The Epic of Hades Part 3

Nor looked I backward, as we seemed to move To some high goal of thought and life and love, Like twin birds flying fast with equal wing Out of the night, to meet the coming sun Above a sea. But on thy dear fair eyes, The eyes that well I knew on the old earth, I looked not, for with still averted gaze Thou leddest, and I followed; for, indeed, While that high strain was sounding, I was rapt In faith and a high courage, driving out All doubt and discontent and womanish fear, Nay, even my love itself. But when awhile It sank a little, or seemed to sink and fall To lower levels, seeing that use makes blunt The too accustomed ear, straightway, desire To look once more on thy recovered eyes Seized me, and oft I called with piteous voice, Beseeching thee to turn. But thou long time Wert even as one unmindful, with grave sign And waving hand, denying. Finally, When now we neared the stream, on whose far sh.o.r.e Lay life, great terror took me, and I shrieked Thy name, as in despair. Then thou, as one Who knows him set in some great jeopardy, A swift death fronting him on either hand, Didst slowly turning gaze; and lo! I saw Thine eyes grown awful, life that looked on death, Clear purity on dark and cankered sin, The immortal on corruption,--not the eyes That erst I knew in life, but dreadfuller, And stranger. As I looked, I seemed to swoon, Some blind force whirled me back, and when I woke I saw thee vanish in the middle stream, A speck on the dull waters, taking with thee My life, and leaving Love with me. But I Not for myself bewail, but all for thee, Who, but for me, wert now among the stars With thy great Lord; I sitting at thy feet: But now the fierce and unrestrained rout Of pa.s.sions woman-natured, finding thee Scornful of love within thy lonely cell, With blind rage falling on thee, tore thy limbs, And left them to the Muses' sepulture, While thy soul dwells in Hades. But I wail My weakness always, who for Love destroyed The life that was my Love. I prithee, dear, Forgive me if thou canst, who hast lost heaven To save a loving woman."

He with voice Sweeter than any mortal melody, And plaintive as the music that is made By the aeolian strings, or the sad bird That sings of summer nights: "Eurydice, Dear love, be comforted; not once alone That which thou mournest is, but day by day Some lonely soul, which walks apart and feeds On high hill pastures, far from herds of men, Comes to the low fat fields, and sunny vales Joyous with fruits and flowers, and the white arms Of laughing love; and there awhile he stays Content, forgetting all the joys he knew, When first the morning broke upon the hills, And the keen air breathed from the Eastern gates Like a pure draught of wine; forgetting all The strains which float, as from a nearer heaven, To him who treads at dawn the untrodden snows, While all the warm world sleeps;--forgetting these And all things that have been. And if he gain To raise to his own heights the simpler souls That dwell upon the plains, the untutored thought, The museless lives, the unawakened brain That yet might soar, then is he blest indeed.

But if he fail, then, leaving love behind, The wider love of the race, the closer love Of some congenial soul, he turns again To the old difficult steeps, and there alone Pines, till the widowed pa.s.sions of his heart Tear him and rend his soul, and drive him down To the low plains he left. And there he dwells, Missing the heavens, dear, and the white peaks, And the light air of old; but in their stead Finding the soft sweet sun of the vale, the clouds Which veil the skies indeed, but give the rains That feed the streams of life and make earth green, And bring at last the harvest. So I walk In this dim land content with thee, O Love, Untouched by any yearning of regret For those old days; nor that the lyre which made Erewhile such potent music now is dumb; Nor that the voice that once could move the earth (Zeus speaking through it), speaks in household words Of homely love: Love is enough for me With thee, O dearest; and perchance at last, Zeus willing, this dumb lyre and whispered voice Shall wake, by Love inspired, to such clear note As soars above the stars, and swelling, lifts Our souls to highest heaven."

Then he stooped, And, folded in one long embrace, they went And faded. And I cried, "Oh, strong G.o.d, Love, Mightier than Death and h.e.l.l!"

And then I chanced On a fair woman, whose sad eyes were full Of a fixed self-reproach, like his who knows Himself the fountain of his grief, and pines In self-inflicted sorrow. As I spake Enquiring of her grief, she answered thus:

"Stranger, thou seest of all the shades below The most unhappy. Others sought their love In death, and found it, dying; but for me The death that took me, took from me my love, And left me comfortless. No load I bear Like those dark wicked women, who have slain Their Lords for l.u.s.t or anger, whom the dread Propitious Ones within the pit below Punish and purge of sin; only unfaith, If haply want of faith be not a crime Blacker than murder, when we fail to trust One worthy of all faith, and folly bring No harder recompense than comes of scorn And loathing of itself.

Ah, fool, fool, fool, Who didst mistrust thy love, who was the best, And truest, manliest soul with whom the G.o.ds Have ever blest the earth; so brave, so strong, Fired with such burning hate of powerful ill, So loving of the race, so swift to raise The fearless arm and mighty club, and smite All monstrous growths with ruin--Zeus himself Showed scarce more mighty--and yet was the while A very man, not cast in mould too fine For human love, but ofttimes snared and caught By womanish wiles, fast held within the net His pa.s.sions wove. Oh, it was grand to hear Of how he went, the champion of his race, Mighty in war, mighty in love, now bent To more than human tasks, now lapt in ease, Now suffering, now enjoying. Strong, vast soul, Tuned to heroic deeds, and set on high Above the range of common petty sins-- Too high to mate with an unequal soul, Too full of striving for contented days.

Ah me, how well I do recall the cause Of all our ills! I was a happy bride When that dark Ate which pursues the steps Of heroes--innocent blood-guiltiness-- Drove us to exile, and I joyed to be His own, and share his pain. To a swift stream Fleeing we came, where a rough ferryman Waited, more brute than man. My hero plunged In those fierce depths and battled with their flow, And with great labour gained the strand, and bade The monster row me to him. But with l.u.s.t And brutal cunning in his eyes, the thing Seized me and turned to fly with me, when swift An arrow hissed from the unerring bow, Pierced him, and loosed his grasp. Then as his eyes Grew glazed in death there came in them a gleam Of what I know was hate, and he said, 'Take This white robe. It is costly. See, my blood Has stained it but a little. I did wrong: I know it, and repent me. If there come A time when he grows cold--for all the race Of heroes wander, nor can any love Fix theirs for long--take it and wrap him in it, And he shall love again.' Then, from the strange Deep look within his eyes I shrank in fear, And left him half in pity, and I went To meet my Lord, who rose from that fierce stream Fair as a G.o.d.

Ah me, the weary days We women live, spending our anxious souls, Consumed with jealous fancies, hungering still For the beloved voice and ear and eye, And hungering all in vain! For life is more To youthful manhood than to sit at home Before the hearth to watch the children's ways And lead the life of petty household care Which doth content us women. Day by day I pined in Trachis for my love, while he, Now in some warlike exploit busied, now Fighting some monster, now at some fair court, Resting awhile till some new enterprise Called him, returned not. News of treacheries Avenged, friends succoured, dreadful monsters slain, Came from him: always triumph, always fame, And honour, and success, and reverence, And sometimes, words of love for me who pined For more than words, and would have gone to him But that the toils of such high errantry Asked more than woman's strength.

So the slow years Vexed me alone in Trachis, set forlorn In solitude, nor hearing at the gate The frank and cheering voice, nor on the stair The heavy tread, nor feeling the strong arm Around me in the darkling night, when all My being ran slow. Last, subtle whispers came Of womanish wiles which kept my Lord from me, And one who, young and fair, a fresh-blown life And virgin, younger, fairer far than I When first he loved me, held him in the toils Of scarce dissembled love. Not easily Might I believe this evil, but at last The oft-repeated malice finding me Forlorn, and sitting imp-like at my ear, Possessed me, and the fire of jealous love Raged through my veins, not turned as yet to hate-- Too well I loved for that--but breeding in me Unfaith in him. Love, setting him so high And self so low, betrayed me, and I prayed, Constrained to hold him false, the immortal G.o.ds To make him love again.

But still he came not.

And still the maddening rumours worked, and still 'Fair, young, and a king's daughter,' the same words Smote me and pierced me. Oh, there is no pain In Hades--nay, nor deepest h.e.l.l itself, Like that of jealous hearts, the torture-pain Which racked my life so long.

Till one fair morn There came a joyful message. 'He has come!

And at the shrine upon the promontory, The fair white shrine upon the purple sea, He waits to do his solemn sacrifice To the immortal G.o.ds; and with him comes A young maid beautiful as Dawn.'

Then I, Mingling despair with love, rapt in deep joy That he was come, plunged in the depths of h.e.l.l That she came too, bethought me of the robe The Centaur gave me, and the words he spake, Forgetting the deep hatred in his eyes, And all but love, and sent a messenger Bidding him wear it for the sacrifice To the immortals, knowing not at all Whom Fate decreed the victim.

Shall my soul Forget the agonized message which he sent, Bidding me come? For that accursed robe, Stained with the poisonous accursed blood, Even in the midmost flush of sacrifice Clung to him a devouring fire, and ate The piteous flesh from his dear limbs, and stung His great soft soul to madness. When I came, Knowing it was my work, he bent on me, Wise as a G.o.d through suffering and the near Inevitable Death, so that no word Of mine was needed, such a tender look Of mild reproach as smote me. 'Couldst not thou Trust me, who never loved as I love thee?

What need was there of magical arts to draw The love that never wavered? I have lived As he lives who through perilous paths must pa.s.s, And lifelong trials, striving to keep down The brute within him, born of too much strength And 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, finding His nature grown too strong for him, falls p.r.o.ne Awhile a helpless prey, then once again Rises and spurns his chains, and fares anew Along the perilous ways. Dearest, I would That thou wert wedded to some knight who stayed At home within thy gates, and were content To see thee happy. But for me the fierce Rude energies of life, the mighty thews, The G.o.d-sent hate of Wrong, these drove me forth To quench the thirst of battle. See, this maid, This is the bride I destined for our son Who grows to manhood. Do thou see to her When I am dead, for soon I know again The frenzy comes, and with it ceasing, death.

Go, therefore, ere I harm thee when my strength Has lost its guidance. Thou wert rich in love, Be now as rich in faith. Dear, for thy wrong I do forgive thee.'

When I saw the glare Of madness fire his eyes, and my ears heard The 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 took The agony of his cries.

Then I who knew There was no hope in G.o.d or man for me Who had destroyed my Love, and with him slain The champion of the suffering race of men, And knowing that my soul, though innocent Of blood, was guilty of unfaith and vile Mistrust, and wrapt in weakness like a cloak, And made the innocent tool of hate and wrong, Against all love and good; grown sick and filled With hatred of myself, rose from my knees, And went a little s.p.a.ce apart, and found A gnarled tree on the cliff, and with my scarf Strangling myself, swung lifeless.

But in death I found him not. For, building a vast pile Of scented woods on Oeta, as they tell, My hero with his own hand lighted it, And when the mighty pyre flamed far and wide Over all lands and seas, he climbed on it And laid him down to die; but pitying Zeus, Before the swift flames reached him, in a cloud Descending, s.n.a.t.c.hed the strong brave soul to heaven, And set him mid the stars.

Wherefore am I Of all the blameless shades within this place The most unhappy, if of blame, indeed, I bear no load. For what is Sin itself, But Error when we miss the road which leads Up to the gate of heaven? Ignorance!

What if we be the cause of ignorance?

Being blind who might have seen! Yet do I know But self-inflicted pain, nor stain there is Upon my soul such as they bear who know The dreadful scourge with which the stern judge still Lashes 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, Pa.s.sing, to look upon some scarce-spent life, Which knows to-day the irony of Fate In self-inflicted pain.

Together clung The ghosts whom next I saw, bound three in one By some invisible bond. A sire of port G.o.d-like as Zeus, to whom on either hand A 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 be Drawn close to thee, and by a double bond, With this my brother." And the other: "Nay, Nor me, O father; but I bless the chain Which binds our souls in union. If some trace Of pain still linger, heed it not--'tis past: Still let us cling to thee."

He with grave eyes Full of great tenderness, upon his sons Looked with the father's gaze, that is so far More sweet, and sad, and tender, than the gaze Of mothers,--now on this one, now on that, Regarding them. "Dear sons, whom on the earth I loved and cherished, it was hard to watch Your pain; but now 'tis finished, and we stand For ever, through all future days of time, Symbols of patient suffering undeserved, Endured and vanquished. Yet sad memory still Brings back our time of trial.

For the day Broke fair when I, the dread Poseidon's priest, Joyous because the unholy strife was done, And seeing the blue waters now left free Of hostile keels--save where upon the verge Far 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 made Music that touched your father's eyes with tears, If not the careless G.o.ds. I seem to hear Those high sweet accents mounting in the hymn Which rose to all the blessed G.o.ds who dwelt Upon the far Olympus--Zeus, the Lord, And Sovereign Here, and the immortal choir Of Deities, but chiefly to the dread Poseidon, him who sways the purple sea As with a sceptre, shaking the fixed earth With stress of thundering surges. By the shrine The meek-eyed victim, for the sacrifice, Stood with his gilded horns. The hymns were done, And I in act to strike, when all the crowd Who knelt behind us, with a common fear Cried, 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 G.o.d.

But we stirred not: We could not flee, who in the solemn act Of wors.h.i.+p, and the ecstasy which comes To the believer's soul, saw heaven revealed, The mysteries unveiled, the inner sky Which meets the enraptured gaze. How should we fear Who thus were G.o.d-encircled! So we stood While the long ritual spent itself, nor cast An eye upon the sea. Till as I came To that great act which offers up a life Before life's Lord, and the full mystery Was trembling to completion, quick I heard A stifled cry of agony, and knew My children's voices. And the father's heart, Which is far more than rite or service done By man for G.o.d, seeing that it is divine And comes from G.o.d to men--this rising in me, Constrained me, and I ceased my prayer, and turned To succour you, and lo! the awful coils Which crushed your lives already, bound me round And crushed me also, as you clung to me, In common death. Some G.o.d 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 die Together in one blest moment, mid the flush And ecstasy of wors.h.i.+p, and to know Ourselves the victims? They were wrong who taught That 'twas some jealous G.o.ddess who destroyed Our lives, revengeful for discovered wiles, Or hateful of our land. Not readily Should such base pa.s.sions sway the immortal G.o.ds; But rather do I hold it sooth indeed That Zeus himself it was, who pitying The ruin he foreknew, yet might not stay, Since mightier Fate decreed it, sent in haste Those dreadful messengers, and bade them take The pious lives he loved, before the din Of midnight slaughter woke, and the fair town Flamed pitifully to the skies, and all Was blood and ruin. Surely it was best To die as we did, and in death to live, A vision for all ages of high pain Which pa.s.ses into beauty, and is merged In one accordant whole, as discords merge In that great Harmony which ceaseless rings From the tense chords of life, than to have lived Our separate lives, and died our separate deaths, And left no greater mark than drops which rain Upon the unbounded sea. Those hosts which fell Before the Scaean gate upon the sand, Nor found a bard to sing their fate, but left Their bones to dogs and kites--were they more blest Than we who, in the people's sight before Ilium's unshattered towers, lay down to die Our swift miraculous death? Dear sons, and good, Dear children of my love, how doubly dear For this our common sorrow; suffering weaves Not only chains of darkness round, but binds A golden glittering link, which though withdrawn Or felt no longer, knits us soul to soul, In indissoluble bonds, and draws our lives So close, that though the individual life Be merged, there springs a common life which grows To such dread beauty, as has power to take The sting from sorrow, and transform the pain Into transcendent joy: as from the storm The unearthly rainbow draws its myriad hues And steeps the world in fairness. All our lives Are notes that fade and sink, and so are merged In the full harmony of Being. Dear sons, Cling closer to me. Life nor Death has torn Our lives asunder, as for some, but drawn Their separate strands together in a knot Closer than Life itself, stronger than Death, Insoluble as Fate."

Then they three clung Together--the strong father and young sons, And in their loving eyes I saw the Pain Fade into Joy, Suffering in Beauty lost, And Death in Love!

By a still sullen pool, Into its dark depths gazing, lay the ghost Whom next I pa.s.sed. In form, a lovely youth, Scarce pa.s.sed from boyhood. Golden curls were his, And wide blue eyes. The semblance of a smile Came on his lip--a girl's but for the down Which hardly shaded it; but the pale cheek Was soft as any maiden's, and his robe Was virginal, and at his breast he bore The perfumed amber cup which, when March comes Gems the dry woods and windy wolds, and speaks The resurrection.

Looking up, he said: "Methought I saw her then, my love, my fair, My beauty, my ideal; the dim clouds Lifted, methought, a little--or was it Fond Fancy only? For I know that here No sunbeam cleaves the twilight, but a mist Creeps over all the sky and fields and pools, And blots them; and I know I seek in vain My earth-sought beauty, nor can Fancy bring An answer to my thought from these blind depths And unawakened skies. Yet has use made The quest so precious, that I keep it here, Well knowing it is vain.

On the old earth 'Twas otherwise, when in fair Thessaly I walked regardless of all nymphs who sought My love, but sought in vain, whether it were Dryad or Naiad from the woods or streams, Or white-robed Oread fleeting on the side Of fair Olympus, echoing back my sighs, In vain, for through the mountains day by day I wandered, and along the foaming brooks, And by the pine-woods dry, and never took A thought for love, nor ever 'mid the throng Of loving nymphs who knew me beautiful I dallied, unregarding; till they said Some died for love of me, who loved not one.

And yet I cared not, wandering still alone Amid 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 song Had kept me 'midst the glades, and strayed away Among the pines, enwrapt in fantasy, And by the beechen dells which clothe the feet Of fair Olympus, wrapt in fantasy, Weaving the thin and unembodied shapes Which Fancy loves to body forth, and leave In marble or in song; and so strayed down To a low sheltered vale above the plains, Where the lush gra.s.s grew thick, and the stream stayed Its garrulous tongue; and last upon the bank Of a still pool I came, where was no flow Of water, but the depths were clear as air, And nothing but the silvery gleaming side Of tiny fishes stirred. There lay I down Upon the flowery bank, and scanned the deep, Half in a waking dream.

Then swift there rose, From those enchanted depths, a face more fair Than ever I had dreamt of, and I knew My sweet long-sought ideal: the thick curls, Like these, were golden, and the white robe showed Like this; but for the wondrous eyes and lips, The tender loving glance, the sunny smile Upon the rosy mouth, these knew I not, Not even in dreams; and yet I seemed to trace Myself within them too, as who should find His former self expunged, and him transformed To some high thin ideal, separate From what he was, by some invisible bar, And yet the same in difference. As I moved My arms to clasp her to me, lo! she moved Her eager arms to mine, smiled to my smile, Looked love to love, and answered longing eyes With longing. When my full heart burst in words, 'Dearest, I love thee,' lo! the lovely lips, 'Dearest, I love thee,' sighed, and through the air The love-lorn echo rang. But when I longed To answer kiss with kiss, and stooped my lips To her sweet lips in that long thrill which strains Soul unto soul, the cold lymph came between And chilled our love, and kept us separate souls Which fain would mingle, and the self-same heaven Rose, a blue vault above us, and no shade Of earthly thing obscured us, as we lay Two reflex souls, one and yet different, Two sundered souls longing to be at one.

There, all day long, until the light was gone And took my love away, I lay and loved The image, and when night was come, 'Farewell,'

I whispered, and she whispered back, 'Farewell,'

With oh, such yearning! Many a day we spent By that clear pool together all day long.

And many a clouded hour on the wet gra.s.s I lay beneath the rain, and saw her not, And sickened for her; and sometimes the pool Was thick with flood, and hid her; and sometimes Some cold wind ruffled those clear wells, and left But glimpses of her, and I rose at eve Unsatisfied, a cold chill in my limbs And fever at my heart: until, too soon!

The summer faded, and the skies were hid, And my love came not, but a quenchless thirst Wasted my life. And all the winter long The bright sun shone not, or the thick ribbed ice Obscured her, and I pined for her, and knew My life ebb from me, till I grew too weak To seek her, fearing I should see no more My dear. And so the long dead winter waned And 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 again Some gleam of hope within me, and again With feeble limbs crawled forth, and felt the spring Blossom 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 flung My panting frame, and weary nerveless limbs, Down by the cold still pool.

And lo! I saw My 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 forth With a sad yearning look; and a great pain And 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 cry Of love I joined myself to her, and plunged Beneath 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 hold That what we seek is but our other self, Other and higher, neither wholly like Nor wholly different, the half-life the G.o.ds Retained when half was given--one the man And one the woman; and I longed to round The imperfect essence by its complement, For only thus the perfect life stands forth Whole, self-sufficing. Worse it is to live Ill-mated than imperfect, and to move From a false centre, not a perfect sphere, But with a crooked bias sent oblique Athwart life's furrows. 'Twas myself, indeed, Thus only that I sought, that lovers use To see in that they love, not that which is, But that their fancy feigns, and view themselves Reflected in their love, yet glorified, And finer and more pure.

Wherefore it is: All love which finds its own ideal mate Is happy--happy that which gives itself Unto itself, and keeps, through long calm years, The tranquil image in its eyes, and knows Fulfilment and is blest, and day by day Wears love like a white flower, nor holds it less Though sharp winds bite, or hot suns fade, or age Sully its perfect whiteness, but inhales Its fragrance, and is glad. But happier still He who long seeks a high goal unattained, And wearies for it all his days, nor knows Possession sate his thirst, but still pursues The fleeting loveliness--now seen, now lost, But evermore grown fairer, till at last He stretches forth his arms and takes the fair In one long rapture, and its name is Death."

Thus he; and seeing me stand grave: "Farewell.

If ever thou shouldst happen on a wood In Thessaly, upon the plain-ward spurs Of fair Olympus, take the path which winds Through the close vale, and thou shalt see the pool Where once I found my life. And if in Spring Thou go there, round the margin thou shalt know These amber blooms bend meekly, smiling down Upon the crystal surface. Pluck them not.

But kneel a little while, and breathe a prayer To the fair G.o.d of Love, and let them be.

For in those tender flowers is hid the life That once was mine. All things are bound in one In 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 chain Binds all, as now I know.

If there are still Fair Oreads on the hills, say to them, sir, They must no longer pine for me, but find Some worthier lover, who can love again; For I have found my love."

And to the pool He turned, and gazed with lovely eyes, and showed Fair as an angel.

Leaving him enwrapt In musings, to a gloomy pa.s.s I came Between dark rocks, where scarce a gleam of light, Not even the n.i.g.g.ard light of that dim land, Might enter; and the soil was black and bare, Nor even the thin growths which scarcely clothed The higher fields might live. Hard by a cave Which sloped down steeply to the lowest depths, Whence dreadful sounds ascended, seated still, Her head upon her hands, I saw a maid With eyes fixed on the ground--not Tartarus It was, but Hades; and she knew no pain, Except her painful thought. Yet there it seemed, As here, the unequal measure which awaits The adjustment, and meanwhile, inspires the strife Which rears life's palace walls; and fills the sail Which bears our bark across unfathomed seas, To its last harbour; this bore sway there too, And 'twas a luckless shade which sat and wept Amid the gloom, though blameless. Suddenly, She raised her head, and lo! the long curls, writhed Tangled, and snake-like--as the dripping hair Of a dead girl who freed from life and shame, From out the cruel wintry flow, is laid Stark on the snow with dreadful staring eyes Like 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 pulse Beat slow, and my limbs stiffen. Then they wore, At length, a softer look, and life revived Within my breast as thus she softly spoke:

"Nay, friend, I would not harm thee. I have known Great sorrow, and sometimes it racks me still, And turns me into stone, and makes my eyes As dreadful as of yore; and yet it comes But seldom, as thou sawest, now, for Time And Death have healing hands. Only I love To sit within the darkness here, nor face The throng of happier ghosts; if any ghost Of happiness come here. For on the earth They wronged me bitterly, and turned to stone My heart, till scarce I knew if e'er I was The happy girl of yore.

That youth who dreams Up yonder by the margin of the lake, Knew but a cold ideal love, but me Love in unearthly guise, but bodily form, Seized and betrayed.

I was a priestess once, Of stern Athene, doing day by day Due wors.h.i.+p; raising, every dawn that came, My cold pure hymns to take her virgin ear; Nor sporting with the joyous company Of youths and maids, who at the neighbouring shrine Of Aphrodite served. Nor dance nor song Allured me, nor the pleasant days of youth And twilights 'mid the vines. They held me cold Who were my friends in childhood. For my soul Was virginal, and at the virgin shrine I knelt, athirst for knowledge. Day by day The long cold ritual sped, the liturgies Were done, the barren hymns of praise went up Before the G.o.ddess, and the ecstasy Of faith possessed me wholly, till almost I knew not I was woman. Yet I knew That I was fair to see, and fit to share Some natural honest love, and bear the load Of children like the rest; only my soul Was lost in higher yearnings.

Like a G.o.d, He burst upon those pallid lifeless days, Bringing fresh airs and salt, as from the sea, And wrecked my life. How should a virgin know Deceit, who never at the joyous shrine Of Cypris knelt, but ever lived apart, And so grew guilty? For if I had spent My days among the throng, either my fault Were blameless, or undone. For innocence The tempter spreads his net. For innocence The G.o.ds keep all their terrors. Innocence It is that bears the burden, which for guilt Is lightened, and the spoiler goes his way, Uncaring, joyous, leaving her alone, The victim and unfriended.

Was it just In 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 sped Away to other hearts across the deep, Careless and free; but me, the cold stern eyes Of the pure G.o.ddess withered; and the scorn Of maids, despised before, and the great blank Of 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 eyes With horror, and stiffened the soft curls which once Lay smooth and fair into such snake-like rings As 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 me Love's work, who sat wrapt up and lost in shame, As in a cloak, consuming my own heart, And was in h.e.l.l already. As they gazed Upon me, my despair looked forth so cold From out my eyes, that if some spoiler came Fresh from his wickedness, and looked on them, Their glare would strike him dead; and those fair curls Which once the accursed toyed with, grew to be The poisonous things thou seest; and so, with hate Of man's injustice and the G.o.ds', who knew Me blameless, and yet punished me; and sick Of life and love, and loathing earth and sky, And feeding on my sorrow, Hate at last Left me a Fury.

Ah, the load of life Which lives for hatred! We are made to love-- We women, and the injury which turns The honey of our lives to gall, transforms The angel to the fiend. For it is sweet To know the dreadful sense of strength, and smite And leave the tyrant dead with a glance; ay! sweet, In that fierce l.u.s.t of power, to slay the life Which harmed not, when the suppliants' cry ascends To ears which hate has deafened. So I lived Long time in misery; to my sleepless eyes No healing slumbers coming; but at length, Zeus and the G.o.ddess pitying, I knew Soft rest once more veiling my dreadful gaze In peaceful slumbers. Then a blessed dream I dreamt. For, lo! a G.o.d-like knight in mail Of gold, who sheared with his keen flas.h.i.+ng blade; With scarce a pang of pain, the visage cold Which too great sorrow left me; at one stroke Clean 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 stood In 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 worm Was slain, and she delivered. Then I dreamt My mistress, whom I thought so stern to me, Athene, set those dreadful staring eyes, And that despairing visage, on her s.h.i.+eld Of chast.i.ty, and bears it evermore To fright the waverer from the wrong he would, And strike the unrepenting spoiler, dead."

Then for a little paused she, while I saw Again her eyes grown dreadful, till once more, And with a softer glance: "From that blest dream I woke not on the earth, but only here.

And now my pain is lightened since I know My dream, which was a dream within the dream Which is our life, fulfilled. And I have saved Another through my suffering, and through her A people. Oh, strange chain of sacrifice, That binds an innocent life, and from its blood And sorrow works out joy! Oh, mystery Of pain and evil! wrong grown salutary, And mighty to redeem! If thou shouldst see A woman on the earth, who pays to-day Like penalty of sin, and the new G.o.ds (For after Saturn, Zeus ruled; after him It may be there are others) love to take The tender heart of girlhood, and to immure Within a cold and cloistered cell the life Which nature meant to bless, and if Love come Hold her accursed; or to some poor maid, Forlorn and trusting, still the tempter comes And works his wrong, and leaves her in despair And shame and all abhorrence, while he goes His way unpunished,--if thou know her eyes Freeze thee like mine--oh! bid her lose her pain In succouring others--say to her that Time And Death have healing hands, and here there comes To the forgiven transgressor only pain Enough to chasten joy!"

And a soft tear Trembled within her eyes, and her sweet gaze Was as the Magdalen's, the horror gone And a great radiance come.

Then as I pa.s.sed To upper air, I saw two figures rise Together, one a woman with a grave Fair face not all unhappy, and the robes And presence of a queen; and with her walked The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream Conceived. And as they came, the throng of ghosts, For these who were not wholly ghosts, arose, And did them homage. Not the chain of love Bound them, but such calm kins.h.i.+p as is bred Of long and difficult pilgrimages borne Through common perils by two souls which share A common weary exile. Nor as ghosts These showed, but rather like two lives which hung Suspended in a trance. A halo of life Played round them, and they brought a sweet brisk air Tasting of earth and heaven, like sojourners Who stayed but for awhile, and knew a swift Release await them. First the youth it was Who spake thus as they pa.s.sed: "Dread Queen, once more I feel life stir within me, and my blood Run faster, while a new strange cycle turns And grows completed. Soon on the dear earth Under the lively light of fuller day, I shall revive me of my wound; and thou, Pa.s.sing 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 behind A deeper winter for the ghosts who dwell Within these sunless haunts; and I shall lie Once more within loved arms, and thou shalt see Thy early home, and kiss thy mother's cheek, And be a girl again. But not for long; For ere the bounteous Autumn spreads her hues Of gold and purple, a cold voice will call And bring us to these wintry lands once more, As erst so often. Blest are we, indeed, Above the rest, and yet I would I knew The careless joys of old.

For in hot youth, Oh, it was sweet to greet the balmy night That was love's nurse, and feel the weary eyes Closed by soft kisses,--sweet at early dawn To wake refreshed and, scarce from loving arms Leaping, to issue forth, with winding horn, By dewy heath and brake, and taste the fair Young breath of early morning; and 'twas sweet To chase the bounding quarry all day long With my true hounds and rapid steed, and gay Companions of my youth, and with the eve To turn home laden with the spoil, and take The banquet which awaited, and sweet wine Poured out, and kisses pressed on loving lips; Circled by snowy arms. Oh, it was sweet To be alive and young!

For sure it is The G.o.ds gave not quick pulses and hot blood And strength and beauty for no end, but would That we should use them wisely; and the fair, Sweet mistress of my service was, indeed, Worthy of all observance. Oh, her eyes When 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 toil And peril. At the last, a fierce boar turned At bay, and with his gleaming tusks o'erthrew My 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, tells The young that it is death. Yet knew I not Of pain or fear, only great pity, indeed, That she should lose her love, who was so fond And gracious. But when, lifting my dim gaze, I saw her bend o'er me,--the lovely eyes Suffused with tears, and her sweet smile replaced By agonized sorrow,--for a while I stayed Life'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 knew No 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 forth Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes, Being a G.o.ddess and in heaven, but smooths My path to the old earth, where still I know Once more the sweet lost days, and once again Blossom on that soft breast, and am again A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all As careless as of yore; but seem to know The early spring of pa.s.sion, tamed by time And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow, Less fitful, but more strong."

Then the sad Queen "Fair youth, thy lot I know, for I am old As the old earth and yet as young as is The budding spring, and I was here a Queen, When Love was not or Time, and to my arms Thou camest as a little child, to dwell Within the halls of Death, for without Death There were nor Birth nor Love, nor would Life yearn To lose itself within another life, And dying, to be born. I, too, have died For 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 heaven Ruled, a young sovereign; I, a maiden, dwelt With dread Demeter on the lovely plains Of sunny Sicily. There, day by day, I sported with the maiden G.o.ddesses, In virgin freedom. Budding age made gay Our lightsome feet, and on the flowery slopes We wandered daily, gathering flowers to weave In careless garlands for our locks, and pa.s.sed The days in innocent gladness. Thought of Love There came not to us, for as yet the earth Was virginal, nor yet had Eros come With his delicious pain.

And one fair morn-- Not all the ages blot it--on the side Of aetna we were straying. There was then Summer nor winter, springtide nor the time Of harvest, but the soft unfailing sun Shone always, and the sowing time was one With reaping; fruit and flower together sprung Upon the trees; and blade and ripened ear Together clothed the plains. There, as I strayed, Sudden a black cloud down the rugged side Of aetna, mixed with fire and dreadful sound Of thunder, rolled around me, and I heard The maids who were my fellows turn and flee With shrieks and cries for me.

But I, I knew No terror while the G.o.d o'ershadowed me, Hiding my life in his, nor when I wept My flowers all withered, and my blood ran slow Within a wintry land. Some voice there was Which said, 'Fear not. Thou shalt return and see Thy mother again, only a little while Fate wills that thou shouldst tarry, and become Queen of another world. Thou seest that all Thy flowers are faded. They shall live again On earth, as thou shalt, as thou livest now The Life of Death--for what is Death but Life Suspended as in sleep? The changeless rule Where life was constant, and the sun o'erhead, Blazed forth for ever, changes and is hidden Awhile. This region which thou seest, where all The trees are lifeless, and the flowers are dead, Is but the self-same earth on which erewhile Thou sportedst fancy free.'

So, without fear I wandered on this bare land, seeing far Upon the sky the peaks of my own hills And crests of my own woods. Till, when I grew Hungered, ere yet another form I saw; Along the silent alleys journeying, And leafless groves; a fair and mystic tree Rose like a heart in shape, and 'mid its leaves One golden mystic fruit with a fair seed Hid in it. This, with childish hand, I took And 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 taste They may no longer keep their lives of old Or their own selves unchanged, but some weird change And subtle alchemy comes which can trans.m.u.te The blood, and mould the spirits of G.o.ds and men In some new magical form. Not as before, Our life comes to us, though the pa.s.sion cools, No, never as before. My mother came Too late to seek me. She had power to raise A life from out Death's grasp, but from the arms Of Love she might not take me, nor undo Love's past for all her strength. She came and sought With 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 lands She cast the spell of barrenness; the wheat Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes Blushed no more on the vines, and all the G.o.ds Were sorrowful, seeing the load of ill My rape had laid on men. Last, Zeus himself, Pitying the evil that was done, sent forth His messenger beyond the western rim To fetch me back to earth.