Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 1

Part 6

Chapter 64,106 wordsPublic domain

Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din, And saw their countenances wan and worn With travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin, Their hair dishevel’d and their habits torn, For trembling scarce could ask what ill had hapt; And they alert with joy to see her trapt, Launch’d forth amain, and on their drift were borne.

‘O Psyche, happiest certainly and blest Up to this hour,’ they said, ‘thou surely wert, Being of thy fearful peril unpossest; Which now we would not tell but to avert. But we in solemn truth thy spouse have found To be the dragon of this mountain ground, Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt.

‘As yesternight we rode upon the wind He issued to pursue us from the wood; We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn’d, His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl’d hood. Lo, now betimes the oracle, which said How to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed, Is plainly for thy safety understood.

‘Long time hath he been known to all that dwell Upon the plain; but now his secret lair Have we discover’d, which none else coud tell: Though many women fallen in his snare Hath he enchanted; who, tradition saith, Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel death They pass in turn upon the summits bare.

‘Fly with us while thou mayst: no more delay; Renounce the spells of this accursed vale. We come to save thee, but we dare not stay; Among these sightless spirits our senses quail. Fly with us, fly!’ Then Psyche, for her soul Was soft and simple, lost her self-control, And, thinking only of the horrid tale,

‘Dear sisters,’ said she, and her sobbing speech Was broken by her terror, ‘it is true That much hath hapt to stablish what ye teach; For ne’er hath it been granted me to view My husband; and, for aught I know, he may Be even that cruel dragon, which ye say Peer’d at you from the forest to pursue.

‘’Tis sure that scarcely can I win his grace To see you here; and still he mischief vows If ever I should ask to see his face, Which, coming in the dark, he ne’er allows. Therefore, if ye can help, of pity show, Since doubt I must, how I may come to know What kind of spirit it is that is my spouse.’

Then to her cue the younger was afore: ‘Hide thou a razor,’ cried she, ‘near thy bed; And have a lamp prepared, but whelm thereo’er Some cover, that no light be from it shed. And when securely in first sleep he lies, Look on him well, and ere he can arise, Gashing his throat, cut off his hideous head.’

Which both persuading, off they flew content, Divining that whate’er she was forbid Was by her lover for her safety meant, Which only coud be sure while he was hid. But Psyche, to that miserable deed Being now already in her mind agreed, Wander’d alone, and knew not what she did.

Now she would trust her lover, now in turn Made question of his bidding as unjust; But thirsting curiosity to learn His secret overcame her simple trust, O’ercame her spoken troth, o’ercame her fear; And she prepared, as now the hour drew near, The mean contrivances, nor felt disgust.

She set the lamp beneath a chair, and cloked Thickly its rebel lustre from the eye: And laid the knife, to mortal keenness stroked, Within her reach, where she was wont to lie: And took her place full early; but her heart Beat fast, and stay’d her breath with sudden start, Feeling her lover’s arm laid fond thereby.

But when at last he slept, then she arose, All faint and tremulous: and though it be That wrong betrayeth innocence with shews Of novelty, its guilt from shame to free, Yet ’twas for shame her hand so strangely shook That held the steel, and from the cloke that took The lamp, and raised it o’er the bed to see.

She had some fear she might not well discern By that small flame a monster in the gloom; When lo! the air about her seem’d to burn, And bright celestial radiance fill’d the room. Too plainly O she saw, O fair to see! Eros, ’twas Eros’ self, her lover, he, The God of love, reveal’d in deathless bloom.

Her fainting strength forsook her; on her knees Down by the bed she sank; the shameless knife Fell flashing, and her heart took thought to seize Its desperate haft, and end her wicked life. Yet coud she not her loving eyes withdraw From her fair sleeping lover, whom she saw Only to know she was no more his wife.

O treasure of all treasures, late her own! O loss above all losses, lost for aye! Since there was no repentance coud atone For her dishonour, nor her fate withstay. But yet ’twas joy to have her love in sight; And, to the rapture yielding while she might, She gazed upon his body where he lay.

Above all mortal beauty, as was hers, She saw a rival; but if passion’s heart Be rightly read by subtle questioners, It owns a wanton and a gentler part. And Psyche wonder’d, noting every sign By which the immortal God, her spouse divine, Betray’d the image of our earthly art;

His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks, And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl’d chin, The full and cushion’d eye, that idly speaks Of self-content and vanity within, The forward, froward ear, and smooth to touch His body sleek, but rounded overmuch For dignity of mind and pride akin.

She noted that the small irradiant wings, That from his shoulders lay along at rest, Were yet disturb’d with airy quiverings, As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest; She feared he was awaking, but they kept Their sweet commotion still, and still he slept, And still she gazed with never-tiring zest.

And now the colour of her pride and joy Outflush’d the hue of Eros; she, so cold, To have fired the passion of the heartless boy, Whom none in heaven or earth were found to hold! Psyche, the earthborn, to be prized above The heavenly Graces by the God of love, And worshipt by his wantonness untold!

Nay, for that very thing she loved him more, More than herself her sweet self’s complement: Until the sight of him again upbore Her courage, and renew’d her vigour spent. And looking now around, she first espied Where at the bed’s foot, cast in haste aside, Lay his full quiver, and his bow unbent.

One of those darts, of which she had heard so oft, She took to try if ’twas so very keen; And held its point against her finger soft So gently, that to touch it scarce was seen; Yet was she sharply prickt, and felt the fire Run through her veins; and now a strange desire Troubl’d her heart, which ne’er before had been:

Straight sprang she to her lover on the bed, And kisst his cheek, and was not satisfied: When, O the lamp, held ill-balanced o’erhead, One drop of burning oil spill’d from its side On Eros’ naked shoulder as he slept, Who waken’d by the sudden smart uplept Upon the floor, and all the mischief eyed.

With nervous speed he seized his bow, and past Out of the guilty chamber at a bound; But Psyche, following his flight as fast, Caught him, and crying threw her arms around: Till coming to the court he rose in air; And she, close clinging in her last despair, Was dragg’d, and then lost hold and fell to ground.

Wailing she fell; but he, upon the roof Staying his feet, awhile his flight delay’d: And turning to her as he stood aloof Beside a cypress, whose profoundest shade Drank the reflections of the dreamy night In its stiff pinnacle, the nimble light Of million stars upon his body play’d:

‘O simple-hearted Psyche,’ thus he spake, And she upraised her piteous eyes and hands, ‘O simple-hearted Psyche, for thy sake I dared to break my mother’s stern commands; And gave thee godlike marriage in the place Of vilest shame; and, not to hurt thy grace, Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands.

‘But thou, for doubt I was some evil beast, Hast mock’d the warnings of my love, to spy Upon my secret, which concern’d thee least, Seeing that thy joy was never touch’d thereby. By faithless prying thou hast work’d thy fall, And, even as I foretold thee, losest all For looking on thy happiness too nigh:

‘Which loss may be thine ample punishment. But to those fiends, by whom thou wert misled, Go tell each one in turn that I have sent This message, that I love her in thy stead; And bid them by their love haste hither soon.’ Whereat he fled; and Psyche in a swoon Fell back upon the marble floor as dead.

AUGUST

When from the lowest ebbing of her blood The fluttering pulses thrill’d and swell’d again, Her stricken heart recovering force to flood With life the sunken conduits of her brain, Then Psyche, where she had fallen, numb and cold Arose, but scarce her quaking sense control’d, Seeing the couch where she that night had lain.

The level sunbeams search’d the grassy ground For diamond dewdrops. Ah! was this the place? Where was the court, her home? she look’d around And question’d with her memory for a space. There was the cypress, there the well-known wood, That wall’d the spot: ’twas here her palace stood, As surely as ’twas vanish’d without trace.

Was all a dream? To think that all was dreamt Were now the happier thought; but arguing o’er That dream it was, she fell from her attempt, Feeling the wifely burden that she bore. Nay, true, ’twas true. She had had all and lost; The joy, the reckless wrong, the heavy cost Were hers, the dead end now, and woe in store.

What to be done? Fainting and shelterless Upon the mountain it were death to bide: And harbour knew she none, where her distress Might comfort find, or love’s dishonour hide; Nor felt she any dread like that of home: Yet forth she must, albeit to rove and roam An outcast o’er the country far and wide.

Anon she marvel’d noting from the vale A path lead downward to the plain below, Crossing the very site, whereon the pale Of all her joy had stood few hours ago; A run of mountain beasts, that keep their track Through generations, and for ages back Had trod the self-same footing to and fro.

That would she try: so forth she took her way, Turning her face from the dishonour’d dell, Adown the broadening eastward lawns, which lay In gentle slant, till suddenly they fell In sheer cliff; whence the path that went around, Clomb by the bluffs, or e’er it downward wound Beneath that precipice impassable.

There once she turn’d, and gazing up the slope She bid the scene of all her joy adieu; ‘Ay, and farewell,’ she cried, ‘farewell to hope, Since there is none will rescue me anew, Who have kill’d God’s perfection with a doubt.’ Which said, she took the path that led about, And hid the upland pleasance from her view.

But soon it left her, entering ’neath the shade Of cedar old and russeted tall pine, Whose mighty tops, seen from the thorny glade, Belted the hills about; and now no sign Had she to guide her, save the slow descent. But swiftly o’er the springy floor she went, And drew the odorous air like draughts of wine.

Then next she past a forest thick and dark With heavy ilexes and platanes high, And came to long lush grass; and now coud mark By many a token that the plain was nigh. When lo! a river: to whose brink at last Being come, upon the bank her limbs she cast, And through her sad tears watch’d the stream go by.

And now the thought came o’er her that in death There was a cure for sorrow, that before Her eyes ran Lethe, she might take one breath Of water and be freed for evermore. Leaning to look into her tomb, thereon She saw the horror of her image wan, And up she rose at height to leap from shore.

When suddenly a mighty voice, that fell With fury on her ears, their sense to scare, That bounding from the tree trunks like the yell Of hundred brazen trumpets, cried ‘Forbear! Forbear, fond maid, that froward step to take, For life can cure the ills that love may make; But for the harm of death is no repair.’

Then looking up she saw an uncouth form Perch’d on the further bank, whose parted lips Volley’d their friendly warning in a storm: A man he might have been, but for the tips Of horns appearing from his shaggy head, For o’er his matted beard his face was red, And all his shape was manlike to the hips.

In forehead low, keen eye, and nostril flat He bore the human grace in mean degree, But, set beneath his body squat and fat, Legs like a goat’s, and from the hairy knee The shank fell spare; and, though crosswise he put His limbs in easeful posture, for the foot The beast’s divided hoof was plain to see.

Him then she knew the mighty choric God, The great hill-haunting and tree-loving Pan; Whom Zeus had laught to see when first he trod Olympus, neither god nor beast nor man: Who every rocky peak and snowy crest Of the Aspran mountains for his own possest, And all their alps with bacchic rout o’erran:

Whom, when his pipe he plays on loud and sweet, And o’er the fitted reeds his moist lip flees, Around in measured step with nimble feet Water-nymphs dance and Hamadryades: And all the woodland’s airy folk, who shun Man’s presence, to his frolic pastime run From their perennial wells and sacred trees.

Now on his knee his pipe laid by, he spoke With flippant tongue, wounding unwittingly The heart he sought to cheer with jest and joke. ‘And what hast thou to do with misery,’ He said, ‘who hast such beauty as might gain The love of Eros? Cast away thy pain, And give thy soul to mirth and jollity.

‘Thy mortal life is but a brittle vase, But as thee list with wine or tears to fill; For all the drops therein are Ohs and Ahs Of joy or grief according to thy will; And wouldst thou learn of me my merry way, I’d teach thee change thy lover every day, And prize the cup that thou wert fain to spill.

‘Nay, if thou plunge thou shalt not drown nor sink, For I will to thee o’er the stream afloat, And bear thee safe; and O I know a drink For care, that makes sweet music in the throat. Come live with me, my love; I’ll cure thy chance: For I can laugh and quaff, and pipe and dance, Swim like a fish, and caper like a goat.’

Speaking, his brute divinity explored The secret of her silence; and old Pan Grew kind and told her of a shallow ford Where lower down the stream o’er pebbles ran, And one might pass at ease with ankles dry: Whither she went, and crossing o’er thereby, Her lonely wanderings through the isle began.

But none could tell, no, nor herself had told Where food she found, or shelter through the land By day or night; until by fate control’d She came by steep ways to the southern strand, Where, sacred to the Twins and Britomart, Pent in its rocky theatre apart, A little town stood on the level sand.

‘Twas where her younger sister’s husband reign’d: And Psyche to the palace gate drew near, Helplessly still by Eros’ best constrain’d, And knocking begg’d to see her sister dear; But when in state stepp’d down that haughty queen, And saw the wan face spent with tears and teen, She smiled, and said ‘Psyche, what dost thou here?’

Then Psyche told how, having well employ’d Their means, and done their bidding not amiss, Looking on him her hand would have destroy’d, ’Twas Eros; whom in love leaning to kiss, Even as she kisst, a drop of burning oil Fall’n from the lamp had served her scheme to foil, Discovering her in vision of her bliss;

Wherewith the god stung, like a startled bird Arose in air, and she fell back in swoon; ‘But ere he parted,’ said she, ‘he confer’d On thee the irrecoverable boon By prying lost to me: _Go tell_, he said, _Thy sister that I love her in thy stead, And bid her by her love haste hither soon_.’

Which when that heart of malice heard, it took The jealous fancy of her silly lust: And pitilessly with triumphant look She drank the flattery, and gave full trust; And leaving Psyche ere she more could tell, Ran off to bid her spouse for aye farewell, And in his ear this ready lie she thrust:

‘My dearest sister Psyche, she whose fate We mourn’d, hath reappear’d alive and hale, But brings sad news; my father dies: full late These tidings come, but love may yet avail; Let me be gone.’ And stealing blind consent, Forth on that well-remember’d road she went, And climb’d upon the peak above the dale.

There on the topmost rock, where Psyche first Had by her weeping sire been left to die, She stood a moment, in her hope accurst Being happy; and the cliffs took up her cry With chuckling mockery from her tongue above, _Zephyr, sweet Zephyr, waft me to my love_! When off she lept upon his wings to fly.

But as a dead stone, from a height let fall, Silent and straight is gather’d by the force Of earth’s vast mass upon its weight so small, In speed increasing as it nears its source Of motion--by which law all things so’er Are clutch’d and dragg’d and held--so fell she there, Like a dead stone, down in her headlong course.

The disregardful silence heard her strike Upon the solid crags; her dismal shriek Rang on the rocks and died out laughter-like Along the vale in hurried trebles weak; And soon upon her, from their skiey haunt Fell to their feast the great birds bald and gaunt, And gorged on her fair flesh with bloody beak.

But Psyche, when her sister was gone forth, Went out again her wandering way to take: And following a stream that led her north, After some days she pass’d the Corian Lake, Whereby Athena’s temple stands, and he Who traverses the isle from sea to sea May by the plain his shortest journey make:

Till on the northern coast arrived she came Upon a city built about a port, The which she knew, soon as she heard the name, Was where her elder sister had her court; To whom, as Eros had commanded her, She now in turn became the messenger Of vengeful punishment, that fell not short:

For she too hearing gan her heart exalt, Nor pity felt for Psyche’s tears and moans, But, fellow’d with that other in her fault, Follow’d her to her fate upon the stones; And from the peak leaping like her below The self-same way unto the self-same woe, Lay dasht to death upon her sister’s bones.

EROS & PSYCHE

THIRD QUARTER

AUTUMN

PSYCHE’S WANDERINGS

SEPTEMBER

On the Hellenic board of Crete’s fair isle, Westward of Drepanon, along a reach Which massy Cyamum for many a mile Jutting to sea delivers from the breach Of North and East,--returning to embay The favour’d shore--an ancient city lay, Aptera, which is _Wingless_ in our speech.

And hence the name; that here in rocky cove, Thence called Museion, was the trial waged What day the Sirens with the Muses strove, By jealous Hera in that war engaged: Wherein the daughters of Mnemosynè O’ercame the chauntresses who vex’d the sea, Nor vengeance spared them by their pride enraged.

For those strange creatures, who with women’s words And wiles made ravenous prey of passers-by, Were throated with the liquid pipe of birds: Of love they sang; and none, who sail’d anigh Through the grey hazes of the cyanine sea, Had wit the whirlpool of that song to flee, Nor fear’d the talon hook’d and feather’d thigh.

But them the singers of the gods o’ercame, And pluck’d them of their plumage, where in fright They vainly flutter’d off to hide their shame, Upon two rocks that lie within the bight, Under the headland, barren and alone; Which, being with the scatter’d feathers strewn, Were, by the folk named Leukæ, which is _White_.

Thereon about this time the snowy gull, Minion of Aphrodite, being come, Plumed himself, standing on the sea-wrack dull, That drifted from the foot of Cyamum; And ’twas his thought, that had the goddess learnt The tale of Psyche loved and Eros burnt, She ne’er so long had kept aloof and dumb.

Wherefore that duteous gossip of Love’s queen Devised that he the messenger would be; And rising from the rock, he skim’d between The chasing waves--such grace have none but he;— Into the middle deep then down he dived, And rowing with his glistening wings arrived At Aphrodite’s bower beneath the sea.

The eddies from his silver pinions swirl’d The crimson, green, and yellow floss, that grew About the caves, and at his passing curl’d Its graceful silk, and gently waved anew: Till, oaring here and there, the queen he found Stray’d from her haunt unto a sandy ground, Dappl’d with eye-rings in the sunlight blue.

She, as he came upon her from above, With Hora play’d; Hora, her herald fair, That lays the soft necessity of Love On maidens’ eyelids, and with tender care Marketh the hour, as in all works is fit: And happy they in love who time outwit, Fondly constrainèd in her season rare.

But he with garrulous and laughing tongue Broke up his news; how Eros, fallen sick, Lay tossing on his bed, to frenzy stung By such a burn as did but barely prick: A little bleb, no bigger than a pease, Upon his shoulder ’twas, that kill’d his ease, Fever’d his heart, and made his breathing thick.

‘For which disaster hath he not been seen This many a day at all in any place: And thou, dear mistress,’ piped he, ‘hast not been Thyself amongst us now a dreary space: The pining mortals suffer from a dearth Of love; and for this sadness of the earth Thy family is darken’d with disgrace.

‘Now on the secret paths of dale and wood, Where lovers walk’d are lovers none to find: And friends, besworn to equal brotherhood, Forget their faith, and part with words unkind: In the first moon thy honey bond is loath’d: And I could tell even of the new-betroth’d That fly o’ersea, and leave their loves behind.

‘Summer is over, but the merry pipe, That wont to cheer the harvesting, is mute: And in the vineyards, where the grape is ripe, No voice is heard of them that take the fruit. No workman singeth at eve nor maiden danceth: All joy is dead, and as the year advanceth The signs of woe increase on man and brute.

‘’Tis plain that if thy pleasure longer pause, Thy mighty rule on earth hath seen its day: The race must come to perish, and no cause But that thou sittest with thy nymphs at play, While on a Cretan hill thy truant boy Hath with his pretty mistress turn’d to toy, And less for pain than love pineth away.’

‘Ha! Mistress!’ cried she; ‘Hath my beardless son Been hunting for himself his lovely game? Some young Orestiad hath his fancy won? Some Naiad? say; or is a Grace his flame? Or maybe Muse, and then ’tis Erato, The trifling wanton. Tell me, if thou know, Woman or goddess is she? and her name.’