Part 1 (2/2)

The dead are not ashamed, they feel no pain; I have heard folk who spoke of death as gain-- And yet--ah, G.o.d, if I had been some maid, Toiling all day, and in the night-time laid Asleep on rushes--had I only died Before this sweet life I had fully tried, Upon that day when for my birth men sung, And o'er the feasting folk the sweet bells rung.”

And therewith she arose and gat away, And in her chamber, mourning long she lay, Thinking of all the days that might have been, And how that she was born to be a queen, The prize of some great conqueror of renown, The joy of many a country and fair town, The high desire of every prince and lord, One who could fright with careless smile or word The hearts of heroes fearless in the war, The glory of the world, the leading-star Unto all honour and all earthly fame-- --Round goes the wheel, and death and deadly shame Shall be her lot, while yet of her men sing Unwitting that the G.o.ds have done this thing.

Long time she lay there, while the sunbeams moved Over her body through the flowers she loved; And in the eaves the sparrows chirped outside, Until for weariness she grew dry-eyed, And into an unhappy sleep she fell.

But of the luckless King now must we tell, Who sat devising means to 'scape that shame, Until the frightened people thronging came About the palace, and drove back the guards, Making their way past all the gates and wards; And, putting chamberlains and marshals by, Surged round the very throne tumultuously.

Then knew the wretched King all folk had heard The miserable sentence, and the word The G.o.ds had spoken; and from out his seat He rose, and spoke in humble words, unmeet For a great King, and prayed them give him grace, While 'twixt his words the tears ran down his face On to his raiment stiff with golden thread.

But little heeded they the words he said, For very fear had made them pitiless; Nor cared they for the maid and her distress, But clashed their spears together and 'gan cry: ”For one man's daughter shall the people die, And this fair land become an empty name, Because thou art afraid to meet the shame Wherewith the G.o.ds reward thy hidden sin?

Nay, by their glory do us right herein!”

”Ye are in haste to have a poor maid slain,”

The King said; ”but my will herein is vain, For ye are many, I one aged man: Let one man speak, if for his shame he can.”

Then stepped a st.u.r.dy dyer forth, who said,-- ”Fear of the G.o.ds brings no shame, by my head.

Listen; thy daughter we would have thee leave Upon the fated mountain this same eve; And thither must she go right well arrayed In marriage raiment, loose hair as a maid, And saffron veil, and with her shall there go Fair maidens bearing torches, two and two; And minstrels, in such raiment as is meet The G.o.d-ordained fearful spouse to greet.

So shalt thou save our wives and little ones, And something better than a heap of stones, Dwelt in by noisesome things, this town shall be, And thou thyself shalt keep thy sovereignty; But if thou wilt not do the thing I say, Then shalt thou live in bonds from this same day, And we will bear thy maid unto the hill, And from the dread G.o.ds save the city still.”

Then loud they shouted at the words he said, And round the head of the unhappy maid, Dreaming uneasily of long-past joys, Floated the echo of that dreadful noise, And changed her dreams to dreams of misery.

But when the King knew that the thing must be, And that no help there was in this distress, He bade them have all things in readiness To take the maiden out at sun-setting, And wed her to the unknown dreadful thing.

So through the palace pa.s.sed with heavy cheer Her women gathering the sad wedding gear, Who lingering long, yet at the last must go, To waken Psyche to her bitter woe.

So coming to her bower, they found her there, From head to foot rolled in her yellow hair, As in the saffron veil she should be soon Betwixt the setting sun and rising moon; But when above her a pale maiden bent And touched her, from her heart a sigh she sent, And waking, on their woeful faces stared, Sitting upright, with one white shoulder bared By writhing on the bed in wretchedness.

Then suddenly remembering her distress, She bowed her head and 'gan to weep and wail But let them wrap her in the bridal veil, And bind the sandals to her silver feet, And set the rose-wreath on her tresses sweet: But spoke no word, yea, rather, wearily Turned from the yearning face and pitying eye Of any maid who seemed about to speak.

Now through the garden trees the sun 'gan break, And that inevitable time drew near; Then through the courts, grown cruel, strange, and drear, Since the bright morn, they led her to the gate.

Where she beheld a golden litter wait.

Whereby the King stood, aged and bent to earth, The flute-players with faces void of mirth, The down-cast bearers of the ivory wands, The maiden torch-bearers' unhappy bands.

So then was Psyche taken to the hill, And through the town the streets were void and still; For in their houses all the people stayed, Of that most mournful music sore afraid.

But on the way a marvel did they see, For, pa.s.sing by, where wrought of ivory, There stood the G.o.ddess of the flowery isle, All folk could see the carven image smile.

But when anigh the hill's bare top they came, Where Psyche must be left to meet her shame, They set the litter down, and drew aside The golden curtains from the wretched bride, Who at their bidding rose and with them went Afoot amidst her maids with head down-bent, Until they came unto the drear rock's brow; And there she stood apart, not weeping now, But pale as privet blossom is in June.

There as the quivering flutes left off their tune, In trembling arms the weeping, haggard King Caught Psyche, who, like some half-lifeless thing, Took all his kisses, and no word could say, Until at last perforce he turned away; Because the longest agony has end, And homeward through the twilight did they wend.

But Psyche, now faint and bewildered, Remembered little of her pain and dread; Her doom drawn nigh took all her fear away, And left her faint and weary; as they say It haps to one who 'neath a lion lies, Who stunned and helpless feels not ere he dies The horror of the yellow fell, the red Hot mouth, and white teeth gleaming o'er his head; So Psyche felt, as sinking on the ground She cast one weary vacant look around, And at the ending of that wretched day Swooning beneath the risen moon she lay.

Now backward must our story go awhile And unto Cyprus the fair flowered isle, Where hid away from every wors.h.i.+pper Was Venus sitting, and her son by her Standing to mark what words she had to say, While in his dreadful wings the wind did play: Frowning she spoke, in plucking from her thigh The fragrant flowers that clasped it lovingly.

”In such a town, O son, a maid there is Whom any amorous man this day would kiss As gladly as a G.o.ddess like to me, And though I know an end to this must be, When white and red and gold are waxen grey Down on the earth, while unto me one day Is as another; yet behold, my son, And go through all my temples one by one And look what incense rises unto me; Hearken the talk of sailors from the sea Just landed, ever will it be the same, 'Hast thou then seen her?'--Yea, unto my shame Within the temple that is called mine, As through the veil I watched the altar s.h.i.+ne This happed; a man with outstretched hand there stood, Glittering in arms, of smiling joyous mood, With crisp, black hair, and such a face one sees But seldom now, and limbs like Hercules; But as he stood there in my holy place, Across mine image came the maiden's face, And when he saw her, straight the warrior said Turning about unto an earthly maid, 'O, lady Venus, thou art kind to me After so much of wandering on the sea To show thy very body to me here,'

But when this impious saying I did hear, I sent them a great portent, for straightway I quenched the fire, and no priest on that day Could light it any more for all his prayer.

”So must she fall, so must her golden hair Flash no more through the city, or her feet Be seen like lilies moving down the street; No more must men watch her soft raiment cling About her limbs, no more must minstrels sing The praises of her arms and hidden breast.

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