The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 28

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And piloting along the mid-day sky, Held southward, till the narrow map of Crete Lay like a fleck in azure 'neath his eye; When down he came, and as an eagle fleet Drops in some combe, then checks his headlong stoop With wide-flung wing, wheeling in level swoop To strike the bleating quarry with his feet,

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Thus he alighted; and in every town In all the isle before the close of day Had cried the message, which he carried down, Of Psyche, Aphrodite's runaway; That whosoever found the same and caught, And by such time unto her temple brought, To him the G.o.ddess would this guerdon pay:

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SIX HONIED KISSES FROM HER ROSY MOUTH WOULD CYTHEREA GIVE, AND ONE BESIDE TO QUENCH AT HEART FOR AYE LOVE'S MORTAL DROUTH: BUT UNTO HIM THAT HID HER, WOE BETIDE!

Which now was on all tongues, and Psyche's name Herself o'erheard, or ever nigh she came To Aphrodite's temple where she hied.

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When since she found her way to heaven was safe, She only wisht to make it soon and sure; Nor fear'd to meet the G.o.ddess in her chafe, So she her self-surrender might secure, And not be given of other for the price; Nor was there need of any artifice Her once resplendent beauty to obscure.

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For now so changed she was by heavy woe, That for the little likeness that she bore To her description she was fear'd to go Within the fane; and when she stood before The priestess, scarce coud she with oath persuade That she was Psyche, the renowned maid, Whom men had left the temple to adore.

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But when to Hermes she was shown and given, He took no doubt, but eager to be quit, And proud of speed, return'd with her to heaven, And left her with the proclamation writ, Hung at her neck, the board with letters large, At Aphrodite's gate with those in charge; And up whence first he came made haste to flit.

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But hapless Psyche fell, for so it chanced, To moody SYNETHEA'S care, the one Of Aphrodite's train whom she advanced To try the work abandon'd by her son.

Who by perpetual presence made ill end Of good or bad; though she coud both amend, And merit praise for work by her begun.

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But she to better thought her heart had shut, And proved she had a spite beyond compare: Nor coud the keenest taunts her anger glut, Which she when sour'd was never wont to spare: And now she mock'd at Psyche's shame and grief, As only she might do, and to her chief Along the courtyard dragg'd her by the hair.

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Nor now was Aphrodite kinder grown: Having her hated rival in her power, She laught for joy, and in triumphant tone Bade her a merry welcome to her bower: ''Tis fit indeed daughters-in-law should wait Upon their mothers; but thou comest late, Psyche; I lookt for thee before this hour.

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'And yet,' thus gave she rein to jeer and gibe, 'Forgive me if I held thee negligent, Or if accustom'd vanity ascribe An honour to myself that was not meant.

Thy lover is it, who so dearly prized The pretty soul, then left her and despised?

To him more like thy heavenward steps were bent:

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'Nor without reason: Zeus, I tell thee, swoon'd To hear the story of the drop of oil, The revelation and the ghastly wound: My merriment is but my fear's recoil.

But if my son was unkind, thou shalt see How kind a G.o.ddess can his mother be To bring thy tainted honour clear of soil.'

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And so, to match her promise with her mirth, Two of her ministers she call'd in ken, That work the melancholy of the earth; MERIMNA that with care perplexes, when The hearts of mortals have the G.o.ds forgot, And LYPe, that her sorrow spares them not, When mortals have forgot their fellow men.

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These, like twin sharks that in a fair ship's wake Swim constant, showing 'bove the water blue Their shearing fins, and hasty ravin make Of overthrow or offal, so these two On Aphrodite's pa.s.sing follow hard; And now she offer'd to their glut's regard Sweet Psyche, with command their wont to do.

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But in what secret chamber their foul task These soul-tormentors plied, or what their skill, Pity of tender nature may not ask, Nor poet stain his rhyme with such an ill.

But they at last themselves turn'd from their rack, Weary of cruelty, and led her back, Saying that further torture were to kill.

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Then when the G.o.ddess saw her, more she mockt 'Art thou the woman of the earth,' she said, 'That hast in sorceries mine Eros lockt, And stood thyself for worship in my stead?

Looking that I should pity thee, or care For what illicit offspring thou may'st bear; Or let thee to that G.o.d my son be wed?

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'I know thy trick; and thou art one of them Who steal love's favour in the gentle way, Wearing submission for a diadem, Patience and suffering for thy rich array: Thou wilt be modest, kind, implicit, so To rest thy wily spirit out of show That it may leap the livelier into play:

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'Devout at doing nothing, if so be The grace become thee well; but active yet Above all others be there none to see Thy business, and thine eager face asweat.

Lo! I will prove thy talent: thou may'st live, And all that thou desirest will I give, If thou perform the task which I shall set.'

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She took her then aside, and bade her heed A heap of grains piled high upon the floor, Millet and mustard, hemp and poppy seed, And fern-bloom's undistinguishable spore, All kinds of pulse, of gra.s.ses, and of spice, Clover and linseed, rape, and corn, and rice, Dodder, and sesame, and many more.

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