Part 3 (1/2)

She moved at last, and lifting up her face, Gathered her raiment up and cried, ”Farewell, O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwell With thee in heaven, let me now hide my head In whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!”

And with that word she leapt into the stream, But the kind river even yet did deem That she should live, and, with all gentle care, Cast her ash.o.r.e within a meadow fair.

Upon the other side, where Shepherd Pan Sat looking down upon the water wan, Goat-legged and merry, who called out, ”Fair maid Why goest thou hurrying to the feeble shade Whence none return? Well do I know thy pain, For I am old, and have not lived in vain; Thou wilt forget all that within a while, And on some other happy youth wilt smile; And sure he must be dull indeed if he Forget not all things in his ecstasy At sight of such a wonder made for him, That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim, Old as I am: but to the G.o.d of Love Pray now, sweet child, for all things can he move.”

Weeping she pa.s.sed him, but full reverently, And well she saw that she was not to die Till she had filled the measure of her woe.

So through the meads she pa.s.sed, half blind and slow, And on her sisters somewhat now she thought; And, pondering on the evil they had wrought, The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile.

”Alas!” she said, ”can death make folk so vile?

What wonder that the G.o.ds are glorious then, Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men?

Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be!

Once did I think, whatso might hap to me, Still at the worst, within your arms to find A haven of pure love; then were ye kind, Then was your joy e'en as my very own-- And now, and now, if I can be alone That is my best: but that can never be, For your unkindness still shall stay with me When ye are dead--But thou, my love! my dear!

Wert thou not kind?--I should have lost my fear Within a little--Yea, and e'en just now With angry G.o.dhead on thy lovely brow, Still thou wert kind--And art thou gone away For ever? I know not, but day by day Still will I seek thee till I come to die, And nurse remembrance of felicity Within my heart, although it wound me sore; For what am I but thine for evermore!”

Thenceforth her back upon the world she turned As she had known it; in her heart there burned Such deathless love, that still untired she went: The huntsman dropping down the woody bent, In the still evening, saw her pa.s.sing by, And for her beauty fain would draw anigh, But yet durst not; the shepherd on the down Wondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown, As on the hill's brow, looking o'er the lands, She stood with straining eyes and clinging hands, While the wind blew the raiment from her feet; The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet, That took no heed of him, and drop his own; Like a thin dream she pa.s.sed the clattering town; On the thronged quays she watched the s.h.i.+ps come in Patient, amid the strange outlandish din; Unscared she saw the sacked towns' miseries, And marching armies pa.s.sed before her eyes.

And still of her the G.o.d had such a care That none might wrong her, though alone and fair.

Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day, Till all her hope had well-nigh pa.s.sed away.

Meanwhile the sisters, each in her own home, Waited the day when outcast she should come And ask their pity; when perchance, indeed, They looked to give her shelter in her need, And with soft words such faint reproaches take As she durst make them for her ruin's sake; But day pa.s.sed day, and still no Psyche came, And while they wondered whether, to their shame, Their plot had failed, or gained its end too well, And Psyche slain, no tale thereof could tell.-- Amidst these things, the eldest sister lay Asleep one evening of a summer day, Dreaming she saw the G.o.d of Love anigh, Who seemed to say unto her lovingly, ”Hail unto thee, fair sister of my love; Nor fear me for that thou her faith didst prove, And found it wanting, for thou, too, art fair, Nor is her place filled; rise, and have no care For father or for friends, but go straightway Unto the rock where she was borne that day; There, if thou hast a will to be my bride, Put thou all fear of horrid death aside, And leap from off the cliff, and there will come My slaves, to bear thee up and take thee home.

Haste then, before the summer night grows late, For in my house thy beauty I await!”

So spake the dream; and through the night did sail, And to the other sister bore the tale, While this one rose, nor doubted of the thing, Such deadly pride unto her heart did cling; But by the tapers' light triumphantly, Smiling, her mirrored body did she eye, Then hastily rich raiment on her cast And through the sleeping serving-people pa.s.sed, And looked with changed eyes on the moonlit street, Nor scarce could feel the ground beneath her feet.

But long the time seemed to her, till she came There where her sister once was borne to shame; And when she reached the bare cliff's rugged brow She cried aloud, ”O Love, receive me now, Who am not all unworthy to be thine!”

And with that word, her jewelled arms did s.h.i.+ne Outstretched beneath the moon, and with one breath She sprung to meet the outstretched arms of Death, The only G.o.d that waited for her there, And in a gathered moment of despair A hideous thing her traitrous life did seem.

But with the pa.s.sing of that hollow dream The other sister rose, and as she might, Arrayed herself alone in that still night, And so stole forth, and making no delay Came to the rock anigh the dawn of day; No warning there her sister's spirit gave, No doubt came nigh the fore-doomed soul to save, But with a fever burning in her blood, With glittering eyes and crimson cheeks she stood One moment on the brow, the while she cried, ”Receive me, Love, chosen to be thy bride From all the million women of the world!”

Then o'er the cliff her wicked limbs were hurled, Nor has the language of the earth a name For that surprise of terror and of shame.

Now, midst her wanderings, on a hot noontide, Psyche pa.s.sed down a road, where, on each side The yellow cornfields lay, although as yet Unto the stalks no sickle had been set; The lark sung over them, the b.u.t.terfly Flickered from ear to ear distractedly, The kestrel hung above, the weasel peered From out the wheat-stalks on her unafeard, Along the road the trembling poppies shed On the burnt gra.s.s their crumpled leaves and red; Most lonely was it, nothing Psyche knew Unto what land of all the world she drew; Aweary was she, faint and sick at heart, Bowed to the earth by thoughts of that sad part She needs must play: some blue flower from the corn That in her fingers erewhile she had borne, Now dropped from them, still clung unto her gown; Over the hard way hung her head adown Despairingly, but still her weary feet Moved on half conscious, her lost love to meet.

So going, at the last she raised her eyes, And saw a gra.s.sy mound before her rise Over the yellow plain, and thereon was A marble fane with doors of burnished bra.s.s, That 'twixt the pillars set about it burned; So thitherward from off the road she turned, And soon she heard a rippling water sound, And reached a stream that girt the hill around, Whose green waves wooed her body lovingly; So looking round, and seeing no soul anigh, Unclad, she crossed the shallows, and there laid Her dusty raiment in the alder-shade, And slipped adown into the shaded pool, And with the pleasure of the water cool Soothed her tired limbs awhile, then with a sigh Came forth, and clad her body hastily, And up the hill made for the little fane.

But when its threshold now her feet did gain, She, looking through the pillars of the shrine, Beheld therein a golden image s.h.i.+ne Of golden Ceres; then she pa.s.sed the door, And with bowed head she stood awhile before The smiling image, striving for some word That did not name her lover and her lord, Until midst rising tears at last she prayed: ”O kind one, if while yet I was a maid I ever did thee pleasure, on this day Be kind to me, poor wanderer on the way, Who strive my love upon the earth to meet!

Then let me rest my weary, doubtful feet Within thy quiet house a little while, And on my rest if thou wouldst please to smile, And send me news of my own love and lord, It would not cost thee, lady, many a word.”

But straight from out the shrine a sweet voice came, ”O Psyche, though of me thou hast no blame, And though indeed thou sparedst not to give What my soul loved, while happy thou didst live, Yet little can I give now unto thee, Since thou art rebel, slave, and enemy Unto the love-inspiring Queen; this grace Thou hast alone of me, to leave this place Free as thou camest, though the lovely one Seeks for the sorceress who entrapped her son In every land, and has small joy in aught, Until before her presence thou art brought.”

Then Psyche, trembling at the words she spake, Durst answer nought, nor for that counsel's sake Could other offerings leave except her tears, As now, tormented by the new-born fears The words divine had raised in her, she pa.s.sed The brazen threshold once again, and cast A dreary hopeless look across the plain, Whose golden beauty now seemed nought and vain Unto her aching heart; then down the hill She went, and crossed the shallows of the rill, And wearily she went upon her way, Nor any homestead pa.s.sed upon that day, Nor any hamlet, and at night lay down Within a wood, far off from any town.

There, waking at the dawn, did she behold, Through the green leaves, a glimmer as of gold, And, pa.s.sing on, amidst an oak-grove found A pillared temple gold-adorned and round, Whose walls were hung with rich and precious things, Worthy to be the ransom of great kings; And in the midst of gold and ivory An image of Queen Juno did she see; Then her heart swelled within her, and she thought, ”Surely the G.o.ds hereto my steps have brought, And they will yet be merciful and give Some little joy to me, that I may live Till my Love finds me.” Then upon her knees She fell, and prayed, ”O Crown of G.o.ddesses, I pray thee, give me shelter in this place, Nor turn away from me thy much-loved face, If ever I gave golden gifts to thee In happier times when my right hand was free.”

Then from the inmost shrine there came a voice That said, ”It is so, well mayst thou rejoice That of thy gifts I yet have memory, Wherefore mayst thou depart forewarned and free; Since she that won the golden apple lives, And to her servants mighty gifts now gives To find thee out, in whatso land thou art, For thine undoing; loiter not, depart!

For what immortal yet shall shelter thee From her that rose from out the unquiet sea?”

Then Psyche moaned out in her grief and fear, ”Alas! and is there shelter anywhere Upon the green flame-hiding earth?” said she, ”Or yet beneath it is there peace for me?

O Love, since in thine arms I cannot rest, Or lay my weary head upon thy breast, Have pity yet upon thy love forlorn, Make me as though I never had been born!”

Then wearily she went upon her way, And so, about the middle of the day, She came before a green and flowery place, Walled round about in manner of a chase, Whereof the gates as now were open wide; Fair gra.s.sy glades and long she saw inside Betwixt great trees, down which the unscared deer Were playing; yet a pang of deadly fear, She knew not why, shot coldly through her heart, And thrice she turned as though she would depart, And thrice returned, and in the gateway stood With wavering feet: small flowers as red as blood Were growing up amid the soft green gra.s.s, And here and there a fallen rose there was, And on the trodden gra.s.s a silken lace, As though crowned revellers had pa.s.sed by the place The restless sparrows chirped upon the wall And faint far music on her ears did fall, And from the trees within, the pink-foot doves Still told their weary tale unto their loves, And all seemed peaceful more than words could say.

Then she, whose heart still whispered, ”Keep away.”

Was drawn by strong desire unto the place, So toward the greenest glade she set her face, Murmuring, ”Alas! and what a wretch am I, That I should fear the summer's greenery!

Yea, and is death now any more an ill, When lonely through the world I wander still.”

But when she was amidst those ancient groves, Whose close green leaves and choirs of moaning doves Shut out the world, then so alone she seemed, So strange, her former life was but as dreamed; Beside the hopes and fears that drew her on, Till so far through that green place she had won, That she a rose-hedged garden could behold Before a house made beautiful with gold; Which, to her mind beset with that past dream, And dim foreshadowings of ill fate, did seem That very house, her joy and misery, Where that fair sight her longing eyes did see They should not see again; but now the sound Of pensive music echoing all around, Made all things like a picture, and from thence Bewildering odours floating, dulled her sense, And killed her fear, and, urged by strong desire To see how all should end, she drew yet nigher, And o'er the hedge beheld the heads of girls Embraced by garlands fresh and orient pearls, And heard sweet voices murmuring; then a thrill Of utmost joy all memory seemed to kill Of good or evil, and her eager hand Was on the wicket, then her feet did stand Upon new flowers, the while her dizzied eyes Gazed wildly round on half-seen mysteries, And wandered from unnoting face to face.

For round a fountain midst the flowery place Did she behold full many a minstrel girl; While nigh them, on the gra.s.s in giddy whirl, Bright raiment and white limbs and sandalled feet Flew round in time unto the music sweet, Whose strains no more were pensive now nor sad, But rather a fresh sound of triumph had; And round the dance were gathered damsels fair, Clad in rich robes adorned with jewels rare; Or little hidden by some woven mist, That, hanging round them, here a bosom kissed And there a knee, or driven by the wind About some lily's bowing stem was twined.

But when a little Psyche's eyes grew clear, A sight they saw that brought back all her fear A hundred-fold, though neither heaven nor earth To such a fair sight elsewhere could give birth; Because apart, upon a golden throne Of marvellous work, a woman sat alone, Watching the dancers with a smiling face, Whose beauty sole had lighted up the place.

A crown there was upon her glorious head, A garland round about her girdlestead, Where matchless wonders of the hidden sea Were brought together and set wonderfully; Naked she was of all else, but her hair About her body rippled here and there, And lay in heaps upon the golden seat, And even touched the gold cloth where her feet Lay amid roses--ah, how kind she seemed!

What depths of love from out her grey eyes beamed!

Well might the birds leave singing on the trees To watch in peace that crown of G.o.ddesses, Yet well might Psyche sicken at the sight, And feel her feet wax heavy, her head light; For now at last her evil day was come, Since she had wandered to the very home Of her most bitter cruel enemy.