Part 1 (1/2)
The Earthly Paradise.
by William Morris.
THE EARTHLY PARADISE.
MAY, JUNE, JULY, AUGUST.
MAY.
O love, this morn when the sweet nightingale Had so long finished all he had to say, That thou hadst slept, and sleep had told his tale; And midst a peaceful dream had stolen away In fragrant dawning of the first of May, Didst thou see aught? didst thou hear voices sing Ere to the risen sun the bells 'gan ring?
For then methought the Lord of Love went by To take possession of his flowery throne, Ringed round with maids, and youths, and minstrelsy; A little while I sighed to find him gone, A little while the dawning was alone, And the light gathered; then I held my breath, And shuddered at the sight of Eld and Death.
Alas! Love pa.s.sed me in the twilight dun, His music hushed the wakening ousel's song; But on these twain shone out the golden sun, And o'er their heads the brown bird's tune was strong, As s.h.i.+vering, twixt the trees they stole along; None noted aught their noiseless pa.s.sing by, The world had quite forgotten it must die.
Now must these men be glad a little while That they had lived to see May once more smile Upon the earth; wherefore, as men who know How fast the bad days and the good days go, They gathered at the feast: the fair abode Wherein they sat, o'erlooked, across the road Unhedged green meads, which willowy streams pa.s.sed through, And on that morn, before the fresh May dew Had dried upon the sunniest spot of gra.s.s, From bush to bush did youths and maidens pa.s.s In raiment meet for May apparelled, Gathering the milk-white blossoms and the red; And now, with noon long past, and that bright day Growing aweary, on the sunny way They wandered, crowned with flowers, and loitering, And weary, yet were fresh enough to sing The carols of the morn, and pensive, still Had cast away their doubt of death and ill, And flushed with love, no more grew red with shame.
So to the elders as they sat, there came, With scent of flowers, the murmur of that folk Wherethrough from time to time a song outbroke, Till scarce they thought about the story due; Yet, when anigh to sun-setting it grew, A book upon the board an elder laid, And turning from the open window said, ”Too fair a tale the lovely time doth ask, For this of mine to be an easy task, Yet in what words soever this is writ, As for the matter, I dare say of it That it is lovely as the lovely May; Pa.s.s then the manner, since the learned say No written record was there of the tale, Ere we from our fair land of Greece set sail; How this may be I know not, this I know That such-like tales the wind would seem to blow From place to place, e'en as the feathery seed Is borne across the sea to help the need Of barren isles; so, sirs, from seed thus sown, This flower, a gift from other lands has grown.
THE STORY OF CUPID AND PSYCHE.
ARGUMENT.
Psyche, a king's daughter, by her exceeding beauty caused the people to forget Venus; therefore the G.o.ddess would fain have destroyed her: nevertheless she became the bride of Love, yet in an unhappy moment lost him by her own fault, and wandering through the world suffered many evils at the hands of Venus, for whom she must accomplish fearful tasks. But the G.o.ds and all nature helped her, and in process of time she was reunited to Love, forgiven by Venus, and made immortal by the Father of G.o.ds and men.
In the Greek land of old there was a King Happy in battle, rich in everything; Most rich in this, that he a daughter had Whose beauty made the longing city glad.
She was so fair, that strangers from the sea Just landed, in the temples thought that she Was Venus visible to mortal eyes, New come from Cyprus for a world's surprise.
She was so beautiful that had she stood On windy Ida by the oaken wood, And bared her limbs to that bold shepherd's gaze, Troy might have stood till now with happy days; And those three fairest, all have left the land And left her with the apple in her hand.
And Psyche is her name in stories old, As ever by our fathers we were told.
All this beheld Queen Venus from her throne, And felt that she no longer was alone In beauty, but, if only for a while, This maiden matched her G.o.d-enticing smile; Therefore, she wrought in such a wise, that she, If honoured as a G.o.ddess, certainly Was dreaded as a G.o.ddess none the less, And midst her wealth, dwelt long in loneliness.
Two sisters had she, and men deemed them fair, But as King's daughters might be anywhere, And these to men of name and great estate Were wedded, while at home must Psyche wait.
The sons of kings before her silver feet Still bowed, and sighed for her; in measures sweet The minstrels to the people sung her praise, Yet must she live a virgin all her days.
So to Apollo's fane her father sent, Seeking to know the dreadful G.o.ds' intent, And therewith sent he goodly gifts of price A silken veil, wrought with a paradise, Three golden bowls, set round with many a gem, Three silver robes, with gold in every hem, And a fair ivory image of the G.o.d That underfoot a golden serpent trod; And when three lords with these were gone away, Nor could return until the fortieth day, Ill was the King at ease, and neither took Joy in the chase, or in the pictured book The skilled Athenian limner had just wrought, Nor in the golden cloths from India brought.
At last the day came for those lords' return, And then 'twixt hope and fear the King did burn, As on his throne with great pomp he was set, And by him Psyche, knowing not as yet Why they had gone: thus waiting, at noontide They in the palace heard a voice outside, And soon the messengers came hurrying, And with pale faces knelt before the King, And rent their clothes, and each man on his head Cast dust, the while a trembling courtier read This scroll, wherein the fearful answer lay, Whereat from every face joy pa.s.sed away.
THE ORACLE.
O father of a most unhappy maid, O King, whom all the world henceforth shall know As wretched among wretches, be afraid To ask the G.o.ds thy misery to show, But if thou needs must hear it, to thy woe Take back thy gifts to feast thine eyes upon, When thine own flesh and blood some beast hath won.
”For hear thy doom, a rugged rock there is Set back a league from thine own palace fair, There leave the maid, that she may wait the kiss Of the fell monster that doth harbour there: This is the mate for whom her yellow hair And tender limbs have been so fas.h.i.+oned, This is the pillow for her lovely head.
”O what an evil from thy loins shall spring, For all the world this monster overturns, He is the bane of every mortal thing, And this world ruined, still for more he yearns; A fire there goeth from his mouth that burns Worse than the flame of Phlegethon the red-- To such a monster shall thy maid be wed.
”And if thou sparest now to do this thing, I will destroy thee and thy land also, And of dead corpses shalt thou be the King, And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go, Howling for second death to end thy woe; Live therefore as thou mayst and do my will, And be a King that men may envy still.”
What man was there, whose face changed not for grief At hearing this? Psyche, shrunk like the leaf The autumn frost first touches on the tree, Stared round about with eyes that could not see, And muttered sounds from lips that said no word, And still within her ears the sentence heard When all was said and silence fell on all 'Twixt marble columns and adorned wall.
Then spoke the King, bowed down with misery: ”What help is left! O daughter, let us die, Or else together fleeing from this land, From town to town go wandering hand in hand Thou and I, daughter, till all men forget That ever on a throne I have been set, And then, when houseless and disconsolate, We ask an alms before some city gate, The G.o.ds perchance a little gift may give, And suffer thee and me like beasts to live.”
Then answered Psyche, through her bitter tears, ”Alas! my father, I have known these years That with some woe the G.o.ds have dowered me, And weighed 'gainst riches infelicity; Ill is it then against the G.o.ds to strive; Live on, O father, those that are alive May still be happy; would it profit me To live awhile, and ere I died to see Thee perish, and all folk who love me well, And then at last be dragged myself to h.e.l.l Cursed of all men? nay, since all things must die, And I have dreamed not of eternity, Why weepest thou that I must die to-day?
Why weepest thou? cast thought of shame away.