The Epic of Hades Part 4

But not the same He found me who had eaten of Love's seed, But changed into another; nor could his power Prevail to keep me wholly on the earth, Or make me maid again. The wintry life Is homelier often than the summer blaze Of happiness unclouded; so, when Spring Comes on the world, I, coming, cross with thee, Year after year, the cruel icy stream; And leave this anxious sceptre and the shades Of those in h.e.l.l, or those for whom, though blest, No Spring comes, till the last great Spring which brings New heavens and new earth; and lay my head Upon my mother's bosom, and grow young, And am a girl again.

A soft air breathes Across the stream and fills these barren fields With the sweet odours of the earth. I know Again the perfume of the violets Which bloom on aetna's side. Soon we shall pa.s.s Together to our home, while round our feet The crocus flames like gold, the wind-flowers white Wave their soft petals on the breeze, and all The choir of flowers lift up their silent song To the unclouded heavens. Thou, fair boy, Shalt lie within thy love's white arms again, And I within my mother's. Sweet is Love In ceasing and renewal; nay, in these It lives and has its being. Thou couldst not keep Thy youth as now, if always on the breast Of love too late a lingerer thou hadst known Possession sate thee. Nor might I have kept My mother's heart, if I had lived to ripe And wither on the stalk. Time calls and Change Commands both men and G.o.ds, and speeds us on We know not whither; but the old earth smiles Spring after Spring, and the seed bursts again Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar And are transformed, clothing themselves with change Till the last change be done."

As thus she spake, I saw a gleam of light flash from the eyes Of all the listening shades, and a great joy Thrill through the realms of Death.

And then again A youthful shade I saw, a comely boy, With lip and cheek just touched with manly down, And strong limbs wearing Spring; in mien and garb A youthful chieftain, with a perfect face Of fresh young beauty, cl.u.s.tered curls divine, And chiselled features like a sculptured G.o.d, But warm and breathing life; only the eyes, The fair large eyes, were full of dreaming thought, And seemed to gaze beyond the world of sight, On a hid world of beauty. Him I stayed, Accosting with soft words of courtesy; And, on a bank of scentless flowers reclined, He answered thus: "Not for the garish sun I long, nor for the splendours of high noon In this dim land I languish; for of yore Full often, when the swift chase swept along Through the brisk morn, or when my comrades called To wrestling, or the foot-race, or to cleave The sunny stream, I loved to walk apart, Self-centred, sole; and when the laughing girls To some fair stripling's oaten melody Made ready for the dance, I heeded not; Nor when to the loud trumpet's blast and blare My peers rode forth to battle. For, one eve, In Latmos, after a long day in June, I stayed to rest me on a sylvan hill, Where often youth and maid were wont to meet Towards moonrise; and deep slumber fell on me Musing on Love, just as the ruddy orb Rose on the lucid night, set in a frame Of blooming myrtle and sharp tremulous plane; Deep slumber fell, and loosed my limbs in rest.

Then, as the full orb poised upon the peak, There came a lovely vision of a maid, Who seemed to step as from a golden car Out of the low-hung moon. No mortal form, Such as ofttimes of yore I knew and clasped At twilight 'mid the vines at the mad feast Of Dionysus, or the fair maids cold Who streamed in white processions to the shrine Of the chaste Virgin G.o.ddess; but a shape Richer and yet more pure. No thinnest veil Obscured her; but each exquisite limb revealed, Gleamed like a golden statue subtly wrought By a great sculptor on the architrave Of some high temple-front--only in her The form was soft and warm, and charged with life, And breathing. As I seemed to gaze on her, Nearer she drew and gazed; and as I lay Supine, as in a spell, the radiance stooped And kissed me on the lips, a chaste, sweet kiss, Which drew my spirit with it. So I slept Each night upon the hill, until the dawn Came in her silver chariot from the East, And chased my Love away. But ever thus Dissolved in love as in a heaven-sent dream, Whenever the bright circle of the moon Climbed from the hills, whether in leafy June Or harvest-tide, or when they leapt and pressed Red-thighed the spouting must, I walked apart From all, and took no thought for mortal maid, Nor nimble joys of youth; but night by night I stole, when all were sleeping, to the hill, And slumbered and was blest; until I grew Possest by love so deep, I seemed to live In slumber only, while the waking day Showed faint as any vision.

So I turned Paler and paler with the months, and climbed The steep with laboured steps and difficult breath, But still I climbed. Ay, though the wintry frost Chained fast the streams and whitened all the fields, I sought my mistress through the leafless groves, And slumbered and was happy, till the dawn Returning found me stretched out, cold and stark, With life's fire nigh burnt out. Till one clear night, When the birds shivered in the pines, and all The inner heavens stood open, lo! she came, Brighter and kinder still, and kissed my eyes And half-closed lips, and drew my soul through them, And in one precious ecstasy dissolved My life. And thenceforth, ever on the hill I lie unseen of man; a cold, white form, Still young, through all the ages; but my soul, Clothed in this thin presentment of old days, Walks this dim land, where never moonrise comes, Nor day-break, but a twilight waiting-time, No more; and, ah! how weary! Yet I judge My lot a higher far than his who spends His youth on swift hot pleasure, quickly past; Or theirs, my equals', who through long calm years Grew sleek in dull content of wedded lives And fair-grown offspring. Many a day for them, While I was wandering here, and my bones bleached Upon the rocks, the sweet autumnal sun Beamed, and the grapes grew purple. Many a day They heaped up gold, they knelt at festivals, They waxed in high report and fame of men, They gave their girls in marriage; while for me Upon the untrodden peaks, the cold, grey morn, The snows, the rains, the winds, the untempered blaze, Beat year by year, until I turned to stone, And the great eagles shrieked at me, and wheeled Affrighted. Yet I judge it better indeed To seek in life, as now I know I sought, Some fair impossible Love, which slays our life, Some fair ideal raised too high for man; And failing to grow mad, and cease to be, Than to decline, as they do who have found Broad-paunched content and weal and happiness: And so an end. For one day, as I know, The high aim unfulfilled fulfils itself; The deep, unsatisfied thirst is satisfied; And through this twilight, broken suddenly, The inmost heaven, the lucent stars of G.o.d, The Moon of Love, the Sun of Life; and I, I who pine here--I on the Latmian hill Shall soar aloft and find them."

With the word, There beamed a shaft of dawn athwart the skies, And straight the sentinel thrush within the yew Sang out reveille to the hosts of day, Soldierly; and the pomp and rush of life Began once more, and left me there alone Amid the awaking world.

Nay, not alone.

One fair shade lingered in the fuller day, The last to come, when now my dream had grown Half mixed with waking thoughts, as grows a dream In summer mornings when the broader light Dazzles the sleeper's eyes; and is most fair Of all and best remembered, and becomes Part of our waking life, when older dreams Grow fainter, and are fled. So this remained The fairest of the visions that I knew, Most precious and most dear.

The increasing light Shone through her, finer than the thinnest shade, And yet most full of beauty; golden wings, From her fair shoulders springing, seemed to lift Her stainless feet from the cold ground and s.n.a.t.c.h Their wearer into air; and in her eyes Was such fair glance as comes from virgin love, Long chastened and triumphant. Every trace Of earth had vanished from her, and she showed As one who walks a saint already in life, Virgin or mother. Immortality Breathed from those radiant eyes which yet had pa.s.sed Between the gates of death. I seemed to hear The Soul of mortals speaking: "I was born Of a great race and mighty, and was grown Fair, as they said, and good, and kept a life Pure from all stain of pa.s.sion. Love I knew not, Who was absorbed in duty; and the Mother Of G.o.ds and men, seeing my life more calm Than human, hating my impa.s.sive heart, Sent down her perfect son in wrath to earth, And bade him break me.

But when Eros came, It did repent him of the task, for Love Is kin to Duty.

And within my life I knew miraculous change, and a soft flame Wherefrom the snows of Duty flushed to rose, And the chill icy flow of mind was turned To a warm stream of pa.s.sion. Long I lived Not knowing what had been, nor recognized A Presence walking with me through my life, As if by night, his face and form concealed: A gracious voice alone, which none but I Might hear, sustained me, and its name was Love.

Not as the earthly loves which throb and flush Round earthly shrines was mine, but a pure spirit, Lovelier than all embodied love, more pure And wonderful; but never on his eyes I looked, which still were hidden, and I knew not The fashion of his nature; for by night, When visual eyes are blind, but the soul sees, Came he, and bade me seek not to enquire Or whence he came or wherefore. Nor knew I His name. And always ere the coming day, As if he were the Sun-G.o.d, lingering With some too well-loved maiden, he would rise And vanish until eve. But all my being Thrilled with my fair unearthly visitant To higher duty and more glorious meed Of action than of old, for it was Love That came to me, who might not know his name.

Thus, ever rapt by dreams divine, I knew The scorn that comes from weaker souls, which miss, Being too low of nature, the great joy Revealed to others higher; nay, my sisters, Who being of one blood with me, made choice To tread the lower ways of daily life, Grew jealous of me, bidding me take heed Lest haply 'twas some monstrous fiend I loved, Such as in fable ofttimes sought and won The innocent hearts of maids. Long time I held My love too dear for doubt, who was so sweet And lovable. But at the last the sneers, The mystery which hid him, the swift flight Before the coming dawn, the shape concealed, The curious girlish heart, these worked on me With an unsatisfied thirst. Not his own words: 'Dear, I am with thee only while I keep My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see My face, I must forsake thee: the high G.o.ds Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself From the full gaze of Knowledge'--not even these Could cure me of my longing, or the fear Those mocking voices worked; who fain would learn The worst that might befall.

And one sad night, Just as the day leapt from the hills and brought The hour when he should go: with tremulous hands, Lighting my midnight lamp in fear, I stood Long time uncertain, and at length turned round And gazed upon my love. He lay asleep, And oh, how fair he was! The flickering light Fell on the fairest of the G.o.ds, stretched out In happy slumber. Looking on his locks Of gold, and faultless face and smile, and limbs Made perfect, a great joy and trembling took me Who was most blest of women, and in awe And fear I stooped to kiss him. One warm drop-- From the full lamp within my trembling hand, Or a glad tear from my too happy eyes, Fell on his shoulder.

Then the G.o.d unclosed His lovely eyes, and with great pity spake: 'Farewell! There is no Love except with Faith, And thine is dead! Farewell! I come no more.'

And straightway from the hills the full red sun Leapt up, and as I clasped my love again, The lovely vision faded from his place, And came no more.

Then I, with breaking heart, Knowing my life laid waste by my own hand, Went forth and would have sought to hide my life Within the stream of Death; but Death came not To aid me who not yet was meet for Death.

Then finding that Love came not back to me, I thought that in the temples of the G.o.ds Haply he dwelt, and so from fane to fane I wandered over earth, and knelt in each, Enquiring for my Love; and I would ask The priests and worshippers, 'Is this Love's shrine?

Sirs, have you seen the G.o.d?' But never at all I found him. For some answered, 'This is called The Shrine of Knowledge;' and another, 'This, The Shrine of Beauty;' and another, 'Strength;'

And yet another, 'Youth.' And I would kneel And say a prayer to my Love, and rise And seek another. Long, o'er land and sea, I wandered, till I was not young or fair, Grown wretched, seeking my lost Love; and last, Came to the smiling, hateful shrine where ruled The queen of earthly love and all delight, Cypris, but knelt not there, but asked of one Who seemed her priest, if Eros dwelt with her.

Then to the subtle-smiling G.o.ddess' self They led me. She with hatred in her eyes: 'What! thou to seek for Love, who art grown thin And pale with watching! He is not for thee.

What Love is left for such? Thou didst despise Love, and didst dwell apart. Love sits within The young maid's eyes, making them beautiful.

Love is for youth, and joy, and happiness; And not for withered lives. Ho! bind her fast.

Take her and set her to the vilest tasks, And bend her pride by solitude and tears, Who will not kneel to me, but dares to seek A disembodied love. My son has gone And left thee for thy fault, and thou shalt know The misery of my thralls.'

Then in her house They bound me to hard tasks and vile, and kept My life from honour, chained among her slaves And lowest ministers, taking despite And injury for food, and set to bind Their wounds whom she had tortured, and to feed The pitiful lives which in her prisons pent Languished in hopeless pain. There is no sight Of suffering but I saw it, and was set To succour it; and all my woman's heart Was torn with the ineffable miseries Which love and life have worked; and dwelt long time In groanings and in tears.

And then, oh joy!

Oh miracle! once more at length again I felt Love's arms around me, and the kiss Of Love upon my lips, and in the chill Of deepest prison cells, 'mid vilest tasks, The glow of his sweet breath, and the warm touch Of his invisible hand, and his sweet voice, Ay, sweeter than of old, and tenderer, Speak to me, pierce me, hold me, fold me round With arms Divine, till all the sordid earth Was hued like heaven, and Life's dull prison-house Turned to a golden palace, and those low tasks Grew to be higher works and n.o.bler gains Than any gains of knowledge, and at last He whispered softly, 'Dear, unclose thine eyes.

Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more, But am thine own for ever.'

Then with wings Of gold we soared, I looking in his eyes, Over yon dark broad river, and this dim land, Scarce for an instant staying till we reached The inmost courts of heaven.

But sometimes still I come here for a little, and speak a word Of peace to those who wait. The slow wheel turns, The cycles round themselves and grow complete, The world's year whitens to the harvest-tide, And one word only am I sent to say To those dear souls, who wait here, or who now Breathe earthly air--one universal word To all things living, and the word is 'Love.'"

Then soared she visibly before my gaze, And the heavens took her, and I knew my eyes Had seen the soul of man, the deathless soul, Defeated, struggling, purified, and blest.

Then all the choir of happy waiting shades, Heroes and queens, fair maidens and brave youths, Swept by me, rhythmic, slow, as if they trod Some unheard measure, pa.s.sing where I stood In fair procession, each with a faint smile Upon the lip, signing "Farewell, oh shade!

It shall be well with thee, as 'tis with us, If only thou art true. The world of Life, The world of Death, are but opposing sides Of one great orb, and the Light shines on both.

Oh, happy happy shade! Farewell! Farewell!"

And so they pa.s.sed away.

END OF BOOK II.

BOOK III.

OLYMPUS.

But I, my gaze Following the soaring soul which now was lost In the awakening skies, floated with her, As in a trance, beyond the golden gates Which separate Earth from Heaven; and to my thought Gladdened by that broad effluence of light, This old earth seemed transfigured, and the fields, So dim and bare, grew green and clothed themselves With l.u.s.trous hues. A fine ethereal air Played round me as I mused, and filled the soul With an ineffable content. What need Of words to tell of things unreached by words?

Or seek to engrave upon the treacherous thought The fair and fugitive fancies of a dream, Which vanish ere we fix them?

But methinks He knows the scene, who knows the one fair day, One only and no more, which year by year In springtime comes, when lingering winter flies, And lo! the trees blossom in white and pink.

And golden cl.u.s.ters, and the glades are filled With delicate primrose and deep odorous beds Of violets, and on the tufted meads With kingcups starred, and cowslip bells, and blue Sweet hyacinths, and frail anemones, The broad West wind breathes softly, and the air Is tremulous with the lark, and thro' the woods The soft full-throated thrushes all day long Flood the green dells with joy, and thro' the dry Brown fields the sower strides, sowing his seed, And all is life and song. Or he who first, Whether in fair free boyhood, when the world Is his to choose, or when his fuller life Beats to another life, or afterwards, Keeping his youth within his children's eyes, Looks on the snow-clad everlasting hills, And marks the sunset smite them, and is glad Of the beautiful fair world.

A springtide land It seemed, where East winds came not. Sweetest song Was everywhere, by glade or sunny plain; And thro' the golden valleys winding streams Rippled in glancing silver, and above, The blue hills rose, and over all a peak, White, awful, with a constant fleece of cloud Veiling its summit, towered. Unfailing Day Lighted it, for no turn of dawn and eve Came there, nor changing seasons, but a broad Fixed joy of Being, undisturbed by Time.

There, in a happy glade shut in by groves Of laurel and sweet myrtle, on a green And flower-lit lawn, I seemed to see the ghosts Of the old G.o.ds. Upon the gentle slope Of a fair hill, a joyous company, The Immortals lay. Hard by, a murmurous stream Fell through the flowers; below them, s.p.a.ce on s.p.a.ce, Laughed the immeasurable plains; beyond, The mystic mountain soared. Height after height Of bare rock ledges left the climbing pines, And reared their giddy, shining terraces Into the ethereal air. Above, the snows Of the white summit cleft the fleece of cloud Which always clothed it round.

Ah, fail-and sweet, Yet with a ghostly fairness, fine and thin, Those G.o.dlike Presences. Not dreams indeed, But something dream-like, were they. Blessed Shades Heroic and Divine, as when, in days When Man was young, and Time, the vivid thought Translated into Form the unattained Impossible Beauty of men's dreams, and fixed The Loveliness in marble.

As with awe Following my spotless guide, I stood apart, Not daring to draw near; a shining form Rose from the throng, and floated, light as air, To where I trembled. And I knew the face And form of Artemis, the fair, the pure, The undefiled. A crescent silvery moon Shone thro' her locks, and by her side she bore A quiver of golden darts. At sight of whom I felt a sudden chill, like his who once Looked upon her and died; yet could not fear, Seeing how fair she was. Her sweet voice rang Clear as a bird's: "Mortal, what fate hath brought Thee hither, uncleansed by death? How canst thou breathe Immortal air, being mortal? Yet fear not, Since thou art come. For we too are of earth Whom here thou seest: there were not a heaven Were there no earth, nor G.o.ds, had men not been, But each the complement of each and grown The other's creature, is and has its being, A double essence, Human and Divine.

So that the G.o.d is hidden in the man, And something Human bounds and forms the G.o.d; Which else had shown too great and undefined For mortal sight, and having no human eye To see it, were unknown. But we who bore Sway of old time, we were but attributes [3]Of the great G.o.d who is all Things that be-- The Pillar of the Earth and starry Sky, The Depth of the great Deep; the Sun, the Moon, The Word which Makes; the All-compelling Love-- For all Things lie within His Infinite Form."

Even as she spake, a throng of heavenly forms Floated around me, filling all my soul With fair unearthly beauty, and the air With such ambrosial perfume as is born.

When morning bursts upon a tropic sea, From boundless wastes of flowers; and as I knelt In rapture, lo! the same clear voice again From out the throng of G.o.ds: "Those whom thou seest Were even as I, embodiments of Him Who is the Centre of all Life: myself The Maiden-Queen of Purity; and Strength, Divine when unabused; Love too, the Spring And Cause of Things; and Knowledge, which lays bare Their secret; and calm Duty, Queen of all, And Motherhood in one; and Youth, which bears, Beauty of Form and Life and Light, and breathes The breath of Inspiration; and the Soul, The particle of G.o.d, sent down to man, Which doth in turn reveal the world and G.o.d.

Wherefore it is men called on Artemis, The refuge of young souls; for still in age They keep some dim reflection uneffaced Of a Diviner Purity than comes To the spring days of youth, when all the world Smiles, and the rapid blood thro' the young veins Courses, and all is glad; yet knowing too That innocence is young--before the soil And smirch of sadder knowledge, settling on it, Sully its primal whiteness. So they knelt At my white shrines, the eager vigorous youths, To whom life's road showed like a dewy field In early summer dawns, when to the sound Of youth's clear voice, and to the cheerful rush Of the tumultuous feet and clamorous tongues Careering onwards, fair and dappled fawns, Strange birds with jewelled plumes, fierce spotted pards, Rise in the joyous chase, to be caught and bound By the young conqueror; nor yet the charm Of sensual ease allures. And they knelt too, The pure sweet maidens fair and fancy-free, Whose innocent virgin hearts shrank from the touch Of pa.s.sion as from wrong--sweet moonlit lives Which fade, and pale, and vanish, in the glare Of Love's hot noontide: these came robed in white, With holy hymns and soaring liturgies: And so men fabled me, a huntress now, Borne thro' the flying woodlands, fair and free; And now the pale cold Moon, Light without warmth, Zeal without touch of pa.s.sion, heavenly love For human, and the altar for the home.

But oh, how sweet it was to take the love And awe of my young worshippers; to watch The pure young gaze and hear the pure young voice Mount in the hymn, or see the gay troop come With the first dawn of day, brushing the dew From the unpolluted fields, and wake to song The slumbering birds; strong in their innocence!

I did not envy any G.o.ddess of all The Olympian company her votaries!

Ah, happy days of old which now are gone!

A memory and a dream! for now on earth I rule no longer o'er young willing hearts In voluntary fealty, which should cease When Love, with fiery accents calling, woke The slumbering soul; as now it should for those Who kneel before the purer, sadder shrine Which has replaced my own. But ah! too oft, Not always, but too often, shut from life Within pale life-long cloisters and the bars Of deadly convent prisons, year by year, Age after age, the white souls fade and pine Which simulate the joyous service free Of those young worshippers. I would that I Might loose the captives' chain; or Herakles, Who was a mortal once."

But he who stood Colossal at my side: "I toil no more On earth, nor wield again the mighty strength Which Zeus once gave me for the cure of ill.

I have run my race; I have done my work; I rest For ever from the toilsome days I gave To the suffering race of men. And yet, indeed, Methinks they suffer still. Tyrannous growths And monstrous vex them still. Pestilence lurks And sweeps them down. Treacheries come, and wars, And slay them still. Vaulting ambition leaps And falls in bloodshed still. But I am here At rest, and no man kneels to me, or keeps Reverence for strength mighty yet unabused-- Strength which is Power, G.o.d's choicest gift, more rare And precious than all Beauty, or the charm Of Wisdom, since it is the instrument Thro' which all Nature works. For now the earth Is full of meekness, and a new G.o.d rules, Teaching strange precepts of humility And mercy and forgiveness. Yet I trow There is no lack of bloodshed and deceit And groanings, and the tyrant works his wrong Even as of old; but now there is no arm Like mine, made strong by Zeus, to beat him down, Him and his wrong together. Yet I know I am not all discrowned. The strong brave souls, The manly tender hearts, whom tale of wrong To woman or child, to all weak things and small, Fires like a blow; calling the righteous flush Of anger to the brow; knotting the cords Of muscle on the arm; with one desire To hew the spoiler down, and make an end, And go their way for others; making light Of toil and pain, and too laborious days, And peril; beat unchanged, albeit they serve A Lord of meekness. For the world still needs Its champion as of old, and finds him still.

Not always now with mighty sinews and thews Like mine, though still these profit, but keen brain And voice to move men's souls to love the right And hate the wrong; even tho' the bodily form Be weak, of giant strength, strong to a.s.sail The hydra heads of Evil, and to slay The monsters that now waste them: Ignorance, Self-seeking, coward fears, the hate of Man, Disguised as love of G.o.d. These there are still With task as hard as mine. For what was it To strive with bodily ills, and do great deeds Of daring and of strength, and bear the crown, To his who wages lifelong, doubtful strife With an impalpable foe; conquering indeed, But, ere he hears the paean or sees the pomp Laid low in the arms of Death? And tho' men cease To worship at my shrine, yet not the less I hold, it is the toils I knew, the pains I bore for others, which have kept the heart Of manhood undefiled, and nerved the arm Of sacrifice, and made the martyr strong To do and bear, and taught the race of men How G.o.dlike 'tis to suffer thro' life, and die At last for others' good!"

The strong G.o.d ceased, And stood a little, musing; blest indeed, But bearing, as it seemed, some faintest trace Of earthly struggle still, not the gay ease Of the elder heaven-born G.o.ds.