diff options
Diffstat (limited to '22803-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 22803-0.txt | 6091 |
1 files changed, 6091 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/22803-0.txt b/22803-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d18e98 --- /dev/null +++ b/22803-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6091 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Helen Redeemed and Other Poems, by Maurice Hewlett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Helen Redeemed and Other Poems + +Author: Maurice Hewlett + +Release Date: September 29, 2007 [EBook #22803] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN REDEEMED AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + HELEN REDEEMED + + AND OTHER POEMS + + + BY + MAURICE HEWLETT + + + Δῶρον Ἔρως Ἀΐδῃ + + + + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON + 1913 + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic +spellings have been retained. Greek text appears as originally printed. + + + + +DEDICATION + + + Love owes tribute unto Death, + Being but a flower of breath, + Ev'n as thy fair body is + Moment's figure of the bliss + Dwelling in the mind of God + When He called thee from the sod, + Like a crocus up to start, + Gray-eyed with a golden heart, + Out of earth, and point our sight + To thy eternal home of light. + + Here on earth is all we know: + To let our love as steadfast blow, + Open-hearted to the sun, + Folded down when our day's done, + As thy flower that bids it be + Flower of thy charity. + 'Tis not ours to boast or pray + Breath from us shall outlive clay; + 'Tis not thine, thou Pitiful, + Set me task beyond my rule. + + Yet as young men carve on trees + Lovely names, and find in these + Solace in the after time, + So to have hid thee in my rhyme + Shall be comfort when I take + The lonely road. Then, for my sake, + Keep thou this my graven sigh, + And, that I may not all die, + Open it, and hear it tell, + Here was one who loved thee well. + +_October 6, 1912._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + HELEN REDEEMED 1 + HYPSIPYLE 123 + OREITHYIA 149 + CLYTIÉ 155 + LAI OF GOBERTZ 159 + THE SAINTS' MAYING 169 + THE ARGIVE WOMEN 173 + GNATHO 187 + TO THE GODS OF THE COUNTRY 193 + FOURTEEN SONNETS-- + ALMA SDEGNOSA 197 + THE WINDS' POSSESSION 198 + ASPETTO REALE 199 + KIN CONFESSED 200 + QUEL GIORNO PIÙ 201 + ABSENCE 202 + PRESENCE 203 + DREAM ANGUISH 204 + HYMNIA-BEATRIX 206 + LUX E TENEBRIS 207 + DUTY 208 + WAGES 209 + EYE-SERVICE 210 + CLOISTER THOUGHTS 211 + THE CHAMBER IDYLL 213 + EPIGRAMMATA-- + THE OLD HOUSE 217 + BLUE IRIS 217 + THE ROSEBUD 218 + SPRING ON THE DOWN 218 + SNOWY NIGHT 219 + EVENING MOOD 219 + THE PARTING 220 + DEDICATION OF A BOOK 221 + + + + +NOTE + + +Three of the Poems here published have appeared in book form already, in +the Volume called _Songs and Meditations_, long out of print. + + + + +HELEN REDEEMED + + +PROEM + + Sing of the end of Troy, and of that flood + Of passion by the blood + Of heroes consecrate, by poet's craft + Hallowed, if that thin waft + Of godhead blown upon thee stretch thy song + To span such store of strong + And splendid vision of immortal themes + Late harvested in dreams, + Albeit long years laid up in tilth. Most meet + Thou sing that slim and sweet + Fair woman for whose bosom and delight + Paris, as well he might, + Wrought all the woe, and held her to his cost + And Troy's, and won and lost + Perforce; for who could look on her or feel + Her near and not dare steal + One hour of her, or hope to hold in bars + Such wonder of the stars + Undimmed? As soon expect to cage the rose + Of dawn which comes and goes + Fitful, or leash the shadows of the hills, + Or music of upland rills + As Helen's beauty and not tarnish it + With thy poor market wit, + Adept to hue the wanton in the wild, + Defile the undefiled! + Yet by the oath thou swearedst, standing high + Where piled rocks testify + The holy dust, and from Therapnai's hold + Over the rippling wold + Didst look upon Amyklai's, where sunrise + First dawned in Helen's eyes, + Take up thy tale, good poet, strain thine art + To sing her rendered heart, + Given last to him who loved her first, nor swerved + From loving, but was nerved + To see through years of robbery and shame + Her spirit, a clear flame, + Eloquent of her birthright. Tell his peace, + And hers who at last found ease + In white-arm'd Heré, holy husbander + Of purer fire than e'er + To wife gave Kypris. Helen, and Thee sing + In whom her beauties ring, + Fair body of fair mind fair acolyte, + Star of my day and night! + +_18th September 1912._ + + +FIRST STAVE + +THE DEATH OF ACHILLES + + Where Simoeis and Xanthos, holy streams, + Flow brimming on the level, and chance gleams + Betray far Ida through a rended cloud + And hint the awful home of Zeus, whose shroud + The thunder is--'twixt Ida and the main + Behold gray Ilios, Priam's fee, the plain + About her like a carpet; from whose height + The watchman, ten years watching, every night + Counteth the beacon fires and sees no less + Their number as the years wax and duress + Of hunger thins the townsmen day by day-- + More than the Greeks kill plague and famine slay. + Here in their wind-swept city, ten long years + Beset and in this tenth in blood and tears + And havocry to fall, old Priam's sons + Guard still their gods, their wives and little ones, + Guard Helen still, for whose fair womanhood + The sin was done, woe wrought, and all the blood + Of Danaan and Dardan in their pride + Shed; nor yet so the end, for Heré cried + Shrill on the heights more vengeance on wrong done, + And Greek or Trojan paid it. Late or soon + By sword or bitter arrow they went hence, + Each with their goodliest paying one man's offence. + Goodliest in Troy fell Hector; back to Greek + Then swung the doomstroke, and to Dis the bleak + Must pass great Hector's slayer. Zeus on high, + Hidden from men, held up the scales; the sky + Told Thetis that her son must go the way + He sent Queen Hecuba's--himself must pay, + Himself though young, splendid Achilles' self, + The price of manslaying, with blood for pelf. + A grief immortal took her, and she grieved + Deep in sea-cave, whereover restless heaved + The wine-dark ocean--silently, not moving, + Tearless, a god. O Gods, however loving, + That is a lonely grief that must go dry + About the graves where the beloved lie, + And knows too much to doubt if death ends all + Pleasure in strength of limb, joy musical, + Mother-love, maiden-love, which never more + Must the dead look for on the further shore + Of Acheron, and past the willow-wood + Of Proserpine! + But when he understood, + Achilles, that his end was near at hand, + Darkling he heard the news, and on the strand + Beyond the ships he stood awhile, then cried + The Sea-God that high-hearted and clear-eyed + He might go down; and this for utmost grace + He asked, that not by battle might his face + Be marred, nor fighting might some Dardan best + Him who had conquered ever. For the rest, + Fate, which had given, might take, as fate should be. + So prayed he, and Poseidon out of the sea, + There where the deep blue into sand doth fade + And the long wave rolls in, a bar of jade, + Sent him a portent in that sea-blue bird + Swifter than light, the halcyon; and men heard + The trumpet of his praise: "Shaker of Earth, + Hail to thee! Now I fare to death in mirth, + As to a banquet!" + So when day was come + Lightly arose the prince to meet his doom, + And kissed Briseïs where she lay abed + And never more by hers might rest his head: + "Farewell, my dear, farewell, my joy," said he; + "Farewell to all delights 'twixt thee and me! + For now I take a road whose harsh alarms + Forbid so sweet a burden to my arms." + Then his clean limbs his weeping squires bedight + In all the mail Hephaistos served his might + Withal, of breastplate shining like the sun + Upon flood-water, three-topped helm whereon + Gleamed the gold basilisk, and goodly greaves. + These bore he without word; but when from sheaves + Of spears they picked the great ash Pelian + Poseidon gave to Peleus, God to a man, + For no man's manège else--than all men's fear: + "Dry and cold fighting for thee this day, my spear," + Quoth he. And so when one the golden shield + Immortal, daedal, for no one else to wield, + Cast o'er his head, he frowned: "On thy bright face + Let me see who shall dare a dint," he says, + And stood in thought full-armed; thereafter poured + Libation at the tent-door to the Lord + Of earth and sky, and prayed, saying: "O Thou + That hauntest dark Dodona, hear me now, + Since that the shadowing arm of Time is flung + Far over me, but cloudeth me full young. + Scatheless I vow them. Let one Trojan cast + His spear and loose my spirit. Rage is past + Though I go forth my most provocative + Adventure: 'tis not I that seek. Receive + My prayer Thou as I have earned it--lo, + Dying I stand, and hail Thee as I go + Lord of the Ægis, wonderful, most great!" + Which done, he took his stand, and bid his mate + Urge on the steeds; and all the Achaian host + Followed him, not with outcry or loud boast + Of deeds to do or done, but silent, grim + As to a shambles--so they followed him, + Eyeing that nodding crest and swaying spear + Shake with the chariot. Solemn thus they near + The Trojan walls, slow-moving, as by a Fate + Driven; and thus before the Skaian Gate + Stands he in pomp of dreadful calm, to die, + As once in dreadful haste to slay. + Thereby + The walls were thick with men, and in the towers + Women stood gazing, clustered close as flowers + That blur the rocks in some high mountain pass + With delicate hues; but like the gray hill-grass + Which the wind sweepeth, till in waves of light + It tideth backwards--so all gray or white + Showed they, as sudden surges moved them cloak + Their heads, or bare their faces. And none spoke + Among them, for there stood not woman there + But mourned her dead, or sensed not in the air + Her pendent doom of death, or worse than death. + Frail as flowers were their faces, and all breath + Came short and quick, as on this dreadful show + Staring, they pondered it done far below + As on a stage where the thin players seem + Unkith to them who watch, the stuff of dream. + Nor else about the plain showed living thing + Save high in the blue where sailed on outspread wing + A vulture bird intent, with mighty span + Of pinion. + In the hush spake the dead man, + Hollow-voiced, terrible: "Ye tribes of Troy, + Here stand I out for death, and ye for joy + Of killing as ye will, by cast of spear, + By bowshot or with sword. If any peer + Of Hector or Sarpedon care the bout + Which they both tried aforetime let him out + With speed, and bring his many against one, + Fearing no treachery, for there shall be none + To aid me, God nor man; nor yet will I + Stir finger in the business, but will die + By murder sooner than in battle fall + Under some Trojan hand." + Breathless stood all, + Not moving out; but Paris on the roof + Of his high house, where snug he sat aloof, + Drew taut the bowstring home, and notched a shaft, + Soft whistling to himself, what time with craft + Of peering eyes and narrow twisted face + He sought an aim. + Swift from her hiding-place + Came burning Helen then, in her blue eyes + A fire unquenchable, but cold as ice + That scorcheth ere it strike a mortal chill + Upon the heart. "Darest thou...?" + Smiling still, + He heeded not her warning, nor he read + The terror of her eyes, but drew and sped + A screaming arrow, deadly, swerving not-- + Then stood to watch the ruin he had wrought. + He heard the sob of breath o'er all the host + Of hushing men; he marked, but then he lost, + The blood-spurt at the shaft-head; for the crest + Upheaved, the shoulders stiffen'd, ere to the breast + Bent down the head, as though the glazing sight + Curious would mark the death-spot. Still upright + Stood he; but as a tree that on the side + Of Ida yields to axe her soaring pride + And lightlier waves her leafy crown, and swings + From side to side--so on his crest the wings + Erect seemed shaking upwards, and to sag + The spear's point, and the burden'd head to wag + Before the stricken body felt the stroke, + Or the strong knees grew lax, or the heart broke. + Breathless they waited; then the failing man + Stiffened anew his neck, and changed and wan + Looked for the last time in the face of day, + And seemed to dare the Gods such might to slay + As this, the sanguine splendid thing he was, + Withal now gray of face and pinched. Alas, + For pride of life! Now he had heard his knell. + His spirit passed, and crashing down he fell, + Mighty Achilles, and struck the earth, and lay + A huddled mass, a bulk of bronze and clay + Bestuck with gilt and glitter, like a toy. + There dropt a forest hush on watching Troy, + Upon the plain and watching ranks of men; + And from a tower some woman keened him then + With long thin cry that wavered in the air-- + As once before one wailed her Hector there. + + +SECOND STAVE + +MENELAUS' DREAM: HELEN ON THE WALL + + So he who wore his honour like a wreath + About his brows went the dark way of death; + Which being done, that deed of ruth and doom + Gave breath to Troy; but on the Achaians gloom + Settled like pall of cloud upon a land + That swoons beneath it. Desperate they scanned + Each other, saying: "Now we are left by God," + And in the huts behind the wall abode, + Heeding not Diomede, Idomeneus, + Nor keen Odysseus, nor that friend of Zeus + Mykenai's king, nor that robbed Menelaus, + Nor bowman Teukros, Nestor wise, nor Aias-- + Huge Aias, cursed in death! Peleides bare + Himself with pride, but he went raving there. + For in the high assembly Thetis made + In honour of her son, to waft his shade + In peace to Hades' house, after the fire + Twice a man's height for him who did suspire + Twice a man's heart and render it to Heaven + Who gave it, after offerings paid and given, + And games of men and horses, she brought forth + His regal arms for hero of most worth + In the broad Danaan host, who was adjudged + Odysseus by all voices. Aias grudged + The vote and wandered brooding, drawn apart + From his room-fellows, seeding in his heart + Envy, which biting inwards did corrode + His mettle, and his ill blood plied the goad + Upon his brain, until the wretch made mad + Went muttering his wrongs, ill-trimmed, ill-clad, + Sightless and careless, with slack mouth awry, + And working tongue, and danger in the eye; + And oft would stare at Heaven and laugh his scorn: + "O fools, think not to trick me!" then forlorn + Would gaze about green earth or out to sea: + "This is the end of man in his degree"-- + Thus would he moralise in those bare lands + With hopeless brows and tossing up of hands-- + "To sow in sweat and see another reap!" + Then, pitying himself, he'd fall to weep + His desolation, scorned by Gods, by men + Slighted; but in a flash he'd rage again + And shake his naked sword at unseen foes, + And dare them bring Odysseus to his blows: + Or let the man but flaunt himself in arms...! + So threatening God knows what of savage harms, + On him the oxen patient in the marsh, + Knee-deep in rushes, gazed to hear his harsh + Outcry; and them his madness taught for Greeks, + So on their dumb immensity he wreaks + His vengeance, driving in the press with shout + Of "Aias! Aias!" hurtling, carving out + A way with mighty swordstroke, cut and thrust, + And makes a shambles in his witless lust; + And in the midst, bloodshot, with blank wild eyes + Stands frothing at the lips, and after lies + All reeking in his madman's battlefield, + And sleeps nightlong. But with the dawn's revealed + The pity of his folly; then he sees + Himself at his fool's work. With shaking knees + He stands amid his slaughter, and his own + Adds to the wreck, plunging without a groan + Upon his planted sword. So Aias died + Lonely; and he who, never from his side + Removed, had shared his fame, the Lokrian, + Abode the fate foreordered in the plan + Which the Blind Women ignorantly weave. + + But think not on the dead, who die and leave + A memory more fragrant than their deeds, + But to the remnant rather and their needs + Give thought with me. What comfort in their swords + Have they, robbed of the might of two such lords + As Peleus' son and Telamon's? What art + Can drive the blood back to the stricken heart? + Like huddled sheep cowed obstinate, as dull + As oxen impotent the wain to pull + Out of a rut, which, failing at first lunge, + Answer not voice nor goad, but sideways plunge + Or backward urge with lowered heads, or stand + Dumb monuments of sufferance--so unmanned + The Achaians brooded, nor their chiefs had care + To drive them forth, since they too knew despair, + And neither saw in battle nor retreat + A way of honour. + And the plain grew sweet + Again with living green; the spring o' the year + Came in with flush of flower and bird-call clear; + And Nature, for whom nothing wrought is vain, + Out of shed blood caused grass to spring amain, + And seemed with tender irony to flout + Man's folly and pain when twixt dead spears sprang out + The crocus-point and pied the plain with fires + More gracious than his beacons; and from pyres + Of burnt dead men the asphodel uprose + Like fleecy clouds flushed with the morning rose, + A holy pall to hide his folly and pain. + Thus upon earth hope fell like a new rain, + And by and by the pent folk within walls + Took heart and ploughed the glebe and from the stalls + Led out their kine to pasture. Goats and sheep + Cropt at their ease, and herd-boys now did keep + Watch, where before stood armèd sentinels; + And battle-grounds were musical with bells + Of feeding beasts. Afar, high-beacht, the ships + Loomed through the tender mist, their prows--like lips + Of thirsty birds which, lacking water, cry + Salvation out of Heaven--flung on high: + Which marking, Ilios deemed her worst of road + Was travelled, and held Paris for a God + Who winged the shaft that brought them all this peace. + + He in their love went sunning, took his ease + In house and hall, at council or at feast, + Careless of what was greatest or what least + Of all his deeds, so only by his side + She lay, the blush-rose Helen, stolen bride, + The lovely harbour of his arms. But she, + A thrall, now her own thralldom plain could see, + And sick of dalliance, loathed herself, and him + Who had beguiled her. Now through eyes made dim + With tears she looked towards the salt sea-beach + Where stood the ships, and sought for sign in each + If it might be her people's, and so hers, + Poor alien!--Argive now herself she avers + And proudly slave of Paris and no wife: + Minion she calls herself; and when to strife + Of love he claims her, secret her heart surges + Back to her lord; and when to kiss he urges, + And when to play he woos her with soft words, + Secret her fond heart calleth, like a bird's, + Towards that honoured mate who honoured her, + Making her wife indeed, not paramour, + Mother, and sharer of his hearth and all + His gear. Thus every night: and on the wall + She watches every dawn for what dawn brings. + And the strong spirit of her took new wings + And left her lovely body in the arms + Of him who doted, conning o'er her charms, + And witless held a shell; but forth as light + As the first sigh of dawn her spirit took flight + Across the dusky plain to where fires gleamed + And muffled guards stood sentry; and it streamed + Within the hut, and hovered like a wraith, + A presence felt, not seen, as when gray Death + Seems to the dying man a bedside guest, + But to the watchers cannot be exprest. + So hovered Helen in a dream, and yearned + Over the sleeper as he moaned and turned, + Renewing his day's torment in his sleep; + Who presently starts up and sighing deep, + Searches the entry, if haply in the skies + The day begin to stir. Lo there, her eyes + Like waning stars! Lo there, her pale sad face + Becurtained in loose hair! Now he can trace + Athwart that gleaming moon her mouth's droopt bow + To tell all truth about her, and her woe + And dreadful store of knowledge. As one shockt + To worse than death lookt she, with horror lockt + Behind her tremulous tragic-moving lips: + "O love, O love," saith he, and saying, slips + Out of the bed: "Who hath dared do thee wrong?" + No answer hath she, but she looks him long + And deep, and looking, fades. He sleeps no more, + But up and down he pads the beaten floor, + And all that day his heart's wild crying hears, + And can thank God for gracious dew of tears + And tender thoughts of her, not thoughts of shame. + So came the next night, and with night she came, + Dream-Helen; and he knew then he must go + Whence she had come. His need would have it so-- + And her need. Never must she call in vain. + Now takes he way alone over the plain + Where dark yet hovers like a catafalque + And all life swoons, and only dead thing walk, + Uneasy sprites denied a resting space, + That shudder as they flit from place to place, + Like bats of flaggy wing that make night blink + With endless quest: so do those dead, men think, + Who fall and are unserved by funeral rite. + These passes he, and nears the walls of might + Which Godhead built for proud Laomedon, + And knows the house of Paris built thereon, + Terraced and set with gadding vines and trees + And ever falling water, for the ease + Of that sweet indweller he held in store. + Thither he turns him quaking, but before + Him dares not look, lest he should see her there + Aglimmer through the dusk and, unaware, + Discover her fill some mere homely part + Intolerably familiar to his heart, + And deeply there enshrined and glorified, + Laid up with bygone bliss. Yet on he hied, + Being called, and ever closer on he came + As if no wrong nor misery nor shame + Could harder be than not to see her--Nay, + Even if within that smooth thief's arms she lay + Besmothered in his kisses--rather so + Had he stood stabbed to see, than on to go + His round of lonely exile! + Now he stands + Beneath her house, and on his spear his hands + Rest, and upon his hands he grounds his chin, + And motionless abides till day come in; + Pure of his vice, that he might ease her woe, + Not brand her with his own. Not yet the glow + Of false dawn throbbed, nor yet the silent town + Stood washt in light, clear-printed to the crown + In the cold upper air. Dark loomed the walls, + Ghostly the trees, and still shuddered the calls + Of owl to owl from unseen towers. Afar + A dog barked. High and hidden in the haar + Which blew in from the sea a heron cried + Honk! and he heard his wings, but not espied + The heavy flight. Slow, slow the orb was filled + With light, and with the light his heart was thrilled + With opening music, faint, expectant, sharp + As the first chords one picks out from the harp + To prelude paean. Venturing all, he lift + His eyes, and there encurtained in a drift + Of sea-blue mantle close-drawn, he espies + Helen above him watching, her grave eyes + Upon him fixt, blue homes of mystery + Unfathomable, eternal as the sea, + And as unresting. + So in that still place, + In that still hour stood those two face to face. + + +THIRD STAVE + +MENELAUS SPEAKS WITH HELEN + + But when he had her there, sharp root of ill + To him and his, safeguarded from him still, + Too sweet to be forgotten, too much marred + By usage to be what she seemed, bescarred, + Behandled, too much lost and too much won, + Mock image making horrible the sun + That once had shown her pure for his demesne, + And still revealed her lovely, and unclean-- + Despair turned into stone what had been kind, + And bitter surged his griefs, to flood his mind. + "O ruinous face," said he, "O evil head, + Art thou so early from the wicked bed? + So prompt to slough the snugness of thy vice? + Or is it that in luxury thou art nice + Become, and dalliest?" Low her head she hung + And moved her lips. As when the night is young + The hollow wind presages storm, his moan + Came wailing at her. "Ten years here, alone, + And in that time to have seen thee thrice!" + But she: + "Often and often have I chanced to see + My lord pass." + His heart leapt, as leaps the child + Enwombed: "Hast thou--?" + Faintly her quick eyes smiled: + "At this time my house sleepeth, but I wake; + So have time to myself when I can take + New air, and old thought." + As a man who skills + To read high hope out of dark oracles, + So gleamed his eyes; so fierce and quick said he: + "Lady, O God! Now would that I could be + Beside thee there, breathing thy breath, thy thought + Gathering!" Silent stood she, memory-fraught, + Nor looked his way. But he must know her soul, + So harpt upon her heart. "Is this the whole + That thou wouldst have me think, that thou com'st here + Alone to be?" + She blushed and dared to peer + Downward. "Is it so wonderful," she said, + "If I desire it?" He: "Nay, by my head, + Not so; but wonderful I think it is + In any man to suffer it." The hiss + Of passion stript all vesture from his tones + And showed the King man naked to the bones, + Man naked to the body's utterance. + She turned her head, but felt his burning glance + Scorch, and his words leap up. "Dost thou desire + I leave thee then? Answer me that." + "Nay, sire, + Not so." And he: "Bid me to stay while sleeps + Thy house," he said, "so stay I." Her eyes' deeps + Flooded his soul and drowned him in despair, + Despair and rage. "Behold now, ten years' wear + Between us and our love! Now if I cast + My spear and rove the snow-mound of thy breast, + Were that a marvel?" + Long she lookt and grave, + Pondering his face and searching. "Not so brave + My lord as that would prove him. Nay, and I know + He would not do it." And the truth was so; + And well he knew the reason: better she. + Yet for a little in that vacancy + Of silence and unshadowing light they stood, + Those long-divided, speechless. His first mood + With bitter grudge was choked, but hers was mild, + As fearing his. At last she named the child, + Asking, Was all well? Short he told her, Yes, + The child was well. She fingered in her dress + And watched her hand at play there. + "Here," she said, + "There is no child," and sighed. Into his dead + And wasted heart there leaped a flame and caught + His hollow eyes. "Rememberest thou naught, + Nothing regrettest, nothing holdst in grief + Of all our joy together ere that thief + Came rifling in?" For all her answer she + Lookt long upon him, long and earnestly; + And misty grew her eyes, and slowly filled. + Slowly the great tears brimmed, and slowly rilled + Adown her cheeks. So presently she hid + Those wells of grief, and hung her lovely head; + And he had no more words, but only a cry + At heart too deep for utterance, and too high + For tears. + + And now came Paris from the house + Into the sun, rosy and amorous, + As when the sun himself from the sea-rim + Lifteth, and gloweth on the earth grown dim + With waiting; and he piped a low clear call + As mellow as the thrush's at the fall + Of day from some near thicket. At whose sound + Rose up caught Helen and blushing turned her round + To face him; but in going, ere she met + The prince, her hand along the parapet + She trailed, palm out, for sign to who below + Rent at himself, nor had the wit to know + In that dumb signal eloquence, and hope + Therein beyond his sick heart's utmost scope. + Throbbing he stood as when a quick-blown peat, + Now white, now red, burns inly--O wild heat, + O ravenous race of men, who'd barter Space + And Time for one short snatch of instant grace! + Withal, next day, drawn by his dear desire, + When as the young green burned like emerald fire + In the cold light, back to the tryst he came; + But she was sooner there, and called his name + Softly as cooing dove her bosom's mate; + And showed her eyes to him, which half sedate + To be so sought revealed her, half in doubt + Lest he should deem her bold to meet the bout + With too much readiness. But high he flaunted + Her name towards the sky. "Thou God-enchanted, + Thou miracle of dawn, thou Heart of the Rose, + Hail thou!" On his own eloquence he grows + The lover he proclaims. "O love," he saith, + "I would not leave thee for a moment's breath, + Nor once these ten long years had left thy side + Had it been possible to stay!" + She sighed, + She wondered o'er his face, she looked her fill, + Museful, still doubting, smiling half, athrill, + All virgin to his praise. "O wonderful," + She said, "Such store of love for one so foul + As I am now!" + O fatal hot-and-cold, + O love, whose iris wings not long can hold + The upper air! Sudden her thought smote hot + On him. "Thou sayest! True it is, God wot! + Warm from his bed, and tears for thy unworth; + Warm from his bed, and tears to meet my mirth; + Then back to his bed ere yet thy tears be dry!" + She heard not, but she knew his agony + Of burning vision, and kept back her tears + Until his pity moved in tune with hers + Towards herself. But he from thunderous brows + Frowned on. "No more I see thee by this house, + Except to slay thee when the hour decree + An end to this vile nest of cuckoldry + And holy vows made hateful, save thou speak + To each my question sooth. Keep dry thy cheek + From tears, hide up thy beauty with thy grief-- + Or let him have his joy of them, thy thief, + What time he may. Answer me thou, or vain + Till thine hour strike to look for me again." + With hanging head and quiet hanging hands, + With lip atremble, as caught in fault she stands, + Scarce might he hear her whispered message: + "Ask, + Lord, and I answer thee." + Strung to his task: + "Tell me now all," he said, "from that far day + Whenas embracing thee, I stood to pray, + And poured forth wine unto the thirsty earth + To Zeus and to Poseidon, in whose girth + Lie sea and land; to Gaia next, their spouse, + And next to Heré, mistress of my house, + Traitress, and thine, for grace upon my faring: + For thou wert by to hear me, false arm bearing + Upon my shoulder, glowing, lying cheek + Next unto mine. Ay, and thou prayedst, with meek + Fair seeming, prosperous send-off and return. + Tell me what then, tell all, and let me learn + With what pretence that dog-souled slaked his thirst + In thy sweet liquor. Tell me that the first." + Then Helen lifted up her head, and beamed + Clear light upon him from her eyes, which seemed + That blue which, lying on the white sea-bed + And gazing up, the sunbeam overhead + Would show, with green entinctured, and the warp + Inwoven of golden shafts, blended yet sharp; + So that a glory mild and radiant + Transfigured them. Upon him fell aslant + That lovely light, while in her cheeks the hue + Of throbbing dawn came sudden. So he knew + Her best before she spoke; for when she spoke + It was as if the nightingale should croak + In April midst the first young leaves, so bleak, + So harsh she schooled her throat, that it should speak + Dry matter and hard logic--as if she + Were careful lest self-pity urged a plea + Which was not hers to make; or as one faint + And desperate lays down all his argument + Like bricks upon a field, let who will make + A house of them; so drily Helen spake + With a flat voice. "Thou hadst been nine days gone, + Came my lord Alexandros, Priam's son, + And hailed me in the hall whereas I sat, + And claimed his guest-right, which not wondering at + I gave as fitting was. Then came the day + I was beguiled. What more is there to say?" + Fixt on her fingers playing on the wall + Her eyes were. But the King said: "Tell me all. + Thou wert beguiled: by his desire beguiled, + Or by thine own?" She shook her head and smiled + Most sadly, pitying herself. "Who knoweth + The ways of Love, whence cometh, whither goeth + The heart's low whimper? This I know, he loved + Me then, and pleasured only where I moved + About the house. And I had pleasure too + To know of me he had it. Then we knew + The day at hand when he must take the road + And leave me; and its eve we close abode + Within the house, and spake not. But I wept." + She stayed, and whispering down her next word crept: + "I was beguiled, beguiled." And then her lip + She bit, and rueful showed her partnership + In sinful dealing. + But he, in his esteem + Bleeding and raw, urged on. "To Kranai's deme + He took thee then?" + Speechless she bent her head + Towards her tender breasts whereon, soft shed + As upon low quiet hills, the dawn light played, + And limned their gentle curves or sank in shade. + So gazing, stood she silent, but the King + Urged on. "From thence to Ilios, thou willing, + He took thee?" + Then, "I was beguiled," again + She said; and he, who felt a worthier strain + Stir in his gall compassion, and uplift + Him out of knowledge, saw a blessed rift + Upon his dark horizon, as tow'rds night + The low clouds break and shafted shows the light. + "Ten years beguiled!" he said, "but now it seems + Thou art----" She shook her head. "Nay, now come dreams; + Nay, now I think, remember, now I see." + "What callest thou to mind?" "Hermione," + She said, "our child, and Sparta my own land, + And all the honour that lay to my hand + Had I but chosen it, as now I would"-- + And sudden hid her face up in her hood, + Her courage ebbed in grief, all hardness drowned + In bitter weeping. + Noble pity crowned + The greater man in him; so for a space + They wept together, she for loss; for grace + Of gain wept he. "No more," he said, "my sweet, + Tell me no more." + "Ah, hear the whole of it + Before my hour is gone," she cried. But he + Groaning, "I dare not stay here lest I see + Him take thee again." + Both hands to fold her breast, + She shook her head; like as the sun through mist + Shone triumph in her eyes. "Have no more fear + Of him or any----" Then, hearing a stir + Within the house, her finger toucht her lip, + And one fixt look she gave of fellowship + Assured--then turned and quickly went her way; + And his light vanisht with her for that day. + + +FOURTH STAVE + +THE APOLOGY OF HELEN + + O singing heart, O twice-undaunted lover! + O ever to be blest, twice blest moreover! + Twice over win the world in one girl's eyes, + Twice over lift her name up to the skies; + Twice to hope all things, so to be twice born-- + For he lives not who cannot front the morn + Saying, "This day I live as never yet + Lived striving man on earth!" What if the fret + Of loss and ten years' agonizing snow + Thy hairs or leave their tracery on thy brow, + Each line beslotted by the demon hounds + Hunting thee down o' nights? Laugh at thy wounds, + Laugh at thy eld, strong lover, whose blood flows + Clear from the fountain, singing as it goes, + "She loves, and so I live and shall not die! + Love on, love her: 'tis immortality." + Once more before the sun he greeted her: + She glowed her joy; her mood was calm and clear + As mellow evening's whenas, like a priest, + Rain has absolved the world, and golden mist + Hangs over all like benediction. + In her proud eyes sat triumph on a throne, + To know herself beloved, her lover by, + So near the consummation. Womanly + She dallied with the moment when, all wife, + Upon his breast she'd lie and cast her life, + Cast body, soul and spirit in one gest + Supreme of giving. Glorying in his quest + Of her, now let her hide what he must glean, + But not know yet. Ah, sweet to feel his keen + Long eye-search, like the touch of eager fingers, + And sweet to thrill beneath such hot blush-bringers; + To fence with such a swordsman hazardous + And sweet. "Belov'd, thou art glad of me!" Then thus + Antiphonal to him she breathes, "Thou sayest!" + "I see thy light and hail it!" + "Thou begayest + My poor light." + "Knowest thou not that thou art loved?" + "And am I loved then?" + "If thou'ldst have it proved, + Look in my eyes. Would thine were open book!" + "Palimpsest I," she said, and would not look. + But he was grappling now with truth, would have it, + What though it cost him all his gain. She gave it, + Looking him along. "O lady mine," he said, + "Now are my clouds disperséd every shred; + For thou art mine; I think thou lovest me. + Speak, is that true?" + She could not, or may be + She would not hold her gaze, but let it fall, + And watched her fingers idling on the wall, + And so remained; but urged to it by the spell + He cast, she whispered down, "I cannot tell + Thee here, and thus apart"--which when he had + In its full import drove him well-nigh mad + With longing. "Call me and I come!" + But fear + Flamed in her eyes: "No, no, 'tis death! He's here + At hand. 'Tis death for thee, and worse than death--" + She ended so--"for both of us." + And breath + Failed him, for well he knew now what she meant, + And sighed his thanks to Gods beneficent. + Thereafter in sweet use of lovers' talk, + In boon spring weather, whenas lovers walk + Handfasted through the meadows pied, and wet + With dew from flower and leaf, these lovers met-- + Two bodies separate, one wild heart between, + Day after day, these two long-severed been; + And of this mating of the eye and tongue + There grew desire passionate and strong + For body's mating and its testimony, + Hearts' intimacy, perfect, full and free. + And Helen for her heart's ease did deny + Her girdled Goddess of the beamy eye, + Saying, "Come you down, Mistress of sleek loves + And panting nights: your service of bought doves + And honey-hearted wine may cost too dear. + What hast thou done for me since first my ear + With thy sly music thou didst sign and seal + Apprentice to thy mystery, teach me feel + Thy fierce divinity in the trembling touch + Of open lips? Served I not thee too much + In Kranai and in Sparta my demesne, + Too much in wide-wayed Ilios, Eastern Queen? + Yes, but it was too much a thousandfold, + For what was I but leman bought and sold? + "For woman craved what mercy hath man brought, + What face a woman for a woman sought? + What mercy or what face? And what saith she, + The hunted, scornéd wretch? Boast that she be + Coveted, hankered, spat on? One to gloat, + The rest to snarl without! If man play goat, + What must she play? Her glory is it to draw + On greedy eye, sting greedy lip and paw, + And find the crown of her desire therein? + Hath she no rarer bliss than all this sin, + Is she for dandling, kissing, hidden up + For hungry hands to stroke or lips to sup? + Hath she then nothing of her own, no mirth + In honesty, nor eyes to worship worth, + Nor pride except in that which makes men dogs, + Nor loathing for the vice wherein, like logs + That float beneath the sun, lie fair women + Submiss, inert receptacles for sin? + Is this her all? Hath she no heart, nor care + Therefor? No womb, nor hope therein to bear + Fruit of her heart's insurgence? Is her face, + Are these her breasts for fondling, not to grace + Her heart's high honour, swell to nurture it, + That it too grow? Hath she no mother-wit, + Nor sense for living things and innocent, + Nor leap of joy for this good world's content + Of sun and wind, of flower and leaf, and song + Of bird, or shout of children as they throng + The world of mated men and women? Nay, + Persuade me not, O Kypris; but I say + Evil hath been the lore which thou hast taught-- + For many have loved my face, and many sought + My breast, and thought it joy supping thereat + Sweetness and dear delight; but out of that + What hath there come to them, to me and all + Mine but hot shame? Not milk, but bitter gall." + + So in her high passion she rent herself + And rocked, or hid her face upon the shelf + Of the grim wall, lest he should see the whole + Inexpiable sorrow of her soul. + But he by pity pure made bountiful + Lent her excuse, by every means to lull + Her agony. Said he, "Of mortals who + Can e'er withstand the way she wills them to, + Kypris the forceful Goddess? Nay, dear child, + Thou wert constrained." + She said, "I was beguiled + And clung to him until the day-dawn broke + When I could read as in the roll of a book + His open heart. And then my own heart reeled + To know him craven, dog, not man, revealed + A panting drudge of lust, who held me here + Caged vessel. Nay, come close. I loved him dear, + Too dear, I know; but never till he came + Had known the leap of joy, the fire of flame + Upon the heart he gave me, Paris the bright, + Whose memory was music and his sight + Fragrance, whose nearness made my footfall dance, + Whose touch was fever, and his burning glance + Faintness and blindness; in whose light my life + Centred; who was the sun, and I, false wife, + The foolish flower that turns whereso he wheels + Over the broad earth's canopy, and steals + Colour from his strong beam, but at the last + Whenas the night comes and the day is past + Droops, burnt at the heart. So loved I him, and so + Waxed bold to dare the deed that brought this woe." + And there she changed, and bitter was her cry: + "Ah, lord, far better had it been to die + Ere I had cast this pain on thee, and shame + On me, and wrought such outrage on our name. + Natheless I live----" + "Ay, and give life!" he said; + "Yet this thing more I'd have thee tell--what led + Thy thought to me? From him, what turned thy troth-- + Such troth as there could be?" + She cried, "The oath! + The oath ye sware before the Lords of Heaven, + The sacrifice, the pledges taken and given + When thou and Paris met upon the plain, + And all the host sat down to watch you twain + Do battle, which should have me. For my part, + They took me forth to watch; as in the mart + A heifer feels the giver of the feast + Pinch in her flank, and hears the chaffer twist + This way and that for so much fat or lean-- + Even so was I, a queen, child of a queen." + She bit her lip until the blood ran free, + And in her eyes he markt deep injury + Scald as the salt tears welled; but "Listen yet," + She said: "Ye fought, and Paris fell beset + Under thy spurning heel, yet felt no whit + The bitterness as I must come to it; + For she, his Goddess, hid him up in mists + And brought him beat and broken from the lists + Here to his chamber. But I stood and burned, + Shameful to be by one lost, by one earned, + A prize for games, a slave, a bandied thing-- + Since as the oath was made so must I swing + From bed to bed. But while I stood and wept, + Melted in fruitless sorrow, up she crept + For me, his Goddess, gliding like a snake, + Who wreathed her arms and whispering me go make + The nuptial couch, 'What oath binds love?' did say. + Loathing him, I must go. He had his way, + As well he might who paid that goodly price, + Honour, truth, courage, all, to have his vice: + The which forsook him when those fair things fled; + For though my body hath lain in his bed, + My heart abhors it. And now in truth I wis + My lord's true heart is where my own heart is, + The two together welded and made whole; + And I will go to him and give my soul + And shamed and faded body to his nod, + To spurn or take; and he shall be my God." + Whereat made virgin, as all women are + By love's white purging fire which leaves no scar + Where all was soiled and seamed before the torch + Of Eros toucht the heart, and the keen scorch + Lickt up the foul misuse of vase so fair + As woman's body, Helen flusht and fair + Leaned from the wall a fire-hued seraph's face + And in one rapt long look gave and took Grace. + Deep in her eyes he saw the light divine, + Quick in him ran fierce joy of it like wine: + Light unto light made answer, as a flag + Answers when men tell tidings from one crag + Unto another, and from peak to peak + The good news flashes. Scarcely could he speak + Measurable words, so high his wild thought whirled: + "Bride, Goddess, Helen, O Wonder of the World, + Shall I come for thee?" + Her tender words came soft + As dropping rose petals on garden croft + Down from the wall's sheer height--"Come soon, come soon." + And homing to the lines those drummed his tune. + + +FIFTH STAVE + +A COUNCIL OF THE ACHAIANS: THE EMBASSY OF ODYSSEUS + + Now calleth he assembly of the chiefs, + Princes and kings and captains, them whose griefs + To ease his own like treasure had been lent; + Who came and sat at board within the tent + Of him they hailed host-father and their lord + For this adventure, in aught else abhorred + Of all true men. He sits above the rest, + The fox-red Agamemnon, round his crest + The circlet of his kingship over kings, + And at his thigh the sword gold-hilted swings + Which Zeus gave Atreus once; and in his heart + That gnawing doubt which twice had checkt his start + For high emprise, having twice egged him to it, + As stout Odysseus knew who had to rue it. + Beside him Nestor sat, Nestor the old, + White as the winter moon, with logic cold + Instilled, as if the blood in him had fled + And in his veins clear spirit ran instead, + Which made men reasons and not fired their sprites. + And next Idomeneus of countless fights, + Shrewd leader of the Cretans; by his side + Keen-flashing Diomedes in his pride, + The young, the wild in onset, whose war-shrill, + Next after Peleus' son's, held all Troy still, + And stayed the gray crows at their ravelling + Of dead men's bones. Into debate full fling + Went he, adone with tapping of the foot + And drumming on the board. Had but his suit + Been granted--so he said--the war were done + And Troy a name ere full three years had gone: + For as for Helen and her daintiness, + Troy held a mort of women who no less + Than she could pleasure night when work was over + And men came home ready to play the lover; + And in housework would better her. Let Helen + Be laid by Paris, villain, and dead villain-- + Dead long ago if he had taken the field + Instead of Menelaus. Then no shield + Had Kypris' golden body been, acquist + With his sword-arm already, near the wrist! + So Diomedes. Next him sat a man + With all his woe to come, the Lokrian + Aias, son of Oïleus, bearded swart, + Pale, with his little eyes, and legs too short + And arms too long, a giant when he sat, + Dwarf else, and in the fight a tiger-cat. + But mark his neighbour, mark him well: to him + Falleth the lot to lay a charge more grim + On woman fair than even Althaia felt + Like lead upon her heartstrings, when she knelt + And blew to flame the brand that held the life + Of her own son; or Procne with the knife, + Who slew and dressed her child to be a meal + To his own father. But this man's thews were steel, + And steely were the nerves about his heart, + As they had need. Mark him, and mark the part + He plays hereafter. Odysseus is his name, + The wily Ithacan, deathless in his fame + And in his substance deathless, since he goes + Immortal forth and back wherever blows + The thunder of thy rhythm, O blind King, + First of the tribe of them with songs to sing, + Fountain of storied music and its end-- + For who the poet since who doth not tend + To essay thy leaping measure, or call down + Thy nodded approbation for his crown + And all his wages? + Other chiefs sat there + In order due: as Pyrrhos, very fair + And young, with high bright colour, and the hue + Of evening in his eyes of violet-blue-- + Son of Achilles he, and new to war. + Then Antiklos and Teukros, best by far + Of all the bowmen in the host. And last + Menestheus the Athenian dikast, + Who led the folk from Pallas's fair home. + To them spake Menelaus, being come + Into assembly last, and taken in hand + The spokesman's staff: "Ye princes of our land, + Adventurous Achaians, stout of heart, + Good news I bring, that now we may depart + Each to his home and kindred, each to his hearth + And wife and children dear and well-tilled garth, + Contented with the honour he has brought + To me and mine, since I have what we've sought + With bitter pain and loss. Yea, even now + Hath Heré crowned your strife and earned my vow + Made these ten years come harvest, having drawn + The veil from off those eyes than which not dawn + Holds sweeter light nor holier, once they see. + Yea, chieftains, Helen's heart comes back to me; + And fast she watches now hard by the wall + Of the wicked house, and ere the cock shall call + Another morn I have her in my arms + Redeemed for Sparta, pure of Trojan harms, + Whole-hearted and clean-hearted as she came + First, before Paris and his deed of shame + Threatened my house with wreck, and on his own + Have brought no joy. This night, disguised, alone, + I stand within the city, waiting day; + Then when men sleep, all in the shadowless gray, + Robbing the robber, I drop down with her + Over the wall--and lo! the end of the war!" + Thus great of heart and high of heart he spake, + And trembling ceased. Awhile none cared to break + The silence, like unto that breathless hush + That holds a forest ere the great winds rush + Up from the sea-gulf, bringing furious rain + Like mist to drown all nature, blot the plain + In one great sheet of water without form. + So held the chiefs. Then Diomede brake in storm. + Ever the first he was to fling his spear + Into the press of battle; dread his cheer, + Like the long howling of a wolf at eve + Or clamour of the sea-birds when they grieve + And hanker the out-scouring of the net + Hidden behind the darkness and the wet + Of tempest-ridden nights. "Princes," he cried, + "What say ye to this wooer of his bride, + For whom it seems ten nations and their best + Have fought ten years to bring her back to nest? + Is this your meed of honour? Was it for this + You flung forth fortune--to ensure him his? + And he made snug at home, we seek our lands + Barer than we left them, with emptier hands, + And some with fewer members, shed that he + Might fare as soft and trim as formerly! + Not so went I adventuring, good friend; + Not so look I this business to have end: + Nay, but I fight to live, not live to fight, + And so will live by day as thou by night, + Sating my eyes with havoc on this race + Of robbers of the hearth; see their strong place + Brought level with the herbage and the weed, + That where they revelled once shrew-mice may feed, + And moles make palaces, and bats keep house. + And if thou art of spleen so slow to rouse + As quit thy score by thieving from a thief + And leave him scatheless else, thou art no chief + For Tydeus' son, who sees no end of strife + But in his own or in his foeman's life." + So he. Then Pyrrhos spake: "By that great shade + Wherein I stand, which thy false Paris made + Who slew my father, think not so to have done + With Troy and Priam; for Peleides' son + Must slake the sword that cries, and still the ghost + Of him that haunts the ingles of this coast, + Murdered and unacquit while that man's father + Liveth." + Then leapt up two, and both together + Cried, "Give us Troy to sack, give us our fill + Of gold and bronze; give us to burn and kill!" + And Aias said, "Are there no women then + In Troy, but only her? And are we men + Or virgins of Athené?" And the dream + Of her who served that dauntless One made gleam + His shifting eyes, and stretcht his fleshy lips + Behind his beard. + Then stood that prince of ships + And shipmen, great Odysseus; with one hand + He held the staff, with one he took command; + And thus in measured tones, with word intent + Upon the deed, fierce but not vehement, + Drave in his dreadful message. At his sight + Clamour died down, even as the wind at night + Falls and is husht at rising of the moon. + "Ye chieftains of Achaia, not so soon + Is strife of ten years rounded to a close, + Neither so are men seated, friends or foes. + For say thus lightly we renounced the meed + Of our long travail, gave so little heed + To our great dead as find in one man's joy + Full recompense for all we've sunk in Troy-- + Wives desolate, children fatherless, lands, gear, + Stock without master, wasting year by year; + Youth past, age creeping on, friends, brothers, sons + Lost in the void, gone where no respite runs + For sorrow, but the darkness covers all-- + What name should we bequeath our sons but thrall, + Or what beside a name, who let go by + Ilios the rich for others' usury? + And have the blessed Gods no say in this? + Think you they be won over by a kiss-- + Heré the Queen, she, the unwearied aid + Of all our striving, Pallas the war-maid? + Have they not vowed, and will ye scant their hate, + Havoc on Ilios from gate to gate, + And for her towers abasement to the dust? + Behold, O King, lust shall be paid with lust, + And treachery with treachery, and for blood + Blood shall be shed. Therefore let loose the flood + Of our pent passion; break her gates in, raze + The walls of her, cumber her pleasant ways + With dead men; set on havoc, sate with spoil + Men ravening; get corn and wine and oil, + Women to clasp in love, gold, silken things, + Harness of flashing bronze, swords, meed of kings, + Chariots and horses swifter than the wind + Which, coursing Ida, leaves ruin behind + Of snapt tall trees: not faster shall they fall + Than Trojan spears once we are on the wall. + So only shall ye close this agelong strife, + Nor by redemption of a too fair wife, + Now smiling, now averse, now hot, now cold, + O Menelaus, may the tale be told! + Nay, but by slaying of Achilles' slayer, + By the betrayal of the bed-betrayer, + By not withholding from the spoils of war + Men freeborn, nor from them that beaten are + Their rueful wages. Ilios must fall." + He said, and sat, and heard the acclaim of all, + Save of the sons of Atreus, who sat glum, + One flusht, one white as parchment, and both dumb; + One raging to be contraried, one torn + By those two passions wherewith he was born, + The lust for body's ease and lust of gain. + Then slow he rose, Mykenai's king of men, + Gentle his voice to hear. "Laertes' son," + He said, but 'twas Nestor he looked upon, + The wise old man who sat beside his chair, + Mild now who once, a lion, kept his lair + Untoucht of any, or if e'er he left it, + Left it for prey, and held that when he reft it + From foe, or over friend made stronger claim: + "Laertes' son," the king said, "all men's fame + Reports thee just and fertile in device; + And as the friend of God great is thy price + To us of Argos; for without the Gods + How should we look to trace the limitless roads + That weave a criss-cross 'twixt us and our home? + Go to now, some will stay and other some + Take to the sea-ways, hasty to depart, + Not warfaring as men fare to the mart, + To best a neighbour in some chaffering bout; + But honour is the prize wherefor they go out, + And having that, dishonoured are content + To leave the foe--that is best punishment. + Natheless since men there be, Argives of worth, + Who needs must shed more blood ere they go forth-- + As if of blood enough had not been spilt!-- + Devise thou with my brother if thou wilt, + Noble Odysseus, seeking how compose + His honour with thy judgment. Well he knows + Thy singleness of heart, deep ponderer, + Lover of a fair wife, and sure of her. + Come, let this be the sum of our debate." + "Content you," Menelaus said, "I wait + Upon thy word, thou fosterling of Zeus." + Then said Odysseus, "Be it as you choose, + Ye sons of Atreus. Then, advised, I say + Let me win into Troy as best I may, + Seek out the lovely lady of our land + And learn of her the watchwords, see how stand + The sentries, how the warders of the gates; + The strength, how much it is; what prize awaits + To crown our long endeavour. These things learned, + Back to the ships I come ere yet are burned + The watch-fires of the night, before the sun + Hath urged his steeds the course they are to run + Out of the golden gateways of the East." + Which all agreed, and Helen's lord not least. + + +SIXTH STAVE + +HELEN AND PARIS; ODYSSEUS AND HELEN + + Like as the sweet free air, when maids the doors + And windows open wide, wanders the floors + And all the passage ways about the house, + Keen marshal of the sun, or serious + The cool gray light of morning 'gins to peer + Ere yet the household stirs, or chanticlere + Calls hinds to labour but hints not the glee + Nor full-flood glory of the day to be + When round about the hill the sun shall swim + And burn a sea-path--so demure and slim + Went Helen on her business with swift feet + And light, yet recollected, and her sweet + Secret held hid, that she was loved where need + Called her to mate, and that she loved indeed-- + Ah, sacred calm of wedlock, passion white + Of lovers knit in Heré's holy light! + But while in early morn she wonned alone + And Paris slept, shrill rose her singing tone, + And brave the light on kindled cheeks and eyes: + Brave as her hope is, brave the flag she flies. + Then, as the hour drew on when the sun's rim + Should burn a sheet of gold to herald him + On Ida's snowy crest, lithe as a pard + For some lord's pleasuring encaged and barred + She paced the hall soft-footed up and down, + Lightly and feverishly with quick frown + Peered shrewdly this way, that way, like a bird + That on the winter grass is aye deterred + His food-searching by hint of unknown snare + In thicket, holt or bush, or lawn too bare; + Anon stopped, lip to finger, while the tide + Beat from her heart against her shielded side-- + Now closely girdled went she like a maid-- + And then slipt to the window, where she stayed + But minutes three or four; for soon she past + Out to the terrace, there to be at last + Downgazing on her glory, which her king + Reflected up in every motioning + And flux of his high passion. Only here + She triumphed, nor cared she to ask how near + The end of Troy, nor hazarded a guess + What deeds must do ere that could come to pass. + To her the instant homage held all joy-- + And what to her was Sparta, or what Troy + Beside the bliss of that? + Or Paris, what + Was he, who daily, nightly plained his lot + To have risked all the world and ten years loved + This woman, now to find her nothing moved + By what he had done with her, what desired + To do? And more she chilled the less he tired, + And more he ventured less she cared recall + What was to her of nothing worth, or all: + All if the King required it of her, nought + If he who now could take it. It was bought, + And his by bargain: let him have it then; + But let it be for giving once again, + And all the rubies in the world's deep heart + Could fetch no price beside it. + Yet apart + She brooded on the man who held her chained, + Minister to his pleasure, and disdained + Him more the more herself she must disparage, + Reflecting on him all her hateful carriage, + So old, incredible, so flat, so stale, + No more to be recalled than old wife's tale; + And scorned him, saw him neither high nor low, + Not villain and not hero, who would go + Midway 'twixt baseness and nobility, + And not be fierce, if fierceness hurt a flea + Before his eyes. The man loved one thing more + Than all the world, and made his mind a whore + To minister his heart's need, for a price. + All which she loathed, yet chose not to be nice + With the snug-revelling wretch, her master yet, + Whose leaguer, though she scorned it, was no fret; + But lift on wings of her exalted mood, + She let him touch and finger what he would, + Unconscious of his being--as he saw, + And with a groan, whipt sharp upon the raw + Of his esteem, "Ah, cruel art thou turned," + Would cry, "Ah, frosty fire, where I am burned, + Yet dying bless the flame that is my bane!" + With which to clasp her closer was he fain, + To touch in love, and feast his eyes to see + Her quiver at his touch, and laugh to be + The plucker of such chords of such a rote; + And laughing stoop and kiss her milky throat, + Then see her shut eyes hide what he had done. + "Nay, shut them not upon me, nay, nor shun + My worship!" So he said; but she, "They fade, + But are not yet so old as thou hast made + The soul thou pinnest here beneath my breasts + Which you have loved too well." His hand he rests + Over one fair white bosom like a cup, + And leaning, of her lips his own must sup; + But she will not, but gently doth refuse it, + Without a reason, save she doth not choose it. + Then when he flung away, she sat alone + And nursed her hope and sorrow, both in one + Perturbéd bosom; and her fingers wove + White webs as far afield her wits did rove + Perpending and perpending. So frail, so fair, + So faint she seemed, a wraith you had said there, + A woman dead, and not in lovely flesh. + But all the while she writhed within the mesh + Of circumstance, and fiercely flamed her rage: + "O slave, O minion, thing kept in a cage + For this sleek master's handling!" So she fumed + What time her wide eyes sought all ways, or loomed + Like winter lakes dark in a field of snow, + And still; nor lifted they their pall of woe + Responsive to her heart, nor flashed the thrill + That knew, which said, "A true man loveth me still." + + That same night, as she used, fair Helen went + Among the suppliants in the hall, and lent + To each who craved the bounty of her grace, + Her gentle touch on wounds, her pitiful face + To beaten eyes' dumb eloquence, that art + She above all could use, to stroke the heart + And plead compassion in bestowing it. + So with her handmaids busy did she flit + From man to man, 'mid outlaws, broken blades, + Robbed husbandmen, their robbers, phantoms, shades + Of what were men till hunger made them less + Than man can be and still know uprightness; + And whom she spake with kindly words and cheer + In him the light of hope began to peer + And glimmer in his eyes; and him she fed + And nourisht, then sent homeward comforted + A little, to endure a little more. + Now among these, hard by the outer door, + She marked a man unbent whose sturdy look + Never left hers for long, whose shepherd's hook + Seemed not a staff to prop him, whose bright eyes + Burned steadily, as fire when the wind dies. + Great in the girth was he, but not so tall + By a full hand as many whom the wall + Showed like gaunt channel-posts by an ebb tide + Left stranded in a world of ooze. Beside + His knees she kneeled, and to his wounded feet + Applied her balms; but he, from his low seat + Against the wall, leaned out and in her ear + Whispered, but so that no one else could hear, + "Other than my wounds are there for thy pains, + Lady, and deeper. One, a grievous, drains + The great heart of a king, and one is fresh, + Though ten years old, in the sweet innocent flesh + Of a young child." + Nothing said she, but stoopt + The closer to her task. He thought she droopt + Her head, he knew she trembled, that her shoulder + Twitcht as she wrought her task; so he grew bolder, + Saying, "But thou art pitiful! I know + That thou wilt wash their wounds." + She whispered "Oh, + Be sure of me!" + Then he, "Let us have speech + Secret together out of range or reach + Of prying ears, if such a chance may be." + Then she said, "Towards morning look for me + Here, when the city sleeps, before the sun." + So till the glimmer of dawn this hardy one + Keepeth the watch in Paris' house. All night + With hard unwinking eyes he sat upright, + While all about the sleepers lay, like stones + Littered upon a hill-top, save that moans, + Sighings and "Gods, have pity!" showed that they + By night rehearsed the miseries of day, + And by bread lived not but by hope deferred. + Grimly he suffered till such time he heard + Helen's light foot and faint and gray in the mist + Descried her slim veiled outline, saw her twist + And slip between the sleepers on the ground, + Atiptoe coming, swift, with scarce a sound, + Not faltering in fear. No fear she had. + From head to foot a sea-blue mantle clad + Her lovely shape, from which her pale keen face + Shone like the moon in frosty sky. No case + Was his to waver, for her eyes spake true + As Heaven upon the world. Him then she drew + To follow her, out of the house, to where + The ilex trees stood darkly, and the air + Struck sharp and chill before the dawn's first breath. + There stood a little altar underneath + An image: Artemis the quick deerslayer, + High-girdled and barekneed; to Whom in prayer + First bowed, then stood erect with lifted hands, + Palms upward, Helen. "Lady of open lands + And lakes and windy heights," prayed she, "so do + To me as to Amphion's wife when blew + The wind of thy high anger, and she stared + On sudden death that not one dear life spared + Of all she had--so do to me if false + I prove unto this Argive!" + Then the walls + And gates of Ilios she traced in the sand, + And told him of the watch-towers, and how manned + The gates at night; and where the treasure was, + And where the houses of the chiefs. But as + She faltered in the tale, "Show now," said he, + "Where Priam's golden palace is." + But she + Said, "Nay, not that; for since the day of shame + That brought me in, no word or look of blame + Hath he cast on me. Nay, when Hector died + And all the city turned on me and cried + My name, as to an outcast dog men fling + Howling and scorn, not one word said the King. + And when they hissed me in the shrines of the Gods, + And women egged their children on with nods + To foul the house-wall, or in passing spat + Towards it, he, the old King, came and sat + Daily with me, and often on my hair + Would lay a gentle hand. Him thou shalt spare + For my sake who betray him." + Odysseus said, + "Well, thou shalt speak no more of him. His bed + Is not of thy making, nor mine, but his + Who hath thee here a cageling, thy Paris. + Him he begat as well as Hector. Now + Let Priam look to reap what he did sow." + But when glad light brimmed o'er the cup of earth + And shrill birds called forth men to grief or mirth + As might afford their labour under the sun, + Helen advised how best to get him gone, + And fetched a roll of cord, the which made fast + About a stanchion, about him next she cast, + About and about until the whole was round + His body, and the end to his arm she bound: + Then showed him in the wall where best foothold + Might be, and watcht him down as fold by fold + He paid the cable out; and as he paid + So did she twist it, till the coil was made + As it had been at first. Then watcht she him + Stride o'er the plain until he twinkled dim + And sank into the mist. + That day came not + King Menelaus to the trysting spot; + But ere Odysseus left her she had ta'en + A crocus flower which on her breast had lain, + And toucht it with her lips. "Give this," said she, + "To my good lord who hath seen the flower in me." + + +SEVENTH STAVE + +THEY BUILD THE HORSE AND ENTER IN + + What weariness of wind and wave and foam + Was to be for Odysseus ere his home + Of scrub and crag and scanty pasturage + He saw again! What stress of pilgrimage + Through roaring waterways and cities of men, + What sojourn among folk beyond the ken + Of mortal seafarers in homelier seas, + More trodden lands! Sure, none had earned his ease + As he, that windless morning when he drew + Near silent Ithaca, gray in misty blue, + And wondered on the old familiar scene, + Which was to him as it had never been + Aforetime. Say, had he but had inkling + That in this hour all that long wandering + Of his was self-ensured, had he been bold + To plan and carry what must now be told + Of this too hardy champion? Solve it you + Whose chronicling is over. Mine's to do. + All day until the setting of the sun, + Devising how to use what he had won + Odysseus stood; for nothing within walls + Was hid, he knew the very trumpet-calls + Wherewith they turned the guard out, and the cries + The sentries used to hearten or advise + The city in the watches of the night. + Once in, no hope for Ilios; but his plight + No better stood for that, since no way in + Could he conceive, nor entry hope to win + For any force enough to seize the gate + And open for the host. + But then some Fate, + Or, some men say, Athené the gray-eyed, + Ever his friend, never far from his side, + Prompted him look about him. Then he heeds + A stork set motionless in the dry reeds + That lift their withered arms, a skeleton host, + Long after winter and her aching frost + Are gone, and rattle in the spring's soft breeze + Dry bones, as if to daunt the budding trees + And warn them of the summer's wrath to come. + Still sat the bird, as fast asleep or numb + With cold, her head half-buried in her breast, + With close-shut eyes: a dead bird on the nest, + Arrow-shot--for behold! a wound she bore + Mid-breast, which stooping to, to see the more, + Lo, forth from it came busy, one by one, + Light-moving ants! So she to her death had gone + These many days; and there where she lost life + Her carrion shell with it again was rife. + So teems the earth, that ere our clay be rotten + New hosts sweep clean the hearth, our deeds forgotten. + But stooping still, Odysseus saw her not + Nor her brisk tenantry; afar his thought, + And after it his vision, crossed the plain + And lit on Ilios, dim and lapt in rain, + Piled up like blocks which Titans rear to mark + Where hero of their breed sits stiff and stark, + Spear in dead hand, and dead chin on dead knees; + And "Ha," cried he, "proud hinderer of our ease, + Now hold I thee within my hollowed hand!" + Straightway returning, Troy's destruction planned, + He sends for one Epeios, craftsman good, + And bids him frame him out a horse in wood, + Big-bellied as a ship of sixty oars + Such as men use for traffic, not in wars, + Nor piracy, but roomy, deep in the hold, + Where men may shelter if needs be from cold, + Or sleep between their watches. "Scant not you," + He said, "your timber not your sweat. Drive through + This horse for me, Epeios, as if we + Awaited it to give the word for sea + And Hellas and our wives and children dear; + For this is true, without it we stay here + Another ten-year shift, if by main force + We would take Troy, but ten days with my horse." + So to their task Epeios and his teams + Went valiantly, and heaved and hauled great beams + Of timber from far Ida, and hacked amain + And rought the framework out. Then to it again + They went with adzes and their smoothing tools, + And made all shapely; next bored for their dools + With augurs, and made good stock on to stock + With mortise and with dovetail. Last, they lock + The frames with clamps, the nether to the upper, + And body forth a horse from crest to crupper + In outline. + Now their ribbing must be shaped + With axe to take the round, first rought, then scraped + With adzes, then deep-mortised in the frame + To bear the weight of so much mass, whose fame + When all was won, the Earth herself might quake, + Supporting on her broad breast. Now they take + Planks sawn and smoothed, and set them over steam + Of cauldrons to be supple. These to the beam + Above they rivet fast, and bend them down + Till from the belly more they seem to have grown + Than in it to be ended, so well sunk + And grooved they be. There's for the horse's trunk. + But as for head and legs, these from the block + Epeios carved, and fixed them on the stock + With long pins spigotted and clamps of steel; + And then the tail, downsweeping to the heel, + He carved and rivetted in place. Yet more + He did; for cunningly he made a door + Beneath the belly of him, in a part + Where Nature lends her aid to sculptor's art, + And few would have the thought to look for it, + Or eyes so keen to find, if they'd the wit. + Greatly stood he, hogmaned, with wrinkled néck + And wrying jaw, as though upon the check + One rode him. On three legs he stood, with one + Pawing the air, as if his course to run + Was overdue. Almost you heard the champ + And clatter of the bit, almost the stamp + And scrape of hoof; almost his fretful crest + He seemed to toss on high. So much confest + The wondering host. "But where's the man to ride?" + They askt. Odysseus said, "He'll go inside. + Yet there shall seem a rider--nay, let two + Bespan so brave a back," Epeios anew + He spurred, and had his horsemen as he would, + Two noble youths, star-frontletted, but nude + Of clothing, and unarmed, who sat as though + Centaurs not men, and with their knees did show + The road to travel. Next Odysseus bid, + "Gild thou me him, Epeios"; which he did, + And burnisht after, till he blazed afar + Like that great image which men hail for a star + Of omen holy, image without peer, + Chryselephantine Athené with her spear, + Shining o'er Athens; to which their course they set + When homeward faring through the seaways wet + From Poros or from Nauplia, or some + From the Eubœan gulf, or where the foam + Washes the feet of Sounion, on whose brow + Like a white crown the shafts burn even now. + Such was the shaping of the Horse of Wood, + The bane of Ilios. + Ordered now they stood + Midway between the ships and Troy, and cast + The lots, who should go in from first to last + Of all the chieftains chosen. And the lot + Leapt out of Diomede, so in he got + And sat up in the neck. Next Aias went, + Clasping his shins and blinking as he bent, + Working the ridges of his villainous brow, + Like puzzled, patient monkey on a bough + That peers with bald, far-seeing eyes, whose scope + And steadfastness seem there to mock our hope; + Next Antiklos, and next Meriones + The Cretan; next good Teukros. After these + Went Pyrrhos, Agamemnon, King of men, + Menestheus and Idomeneus, and then + King Menelaus; and Odysseus last + Entered the desperate doorway, and made fast. + And all the Achaian remnant, seeing their best + To this great venture finally addrest, + Stood awed in silence; but Nestor the old + Bade bring the victims, and these on the wold + In sight of Troy he slew, and so uplift + The smoke of fire, and bloodsmoke, as a gift + Acceptable to Him he hailed by name + Kronion, sky-dweller, who giveth fame, + Lord of the thunder; to Heré next, and Her, + The Maid of War and holy harbinger + Of Father Zeus, who bears the Ægis dread + And shakes it when the storm peals overhead + And lightning splits the firmament with fire; + Nor yet forgat Poseidon, dark-haired sire + Of all the seas, and of great Ocean's flow, + The girdler of the world. So back with slow + And pondered steps they all returned, and dark + Swallowed up Troy, and Horse, and them who stark + Abode within it. And the great stars shone + Out over sea and land; and speaking none, + Nursing his arms, nursing within his breast + His enterprise, each hero sat at rest + Ignorant of the world of day and night, + Or whether he should live to see the light, + Or see it but to perish in this cage. + Only Odysseus felt his heart engage + The blithelier for the peril. He was stuff + That thrives by daring, nor can dare enough. + + Three days, three nights before the Skaian Gate + Sat they within their ambush, apt for fate; + Three days, three nights, the Trojans swarmed the walls + And towers or held high council in their halls + What this portended, this o'erweening mass + Reared up so high no man stretching could pass + His hand over the crupper, of such girth + Of haunch, to span the pair no man on earth + Could compass with both arms. But most their eyes + Were for the riders who in godlike guise + Went naked into battle, as Gods use, + Untrammel'd by our shifts of shields and shoes, + As if we dread the earth whereof we are. + Sons of God, these: for bore not each a star + Ablaze upon his forelock? Lo, they say, + Kastor and Polydeukes, who but they, + Come in to save their sister at the last, + And war for Troy, and root King Priam fast + In his demesne, him and his heirs for ever! + Now call they soothsayers to make endeavour + With engines of their craft to read the thing; + But others urge them hale it to the King-- + "Let him dispose," they say, "of it and us, + And order as he will, from Pergamos + To heave it o'er the sheer and bring to wreck; + Or burn with fire; or harbour to bedeck + The temple of some God: of three ways one. + Here it cannot abide to flout the sun + With arrogant flash for every beam of his." + Herewith agreed the men of mysteries, + Raking the bloodsick earth to have the truth, + And getting what they lookt for, as in sooth + A man will do. So then they all fell to't + To hale with cords and lever foot by foot + The portent; and as frenzy frenzy breeds, + And what one has another thinks he needs, + So to a straining twenty other score + Lent hands, and ever from the concourse more + Of them, who hauled as if Troy's life depended + On hastening forward that wherein it ended. + So came the Horse to Troy, so was filled up + With retribution that sweet loving-cup + Paris had drunk to Helen overseas-- + The cup which whoso drains must taste the lees. + + +EIGHTH STAVE + +THE HORSE IN TROY; THE PASSION OF KASSANDRA + + High over Troy the windy citadel, + Pergamos, towereth, where is the cell + And precinct of Athené. There, till reived, + They kept the Pallium, sacred and still grieved + By all who held the city consecrate + To Her, as first it was, till she learned hate + For what had once been lovely, and let in + The golden Aphrodité, and sweet sin + To ensnare Prince Paris and send him awooing + A too-fair wife, to be his own undoing + And Troy's and all the line's of Dardanos, + That traced from Zeus to him, from him to Tros, + From Tros to Ilos, to Laomedon, + Who begat Priam as his second son. + But out of Troy Assarakos too came, + From whom came Kapys; and from him the fame + Of good Anchises, with whom Kypris lay + In love and got Aineias. He, that day + Of dreadful wrath, safe only out did come, + And builded great Troy's line in greater Rome. + Now to the forecourt flock the Trojan folk + To view the portent. Now they bring to yoke + Priam's white horses, that the stricken king + Himself may see the wonder-working thing, + Himself invoke with his frail trembling voice + The good Twin Brethren for his aid and Troy's. + So presently before it Priam stands, + Father and King of Troy, with feeble hands + And mild pale eyes wherein Grief like a ghost + Sits; and about him all he has not lost + Of all his children gather, with grief-worn + Andromaché and her first, and last, born, + The boy Astyanax. And there apart + The wise Aineias stands, of steadfast heart + But not acceptable--for some old grudge + Inherited--Aineias, silent judge + Of folly, as he had been since the sin + Of Paris knelled the last days to begin. + But he himself, that Paris, came not out, + But kept his house in these his days of doubt, + Uncertain of his footing, being of those + On whom the faintest breath of censure blows + Chill as the wind that from the frozen North + Palsies the fount o' the blood. He dared not forth + Lest men should see--and how not see? he thought-- + That Helen held him lightlier than she ought. + But Helen came there, gentle as of old, + Self-held, sufficient to herself, not bold, + Not modest nor immodest, taking none + For judge or jury of what she may have done; + But doing all she was to do, sedate, + Intent upon it and deliberate. + As she had been at first, so was she now + When she had put behind her her old vow + And had no pride but thinking of her new. + But she was lovelier, of more burning hue, + And in her eyes there shone, for who could see, + A flickering light, half scare and half of glee, + Which made those iris'd orbs to wax and wane + Like to the light of April days, when rain + And sun contend the sovereignty. She kept + Beside the King, and only closer crept + To let him feel her there when some harsh word + Or look made her heart waver. Many she heard, + And much she saw, but knew the King her friend, + Him only since great Hector met his end. + And while so pensive and demure she stood, + With one thin hand just peeping at her hood, + The which close-folded her from head to knee, + Her heart within her bosom hailed her--"Free! + Free from thy thralldom, free to save, to give, + To love, be loved again, and die to live!" + So she--yet who had said, to see her there, + The sweet-faced woman, blue-eyed, still and fair + As windless dawn in some quiet mountain place, + To such a music let her passion race? + + Now hath the King his witless welcome paid, + And now invoked the gods, and the cold shade + Which once was Hector; now, being upheld + By two his sons, with shaking hands of eld + The knees of those two carved and gilded youths + He touches while he prays, and praying soothes + The crying heart of Helen. But not so + Kassandra views him pray, that well of woe + Kassandra, she whom Loxias deceived + With gift to see, and not to be believed; + To read within the heart of Time all truth + And see men blindly blunder, to have ruth, + To burn, to cry, "Out, haro!" and be a mock-- + Ah, and to know within this gross wood-block + The fate of all her kindred, and her own, + Unthinkable! Now with her terror blown + Upon her face, to blanch it like a sheet, + Now with bare frozen eyes which only greet + The viewless neighbours of our world she strips + The veil and shrieketh Troy's apocalypse: + "Woe to thee, Ilios! The fire, the fire! And rain, + Rain like to blood and tears to drown the plain + And cover all the earth up in a shroud, + One great death-clout for thee, Ilios the proud! + Touch not, handle not----" Outraged then she turned + To Helen--"O thou, for whom Troy shall be burned, + O ruinous face, O breasts made hard with gall, + Now are ye satisfied? Ye shall have all, + All Priam's sons and daughters, all his race + Gone quick to death, hailing thee, ruinous face!" + Her tragic mask she turned upon all men: + "The lion shall have Troy, to make his den + Within her pleasant courts, in Priam's high seat + Shall blink the vulture, sated of his meat; + And in the temples emptied of their Gods + Bats shall make quick the night, and panting toads + Make day a loathing to the light it brings. + Listen! Listen! they flock out; heed their wings. + The Gods flee forth of this accursèd haunt, + And leave the memory of it an old chant, + A nursery song, an idle tale that's told + To children when your own sons are grown old + In Argive bonds, and have no other joy + Than whispering to their offspring tales of Troy." + Whereat she laught--O bitter sound to hear! + And struggled with herself, and grinned with fear + And misery lest even now her fate + Should catch her and she be believed too late. + "Is't possible, O Gods! Are ye so doomed + As not to know this Horse a mare, enwombed + Of men and swords? Know ye not there unseen + The Argive princes wait their dam shall yean? + Anon creeps Sparta forth, to find his balm + In that vile woman; forth with itching palm + Mykenai creeps, snuffing what may be won + By filching; forth Pyrrhos the braggart's son + That dared do violence to Hector dead, + But while he lived called Gods to serve his stead; + Forth Aias like a beast, to mangle me-- + These things ye will not credit, but I see." + Then once again, and last, she turned her switch + On Helen, hissing, "Out upon thee, witch, + Smooth-handed traitress, speak thy secrets out + That we may know thee, how thou goest about + Caressing, with a hand that hides a knife, + That which shall prove false paramour, false wife, + Fair as the sun is fair that smiles and slays"-- + And then, "O ruinous face, O ruinous face!" + But nothing more, for sudden all was gone, + Spent by her passion. Muttering, faint and wan + Down to the earth she sank, and to and fro + Rocking, drew close her hood, and shrouded so, + Her wild voice drowning, died in moans away. + But Helen stood bright-eyed as glancing day, + Near by the Horse, and with a straying hand + Did stroke it here and there, and listening stand, + Leaning her head towards its gilded flank, + And strain to hear men's breath behind the plank; + And she had whispered if she dared some word + Of promise; but afraid to be o'erheard, + Leaned her head close and toucht it with her cheek, + Then drew again to Priam, schooled and meek. + But Menelaus felt her touch, and mum + Sat on, nursing his mighty throw to come; + And Aias started, with some cry uncouth + And vile, but fast Odysseus o'er his mouth + Clapt hand, and checkt his foul perseverance + To seek in every deed his own essence. + + Now when the ways were darkened, and the sun + Sank red to sea, and homeward all had gone + Save that distraught Kassandra, who still served + The temple whence the Goddess long had swerved, + Athené, hating Troy and loving them + Who craved to snatch and make a diadem + Of Priam's regal crown for other brows-- + She, though foredoomed she knew, held to her vows, + And duly paid the thankless evening rite-- + There came to Paris' house late in the night + Deïphobus his brother, young and trim, + For speech with fair-tressed Helen, for whose slim + And budded grace long had he sighed in vain; + And found her in full hall, and showed his pain + And need of her. To whom when she draws close + In hot and urgent crying words he shows + His case, hers now, that here she tarry not + Lest evil hap more dread than she can wot: + "For this," he says, "is Troy's extremest hour." + But when to that she bowed her head, the power + Of his high vision made him vehement: + "Dark sets the sun," he cried, "and day is spent"; + But she said, "Nay, the sun will rise with day, + And I shall bathe in light, lift hands and pray." + "Thou lift up hands, bound down to a new lord!" + He mocked; then whispered, "Lady, with a sword + I cut thy bonds if so thou wilt." + Apart + She moved: "No sword, but a cry of the heart + Shall loose me." + Then he said, "Hear what I cry + From my heart unto thine: fly, Helen, fly!" + Whereat she shook her head and sighed, "Even so, + Brother, I fly where thou canst never go. + Far go I, out of ken of thee and thy peers." + He knew not what she would, but said, "Thy fears + Are of the Gods and holy dooms and Fate, + But mine the present menace in the gate. + This I would save thee." + "I fear it not," said she, + "But wait it here." + He cried, "Here shalt thou see + Thy Spartan, and his bitter sword-point feel + Against thy bosom." + "I bare it to the steel," + Saith she. He then, "If ever man deserved thee + By service, I am he, who'd die to serve thee." + Glowing she heard him, being quickly moved + By kindness, loving ever where she was loved. + But now her heart was fain for rest; the night + Called her to sleep and dreams. So with a light + And gentle hand upon him, "Brother, farewell," + She said, "I stay the issue, and foretell + Honour therein at least." + Then at the door + She kissed him. And she saw his face no more. + + +NINTH STAVE + +THE GODS FORSAKE TROY + + Now Dawn came weeping forth, and on the crest + Of Ida faced a chill wind from the West. + Forth from the gray sea wrack-laden it blew + And howled among the towers, and stronger grew + As crept unseen the sun his path of light. + Then she who in the temple all that night + Had kept her rueful watch, the prophetess + Kassandra, peering sharply, heard the press + And rush of flight above her, and with sick + Foreboding waited; and the air grew thick + With flying shapes immortal overhead. + As in late Autumn, when the leaves are shed + And dismal flit about the empty ways, + And country folk provide against dark days, + And heap the woodstack, and their stores repair, + Attent you know the quickening of the air, + And closer yet the swish and sweep and swing + Of wings innumerable, emulous to bring + The birds to broader skies and kindlier sun, + And know indeed that winter is begun-- + So seeing first, then hearing, she knew the hour + Was come when Troy must fall, and not a tower + Be left to front the morrow. And she covered + Her head and mourned, while one by one they hovered + Above their shrines, then flockt and faced the dawn. + + First, in her car of shell and amber, drawn + By clustering doves with burnisht wings, a-throng, + Passes Queen Aphrodité, and her song + Is sweet and sharp: "I gave my sacred zone + To warm thy bosom, Helen which by none + That live by labour and in tears are born + And sighing go their ways, has e'er been worn. + It kindled in thine eyes the lovelight, showed + Thy burning self in his. Thy body glowed + With beauty like to mine: mine thy love-laughter + Thy cooing in the night, thy deep sleep after, + Thy rapture of the morning, love renewed; + And all the shadowed day to sit and brood + On what has been and what should be again: + Thou wilt not? Nay, I proffer not in vain + My gifts, for I am all or will be nought. + Lo, where I am can be no other thought." + Thus to the wooded heights of Ida she + Was drawn, hid in that pearly galaxy + Of snow-white pigeons. + Next upon the height + Of Pergamos uplift a beam of light + That for its core enshrined a naked youth, + Golden and fierce. She knew the God sans ruth, + Him who had given woeful prescience to her, + Apollo, once her lover and her wooer; + Who stood as one stands glorying in his grace + And strength, full in the sun, though on her place + Within the temple court no sun at all + Shone, nor as yet upon the topmost wall + Was any tinge of him, but all showed gray + And sodden in the wind and blown sea-spray. + Not to him dared she lift her voice in prayer, + Nor scarce her eyes to see him. + To him there + Came swift a spirit in shape of virgin slim, + With snooded hair and kirtle belted trim, + Short to the knee; and in her face the gale + Had blown bright sanguine colour. Free and hale + She was; and in her hand she held a bow + Unstrung, and o'er her shoulders there did go + A baldrick that made sharp the cleft betwixt + Her sudden breasts--to that a quiver fixt, + Showing gold arrow-points. No God there is + In Heaven more swift than Delian Artemis, + The young, the pure health-giver of the Earth, + Who loveth all things born, and brings to birth, + And after slays with merciful sudden death-- + In whom is gladness all and wholesome breath, + And to whom all the praise of him who writes, + Ever. + These two she saw like meteorites + Flare down the wind and burn afar, then fade. + And Leto next, a mother grave and staid, + Drave out her chariot, which two winged stags drew, + Swift following, robed in gown of inky blue, + And hooded; and her hand which held the hood + Gleamed like a patch of snow left in a wood + Where hyacinths bring down to earth the sky. + And in her wake a winging company, + Dense as the cloud of gulls which from a rock + At sea lifts up in myriads, if the knock + Of oars assail their peace, she saw, and mourned + The household gods. For outward they too turned, + The spirits of the streams and water-brooks, + And nymphs who haunt the pastures, or in nooks + Of woodlands dwell. There like a lag of geese + Flew in long straying lines the Oreades + That in wild dunes and commons have their haunt; + There sped the Hamadryads; there aslant, + As from the sea, but wheeling ere they crost + Their sisters, thronged the river-nymphs, a host; + And now the Gods of homestead and the hearth, + Like sad-faced mourning women, left the garth + Where each had dwelt since Troy was stablishéd, + And been the holy influence over bed + And board and daily work under the sun + And nightlong slumber when day's work was done: + They rose, and like a driven mist of rain + Forsook the doomed high city and the plain, + And drifted eastaway; and as they went + Heaviness spread o'er Ilios like a tent, + And past not off, but brooded all day long. + + But ever coursed new spirits to the throng + That packt the ways of Heaven. From the plain, + From mere and holt and hollow rose amain + The haunters of the silence; from the streams + And wells of water, from the country demes, + From plough and pasture, bottom, ridge and crest + The rustic Gods rose up and joined the rest. + Like a long wisp of cloud from out his banks + Streamed Xanthos, that swift river, to the ranks + Of flying shapes; and driven by that same mind + That urged him to it came Simoeis behind, + And other Gods and other, of stream and tree + And hill and vale--for nothing there can be + On earth or under Heaven, but hath in it + Essence whereby alone its form may hit + Our apprehension, channelled in the sense + Which feedeth us, that we through vision dense + See Gods as trees walking, or in the wind + That singeth in the bents guess what's behind + Its wailing music. + And now the unearthly flock, + Emptying every water, wood, bare rock + And pasture, beset Ida, and their wings + Beat o'er the forest which about her springs + And makes a sea of verdure, whence she lifts + Her soaring peaks to bathe them in the drifts + Of cloud, and rare reveal them unto men-- + For Zeus there hath his dwelling, out of ken + Of men alike and gods. But now the brows, + The breasting summits, still eternal snows, + And all the faces of the mountain held + A concourse like in number to the field + Of Heaven upon some breathless summer night + Printed with myriad stars, some burning bright, + Some massed in galaxy, a cloudy scar, + And others faint, as infinitely far. + There rankt the Gods of Heaven, Earth, and Sea, + Brethren of them now hastening from the fee + Of stricken Priam. Out of his deep cloud + Zeus flamed his levin, and his thunder loud + Volleyed his welcome. With uplifted hands + Acclaiming, God's oncoming each God stands + To greet. And thus the Hierarchy at one + Sits to behold the bitter business done + Which Paris by his luxury bestirred. + + But in the city, like a stricken bird + Grieving her desolation and despair, + As voiceless and as lustreless, astare + For imminent Death, Kassandra croucht beneath + Her very doom, herself the bride of Death; + For in the temple's forecourt reared the mass + Of that which was to bring the woe to pass, + And hidden in him both her murderers + Wrung at their nails. + And slow the long day wears + While all the city broods. The chiefs keep house, + Or gather on the wall, or make carouse + To simulate a freedom they feel not; + And at street corners men in shift or plot + Whisper together, or in the market-place + Gather, and peer each other in the face + Furtively, seeking comfort against care; + Whose eyes, meeting by chance, shift otherwhere + In haste. But in the houses, behind doors + Shuttered and barred, the women scrub their floors, + Or ply their looms as busily: for they + Ever cure care with care, and if a day + Be heavy lighten it with heavier task; + And for their griefs wear beauty like a mask, + And answer heart's presaging with a song + On their brave lips, and render right for wrong. + Little, by outward seeming, do they know + Of doom at hand, of fate or blood or woe, + Nor how their children, playing by their knees, + Must end this day of busyness-at-ease + In shrieking night, with clamour for their bread, + And a red bath, and a cold stone for a bed + Under the staring moon. + + Now sinks the sun + Blood-red into the heavy sea and dun, + And forth from him, as he were stuck with swords, + Great streams of light go upward. Then the lords + Of havoc and unrest prepare their storms, + And o'er the silent city, vulture forms-- + Eris and Enyo, Alké, Ioké, + The biter, the sharp-bitten, the mad, the fey-- + Hover and light on pinnacle and tower: + The gray Erinnyes, watchful for the hour + When Haro be the wail. And down the sky + Like a white squall flung Até with a cry + That sounded like the wind in a ship's shrouds, + As shrill and wild at once. The driving clouds + Surging together, blotted out the sea, + The beachéd ships, the plain with mound and tree, + And slantwise came the sheeted rain, and fast + The darkness settled in. Kassandra cast + Her mantle o'er her head, and with slow feet + Entered her shrine deserted, there to greet + Her fate when it should come; and merciful Sleep + Befriended her. + Now from his lair did creep + Odysseus forth unarmed, his sword and spear + There in the Horse, and warily to peer + And spy his whereabouts the Ithacan + Went doubtful. Then his dreadful work began, + As down the bare way of steep Pergamos + Under the dark he sought for Paris' house. + + +TENTH STAVE + +ODYSSEUS COMES AGAIN TO PARIS' HOUSE + + There in her cage roamed Helen light and fierce, + Unresting, with bright eyes and straining ears, + Nor ever stayed her steps; but first the hall + She ranged, touching the pillars; next to the wall + Went out and shot her gaze into the murk + Whereas the ships should lie; then to her work + Upon the great loom turned and wove a shift, + But idly, waiting always for some lift + In the close-wrapping fog that might discover + The moving hosts, the spearmen of her lover-- + Lover and husband, master and lord of life, + Coming at last to take a slave to wife. + And as wide-eyed she stared to feel her heart + Leap to her side, she felt the warm tears start, + And thankt the Goddess for the balm they brought. + Yet to her women, withal so highly wrought + By hope and care and waiting, she was mild + And gentle-voiced, and playful as a child + That sups the moment's joy, and nothing heeds + Time past or time to come, but fills all needs + With present kindness. She would laugh and talk, + Take arms, suffer embraces, even walk + The terrace 'neath the eyes of all her fate, + And seem to heed what they might show or prate, + As if her whole heart's heart were in this house + And not at fearful odds and perilous. + And should one speak of Paris, as to say, + "Would that our lord might see thee go so gay + About his house!" Gently she'd bend her head + Down to her breast and pluck a vagrant thread + Forth from her tunic's hem, and looking wise, + Gaze at her hand which on her bosom's rise + Lit like a butterfly and quivered there. + Now in the dusk, with Paris otherwhere + At council with the chieftains, into the hall + To Helen there, was come, adventuring all, + Odysseus in the garb of countryman, + A herdsman from the hills, with stain of tan + Upon his neck and arms, with staff and scrip, + And round each leg bound crosswise went a strip + Of good oxhide. Within the porch he came + And louted low, and hailed her by her name, + Among her maidens easy to be known, + Though not so tall as most, and not full blown + To shape and flush like a full-hearted rose; + But like a summer wave her bosom flows + Lax and most gentle, and her tired sweet face + Seems pious as the moon in a blue space + Of starless heaven, and in her eyes the hue + Of early morning, gray through mist of blue. + Not by a flaunted beauty is she guessed + Queen of them all, but by the right expressed + In her calm gaze and fearless, and that hold + Upon her lips which Gods have. Nay, not cold, + Thou holy one, not cold thy lips, which say + All in a sigh, and with one word betray + The passion of thy heart! But who can wis + The fainting piercing message of thy kiss? + O blest initiate--let him live to tell + Thy godhead, show himself thy miracle! + But when she saw him there with his head bowed + And humble hands, deeply her fair face glowed, + And broad across the iris swam the black + Until her eyes showed darkling. "Friend, your lack + Tell me," she said, "and what is mine to give + Is yours; but little my prerogative + Here in this house, where I am not the queen + You call me, but another name, I ween, + Serves me about the country you are of, + Which Ilios gives me too, but not in love. + Yet are we all alike in evil plight, + And should be tender of each other's right, + And of each other's wrongdoing, and wrongs done + Upon us. Have you wife and little one + Hungry at home? Have you a son afield? + Or do you mourn? Alas, I cannot wield + The sword you lack, nor bow nor spear afford + To serve...." + He said, "Nay, you can sheathe the sword, + Slack bowstring, and make spear a hunter's toy. + Lady, I come to end this war of Troy + In your good pleasure." + With her steady eyes + Unwinking fixt, "Let you and me devise," + Said she, "this happy end of bow and spear, + So shall we serve the land. You have my ear; + Speak then." + "But so," he said, "these maidens have it. + But we save Troy alone, or never save it." + Turning she bid them leave her with a nod, + And they obeyed. Swift then and like a God + She seemed, with bright all-knowing eyes and calm + Gesture of high-held head, and open palm + To greet. "Laertes' son, what news bringst thou?" + "Lady," he said, "the best. The hour is now. + We stand within the heaven-establisht walls, + We gird the seat. Within an hour it falls, + The seat divine of Dardanos and Tros, + After our ten years' travail and great loss + Of heroes not yet rested, but to rest + Soon." + Then she laid her hand upon her breast + To stay it. "Who are ye that stand here-by?" + "Desperate men," he said, "prepared to die + If thou wilt have it so. Chief is there none + Beside the ships but Nestor. All are gone + Forth in the Horse. Under thy covering hand + Thou holdest all Achaia. Here we stand, + Epeios, Pyrrhos, Antiklos, with these + Cretan Idomeneus, Meriones, + Aias the Lokrian, Teukros, Diomede + Of the loud war-cry, next thy man indeed, + Golden-haired Menelaus the robbed King, + And Agamemnon by him, and I who bring + This news and must return to take what lot + Thou choosest us; for all is thine, God wot, + To end or mend, to make or mar at will." + A weighty utterance, but she heard the thrill + Within her heart, and listened only that-- + To know her love so near. So near he sat + Hidden when she that toucht the Horse's flank + Could have toucht him! "Odysseus!" her voice sank + To the low tone of the soft murmuring dove + That nests and broods, "Odysseus, heard my love + My whisper of his name when close I stood + And stroked the Horse?" + "I heard and understood," + He said, "and Lokrian Aias would have spoken + Had I not clapt a hand to his mouth--else broken + By garish day had been our house of dream, + And our necks too. I heard a woman scream + Near by and cry upon the Ruinous Face, + But none made answer to her." + Nought she says + To that but "I am ready; let my lord + Come when he will. Humbly I wait his word." + "That word I bring," Odysseus said, "he comes. + Await him here." + Her wide eyes were the homes + Of long desire. "Ah, let me go with thee + Even as I am; from this dark house take me + While Paris is abroad!" + He shook his head. + "Not so, but he must find thee here abed-- + And Paris here." + The light died out; a mask + Of panic was her face, what time her task + Stared on a field of white horror like blood: + "Here! But there must be strife then!" + "Well and good," + Said he. + Then she, shivering and looking small, + "And one must fall?" she said; he, "One must fall." + Reeling she turned her pincht face other way + And muttered with her lips, grown cold and gray, + Then fawning came at him, and with her hands + Besought him, but her voice made no demands, + Only her haunted eyes were quick, and prayed, + "Ah, not to fall through me!" + "By thee," he said, + "The deed is to be done." + She droopt adown + Her lovely head; he heard her broken moan, + "Have I not caused enough of blood-shedding, + And enough women's tears? Is not the sting + Sharp enough of the knife within my side?" + No more she could. + Then he, "Think not to avoid + The lot of man, who payeth the full price + For each deed done, and riddeth vice by vice: + Such is the curse upon him. The doom is + By God decreed, that for thy forfeit bliss + In Sparta thou shalt pay the price in Troy, + Dishonour for lost honour, pain for joy; + By what hot thought impelled, by that alone + Win back; by violence violence atone. + If by chicane thou fleddest, by chicane + Win back thy blotted footprints. Out again + With all thine arts of kisses slow and long, + Of smiles and stroking hands, and crooning song + Whenas full-fed with love thou lulledst asleep; + Renew thine eyebright glances, whisper and creep + And twine about his neck thy wreathing arms: + As we with spears so do thou with thy charms, + Arm thee and wait the hour of fire and smoke + To purge this robbery. Paris by the stroke + Of him he robbed shall wash out his old cheat + In blood, and thou, woman, by new deceit + Of him redeem thy first. For thus God saith, + Traitress, thou shalt betray thy thief to death." + He ceased, and she by misery made wild + And witless, shook, and like a little child + Gazed piteous, and asked, "What must I do?" + He answered, "Hold him by thee, falsely true, + Until the King stand armed within the house + Ready to take his blood-price. Even thus, + By shame alone shalt thou redeem thy shame." + And now she claspt his knee and cried his name: + "Mercy! I cannot do it. Let me die + Sooner than go to him so. What, must I lie + With one and other, make myself a whore, + And so go back to Sparta, nevermore + To hold my head up level with my slaves, + Nor dare to touch my child?" + Said he, "Let knaves + Deal knavishly till freedom they can win; + And so let sinners purge themselves of sin." + Then fiercely looking on her where she croucht + Fast by his knees, his whole mind he avoucht: + "How many hast thou sent the way of death + By thy hot fault? What ghosts like wandering breath + Shudder and wail unhouseled on the plain, + Shreds of Achaian honour? What hearts in pain + Cry the night through? What souls this very night + Fare forth? Art thou alone to sup delight, + Alone to lap in pleasantness, who first + And only, with thy lecher and his thirst, + Wrought all the harm? Only for thy smooth sake + Did Paris reive, and Menelaus ache, + And Hector die ashamed, and Peleus' son + Stand to the arrow, and Aias Telamon + Find madness and self-murder for the crown + Of all his travail?" He eyed her up and down + Sternly, as measuring her worth in scorn. + "Not thus may traffic any woman born + While men endure cold nights and burning days, + Hunger and wretchedness." + She stands, she says, + "Enough--I cannot answer. Tell me plain + What I must do." + "At dark," he said, "we gain + The Gates and open them. A trumpet's blast + Will sound the entry of the host. Hold fast + Thy Paris then. We storm the citadel, + High Pergamos; that won, the horn will tell + The sack begun. But hold thou Paris bound + Fast in thine arms. Once more the horn shall sound. + That third is doom for him. Release him then." + All blank she gazed. "Unarmed to face armed men?" + "Unarmed," he said, "to meet his judgment day." + + Now was thick silence broken; now no way + For her to shift her task nor he his fate. + Keenly she heeds. "'Tis Paris at the gate! + What now? Whither away? Where wilt thou hide?" + He lookt her in the face. "Here I abide + What he may do. Was it not truth I spake + That all Hellas lay in thy hand? Now take + What counsel or what comfort may avail." + Paris stood in the door and cried her Hail. + "Hail to thee, Rose of the World!" then saw the man, + And knit his brows upon him, close to scan + His features; but Odysseus had his hood + Shadowing his face. Some time the Trojan stood + Judging, then said, "Thou seek'st? What seekest thou?" + "A debt is owed me. I seek payment now." + So he was told; but he drew nearer yet. + "I would know more of thee and of thy debt," + He said. + And then Odysseus, "This thy strife + Hath ruined all my fields which are my life, + Brought murrain on my beasts, cold ash to my hearth, + Emptiness to my croft. Hunger and dearth, + Are these enough? Who pays me?" + Then Paris, + "I pay, but first will know what man it is + I am to pay, and in what kind." So said, + Snatching the hood, he whipt it from his head + And lookt and knew the Ithacan. "Now by Zeus, + Treachery here!" He swung his sword-arm loose + Forth of his cloak and set hand to his sword; + But Helen softly called him: "Hath my lord + No word of greeting for his bondwoman?" + Straightway he went to her, and left the man, + And took her in his arms, and held her close. + And light of foot, Odysseus quit the house. + + +ELEVENTH STAVE + +THE BEGUILING OF PARIS + + Now Paris tipt her chin and turned her face + Upwards to his that fondly he might trace + The beauty of her budded lips, and stoop + And kiss them softly; and fingered in the loop + That held her girdle, and closer pressed, on fire, + Towards her; for her words had stung desire + Anew; and wooing in his fond boy's way, + Whispered and lookt his passion; then to pray + Began: "Ah, love, long strange to me, behold + Thy winter past, and come the days of gold + And pleasance of the spring! For in thine eyes + I see his light and hail him as he flies! + Nay, cloud him not, nor veil him"--for she made + To turn her face, saying, "Ah, let them fade: + The soul thou prisonest here is grayer far." + But he would give no quarter now. "O star, + O beacon-star, shine on me in the night + That I may wash me in thy bath of light, + Taking my fill of thee; so cleanséd all + And healed, I rise renewed to front what call + May be!" which said, with conquest in his bones + And in his eyes assurance, in high tones + He called her maids, bade take her and prepare + The couch, and her to be new-wedded there; + For long had they been strangers to their bliss. + So by the altar standeth she submiss + And watchful, praying silent and intense + To a strange-figured Goddess, to his sense + Who knew but Aphrodité. "Love, what now? + Who is thy God? What secret rite hast thou?" + For grave and stern above that altar stood + Heré the Queen of Heaven. + In dry mood + She answered him, "Chaste wives to her do pray + Before they couch, Blest be the strife! You say + We are to be new-wedded. Pour with me + Libation that we love not fruitlessly." + So said, she took the well-filled cup and poured, + And prayed, saying, "O Mother, not abhorred + Be this my service of thee. Count it not + Offence, nor let my prayers be forgot + When reckoning comes of things done and not done + By me thy child, or to me, hapless one, + Unloving paramour and unloved wife!" + "Heré, to thee for issue of the strife!" + Cried Paris then, and poured. So Helen went + And let her maids adorn her to his bent. + + Then took he joy of her, and little guessed + Or cared what she might give or get. Possest + Her body by his body, but her mind + Searcht terribly the issue. As one blind + Explores the dark about him in broad day + And fingers in the air, so as she lay + Lax in his arms, her fainting eyes, aglaze + For terror coming, sought escape all ways. + Alas for her! What way for woman fair, + Whose joy no fairer makes her than despair? + Her burning lips that kisses could not cool, + Her beating heart that not love made so full, + The surging of her breast, her clinging hands: + Here are such signs as lover understands, + But fated Paris nowise. Her soul, distraught + To save him, proved the net where he was caught. + For more she anguisht lest love be his bane + The fiercelier spurred she him, to make him fain + Of that which had been ruinous to all. + But all the household gathered on the wall + While these two in discordant bed were plight, + And watcht the Achaian fires. No beacon-light + Showed by the shore, but countless, flickering, streamed + Innumerable lights, wove, dipt and gleamed + Like fireflies on a night of summer heat, + Withal one way they moved, though many beat + Across and back, and mingled with the rest. + Anon a great glare kindled from the crest + Of Ida, and was answered by a blaze + Behind the ships, which threw up in red haze + Huge forms of prow and beak. Then from the Mound + Of Ilos fire shot up, from sacred ground, + And out the mazy glory of moving lights + One sped and flared, as of the meteorites + In autumn some fly further, brighter courses. + A chariot! They heard the thunder of the horses; + And as they flew the torch left a bright wake. + And thus to one another woman spake, + "Lo, more lights race! They follow him, they near, + Catch and draw level. Hark! Now you can hear + The tramp of men!" + Says one, "That baleful sheen + Is light upon their spears. The Greeks, I ween, + Are coming up to rescue or requite." + But then her mate: "They mass, they fill the night + With panic terror." + True, that all night things + Fled as they came. They heard the flickering wings + Of countless birds in haste, and as they flew + So fled the dark away. Light waxed and grew + Until the dead of night was vivified + And radiant opened out the countryside + With pulsing flames of fire, which gleamed and glanced, + Flickered, wavered, yet never stayed advance. + As the sun rising high o'er Ida cold + Beats a sea-path in flakes of molten gold, + So stretcht from shore to Troy that litten stream + That moved and shuddered, restless as a dream, + Yet ever nearing, till on spear and shield + They saw light like the moon on a drowned field, + And in the glare of torches saw and read + Gray faces, like the legions of the dead, + Silent about the walls, and waiting there. + But in the fragrant chamber Helen the fair + Lay close in arms, and Paris slept, his head + Upon her bosom, deep as any dead. + + Sudden there smote the blast of a great horn, + Single, long-held and shuddering, and far-borne; + And then a deathless silence. Paris stirred + On that soft pillow, and listened while they heard + Many men running frantically, with feet + That slapt the stones, and voices in the street + Of question and call--"Oh, who are ye that run? + What of the night?" "O peace!" And some lost one + Wailed like a woman, and her a man did curse, + And there were scuffling, prayers, and then worse-- + A silence. But the running ended not + While Paris lay alistening with a knot + Of Helen's loose hair twisting round his finger. + "O love," he murmured low, "I may not linger. + The street's awake. Alas, thou art too kind + To be a warrior's bride." Sighing, she twined + Her arm about his neck and toucht his face, + And pressed it gently back to its warm place + Of pillowing. And Paris kissed her breast + And slept; but her heart's riot gave no rest + As quaking there she lay, awaiting doom. + Then afar off rose clamour, and the room + Was fanned with sudden light and sudden dark, + As on a summer night in a great park + Blazed forth you see each tuft of grass or mound, + Anon the drowning blackness, while the sound + Of Zeus's thunder hardens every close: + So here the chamber glared, then dipt, and rose + That far confuséd tumult, and now and then + The scurrying feet of passion-driven men. + Thrilling she waited with sick certainty + Of doom inexorable, while the struck city + Fought its death-grapple, and the windy height + Of Pergamos became a shambles. White + The holy shrines stared on a field of blood, + And with blank eyes the emptied temples stood + While murder raved before them, and below + And all about the city ran the woe + Of women for their children. Then the flame + Burst in the citadel, and overcame + The darkness, and the time seemed of broad day. + And Helen stared unwinking where she lay + Pillowing Paris. + Now glad and long and shrill + The second trumpet sounds. They have the hill-- + High Troy is down, is down! Starting, he wakes + And turns him in her arms. His face she takes + In her two hands and turns it up to hers. + Nothing she says, nothing she does, nor stirs + From her still scrutiny, nor so much as blinks + Her eyes, deep-searching, of whose blue he drinks, + And fond believes her all his own, while she + Marvels that aught of his she e'er could be + In times bygone. But now he is on fire + Again, and urges on her his desire, + And loses all the sense of present needs + For him in burning Troy, where Priam bleeds + Head-smitten, trodden on his palace-floor, + And white Kassandra yieldeth up her flower + To Aias' lust, and of the Dardan race + Survive he only, renegade disgrace, + He only and Aineias the wise prince. + But now is crying fear abroad and wins + The very household of the shameful lover; + Now are the streets alive, for worse in cover + Like a trapt rat to die than fight the odds + Under the sky. Now women shriek to the Gods, + And men run witlessly, and in and out + The Greeks press, burning, slaying, and the rout + Screameth to Heaven. As at sea the mews + Pack, their wings battling, when some fresh wrack strews + The tideway, and in greater haste to stop + Others from prey, will let their morsel drop, + And all the while make harsh lament--so here + The avid spoilers bickered in their fear + To be manœuvred out of robbery, + And tore the spoil, and mangled shamefully + Bodies of men to strip them, and in haste + To forestall ravishers left the victims chaste. + Ares, the yelling God, and Até white + Swept like a snow-storm over Troy that night; + And towers rockt, and in the naked glare + Of fire the smoke climbed to the upper air; + And clamour was as of the dead broke loose. + But Menelaus his stern way pursues, + And to the wicked house with chosen band + Cometh, his good sword naked in his hand; + And now, while Paris loves and holds her fast + In arms, the third horn sounds a shattering blast, + Long-held, triumphant; and about the door + Gathers the household, to cry, to pray, to implore, + And at the last break in and scream the truth-- + "The Greeks! The Greeks! Save yourselves!" + Then in sooth + Starts Paris out of bed, and as he goes + Sees in the eyes of Helen all she knows + And all believes; and with his utter loss + Of her rises the man in him that was + Ere luxury had entered blood and bone + Of him. No word he said, but let one groan, + And turned his dying eyes to hers, and read + Therein his fate, that to her he was dead, + Long dead and cold in grave. Whereat he past + Out of the door, and met his end at last + As man, not minion. + But the woman fair + Lay on her face, half buried in her hair, + Naked and prone beneath her saving sin, + Not yet enheartened new life to begin. + + +ENVOY + + But thou didst rise, Maid Helen, as from sleep, + A final tryst to keep + With thy true lover, in whose hands thy life + Lay, as in arms; his wife + In heart as well as deed; his wife, his friend, + His soul's fount and its end! + For such it is, the marriage of true minds, + Each in each sanction finds; + So if her beauty lift her out of thought + Whither man's to be brought + To worship her perfection on his knees, + So in his strength she sees + Self glorified, and two make one clear orb + Whereinto all rays absorb + Which stream from God and unto God return.-- + So, as he fared, I yearn + To be, and serve my years of pain and loss + 'Neath my walled Ilios, + With my eyes ever fixt to where, a star, + Thou and thy sisters are, + Helen and Beatrice, with thee embraced, + Hands in thy hands, and arms about thy waist. + +_1911-12._ + + + + +HYPSIPYLE + + + Queen of the shadows, Maid and Wife, + Twifold in essence, as in life, + The lamp of Death, the star of Birth, + Half cradled and half mourned by Earth, + By Hell half won, half lost! aid me + To sing thy fond Hypsipyle, + Thy bosom's mate who, unafraid, + Renounced for thee what part she had + In sun and wind upon the hill, + In dawn about the mere, in still + Woodlands, in kiss of lapping wave, + In laughter, in love--all this she gave!-- + And shared thy dream-life, visited + The sunless country of the dead, + There to abide with thee, their Queen, + In that gray region, shadow-seen + By them that cast no shadows, yet + Themselves are shadows. Nor forget, + Koré, her love made manifest + To thee, familiar of her breast + And partner of her whispering mouth. + + Thee too, Our Lady of the South, + Uranian Kypris, I invoke, + Regent of starry space, with stroke + Of splendid wing, in whose white wake + Stream those who, filled with thee, forsake + Their clinging shroudy clots, and rise, + Lover and loved, to thy pure skies, + To thy blue realm! O lady, touch + My lips with rue, for she loved much. + + What poet in what cloistered nook, + Indenting in what roll of a book + His rhymes, can voice the tides of love? + Nay, thrilling lark, nay, moaning dove, + The nightingale's full-chargéd throat + That cheereth now, and now doth gloat, + And now recordeth bitter-sweet + Longing, too wise to image it: + These be your minstrels, lovers! Choose + From their winged choir your urgent Muse; + Let her your speechless joys relate + Which men with words sophisticate, + Striving by reasons make appear + To head what heart proclaims so clear + To heart; as if by wit to wis + What mouth to mouth tells in a kiss, + Or in their syllogisms dry + Freeze a swift glance's cogency. + Nay, but the heart's so music-fraught, + Music is all in love, words naught. + One heart's a rote, with music stored + Though mute; but two hearts make a chord + Of piercing music. One alone + Is nothing: two make the full tone. + + +I + + On Enna's uplands, on a lea + Between the mountains and the sea, + Shadowed anon by wandering cloud, + Or flickering wings of birds a-crowd, + And now all golden in the sun, + See Koré, see her maidens run + Hither and thither through those hours + Of dawn among the wide-eyed flowers, + While gentian, crocus, asphodel + (With rosy star in each white bell), + Anemone, blood-red with rings + Of paler fire, that plant that swings + A crimson cluster in the wind + They pluck, or sit anon to bind + Of these earth-stars a coronet + For their smooth-tresséd Queen, who yet + Strays with her darling interlaced, + Hypsipyle the grave, the chaste-- + Her whose gray shadow-life with his + Who singeth now for ever is. + She, little slim thing, Koré's mate, + Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, + Of burning mind and passion pent + To image-making, ever went + Where wonned her Mistress; for those two + By their hearts' grace together grew, + The one to need, the one to give + (As women must if they would live, + Who substance win by waste of self + And only spend to hoard their pelf: + "O heart, take all of mine!" "O heart, + That which thou tak'st of thee is part-- + No robbery therefore: mine is thine, + Take then!"): so she and Proserpine + Intercommunion'd each bright day, + And when night fell together lay + Cradled in arms, or cheek to cheek + Whispered the darkness out. Thou meek + And gentle vision! let me tell + Thy beauties o'er I love so well: + Thy sweet low bosom's rise and fall, + Pulsing thy heart's clear madrigal; + Or how the blue beam from thine eyes + Imageth all love's urgencies; + Thy lips' frail fragrance, as of flowers + Remembered in penurious hours + Of winter-exile; of thy brow, + Not written as thy breast of snow + With love's faint charact'ry, for his wing + Leaves not the heart long! Last I sing + Thy thin quick fingers, in whose pleaching + Lieth all healing, all good teaching-- + Wherewith, touching my discontent, + I know how thou art eloquent! + Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle! + Now may that serve to comfort me, + While I, O Maiden dedicate, + Seek voice for singing thy gray Fate! + + Now, as they went, one heart in two, + Brusht to the knees by flowers, by dew + Anointed, by the wind caressed, + By the light kissed on eyes and breast, + 'Twas Koré talked; Hypsipyle + Listened, with eyes far-set, for she + Of speech was frugal, voicing low + And rare her heart's deep underflow-- + Content to lie, like fallow sweet + For rain or sun to cherish it, + Or scattered seed substance to find + In her deep-funded, quiet mind. + And thus the Goddess: "Blest art thou, + Hypsipyle, who canst not know + Until the hour strikes what must come + To pass! But I foresee the doom + And stay to meet it. Even here + The place, and now the hour!" Then fear + Took her who spake so fearless, cold + Threaded her thronging veins--behold! + A hand on either shoulder stirs + That slim, sweet body close to hers, + And need fires need till, lip with lip, + They seal and sign their fellowship, + While Koré, godhead all forgot, + Clings whispering, "Child, leave me not + Whenas to darkness and the dead + I go!" And clear the answer sped + From warm mouth murmuring kiss and cheer, + "Never I leave thee, O my dear!" + Thereafter stand they beatingly, + Not speaking; and the hour draws nigh. + + And all the land shows passing fair, + Fair the broad sea, the living air, + The misty mountain-sides, the lake + Flecked blue and purple! To forsake + These, and those bright flower-gatherers + Scattered about this land of theirs, + That stoop or run, that kneel to pick, + That cry each other to come quick + And see new treasure, unseen yet! + Remembered joy--ah, how forget! + + But mark how all must come to pass + As was foreknowledged. In the grass + Whereas the Goddess and her mate + Stood, one and other, prompt for fate-- + Listless the first and heavy-eyed, + Astrain the second--she espied + That strange white flower, unseen before, + With chalice pale, which thin stalk bore + And swung, as hanging by a hair, + So fine it seemed afloat in air, + Unlinkt and wafted for the feast + Of some blest mystic, without priest + Or acolyte to tender it: + Whereto the maid did stoop and fit + Her hand about its silken cup + To close it, that her mouth might sup + The honey-drop within. The bloom + Saw Koré then, and knew her doom + Foretold in it; and stood in trance + Fixéd and still. No nigromance + Used she, but read the fate it bore + In seedless womb and petals frore. + Chill blew the wind, waiting stood She, + Waiting her mate, Hypsipyle. + + Then in clear sky the thunder tolled + Sudden, and all the mountains rolled + The dreadful summons round, and still + Lay all the lands, only the rill + Made tinkling music. Once more drave + Peal upon peal--and lo! a grave + Yawned in the Earth, and gushing smoke + Belched out, as driven, and hung, and broke + With sullen puff; like tongues the flame + Leapt following. Thence Aïdoneus came, + Swart-bearded king, with iron crown'd, + In iron mailed, his chariot bound + About with iron, holding back + Amain two steeds of glistering black + And eyeballs white-rimmed fearfully, + And nostrils red, and crests flying free; + Who held them pawing at the verge, + Tossing their spume up, as the surge + Flung high against some seaward bluff. + Nothing he spake, or smooth or gruff, + But drave his errand, gazing down + Upon the Maid, whose blown back gown + Revealed her maiden. Still and proud + Stood she among her nymphs, unbowed + Her comely head, undimmed her eye, + Inseparate her lips and dry, + Facing his challenge of her state, + Neither denying, nor desperate, + Pleading no mercy, seeing none, + Her wild heart masked in face of stone. + But they, her bevy, clustered thick + As huddled sheep, set their eyes quick, + And held each other, hand or waist, + Paling or flushing as fear raced + Thronging their veins--they knew not, they, + The gathered fates that broke this day, + + And all the land seemed passing fair + To one who knew, and waited there. + + "Goddess and Maid," then said the King, + "Long have I sought this day should bring + An end of torment. Know me thou + God postulant, with whom below + A world awaits her queen, while here + I seek and find one without peer; + Nor deem her heedless nor unschooled + In what in Heaven is writ and ruled. + Decreed of old my bride-right was, + Decreed thy Mother's pain and loss, + Decreed thy loathing, and decreed + That which thou shunnest to be thy need; + For thou shalt love me, Lady, yet, + Though little liking now, and fret + Of jealous care shall grave thy heart + And draw thee back when time's to part-- + If fond Demeter have her will + Against thine own." + + The Maid stood still + And guarded watched, and her proud eyes' + Scrutiny bade his own advise + Whether indeed their solemn stare + Saw Destiny and read it there + Beyond her suitor, or within + Her own heart heard the message ring. + Awhile she gazed: her stern aspect, + Young and yet fraught with Godhead, checkt + Both Him who claimed, and her who'd cling, + And them who wondered. "O great King," + She said, and mournful was her crying + As when night-winds set pine-trees sighing, + "King of the folk beyond the tide + Of sleep, behold thy chosen bride + Not shunning thee, nor seeking. Take + That which Gods neither mar nor make, + But only They, the Three, who spin + The threads which hem and mesh us in, + Both Gods and men, till she who peers + The longest cuts them with her shears. + Take, take, Aïdoneus, and take her, + My fosterling." + Then He, "O star + Of Earth, O Beacon of my days, + Light of my nights, whose beamy rays + Shall pierce the foggy cerement + Wherein my dead grope and lament + Beyond all loss the loss of light, + Come! and be pleasant in my sight + This thy beloved. Perchance she too + Shall find a suitor come to woo; + For love men leave not with their bones-- + That is the soul's, and half atones + And half makes bitterer their loss, + Remembering what their fortune was." + Trembling Hypsipyle uplift + Her eyes towards the hills, where swift + The shadows flew, but no more fleet + Than often she with flying feet + And flying raiment, she with these + Her mates, whom now estranged she sees-- + As if the shadow-world had spread + About her now, and she was dead-- + Her mates no more! cut off by fear + From these two fearless ones. A tear + Welled up and hovered, hung a gem + Upon her eyelid's dusky hem, + As raindrops linkt and strung arow + Broider with stars the winter bough. + This was her requiem and farewell + To them, thus rang she her own knell; + Nor more gave she, nor more asked they, + But took and went the fairy way. + For thus with unshed tears made blind + Went she: thus go the fairy kind + Whither fate driveth; not as we + Who fight with it, and deem us free + Therefore, and after pine, or strain + Against our prison bars in vain. + For to them Fate is Lord of Life + And Death, and idle is a strife + With such a master. They not know + Life past, life coming, but life now; + Nor back look they to long, nor forth + To hope, but sup the minute's worth + With draught so quick and keen that each + Moment gives more than we could reach + In all our term of three-score years, + Whereof full score we give to fears + Of losing them, and other score + Dreaming how fill the twenty more. + Now is the hour, Bride of the Night! + The chariot turns, the great steeds fight + The rocky entry; flies the dust + Behind the wheels at each fierce thrust + Of giant shoulder, at each lunge + Of giant haunch. Down, down they plunge + Into the dark, with rioting mane, + And the earth's door shuts-to again. + Now fly, ye Oreads, strain your arms, + Let eyes and hair voice your alarms-- + Hair blown back, mouths astretch for fear, + Strained eyeballs--cry that Mother dear + Her daughter's rape; fly like the gale + That down the valleys drives the hail + In scurrying sheets, and lays the corn + Flat, which when man of woman born + Seeth, he bows him to the grass, + Whispering in hush, _The Oreads pass_. + (In shock he knows ye, and in mirth, + Since he is kindred of that earth + Which bore ye in her secret stress, + Images of her loveliness, + To her dear paramour the Wind.) + Follow me now that car behind. + + +II + + O ye that know the fairy throng, + And heed their secret under-song; + In flower or leaf's still ecstasy + Of birth and bud their passion see, + In wind or calm, in driving rain + Or frozen snow discern them strain + To utter and to be; who lie + At dawn in dewy brakes to spy + The rapture of their flying feet-- + Follow me now those coursers fleet, + Sucked in their wake, down ruining + Through channelled night, where only sing + The shrill gusts streaming through the hair + Of them who sway and bend them there, + And peer in vain with shielded eyes + To rend the dark. Clinging it lies, + Thick as wet gossamer that shrouds + October brushwoods, or low clouds + That from the mountain tops roll down + Into the lowland vales, to drown + Men's voices and to choke their breath + And make a silence like to death. + But this was hot and dry; it came + And smote them, like the gush of flame + Fanned in a smithy, that outpours + And floods with fire the open doors. + Downward their course was, swift as flight + Of meteor flaring through the night, + Steady and dreadful, with no sound + Of wheels or hoofs upon the ground, + Nor jolt, nor jar; for once past through + Earth's portals, steeds and chariot flew + On wings invisible and strong + And even-oaring, such as throng + The nights when birds of passage sweep + O'er cities and the folk asleep: + Such was their awful flight. Afar + Showed Hades glimmering like a star + Seen red through fog: and as they sped + To that, the frontiers of the dead + Revealed their sullen leagues and bare, + And sad forms flitting here and there, + Or clustered, waiting who might come + Their empty ways with news of home. + Yet all one course at length must hold, + Or late or soon, and all be tolled + By Charon in his dark-prowed boat. + Thither was swept the chariot + And crossed dry-wheeled the coiling flood + Of Styx, and o'er the willow wood + And slim gray poplars which do hem + The further shore, Hell's diadem-- + So by the tower foursquare and great + Where King Aïdoneus keeps his state + And rules his bodyless thralls they stand. + + Dark ridge and hollow showed the land + Fold over fold, like waves of soot + Fixt in an anguish of pursuit + For evermore, so far as eye + Could range; and all was hot and dry + As furnace is which all about + Etna scorcheth in days of drouth, + And showeth dun and sinister + That fair isle linked to main so fair. + Nor tree nor herbage grew, nor sang + Water among the rocks: hard rang + The heel on metal, or on crust + Grew tender, or went soft in dust; + Neither for beast nor bird nor snake + Was harbourage; nor could such slake + Their thirst, nor from the bitter heat + Hide, since the sun not furnished it; + But airless, shadowless and dense + The land lay swooning, dead to sense + Beneath that vault of stuprous black, + Motionless hanging, without wrack + Of cloud to break and pass, nor rent + To hint the blue. Like the foul tent + A foul night makes, it sagged; for stars + Showed hopeless faces, with two scars + In each, their eyes' immortal woe, + Ever to seek and never know: + In all that still immensity + These only moved--these and the sea, + Which dun and sullen heaved, with surge + And swell unseen, save at the verge + Where fainted off the black to gray + And showed such light as on a day + Of sun's eclipse men tremble at. + + Here the dead people moved or sat, + Casting no shadow, hailing none + Boldly; but in fierce undertone + They plied each other, or on-sped + Their way with signal of the head + For answer, or arms desperate + Flung up, or shrug disconsolate. + And this the quest of every one: + "What hope have ye?" And answer, "None." + Never passed shadow shadow but + That answer got to question put. + In that they lived, in that, alas! + Lovely and hapless, Thou must pass + Thy days, with this for added lot-- + Aching, to nurse things unforgot. + + Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle! + The Oread choir, the Oread glee: + The nimble air of quickening hills, + The sweet dawn light that floods and fills + The hollowed valleys; the dawn wind + That bids the world wake, and on blind + Eyelids of sleeping mortals lays + Cool palms that urge them see and praise + The Day-God coming with the sun + To hearten toil! He warned you run + And hide your beauties deep in brake + Of fern or briar, or reed of lake, + Or in wet crevice of the rock, + There to abide until the clock + You reckon by, with shadowy hands, + Lay benediction on the lands + And landsmen, and the eve-jar's croak + Summon ye, lightfoot fairy folk, + To your activity full tide + Over the empty earth and wide. + Here be your food, fair nymph, and coy + Of mortal ken--remember'd joy! + + Remember'd joy! Ah, stormy nights, + Ah, the mad revel when wind fights + With wind, and slantwise comes the rain + And shatters at the window-pane, + To wake the hind, who little knows + Whose fingers drum those passionate blows, + Nor what swift indwellers of air + Ye be who hide in forms so fair + Your wayward motions, cruel to us, + While lovely, and dispiteous! + Ah, nights of flying scud and rout + When scared the slim young moon rides out + In her lagoon of open sky, + Or older, marks your revelry + As calm and large she oars above + Your drifting lives of ruth or love. + Boon were those nights of dusted gold + And glint of fireflies! Boon the cold + And witching frost! All's one, all's one + To thee, whose nights and days go on + Now in one span of changeless dusk + On one earth, crackling like the husk + Of the dropt mast in winter wood: + Remember'd joy--'tis all thy food, + Hypsipyle, to whose fond sprite + I vow my praise while I have light. + + Dumbly she wandered there, as pale + With lack of light, with form as frail + As those poor hollow congeners + Whose searching eyes encountered hers, + Petitioning as mute as she + Some grain of hope, where none might be, + Daring not yet to voice their moan + To her whose case was not their own; + For where they go like breath in a shell + That wails, my love goes quick in Hell. + + Alas, for her, the sweet and slim! + Slowly she pines; her eyes grow dim + With seeking; her smooth, sudden breasts + Hang languidly; those little nests + For kisses which her dimples were, + In cheeks graved hollow now by care + Vanish, and sharply thrusts her chin, + And sharp her bones of arm and shin. + Reproach she looks, about, above, + Denied her light, denied her love, + Denied for what she sacrificed, + Doomed to be fruitless agonist. + (O God, and I must see her fade, + Must see and anguish--in my shade!) + Nor help nor comfort gat she now + From her whose need called forth her vow; + For close in arms Queen Koré dwelt + In that great tower Aïdoneus built + To cherish her; deep in his bed, + Loved as the Gods love whom they wed; + Turned from pale maiden to pale wife, + Pale now with love's insatiate strife + First to appease, and then renew + The wild desire to mingle two + Natures, to long, to seek, to shun, + To have, to give, to make two one + That must be two if they would each + Learn all the lore that love can teach. + So strove the mistress, while the maid + Went alien among the dead, + Unspoken, speaking none, but watcht + By them who knew themselves outmatcht + By her, translated whole, nor guessed + What miseries gnawed within that breast, + Which could be toucht, which could give meat + To babe; which was not eye-deceit + As theirs, poor phantoms. So went she + Grudged but unscathed beside the sea, + Or sat alone by that sad strand + Nursing her worn cheek in her hand; + And did not mark, as day on day + Lengthened the arch of changeless gray, + How she was shadowed, how to her + Stretcht arms another prisoner; + Nor knew herself desirable + By any thankless guest of Hell-- + Withal each phantom seemed no less + Whole-natured to her heedlessness. + + Midway her round of solitude + She used to haunt a dead sea-wood + Where among boulders lifeless trees + Stuck rigid fingers to the breeze-- + That stream of faint hot air that flits + Aimless at noon. 'Tis there she sits + Hour after hour, and as a dove + Croons when her breast is ripe for love, + So sings this exile, quiet, sad chants + Of love, yet knows not what she wants; + And singing there in undertone, + Is one day answered by the moan + Of hidden mourner; but no fear + Hath she for sound so true, though near; + Nay, but sings out her elegy, + Which, like an echo, answers he. + Again she sings; he suits her mood, + Nor breaks upon her solitude: + So she, choragus, calls the tune, + And as she leads he follows soon. + As bird with bird vies in the brake, + She sings no note he will not take-- + As when she pleads, "Ah, my lost love, + The night is dark thou art not of," + Quick cometh answering the phrase, + "O love, let all our nights be days!" + This, rapt, with beating heart, she heeds + And follows, "Sweet love, my heart bleeds! + Come, stay the wound thyself didst give"; + Then he, "I come to bid thee live." + And so they carol, and her heart + Swells to believe his counterpart, + And strophé striketh clear, which he + Caps with his brave antistrophe; + And as a maiden waxes bold, + And opens what should not be told + When all her auditory she sees + Within her mirror, so to trees + And rocks, and sullen sounding main + She empties all her passioned pain; + And "love, love, love," her burden is, + And "I am starving for thee," his. + Moved, melted, all on fire she stands, + Holding abroad her quivering hands, + Raises her sweet eyes faint with tears + And dares to seek him whom she hears; + And from her parted lips a sigh + Stealeth, as knowing he is nigh + And her fate on her--then she'd shun + That which she seeks; but the thing's done. + + Hollow-voiced, dim, spake her a shade, + "O thou that comest, nymph or maid-- + If nymph, then maiden, since for aye + Virgin is immortality, + Nor love can change what Death cannot-- + Look on me by love new-begot; + Look on me, child new-born, nor start + To see my form who knowest my heart; + For it is thine. O Mother and Wife, + Take then my love--thou gavest it life!" + + So spake one close: to whom she lent + The wonder of her eyes' content-- + That lucent gray, as if moonlight + Shone through a sapphire in the night-- + And saw him faintly imaged, rare + As wisp of cloud on hillside bare, + A filamental form, a wraith + Shaped like that man who in the faith + Of one puts all his hope: who stood + Trembling in her near neighbourhood, + A thing of haunted eyes, of slim + And youthful seeming; yet not dim, + Yet not unmanly in his fashion + Of speech, nor impotent of passion-- + The which his tones gave earnest of + And his aspéct of hopeless love; + Who, drawing nearer, came to stand + So close beside her that one hand + Lit on her shoulder--yet no touch + She felt: "O maiden overmuch," + He grieved, "O body far too sweet + For such as I, frail counterfeit + Of man, who yet was once a man, + Cut off before the midmost span + Of mortal life was but half run, + Or ere to love he had found one + Like thee--yet happy in that fate, + That waiting, he is fortunate: + For better far in Hell to fare + With thee than commerce otherwhere, + Sharing the snug and fat outlook + Of bed and board and ingle-nook + With earth-bound woman, earth-born child. + Nay, but high love is free and wild + And centreth not in mortal things; + But to the soul giveth he wings, + And with the soul strikes partnership, + So may two let corruption slip + And breasting level, with far eyes + Lifted, seek haven in the skies, + Untrammel'd by the earthly mesh. + O thou," said he, "of fairy flesh, + Immortal prisoner, take of me + Love! 'tis my heritage in fee; + For I am very part thereof, + And share the godhead." + So his love + Pled he with tones in love well-skilled + Which on her bosom beat and thrilled, + And pierced. No word nor look she had + To voice her heart, or sad or glad. + Rapt stood she, wooed by eager word + And by her need, whose cry she heard + Above his crying; but she guessed + She was desired, beset, possessed + Already, handfasted to sight, + And yielding so, her heart she plight. + + Thus was her mating: of the eyes + And ears, and her love half surmise, + Detected by her burning face + Which saw, not felt, his fierce embrace. + For on her own she knew no hand + When caging it he seemed to stand, + And round her waist felt not the warm + Sheltered peace of the belting arm + She saw him clasp withal. When rained + His words upon her, or eyes strained + As though her inmost shrine to pierce + Where hid her heart of hearts, her ears + Conceived, although her body sweet + Might never feel a young life beat + And leap within it. Ah, what cry + That mistress e'er heard poet sigh + Could voice thy beauty? Or what chant + Of music be thy ministrant? + Since thou art Music, poesy + Must both thy spouse and increase be! + + In the hot dust, where lizards crouch + And pant, he made her bridal couch; + Thither down drew her to his side + And, phantom, taught her to be bride + With words so ardent, looks so hot + She needs must feel what she had not, + Guess herself in beleaguered bed + And throb response. Thus she was wed. + As she whom Zeus loved in a cloud, + So lay she in her lover's shroud, + And o'er her members crept the chill + We know when mist creeps up a hill + Out of the vale at eve. As grows + The ivy, rooting as it goes, + In such a quick close envelope + She lay aswoon, nor guessed the scope + Nor tether of his hot intent, + Nor what to that inert she lent, + Save when at last with half-turned head + And glimmering eyes, encompasséd + She saw herself, a bride possest + By ghostly bridegroom, held and prest + To unfelt bosom, saw his mouth + Against her own, which to his drouth + Gave no allay that she could sense, + Nor took of her sweet recompense. + So moved by pity, stirred by rue, + Out of their onslaught young love grew. + Love that with delicate tongues of fire + Can kindle hearts inflamed desire + In her for him who needed it; + And so she claimed and by eyes' wit + Had what she would: and now made war, + Being, as all sweet women are, + Prudes till Love calls them, and then fierce + In love's high calling. Thus with her ears + She fed on love, and to her eyes + Lent deeds of passionate emprise-- + Till at the last, the shadowy strife + Ended, she owned herself all wife. + + High mating of the mind! O love, + Since this must be, on this she throve! + Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle, + Since this must be, O love, let be! + +_1911._ + + + + +OREITHYIA + + + Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried + To stormy Thrace from Athens where you tarried + Down by Ilissus all a blowy day + Among the asphodels, how rapt away + Thither, and in what frozen bed wert married? + + "I was a King's tall daughter still unwed, + Slim and desirable my locks to shed + Free from the fillet. He my maiden belt + Undid with busy fingers hid but felt, + And made me wife upon no marriage bed. + + "As idly there I lay alone he came + And blew upon my side, and beat a flame + Into my cheeks, and kindled both my eyes. + I suffered him who took no bodily guise: + The light clouds know whether I was to blame. + + "Into my mouth he blew an amorous breath; + I panted, but lay still, as quiet as death. + The whispering planes and sighing grasses know + Whether it was the wind that loved me so: + I know not--only this, 'O love,' he saith, + + "'O long beset with love, and overloved, + O easy saint, untempted and unproved, + O walking stilly virgin ways in hiding, + Come out, thou art too choice for such abiding! + She never valued ease who never roved. + + "'Thou mayst not see thy lover, but he now + Is here, and claimeth thy low moonlit brow, + Thy wonderful eyes, and lips that part and pout, + And polished throat that like a flower shoots out + From thy dark vesture folded and crossed low.' + + "With that he had his way and went his way; + For Gods have mastery, and a maiden's nay + Grows faint ere it is whispered all. I sped + Homeward with startled face and tiptoe tread, + And up the stair, and in my chamber lay. + + "Crouching I lay and quaked, and heard the wind + Wail round the house like a mad thing confined, + And had no rest; turn wheresoe'er I would + This urgent lover stormed my solitude + And beat against the haven of my mind. + + "And over all a clamour and dis-ease + Filled earth and air, and shuddered in my knees + So that I could not stand, but by the wall + Leaned pitifully breathing. Still his call + Volleyed against the house and tore the trees. + + "Then out my turret-window as I might + I leaned my body to the blind wet night; + That eager lover leapt me, circled round, + Wreathed, folded, held me prisoner, wrapt and bound + In manacles of terror and delight. + + "That night he sealed me to him, and I went + Thenceforth his leman, submiss and content; + So from the hall and feast, whenas I heard + His clear voice call, I flitted like a bird + That beats the brake, and garnered what he lent. + + "I was no maid that was no wife; my days + Went by in dreams whose lights are golden haze + And skies are crimson. Laughing not, nor crying, + I strayed all witless with my loose hair flying, + Bearing that load that women think their praise. + + "And felt my breasts grow heavy with that food + That women laugh to feel and think it good; + But I went shamefast, hanging down my head, + With girdle all too strait to serve my stead, + And bore an unguessed burden in my blood. + + "There was a winter night he came again + And shook the window, till cried out my pain + Unto him, saying, 'Lord, I dare not live! + Lord, I must die of that which thou didst give! + Pity me, Lord!' and fell. The winter rain + + "Beat at the casement, burst it, and the wind + Filled all the room, and swept me white and blind + Into the night. I heard the sound of seas + Beleaguer earth, I heard the roaring trees + Singing together. We left them far behind. + + "And so he bore me into stormy Thrace, + Me and my load, and kissed back to my face + The sweet new blood of youth, and to my limbs + The wine of life; and there I bore him twins, + Zethes and Calaïs, in a rock-bound place." + + Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried + To stormy Thrace, think you of how you tarried + And let him woo and wed? "Ah, no, for now + He's kissed all Athens from my open brow. + I am the Wind's wife, wooed and won and married." + +_1897._ + + + + +CLYTIÉ + + + Hearken, O passers, what thing + Fortuned in Hellas. A maid, + Lissom and white as the roe, + Lived recess'd in a glade. + Clytié, Hamadryad, + She was called that I sing-- + Flower so fair, so frail, that to bring her a woe, + Surely a pitiful thing! + + A wild bright creature of trees, + Brooks, and the sun among leaves, + Clytié, grown to be maid: + Ah, she had eyes like the sea's + Iris of green and blue! + White as sea-foam her brows, + And her hair reedy and gold: + So she grew and waxt supple and fit to be spouse + In a king's palace of old. + + All in a kirtle of green, + With her tangle of red-gold hair, + In the live heart of an oak, + Clytié, harbouring there, + Thronéd there as a queen, + Clytié wondering woke: + Ah, child, what set thee too high for thy sweet demesne, + And who ponder'd the doleful stroke? + + For the child that was maiden grown, + The queen of the forest places, + Clytié, Hamadryad, + Tired of the joy she had, + And the kingdom that was her own; + And tired of the quick wood-races, + And joy of herself in the pool when she wonder'd down, + And tired of her budded graces. + + And the child lookt up to the Sun + And the burning track of his car + In the broad serene above her: + "O King Sun, be thou my lover, + For my beauty is just begun. + I am fresh and fair as a star; + Come, lie where the lilies are: + Behold, I am fair and dainty and white all over, + And I waste in the wood unknown!" + + Rose-flusht, daring, she strain'd + Her young arms up, and she voiced + The wild desire of her heart. + The woodland heard her, the faun, + The satyr, and things that start, + Peering, heard her; the dove, crooning, complain'd + In the pine-tree by the lawn. + Only the runnel rejoiced + In his rushy hollow apart + To see her beauty flash up + White and red as the dawn. + + Sorrow, ye passers-by, + The quick lift of her word, + The crimson blush of her pride! + Heard her the heavens' lord + In his flaming seat in the sky: + "Overbold of her years that will not be denied; + She would be the Sun-God's bride!" + His brow it was like the flat of a sword, + And levin the glance of his side. + + And he bent unto her, and his mouth + Burnt her like coals of fire; + He gazed with passionate eyes, + Like flame that kindles and dries, + And his breath suckt hers as the white rage of the South + Draws life; his desire + Was like to a tiger's drouth. + What shall the slim maiden avail? + Alas, and alas for her youth! + + Tremble, O maids, that would set + Your love-longing to the Sun! + For Clytié mourn, and take heed + How she loved her king and did bleed + Ere kissing had yet begun. + For lo! one shaft from his terrible eyes she met, + And it burnt to her soul, and anon + She paled, and the fever-fret + Did bite to her bones; and wan + She fell to rueing the deed. + + Mark ye, maidens, and cower! + Lo, for an end of breath, + Clytié, hardy and frail, + Anguisht after her death. + For the Sun-flower droops and is pale + When her king hideth his power, + And ever draggeth the woe of her piteous tale, + As a woman that laboureth + Yet never reacheth the hour: + So Clytié yearns to the Sun, for her wraith + Moans in the bow'd sunflower. + + Clytié, Hamadryad, + Called was she that I sing: + Flower so fair and frail that to work her this woe, + Surely a pitiful thing! + +_1894._ + + + + +LAI OF GOBERTZ[1] + + + Of courteous Limozin wight, + Gobertz, I will indite: + From Poicebot had he his right + Of gentlehood; + Made monk in his own despite + In San Léonart the white, + Withal to sing and to write + _Coblas_ he could. + + Learning had he, and rare + Music, and _gai saber_: + No monk with him to compare + In that monast'ry. + Full lusty he was to bear + Cowl and chaplet of hair + God willeth monks for to wear + For sanctity. + + There in dortoir as he lay, + To this Gobertz, by my fay, + Came fair women to play + In his sleep; + Then he had old to pray, + Fresh and silken came they, + With eyen saucy and gray + That set him weep. + + May was the month, and soft + The singing nights; up aloft + The quarter moon swam and scoffed + His unease. + Rose this Gobertz, and doffed + His habit, and left that croft, + Crying _Eleison_ oft + At Venus' knees. + + Heartly the road and the town + Mauléon, over the down, + Sought he, and the renown + Of Savaric; + To that good knight he knelt down, + Asking of him in bown + Almesse of laurel crown + For his music. + + Fair him Savaric spake, + "If _coblas_ you know to make, + Song and music to wake + For your part, + Horse and lute shall you take + Of _Jongleur_, lightly forsake + Cloister for woodland brake + With good heart." + + Down the high month of May + Now rideth Gobertz his way + To Aix, to Puy, to Alais, + To Albi the old; + In Toulouse mindeth to stay + With Count Simon the Gay, + There to abide what day + Love shall hold. + + Shrill riseth his song: + _Cobla_, _lai_, or _tenzon_, + None can render him wrong + In that _meinie_-- + Love alone, that erelong + Showed him in all that throng + Of ladies Tibors the young, + None but she. + + She was high-hearted and fair, + Low-breasted, with hair + Gilded, and eyes of vair + In burning face: + On her Gobertz astare, + Looking, stood quaking there + To see so debonnair + Hold her place. + + Proud _donzela_ and free, + To clip nor to kiss had she + Talént, nor for minstrelsy + Was she fain; + Mistress never would be, + Nor master have; but her fee + She vowed to sweet Chastity, + Her suzerain. + + Then this Gobertz anon + Returneth to Mauléon, + To Savaric maketh moan + On his knees. + Other pray'r hath he none + Save this, "Sir, let me begone + Whence I came, since fordone + My expertise." + + Quod Savaric, "Hast thou sped + So ill in _amors_?" Answeréd + This Gobertz, "By my head, + She scorneth me." + "_Hauberc_ and arms then, instead + Of lute and begarlanded + Poll, take you," he said, + "For errantry." + + Now rides he out, a dubbed knight, + The Spanish road, for to fight + Paynimry; day and night + Urgeth he; + In Saragoza the bright, + And Pampluna with might + Seeketh he what respite + For grief there be. + + War-dimmed grew his gear, + Grim his visage; in fear + Listened Mahound his cheer + Deep in Hell. + Fled his legions to hear + Gobertz the knight draw near. + Now he closeth the year + In Compostell. + + Offering there hath he made + Saint James, candles him paid, + Gold on the shrine hath laid; + Now Gobertz + Is for Toulouse, where that maid + Tibors wonned unafraid + Of Love and his accolade + That breaketh hearts. + + He rode north and by east, + Nor rider spared he nor beast, + Nor tempered spur till at least + Forth of Spain; + Not for mass-bell nor priest, + For fast-day nor yet for feast + Stayed he, till voyage ceased + In Aquitaine. + + Now remaineth to tell + What this Gobertz befell + When that he sought hostel + In his land. + Dined he well, drank he well, + Envy then had somedeal + With women free in _bordel_ + For to spend. + + In poor _alberc_ goeth he + Where bought pleasure may be, + Careless proffereth fee + For his bliss. + O Gobertz, look to thee. + Such a sight shalt thou see + Will make the red blood to flee + Thy heart, ywis. + + Fair woman they bring him in + Shamefast in her burning sin, + All afire is his skin + _Par amors_. + Look not of her look to win, + Dare not lift up her chin, + Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing + Lo, Tibors! + + "O love, O love, out, alas! + That it should come to this pass, + And thou be even as I was + In green youth, + Whenas delight and solace + Served I with wantonness, + And burned anon like the grass + To this ruth!" + + But then lift she her sad eyes, + Gray like wet morning skies, + That wait the sun to arise, + Tears to amend. + "Gobertz, _amic_," so she cries, + "By Jesus' agonies + Hither come I by lies + Of false friend. + + "Sir Richart de Laund he hight, + Who fair promised me plight + Of word and ring, on a night + Of no fame; + So then evilly bright + Had his will and delight + Of me, and fled unrequite + For my shame! + + "Alas, and now to my thought + Flieth the woe that I wrought + Thee, Gobertz, that distraught + Thou didst fare. + Now a vile thing of nought + Fare I that once was so haught + And free, and could not be taught + By thy care." + + But Gobertz seeth no less + Her honour and her sweetness, + Soon her small hand to kiss + Taketh he, + Saying, "Now for that stress + Drave thee here thou shalt bless + God, for so ending this + Thy penury." + + Yet she would bid him away, + Seeking her sooth to say, + In what woful array + She was cast. + "Nay," said he, "but, sweet may, + Here must we bide until day: + Then to church and to pray + Go we fast." + + Now then to all his talént, + Seeing how he was bent, + Him the comfort she lent + Of her mind. + Cried Gobertz, well content, + "If love by dreariment + Cometh, that was well spent, + As I find." + + Thereafter somewhat they slept, + When to his arms she had crept + For comfort, and freely wept + Sin away. + Up betimes then he leapt, + Calling her name: forth she stept + Meek, disposed, to accept + What he say. + + By hill road taketh he her + To the gray nuns of Beaucaire, + There to shred off her hair + And take veil. + Himself to cloister will fare + Monk to be, with good care + For their two souls. May his pray'r + Them avail! + +_1911._ + +[1] I owe the substance of this _lai_ to my friend Ezra Pound, who +unearthed it, ψαμάθῳ εἰλυμένα πολλῇ, in some Provençal repertory. + + + + +THE SAINTS' MAYING + + + Since green earth is awake + Let us now pastime take, + Not serving wantonness + Too well, nor niggardness, + Which monks of men would make. + + But clothed like earth in green, + With jocund hearts and clean, + We will take hands and go + Singing where quietly blow + The flowers of Spring's demesne. + + The cuckoo haileth loud + The open sky; no cloud + Doth fleck the earth's blue tent; + The land laughs, well content + To put off winter shroud. + + Now, since 'tis Easter Day, + All Christians may have play; + The young Saints, all agaze + For Christ in Heaven's maze, + May laugh who wont to pray. + + Then welcome to our round + They light on homely ground:-- + Agnes, Saint Cecily, + Agatha, Dorothy, + Margaret, Hildegonde; + + Next come with Barbara + Lucy and Ursula; + And last, queen of the Nine, + Clear-eyed Saint Catherine + Joyful arrayeth her. + + Then chooseth each her lad, + And after frolic had + Of dance and carolling + And playing in a ring, + Seek all the woodland shade. + + And there for each his lass + Her man a nosegay has, + Which better than word spoken + Might stand to be her token + And emblem of her grace. + + For Cecily, who bent + Her slim white neck and went + To Heaven a virgin still, + The nodding daffodil, + That bends but is not shent. + + Lucy, whose wounded eyes + Opened in Heaven star-wise, + The lady-smock, whose light + Doth prank the grass with white, + Taketh for badge and prize. + + Because for Lord Christ's hest + Men shore thy warm bright breast, + Agatha, see thy part + Showed in the burning heart + Of the white crocus best. + + What fate was Barbara's + Shut in the tower of brass, + We figure and hold up + Within the stiff king-cup + That crowns the meadow grass. + + Agnes, than whose King Death + Stayed no more delicate breath + On earth, we give for dower + Wood-sorrel, that frail flower + That Spring first quickeneth. + + Dorothy, whose shrill voice + Bade Heathendom rejoice, + The sweet-breath'd cowslip hath; + And Margaret, who in death + Saw Heaven, her pearly choice. + + Then she of virgin brood + Whom Prince of Britain woo'd, + Ursula, takes by favour + The hyacinth whose savour + Enskies the sunny wood. + + Hildegonde, whose spirit high + The Cross did not deny, + Yet blusht to feel the shame, + Anemones must claim, + Whose roses early die. + + Last, she who gave in pledge + Her neck to the wheel's edge, + Taketh the fresh primrose + Which (even as she her foes) + Redeems the wintry hedge. + + 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 + + Before you pass and leave me gaunt and chill + Alone to do what I have joyed in doing + In your glad sight, suffer me, nor take ill + If I confess you prize and me pursuing. + As the rapt Tuscan lifted up his eyes + Whither his Lady led, and lived with her, + Strong in her strength, and in her wisdom wise, + Love-taught with song to be her thurifer; + So I, that may no nearer stand than he + To minister about the holy place, + Am well content to watch my Heaven in thee + And read my Credo in thy sacred face. + For even as Beatrix Dante's wreath did bind, + So, Hymnia, hast thou imparadised my mind. + + +LUX E TENEBRIS + + I thank all Gods that I can let thee go, + Lady, without one thought, one base desire + To tarnish that clear vision I gained by fire, + One stain in me I would not have thee know. + That is great might indeed that moves me so + To look upon thy Form, and yet aspire + To look not there, rather than I should mire + That wingéd Spirit that haunts and guards thy brow. + + So now I see thee go, secure in this + That what I have is thee, that whole of thee + Whereof thy fair infashioning is sign: + For I see Honour, Love, and Wholesomeness, + And striving ever to reach them, and to be + As they, I keep thee still; for they are thine. + + +DUTY + + Oh, I am weak to serve thee as I ought; + My shroud of flesh obscures thy deity, + So thy sweet Spirit that should embolden me + To shake my wings out wide, serves me for nought, + But receives tarnish, vile dishonour, wrought + By that thou earnest to bless--O agony + And unendurable shame! that, loving thee, + I dare not love, fearing my poisonous thought! + + Man is too vile for any such high grace, + For that he seeks to honour he can but mar; + So had I rather shun thy starry face + And fly the exultation to know thee near-- + For if one glance from me wrought thee a scar + 'Twould not be death, but life that I should fear. + + +WAGES + + Sometimes the spirit that never leaves me quite + Taps at my heart when thou art in the way, + Saying, Now thy Queen cometh: therefore pray, + Lest she should see thee vile, and at the sight + Shiver and fly back piteous to the light + That wanes when she is absent. Then, as I may, + I wash my soilèd hands and muttering, say, + Lord, make me clean; robe Thou me in Thy white! + + So for a brief space, clad in ecstasy, + Pure, disembodied, I fall to kiss thy feet, + And sense thy glory throbbing round about; + Whereafter, rising, I hold thee in a sweet + And gentle converse that lifts me up to be, + When thou art gone, strange to the gross world's rout. + + +EYE-SERVICE + + Meseems thine eyes are two still-folded lakes + Wherein deep water reflects the guardian sky, + Searching wherein I see how Heaven is nigh + And our broad Earth at peace. So my Love takes + My soul's thin hands and, chafing them, she makes + My life's blood lusty and my life's hope high + For the strong lips and eyes of Poesy, + To hold the world well squandered for their sakes. + + I looked thee full this day: thine unveiled eyes + Rayed their swift-searching magic forth; and then + I felt all strength that love can put in men + Whenas they know that loveliness is wise. + For love can be content with no less prize, + To lift us up beyond our mortal ken. + + +CLOISTER THOUGHTS + +(AT WESTMINSTER) + + Within these long gray shadows many dead + Lie waiting: we wait with them. Do you believe + That at the last the threadbare soul will give + All his shifts over, and stand dishevellèd, + Naked in truth? Then we shall hear it said, + "Ye two have waited long, daring to live + Grimly through days tormented; now reprieve + Awaiteth you with all these ancient dead!" + + The slope sun letteth down thro' our dark bars + His ladder from the skies. Hand fast in hand, + With quiet hearts and footsteps quiet and slow, + Like children venturous in an unknown land + We will come to the fields whose flowers are stars, + And kneeling ask, "Lord, wilt Thou crown us now?" + + + + +THE CHAMBER IDYLL + + + The blue night falleth, the moon + Is over the hill; make fast, + Fasten the latch, I am tired: come soon, + Come! I would sleep at last + In your bosom, my love, my love! + + The airy chamber above + Has the lattice ajar, that night + May breathe upon you and me, my love, + And the moon bless our marriage-rite-- + Come, lassy, to bed, to bed! + + The roof-thatch overhead + Shall cover the stars' bright eyes; + The fleecy quilt shall be coverlid + For your meek virginities, + And your wedding, my bride, my bride! + + See, we are side to side, + Virgin in deed and name-- + Come, for love will not be denied, + Tarry not, have no shame: + Are we not man and bride? + +_1894._ + + + + +EPIGRAMMATA + +1910 + + +THE OLD HOUSE + + Mossy gray stands the House, four-square to the wind, + Embosomed in the hills. The garden old + Of yew and box and fishpond speaks her mind, + Sweet-ordered, quaint, recluse, fold within fold + Of quietness; but true and choice and kind-- + A sober casket for a heart of gold. + + +BLUE IRIS + + Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue + The Ægean; and the shafted sun thro' them, + That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue + Rayed from her iris's deep diadem. + + +THE ROSEBUD + + In June I brought her roses, and she cupt + One slim bud in her hand and cherisht it, + And put it to her mouth. Rose and she supt + Each other's sweetness; but the flower was lit + By her kind eyes, and glowed. Then in her breast + She laid it blushing, warm and doubly blest. + + +SPRING ON THE DOWN + + When Spring blows o'er the land, and sunlight flies + Across the hills, we take the upland way. + I have her waist, the wooing wind her eyes + And lips and cheeks. His kissing makes her gay + As flowers. "Thou hast two lovers, O my dear," + Say I; and she, "He takes what thou dost fear." + + +SNOWY NIGHT + + The snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch; + I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch, + Shows me her eyes--O frozen stars, they shine + Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine. + + +EVENING MOOD + + Late, when the sun was smouldering down the west, + She took my arm and laid her cheek to me; + The fainting twilight held her, and I guess'd + All she would tell, but could not let me see-- + Wonder and joy, the rising of her breast, + And confidence, and still expectancy. + + +THE PARTING + + Breathless was she and would not have us part: + "Adieu, my Saint," I said, "'tis come to this." + But she leaned to me, one hand at her heart, + And all her soul sighed trembling in a kiss. + + + + +DEDICATION OF A BOOK + + + To the Fountain of my long Dream, + To the Chalice of all my Sorrow, + To the Lamp held up, and the Stream + Of Light that beacons the Morrow; + + To the Bow, the Quiver and Dart, + To the Bridle-rein, to the Yoke + Proudly upborne, to the Heart + On Fire, to the Mercy-stroke; + + To Apollo herding his Cattle, + To Proserpina grave in Dis; + To the high Head in the Battle, + And the Crown--I consecrate this. + +_1911._ + + + + +_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. + + + + + BY MAURICE HEWLETT + + THE AGONISTS + + A TRILOGY OF GOD AND MAN + + MINOS KING OF CRETE, ARIADNE IN NAXOS, + THE DEATH OF HIPPOLYTUS + + _Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net._ + +_SPECTATOR._--"The three plays have throughout a high level of dramatic +interest, and they have moments of great tragic beauty.... It is not a +book of sporadic beauties, for its most remarkable quality is its unity +of interest and effect. The chorus has many passages of lyrical charm +... but it is the great story which moves us most deeply, the stress of +dramatic and logical sequence, so that we have no time to notice the art +of it all. This is a high tribute to Mr. Hewlett's technical skill. At +its best the irregular verse has a sharp freshness which the more +orthodox metres could scarcely give." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"The poetry is full of music, yet refreshingly free +from monotony, and in passages when swift broken phrases are of the +essence of the atmosphere the effect is splendidly dramatic and austere. +Mr. Hewlett is to be congratulated upon a high success in a field of the +worthiest enterprise." + +_OBSERVER._--"There is no single passage that can fail to charm when +read aloud, woven with magic of rhythm, and music of phrase. It is a +great heroic subject, nobly conceived, and finely and thoughtfully +executed." + +_BLACK AND WHITE._--"_The Agonists_ is more than fine verse; it is +literature impregnated with the purest fragrance of the classic spirit." + +_DAILY EXPRESS._--"There is real drama in _The Agonists_, and there is +much splendid beauty." + +_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--"Of the beauty of a great deal of the poetry it is +difficult to speak too highly." + +_STANDARD._--"The imaginative grasp of these dramas, as well as their +lyric charm, is unquestionable, and so also is the rare skill with which +the strife of elemental passions is described and the action of the +relentless laws which made men of old regard life as the sport of the +gods." + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. + + + + +BY MAURICE HEWLETT + +_Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ + + +THE FOREST LOVERS: A ROMANCE. + +_SPECTATOR._--"_The Forest Lovers_ is no mere literary _tour de force_, +but an uncommonly attractive romance, the charm of which is greatly +enhanced by the author's excellent style." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"Mr. Maurice Hewlett's _The Forest Lovers_ stands +out with conspicuous success.... There are few books of this season +which achieve their aim so simply and whole-heartedly as Mr. Hewlett's +ingenious and enthralling romance." + + +THE SONG OF RENNY. + +_EVENING STANDARD._--"Mr. Hewlett has produced a remarkable series of +historical novels, and _The Song of Renny_ is one of the best of +them.... An admirable romance, full of 'go' and colour and good temper." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"Mr. Hewlett is mounted upon his Pegasus again, +riding full tilt against a rushing wind, with the moonlight of +imagination playing glorious tricks upon all the marvellous sights +around him." + + +THE QUEEN'S QUAIR: OR, THE SIX YEARS' TRAGEDY. + +_ATHENÆUM._--"A fine book, fine not only for its extraordinary wealth of +incidental beauties, but also for the consistency of conception and the +tolerant humanity with which its main theme is put before you." + +_WESTMINSTER GAZETTE._--"That Mr. Maurice Hewlett would give us a +flaming, wonderful picture of Queen Mary was a foregone conclusion." + + +RICHARD YEA-AND-NAY. + +Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON in _THE FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW_.--"Such historic +imagination, such glowing colour, such crashing speed, set forth in such +pregnant form, carry me away spell-bound." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"The story carries us along as though throughout we +were galloping on strong horses. There is a rush and fervour about it +all which sweeps us off our feet till the end is reached, and the tale +is done. It is very clever, very spirited." + + +LITTLE NOVELS OF ITALY. + +_DAILY CHRONICLE._--"And even such as fail to understand, will very +certainly enjoy--enjoy the sometimes gay and sometimes biting humour, +the deft delineation, the fine quality of colour, the delicately-flavoured +phrasing." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"The most finished studies which have appeared since +some of the essays of Walter Pater." + + +OPEN COUNTRY: A COMEDY WITH A STING. + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"_Open Country_ is a beautiful bit of work, a work +that is inspired through and through with a genuine love for what is +pure and beautiful. Mr. Hewlett's main figures have not only a wonderful +charm in themselves, but they are noble, simple, and true-hearted +creatures. Sanchia, the heroine, is a divine creation." + +_EVENING STANDARD._--"_Open Country_ is an important book and a fine +novel." + + +REST HARROW: A COMEDY OF RESOLUTION. + +_DAILY NEWS._--"_Rest Harrow_ has not only the effect of providing an +æsthetically logical conclusion to the motives of _Open Country_, but it +throws back a radiant retrospective influence, enhancing the value of +what has preceded it.... In many ways the best piece of work Mr. Hewlett +has done." + +_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--"The present book certainly sustains the charm of +_Open Country_ without any faltering of dramatic movement." + + +THE STOOPING LADY. + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"A wondrously beautiful piece of fiction, gallant +and romantic, a high treat for lovers of good reading." + +_WORLD._--"A rarely picturesque and beautiful production." + +_EVENING STANDARD._--"A story which fascinates him who reads." + + +MRS. LANCELOT: A COMEDY OF ASSUMPTIONS. + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"The story, as a whole, sustains a lofty level of +creative vigour, and is dignified, moreover, with something of the epic +flavour, as the old order is seen breaking up under the advance of new +ideas and revolutionary enthusiasms.... Among the best books that the +present age is likely to produce." + +_DAILY GRAPHIC._--"The best work of its kind since Meredith." + + +FOND ADVENTURES: TALES OF THE YOUTH OF THE WORLD. + +_SPECTATOR._--"The materials for romance provided by this period (the +Renaissance) are inexhaustibly rich, and Mr. Maurice Hewlett is +admirably equipped for the task of reconstituting many of its phases." + +_EVENING STANDARD._--"The present volume is a rich mine of beauty. It +contains four fine romantic tales." + + +NEW CANTERBURY TALES. + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. + + + + + NEW TWO-SHILLING EDITION + + OF + + THE NOVELS OF + MAURICE HEWLETT + + In Cloth binding. Crown 8vo. 2s. net each. + + +1. THE FOREST LOVERS. + +2. THE QUEEN'S QUAIR. + +3. LITTLE NOVELS OF ITALY. + +4. RICHARD YEA-AND-NAY. + +5. THE STOOPING LADY. + +6. FOND ADVENTURES. + +7. NEW CANTERBURY TALES. + +8. HALFWAY HOUSE. + +9. OPEN COUNTRY: A COMEDY WITH A STING. + +10. REST HARROW: A COMEDY OF RESOLUTION. + + +_ATHENÆUM._--"The Two-shilling Series deserves exceptional praise for +its handiness and excellent type." + +_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--"An enterprise to be welcomed by all lovers of +good literature." + +_DAILY MAIL._--"This cheap and handsome edition is very welcome." + +_WORLD._--"Extremely attractive edition.... Notable examples of what can +nowadays be achieved in the way of handsome book-production at +surprisingly moderate prices." + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. + + + + +BY MAURICE HEWLETT + + +A MASQUE OF DEAD FLORENTINES. + + WHEREIN SOME OF DEATH'S CHOICEST PIECES, AND THE GREAT GAME THAT HE + PLAYED THEREWITH, ARE FRUITFULLY SET FORTH. 4to. 10s. net. + + +THE FOREST LOVERS. + + With 16 Illustrations in Colour by A. S. HARTRICK. 8vo. 5s. net. + + +LETTERS TO SANCHIA UPON THINGS AS THEY ARE. + + EXTRACTED FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF MR. JOHN MAXWELL SENHOUSE. + Crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. net. + + +THE ROAD IN TUSCANY: A COMMENTARY. + + Illustrated by JOSEPH PENNELL. Extra Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. + +_TIMES._--"Its vividness is extraordinary; there is no one quite like +Mr. Hewlett for seizing all the colour and character of a place in half +a dozen words.... An admirable book.... Mr. Pennell's profuse +illustrations to this book are very attractive." + + +EARTHWORK OUT OF TUSCANY. + + BEING IMPRESSIONS AND TRANSLATIONS OF MAURICE HEWLETT. Globe 8vo. + 4s. net. + +_OBSERVER._--"This re-issue of Mr. Hewlett's beautiful book comes to us +as one of the pleasant Eversley Series--a form in which it may be hoped, +for the sake of the reading world, that it is to make many new friends." + + +_Pott 8vo. Cloth. 7d. net each._ + +THE FOREST LOVERS. + +THE STOOPING LADY. + + +_Medium 8vo. Sewed. 6d. each._ + +THE FOREST LOVERS. + +RICHARD YEA-AND-NAY. + +THE QUEEN'S QUAIR. + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. + + + + +COMPLETE EDITIONS OF THE POETS. + +_Uniform Edition. In Green Cloth. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. each._ + + +THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + +With a Portrait engraved on Steel by G. J. STODART. + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD. + +With a Portrait engraved on Steel by G. J. STODART. + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + +With Introduction by THOMAS HUGHES, and a Portrait. + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. + +Edited by Professor DOWDEN. With a Portrait. + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + +Edited, with a Biographical Introduction, by J. DYKES CAMPBELL. Portrait +as Frontispiece. + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + +With Introduction by JOHN MORLEY, and a Portrait. + + +THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF T. E. BROWN. + +With a Portrait; and an Introduction by W. E. HENLEY. + + +THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. + +With Introduction, Memoir, and Notes, by W. M. ROSSETTI. + + +THE DYNASTS. An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon. + +By THOMAS HARDY. Three Parts in One Vol. + + * * * * * + +THE BAB BALLADS, with which are included Songs of a Savoyard. + +By Sir W. S. GILBERT. Sixth Edition. Illustrated. + + +THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. + +With 20 Illustrations on Steel by CRUIKSHANK, LEECH, and BARHAM. + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Helen Redeemed and Other Poems, by Maurice Hewlett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN REDEEMED AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 22803-0.txt or 22803-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/0/22803/ + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |