The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 25

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But full of anger to her son she went, And found him in his golden chamber laid; And with him sweet Euphrosyne, attent Upon his murmur'd wants, aye as he bade Shifted the pillows with each fretful whim; But scornfully his mother look'd at him, And reckless of his pain gan thus upbraid:

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'O worthy deeds, I say, and true to blood, The crown and pledge of promise! thou that wast In estimation my perpetual bud, Now fruiting thus untimely to my cost; Backsliding from commandment, ay, and worse, With bliss to favour one I bade thee curse, And save the life I left with thee for lost!

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'Thou too to burn with love, and love of her Whom I did hate; and to thy bed to take My rival, that my trusted officer Might of mine enemy my daughter make!

Dost thou then think my love for thee so fond, And miserably doting, that the bond By such dishonour strained will not break?

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'Or that I cannot bear another son As good as thou; or, if I choose not bear, Not beg as good a l.u.s.ty boy of one Of all my nymphs,--and some have boys to spare,-- Whom I might train, to whom thine arms made o'er Should do me kinder service than before, To smite my foes and keep my honour fair?

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'For thou hast ever mockt me, and beguiled In amours strange my G.o.d, thy valiant sire: And having smirch'd our fame while yet a child Wilt further foul it now with earthly fire.

But I--do as thou may--have vow'd to kill Thy fancied girl, whether thou love her still, Or of her silly charms already tire.

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'Tell me but where she hides.' And Eros now, Proud in his woe, boasted his happy theft: Confessing he had loved her well, and how By her own doing she was lost and left; And homeless in such sorrow as outwent The utmost pain of other punishment, Was wandering of his love and favour reft.

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By which was Cypris gladden'd, not appeased, But hid her joy and spake no more her threat: And left with face like one that much displeased Hath yet betray'd that he can wrong forget.

When lo! as swiftly she came stepping down From her fair house into the heavenly town The Kronian sisters on the way she met;

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Hera, the Wife of Zeus, her placid front Dark with the shadow of his troubl'd reign, And tall Demeter, who with men once wont, Holding the high Olympians in disdain For Persepha.s.sa's rape; which now forgiven, She had return'd unto the courts of Heaven, And 'mong the immortals liv'd at peace again:

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Whose smile told Aphrodite that they knew The meaning of her visit; and a flush Of anger answer'd them, while hot she grew.

But Hera laugh'd outright: 'Why thou dost blush!

Now see we modest manners on my life!

And all thy little son has got a wife Can make the crimson to thy forehead rush.

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'Didst think he, whom thou madest pa.s.sion's prince, No privy dart then for himself would poise?

Nay, by the cuckoo on my sceptre, since 'Twas love that made thee mother of his joys, Art thou the foremost to his favour bound; As thou shouldst be the last to think to sound The heart, and least of all thy wanton boy's.'

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But her Demeter, on whose stalwart arm She lean'd, took up: 'If thou wilt hark to me, This Psyche,' said she, 'hath the heavenly charm, And will become immortal. And maybe To marry with a woman is as well As wed a G.o.d and live below in h.e.l.l: As 'twas my lot in child of mine to see.'

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Which things they both said, fearing in their hearts That savage Eros, if they mockt his case, Would kill their peace with his revengeful darts, And bring them haply to a worse disgrace: But Aphrodite, saying 'Good! my dames; Behind this smoke I see the spite that flames,'

Left them, and on her journey went apace.

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For having purposed she would hold no truce With Psyche or her son, 'twas in her mind To go forthwith unto the throne of Zeus, And beg that Hermes might be sent to find The wanderer; and secure that in such quest He would not fail, she ponder'd but how best She might inflict her vengeance long-design'd.

OCTOBER

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Heavy meanwhile at heart, with bruised feet Was Psyche wandering many nights and days Upon the paths of hundred-citied Crete, And chose to step the most deserted ways; Being least unhappy when she went unseen; Since else her secret sorrow had no screen From the plain question of men's idle gaze.

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Yet wheresoe'er she went one hope she had; Like mortal mourners, who 'gainst reason strong Hope to be unexpectedly made glad With sight of their dead friends, so much they long; So she for him, whom loss a thousandfold Endear'd and made desired; nor coud she hold He would not turn and quite forgive her wrong.

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Wherefore her eager eyes in every place Lookt for her lover; and 'twixt hope and fear She follow'd oft afar some form of grace, In pain alike to lose or venture near.

And still this thought cheer'd her fatigue, that he, Or on some hill, or by some brook or tree, But waited for her coming to appear.

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And then for comfort many an old love-crost And doleful ditty would she gently sing, Writ by sad poets of a lover lost, Now sounding sweeter for her sorrowing: _Echo, sweet Echo, watching up on high, Say hast thou seen to-day my love go by, Or where thou sittest by thy mossy spring?_

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