The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 14

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But of that youngest one, the third princess, There is no likeness; since she was as far From pictured beauty as is ugliness, Though on the side where heavenly wonders are, Ideals out of being and above, Which music worshippeth, but if love love, 'Tis, as the poet saith, to love a star.

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Her vision rather drave from pa.s.sion's heart What earthly soil it had afore possest; Since to man's purer unsubstantial part The brightness of her presence was addrest: And such as mock'd at G.o.d, when once they saw Her heavenly glance, were humbl'd, and in awe Of things unseen, return'd to praise the Best.

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And so before her, wheresoe'er she went, Hushing the crowd a thrilling whisper ran, And silent heads were reverently bent; Till from the people the belief began That Love's own mother had come down on earth, Sweet Cytherea, or of mortal birth A greater G.o.ddess was vouchsaf't to man.

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Then Aphrodite's statue in its place Stood without worshippers; if Cretans pray'd For beauty or for children, love or grace, The prayer and vow were offer'd to the maid; Unto the maid their hymns of praise were sung, Their victims bled for her, for her they hung Garland and golden gift, and none forbade.

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And thence opinion spread beyond the sh.o.r.es, From isle to isle the wonder flew, it came Across the aegaean on a thousand oars, Athens and Smyrna caught the virgin's fame; And East or West, where'er the tale had been, The adoration of the foam-born queen Fell to neglect, and men forgot her name.

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No longer to high Paphos now 'twas sail'd; The fragrant altar by the Graces served At Cnidus was forsaken; pilgrims fail'd The rocky island to her name reserved, Proud Ephyra, and Meropis renown'd; 'Twas all for Crete her votaries were bound, And to the Cretan maid her worship swerved.

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Which when in heaven great Aphrodite saw, Who is the breather of the year's bright morn, Fount of desire and beauty without flaw, Herself the life that doth the world adorn; Seeing that without her generative might Nothing can spring upon the sh.o.r.es of light, Nor any bud of joy or love be born;

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She, when she saw the insult, did not hide Her indignation, that a mortal frail With her eterne divinity had vied, Her fair h.e.l.lenic empire to a.s.sail, For which she had fled the doom of Ninus old, And left her wanton images unsoul'd In Babylon and Zidon soon to fail.

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'Not long,' she cried, 'shall that poor girl of Crete G.o.d it in my despite; for I will bring Such mischief on the sickly counterfeit As soon shall cure her tribe of worshipping: Her beauty will I mock with loathed l.u.s.t, Bow down her dainty spirit to the dust, And leave her long alive to feel the sting.'

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With that she calls to her her comely boy, The limber scion of the G.o.d of War, The fruit adulterous, which for man's annoy To that fierce partner Cytherea bore, Eros, the ever young, who only grew In mischief, and was Cupid named anew In westering aftertime of latin lore.

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What the first dawn of manhood is, the hour When beauty, from its fleshy bud unpent, Flaunts like the corol of a summer flower, As if all life were for that ornament, Such Eros seemed in years, a trifler gay, The prodigal of an immortal day For ever spending, and yet never spent.

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His skin is brilliant with the nimble flood Of ichor, that comes dancing from his heart, Lively as fire, and redder than the blood, And maketh in his eyes small flashes dart, And curleth his hair golden, and distilleth Honey on his tongue, and all his body filleth With wanton lightsomeness in every part.

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Naked he goeth, but with sprightly wings Red, iridescent, are his shoulders fledged.

A bow his weapon, which he deftly strings, And little arrows barb'd and keenly edged; And these he shooteth true; but else the youth For all his seeming recketh naught of truth, But most deceiveth where he most is pledged.

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'Tis he that maketh in men's heart a strife Between remorseful reason and desire, Till with life lost they lose the love of life, And by their own hands wretchedly expire; Or slain in b.l.o.o.d.y rivalries they miss Even the short embracement of their bliss, His smile of fury and his kiss of fire.

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He makes the strong man weak, the weak man wild; Ruins great business and purpose high; Brings down the wise to folly reconciled, And martial captains on their knees to sigh: He changeth dynasties, and on the head Of duteous heroes, who for honour bled, Smircheth the laurel that can never die.

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Him then she call'd, and gravely kissing told The great dishonour to her G.o.dhead done; And how, if he from that in heaven would hold, On earth he must maintain it as her son; The rather that his weapons were most fit, As was his skill ordain'd to champion it; And flattering thus his ready zeal she won.

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Whereon she quickly led him down on earth, And show'd him PSYCHE, thus the maid was named; Whom when she show'd, but coud not hide her worth, She grew with envy tenfold more enflamed.

'But if,' she cried, 'thou smite her as I bid, Soon shall our glory of this affront be rid, And she and all her likes for ever shamed.

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'Make her to love the loathliest, basest wretch, Deform'd in body, and of moonstruck mind, A hideous brute and vicious, born to fetch Anger from dogs and cursing from the blind.

And let her pa.s.sion for the monster be As shameless and detestable as he Is most extreme and vile of humankind.'

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Which said, when he agreed, she spake no more, But left him to his task, and took her way Beside the ripples of the sh.e.l.l-strewn sh.o.r.e, The southward stretching margin of a bay, Whose sandy curves she pa.s.s'd, and taking stand Upon its taper horn of furthest land, Lookt left and right to rise and set of day.

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