The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 9

[_Persephone rises to her feet, and amidst a contrivance of confused darkness Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and drags her backward. Her basket is thrown up and the flowers scattered._]

ACT II

_CHORUS._

I (a)

Bright day succeedeth unto day-- Night to pensive night-- 310 With his towering ray Of all-fathering light-- With the solemn trance Of her starry dance.--

Nought is new or strange In the eternal change.--

As the light clouds fly O'er the tree-tops high, So the days go by.--

Ripples that arrive 320 On the sunny sh.o.r.e, Dying to their live Music evermore.--

Like pearls on a thread,-- Like notes of a song,-- Like the measur'd tread Of a dancing throng.--

Oceanides are we, Nereids of the foam, But we left the sea 330 On the earth to roam With the fairest Queen That the world hath seen.-- Why amidst our play Was she sped away?--

Over hill and plain We have sought in vain; She comes not again.--

Not the Naiads knew On their dewy lawns:-- 340 Not the laughing crew Of the leaping Fauns.--

Now, since she is gone, All our dance is slow, All our joy is done, And our song is woe.--

II

Saw ye the mighty Mother, where she went Searching the land?

Nor night nor day resting from her lament, With smoky torch in hand. 350 Her G.o.dhead in the pa.s.sion of a sorrow spent Which not her mind coud suffer, nor heart withstand?--

2

Enlanguor'd like a fasting lioness, That prowls around Robb'd of her whelps, in fury comfortless Until her lost be found: Implacable and terrible in her wild distress; And thro' the affrighted country her roars resound.--

3

But lo! what form is there? Thine eyes awaken!

See! see! O say, 360 Is not that she, the furious, the forsaken?

She cometh, lo! this way; Her golden-rippling hair upon her shoulders shaken, And all her visage troubled with deep dismay.

_DEMETER_ (_entering_).

Here is the hateful spot, the hollow rock Whence the fierce ravisher sprang forth-- (_seeing the nymphs_) Ah! Ye!

I know you well: ye are the nymphs of Ocean.

Ye, graceful as your watery names And idle as the mimic flames That skip upon his briny floor, 370 When the hot sun smiteth thereo'er; Why did ye leave your native waves?

Did false Poseidon, to my hurt Leagued with my foe, bid you desert Your opalescent pearly caves, Your dances on the sh.e.l.ly strand?

CH. Poseidon gave us no command, Lady; it was thy child Persephone, Whose beauty drew us from the sea.

DEM. Ill company ye lent, ill-fated guards! 380 How was she stolen from your distracted eyes?

CH. There, where thou standest now, stood she companion'd By wise Athena and bright Artemis.

We in flower-gathering dance and idle song Were wander'd off apart; we fear'd no wrong.

DEM. In heav'n I heard her cry: ye nothing heard?

CH. We heard no cry--How coudst thou hear in heaven?

Ask us not of her:--we have nought to tell.--

DEM. I seek not knowledge of you, for I know.

CH. Thou knowest? Ah, mighty Queen, deign then to tell If thou hast found her. Tell us--tell us--tell! 391

DEM. Oh, there are calls that love can hear, That strike not on the outward ear.

None heard save I: but with a dart Of lightning-pain it pierc'd my heart, That call for aid, that cry of fear.

It echo'd from the mountain-steeps Down to the dark of Ocean-deeps; O'er all the isle, from ev'ry hill It pierc'd my heart and echoes still, 400 Ay me! Ay me!

CH. Where is she, O mighty Queen?--Tell us--O tell!--

DEM. Swift unto earth, in frenzy led By Cora's cry, from heav'n I sped.

Immortal terror froze my mind: I fear'd, ev'n as I yearn'd to find My child, my joy, faln from my care Wrong'd or distresst, I knew not where, Cora, my Cora!

Nor thought I whither first to fly, 410 Answ'ring the appeal of that wild cry: But still it drew me till I came To Enna, calling still her name, Cora, my Cora!

CH. If thou hast found her, tell us, Queen, O tell!

DEM. Nine days I wander'd o'er the land.

From Enna to the eastern strand I sought, and when the first night came I lit my torch in Etna's flame.

But neither 'mid the chestnut woods 420 That rustle o'er his stony floods; Nor yet at daybreak on the meads Where bountiful Symaethus leads His chaunting boatmen to the main; Nor where the road on Hybla's plain Is skirted by the s.p.a.cious corn; Nor where embattled Syracuse With l.u.s.trous temple fronts the morn; Nor yet by dolphin'd Arethuse; Nor when I crossed Anapus wide, 430 Where Cyane, his reedy bride, Uprushing from her crystal well, Doth not his cold embrace repel; Nor yet by western Eryx, where Gay Aphrodite high in air Beams gladness from her marble chair; Nor 'mong the mountains that enfold Panormos in her sh.e.l.l of gold, Found I my Cora: no reply Came to my call, my helpless cry, 440 Cora, my Cora!

CH. Hast thou not found her, then? Tell us--O tell!

DEM. What wonder that I never found Her whom I sought on mortal ground, When she--(now will ye understand?)-- Dwelt in the land that is no land, The fruitless and unseason'd plain Where all lost things are found again; Where man's distract imaginings Head-downward hang on bat-like wings, 450 'Mid mummied hopes, sleep-walking cares, Crest-faln illusions and despairs, The tortur'd memories of crime, The outcasts of forgotten time?

CH. Where is she, Queen?--where?--where?

DEM. Nor had I known, Had not himself high Helios seen and told me.

CH. Alas! Alas! We cannot understand-- We pray, dear Queen, may great Zeus comfort thee.