The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 26

_Or say ye nymphs, that from the crystal rills, When ye have bathed your limbs from morn till eve, Flying at midnight to the bare-topt hills, Beneath the stars your mazy dances weave, Say, my deserter whom ye well may know By his small wings, his quiver, and his bow, Say, have ye seen my love, whose loss I grieve?_

6

Till climb'd one evening on a rocky steep Above the plain of Cisamos, that lay, Robb'd of its golden harvest, in the deep Mountainous shadows of the dying day, She saw a temple, whose tall columns fair Recall'd her home; and 'O if thou be there, My love,' she cried, 'fly not again away.'

7

Swiftly she ran, and entering by the door She stood alone within an empty fane Of great Demeter: and, behold, the floor Was litter'd with thank-offerings of grain, With wheat and barley-sheaves together heapt In holy harvest-home of them that reapt The G.o.ddess plenteous gifts upon the plain;

8

And on the t.i.the the tackle of the t.i.the Thrown by in such confusion, as are laid Upon the swath sickle, and hook, and scythe, When midday drives the reapers to the shade.

And Psyche, since had come no priestess there To trim the temple, in her pious care Forgat herself, and lent her duteous aid.

9

She drew the offerings from the midst aside, And piled the sheaves at every pillar's base; And sweeping therebetween a pa.s.sage wide, Made clear of corn and chaff the temple s.p.a.ce: As countrymen who bring their wheat to mart, Set out their show along the walls apart By their allotted stations, each in place;

10

Thus she, and felt no weariness,--such strength Hath duty to support our feeble frame,-- Till all was set in order, and at length Up to the threshold of the shrine she came: When lo! before her face with friendly smile, Tall as a pillar of the peristyle, The G.o.ddess stood reveal'd, and call'd her name.

11

'Unhappy Psyche,' said she, 'know'st thou not How Aphrodite to thy hurt is sworn?

And thou, thy peril and her wrath forgot, Spendest thy thought my temple to adorn.

Take better heed!'--And Psyche, at the voice Even of so little comfort, gan rejoice, And at her feet pour'd out this prayer forlorn.

12

'O Gracious giver of the golden grain, Hide me, I pray thee, from her wrath unkind: For who can pity as canst thou my pain, Who wert thyself a wanderer, vex'd in mind For loss of thy dear Core once, whenas, Ravisht to h.e.l.l by fierce Agesilas, Thou soughtest her on earth and coudst not find.

13

'How coud thy feet bear thee to western night, And where swart Libyans watch the sacred tree, And thrice to ford o'er Achelous bright, And all the streams of beauteous Sicily?

And thrice to Enna cam'st thou, thrice, they tell, Satest athirst by Callichorus' well, Nor tookest of the spring to comfort thee.

14

'By that remember'd anguish of thine heart, Lady, have pity even on me, and show Where I may find my love; and take my part For peace, I pray, against my cruel foe: Or if thou canst not from her anger s.h.i.+eld, Here let me lie among the sheaves conceal'd Such time till forth I may in safety go.'

15

Demeter answer'd, 'Nay, though thou constrain My favour with thy plea, my help must still Be hidden, else I work for thee in vain To thwart my mighty sister in her will.

Thou must fly hence: Yet though I not oppose, Less will I aid her; and if now I close My temple doors to thee, take it not ill.'

16

Then Psyche's hope founder'd; as when a s.h.i.+p, The morrow of the gale can hardly ride The swollen seas, fetching a deeper dip At every wave, and through her gaping side And o'er her shattered bulwark ever drinks, Till plunging in the watery wild she sinks, To scoop her grave beneath the crus.h.i.+ng tide:

17

So with each word her broken spirit drank Its doom; and overwhelm'd with deep despair She turn'd away, and coming forth she sank Silently weeping on the temple stair, In midmost night, forspent with long turmoil: But sleep, the gracious pursuivant of toil, Came swiftly down, and nursed away her care.

18

And when the sun awaked her with his beams She found new hope, that still her sorrow's cure Lay with the G.o.ds, who in her morning dreams Had sent her comfort in a vision sure; Wherein the Cretan-born, almightiest G.o.d, Cloud-gathering Zeus himself had seem'd to nod, And bid her with good heart her woes endure.

19

So coming that same day unto a shrine Of Hera, she took courage and went in: And like to one that to the cell divine For favour ventures or a suit to win, She drew anigh the altar, from her face Wiping the tears, ere to the heavenly grace, As thus she pray'd, she would her prayer begin.

20

'Most honour'd Lady, who from ancient doom Wert made heaven's wife, and art on earth besought With gracious happiness of all to whom Thy holy wedlock hath my burden brought, Save me from Aphrodite's fell pursuit, And guard unto the birth Love's hapless fruit, Which she for cruel spite would bring to nought.

21

'As once from her thou wert not shamed to take Her beauty's zone, thy beauty to enhance; For which again Zeus loved thee, to forsake His warlike ire in faithful dalliance; Show me what means may win my Love to me, Or how that I may come, if so may be, Within the favour of his countenance.

22

'If there be any place for tears or prayer, If there be need for succour in distress, Now is the very hour of all despair, Here is the heart of grief and bitterness.

Motherly pity, bend thy face and grant One beam of ruth to thy poor suppliant, Nor turn me from thine altar comfortless.'

23

Even as she pray'd a cloud spread through the cell, And 'mid the wreathings of the vapour dim The G.o.ddess grew in glory visible, Like some barbaric queen in festal trim; Such the attire and ornaments she wore, When o'er the forged threshold of the floor Of Zeus's house she stept to visit him.