The Epic of Hades Part 5

And then there came Beauty and Joy in one, bearing the form Of woman. How to reach with halting words That infinite Perfection? All have known The breathing marbles which the Greek has left Who saw her near, and strove to fix her charms, And exquisitely failed; or those fair forms The Painter offered at a later shrine, And failed. Nay, what are words?--he knows it well Who loves, or who has loved.

She with a smile Playing around her rosy lips; as plays The sunbeam on a stream: "Shall I complain Men kneel to me no longer, taking to them Some graver, sterner wors.h.i.+p; grown too wise For fleeting joys of Love? Nay, Love is Youth, And still the world is young. Still shall I reign Within the hearts of men, while Time shall last And Life renews itself. All Life that is, From the weak things of earth or sea or air, Which creep or float for an hour; to G.o.dlike man-- All know me and are mine. I am the source And mother of all, both G.o.ds and men; the spring Of Force and Joy, which, penetrating all Within the hidden depths of the Unknown, Sets the blind seed of Being, and from the bond Of incomplete and dual Essences Evolves the harmony which is Life. The world Were dead without my rays, who am the Light Which vivifies the world. Nay, but for me, The universal order which attracts Sphere unto sphere, and keeps them in their paths For ever, were no more. All things are bound Within my golden chain, whose name is Love.

And if there be, indeed, some sterner souls Or sunk in too much learning, or hedged round By care and greed, or haply too much rapt By pale ascetic fervours, to delight To kneel to me, the universal voice Scorns them as those who, missing willingly The good that Nature offers, dwell unblest Who might be blest, but would not. Every voice Of bard in every age has hymned me. All The breathing marbles, all the heavenly hues Of painting, praise me. Even the loveless shades Of dim monastic cloisters show some gleam, Tho' faint, of me. Amid the busy throngs Of cities reign I, and o'er lonely plains, Beyond the ice-fields of the frozen North, And the warm waves of undiscovered seas.

For I was born out of the sparkling foam Which lights the crest of the blue mystic wave, Stirred by the wandering breath of Life's pure dawn From a young soul's calm depths. There, without voice, Stretched on the breathing curve of a young breast, Fluttering a little, fresh from the great deep Of life, and creamy as the opening rose, Naked I lie, naked yet unashamed, While youth's warm tide steals round me with a kiss, And floods each limb with fairness. Shame I know not-- Shame is for wrong, and not for innocence-- The veil which Error grasps to hide itself From the awful Eye. But I, I lie unveiled And unashamed--the livelong day I lie, The warm wave murmuring to me; and, all night, Hidden in the moonlit caves of happy Sleep, I dream until the morning and am glad.

Why should I seek to clothe myself, and hide The treasure of my Beauty? Shame may wait On those for whom 'twas given. The sties of sense Are none of mine; the brutish, loveless wrong, The venal charm, the simulated flush Of fleshly pa.s.sion, they are none of mine, Only corruptions of me. Yet I know The counterfeit the stronger, since gross souls And brutish sway the earth; and yet I hold That sense itself is sacred, and I deem 'Twere better to grow soft and sink in sense Than gloat o'er blood and wrong.

My kingdom is Over infinite grades of being. All breathing things, From the least crawling insect to the brute, From brute to man, confess me. Yet in man I find my worthiest wors.h.i.+p. Where man is, A youth and a maid, a youth and a maid, nought else Is wanting for my temple. Every clime Kneels to me--the long breaker swells and falls Under the palms, mixed with the merry noise Of savage bridals, and the straight brown limbs Know me, and over all the endless plains I reign, and by the tents on the hot sand And sea-girt isles am queen, and on the side Of silent mountains, where the white cots gleam Upon the green hill pastures, and no sound But the thunder of the avalanche is borne To the listening rocks around; and in fair lands Where all is peace; where thro' the happy hush Of tranquil summer evenings, 'mid the corn, Or thro' cool arches of the gadding vines, The lovers stray together hand in hand, Hymning my praise; and by the stately streets Of echoing cities--over all the earth, Palace and cot, mountain and plain and sea, The burning South, the icy North, the old And immemorial East, the unbounded West, No new G.o.d comes to spoil me utterly-- All wors.h.i.+p and are mine!"

With a sweet smile Upon her rosy mouth, the G.o.ddess ceased; And when she spake no more, the silence weighed As heavy on my soul as when it takes Some gracious melody, and leaves the ear Unsatisfied and longing, till the fount Of sweetness springs again.

But while I stood Expectant, lo! a fair pale form drew near With front severe, and wide blue eyes which bore Mild wisdom in their gaze. Great purity Shone from her--not the young-eyed innocence Of her whom first I saw, but that which comes From wider knowledge, which restrains the tide Of pa.s.sionate youth, and leads the musing soul By the calm deeps of Wisdom. And I knew My eyes had seen the fair, the virgin Queen, Who once within her s.h.i.+ning Parthenon Beheld the sages kneel.

She with clear voice And coldly sweet, yet with a softness too, As doth befit a virgin: "She does right To boast her sway, my sister, seeing indeed That all things are as by a double law, And from a double root the tree of Life Springs up to the face of heaven. Body and Soul, Matter and Spirit, lower joys of Sense And higher joys of Thought, I know that both Build up the shrine of Being. The brute sense Leaves man a brute; but, winged with soaring thought Mounts to high heaven. The unembodied spirit, Dwelling alone, unmated, void of sense, Is impotent. And yet I hold there is, Far off, but not too far for mortal reach, A calmer height, where, nearer to the stars, Thought sits alone and gazes with rapt gaze, A large-eyed maiden in a robe of white.

Who brings the light of Knowledge down, and draws To her pontifical eyes a bridge of gold, Which spans from earth to heaven.

For what were life, If things of sense were all, for those large souls And high, which grudging Nature has shut fast Within unlovely forms, or those from whom The circuit of the rapid gliding years Steals the brief gift of beauty? Shall we hold, With idle singers, all the treasure of hope Is lost with youth--swift-fleeting, treacherous youth, Which fades and flies before the ripening brain Crowns life with Wisdom's crown? Nay, even in youth, Is it not more to walk upon the heights Alone--the cold free heights--and mark the vale Lie breathless in the glare, or hidden and blurred By cloud and storm; or pestilence and war Creep on with blood and death; while the soul dwells Apart upon the peaks, outfronts the sun As the eagle does, and takes the coming dawn While all the vale is dark, and knows the springs Of tiny rivulets hurrying from the snows, Which soon shall swell to vast resistless floods, And feed the Oceans which divide the World?

Oh, ecstasy! oh, wonder! oh, delight!

Which neither the slow-withering wear of Time, That takes all else--the smooth and rounded cheek Of youth; the lightsome step; the warm young heart Which beats for love or friend; the treasure of hope Immeasurable; the quick-coursing blood Which makes it joy to be,--ay, takes them all And leaves us naught--nor yet satiety Born of too full possession, takes or mars!

Oh, fair delight of learning! which grows great And stronger and more keen, for slower limbs, And dimmer eyes and loneliness, and loss Of lower good--wealth, friends.h.i.+p, ay, and Love-- When the swift soul, turning its weary gaze From the old vanished joys, projects itself Into the void and floats in empty s.p.a.ce, Striving to reach the mystic source of Things, The secrets of the earth and sea and air, The Law that holds the process of the suns, The awful depths of Mind and Thought; the prime Unfathomable mystery of G.o.d!

Is there, then, any who holds my wors.h.i.+p cold And lifeless? Nay, but 'tis the light which cheers The waning life! Love thou thy love, brave youth!

Cleave to thy love, fair maid! it is the Law Which dominates the world, that bids ye use Your nature; but, when now the fuller tide Slackens a little, turn your calmer eyes To the fair page of Knowledge. It is power I give, and power is precious. It is strength To live four-square, careless of outward shows, And self-sufficing. It is clearer sight To know the rule of life, the Eternal scheme; And, knowing it, to do and not to err, And, doing, to be blest."

The calm voice soared Higher and higher to the close; the cold Clear accents, fired as by a hidden fire, Glowed into life and tenderness, and throbbed As with some spiritual ecstasy Sweeter than that of Love.

But as they died, I heard an ampler voice; and looking, marked A fair and gracious form. She seemed a Queen Who ruled o'er G.o.ds and men; the majesty Of perfect womanhood. No opening bud Of beauty, but the full consummate flower Was hers; and from her mild large eyes looked forth Gentle command, and motherhood, and home, And pure affection. Awe and reverence O'erspread me, as I knew my eyes had looked On sovereign Here, mother of the G.o.ds.

She, with clear, rounded utterance, sweet and calm "I know Love's fruit is good and fair to see And taste, if any gain it, and I know How brief Life's Pa.s.sion-tide, which when it ends May change to thirst for Knowledge, and I know How fair the realm of Mind, wherein the soul Thirsting to know, wings its impetuous way Beyond the bounds of Thought; and yet I hold There is a higher bliss than these, which fits A mortal life, compact of Body and Soul, And therefore double-natured--a calm path Which lies before the feet, thro' common ways And undistinguished crowds of toiling men, And yet is hard to tread, tho' seeming smooth, And yet, tho' level, earns a worthier crown.

For Knowledge is a steep which few may climb, While Duty is a path which all may tread.

And if the Soul of Life and Thought be this, How best to speed the mighty scheme, which still Fares onward day by day--the Life of the World, Which is the sum of petty lives, that live And die so this may live--how then shall each Of that great mult.i.tude of faithful souls Who walk not on the heights, fulfil himself, But by the duteous Life which looks not forth Beyond its narrow sphere, and finds its work, And works it out; content, this done, to fall And perish, if Fate will, so the great Scheme Goes onward?

Wherefore am I Queen in Heaven And Earth, whose realm is Duty, bearing rule More constant and more wide than those whose words Thou heardest last. Mine are the striving souls Of fathers toiling day by day obscure And unrewarded, save by their own hearts, Mid wranglings of the Forum or the mart; Who long for joys of Thought, and yet must toil Unmurmuring thro' dull lives from youth to age; Who haply might have worn instead the crown Of Honour and of Fame: mine the fair mothers Who, for the love of children and of home, When pa.s.sion dies, expend their toilful years In loving labour sweetened by the sense Of Duty: mine the statesman who toils on Thro' vigilant nights and days, guiding his State.

Yet finds no grat.i.tude; and those white souls Who give themselves for others all their years In trivial tasks of Pity. The fine growths Of Man and Time are mine, and spend themselves For me and for the mystical End which lies Beyond their gaze and mine, and yet is good, Tho' hidden from men and G.o.ds.

For as the flower Of the tiger-lily bright with varied hues Is for a day, then fades and leaves behind Fairness nor fruit, while the green tiny tuft Swells to the purple of the cl.u.s.tering grape Or golden waves of wheat; so lives of men Which show most splendid; fade and are deceased And leave no trace; while those, unmarked, unseen, Which no man recks of, rear the stately tree Of Knowledge, not for itself sought out, but found In the dusty ways of life--a fairer growth Than springs in cloistered shades; and from the sum Of Duty, blooms sweeter and more divine The fair ideal of the Race, than comes From glittering gains of Learning.

Life, full life, Full-flowered, full-fruited, reared from homely earth, Rooted in duty, and thro' long calm years Bearing its load of healthful energies; Stretching its arms on all sides; fed with dews Of cheerful sacrifice, and clouds of care, And rain of useful tears; warmed by the sun Of calm affection, till it breathes itself In perfume to the heavens--this is the prize I hold most dear, more precious than the fruit Of Knowledge or of Love."

The G.o.ddess ceased As dies some gracious harmony, the child Of wedded themes which single and alone Were discords, but united breathe a sound Sweet as the sounds of heaven.

And then stood forth The last of the G.o.ds I saw, the first in rank And dignity and beauty, the young G.o.d Who grows not old, the Light of Heaven and Earth, The Worker from afar, who sends the fire Of inspiration to the bard and bathes The world in hues of heaven--the golden link Between High G.o.d and Man.

With a sweet voice Whose every note was sweetest melody-- The melody has fled, the words remain-- Apollo sang: "I know how fair the face Of Purity; I know the treasure of Strength; I know the charm of Love, the calmer grace Of Wisdom and of Duteous well-spent lives: And yet there is a loftier height than these.

There is a Height higher than mortal thought; There is a Love warmer than mortal love; There is a Life which taketh not its hues From Earth or earthly things; and so grows pure And higher than the petty cares of men, And is a blessed life and glorified.

Oh, white young souls, strain upward, upward still, Even to the heavenly source of Purity!

Brave hearts, bear on and suffer! Strike for right, Strong arms, and hew down wrong! The world hath need Of all of you--the sensual wrongful world!

Hath need of you, and of thee too, fair Love.

Oh, lovers, cling together! the old world Is full of Hate. Sweeten it; draw in one Two separate chords of Life; and from the bond Of twin souls lost in Harmony create A Fair G.o.d dwelling with you--Love, the Lord!

Waft yourselves, yearning souls, upon the stars; Sow yourselves on the wandering winds of s.p.a.ce; Watch patient all your days, if your eyes take Some dim, cold ray of Knowledge. The dull world Hath need of you--the purblind, slothful world!

Live on, brave lives, chained to the narrow round Of Duty; live, expend yourselves, and make The orb of Being wheel onward steadfastly Upon its path--the Lord of Life alone Knows to what goal of Good; work on, live on: And yet there is a higher work than yours.

To have looked upon the face of the Unknown And Perfect Beauty. To have heard the voice Of G.o.dhead in the winds and in the seas.

To have known Him in the circling of the suns, And in the changeful fates and lives of men.

To be fulfilled with G.o.dhead as a cup Filled with a precious essence, till the hand On marble or on canvas falling, leaves Celestial traces, or from reed or string Draws out faint echoes of the voice Divine That bring G.o.d nearer to a faithless world.

Or, higher still and fairer and more blest, To be His seer, His prophet; to be the voice Of the Ineffable Word; to be the gla.s.s Of the Ineffable Light, and bring them down To bless the earth, set in a shrine of Song.

For Knowledge is a barren tree and bare, Bereft of G.o.d, and Duty but a word, And Strength but Tyranny, and Love, Desire, And Purity a folly; and the Soul, Which brings down G.o.d to Man, the Light to the world; He is the Maker, and is blest, is blest!"

He ended, and I felt my soul grow faint With too much sweetness.

In a mist of grace They faded, that bright company, and seemed To melt into each other and shape themselves Into new forms, and those fair G.o.ddesses Blent in a perfect woman--all the calm High motherhood of Here, the sweet smile Of Cypris, fair Athene's earnest eyes, And the young purity of Artemis, Blent in a perfect woman; and in her arms, Fused by some cosmic interlacing curves Of Beauty into a new Innocence, A child with eyes divine, a little child, A little child--no more.

And those great G.o.ds Of Power and Beauty left a heavenly form Strong not to act, but suffer; fair and meek, Not proud and eager; with soft eyes of grace, Not bold with joyous youth; and for the fire Of song, and for the happy careless life, A sorrowful pilgrimage--changed, yet the same Only Diviner far; and keeping still The Life G.o.d-lighted and the sacrifice.

And when these faded wholly, at my side, Tho' hidden before by those too-radiant forms, I was aware once more of her, my guide Psyche, who had not left me, floating near On golden wings; and all the plains of heaven Were left to us, me and my soul alone.

Then when my thought revived again, I said Whispering, "But Zeus I saw not, the prime Source And Sire of all the G.o.ds."

And she, bent low With downcast eyes: "Nay. Thou hast seen of Him All that thine eyes can bear, in those fair forms Which are but parts of Him and are indeed Attributes of the Substance which supports The Universe of Things--the Soul of the World, The Stream which flows Eternal, from no Source Into no Sea, His Purity, His Strength, His Love, His Knowledge, His unchanging rule Of Duty, thou hast seen, only a part And not the whole, being a finite mind Too weak for infinite thought; nor, couldst thou see All of Him visible to mortal sight, Wouldst thou see all His essence, since the G.o.ds-- Glorified essences of Human mould, Who are but Zeus made visible to men-- See Him not wholly, only some thin edge And halo of His glory; nor know they What vast and unsuspected Universes Lie beyond thought, where yet He rules, like those Vast Suns we cannot see, round which our Sun Moves with his system, or those darker still Which not even thus we know, but yet exist Tho' no eye marks, nor thought itself, and lurk In the awful Depths of s.p.a.ce; or that which is Not orbed as yet, but indiscrete, confused, Sown thro' the void--the faintest gleam of light Which sets itself to Be. And yet is He There too, and rules, none seeing. But sometimes To this our heaven, which is so like to earth But nearer to Him, for awhile He shows Some gleam of His own brightness, and methinks It cometh soon; but thou, if thou shouldst gaze, Thy Life will rush to His--the tiny spark Absorbed in that full blaze--and what there is Of mortal fall from thee."

But I: "Oh, soul, What holdeth Life more precious than to know The Giver and to die?"

Then she: "Behold!

Look upward and adore."

And with the word, Unhasting, undelaying, gradual, sure, The floating cloud which clothed the hidden peak Rose slow in awful silence, laying bare Spire after rocky spire, snow after snow, Whiter and yet more dreadful, till at last It left the summit clear.

Then with a bound, In the twinkling of an eye, in the flash of a thought, I knew an Awful Effluence of Light, Formless, Ineffable, Perfect, burst on me And flood my being round, and take my life Into itself. I saw my guide bent down Prostrate, her wings before her face; and then No more.

But when I woke from my long trance Behold, it was no longer Tartarus, Nor Hades, nor Olympus, but the bare And unideal aspect of the fields Which Spring not yet had kissed--the strange old Earth So far more fabulous now than in the days When Man was young, nor yet the mystery Of Time and Fate transformed it. From the hills, The long night fled at last, the unclouded sun, The dear, fair sun, leapt upward swift, and smote My sight with rays of gold, and pierced my brain With too much light ere my entranced eyes Could hide themselves.

And I was on the Earth Dreaming the dream of Life again, as late I dreamed the dream of Death.

Another day Dawned on the race of men; another world; New heavens, and new earth.

And as I went Across the lightening fields, upon a bank I saw a single snowdrop glance, and bring Promise of Spring; and keeping my old thought In the old fair h.e.l.lenic vesture dressed, I felt myself a ghost, and seemed to be Now fair Adonis hasting to the arms Of his lost love--now sad Persephone Restored to mother earth--or that high shade Orpheus, who gave up heaven to save his love, And is rewarded--or young Marsyas, Who spent his youth and life for song, and yet Was happy though in torture--or the fair And dreaming youth I saw, who still awaits, Hopeful, the unveiling heaven, when he shall see His fair ideal love. The birds sang blithe; There came a tinkling from the waking fold; And on the hillside from the cot a girl Tripped singing with her pitcher. All the sounds And thoughts which still are beautiful--Youth, Song, Dawn, Spring, Renewal--and my soul was glad Of all the freshness, and I felt again The youth and spring-tide of the world, and thought, Which feigned those fair and gracious fantasies.

For every dawn that breaks brings a new world, And every budding bosom a new life; These fair tales, which we know so beautiful, Show only finer than our lives to-day Because their voice was clearer, and they found A sacred bard to sing them. We are pent, Who sing to-day, by all the garnered wealth Of ages of past song. We have no more The world to choose from, who, where'er we turn, Tread through old thoughts and fair. Yet must we sing-- We have no choice; and if more hard the toil In noon, when all is clear, than in the fresh White mists of early morn, yet do we find Achievement its own guerdon, and at last The rounder song of manhood grows more sweet Than the high note of youth.

For Age, long Age!

Nought else divides us from the fresh young days Which men call ancient; seeing that we in turn Shall one day be Time's ancients, and inspire The wiser, higher race, which yet shall sing Because to sing is human, and high thought Grows rhythmic ere its close. Nought else there is But that weird beat of Time, which doth disjoin To-day from h.e.l.las.