The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 21

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,

10

'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.

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''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.'

12

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, Gas.h.i.+ng his throat, cut off his hideous head.'

13

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.

14

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.

15

She set the lamp beneath a chair, and cloked Thickly its rebel l.u.s.tre 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.

16

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.

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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 G.o.d of love, reveal'd in deathless bloom.

18

Her fainting strength forsook her; on her knees Down by the bed she sank; the shameless knife Fell flas.h.i.+ng, 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.

19

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.

20

Above all mortal beauty, as was hers, She saw a rival; but if pa.s.sion'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 G.o.d, her spouse divine, Betray'd the image of our earthly art;

21

His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks, And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl'd chin, The full and cus.h.i.+on'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.

22

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.

23

And now the colour of her pride and joy Outflush'd the hue of Eros; she, so cold, To have fired the pa.s.sion 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 G.o.d of love, And wors.h.i.+pt by his wantonness untold!

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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.

25

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 p.r.i.c.kt, and felt the fire Run through her veins; and now a strange desire Troubl'd her heart, which ne'er before had been:

26

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.