Part 43 (1/2)

What man is he who with his golden lyre Hath moved the gates that never move, While the dead folk repeat his dirge of love?

The rolling stone no more doth tire Swart Sisyphus on yonder hill; And Tantalus with water slakes his fire; The groans of mangled t.i.tyos are still; Ixion's wheel forgets to fly; The Danaids their urns can fill: I hear no more the tortured spirits cry; But all find rest in that sweet harmony.

PROSERPINE.

Dear consort, since, compelled by love of thee, I left the light of heaven serene, And came to reign in h.e.l.l, a sombre queen; The charm of tenderest sympathy Hath never yet had power to turn My stubborn heart, or draw forth tears from me.

Now with desire for yon sweet voice I yearn; Nor is there aught so dear As that delight. Nay, be not stern To this one prayer! Relax thy brows severe, And rest awhile with me that song to hear!

[ORPHEUS _stands before the throne._

ORPHEUS.

Ye rulers of the people lost in gloom, Who see no more the jocund light of day!

Ye who inherit all things that the womb Of Nature and the elements display!

Hear ye the grief that draws me to the tomb!

Love, cruel Love, hath led me on this way: Not to chain Cerberus I hither come, But to bring back my mistress to her home.

A serpent hidden among flowers and leaves Stole my fair mistress--nay, my heart--from me: Wherefore my wounded life for ever grieves, Nor can I stand against this agony.

Still, if some fragrance lingers yet and cleaves Of your famed love unto your memory, If of that ancient rape you think at all, Give back Eurydice!--On you I call.

All things ere long unto this bourne descend: All mortal lives to you return at last: Whate'er the moon hath circled, in the end Must fade and perish in your empire vast: Some sooner and some later hither wend; Yet all upon this pathway shall have pa.s.sed: This of our footsteps is the final goal; And then we dwell for aye in your control.

Therefore the nymph I love is left for you When nature leads her deathward in due time: But now you've cropped the tendrils as they grew, The grapes unripe, while yet the sap did climb: Who reaps the young blades wet with April dew, Nor waits till summer hath o'erpa.s.sed her prime?

Give back, give back my hope one little day!-- Not for a gift, but for a loan I pray.

I pray not to you by the waves forlorn Of marshy Styx or dismal Acheron, By Chaos where the mighty world was born, Or by the sounding flames of Phlegethon; But by the fruit which charmed thee on that morn When thou didst leave our world for this dread throne!

O queen! if thou reject this pleading breath, I will no more return, but ask for death!

PROSERPINE.

Husband, I never guessed That in our realm oppressed Pity could find a home to dwell: But now I know that mercy teems in h.e.l.l.

I see Death weep; her breast Is shaken by those tears that faultless fell.

Let then thy laws severe for him be swayed By love, by song, by the just prayers he prayed!

PLUTO.

She's thine, but at this price: Bend not on her thine eyes, Till mid the souls that live she stay.

See that thou turn not back upon the way!

Check all fond thoughts that rise!

Else will thy love be torn from thee away.

I am well pleased that song so rare as thine The might of my dread sceptre should incline.

SCENE V

ORPHEUS, _sings._

_Ite tritumphales circ.u.m mea tempora lauri.

Vicimus Eurydicen: reddita vita mihi est, Haec mea praecipue victoria digna corona.

Oredimus? an lateri juncta puella meo?_

EURYDICE.

All me! Thy love too great Hath lost not thee alone!