Part 6 (2/2)

Then let thy beasts, ruled by this carven rod, Turn round to Pherae; yet must thou abide Before thou comest to the streamlet's side That feed its d.y.k.es; there, by the little wood Wherein unto Diana men shed blood, Will I await thee, and thou shalt descend And hand-in-hand afoot through Pherae wend; And yet I bid thee, this night let thy bride Apart among the womenfolk abide; That on the morrow thou with sacrifice For these strange deeds may pay a fitting price.”

But as he spoke with something like to awe, His eyes and much-changed face Admetus saw, And voiceless like a slave his words obeyed; For rising up no more delay he made, But took the staff and gained the palace-door Where stood the beasts, whose mingled whine and roar Had wrought his dream; there two and two they stood, Thinking, it might be, of the tangled wood, And all the joys of the food-hiding trees, But harmless as their painted images 'Neath some dread spell; then, leaping up, he took The reins in hand and the bossed leather shook, And no delay the conquered beasts durst make But drew, not silent; and folk just awake When he went by, as though a G.o.d they saw, Fell on their knees, and maidens come to draw Fresh water from the fount sank trembling down, And silence held the babbling wakened town.

So 'twixt the dewy hedges did he wend, And still their noise afar the beasts did send, His strange victorious advent to proclaim, Till to Iolchos at the last he came, And drew anigh the gates, whence in affright The guards fled, helpless at the wondrous sight; And through the town news of the coming spread Of some great G.o.d so that the scared priests led Pale suppliants forth; who, in unmeet attire And hastily-caught boughs and smouldering fire Within their censers, in the market-place Awaited him with many an upturned face, Trembling with fear of that unnamed new G.o.d; But through the midst of them his lions trod With noiseless feet, nor noted aught their prey, And the boars' hooves went pattering on the way, While from their churning tusks the white foam flew As raging, helpless, in the trace they drew.

But Pelias, knowing all the work of fate, Sat in his brazen-pillared porch to wait The coming of the King; the while the maid In her fair marriage garments was arrayed, And from strong places of his treasury Men brought fine scarlet from the Syrian sea, And works of bra.s.s, and ivory, and gold; But when the strange yoked beasts he did behold Come through the press of people terrified, Then he arose and o'er the clamour cried, ”Hail, thou, who like a very G.o.d art come To bring great honour to my damsel's home;”

And when Admetus tightened rein before The gleaming, brazen-wrought, half-opened door.

He cried to Pelias, ”Hail, to thee, O King; Let me behold once more my father's ring, Let me behold the prize that I have won, Mine eyes are wearying now to look upon.”

”Fear not,” he said, ”the Fates are satisfied; Yet wilt thou not descend and here abide, Doing me honour till the next bright morn Has dried the dew upon the new-sprung corn, That we in turn may give the honour due To such a man that such a thing can do, And unto all the G.o.ds may sacrifice?”

”Nay,” said Admetus, ”if thou call'st me wise, And like a very G.o.d thou dost me deem, Shall I abide the ending of the dream And so gain nothing? nay, let me be glad That I at least one G.o.dlike hour have had At whatsoever time I come to die, That I may mock the world that pa.s.ses by, And yet forgets it.” Saying this, indeed, Of Pelias did he seem to take small heed, But spoke as one unto himself may speak, And still the half-shut door his eyes did seek, Wherethrough from distant rooms sweet music came, Setting his over-strained heart a-flame, Because amidst the Lydian flutes he thought From place to place his love the maidens brought.

Then Pelias said, ”What can I give to thee Who fail'st so little of divinity?

Yet let my slaves lay these poor gifts within Thy chariot, while my daughter strives to win The favour of the spirits of this place, Since from their altars she must turn her face For ever now; hearken, her flutes I hear, From the last chapel doth she draw anear.”

Then by Admetus' feet the folk 'gan pile The precious things, but he no less the while Stared at the door ajar, and thought it long Ere with the flutes mingled the maidens' song, And both grew louder, and the scarce-seen floor Was fluttering with white raiment, and the door By slender fingers was set open wide, And midst her damsels he beheld the bride Ungirt, with hair unbound and garlanded: Then Pelias took her slender hand and said, ”Daughter, this is the man that takes from thee Thy curse midst women, think no more to be Childless, unloved, and knowing little bliss; But now behold how like a G.o.d he is, And yet with what prayers for the love of thee He must have wearied some divinity, And therefore in thine inmost heart be glad That thou 'mongst women such a man hast had.”

Then she with wondering eyes that strange team saw A moment, then as one with gathering awe Might turn from Jove's bird unto very Jove, So did she raise her grey eyes to her love, But to her brow the blood rose therewithal, And she must tremble, such a look did fall Upon her faithful eyes, that none the less Would falter aught, for all her shamefastness, But rather to her lover's hungry eyes Gave back a tender look of glad surprise, Wherein love's flame began to flicker now.

Withal, her father kissed her on the brow, And said, ”O daughter, take this royal ring, And set it on the finger of the King, And come not back; and thou, Admetus, pour This wine to Jove before my open door, And glad at heart take back thine own with thee.”

Then with that word Alcestis silently, And with no look cast back, and ring in hand, Went forth, and soon beside her love did stand, Nor on his finger failed to set the ring; And then a golden cup the city's King Gave to him, and he poured and said, ”O thou, From whatsoever place thou lookest now, What prayers, what gifts unto thee shall I give That we a little time with love may live?

A little time of love, then fall asleep Together, while the crown of love we keep.”

So spake he, and his strange beasts turned about, And heeded not the people's wavering shout That from their old fear and new pleasure sprung, Nor noted aught of what the damsels sung, Or of the flowers that after them they cast, But like a dream the guarded city pa.s.sed, And 'twixt the song of birds and blossoms' scent It seemed for many hundred years they went, Though short the way was unto Pherae's gates; Time they forgat, and G.o.ds, and men, and fates, However nigh unto their hearts they were; The woodland boars, the yellow lords of fear No more seemed strange to them, but all the earth With all its changing sorrow and wild mirth In that fair hour seemed new-born to the twain, Grief seemed a play forgot, a pageant vain, A picture painted, who knows where or when, With soulless images of restless men; For every thought but love was now gone by, And they forgot that they should ever die.

But when they came anigh the sacred wood, There, biding them, Admetus' herdsman stood, At sight of whom those yoke-fellows unchecked Stopped dead and little of Admetus recked Who now, as one from dreams not yet awake, Drew back his love and did his wain forsake, And gave the carven rod and guiding bands Into the waiting herdsman's outstretched hands, But when he would have thanked him for the thing That he had done, his speechless tongue must cling Unto his mouth, and why he could not tell.

But the man said, ”No words! thou hast done well To me, as I to thee; the day may come When thou shalt ask me for a fitting home, Nor shalt thou ask in vain; but hasten now, And to thine house this royal maiden show, Then give her to thy women for this night.

But when thou wakest up to thy delight To-morrow, do all things that should be done, Nor of the G.o.ds, forget thou any one, And on the next day will I come again To tend thy flocks upon the gra.s.sy plain.

”But now depart, and from thine home send here Chariot and horse, these gifts of thine to bear Unto thine house, and going, look not back Lest many a wished-for thing thou com'st to lack.”

Then hand in hand together, up the road The lovers pa.s.sed unto the King's abode, And as they went, the whining snort and roar From the yoked beasts they heard break out once more And then die off, as they were led away, But whether to some place lit up by day, Or, 'neath the earth, they knew not, for the twain Went hastening on, nor once looked back again.

But soon the minstrels met them, and a band Of white-robed damsels flowery boughs in hand, To bid them welcome to that pleasant place.

Then they, rejoicing much, in no long s.p.a.ce Came to the brazen-pillared porch, whereon From 'twixt the pa.s.ses of the hills yet shone The dying sun; and there she stood awhile Without the threshold, a faint tender smile Trembling upon her lips 'twixt love and shame, Until each side of her a maiden came And raised her in their arms, that her fair feet The polished brazen threshold might not meet, And in Admetus' house she stood at last.

But to the women's chamber straight she pa.s.sed Bepraised of all,--and so the wakeful night Lonely the lovers pa.s.sed e'en as they might.

But the next day with many a sacrifice, Admetus wrought, for such a well-won prize, A life so blest, the G.o.ds to satisfy, And many a matchless beast that day did die Upon the altars; nought unlucky seemed To be amid the joyous crowd that gleamed With gold and precious things, and only this Seemed wanting to the King of Pherae's bliss, That all these pageants should be soon past by, And hid by night the fair spring blossoms lie.

Yet on the morrow-morn Admetus came, A haggard man oppressed with grief and shame Unto the spot beside Boebeis' sh.o.r.e Whereby he met his herdsman once before, And there again he found him flushed and glad, And from the babbling water newly clad, Then he with downcast eyes these words began, ”O thou, whatso thy name is, G.o.d or man, Hearken to me; meseemeth of thy deed Some dread immortal taketh angry heed.

”Last night the height of my desire seemed won, All day my weary eyes had watched the sun Rise up and sink, and now was come the night When I should be alone with my delight; Silent the house was now from floor to roof, And in the well-hung chambers, far aloof, The feasters lay; the moon was in the sky, The soft spring wind was wafting lovingly Across the gardens fresh scents to my sweet, As, troubled with the sound of my own feet, I pa.s.sed betwixt the pillars, whose long shade Black on the white red-veined floor was laid: So happy was I that the briar-rose, Rustling outside within the flowery close, Seemed but Love's odorous wing--too real all seemed For such a joy as I had never dreamed.

”Why do I linger, as I lingered not In that fair hour, now ne'er to be forgot While my life lasts?--Upon the gilded door I laid my hand; I stood upon the floor Of the bride-chamber, and I saw the bride, Lovelier than any dream, stand by the side Of the gold bed, with hands that hid her face: One cry of joy I gave, and then the place Seemed changed to h.e.l.l as in a hideous dream.

”Still did the painted silver pillars gleam Betwixt the scented torches and the moon; Still did the garden shed its odorous boon Upon the night; still did the nightingale Unto his brooding mate tell all his tale: But, risen 'twixt my waiting love and me, As soundless as the dread eternity, Sprung up from nothing, could mine eyes behold A huge dull-gleaming dreadful coil that rolled In changing circles on the pavement fair.

Then for the sword that was no longer there My hand sank to my side; around I gazed, And 'twixt the coils I met her grey eyes, glazed With sudden horror most unspeakable; And when mine own upon no weapon fell, For what should weapons do in such a place, Unto the dragon's head I set my face, And raised bare hands against him, but a cry Burst on mine ears of utmost agony That nailed me there, and she cried out to me, 'O get thee hence; alas, I cannot flee!

They coil about me now, my lips to kiss.

O love, why hast thou brought me unto this?'

”Alas, my shame! trembling, away I slunk, Yet turning saw the fearful coil had sunk To whence it came, my love's limbs freed I saw, And a long breath at first I heard her draw As one redeemed, then heard the hard sobs come, And wailings for her new accursed home.

But there outside across the door I lay, Like a scourged hound, until the dawn of day; And as her gentle breathing then I heard As though she slept, before the earliest bird Began his song, I wandered forth to seek Thee, O strange man, e'en as thou seest me, weak With all the torment of the night, and shamed With such a shame as never shall be named To aught but thee--Yea, yea, and why to thee Perchance this ends all thou wilt do for me?-- What then, and have I not a cure for that?

Lo, yonder is a rock where I have sat Full many an hour while yet my life was life, With hopes of all the coming wonder rife.

No sword hangs by my side, no G.o.d will turn This cloudless hazy blue to black, and burn My useless body with his lightning flash; But the white waves above my bones may wash, And when old chronicles our house shall name They may leave out the letters and the shame, That make Admetus, once a king of men-- And how could I be worse or better then?”

As one who notes a curious instrument Working against the maker's own intent, The herdsman eyed his wan face silently, And smiling for a while, and then said he,-- ”Admetus, thou, in spite of all I said, Hast drawn this evil thing upon thine head, Forgetting her who erewhile laid the curse Upon the maiden, so for fear of worse Go back again; for fair-limbed Artemis Now bars the sweet attainment of thy bliss; So taking heart, yet make no more delay But wors.h.i.+p her upon this very day, Nor spare for aught, and of thy trouble make No semblance unto any for her sake; And thick upon the fair bride-chamber floor Strew dittany, and on each side the door Hang up such poppy-leaves as spring may yield; And for the rest, myself may be a s.h.i.+eld Against her wrath--nay, be thou not too bold To ask me that which may not now be told.

Yea, even what thou deemest, hide it deep Within thine heart, and let thy wonder sleep, For surely thou shalt one day know my name, When the time comes again that autumn's flame Is dying off the vine-boughs, overturned, Stripped of their wealth. But now let gifts be burned To her I told thee of, and in three days Shall I by many hard and rugged ways Have come to thee again to bring thee peace.

Go, the sun rises and the shades decrease.”

Then, thoughtfully, Admetus gat him back, Nor did the altars of the Huntress lack The fattest of the flocks upon that day.

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