The Epic of Hades Part 2

So spake he, and I seemed to look on him, Whose sad young eyes grow on us from the page Of his own verse: who did himself to death: Or whom the dullard slew: or whom the sea Rapt from us: and I pa.s.sed without a word, Slow, grave, with many musings.

Then I came On one a maiden, meek with folded hands, Seated against a rugged face of cliff, In silent thought. Anon she raised her arms, Her gleaming arms, above her on the rock, With hands which clasped each other, till she showed As in a statue, and her white robe fell Down from her maiden shoulders, and I knew The fair form as it seemed chained to the stone By some invisible gyves, and named her name: And then she raised her frightened eyes to mine As one who, long expecting some great fear, Scarce sees deliverance come. But when she saw Only a kindly glance, a softer look Came in them, and she answered to my thought With a sweet voice and low.

"I did but muse Upon the painful past, long dead and done, Forgetting I was saved.

The angry clouds Burst always on the low flat plains, and swept The harvest to the ocean; all the land Was wasted. A great serpent from the deep, Lifting his horrible head above their homes, Devoured the children. And the people prayed In vain to careless G.o.ds.

On that dear land, Which now was turned into a sullen sea, Gazing in safety from the stately towers Of my sire's palace, I, a princess, saw, Lapt in soft luxury, within my bower The wreck of humble homes come whirling by, The drowning, bleating flocks, the bellowing herds, The grain scarce husbanded by toiling hands Upon the sunlit plain, rush to the sea, With floating corpses. On the rain-swept hills The remnant of the people huddled close, Homeless and starving. All my being was filled With pity for them, and I joyed to give What food and shelter and compa.s.sionate hands Of woman might. I took the little ones And clasped them s.h.i.+vering to the virgin breast Which knew no other touch but theirs, and gave Raiment and food. My sire, not stern to me, Smiled on me as he saw. My gentle mother, Who loved me with a closer love than binds A mother to her son; and sunned herself In my fresh beauty, seeing in my young eyes Her own fair vanished youth; doted on me, And fain had kept my eyes from the sad sights That pained them. But my heart was sad in me, Seeing the ineffable miseries of life, And that mysterious anger of the G.o.ds, And helpless to allay them. All in vain Were prayer and supplication, all in vain The costly victims steamed. The vengeful clouds Hid the fierce sky, and still the ruin came.

And wallowing his grim length within the flood, Over the ravaged fields and homeless homes, The fell sea-monster raged, sating his jaws With blood and rapine.

Then to the dread shrine Of Ammon went the priests, and reverend chiefs Of all the nation. White robed, at their head, Went slow my royal sire. The oracle Spoke clear, not as ofttimes in words obscure, Ambiguous. And as we stood to meet The suppliants--she who bare me, with her head Upon my neck--we cheerful and with song Welcomed their swift return; auguring well From such a quick-sped mission.

But my sire Hid his face from me, and the crowd of priests And n.o.bles looked not at us. And no word Was spoken till at last one drew a scroll And gave it to the queen, who straightway swooned, Having read it, on my breast, and then I saw, I the young girl whose soft life scarcely knew Shadow of sorrow, I whose heart was full Of pity for the rest, what doom was mine.

I think I hardly knew in that dread hour The fear that came anon; I was transformed Into a champion of my race, made strong With a new courage, glorying to meet, In all the ecstasy of sacrifice, Death face to face. Some G.o.d, I know not who, O'erspread me, and despite my mother's tears And my stern father's grief, I met my fate Unshrinking.

When the moon rose clear from cloud Once more again over the midnight sea, And that vast watery plain, where were before Hundreds of happy homes, and well-tilled fields, And purple vineyards; from my father's towers The white procession went along the paths, The high cliff paths, which well I loved of old, Among the myrtles. Priests with censers went And offerings, robed in white, and round their brows The sacred fillet. With his n.o.bles walked My sire with breaking heart. My mother clung To me the victim, and the young girls went With wailing and with tears. A solemn strain The soft flutes sounded, as we went by night To a wild headland, rock-based in the sea.

There on a sea-worn rock, upon the verge, To some rude stanchions, high above my head, They bound me. Out at sea, a black reef rose, Washed by the constant surge, wherein a cave Sheltered deep down the monster. The sad queen Would scarcely leave me, though the priests shrunk back In terror. Last, torn from my endless kiss, Swooning they bore her upwards. All my robe Fell from my lifted arms, and left displayed The virgin treasure of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s; and then The white procession through the moonlight streamed Upwards, and soon their soft flutes sounded low Upon the high lawns, leaving me alone.

There stood I in the moonlight, left alone Against the sea-worn rock. Hardly I knew, Seeing only the bright moon and summer sea, Which gently heaved and surged, and kissed the ledge With smooth warm tides, what fate was mine. I seemed, Soothed by the quiet, to be resting still Within my maiden chamber, and to watch The moonlight thro' my lattice. Then again Fear came, and then the pride of sacrifice Filled me, as on the high cliff lawns I heard The wailing cries, the chanted liturgies, And knew me bound forsaken to the rock, And saw the monster-haunted depths of sea.

So all night long upon the sandy sh.o.r.es I heard the hollow murmur of the wave, And all night long the hidden sea caves made A ghostly echo; and the sea birds mewed Around me; once I heard a mocking laugh, As of some scornful Nereid; once the waters Broke louder on the scarped reefs, and ebbed As if the monster coming; but again He came not, and the dead moon sank, and still Only upon the cliffs the wails, the chants, And I forsaken on my sea-worn rock, And lo, the monster-haunted depths of sea.

Till at the dead dark hour before the dawn, When sick men die, and scarcely fear itself Bore up my weary eyelids, a great surge Burst on the rock, and slowly, as it seemed, The sea sucked downward to its depths, laid bare The hidden reefs, and then before my eyes-- Oh, horrible! a huge and loathsome snake Lifted his dreadful crest and scaly side Above the wave, in bulk and length so large, Coil after hideous coil, that scarce the eye Could measure its full horror; the great jaws Dropped as with gore; the large and furious eyes Were fired with blood and l.u.s.t. Nearer he came, And slowly, with a devilish glare, more near, Till his hot foetor choked me, and his tongue, Forked horribly within his poisonous jaws, Played lightning-like around me. For awhile I swooned, and when I knew my life again, Death's bitterness was past.

Then with a bound Leaped up the broad red sun above the sea, And lit the horrid fulgour of his scales, And struck upon the rock; and as I turned My head in the last agony of death, I knew a brilliant sunbeam swiftly leaping Downward from crag to crag, and felt new hope Where all was hopeless. On the hills a shout Of joy, and on the rocks the ring of mail; And while the hungry serpent's gloating eyes Were fixed on me, a knight in casque of gold And blazing s.h.i.+eld, who with his flas.h.i.+ng blade Fell on the monster. Long the conflict raged, Till all the rocks were red with blood and slime, And yet my champion from those horrible jaws And dreadful coils was scatheless. Zeus his sire Protected, and the awful s.h.i.+eld he bore Withered the monster's life and left him cold, Dragging his helpless length and grovelling crest: And o'er his glaring eyes the films of death Crept, and his writhing flank and hiss of hate The great deep swallowed down, and blood and spume Rose on the waves; and a strange wailing cry Resounded o'er the waters, and the sea Bellowed within its hollow-sounding caves.

Then knew I, I was saved, and with me all The people. From my wrists he loosed the gyves, My hero; and within his G.o.dlike arms Bore me by slippery rock and difficult path, To where my mother prayed. There was no need To ask my love. Without a spoken word Love lit his fires within me. My young heart Went forth, Love calling, and I gave him all.

Dost thou then wonder that the memory Of this supreme brief moment lingers still, While all the happy uneventful years Of wedded life, and all the fair young growth Of offspring, and the tranquil later joys, Nay, even the fierce eventful fight which raged When we were wedded, fade and are deceased, Lost in the irrecoverable past?

Nay, 'tis not strange. Always the memory Of overwhelming perils or great joys, Avoided or enjoyed, writes its own trace With such deep characters upon our lives, That all the rest are blotted. In this place, Where is not action, thought, or count of time, It is not weary as it were on earth, To dwell on these old memories. Time is born Of dawns and sunsets, days that wax and wane And stamp themselves upon the yielding face Of fleeting human life; but here there is Morning nor evening, act nor suffering, But only one unchanging Present holds Our being suspended. One blest day indeed, Or centuries ago or yesterday, There came among us one who was Divine, Not as our G.o.ds, joyous and breathing strength And careless life, but crowned with a new crown Of suffering, and a great light came with him, And with him he brought Time and a new sense Of dim, long-vanished years; and since he pa.s.sed I seem to see new meaning in my fate, And all the deeds I tell of. Evermore The young life comes, bound to the cruel rocks Alone. Before it the unfathomed sea Smiles, filled with monstrous growths that wait to take Its innocence. Far off the voice and hand Of love kneel by in agony, and entreat The seeming careless G.o.ds. Still when the deep Is smoothest, lo, the deadly fangs and coils Lurk near, to smite with death. And o'er the crags Of duty, like a sudden sunbeam, springs Some golden soul half mortal, half divine, Heaven-sent, and breaks the chain; and evermore For sacrifice they die, through sacrifice They live, and are for others, and no grief Which smites the humblest but reverberates Thro' all the close-set files of life, and takes The princely soul that from its royal towers Looks down and sees the sorrow.

Sir, farewell!

If thou shouldst meet my children on the earth Or here, for maybe it is long ago Since I and they were living, say to them I only muse a little here, and wait The waking."

And her lifted arms sank down Upon her knees, and as I pa.s.sed I saw her Gazing with soft rapt eyes, and on her lips A smile as of a saint.

And then I saw A manly hunter pace along the lea, His bow upon his shoulder, and his spear Poised idly in his hand: the face and form Of vigorous youth; but in the full brown eyes A timorous gaze as of a hunted hart, Brute-like, yet human still, even as the Faun Of old, the dumb brute pa.s.sing into man, And dowered with double nature. As he came I seemed to question of his fate, and he Answered me thus: "'Twas one hot afternoon That I, a hunter, wearied with my day, Heard my hounds baying fainter on the hills, Led by the flying hart; and when the sound Faded and all was still, I turned to seek, O'ercome by heat and thirst, a little glade, Beloved of old, where, in the shadowy wood, The clear cold crystal of a mossy pool Lipped the soft emerald marge, and gave again The flower-starred lawn where ofttimes overspent I lay upon the gra.s.s and careless bathed My limbs in the sweet lymph.

But as I neared The hollow, sudden through the leaves I saw A throng of wood-nymphs fair, sporting undraped Round one, a G.o.ddess. She with timid hand Loosened her zone, and glancing round let fall Her robe from neck and bosom, pure and bright, (For it was Dian's self I saw, none else) As when she frees her from a fleece of cloud And swims along the deep blue sea of heaven On sweet June nights. Silent awhile I stood, Rooted with awe, and fain had turned to fly, But feared by careless footstep to affright Those chaste cold eyes. Great awe and reverence Held me, and fear; then Love with pa.s.sing wing Fanned me, and held my eyes, and checked my breath, Signing 'Beware!'

So for a time I watched, Breathless as one a brooding nightmare holds, Who fleeth some great fear, yet fleeth not; Till the last flutter of lawn, and veil no more Obscured, and all the beauty of my dreams a.s.sailed my sense. But ere I raised my eyes, As one who fain would look and see the sun, The first glance dazed my brain. Only I knew The perfect outline flow in tender curves, To break in doubled charms; only a haze Of creamy white, dimple, and deep divine: And then no more. For lo! a sudden chill, And such thick mist as shuts the hills at eve, Oppressed me gazing; and a heaven-sent shame, An awe, a fear, a reverence for the unknown, Froze all the springs of will and left me cold, And blinded all the longings of my eyes, Leaving such dim reflection still as mocks Him who has looked on a great light, and keeps On his closed eyes the image. Presently, My fainting soul, safe hidden for awhile Deep in Life's mystic shades, renewed herself, And straight, the innocent brute within the man Bore on me, and with half-averted eye I gazed upon the secret.

As I looked, A radiance, white as beamed the frosty moon On the mad boy and slew him, beamed on me; Made chill my pulses, checked my life and heat; Transformed me, withered all my soul, and left My being burnt out. For lo! the dreadful eyes Of G.o.dhead met my gaze, and through the mask And thick disguise of sense, as through a wood, Pierced to my life. Then suddenly I knew An altered nature, touched by no desire For that which showed so lovely, but declined To lower levels. Nought of fear or awe, Nothing of love was mine. Wide-eyed I gazed, But saw no spiritual beam to blight My brain with too much beauty, no undraped And awful majesty; only a brute, Dumb charm, like that which draws the brute to it, Unknowing it is drawn. So gradually I knew a dull content o'ercloud my sense, And unabashed I gazed, like that dumb bird Which thinks no thought and speaks no word, yet fronts The sun that blinded Homer--all my fear Sunk with my shame, in a base happiness.

But as I gazed, and careless turned and pa.s.sed Through the thick wood, forgetting what had been, And thinking thoughts no longer, swift there came A mortal terror: voices that I knew, My own hounds' bayings that I loved before, As with them often o'er the purple hills I chased the flying hart from slope to slope, Before the slow sun climbed the Eastern peaks, Until the swift sun smote the Western plain; Whom often I had cheered by voice and glance, Whom often I had checked with hand and thong Grim followers, like the pa.s.sions, firing me, True servants, like the strong nerves, urging me On many a fruitless chase, to find and take Some too swift-fleeting beauty; faithful feet And tongues, obedient always: these I knew, Clothed with a new-born force and vaster grown, And stronger than their master; and I thought, What if they tare me with their jaws, nor knew That once I ruled them,--brute pursuing brute, And I the quarry? Then I turned and fled,-- If it was I indeed that feared and fled-- Down the long glades, and through the tangled brakes, Where scarce the sunlight pierced; fled on and on, And panted, self-pursued. But evermore The dissonant music which I knew so sweet, When by the windy hills, the echoing vales, And whispering pines it rang, now far, now near, As from my rus.h.i.+ng steed I leant and cheered With voice and horn the chase--this brought to me Fear of I knew not what, which bade me fly, Fly always, fly; but when my heart stood still, And all my limbs were stiffened as I fled, Just as the white moon ghost-like climbed the sky, Nearer they came and nearer, baying loud, With bloodshot eyes and red jaws dripping foam; And when I strove to check their savagery, Speaking with words; no voice articulate came, Only a dumb, low bleat. Then all the throng Leapt swift on me, and tare me as I lay, And left me man again.

Wherefore I walk Along these dim fields peopled with the ghosts Of heroes who have left the ways of earth For this faint ghost of them. Sometimes I think, Pondering on what has been, that all my days Were shadows, all my life an allegory; And, though I know sometimes some fainter gleam Of the old beauty move me, and sometimes Some beat of the old pulses; that my fate, For ever hurrying on in hot pursuit, To fall at length self-slain, was but a tale Writ large by Zeus upon a mortal life, Writ large, and yet a riddle. For sometimes I read its meaning thus: Life is a chase, And Man the hunter, always following on, With hounds of rus.h.i.+ng thought or fiery sense, Some hidden truth or beauty, fleeting still For ever through the thick-leaved coverts deep And wind-worn wolds of time. And if he turn A moment from the hot pursuit to seize Some chance-brought sweetness, other than the search To which his soul is set,--some dalliance, Some outward shape of Art, some lower love, Some charm of wealth and sleek content and home,-- Then, if he check an instant, the swift chase Of fierce untempered energies which pursue, With jaws unsated and a thirst for act, Bears down on him with clanging shock, and whelms His prize and him in ruin.

And sometimes I seem to myself a thinker, who at last, Amid the chase and capture of low ends, Pausing by some cold well of hidden thought Comes on some perfect truth, and looks and looks Till the fair vision blinds him. And the sum Of all his lower self pursuing him, The strong brute forces, the unchecked desires, Finding him bound and speechless, deem him now No more their master, but some soulless thing; And leap on him, and seize him, and possess His life, till through death's gate he pa.s.s to life, And, his own ghost, revives. But looks no more Upon the truth unveiled, save through a cloud Of creed and faith and longing, which shall change One day to perfect knowledge.

But whoe'er Shall read the riddle of my life, I walk In this dim land amid dim ghosts of kings, As one day thou shalt; meantime, fare thou well."

Then pa.s.sed he; and I marked him slowly go Along the winding ways of that weird land, And vanish in a wood.

And next I knew A woman perfect as a young man's dream, And breathing as it seemed the old sweet air Of the fair days of old, when man was young And life an Epic. Round the lips a smile Subtle and deep and sweet as hers who looks From the old painter's canvas, and derides Life and the riddle of things, the aimless strife, The folly of Love, as who has proved it all, Enjoyed and suffered. In the lovely eyes A weary look, no other than the gaze Which ofttimes as the rapid chariot whirls, And ofttimes by the glaring midnight streets, Gleams out and chills our thought. And yet not guilt Nor sorrow was it; only weariness, No more, and still most lovely. As I named Her name in haste, she looked with half surprise, And thus she seemed to speak: "What? Dost thou know Thou too, the fatal glances which beguiled Those strong rude chiefs of old? Has not the gloom Of this dim land withdrawn from out mine eyes The glamour which once filled them? Does my cheek Retain the round of youth and still defy The wear of immemorial centuries?

And this low voice, long silent, keeps it still The music of old time? Aye, in thine eyes I read it, and within thine eyes I see Thou knowest me, and the story of my life Sung by the blind old bard when I was dead, And all my lovers dust. I know thee not, Thee nor thy G.o.ds, yet would I soothly swear I was not all to blame for what has been, The long fight, the swift death, the woes, the tears The brave lives spent, the humble homes uptorn To gain one poor fair face. It was not I That curved these lips into this subtle smile, Or gave these eyes their fire, nor yet made round This supple frame. It was not I, but Love, Love mirroring himself in all things fair, Love that projects himself upon a life, And dotes on his own image.

Ah! the days, The weary years of Love and feasts and gold, The hurried flights, the din of clattering hoofs At midnight, when the heroes dared for me, And bore me o'er the hills; the swift pursuits Baffled and lost; or when from isle to isle The high-oared galley spread its wings and rose Over the swelling surges, and I saw, Time after time, the scarce familiar town, The sharp-cut hills, the well-loved palaces, The gleaming temples fade, and all for me, Me the dead prize, the sh.e.l.l, the soulless ghost, The husk of a true woman; the fond words Wasted on careless ears, that seemed to hear, Of love to me unloving; the rich feasts, The silken dalliance and soft luxury, The fair observance and high reverence For me who cared not, to whatever land My kingly lover s.n.a.t.c.hed me. I have known How small a fence Love sets between the king And the strong hind, who breeds his brood, and dies Upon the field he tills. I have exchanged People for people, crown for glittering crown, Through every change a queen, and held my state Hateful, and sickened in my soul to lie Stretched on soft cus.h.i.+ons to the lutes' low sound, While on the wasted fields the clang of arms Rang, and the foemen perished, and swift death, Hunger, and plague, and every phase of woe Vexed all the land for me. I have heard the curse Unspoken, when the wife widowed for me Clasped to her heart her orphans starved for me; As I swept proudly by. I have prayed the G.o.ds, Hating my own fair face which wrought such woe, Some plague divine might light on it and leave My curse a ruin. Yet I think indeed They had not cursed but pitied, those true wives Who mourned their humble lords, and straining felt The innocent thrill which swells the mother's heart Who clasps her growing boy; had they but known The lifeless life, the pain of hypocrite smiles, The dead load of caresses simulated, When Love stands shuddering by to see his fires Lit for the shrine of gold. What if they felt The weariness of loveless love which grew And through the jealous palace portals seized The caged unloving woman, sick of toys, Sick of her gilded chains, her ease, herself, Till for sheer weariness she flew to meet Some new unloved seducer? What if they knew No childish loving hands, or worse than all, Had borne them sullen to a sire unloved, And left them without pain? I might have been, I too, a loving mother and chaste wife, Had Fate so willed.

For I remember well How one day straying from my father's halls Seeking anemones and violets, A girl in Spring-time, when the heart makes Spring Within the budding bosom, that I came Of a sudden through a wood upon a bay, A little sunny land-locked bay, whose banks Sloped gently downward to the yellow sand, Where the blue wave creamed soft with fairy foam, And oft the Nereids sported. As I strayed Singing, with fresh-pulled violets in my hair And bosom, and my hands were full of flowers, I came upon a little milk-white lamb, And took it in my arms and fondled it, And wreathed its neck with flowers, and sang to it And kissed it, and the Spring was in my life, And I was glad.

And when I raised my eyes Behold, a youthful shepherd with his crook Stood by me and regarded as I lay, Tall, fair, with cl.u.s.tering curls, and front that wore A budding manhood. As I looked a fear Came o'er me, lest he were some youthful G.o.d Disguised in shape of man, so fair he was; But when he spoke, the kindly face was full Of manhood, and the large eyes full of fire Drew me without a word, and all the flowers Fell from me, and the little milk-white lamb Strayed through the brake, and took with it the white Fair years of childhood. Time fulfilled my being With pa.s.sion like a cup, and with one kiss Left me a woman.

Ah! the lovely days, When on the warm bank crowned with flowers we sate And thought no harm, and his thin reed pipe made Low music, and no witness of our love Intruded, but the tinkle of the flock Came from the hill, and 'neath the odorous shade We dreamed away the day, and watched the waves Steal sh.o.r.eward, and beyond the sylvan capes The innumerable laughter of the sea!

Ah youth and love! So pa.s.sed the happy days Till twilight, and I stole as in a dream Homeward, and lived as in a happy dream, And when they spoke answered as in a dream, And through the darkness saw, as in a gla.s.s, The happy, happy day, and thrilled and glowed And kept my love in sleep, and longed for dawn And scarcely stayed for hunger, and with morn Stole eager to the little wood, and fed My life with kisses. Ah! the joyous days Of innocence, when Love was Queen in heaven, And nature unreproved! Break they then still, Those azure circles, on a golden sh.o.r.e?

Smiles there no glade upon the older earth Where spite of all, gray wisdom, and new G.o.ds, Young lovers dream within each other's arms Silent, by shadowy grove, or sunlit sea?

Ah days too fair to last! There came a night When I lay longing for my love, and knew Sudden the clang of hoofs, the broken doors.

The clash of swords, the shouts, the groans, the stain Of red upon the marble, the fixed gaze Of dead and dying eyes,--that was the time When first I looked on death,--and when I woke From my deep swoon, I felt the night air cool Upon my brow, and the cold stars look down, As swift we galloped o'er the darkling plain; And saw the chill sea glimpses slowly wake, With arms unknown around me. When the dawn Broke swift, we panted on the pathless steeps, And so by plain and mountain till we came To Athens, where they kept me till I grew Fairer with every year, and many wooed, Heroes and chieftains, but I loved not one.

And then the avengers came and s.n.a.t.c.hed me back To Sparta. All the dark high-crested chiefs Of Argos wooed me, striving king with king For one fair foolish face, nor knew I kept No heart to give them. Yet since I was grown Weary of honeyed words and suit of love, I wedded a brave chief, dauntless and true.

But what cared I? I could not prize at all His honest service. I had grown so tired Of loving and of love, that when they brought News that the fairest shepherd on the hills, Having done himself to death for his lost love, Lay, like a lovely statue, cold and white Upon the golden sand, I hardly knew More than a pa.s.sing pang. Love, like a flower, Love, springing up too tall in a young breast, The growth of morning, Life's too scorching sun Had withered long ere noon. Love, like a flame On his own altar offering up my heart, Had burnt my being to ashes.

Was it love That drew me then to Paris? He was fair, I grant you, fairer than a summer morn, Fair with a woman's fairness, yet in arms A hero, but he never had my heart, Not love for him allured me, but the thirst For freedom, if in more than thought I erred, And was not rapt but willing. For my child, Born to an unloved father, loved me not, The fresh sea called, the galleys plunged, and I Fled willing from my prison and the pain Of undesired caresses, and the wind Was fair, and on the third day as we sailed, My heart was glad within me when I saw The towers of Ilium rise beyond the wave.

Ah, the long years, the melancholy years, The miserable melancholy years!

For soon the new grew old, and then I grew Weary of him, of all, of pomp and state And novel splendour. Yet at times I knew Some thrill of pride within me as I saw From those high walls, a prisoner and a foe, The swift s.h.i.+ps flock at anchor in the bay, The hasty landing and the flash of arms, The lines of royal tents upon the plain, The close-shut gates, the chivalry within Issuing in all its pride to meet the shock Of the bold chiefs without; so year by year The haughty challenge from the warring hosts Rang forth, and I with a divided heart Saw victory incline, now here, now there, And helpless marked the Argive chiefs I knew, The spouse I left, the princely loves of old, Now with each other strive, and now with Troy: The brave pomp of the morn, the fair strong limbs, The glittering panoply, the bold young hearts, Athirst for fame of war, and with the night The broken spear, the shattered helm, the plume Dyed red with blood, the ghastly dying face, And nerveless limbs laid lifeless. And I knew The stainless Hector whom I could have loved, But that a happy love made blind his eyes To all my baleful beauty; fallen and dragged His n.o.ble, manly head upon the sand By young Achilles' chariot; him in turn Fallen and slain; my fair false Paris slain; Plague, famine, battle, raging now within, And now without, for many a weary year, Summer and winter, till I loathed to live, Who was indeed, as well they said, the h.e.l.l Of men, and fleets, and cities. As I stood Upon the walls, ofttimes a longing came, Looking on rage, and fight, and blood, and death, To end it all, and dash me down and die; But no G.o.d helped me. Nay, one day I mind I would entreat them. 'Pray you, lords, be men.

What fatal charm is this which Ate gives To one poor foolish face? Be strong, and turn In peace, forget this glamour, get you home With all your fleets and armies, to the land I love no longer, where your faithful wives Pine widowed of their lords, and your young boys Grow wild to manhood. I have nought to give, No heart, nor prize of love for any man, Nor recompense. I am the ghost alone Of the fair girl ye knew; she still abides, If she still lives and is not wholly dead, Stretched on a flowery bank upon the sea In fair heroic Argos. Leave this form That is no other than the outward sh.e.l.l Of a once loving woman.'

As I spake, My pity fired my eyes and flushed my cheek With some soft charm; and as I spread my hands, The purple, glancing down a little, left The marble of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and one pink bud Upon the gleaming snows. And as I looked With a mixed pride and terror, I beheld The brute rise up within them, and my words Fall barren on them. So I sat apart, Nor ever more looked forth, while every day Brought its own woe.

The melancholy years, The miserable melancholy years, Crept onward till the midnight terror came, And by the glare of burning streets I saw Palace and temple reel in ruin and fall, And the long-baffled legions, bursting in By gate and bastion, blunted sword and spear With unresisted slaughter. From my tower I saw the good old king; his kindly eyes In agony, and all his reverend hairs Dabbled with blood, as the fierce foeman thrust And stabbed him as he lay; the youths, the girls, Whom day by day I knew, their silken ease And royal luxury changed for blood and tears, Haled forth to death or worse. Then a great hate Of life and fate seized on me, and I rose And rushed among them, crying, 'See, 'tis I, I who have brought this evil! Kill me! kill The fury that is I, yet is not I!

And let my soul go outward through the wound Made clean by blood to Hades! Let me die, Not these who did no wrong!' But not a hand Was raised, and all shrank backward as afraid, As from a G.o.ddess. Then I swooned and fell And knew no more, and when I woke I felt My husband's arms around me, and the wind Blew fair for Greece, and the beaked galley plunged; And where the towers of Ilium rose of old, A pall of smoke above a glare of fire.

What then in the near future?

Ten long years Bring youth and love to that deep summer-tide When the full noisy current of our lives Creeps dumb through wealth of flowers. I think I knew Somewhat of peace at last, with my good Lord Who loved too much, to palter with the past, Flushed with the present. Young Hermione Had grown from child to woman. She was wed; And was not I her mother? At the pomp Of solemn nuptials and requited love, I prayed she might be happy, happier far Than ever I was; so in tranquil ease I lived a queen long time, and because wealth And high observance can make sweet our days When youth's swift joy is past, I did requite With what I might, not love, the kindly care Of him I loved not; pomps and robes of price And chariots held me. But when Fate cut short His life and love, his sons who were not mine Reigned in his stead, and hated me and mine: And knowing I was friendless, I sailed forth Once more across the sea, seeking for rest And shelter. Still I knew that in my eyes Love dwelt, and all the baleful charm of old Burned as of yore, scarce dimmed as yet by time: I saw it in the mirror of the sea, I saw it in the youthful seamen's eyes, And was half proud again I had such power Who now kept nothing else. So one calm eve, Behold, a sweet fair isle blushed like a rose Upon the summer sea: there my swift s.h.i.+p Cast anchor, and they told me it was Rhodes.

There, in a little wood above the sea, Like that dear wood of yore, I wandered forth Forlorn, and all my seamen were apart, And I, alone; when at the close of day I knew myself surrounded by strange churls With angry eyes, and one who ordered them, A woman, whom I knew not, but who walked In mien and garb a queen. She, with the fire Of hate within her eyes, 'Quick, bind her, men!

I know her; bind her fast!' Then to the trunk Of a tall plane they bound me with rude cords That cut my arms. And meantime, far below, The sun was gilding fair with dying rays Isle after isle and purple wastes of sea.

And then she signed to them, and all withdrew Among the woods and left us, face to face, Two women. Ere I spoke, 'I know,' she said, 'I know that evil fairness. This it was, Or ever he had come across my life, That made him cold to me, who had my love And left me half a heart. If all my life Of wedlock was but half a life, what fiend Came 'twixt my love and me, but that fair face?

What left his children orphans, but that face?

And me a widow? Fiend! I have thee now; Thou hast not long to live. I will requite Thy murders; yet, oh fiend! that art so fair, Were it not haply better to deface Thy fatal loveliness, and leave thee bare Of all thy baleful power? And yet I doubt, And looking on thy face I doubt the more, Lest all thy dower of fairness be the gift Of Aphrodite, and I fear to fight Against the immortal G.o.ds.'

Even with the word, And she relenting, all the riddle of life Flashed through me, and the inextricable coil Of Being, and the immeasurable depths And irony of Fate, burst on my thought And left me smiling in the eyes of death, With this deep smile thou seest. Then with a shriek The woman leapt on me, and with blind rage Strangled my life. And when she had done the deed She swooned, and those her followers hasting back Fell p.r.o.ne upon their knees before the corpse As to a G.o.ddess. Then one went and brought A sculptor, and within a jewelled shrine They set me in white marble, bound to a tree Of marble. And they came and knelt to me, Young men and maidens, through the secular years, While the old G.o.ds bore sway, but I was here, And now they kneel no longer, for the world Has gone from beauty.

But I think, indeed, They well might wors.h.i.+p still, for never yet Was any thought or thing of beauty born Except with suffering. That poor wretch who thought I injured her, stealing the foolish heart Which she prized but I could not, what knew she Of that I suffered? She had loved her love, Though unrequited, and had borne to him Children who loved her. What if she had been Loved yet unloving: all the fire of love Burnt out before love's time in one brief blaze Of pa.s.sion. Ah, poor fool! I pity her, Being blest and yet unthankful, and forgive, Now that she is a ghost as I, the hand Which loosed my load of life. For scarce indeed Could any G.o.d who cares for mortal men Have ever kept me happy. I had tired Of simple loving, doubtless, as I tired Of splendour and being loved. There be some souls For which love is enough, content to bear From youth to age, from chesnut locks to gray, The load of common, uneventful life And penury. But I was not of these; I know not now, if it were best indeed That I had reared my simple shepherd brood, And lived and died unknown in some poor hut Among the Argive hills; or lived a queen As I did, knowing every day that dawned Some high emprise and glorious, and in death To fill the world with song. Not the same meed The G.o.ds mete out for all, or She, the dread Necessity, who rules both G.o.ds and men, Some to dishonour, some to honour moulds, To happiness some, some to unhappiness.

We are what Zeus has made us, discords playing In the great music, but the harmony Is sweeter for them, and the great spheres ring In one accordant hymn.

But thou, if e'er There come a daughter of thy love, oh pray To all thy G.o.ds, lest haply they should mar Her life with too great beauty!"

So she ceased.

The fairest woman that the poet's dream Or artist hand has fas.h.i.+oned. All the gloom Seemed lightened round her, and I heard the sound Of her melodious voice when all was still, And the dim twilight took her.

Next there came Two who together walked: one with a lyre Of gold, which gave no sound; the other hung Upon his breast, and closely clung to him, Spent in a tender longing. As they came, I heard her gentle voice recounting o'er Some ancient tale, and these the words she said:

"Dear voice and lyre now silent, which I heard Across yon sullen river, bringing to me All my old life, and he, the ferryman, Heard and obeyed, and the grim monster heard And fawned on you. Joyous thou cam'st and free Like a white sunbeam from the dear bright earth, Where suns shone clear, and moons beamed bright, and streams Laughed with a rippling music,--nor as here The dumb stream stole, the veiled sky slept, the fields Were lost in twilight. Like a morning breeze, Which blows in summer from the gates of dawn Across the fields of spice, and wakes to life Their slumbering perfume, through this silent land Of whispering voices and of half-closed eyes, Where scarce a footstep sounds, nor any strain Of earthly song, thou cam'st; and suddenly The pale cheeks flushed a little, the murmured words Rose to a faint, thin treble; the throng of ghosts Pacing along the sunless ways and still, Felt a new life. Thou camest, dear, and straight The dull cold river broke in sparkling foam, The pale and scentless flowers grew perfumed; last To the dim chamber, where with the sad queen I sat in gloom, and silently inwove Dead wreaths of amaranths; thy music came Laden with life, and I, who seemed to know Not life's voice only, but my own, rose up, Along the hollow pathways following The sound which brought back earth and life and love, And memory and longing. Yet I went With half-reluctant footsteps, as of one Whom pa.s.sion draws, or some high fantasy, Despite himself, because some subtle spell, Part born of dread to cross that sullen stream And its grim guardians, part of secret shame Of the young airs and freshness of the earth, Being that I was, enchained me.

Then at last, From voice and lyre so high a strain arose As trembled on the utter verge of being, And thrilling, poured out life. Thus closelier drawn I walked with thee, shut in by halcyon sound And soft environments of harmony, Beyond the ghostly gates, beyond the dim Calm fields, where the beetle hummed and the pale owl Stole noiseless from the copse, and the white blooms Stretched thin for lack of sun: so fair a light Born out of consonant sound environed me.