Volume Ii Part 7 (2/2)

He who has looked upon Earth Deeper than flower and fruit, Losing some hue of his mirth, As the tree striking rock at the root, Unto him shall the marvellous tale Of Callistes more humanly come With the touch on his breast than a hail From the markets that hum.

II

Now the youth footed swift to the dawn.

'Twas the season when wintertide, In the higher rock-hollows updrawn, Leaves meadows to bud, and he spied, By light throwing shallow shade, Between the beam and the gloom, Sicilian Enna, whose Maid Such aspect wears in her bloom Underneath since the Charioteer Of Darkness whirled her away, On a reaped afternoon of the year, Nigh the poppy-droop of Day.

O and naked of her, all dust, The majestic Mother and Nurse, Ringing cries to the G.o.d, the Just, Curled the land with the blight of her curse: Recollected of this glad isle Still quaking. But now more fair, And momently fraying the while The veil of the shadows there, Soft Enna that prostrate grief Sang through, and revealed round the vines, Bronze-orange, the crisp young leaf, The wheat-blades tripping in lines, A hue unillumined by sun Of the flowers flooding gra.s.s as from founts: All the penetrable dun Of the morn ere she mounts.

III

Nor had saffron and sapphire and red Waved aloft to their sisters below, When gaped by the rock-channel head Of the lake, black, a cave at one blow, Reverberant over the plain: A sound oft fearfully swung For the coming of wrathful rain: And forth, like the dragon-tongue Of a fire beaten flat by the gale, But more as the smoke to behold, A chariot burst. Then a wail Quivered high of the love that would fold Bliss immeasurable, bigger than heart, Though a G.o.d's: and the wheels were stayed, And the team of the chariot swart Reared in marble, the six, dismayed, Like hoofs that by night plas.h.i.+ng sea Curve and ramp from the vast swan-wave: For, lo, the Great Mother, She!

And Callistes gazed, he gave His eyeb.a.l.l.s up to the sight: The embrace of the Twain, of whom To men are their day, their night, Mellow fruits and the shearing tomb: Our Lady of the Sheaves And the Lily of Hades, the Sweet Of Enna: he saw through leaves The Mother and Daughter meet.

They stood by the chariot-wheel, Embraced, very tall, most like Fellow poplars, wind-taken, that reel Down their s.h.i.+vering columns and strike Head to head, crossing throats: and apart, For the feast of the look, they drew, Which Darkness no longer could thwart; And they broke together anew, Exulting to tears, flower and bud.

But the mate of the Rayless was grave: She smiled like Sleep on its flood, That washes of all we crave: Like the trance of eyes awake And the spirit enshrouded, she cast The wan underworld on the lake.

They were so, and they pa.s.sed.

IV

He tells it, who knew the law Upon mortals: he stood alive Declaring that this he saw: He could see, and survive.

V

Now the youth was not ware of the beams With the gra.s.ses intertwined, For each thing seen, as in dreams, Came stepping to rear through his mind, Till it struck his remembered prayer To be witness of this which had flown Like a smoke melted thinner than air, That the vacancy doth disown.

And viewing a maiden, he thought It might now be morn, and afar Within him the memory wrought Of a something that slipped from the car When those, the august, moved by: Perchance a scarf, and perchance This maiden. She did not fly, Nor started at his advance: She looked, as when infinite thirst Pants pausing to bless the springs, Refreshed, unsated. Then first He trembled with awe of the things He had seen; and he did transfer, Divining and doubting in turn, His reverence unto her; Nor asked what he crouched to learn: The whence of her, whither, and why Her presence there, and her name, Her parentage: under which sky Her birth, and how hither she came, So young, a virgin, alone, Unfriended, having no fear, As Oreads have; no moan, Like the lost upon earth; no tear; Not a sign of the torch in the blood, Though her stature had reached the height When mantles a tender rud In maids that of youths have sight, If maids of our seed they be: For he said: A glad vision art thou!

And she answered him: Thou to me!

As men utter a vow.

VI

Then said she, quick as the cries Of the rainy cranes: Light! light!

And Helios rose in her eyes, That were full as the dew-b.a.l.l.s bright, Relucent to him as dews Unshaded. Breathing, she sent Her voice to the G.o.d of the Muse, And along the vale it went, Strange to hear: not thin, not shrill: Sweet, but no young maid's throat: The echo beyond the hill Ran falling on half the note: And under the shaken ground Where the Hundred-headed groans By the roots of great AEtna bound, As of him were hollow tones Of wondering roared: a tale Repeated to sunless halls.

But now off the face of the vale Shadows fled in a breath, and the walls Of the lake's rock-head were gold, And the breast of the lake, that swell Of the crestless long wave rolled To sh.o.r.e-bubble, pebble and sh.e.l.l.

A morning of radiant lids O'er the dance of the earth opened wide: The bees chose their flowers, the snub kids Upon hindlegs went sportive, or plied, Nosing, hard at the dugs to be filled: There was milk, honey, music to make: Up their branches the little birds billed: Chirrup, drone, bleat and buzz ringed the lake.

O s.h.i.+ning in sunlight, chief After water and water's caress, Was the young bronze-orange leaf, That clung to the tree as a tress, Shooting lucid tendrils to wed With the vine-hook tree or pole, Like Arachne launched out on her thread.

Then the maiden her dusky stole In the span of the black-starred zone, Gathered up for her footing fleet.

As one that had toil of her own She followed the lines of wheat Tripping straight through the fields, green blades, To the groves of olive grey, Downy-grey, golden-tinged: and to glades Where the pear-blossom thickens the spray In a night, like the snow-packed storm: Pear, apple, almond, plum: Not wintry now: pus.h.i.+ng, warm!

And she touched them with finger and thumb, As the vine-hook closes: she smiled, Recounting again and again, Corn, wine, fruit, oil! like a child, With the meaning known to men.

For hours in the track of the plough And the pruning-knife she stepped, And of how the seed works, and of how Yields the soil, she seemed adept.

Then she murmured that name of the dearth, The Beneficent, Hers, who bade Our husbandmen sow for the birth Of the grain making earth full glad.

She murmured that Other's: the dirge Of life-light: for whose dark lap Our locks are clipped on the verge Of the realm where runs no sap.

She said: We have looked on both!

And her eyes had a wavering beam Of various lights, like the froth Of the storm-swollen ravine stream In flame of the bolt. What links Were these which had made him her friend?

He eyed her, as one who drinks, And would drink to the end.

VII

<script>