The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 22

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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.

28

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:

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'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 G.o.dlike marriage in the place Of vilest shame; and, not to hurt thy grace, Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands.

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'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:

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'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

1

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.

2

The level sunbeams search'd the gra.s.sy 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 s.p.a.ce.

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.

3

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.

4

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.

5

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.

6

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 impa.s.sable.

7

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 G.o.d's perfection with a doubt.'

Which said, she took the path that led about, And hid the upland pleasance from her view.

8

But soon it left her, entering 'neath the shade Of cedar old and russeted tall pine, Whose mighty tops, seen from the th.o.r.n.y 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.

9

Then next she past a forest thick and dark With heavy ilexes and platanes high, And came to long lush gra.s.s; 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.

10

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 sh.o.r.e.

11

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.'

12

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 s.h.a.ggy head, For o'er his matted beard his face was red, And all his shape was manlike to the hips.