Hippolytus; The Bacchae Part 11

His head with ivy laden And his thyrsus tossing high, For our G.o.d he lifts his cry; "Up, O Bacchae, wife and maiden, Come, O ye Bacchae, come; Oh, bring the Joy-bestower, G.o.d-seed of G.o.d the Sower, Bring Bromios in his power From Phrygia's mountain dome; To street and town and tower, Oh, bring ye Bromios home."

Whom erst in anguish lying For an unborn life's desire, As a dead thing in the Thunder His mother cast to earth; For her heart was dying, dying, In the white heart of the fire; Till Zeus, the Lord of Wonder, Devised new lairs of birth;

Yea, his own flesh tore to hide him, And with clasps of bitter gold Did a secret son enfold, And the Queen knew not beside him; Till the perfect hour was there; Then a horned G.o.d was found, And a G.o.d of serpents crowned; And for that are serpents wound In the wands his maidens bear, And the songs of serpents sound In the mazes of their hair.

_Some Maidens_ All hail, O Thebes, thou nurse of Semele!

With Semele's wild ivy crown thy towers; Oh, burst in bloom of wreathing bryony, Berries and leaves and flowers; Uplift the dark divine wand, The oak-wand and the pine-wand, And don thy fawn-skin, fringed in purity With fleecy white, like ours.

Oh, cleanse thee in the wands' waving pride!

Yea, all men shall dance with us and pray, When Bromios his companies shall guide Hillward, ever hillward, where they stay, The flock of the Believing, The maids from loom and weaving By the magic of his breath borne away.

_Others_ Hail thou, O Nurse of Zeus, O Caverned Haunt Where fierce arms clanged to guard G.o.d's cradle rare, For thee of old crested Corybant First woke in Cretan air The wild orb of our orgies, The Timbrel; and thy gorges Rang with this strain; and blended Phrygian chant And sweet keen pipes were there.

But the Timbrel, the Timbrel was another's, And away to Mother Rhea it must wend; And to our holy singing from the Mother's The mad Satyrs carried it, to blend In the dancing and the cheer Of our third and perfect Year; And it serves Dionysus in the end!

_A Maiden_ O glad, glad on the mountains To swoon in the race outworn, When the holy fawn-skin clings, And all else sweeps away, To the joy of the red quick fountains, The blood of the hill-goat torn, The glory of wild-beast ravenings, Where the hill-tops catch the day; To the Phrygian, Lydian, mountains!

'Tis Bromios leads the way.

_Another Maiden_ Then streams the earth with milk, yea, streams With wine and nectar of the bee, And through the air dim perfume steams Of Syrian frankincense; and He, Our leader, from his thyrsus spray A torchlight tosses high and higher, A torchlight like a beacon-fire, To waken all that faint and stray; And sets them leaping as he sings, His tresses rippling to the sky, And deep beneath the Maenad cry His proud voice rings: "Come, O ye Bacchae, come!"

_All the Maidens_ Hither, O fragrant of Tmolus the Golden, Come with the voice of timbrel and drum; Let the cry of your joyance uplift and embolden The G.o.d of the joy-cry; O Baccha.n.a.ls, come!

With pealing of pipes and with Phrygian clamour, On, where the vision of holiness thrills, And the music climbs and the maddening glamour, With the wild White Maids, to the hills, to the hills!

Oh, then, like a colt as he runs by a river, A colt by his dam, when the heart of him sings, With the keen limbs drawn and the fleet foot a-quiver, Away the Baccha.n.a.l springs!

[_Enter_ TEIRESIAS. _He is an old man and blind, leaning upon a staff and moving with slow stateliness, though wearing the Ivy and the Bacchic fawn-skin_.]

TEIRESIAS Ho, there, who keeps the gate?--Go, summon me Cadmus, Agenor's son, who crossed the sea From Sidon and upreared this Theban hold.

Go, whosoe'er thou art. See he be told Teiresias seeketh him. Himself will gauge Mine errand, and the compact, age with age, I vowed with him, grey hair with snow-white hair, To deck the new G.o.d's thyrsus, and to wear His fawn-skin, and with ivy crown our brows.

[_Enter_ CADMUS _from the Castle. He is even older than_ TEIRESIAS, _and wears the same attire_.]

CADMUS True friend! I knew that voice of thine, that flows Like mellow wisdom from a fountain wise.

And, lo, I come prepared, in all the guise And harness of this G.o.d. Are we not told His is the soul of that dead life of old That sprang from mine own daughter? Surely then Must thou and I with all the strength of men Exalt him.

Where then shall I stand, where tread The dance and toss this bowed and h.o.a.ry head?

O friend, in thee is wisdom; guide my grey And eld-worn steps, eld-worn Teiresias.--Nay; I am not weak.

[_At the first movement of wors.h.i.+p his manner begins to change; a mysterious strength and exaltation enter into him._]

Surely this arm could smite The wild earth with its thyrsus, day and night, And faint not! Sweetly and forgetfully The dim years fall from off me!

TEIRESIAS As with thee, With me 'tis likewise. Light am I and young, And will essay the dancing and the song.

CADMUS Quick, then, our chariots to the mountain road.

TEIRESIAS Nay; to take steeds were to mistrust the G.o.d.

CADMUS So be it. Mine old arms shall guide thee there.

TEIRESIAS The G.o.d himself shall guide! Have thou no care.

CADMUS And in all Thebes shall no man dance but we?

TEIRESIAS Aye, Thebes is blinded. Thou and I can see.

CADMUS 'Tis weary waiting; hold my hand, friend; so.

TEIRESIAS Lo, there is mine. So linked let us go.

CADMUS Shall things of dust the G.o.ds' dark ways despise?

TEIRESIAS Or prove our wit on Heaven's high mysteries?

Not thou and I! That heritage sublime Our sires have left us, wisdom old as time, No word of man, how deep soe'er his thought And won of subtlest toil, may bring to naught.

Aye, men will rail that I forgot my years, To dance and wreath with ivy these white hairs; What recks it? Seeing the G.o.d no line hath told To mark what man shall dance, or young or old; But craves his honours from mortality All, no man marked apart; and great shall be!

CADMUS (_after looking away toward the Mountain_).

Teiresias, since this light thou canst not read, I must be seer for thee. Here comes in speed Pentheus, Echion's son, whom I have raised To rule my people in my stead.--Amazed He seems. Stand close, and mark what we shall hear.

[_The two stand back, partially concealed, while there enters in hot haste_ PENTHEUS, _followed by a bodyguard. He is speaking to the_ SOLDIER _in command._]

PENTHEUS Scarce had I crossed our borders, when mine ear Was caught by this strange rumour, that our own Wives, our own sisters, from their hearths are flown To wild and secret rites; and cl.u.s.ter there High on the shadowy hills, with dance and prayer To adore this new-made G.o.d, this Dionyse, Whate'er he be!--And in their companies Deep wine-jars stand, and ever and anon Away into the loneliness now one Steals forth, and now a second, maid or dame Where love lies waiting, not of G.o.d! The flame They say, of Bacchios wraps them. Bacchios! Nay, 'Tis more to Aphrodite that they pray.

Howbeit, all that I have found, my men Hold bound and shackled in our dungeon den; The rest, I will go hunt them! Aye, and snare My birds with nets of iron, to quell their prayer And mountain song and rites of rascaldom!

They tell me, too, there is a stranger come, A man of charm and spell, from Lydian seas, A head all gold and cloudy fragrancies, A wine-red cheek, and eyes that hold the light Of the very Cyprian. Day and livelong night He haunts amid the damsels, o'er each lip Dangling his cup of joyance! Let me grip Him once, but once, within these walls, right swift That wand shall cease its music, and that drift Of tossing curls lie still--when my rude sword Falls between neck and trunk! 'Tis all his word, This tale of Dionysus; how that same Babe that was blasted by the lightning flame With his dead mother, for that mother's lie, Was re-conceived, born perfect from the thigh Of Zeus, and now is G.o.d! What call ye these?

Dreams? Gibes of the unknown wanderer? Blasphemies That crave the very gibbet?

Stay! G.o.d wot, Here is another marvel! See I not In motley fawn-skins robed the vision-seer Teiresias? And my mother's father here-- O depth of scorn!--adoring with the wand Of Bacchios?--Father!--Nay, mine eyes are fond; It is not your white heads so fancy-flown!

It cannot be! Cast off that ivy crown, O mine own mother's sire! Set free that hand That cowers about its staff.

'Tis thou hast planned This work, Teiresias! 'Tis thou must set Another altar and another yet Amongst us, watch new birds, and win more hire Of gold, interpreting new signs of fire!

But for thy silver hairs, I tell thee true, Thou now wert sitting chained amid thy crew Of raving damsels, for this evil dream Thou hast brought us, of new G.o.ds! When once the gleam Of grapes hath lit a Woman's Festival, In all their prayers is no more health at all!

LEADER OF THE CHORUS (_the words are not heard by_ PENTHEUS) Injurious King, hast thou no fear of G.o.d, Nor Cadmus, sower of the Giants' Sod, Life-spring to great Echion and to thee?

TEIRESIAS Good words my son, come easily, when he That speaks is wise, and speaks but for the right.

Else come they never! Swift are thine, and bright As though with thought, yet have no thought at all Lo this new G.o.d, whom thou dost flout withal, I cannot speak the greatness wherewith He In h.e.l.las shall be great! Two spirits there be, Young Prince, that in man's world are first of worth.

Demeter one is named; she is the Earth-- Call her which name thou will!--who feeds man's frame With sustenance of things dry. And that which came Her work to perfect, second, is the Power From Semele born. He found the liquid show Hid in the grape. He rests man's spirit dim From grieving, when the vine exalteth him.

He giveth sleep to sink the fretful day In cool forgetting. Is there any way With man's sore heart, save only to forget?

Yea, being G.o.d, the blood of him is set Before the G.o.ds in sacrifice, that we For his sake may be blest.--And so, to thee, That fable shames him, how this G.o.d was knit Into G.o.d's flesh? Nay, learn the truth of it Cleared from the false.--When from that deadly light Zeus saved the babe, and up to Olympus' height Raised him, and Hera's wrath would cast him thence Then Zeus devised him a divine defence.

A fragment of the world-encircling fire He rent apart, and wrought to his desire Of shape and hue, in the image of the child, And gave to Hera's rage. And so, beguiled By change and pa.s.sing time, this tale was born, How the babe-G.o.d was hidden in the torn Flesh of his sire. He hath no shame thereby.

A prophet is he likewise. Prophecy Cleaves to all frenzy, but beyond all else To frenzy of prayer. Then in us verily dwells The G.o.d himself, and speaks the thing to be.

Yea, and of Ares' realm a part hath he.

When mortal armies, mailed and arrayed, Have in strange fear, or ever blade met blade, Fled maddened, 'tis this G.o.d hath palsied them.

Aye, over Delphi's rock-built diadem Thou yet shalt see him leaping with his train Of fire across the twin-peaked mountain-plain, Flaming the darkness with his mystic wand, And great in h.e.l.las.--List and understand, King Pentheus! Dream not thou that force is power; Nor, if thou hast a thought, and that thought sour And sick, oh, dream not thought is wisdom!--Up, Receive this G.o.d to Thebes; pour forth the cup Of sacrifice, and pray, and wreathe thy brow.

Thou fearest for the damsels? Think thee now; How toucheth this the part of Dionyse To hold maids pure perforce? In them it lies, And their own hearts; and in the wildest rite Cometh no stain to her whose heart is white.

Nay, mark me! Thou hast thy joy, when the Gate Stands thronged, and Pentheus' name is lifted great And high by Thebes in clamour; shall not He Rejoice in his due meed of majesty?

Howbeit, this Cadmus whom thou scorn'st and I Will wear His crown, and tread His dances! Aye, Our hairs are white, yet shall that dance be trod!

I will not lift mine arm to war with G.o.d For thee nor all thy words. Madness most fell Is on thee, madness wrought by some dread spell, But not by spell nor leechcraft to be cured!

CHORUS Grey prophet, worthy of Phoebus is thy word, And wise in honouring Bromios, our great G.o.d.

CADMUS My son, right well Teiresias points thy road.

Oh, make thine habitation here with us, Not lonely, against men's uses. Hazardous Is this quick bird-like beating of thy thought Where no thought dwells.--Grant that this G.o.d be naught, Yet let that Naught be Somewhat in thy mouth; Lie boldly, and say He is! So north and south Shall marvel, how there sprang a thing divine From Semele's flesh, and honour all our line.