Atalanta in Calydon Part 9

O queen, for queenlike hast thou borne thyself, A little word may hold so great mischance.

For in division of the sanguine spoil These men thy brethren wrangling bade yield up The boar's head and the horror of the hide That this might stand a wonder in Calydon, Hallowed; and some drew toward them; but thy son With great hands grasping all that weight of hair Cast down the dead heap clanging and collapsed At female feet, saying This thy spoil not mine, Maiden, thine own hand for thyself hath reaped, And all this praise G.o.d gives thee: she thereat Laughed, as when dawn touches the sacred night The sky sees laugh and redden and divide Dim lips and eyelids virgin of the sun, Hers, and the warm slow b.r.e.a.s.t.s of morning heave, Fruitful, and flushed with flame from lamp-lit hours, And maiden undulation of clear hair Colour the clouds; so laughed she from pure heart Lit with a low blush to the braided hair, And rose-coloured and cold like very dawn, Golden and G.o.dlike, chastely with chaste lips, A faint grave laugh; and all they held their peace, And she pa.s.sed by them. Then one cried Lo now, Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us, Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl?

And all they rode against her violently And cast the fresh crown from her hair, and now They had rent her spoil away, dishonouring her, Save that Meleager, as a tame lion chafed, Bore on them, broke them, and as fire cleaves wood So clove and drove them, smitten in twain; but she Smote not nor heaved up hand; and this man first, Plexippus, crying out This for love's sake, sweet, Drove at Meleager, who with spear straightening Pierced his cheek through; then Toxeus made for him, Dumb, but his spear spake; vain and violent words, Fruitless; for him too stricken through both sides The earth felt falling, and his horse's foam Blanched thy son's face, his slayer; and these being slain, None moved nor spake; but Oeneus bade bear hence These made of heaven infatuate in their deaths, Foolish; for these would baffle fate, and fell.

And they pa.s.sed on, and all men honoured her, Being honourable, as one revered of heaven.

ALTHAEA.

What say you, women? is all this not well done?

CHORUS.

No man doth well but G.o.d hath part in him.

ALTHAEA.

But no part here; for these my brethren born Ye have no part in, these ye know not of As I that was their sister, a sacrifice Slain in their slaying. I would I had died for these, For this man dead walked with me, child by child, And made a weak staff for my feebler feet With his own tender wrist and hand, and held And led me softly and shewed me gold and steel And s.h.i.+ning shapes of mirror and bright crown And all things fair; and threw light spears, and brought Young hounds to huddle at my feet and thrust Tame heads against my little maiden b.r.e.a.s.t.s And please me with great eyes; and those days went And these are bitter and I a barren queen And sister miserable, a grievous thing And mother of many curses; and she too, My sister Leda, sitting overseas With fair fruits round her, and her faultless lord, Shall curse me, saying A sorrow and not a son, Sister, thou barest, even a burning fire, A brand consuming thine own soul and me.

But ye now, sons of Thestius, make good cheer, For ye shall have such wood to funeral fire As no king hath; and flame that once burnt down Oil shall not quicken or breath relume or wine Refresh again; much costlier than fine gold, And more than many lives of wandering men.

CHORUS.

O queen, thou hast yet with thee love-worthy things, Thine husband, and the great strength of thy son.

ALTHAEA.

Who shall get brothers for me while I live?

Who bear them? who bring forth in lieu of these?

Are not our fathers and our brethren one, And no man like them? are not mine here slain?

Have we not hung together, he and I, Flowerwise feeding as the feeding bees, With mother-milk for honey? and this man too, Dead, with my son's spear thrust between his sides, Hath he not seen us, later born than he, Laugh with lips filled, and laughed again for love?

There were no sons then in the world, nor spears, Nor deadly births of women; but the G.o.ds Allowed us, and our days were clear of these.

I would I had died unwedded, and brought forth No swords to vex the world; for these that spake Sweet words long since and loved me will not speak Nor love nor look upon me; and all my life I shall not hear nor see them living men.

But I too living, how shall I now live?

What life shall this be with my son, to know What hath been and desire what will not be, Look for dead eyes and listen for dead lips, And kill mine own heart with remembering them, And with those eyes that see their slayer alive Weep, and wring hands that clasp him by the hand?

How shall I bear my dreams of them, to hear False voices, feel the kisses of false mouths And footless sound of perished feet, and then Wake and hear only it may be their own hounds Whine masterless in miserable sleep, And see their boar-spears and their beds and seats And all the gear and housings of their lives And not the men? shall hounds and horses mourn, Pine with strange eyes, and p.r.i.c.k up hungry ears, Famish and fail at heart for their dear lords, And I not heed at all? and those blind things Fall off from life for love's sake, and I live?

Surely some death is better than some life, Better one death for him and these and me For if the G.o.ds had slain them it may be I had endured it; if they had fallen by war Or by the nets and knives of privy death And by hired hands while sleeping, this thing too I had set my soul to suffer; or this hunt, Had this dispatched them, under tusk or tooth Torn, sanguine, trodden, broken; for all deaths Or honourable or with facile feet avenged And hands of swift G.o.ds following, all save this, Are bearable; but not for their sweet land Fighting, but not a sacrifice, lo these Dead, for I had not then shed all mine heart Out at mine eyes: then either with good speed, Being just, I had slain their slayer atoningly, Or strewn with flowers their fire and on their tombs Hung crowns, and over them a song, and seen Their praise outflame their ashes: for all men, All maidens, had come thither, and from pure lips Shed songs upon them, from heroic eyes Tears; and their death had been a deathless life; But now, by no man hired nor alien sword, By their own kindred are they fallen, in peace, After much peril, friendless among friends, By hateful hands they loved; and how shall mine Touch these returning red and not from war, These fatal from the vintage of men's veins, Dead men my brethren? how shall these wash off No festal stains of undelightful wine, How mix the blood, my blood on them, with me, Holding mine hand? or how shall I say, son, That am no sister? but by night and day Shall we not sit and hate each other, and think Things hate-worthy? not live with shamefast eyes, Brow-beaten, treading soft with fearful feet, Each unupbraided, each without rebuke Convicted, and without a word reviled Each of another? and I shall let thee live And see thee strong and hear men for thy sake Praise me, but these thou wouldest not let live No man shall praise for ever? these shall lie Dead, unbeloved, unholpen, all through thee?

Sweet were they toward me living, and mine heart Desired them, but was then well satisfied, That now is as men hungered; and these dead I shall want always to the day I die.

For all things else and all men may renew; Yea, son for son the G.o.ds may give and take, But never a brother or sister any more.

CHORUS.

Nay, for the son lies close about thine heart, Full of thy milk, warm from thy womb, and drains Life and the blood of life and all thy fruit, Eats thee and drinks thee as who breaks bread and eats, Treads wine and drinks, thyself, a sect of thee; And if he feed not, shall not thy flesh faint?

Or drink not, are not thy lips dead for thirst?

This thing moves more than all things, even thy son, That thou cleave to him; and he shall honour thee, Thy womb that bare him and the b.r.e.a.s.t.s he knew, Reverencing most for thy sake all his G.o.ds.

ALTHAEA.

But these the G.o.ds too gave me, and these my son, Not reverencing his G.o.ds nor mine own heart Nor the old sweet years nor all venerable things, But cruel, and in his ravin like a beast, Hath taken away to slay them: yea, and she, She the strange woman, she the flower, the sword, Red from spilt blood, a mortal flower to men, Adorable, detestable--even she Saw with strange eyes and with strange lips rejoiced, Seeing these mine own slain of mine own, and me Made miserable above all miseries made, A grief among all women in the world, A name to be washed out with all men's tears.

CHORUS.

Strengthen thy spirit; is this not also a G.o.d, Chance, and the wheel of all necessities?

Hard things have fallen upon us from harsh G.o.ds, Whom lest worse hap rebuke we not for these.

ALTHAEA.

My spirit is strong against itself, and I For these things' sake cry out on mine own soul That it endures outrage, and dolorous days, And life, and this inexpiable impotence.

Weak am I, weak and shameful; my breath drawn Shames me, and monstrous things and violent G.o.ds.

What shall atone? what heal me? what bring back Strength to the foot, light to the face? what herb a.s.suage me? what restore me? what release?

What strange thing eaten or drunken, O great G.o.ds.

Make me as you or as the beasts that feed, Slay and divide and cherish their own hearts?

For these ye show us; and we less than these Have not wherewith to live as all these things Which all their lives fare after their own kind As who doth well rejoicing; but we ill, Weeping or laughing, we whom eyesight fails, Knowledge and light efface and perfect heart, And hands we lack, and wit; and all our days Sin, and have hunger, and die infatuated.

For madness have ye given us and not health, And sins whereof we know not; and for these Death, and sudden destruction unaware.

What shall we say now? what thing comes of us?

CHORUS.

Alas, for all this all men undergo.

ALTHAEA.

Wherefore I will not that these twain, O G.o.ds, Die as a dog dies, eaten of creeping things, Abominable, a loathing; but though dead Shall they have honour and such funereal flame As strews men's ashes in their enemies' face And blinds their eyes who hate them: lest men say, 'Lo how they lie, and living had great kin, And none of these hath pity of them, and none Regards them lying, and none is wrung at heart, None moved in spirit for them, naked and slain, Abhorred, abased, and no tears comfort them:'

And in the dark this grieve Eurythemis, Hearing how these her sons come down to her Unburied, unavenged, as kinless men, And had a queen their sister. That were shame Worse than this grief. Yet how to atone at all I know not, seeing the love of my born son, A new-made mother's new-born love, that grows From the soft child to the strong man, now soft Now strong as either, and still one sole same love, Strives with me, no light thing to strive withal; This love is deep, and natural to man's blood, And ineffaceable with many tears.

Yet shall not these rebuke me though I die, Nor she in that waste world with all her dead, My mother, among the pale flocks fallen as leaves, Folds of dead people, and alien from the sun; Nor lack some bitter comfort, some poor praise, Being queen, to have borne her daughter like a queen, Righteous; and though mine own fire burn me too, She shall have honour and these her sons, though dead.

But all the G.o.ds will, all they do, and we Not all we would, yet somewhat, and one choice We have, to live and do just deeds and die.

CHORUS.

Terrible words she communes with, and turns Swift fiery eyes in doubt against herself, And murmurs as who talks in dreams with death.

ALTHAEA.

For the unjust also dieth, and him all men Hate, and himself abhors the unrighteousness, And seeth his own dishonour intolerable.

But I being just, doing right upon myself, Slay mine own soul, and no man born shames me.

For none constrains nor shall rebuke, being done, What none compelled me doing, thus these things fare.

Ah, ah, that such things should so fare, ah me, That I am found to do them and endure, Chosen and constrained to choose, and bear myself Mine own wound through mine own flesh to the heart Violently stricken, a spoiler and a spoil, A ruin ruinous, fallen on mine own son.

Ah, ah, for me too as for these; alas, For that is done that shall be, and mine hand Full of the deed, and full of blood mine eyes, That shall see never nor touch anything Save blood unstanched and fire unquenchable.