Chapter 9

So garlanded, entwined, Each as may prompt her mind, The Saints renew for Earth And Heaven such seemly mirth As God once had design'd.

And when the day is done, And veil'd the goodly Sun, Each man his maid by right Doth kiss and bid Good-night; And home goes every one.

The maids to Heaven do hie To serve God soberly; The lads, their loves in Heaven, What lowly work is given They do, to win the sky.

_1896._

THE ARGIVE WOMEN[2]

CHTHONOË MYRTILLA RHODOPE PASIPHASSA GORGO SITYS

* * * * *

SCENE

The women's house in the House of Paris in Troy.

TIME.--The Tenth year of the War.

* * * * *

_Helen's women are lying alone in the twilight hour. Chthonoë presently rises and throws a little incense upon the altar flame. Then she begins to speak to the Image of Aphrodite in a low and tired voice._

CHTHONOË

Goddess of burning and little rest, By the hand swaying on thy breast, By glancing eye and slow sweet smile Tell me what long look or what guile Of thine it was that like a spear Pierced her heart, who caged me here In this close house, to be with her Mistress at once and prisoner! Far from earth and her pleasant ways I lie, whose nights are as my days In this dim house, where on the wall I watch the shadows rise and fall And know not what is reckt or done By men and horses out in the sun, Nor heed their traffic, nor their cheer As forth they go or back, but hear The fountain plash into the pond, The brooding doves, and sighs of fond Lovers whose lips yearn as they sever For longer joy, joy such as never Hath man but in the mind. But what Men do without, that I know not Who see them but as shadows thrown Upon a screen. I see them blown Like clouds of flies about the plain Where the winds sweep them and make vain Their panoplies. They hem the verge Of this high wall to guard us--urge Galloping horses into war And meet in shock of battle, far Below us and our dreams: withal Ten years have past us in this thrall Since Helen came with eyes agleam To Troy, and trod the ways of dream.

GORGO

Men came about us, crying, "The Greeks! Ships out at sea with high-held peaks Like questing birds!" But I lay still Kissing, nor turned.

RHODOPE

So I, until The herald broke into my sleep, Crying Agamemnon on the deep With ships from high Mykenai. Then I minded he was King of Men-- But not of women in the arms They loved.

MYRTILLA

I heard their shrill alarms Faint and far off, like an old fame. Below this guarded house men came-- Chariots and horses clasht; they cried King Agamemnon in his pride, Or Hector, or young Diomede; But I was kissing, could not heed Aught save the eyes that held mine bound. Anon a hush--anon the sound Of hooves resistless, pounding--a cry, "Achilles! Save yourselves!" But I-- Clinging I lay, and sighed in sign That love must weary at last, even mine-- Even mine, Sweetheart!

PASIPHASSA

Who watcht when flared Lord Hector like a meteor, dared The high stockade and fired the ships? I watcht his lips who had had my lips.

SITYS

And when he slew Menoikios' son, Sister, what then?

PASIPHASSA

My cheek was wan For lack of kissing--so I blew On slumbering lids to draw anew The eyes of him who had loved me well, But now was faint.

CHTHONOË

O Kypris, tell The deeds of men, not lovers!

RHODOPE

Here Came one all palsied in his fear, Chattering and white, to Paris abed, Flusht in his sleep--told Hector dead, Dead and dishonoured, while he slept. He sighed and turned. But Helen wept.

GORGO

Not I. I turned and felt warm draught Of breath upon my cheek, and laught Softly, and snuggling, slept.

CHTHONOË

Fie, fie! Goddess, drugged in thy dreams we lie, Logs, not women, logs in the sun!

SITYS

Thou art sated. So fretteth One, The very fount of Love's sweet well, The chord of Love made visible, Sickened of her own loveliness, Haggard as hawk too long in jess, Aching for flight.

MYRTILLA

Recall the bout When Paris armed him and went out Into the lists, and all men thronged To see----

SITYS

Lord Paris and him he wronged Fight for her, who should have her! We stood Upon the walls, and she with her hood Close to her cheek. But I saw the flicker In her blue eyes!

PASIPHASSA

But I was quicker, And saw the man she looked upon, And after what her blue eyes shone Like cyanus in morning light.

GORGO

Husband and lover she saw fight, Man to man, with death between.

RHODOPE

Hatred coucht, as long and lean As a lone wolf, on her man's crest--

PASIPHASSA

And bit the Trojan!

CHTHONOË

Thine was the rest, Goddess! And Helen lit the fire, With her disdain, of his desire.

MYRTILLA

Her eyes burned like the frosty stars Of winter midnight.

PASIPHASSA

His the scars! Bitten in his wax-pale cheek.

CHTHONOË

Nay, in his heart----

SITYS

Nay, in his bleak And writhen smile you see it!

GORGO

Nay! In his sick soul.

RHODOPE

Let him go his way! Hear my thought of a happier thing-- Sparta's trees in flood of spring Where Eurotas' banks abrim Drown the reeds, and foam-clots swim Like a scattered brood of duck!

MYRTILLA

Flowers anod! White flowers to pluck, Stiffened in the foamy curds! Ah, the green thickets quick with birds!

SITYS

Calling Itys! Itys! Itys!

PASIPHASSA

She calls not here--her house it is In Sparta!

RHODOPE (_with a sob_)

Peace!

CHTHONOË

From my heart a cry-- Send me back, Goddess, ere I die To those dear places and clean things-- To see my people, feel the wings Of the gray night fold over me, And touch my mother's knees, and be Her child, as long ago I was Before I lay burning in Ilios!

[_They hide their faces in their knees. Then one by one they sing._]

Let me sing an old sweet air, Mother of Argos, to Thee, For hope in my heart is fair As light on the hills seen from afar at sea; And my weary eyes turn there As to the haven where my soul would be.

RHODOPE

I will arise and make choice The house of my tumbled breast, For she cometh, I hear the voice Of her wings of healing, and she shall be my guest; And my joys shall be her joys, And my home her home, O wind of the South West!

GORGO

As a bird that listens and thrills, Hidden deep in the night, For the sound of the little rills That run musically towards the light; As a hart to the high hills Turneth his dying eyes, my soul takes flight.

MYRTILLA

Ah, to be folded deep In the shade of Taygetus, In my mother's arms to sleep Even as a child when I lay harboured thus! Oh, that I were as thy sheep, Lacedaemon, my land, cradle and nurse of us!

PASIPHASSA

In Argos they sow the grain, In Troy blood is their sowing; There a green mantle covers the plain Where the sweet green corn and sweet short grass are growing; But here passion and pain-- Blood and dust upon earth, and a hot wind blowing.

SITYS

To the hold on the far red hill From the hold on the wide green lea, Over the running water, follow who will Therapnae's hawk with the dove of Amyklae. But I would lie husht and still, And feel the new grass growing quick over me!

[_The scene grows dark as they sit. Their eyes are full of tears. Presently one looks up, listening, then another, then another. They are all alert._]

CHTHONOË

Who prayeth peace? I feel her peace Steal through me as a quiet air Enters the house with sweet increase Of light to healing, praise to prayer!

RHODOPE

What do I know of guiltiness When she is here, and with grave eyes Seeketh the ways of quietness And lampeth them?

GORGO

Arise, arise!

[_They all stand waiting._]

MYRTILLA

Hark! Her footfall like the dew--

PASIPHASSA

As a flower by frost made sere Long before the sun breaks through, Feeleth him, I know her near.

[_Helen stands in the doorway._]

CHTHONOË

This is she, the source of light, Source of light and end of it, Argive Helen, slim and sweet, For whose bosom and delight, For whose eyes, those wells of peace, Paris wrought, as well he might, Ten years' woe for Troy and Greece.

RHODOPE

Starry wonder that she was, Caged like sea-bird in his arms, See her passion thrill, then pass From him who, doting on her charms, So became abominable. Watch her bosom dip and swell, See her nostrils fan and curve At his touch who loved not well, But loved too much, who broke the spell; Watch her proud head stiffen and swerve.

GORGO

Upon the wall with claspt white hands See her vigil keep intent, Argive Helen, lo! she stands Looking seaward where the fires Hem the shore innumerable; Sign of that avenging host, All Achaia's chivalry, Past the tongue of man to tell, Peers and kindred of her sires Come to win back Helen lost.

MYRTILLA

There to her in that gray hour, That gray hour before the sun, Cometh he she waiteth for, Menelaus like a ghost, Like a dry leaf tempest-tost, Stalking restless, her reproach.

PASIPHASSA

There alone, those two, long severed been, Eye each other, one wild heart between.

SITYS

"O thou ruinous face, O thou fatally fair, O the pity of thee! What dost thou there, Watching the madness of me?"

CHTHONOË

Him seemed her eyes were pools of dark To drown him, yet no word she spake; But gazing, grave as a lonely house, All her wonder thrilled to wake.

RHODOPE

"By thy roses and snow, By thy sun-litten hair, By thy low bosom and slow Pondered kisses, O hear!

"By thy glimmering eyes, By thy burning cheek, By thy murmuring sighs, Speak, Helen, O speak!

"Ruinous Face, O Ruinous Face, Art thou come so early," he said, "So early forth from the wicked bed?"

GORGO

Him she pondered, grave and still, Stirring not from her safe place: He marked the glow, he felt the thrill, He saw the dawn new in her face.

MYRTILLA

Within her low voice wailed the tone Of one who grieves and prays for death: "Lord, I am come to be alone, Alone here with my sorrow," she saith.

PASIPHASSA

"False wife, what pity was thine For hearth and altar, for man and child? What is thy sorrow worth unto mine?" She rocked, moaning, "I was beguiled!"

SITYS

Ten years' woe for Troy and Greece By her begun, the slim, the sweet, Ended by her in final peace Of him who loved her first of all; Nor ever swerved from his high passion, But through misery and shame Saw her spirit like a flame Eloquent of her sacred fashion-- Hers whose eyes are homes of light, To which she tends, from which she came.

_1912._

[2] _Helen Redeemed_, the first poem in this book, was originally conceived as a drama. Here is a scene from it, the first after the Prologue, which would have been spoken by Odysseus. The action of the play would have begun with the entry of Helen.

GNATHO

Gnatho, Satyr, homing at dusk, Trotting home like a tired dog, By mountain slopes 'twixt the junipers And flamed oleanders near the sea, Found a girl-child asleep in a fleece, Frail as wax, golden and rose; Whereat at first he skipt aside And stayed him, nosing and peering, whereto Next he crept, softly breathing, Blinking his fear. None was there To guard; the sun had dipt in the sea, Faint fire empurpled the flow Of heaving water; no speck, no hint Of oar or wing on the main, on the deep Sky, empty as a great shell, Fainting in its own glory. This thing, This rare breath, this miracle-- Alone with him in the world! His To wonder, fall to, with craning eyes Fearfully daring; next, since it moved not, Stooping, to handle, to stroke, to peer upon Closely, nosing its tender length, Doglike snuffing--at last to kiss In reverence wonderful, lightlier far Than thistledown falls, brushing the Earth. But the child awoke and, watching him, cried not, Cruddled visage, choppy hands, Blinking eyes, red-litten, astare, Horns and feet--nay, crowed and strained To reach this wonder. As one a glass Light as foam, hued like the foam, A breath-bubble of fire, will carry, He in arms lifted his freight, Looking wonderfully upon it With scarce a breath, and humbleness To be so brute ebbed to the flood Of pride in his new assuréd worth-- Trusted so, who could be vile?

So to his cave in the wood he bore her, Fleeting swift as a fear thro' the dark trees.

There in the silence of tall trees, Under the soaring shafts, Far beneath the canopied leafage, In the forest whisper, the thick silences; Or on the wastes Of sheltered mountains where the spires Of solemn cypress frame the descent Upon the blue, and open to sea-- Here grew Ianthe maiden slim With none to spy but this gnarled man-brute; Most fair, most hid, like a wood-flower Slim for lack of light; so she grew In flowering line of limb And flower of face, retired and shy, Urged by the bland air; unknown, Lonely and lovely, husbanding Her great possessions--hers now, Another's when he cared to claim them. For thus went life: to lead the herds Of pricking deer she saw the great stags Battle in empty glades, then mate; Thus on the mountains chose the bears, And in the woods she heard the wolves Anguishing in their loves Thro' the dense nights, far in the forest. And so collected went she, and sure Her time would come and with it her master.

But Gnatho watcht her under his brows When she lay heedless, spilling beauty-- How ever lovelier, suppler, sleeker, How more desirable, how near; How rightly his, how surely his-- Then gnaw'd his cheek and turn'd his head.

For unsuspect, some dim forbidding Rose within him and knockt at his heart And said, Not thine, but for reverence. And some wild horror desperate drove him, Suing a pardon from unknown Gods For untold trespass, to seek the sea, Upon whose shore, to whose cool breathing He'd stretch his arms, broken with strife Of self and self; and all that water Steadfast lapt and surged. Came tears To furrow his cheeks, came strength to return To her, and bear with longer breath Her sweet familiarities, blind Obedience to nascent blind desire-- Till again he lookt and burn'd again.

Thus his black ferment boil'd. O' nights He'd dream and revel frenziedly As with the love-stung nymphs. Awake, In a chill sweat, he'd tear at himself, Claw at his flesh and leap in the brook, Drench the red embers of his vice Into a mass abhorred. Clean then, He'd seek his bed and pass unscath'd The bower of fern where the sleek limbs Of white Ianthe, mesht in her hair, Lay lax in sleep. But Gnatho now Saw only God, as on some still peak Snowy and lonely under the stars We look, and see God in all that calm.

One night of glamour, under a moon That seemed to steep the air with gold, They two sat stilly and watcht the sea Tremulously heaving over a path Of light like a river of molten gold. Warm blew the breeze to land; she lean'd Her idle head, idly played Her fingers in his belt, and he Embracing held her, yielding, subdued; Sideways saw the curve of her cheek, Downcast lashes, droopt lip Which seem'd to court his pleasure-- Then On waves of fire came racing his needs With zest of rage to possess and tear That which his frenzy, maskt as love, Courted: so he lean'd to her ear, Thrilled in torrents hoarse his case-- "Love, I burn, I burn! Slake me, love!" He raved in whisper. And she lookt up with her wide full eyes, Saying, "My love!" and yielded herself.

Deep night settled on hill and plain, The moon went out, the concourse of stars Lay strewn above, and with golden eyes Peered on them lockt. Far and faint The great stags belled; far and faint Quested the wolves; the leopards' howling Lent desolation to night; and low The night-jar purr'd. At sea one light Swayed restlessly, and on the rocks Sounded the tireless lapping deep. Lockt they lay thro' all the silences.

Dawn stole in with whimper of rain And a wailing wind from the sea-- Gray sea, gray dawn and scurrying clouds And scud of rain. The fisher boat, The sands, the headlands fringed with broom And tamarisk were blotted. Alone, Caged in the mist of earth That beat his torment back to himself, So that in vain he sought for the Gods, And lifted up hands in vain To witness this white wreck prone and still-- Gnatho the Satyr blinkt on his work.

_1898-1912._

TO THE GODS OF THE COUNTRY

Sun and Moon, shine upon me; Make glad my days and clear my nights!

O Earth, whose child I am, Grant me thy patience!

O Heaven, whose heir I may be, Keep quick my hope!

Your steadfastness I need, O Hills; O Rain, thy kindness!

Snow, keep me pure; O Fire, teach me thy pride!

From you, ye Winds, I ask your blitheness!

_1909._

FOURTEEN SONNETS

1896

ALMA SDEGNOSA

Not that dull spleen which serves i' the world for scorn, Is hers I watch from far off, worshipping As in remote Chaldaea the ancient king Adored the star that heralded the morn. Her proud content she bears as a flag is borne Tincted the hue royal; or as a wing It lifts her soaring, near the daylight spring, Whence, if she lift, our days must pass forlorn.

The pure deriving of her spirit-state Is so remote from men and their believing, They shrink when she is cold, and estimate That hardness which is but a God's dismay: As when the Heaven-sent sprite thro' Hell sped cleaving, Only the gross air checkt him on his way.

THE WINDS' POSSESSION

When winds blow high and leaves begin to fall, And the wan sunlight flits before the blast; When fields are brown and crops are garnered all, And rooks, like mastered ships, drift wide and fast; Maid Artemis, that feeleth her young blood Leap like a freshet river for the sea, Speedeth abroad with hair blown in a flood To snuff the salt west wind and wanton free.

Then would you know how brave she is, how high Her ancestry, how kindred to the wind, Mark but her flashing feet, her ravisht eye That takes the boist'rous weather and feels it kind: And hear her eager voice, how tuned it is To Autumn's clarion shrill for Artemis.

ASPETTO REALE

That hour when thou and Grief were first acquainted Thou wrotest, "Come, for I have lookt on death." Piteous I held my indeterminate breath And sought thee out, and saw how he had painted Thine eyes with rings of black; yet never fainted Thy radiant immortality underneath Such stress of dark; but then, as one that saith, "I know Love liveth," sat on by death untainted.

O to whom Grief too poignant was and dry To sow in thee a fountain crop of tears! O youth, O pride, set too remote and high For touch of solace that gives grace to men! Thy life must be our death, thy hopes our fears: We weep, thou lookest strangely--we know thee then!

KIN CONFESSED

Long loving, all our love was husbanded Until one morning on the brown hillside, One misty Autumn morn when Sun did hide His radiance, yet was felt. No words we said, But in one flash transfigured, glorified, All her heart's tumult beating white and red, She fell prone on her face and hid her wide Over-brimmed eyes in dewy fern. I prayed, Then spake, "In us two now is manifest That throbbing kindred whereof thou art graft And I the grafted, in this holy place." She, turning half, with sober shame confest Discovery, then hid her rosy face. I read her wilding heart, and my heart laught.

QUEL GIORNO PIÙ ...

That day--it was the last of many days, Nor could we know when such days might be given Again--we read how Dante trod the ways Of utmost Hell, and how his heart was riven By sad Francesca, whose sin was forgiven So far that, on her Paolo fixing gaze, She supt on his again, and thought it Heaven, She knew her gentler fate and felt it praise.

We read that lovers' tale; each lookt at each; But one was fearless, innocent of guile; So did the other learn what she could teach: We read no more, we kiss'd not, but a smile Of proud possession flasht, hover'd a while 'Twixt soul and soul. There was no need for speech.

ABSENCE

When she had left us but a little while Methought I sensed her spirit here and there About my house: upon the empty stair Her robe brusht softly; o'er her chamber still There lay her fragrant presence to beguile Numb heart, dead heart. I knelt before her chair, And praying felt her hand laid on my hair, Felt her sweet breath, and guess'd her wistful smile.

Then thro' my tears I lookt about the room, But she was gone. I heard my heart beat fast; The street was silent; I could not see her now. Sorrow and I took up our load, and past To where our station was with heads bent low, And autumn's death-moan shiver'd thro' the gloom.

PRESENCE

When she had left us but a little while, I still could hear the ringing of her voice, Still see athwart the dusk her shy half-smile And that sweet trust wherein I most rejoice.

Then in her self-same tones I heard, "Go thou, Set to that work appointed thee to do, Remembering I am with thee here and now, Watchful as ever. See, my eyes shine true!"

I lookt, and saw the concourse of clear stars, Steadfast, of limpid candour, and could discover Her soul look on me thro' the prison-bars Which slunk like sin from such an honest Lover:

And thro' the vigil-pauses of that night She beam'd on me; and my soul felt her light.

DREAM ANGUISH

My thought of thee is tortured in my sleep-- Sometimes thou art near beside me, but a cloud Doth grudge me thy pale face, and rise to creep Slowly about thee, to lap thee in a shroud; And I, as standing by my dead, to weep Desirous, cannot weep, nor cry aloud. Or we must face the clamouring of a crowd Hissing our shame; and I who ought to keep Thine honour safe and my betrayed heart proud, Knowing thee true, must watch a chill doubt leap The tired faith of thee, and thy head bow'd, Nor budge while the gross world holdeth thee cheap!

Or there are frost-bound meetings, and reproach At parting, furtive snatches full of fear; Love grown a pain; we bleed to kiss, and kiss Because we bleed for love; the time doth broach Shame, and shame teareth at us till we tear Our hearts to shreds--yet wilder love for this!

HYMNIA-BEATRIX