHis secret overcame her simple trust,O'ercame her spoken troth, o'ercame her fear;And she prepared, as now the hour drew near,The mean contrivances, nor felt disgust.
15She set the lamp beneath a chair, and clokedThickly its rebel lustre from the eye:And laid the knife, to mortal keenness stroked,Within her reach, where she was wont to lie:And took her place full early; but her heartBeat fast, and stay'd her breath with sudden start,Feeling her lover's arm laid fond thereby.
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16But when at last he slept, then she arose,All faint and tremulous: and though it beThat wrong betrayeth innocence with shewsOf novelty, its guilt from shame to free,Yet 'twas for shame her hand so strangely shookThat held the steel, and from the cloke that tookThe lamp, and raised it o'er the bed to see.
17She had some fear she might not well discernBy that small flame a monster in the gloom;When lo! the air about her seem'd to burn,And bright celestial radiance fill'd the room.Too plainly O she saw, O fair to see!Eros, 'twas Eros' self, her lover, he,The God of love, reveal'd in deathless bloom.
18Her fainting strength forsook her; on her kneesDown by the bed she sank; the shameless knifeFell flashing, and her heart took thought to seizeIts desperate haft, and end her wicked life.Yet coud she not her loving eyes withdrawFrom her fair sleeping lover, whom she sawOnly to know she was no more his wife.
19O treasure of all treasures, late her own!O loss above all losses, lost for aye!Since there was no repentance coud atoneFor her dishonour, nor her fate withstay.But yet 'twas joy to have her love in sight;And, to the rapture yielding while she might,She gazed upon his body where he lay.
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20Above all mortal beauty, as was hers,She saw a rival; but if passion's heartBe rightly read by subtle questioners,It owns a wanton and a gentler part.And Psyche wonder'd, noting every signBy which the immortal God, her spouse divine,Betray'd the image of our earthly art;
21His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks,And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl'd chin,The full and cushion'd eye, that idly speaksOf self-content and vanity within,The forward, froward ear, and smooth to touchHis body sleek, but rounded overmuchFor dignity of mind and pride akin.
22She noted that the small irradiant wings,That from his shoulders lay along at rest,Were yet disturb'd with airy quiverings,As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest;She feared he was awaking, but they keptTheir sweet commotion still, and still he slept,And still she gazed with never-tiring zest.
23And now the colour of her pride and joyOutflush'd the hue of Eros; she, so cold,To have fired the passion of the heartless boy,Whom none in heaven or earth were found to hold!Psyche, the earthborn, to be prized aboveThe heavenly Graces by the God of love,And worshipt by his wantonness untold!
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24Nay, for that very thing she loved him more,More than herself her sweet self's complement:Until the sight of him again upboreHer courage, and renew'd her vigour spent.And looking now around, she first espiedWhere at the bed's foot, cast in haste aside,Lay his full quiver, and his bow unbent.
25One of those darts, of which she had heard so oft,She took to try if 'twas so very keen;And held its point against her finger softSo gently, that to touch it scarce was seen;Yet was she sharply prickt, and felt the fireRun through her veins; and now a strange desireTroubl'd her heart, which ne'er before had been:
26Straight sprang she to her lover on the bed,And kisst his cheek, and was not satisfied:When, O the lamp, held ill-balanced o'erhead,One drop of burning oil spill'd from its sideOn Eros' naked shoulder as he slept,Who waken'd by the sudden smart upleptUpon the floor, and all the mischief eyed.
27With nervous speed he seized his bow, and pastOut of the guilty chamber at a bound;But Psyche, following his flight as fast,Caught him, and crying threw her arms around:Till coming to the court he rose in air;And she, close clinging in her last despair,Was dragg'd, and then lost hold and fell to ground.
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28Wailing she fell; but he, upon the roofStaying his feet, awhile his flight delay'd:And turning to her as he stood aloofBeside a cypress, whose profoundest shadeDrank the reflections of the dreamy nightIn its stiff pinnacle, the nimble lightOf million stars upon his body play'd:
29'O simple-hearted Psyche,' thus he spake,And she upraised her piteous eyes and hands,'O simple-hearted Psyche, for thy sakeI dared to break my mother's stern commands;And gave thee godlike marriage in the placeOf vilest shame; and, not to hurt thy grace,Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands.
30'But thou, for doubt I was some evil beast,Hast mock'd the warnings of my love, to spyUpon my secret, which concern'd thee least,Seeing that thy joy was never touch'd thereby.By faithless prying thou hast work'd thy fall,And, even as I foretold thee, losest allFor looking on thy happiness too nigh:
31'Which loss may be thine ample punishment.But to those fiends, by whom thou wert misled,Go tell each one in turn that I have sentThis message, that I love her in thy stead;And bid them by their love haste hither soon.'Whereat he fled; and Psyche in a swoonFell back upon the marble floor as dead.
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AUGUST
1When from the lowest ebbing of her bloodThe fluttering pulses thrill'd and swell'd again,Her stricken heart recovering force to floodWith life the sunken conduits of her brain,Then Psyche, where she had fallen, numb and coldArose, but scarce her quaking sense control'd,Seeing the couch where she that night had lain.
2The level sunbeams search'd the grassy groundFor diamond dewdrops. Ah! was this the place?Where was the court, her home? she look'd aroundAnd question'd with her memory for a space.There was the cypress, there the well-known wood,That wall'd the spot: 'twas here her palace stood,As surely as 'twas vanish'd without trace.
3Was all a dream? To think that all was dreamtWere now the happier thought; but arguing o'erThat dream it was, she fell from her attempt,Feeling the wifely burden that she bore.Nay, true, 'twas true. She had had all and lost;The joy, the reckless wrong, the heavy costWere hers, the dead end now, and woe in store.
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4What to be done? Fainting and shelterlessUpon the mountain it were death to bide:And harbour knew she none, where her distressMight comfort find, or love's dishonour hide;Nor felt she any dread like that of home:Yet forth she must, albeit to rove and roamAn outcast o'er the country far and wide.
5Anon she marvel'd noting from the valeA path lead downward to the plain below,Crossing the very site, whereon the paleOf all her joy had stood few hours ago;A run of mountain beasts, that keep their trackThrough generations, and for ages backHad trod the self-same footing to and fro.
6That would she try: so forth she took her way,Turning her face from the dishonour'd dell,Adown the broadening eastward lawns, which layIn gentle slant, till suddenly they fellIn sheer cliff: whence the path that went around,Clomb by the bluffs, or e'er it downward woundBeneath that precipice impassable.
7There once she turn'd, and gazing up the slopeShe bid the scene of all her joy adieu;'Ay, and farewell,' she cried, 'farewell to hope,Since there is none will rescue me anew,Who have kill'd God's perfection with a doubt.'Which said, she took the path that led about,And hid the upland pleasance from her view.
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8But soon it left her, entering 'neath the shadeOf cedar old and russeted tall pine,Whose mighty tops, seen from the thorny glade,Belted the hills about; and now no signHad she to guide her, save the slow descent.But swiftly o'er the springy floor she went,And drew the odorous air like draughts of wine.
9Then next she past a forest thick and darkWith heavy ilexes and platanes high,And came to long lush grass; and now coud markBy many a token that the plain was nigh.When lo! a river: to whose brink at lastBeing come, upon the bank her limbs she cast,And through her sad tears watch'd the stream go by.
10And now the thought came o'er her that in deathThere was a cure for sorrow, that beforeHer eyes ran Lethe, she might take one breathOf water and be freed for evermore.Leaning to look into her tomb, thereonShe saw the horror of her image wan,And up she rose at height to leap from shore.
11When suddenly a mighty voice, that fellWith fury on her ears, their sense to scare,That bounding from the tree trunks like the yellOf hundred brazen trumpets, cried 'Forbear!Forbear, fond maid, that froward step to take,For life can cure the ills that love may make;But for the harm of death is no repair.'
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12Then looking up she saw an uncouth formPerch'd on the further bank, whose parted lipsVolley'd their friendly warning in a storm:A man he might have been, but for the tipsOf horns appearing from his shaggy head,For o'er his matted beard his face was red,And all his shape was manlike to the hips.
13In forehead low, keen eye, and nostril flatHe bore the human grace in mean degree,But, set beneath his body squat and fat,Legs like a goat's, and from the hairy kneeThe shank fell spare; and, though crosswise he putHis limbs in easeful posture, for the footThe beast's divided hoof was plain to see.
14Him then she knew the mighty choric God,The great hill-haunting and tree-loving Pan;Whom Zeus had laught to see when first he trodOlympus, neither god nor beast nor man:Who every rocky peak and snowy crestOf the Aspran mountains for his own possest,And all their alps with bacchic rout o'erran:
15Whom, when his pipe he plays on loud and sweet,And o'er the fitted reeds his moist lip flees,Around in measured step with nimble feetWater-nymphs dance and Hamadryades:And all the woodland's airy folk, who shunMan's presence, to his frolic pastime runFrom their perennial wells and sacred trees.
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16Now on his knee his pipe laid by, he spokeWith flippant tongue, wounding unwittinglyThe heart he sought to cheer with jest and joke.'And what hast thou to do with misery,'He said, 'who hast such beauty as might gainThe love of Eros? Cast away thy pain,And give thy soul to mirth and jollity.
17'Thy mortal life is but a brittle vase,But as thee list with wine or tears to fill;For all the drops therein are Ohs and AhsOf joy or grief according to thy will;And wouldst thou learn of me my merry way,I'd teach thee change thy lover every day,And prize the cup that thou wert fain to spill.
18'Nay, if thou plunge thou shalt not drown nor sink,For I will to thee o'er the stream afloat,And bear thee safe; and O I know a drinkFor care, that makes sweet music in the throat.Come live with me, my love; I'll cure thy chance:For I can laugh and quaff, and pipe and dance,Swim like a fish, and caper like a goat.'
19Speaking, his brute divinity exploredThe secret of her silence; and old PanGrew kind and told her of a shallow fordWhere lower down the stream o'er pebbles ran,And one might pass at ease with ankles dry:Whither she went, and crossing o'er thereby,Her lonely wanderings through the isle began.
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20But none coud tell, no, nor herself had toldWhere food she found, or shelter through the landBy day or night; until by fate control'dShe came by steep ways to the southern strand,Where, sacred to the Twins and Britomart,Pent in its rocky theatre apart,A little town stood on the level sand.
21'Twas where her younger sister's husband reign'd:And Psyche to the palace gate drew near,Helplessly still by Eros' hest constrain'd,And knocking begg'd to see her sister dear;But when in state stepp'd down that haughty queen,And saw the wan face spent with tears and teen,She smiled, and said 'Psyche, what dost thou here?'
22Then Psyche told how, having well employ'dTheir means, and done their bidding not amiss,Looking on him her hand would have destroy'd,'Twas Eros; whom in love leaning to kiss,Even as she kisst, a drop of burning oilFall'n from the lamp had served her scheme to foil,Discovering her in vision of her bliss;
23Wherewith the god stung, like a startled birdArose in air, and she fell back in swoon;'But ere he parted,' said she, 'he confer'dOn thee the irrecoverable boonBy prying lost to me:Go tell, he said,Thy sister that I love her in thy stead,And bid her by her love haste hither soon.
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24Which when that heart of malice heard, it tookThe jealous fancy of her silly lust:And pitilessly with triumphant lookShe drank the flattery, and gave full trust;And leaving Psyche ere she more coud tell,Ran off to bid her spouse for aye farewell,And in his ear this ready lie she thrust:
25'My dearest sister Psyche, she whose fateWe mourn'd, hath reappear'd alive and hale,But brings sad news; my father dies: full lateThese tidings come, but love may yet avail;Let me be gone.' And stealing blind consent,Forth on that well-remember'd road she went,And climb'd upon the peak above the dale.
26There on the topmost rock, where Psyche firstHad by her weeping sire been left to die,She stood a moment, in her hope accurstBeing happy; and the cliffs took up her cryWith chuckling mockery from her tongue above,Zephyr, sweet Zephyr, waft me to my love!When off she lept upon his wings to fly.
27But as a dead stone, from a height let fall,Silent and straight is gather'd by the forceOf earth's vast mass upon its weight so small,In speed increasing as it nears its sourceOf motion—by which law all things soe'erAre clutch'd and dragg'd and held—so fell she there,Like a dead stone, down in her headlong course.
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28The disregardful silence heard her strikeUpon the solid crags; her dismal shriekRang on the rocks and died out laughter-likeAlong the vale in hurried trebles weak;And soon upon her, from their skiey hauntFell to their feast the great birds bald and gauntAnd gorged on her fair flesh with bloody beak.
29But Psyche, when her sister was gone forth,Went out again her wandering way to take:And following a stream that led her north,After some days she pass'd the Corian Lake,Whereby Athena's temple stands, and heWho traverses the isle from sea to seaMay by the plain his shortest journey make:
30Till on the northern coast arrived she cameUpon a city built about a port,The which she knew, soon as she heard the name,Was where her elder sister had her court;To whom, as Eros had commanded her,She now in turn became the messengerOf vengeful punishment, that fell not short:
31For she too hearing gan her heart exalt,Nor pity felt for Psyche's tears and moans,But, fellow'd with that other in her fault,Follow'd her to her fate upon the stones;And from the peak leaping like her belowThe self-same way unto the self-same woe,Lay dasht to death upon her sister's bones.
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AUTUMN
PSYCHE'S WANDERINGS
SEPTEMBER
1On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle,Westward of Drepanon, along a reachWhich massy Cyamum for many a mileJutting to sea delivers from the breachOf North and East,—returning to embayThe favour'd shore—an ancient city lay,Aptera, which isWinglessin our speech.
2And hence the name; that here in rocky cove,Thence called Museion, was the trial wagedWhat day the Sirens with the Muses strove,By jealous Hera in that war engaged:Wherein the daughters of MnemosynèO'ercame the chauntresses who vex'd the sea,Nor vengeance spared them by their pride enraged.
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3For those strange creatures, who with women's wordsAnd wiles made ravenous prey of passers-by,Were throated with the liquid pipe of birds:Of love they sang; and none, who sail'd anighThrough the grey hazes of the cyanine sea,Had wit the whirlpool of that song to flee,Nor fear'd the talon hook'd and feather'd thigh.
4But them the singers of the gods o'ercame,And pluck'd them of their plumage, where in frightThey vainly flutter'd off to hide their shame,Upon two rocks that lie within the bight,Under the headland, barren and alone;Which, being with the scatter'd feathers strewn,Were by the folk named Leukæ, which isWhite.
5Thereon about this time the snowy gull,Minion of Aphrodite, being come,Plumed himself, standing on the sea-wrack dull,That drifted from the foot of Cyamum;And 'twas his thought, that had the goddess learntThe tale of Psyche loved and Eros burnt,She ne'er so long had kept aloof and dumb.
6Wherefore that duteous gossip of Love's queenDevised that he the messenger would be;And rising from the rock, he skim'd betweenThe chasing waves—such grace have none but he;—Into the middle deep then down he dived,And rowing with his glistening wings arrivedAt Aphrodite's bower beneath the sea.
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7The eddies from his silver pinions swirl'dThe crimson, green, and yellow floss, that grewAbout the caves, and at his passing curl'dIts graceful silk, and gently waved anew:Till, oaring here and there, the queen he foundStray'd from her haunt unto a sandy ground,Dappl'd with eye-rings in the sunlight blue.
8She, as he came upon her from above,With Hora play'd; Hora, her herald fair,That lays the soft necessity of LoveOn maidens' eyelids, and with tender careMarketh the hour, as in all works is fit:And happy they in love who time outwit,Fondly constrained in her season rare.
9But he with garrulous and laughing tongueBroke up his news; how Eros, fallen sick,Lay tossing on his bed, to frenzy stungBy such a burn as did but barely prick:A little bleb, no bigger than a pease,Upon his shoulder 'twas, that kill'd his ease,Fever'd his heart, and made his breathing thick.
10'For which disaster hath he not been seenThis many a day at all in any place:And thou, dear mistress,' piped he, 'hast not beenThyself amongst us now a dreary space:The pining mortals suffer from a dearthOf love; and for this sadness of the earthThy family is darken'd with disgrace.
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11'Now on the secret paths of dale and wood,Where lovers walk'd are lovers none to find:And friends, besworn to equal brotherhood,Forget their faith, and part with words unkind:In the first moon thy honey-bond is loath'd:And I coud tell even of the new-betroth'dThat fly o'ersea, and leave their loves behind.
12'Summer is over, but the merry pipe,That wont to cheer the harvesting, is mute:And in the vineyards, where the grape is ripe,No voice is heard of them that take the fruit.No workman singeth at eve nor maiden danceth:All joy is dead, and as the year advancethThe signs of woe increase on man and brute.
13''Tis plain that if thy pleasure longer pause,Thy mighty rule on earth hath seen its day:The race must come to perish, and no causeBut that thou sittest with thy nymphs at play,While on a Cretan hill thy truant boyHath with his pretty mistress turn'd to toy,And less for pain than love pineth away.'
14'Ha! Mistress!' cried she; 'Hath my beardless sonBeen hunting for himself his lovely game?Some young Orestiad hath his fancy won?Some Naiad? say; or is a Grace his flame?Or maybe Muse, and then 'tis Erato,The trifling wanton. Tell me, if thou know,Woman or goddess is she? and her name.'
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15Then said the snowy gull, 'O heavenly queen,What is my knowledge, who am but a bird?Yet is she only mortal, as I ween,And namèd Psyche, if I rightly heard.'—But Aphrodite's look daunted his cheer,Ascare he fled away, screaming in fear,To see what wrath his simple tale had stirr'd.
16He flasht his pens, and sweeping widely roundTower'd to air; so swift in all his way,That whence he dived he there again was foundAs soon as if he had but dipt for prey:And now, or e'er he join'd his wailful flock,Once more he stood upon the Sirens' rock,And preen'd his ruffl'd quills for fresh display.
17But as ill tidings will their truth assureWithout more witness than their fatal sense,So, since was nothing bitterer to endure,The injured goddess guess'd the full offence:And doubted only whether first to smiteOr Psyche for her new presumptuous flight,Or Eros for his disobedience.
18But full of anger to her son she went,And found him in his golden chamber laid;And with him sweet Euphrosynè, attentUpon his murmur'd wants, aye as he badeShifted the pillows with each fretful whim;But scornfully his mother look'd at him,And reckless of his pain gan thus upbraid:
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19'O worthy deeds, I say, and true to blood,The crown and pledge of promise! thou that wastIn estimation my perpetual bud,Now fruiting thus untimely to my cost;Backsliding from commandment, ay, and worse,With bliss to favour one I bade thee curse,And save the life I left with thee for lost!
20'Thou too to burn with love, and love of herWhom I did hate; and to thy bed to takeMy rival, that my trusted officerMight of mine enemy my daughter make!Dost thou then think my love for thee so fond,And miserably doting, that the bondBy such dishonour strainèd will not break?
21'Or that I cannot bear another sonAs good as thou; or, if I choose not bear,Not beg as good a lusty boy of oneOf all my nymphs,—and some have boys to spare,—Whom I might train, to whom thine arms made o'erShould do me kinder service than before,To smite my foes and keep my honour fair?
22'For thou hast ever mockt me, and beguiledIn amours strange my God, thy valiant sire:And having smirch'd our fame while yet a childWilt further foul it now with earthly fire.But I—do as thou may—have vow'd to killThy fancied girl, whether thou love her still,Or of her silly charms already tire.
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23'Tell me but where she hides.' And Eros now,Proud in his woe, boasted his happy theft:Confessing he had loved her well, and howBy her own doing she was lost and left;And homeless in such sorrow as outwentThe utmost pain of other punishment,Was wandering of his love and favour reft.
24By which was Cypris gladden'd, not appeased,But hid her joy and spake no more her threat:And left with face like one that much displeasedHath yet betray'd that he can wrong forget.When lo! as swiftly she came stepping downFrom her fair house into the heavenly townThe Kronian sisters on the way she met;
25Hera, the Wife of Zeus, her placid frontDark with the shadow of his troubl'd reign,And tall Demeter, who with men once wont,Holding the high Olympians in disdainFor Persephassa's rape; which now forgiven,She had return'd unto the courts of Heaven,And 'mong the immortals liv'd at peace again:
26Whose smile told Aphrodite that they knewThe meaning of her visit; and a flushOf anger answer'd them, while hot she grew.But Hera laugh'd outright: 'Why thou dost blush!Now see we modest manners on my life!And all thy little son has got a wifeCan make the crimson to thy forehead rush.
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27'Didst think he, whom thou madest passion's prince,No privy dart then for himself would poise?Nay, by the cuckoo on my sceptre, since'Twas love that made thee mother of his joys,Art thou the foremost to his favour bound;As thou shouldst be the last to think to soundThe heart, and least of all thy wanton boy's.'
28But her Demeter, on whose stalwart armShe lean'd, took up: 'If thou wilt hark to me,This Psyche,' said she, 'hath the heavenly charm,And will become immortal. And maybeTo marry with a woman is as wellAs wed a god and live below in Hell:As 'twas my lot in child of mine to see.'
29Which things they both said, fearing in their heartsThat savage Eros, if they mockt his case,Would kill their peace with his revengeful darts,And bring them haply to a worse disgrace:But Aphrodite, saying 'Good! my dames;Behind this smoke I see the spite that flames,'Left them, and on her journey went apace.
30For having purposed she would hold no truceWith Psyche or her son, 'twas in her mindTo go forthwith unto the throne of Zeus,And beg that Hermes might be sent to findThe wanderer; and secure that in such questHe would not fail, she ponder'd but how bestShe might inflict her vengeance long-design'd.
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OCTOBER
1Heavy meanwhile at heart, with bruisèd feetWas Psyche wandering many nights and daysUpon the paths of hundred-citied Crete,And chose to step the most deserted ways;Being least unhappy when she went unseen;Since else her secret sorrow had no screenFrom the plain question of men's idle gaze.
2Yet wheresoe'er she went one hope she had;Like mortal mourners, who 'gainst reason strongHope to be unexpectedly made gladWith sight of their dead friends, so much they long;So she for him, whom loss a thousandfoldEndear'd and made desired; nor coud she holdHe would not turn and quite forgive her wrong.
3Wherefore her eager eyes in every placeLookt for her lover; and 'twixt hope and fearShe follow'd oft afar some form of grace,In pain alike to lose or venture near.And still this thought cheer'd her fatigue, that he,Or on some hill, or by some brook or tree,But waited for her coming to appear.
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4And then for comfort many an old love-crostAnd doleful ditty would she gently sing,Writ by sad poets of a lover lost,Now sounding sweeter for her sorrowing:Echo, sweet Echo, watching up on high,Say hast thou seen to-day my love go by,Or where thou sittest by thy mossy spring?
5Or say ye nymphs, that from the crystal rills,When ye have bathed your limbs from morn till eve,Flying at midnight to the bare-topt hills,Beneath the stars your mazy dances weave,Say, my deserter whom ye well may knowBy his small wings, his quiver, and his bow,Say, have ye seen my love, whose loss I grieve?
6Till climb'd one evening on a rocky steepAbove the plain of Cisamos, that lay,Robb'd of its golden harvest, in the deepMountainous shadows of the dying day,She saw a temple, whose tall columns fairRecall'd her home; and 'O if thou be there,My love,' she cried, 'fly not again away.'
7Swiftly she ran, and entering by the doorShe stood alone within an empty faneOf great Demeter: and, behold, the floorWas litter'd with thank-offerings of grain,With wheat and barley-sheaves together heaptIn holy harvest-home of them that reaptThe goddess plenteous gifts upon the plain;
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8And on the tithe the tackle of the titheThrown by in such confusion, as are laidUpon the swath sickle, and hook, and scythe,When midday drives the reapers to the shade.And Psyche, since had come no priestess thereTo trim the temple, in her pious careForgat herself, and lent her duteous aid.
9She drew the offerings from the midst aside,And piled the sheaves at every pillar's base;And sweeping therebetween a passage wide,Made clear of corn and chaff the temple space:As countrymen who bring their wheat to mart,Set out their show along the walls apartBy their allotted stations, each in place;
10Thus she, and felt no weariness,—such strengthHath duty to support our feeble frame,—Till all was set in order, and at lengthUp to the threshold of the shrine she came:When lo! before her face with friendly smile,Tall as a pillar of the peristyle,The goddess stood reveal'd, and call'd her name.
11'Unhappy Psyche,' said she, 'know'st thou notHow Aphrodite to thy hurt is sworn?And thou, thy peril and her wrath forgot,Spendest thy thought my temple to adorn.Take better heed!'—And Psyche, at the voiceEven of so little comfort, gan rejoice,And at her feet pour'd out this prayer forlorn.
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12'O Gracious giver of the golden grain,Hide me, I pray thee, from her wrath unkind:For who can pity as canst thou my pain,Who wert thyself a wanderer, vex'd in mindFor loss of thy dear Corè once, whenas,Ravisht to hell by fierce Agesilas,Thou soughtest her on earth and coudst not find.
13'How coud thy feet bear thee to western night,And where swart Libyans watch the sacred tree,And thrice to ford o'er Achelous bright,And all the streams of beauteous Sicily?And thrice to Enna cam'st thou, thrice, they tell,Satest athirst by Callichorus' well,Nor tookest of the spring to comfort thee.
14'By that remember'd anguish of thine heart,Lady, have pity even on me, and showWhere I may find my love; and take my partFor peace, I pray, against my cruel foe:Or if thou canst not from her anger shield,Here let me lie among the sheaves conceal'dSuch time till forth I may in safety go.'
15Demeter answer'd, 'Nay, though thou constrainMy favour with thy plea, my help must stillBe hidden, else I work for thee in vainTo thwart my mighty sister in her will.Thou must fly hence: Yet though I not oppose,Less will I aid her; and if now I closeMy temple doors to thee, take it not ill.'
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16Then Psyche's hope founder'd; as when a ship,The morrow of the gale can hardly rideThe swollen seas, fetching a deeper dipAt every wave, and through her gaping sideAnd o'er her shattered bulwark ever drinks,Till plunging in the watery wild she sinks,To scoop her grave beneath the crushing tide:
17So with each word her broken spirit drankIts doom; and overwhelm'd with deep despairShe turn'd away, and coming forth she sankSilently weeping on the temple stair,In midmost night, forspent with long turmoil:But sleep, the gracious pursuivant of toil,Came swiftly down, and nursed away her care.
18And when the sun awaked her with his beamsShe found new hope, that still her sorrow's cureLay with the gods, who in her morning dreamsHad sent her comfort in a vision sure;Wherein the Cretan-born, almightiest god,Cloud-gathering Zeus himself had seem'd to nod,And bid her with good heart her woes endure.
19So coming that same day unto a shrineOf Hera, she took courage and went in:And like to one that to the cell divineFor favour ventures or a suit to win,She drew anigh the altar, from her faceWiping the tears, ere to the heavenly grace,As thus she pray'd, she would her prayer begin.