English Narrative Poems Part 21

But her late foe stopped short amidst his course, 120 One moment gazed upon her piteously, Then with a groan his lingering feet did force To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see; And, changed like one who knows his time must be But short and bitter, without any word 125 He knelt before the bearer of the sword;

Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded place Was silence how, and midst of it the maid Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace, 130 And he to hers upturned his sad white face; Nor did his eyes behold another sight Ere on his soul there fell eternal night.

So was the pageant ended, and all folk, Talking of this and that familiar thing 135 In little groups from that sad concourse broke, For now the shrill bats were upon the wing, And soon dark night would slay the evening, And in dark gardens sang the nightingale Her little-heeded, oft-repeated tale. 140

And with the last of all the hunter went, Who, wondering at the strange sight he had seen, Prayed an old man to tell him what it meant, Both why the vanquished man so slain had been, And if the maiden were an earthly queen, 145 Or rather what much more she seemed to be, No sharer in the world's mortality.

"Stranger," said he, "I pray she soon may die Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one!

King Schoeneus' daughter is she verily, 150 Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun Was fain to end her life but new begun, For he had vowed to leave but men alone Sprung from his loins when he from earth was gone.

"Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, 155 And let wild things deal with her as they might, But this being done, some cruel G.o.d thought good To save her beauty in the world's despite: Folk say that her, so delicate and white As now she is, a rough, root-grubbing bear 160 Amidst her shapeless cubs at first did rear.

"In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, And to their rude abode the youngling brought, And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse, Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought, 165 But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought, Nor spared two s.h.a.ggy centaur kings to slay, To whom her body seemed an easy prey.

"So to this city, led by fate, she came Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, 170 King Schoeneus for his child at last did claim, Nor otherwise since that day doth she dwell, Sending too many a n.o.ble soul to h.e.l.l.-- What! thine eyes glisten! what then, thinkest thou Her shining head unto the yoke to bow? 175

"Listen, my son, and love some other maid, For she the saffron gown[296] will never wear, And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, 180 Yea, rather, if thou lovest him utterly, Thou still may'st woo her ere thou comest to die,

"Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; For, fearing as I deem the sea-born one,[297]

The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed 185 As in the course her swift feet can outrun, But whoso fails herein, his days are done: He came the nighest that was slain to-day, Although with him I deem she did but play.

"Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives 190 To those that long to win her loveliness; Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives Gentler than she, of beauty little less, Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless, When in some garden, knee set close to knee, 195 Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee."

So to the hunter spake that ancient man, And left him for his own home presently: But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan Reached the thick wood, and there, 'twixt tree and tree 200 Distraught he pa.s.sed the long night feverishly, 'Twixt sleep and waking, and at dawn arose To wage hot war against his speechless foes.

There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow, As panting down the broad green glades he flew, 205 There by his horn the Dryads[298] well might know His thrust against the bear's heart had been true, And there Adonis' bane[299] his javelin slew, But still in vain through rough and smooth he went, For none the more his restlessness was spent. 210

So wandering, he to Argive[300] cities came, And in the lists with valiant men he stood, And by great deeds he won him praise and fame, And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood; But none of all these things, or life, seemed good 215 Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride.

Therefore it happed when but a month had gone Since he had left King Schoeneus' city old, In hunting-gear again, again alone 220 The forest-bordered meads did he behold, Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust Of faint October's purple-foaming must.[301]

And once again he pa.s.sed the peaceful gate, 225 While to his beating heart his lips did lie, That, owning not victorious love and fate, Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try, To win of alien men the mastery, And gather for my head fresh meed of fame, 230 And cast new glory on my father's name."

In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first Folk said to him, "And art thou come to see That which still makes our city's name accurst Among all mothers for its cruelty? 235 Then know indeed that fate is good to thee Because to-morrow a new luckless one Against the whitefoot maid is pledged to run."

So on the morrow with no curious eyes As once he did, that piteous sight he saw, 240 Nor did that wonder in his heart arise As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw, Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, Too full the pain of longing filled his heart For fear or wonder there to have a part. 245

But O, how long the night was ere it went!

How long it was before the dawn begun Showed to the wakening birds the sun's intent That not in darkness should the world be done!

And then, and then, how long before the sun 250 Bade silently the toilers of the earth Get forth to fruitless cares or empty mirth!

And long it seemed that in the market-place He stood and saw the chaffering folk go by, Ere from the ivory throne King Schoeneus' face 255 Looked down upon the murmur royally, But then came trembling that the time was nigh When he midst pitying looks his love must claim, And jeering voices must salute his name.

But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne, 260 His alien face distraught and anxious told What hopeless errand he was bound upon, And, each to each, folk whispered to behold His G.o.dlike limbs; nay, and one woman old As he went by must pluck him by the sleeve 265 And pray him yet that wretched love to leave.

For sidling up she said, "Canst thou live twice, Fair son? canst thou have joyful youth again, That thus goest to the sacrifice, Thyself the victim? nay then, all in vain, 270 Thy mother bore her longing and her pain, And one more maiden on the earth must dwell Hopeless of joy, nor fearing death and h.e.l.l.

"O fool, thou knowest not the compact then That with the three-formed G.o.ddess she has made 275 To keep her from the loving lips of men, And in no saffron gown to be arrayed, And therewithal with glory to be paid, And love of her the moonlit river sees White 'gainst the shadow of the formless trees. 280

"Come back, and I myself will pray for thee Unto the sea-born framer of delights, To give thee her who on the earth may be The fairest stirrer-up to death and fights, To quench with hopeful days and joyous nights 285 The flame that doth thy youthful heart consume: Come back, nor give thy beauty to the tomb."

How should he listen to her earnest speech?

Words, such as he not once or twice had said Unto himself, whose meaning scarce could reach 290 The firm abode of that sad hardihead-- He turned about, and through the market stead Swiftly he pa.s.sed, until before the throne In the cleared s.p.a.ce he stood at last alone.

Then said the King, "Stranger, what dost thou here? 295 Have any of my folk done ill to thee?

Or art thou of the forest men in fear?

Or art thou of the sad fraternity Who still will strive my daughter's mates to be, Staking their lives to win to earthly bliss, 300 The lonely maid, the friend of Artemis?"

"O King," he said, "thou sayest the word indeed; Nor will I quit the strife till I have won My sweet delight, or death to end my need.

And know that I am called Milanion, 305 Of King Amphidamas the well-loved son: So fear not that to thy old name, O King, Much loss or shame my victory will bring."

"Nay, Prince," said Schoeneus, "welcome to this land Thou wert indeed, if thou wert here to try 310 Thy strength 'gainst some one mighty of his hand; Nor would we grudge thee well-won mastery.

But now, why wilt thou come to me to die, And at my door lay down thy luckless head, Swelling the band of the unhappy dead, 315

"Whose curses even now my heart doth fear?

Lo, I am old, and know what life can be, And what a bitter thing is death anear.

O Son! be wise, and hearken unto me, And if no other can be dear to thee, 320 At least as now, yet is the world full wide, And bliss in seeming hopeless hearts may hide:

"But if thou losest life, then all is lost."

"Nay, King," Milanion said, "thy words are vain.

Doubt not that I have counted well the cost. 325 But say, on what day will thou that I gain Fulfilled delight, or death to end my pain?

Right glad were I if it could be to-day, And all my doubts at rest forever lay."

"Nay," said King Schoeneus, "thus it shall not be, But rather shalt thou let a month go by, 331 And weary with thy prayers for victory What G.o.d thou know'st the kindest and most nigh.

So doing, still perchance thou shalt not die: And with my good-will wouldst thou have the maid, 335 For of the equal G.o.ds I grow afraid.

"And until then, O Prince, be thou my guest, And all these troublous things awhile forget."

"Nay," said he, "couldst thou give my soul good rest, And on mine head a sleepy garland set, 340 Then had I 'scaped the meshes of the net, Nor shouldst thou hear from me another word; But now, make sharp thy fearful heading sword.

"Yet will I do what son of man may do, And promise all the G.o.ds may most desire, 345 That to myself I may at least be true; And on that day my heart and limbs so tire, With utmost strain and measureless desire, That, at the worst, I may but fall asleep When in the sunlight round that sword shall sweep." 350

He went with that, nor anywhere would bide, But unto Argos[302] restlessly did wend; And there, as one who lays all hope aside, Because the leech has said his life must end, Silent farewell he bade to foe and friend, 355 And took his way unto the restless sea, For there he deemed his rest and help might be.

Upon the sh.o.r.e of Argolis there stands A temple to the G.o.ddess that he sought, That, turned unto the lion-bearing lands, 360 Fenced from the east, of cold winds hath no thought, Though to no homestead there the sheaves are brought, No groaning press torments the close-clipped murk, Lonely the fane stands, far from all men's work.

Pa.s.s through a close, set thick with myrtle-trees, 365 Through the bra.s.s doors that guard the holy place, And entering, hear the washing of the seas That twice a day rise high above the base, And with the southwest urging them, embrace The marble feet of her that standeth there, 370 That shrink not, naked though they be and fair.

Small is the fane through which the sea-wind sings About Queen Venus'[303] well-wrought image white, But hung around are many precious things, The gifts of those who, longing for delight, 375 Have hung them there within the G.o.ddess' sight, And in return have taken at her hands The living treasures of the Grecian lands.

And thither now has come Milanion, And showed unto the priests' wide-open eyes 380 Gifts fairer than all those that there have shown, Silk cloths, inwrought with Indian fantasies, And bowls inscribed with sayings of the wise Above the deeds of foolish living things, And mirrors fit to be the gifts of kings. 385

And now before the Sea-born One he stands, By the sweet veiling smoke made dim and soft, And while the incense trickles from his hands, And while the odorous smoke-wreaths hang aloft, Thus doth he pray to her: "O Thou, who oft 390 Hast holpen[304] man and maid in their distress, Despise me not for this my wretchedness!

"O G.o.ddess, among us who dwell below, Kings and great men, great for a little while, Have pity on the lowly heads that bow, 395 Nor hate the hearts that love them without guile; Wilt thou be worse than these, and is thy smile A vain device of him who set thee here, An empty dream of some artificer?