SONG.

O pensive, tender maid, downcast and shy, Who turnest pale e'en at the name of love, And with flushed face must pass the elm-tree by Ashamed to hear the passionate grey dove

Moan to his mate, thee too the god shall move, Thee too the maidens shall ungird one day, And with thy girdle put thy shame away. What then, and shall white winter ne'er be done

Because the glittering frosty morn is fair? Because against the early-setting sun Bright show the gilded boughs though waste and bare? Because the robin singeth free from care?

Ah! these are memories of a better day When on earth's face the lips of summer lay. Come then, beloved one, for such as thee Love loveth, and their hearts he knoweth well,

Who hoard their moments of felicity, As misers hoard the medals that they tell, Lest on the earth but paupers they should dwell: “We hide our love to bless another day;

The world is hard, youth passes quick,” they say. Ah, little ones, but if ye could forget Amidst your outpoured love that you must die, Then ye, my servants, were death's conquerors yet,

And love to you should be eternity How quick soever might the days go by: Yes, ye are made immortal on the day Ye cease the dusty grains of time to weigh.

Thou hearkenest, love? O, make no semblance then That thou art loved, but as thy custom is Turn thy grey eyes away from eyes of men, With hands down-dropped, that tremble with thy bliss,

With hidden eyes, take thy first lover's kiss; Call this eternity which is to-day, Nor dream that this our love can pass away. They ceased, and Psyche pondering o'er their song,

Not fearing now that aught would do her wrong, About the chambers wandered at her will, And on the many marvels gazed her fill, Where'er she passed still noting everything,

Then in the gardens heard the new birds sing And watched the red fish in the fountains play, And at the very faintest time of day Upon the grass lay sleeping for a while

Midst heaven-sent dreams of bliss that made her smile; And when she woke the shades were lengthening, So to the place where she had heard them sing She came again, and through a little door

Entered a chamber with a marble floor, Open a-top unto the outer air, Beneath which lay a bath of water fair, Paved with strange stones and figures of bright gold,

And from the steps thereof could she behold The slim-leaved trees against the evening sky Golden and calm, still moving languidly. So for a time upon the brink she sat,

Debating in her mind of this and that, And then arose and slowly from her cast Her raiment, and adown the steps she passed Into the water, and therein she played,

Till of herself at last she grew afraid, And of the broken image of her face, And the loud splashing in that lonely place. So from the bath she gat her quietly,

And clad herself in whatso haste might be; And when at last she was apparelled Unto a chamber came, where was a bed Of gold and ivory, and precious wood

Some island bears where never man has stood; And round about hung curtains of delight, Wherein were interwoven Day and Night Joined by the hands of Love, and round their wings

Knots of fair flowers no earthly May-time brings. Strange for its beauty was the coverlet, With birds and beasts and flowers wrought over it; And every cloth was made in daintier wise

Than any man on earth could well devise: Yea, there such beauty was in everything, That she, the daughter of a mighty king, Felt strange therein, and trembled lest that she,

Deceived by dreams, had wandered heedlessly Into a bower for some fair goddess made. Yet if perchance some man had thither strayed, It had been long ere he had noted aught

But her sweet face, made pensive by the thought Of all the wonders that she moved in there. But looking round, upon a table fair She saw a book wherein old tales were writ,

And by the window sat, to read in it Until the dusk had melted into night, When waxen tapers did her servants light With unseen hands, until it grew like day.

And so at last upon the bed she lay, And slept a dreamless sleep for weariness, Forgetting all the wonder and distress. But at the dead of night she woke, and heard

A rustling noise, and grew right sore afeard, Yea, could not move a finger for affright; And all was darker now than darkest night. Withal a voice close by her did she hear.

“Alas, my love! why tremblest thou with fear, While I am trembling with new happiness? Forgive me, sweet, thy terror and distress: Not otherwise could this our meeting be.

O loveliest! such bliss awaiteth thee, For all thy trouble and thy shameful tears. Such nameless honour, and such happy years, As fall not unto women of the earth.

Loved as thou art, thy short-lived pains are worth The glory and the joy unspeakable Wherein the Treasure of the World shall dwell: A little hope, a little patience yet,

Ere everything thou wilt, thou may'st forget, Or else remember as a well-told tale, That for some pensive pleasure may avail. Canst thou not love me, then, who wrought thy woe,

That thou the height and depth of joy mightst know?” He spoke, and as upon the bed she lay, Trembling amidst new thoughts, he sent a ray Of finest love unto her inmost heart,

Till, murmuring low, she strove the night to part, And like a bride who meets her love at last, When the long days of yearning are o'erpast, She reached to him her perfect arms unseen,

And said, “O Love, how wretched I have been! What hast thou done?” And by her side he lay. Till just before the dawning of the day. The sun was high when Psyche woke again,

And turning to the place where he had lain And seeing no one, doubted of the thing That she had dreamed it, till a fair gold ring, Unseen before, upon her hand she found,

And touching her bright head she felt it crowned With a bright circlet; then withal she sighed. And wondered how the oracle had lied, And wished her father knew it, and straightway

Rose up and clad herself. Slow went the day, Though helped with many a solace, till came night; And therewithal the new, unseen delight, She learned to call her Love.

So passed away The days and nights, until upon a day As in the shade, at noon she lay asleep. She dreamed that she beheld her sisters weep,

And her old father clad in sorry guise, Grown foolish with the weight of miseries, Her friends black-clad and moving mournfully, And folk in wonder landed from the sea,

At such a fall of such a matchless maid, And in some press apart her raiment laid Like precious relics, and an empty tomb Set in the palace telling of her doom.

Therefore she wept in sleep, and woke with tears Still on her face, and wet hair round her ears, And went about unhappily that day, Framing a gentle speech wherewith to pray

For leave to see her sisters once again, That they might know her happy, and her pain Turned all to joy, and honour come from shame. And so at last night and her lover came,

And midst their fondling, suddenly she said, “O Love, a little time we have been wed, And yet I ask a boon of thee this night.” “Psyche,” he said, “if my heart tells me right,

This thy desire may bring us bitter woe, For who the shifting chance of fate can know? Yet, forasmuch as mortal hearts are weak, To-morrow shall my folk thy sisters seek,

And bear them hither; but before the day Is fully ended must they go away. And thou — beware — for, fresh and good and true, Thou knowest not what worldly hearts may do,

Or what a curse gold is unto the earth. Beware lest from thy full heart, in thy mirth, Thou tell'st the story of thy love unseen: Thy loving, simple heart, fits not a queen.”

Then by her kisses did she know he frowned, But close about him her fair arms she wound, Until for happiness he‘ gan to smile, And in those arms forgat all else awhile.

So the next day, for joy that they should come, Would Psyche further deck her strange new home, And even as she‘ gan to think the thought, Quickly her will by unseen hands was wrought,

Who came and went like thoughts. Yea, how should I Tell of the works of gold and ivory, The gems and images, those hands brought there The prisoned things of earth, and sea, and air,

They brought to please their mistress? Many a beast, Such as King Bacchus in his reckless feast Makes merry with — huge elephants, snow-white With gilded tusks, or dusky-grey with bright

And shining chains about their wrinkled necks; The mailed rhinoceros, that of nothing recks; Dusky-maned lions; spotted leopards fair That through the cane-brake move, unseen as air;

The deep-mouthed tiger, dread of the brown man; The eagle, and the peacock, and the swan — — These be the nobles of the birds and beasts. But therewithal, for laughter at their feasts,

They brought them the gods’ jesters, such as be Quick-chattering apes, that yet in mockery Of anxious men wrinkle their ugly brows; Strange birds with pouches, birds with beaks like prows

Of merchant-ships, with tufted crests like threads, With unimaginable monstrous heads. Lo, such as these, in many a gilded cage They brought, or chained for fear of sudden rage.

Then strewed they scented branches on the floor, And hung rose-garlands up by the great door, And wafted incense through the bowers and halls, And hung up fairer hangings on the walls,

And filled the baths with water fresh and clear, And in the chambers laid apparel fair, And spread a table for a royal feast. Then when from all these labours they had ceased,

Psyche they sung to sleep with lullabies; Who slept not long, but opening soon her eyes, Beheld her sisters on the threshold stand: Then did she run to take them by the hand,

And laid her cheek to theirs, and murmured words Of little meaning, like the moan of birds, While they bewildered stood and gazed around, Like people who in some strange land have found

One that they thought not of; but she at last Stood back, and from her face the strayed locks cast, And, smiling through her tears, said, “Ah, that ye Should have to weep such useless tears for me!

Alas, the burden that the city bears For nought! O me, my father's burning tears, That into all this honour I am come! Nay, does he live yet? Is the ancient home

Still standing? do the galleys throng the quays? Do the brown Indians glitter down the ways With rubies as of old? Yes, yes, ye smile, For ye are thinking, but a little while

Apart from these has she been dwelling here; Truly, yet long enough, loved ones and dear, To make me other than I was of old, Though now when your dear faces I behold

Am I myself again. But by what road Have ye been brought to this my new abode?” “Sister,” said one, “I rose up from my bed It seems this morn, and being apparelléd,

And walking in my garden, in a swoon Helpless and unattended I sank down, Wherefrom I scarce am waked, for as a dream Dost thou with all this royal glory seem,

But for thy kisses and thy words, O love.” “Yea, Psyche,” said the other, “as I drove The ivory shuttle through the shuttle-race, All was changed suddenly, and in this place

I found myself, and standing on my feet, Where me with sleepy words this one did greet. Now, sister, tell us whence these wonders come With all the godlike splendour of your home.”

“Sisters,” she said, “more marvels shall ye see When ye, have been a little while with me, Whereof I cannot tell you more than this That‘ midst them all I dwell in ease and bliss,

Well loved and wedded to a mighty lord, Fair beyond measure, from whose loving word I know that happier days await me yet. But come, my sisters, let us now forget

To seek for empty knowledge; ye shall take Some little gifts for your lost sister's sake; And whatso wonders ye may see or hear Of nothing frightful have ye any fear.”

Wondering they went with her, and looking round, Each in the other's eyes a strange look found, For these, her mother's daughters, had no part In her divine fresh singleness of heart,

But longing to be great, remembered not How short a time one heart on earth has got. But keener still that guarded look now grew As more of that strange lovely place they knew,

And as with growing hate, but still afeard, The unseen choirs’ heart-softening strains they heard, Which did but harden these; and when at noon They sought the shaded waters’ freshening boon,

And all unhidden once again they saw That peerless beauty, free from any flaw, Which now at last had won its precious meed, Her kindness then but fed the fire of greed

Within their hearts — her gifts, the rich attire Wherewith she clad them, where like sparks of fire The many-coloured gems shone midst the pearls The soft silks’ winding lines, the work of girls

By the Five Rivers; their fair marvellous crowns, Their sandals’ fastenings worth the rent of towns, Zones and carved rings, and nameless wonders fair, All things her faithful slaves had brought them there,

Given amid kisses, made them not more glad; Since in their hearts the ravening worm they had That love slays not, nor yet is satisfied While aught but he has aught; yet still they tried

To look as they deemed loving folk should look, And still with words of love her bounty took. So at the last all being apparelléd, Her sisters to the banquet Psyche led,

Fair were they, and each seemed a glorious queen With all that wondrous daintiness beseen, But Psyche clad in gown of dusky blue Little adorned, with deep grey eyes that knew

The hidden marvels of Love's holy fire, Seemed like the soul of innocent desire, Shut from the mocking world, wherefrom those twain Seemed come to lure her thence with labour vain.

Now having reached the place where they should eat, Ere‘ neath the canopy the three took seat, The eldest sister unto Psyche said, “And he, dear love, the man that thou hast wed,

Will he not wish to-day thy kin to see? Then could we tell of thy felicity The better, to our folk and father dear.” Then Psyche reddened, “Nay, he is not here,”

She stammered, “neither will be here to-day, For mighty matters keep him far away.” “Alas!” the younger sister said, “Say then, What is the likeness of this first of men;

What sayest thou about his loving eyne, Are his locks black, or golden-red as thine?” “Black-haired like me,” said Psyche stammering, And looking round, “what say I? like the king

Who rules the world, he seems to me at least — Come, sisters, sit, and let us make good feast! My darling and my love ye shall behold I doubt not soon, his crispy hair of gold,

His eyes unseen; and ye shall hear his voice, That in my joy ye also may rejoice.” Then did they hold their peace, although indeed Her stammering haste they did not fail to heed.

But at their wondrous royal feast they sat Thinking their thoughts, and spoke of this or that Between the bursts of music, until when The sun was leaving the abodes of men;

And then must Psyche to her sisters say That she was bid, her husband being away, To suffer none at night to harbour there, No, not the mother that her body bare

Or father that begat her, therefore they Must leave her now, till some still happier day. And therewithal more precious gifts she brought Whereof not e'en in dreams they could have thought

Things whereof noble stories might be told; And said; “These matters that you here behold Shall be the worst of gifts that you shall have; Farewell, farewell! and may the high gods save

Your lives and fame; and tell our father dear Of all the honour that I live in here, And how that greater happiness shall come When I shall reach a long-enduring home.”

Then these, though burning through the night to stay, Spake loving words, and went upon their way, When weeping she had kissed them; but they wept Such tears as traitors do, for as they stepped

Over the threshold, in each other's eyes They looked, for each was eager to surprise The envy that their hearts were filled withal, That to their lips came welling up like gall.

“So,” said the first, “this palace without folk, These wonders done with none to strike a stroke. This singing in the air, and no one seen, These gifts too wonderful for any queen,

The trance wherein we both were wrapt away, And set down by her golden house to-day — — These are the deeds of gods, and not of men; And fortunate the day was to her, when

Weeping she left the house where we were born, And all men deemed her shamed and most forlorn.” Then said the other, reddening in her rage, “She is the luckiest one of all this age;

And yet she might have told us of her case, What god it is that dwelleth in the place, Nor sent us forth like beggars from her gate. And beggarly, O sister, is our fate,

Whose husbands wring from miserable hinds What the first battle scatters to the winds; While she to us whom from her door she drives And makes of no account or honour, gives

Such wonderful and priceless gifts as these, Fit to bedeck the limbs of goddesses! And yet who knows but she may get a fall? The strongest tower has not the highest wall,

Think well of this, when you sit safe at home By this unto the river were they come, Where waited Zephyrus unseen, who cast A languor over them that quickly passed

Into deep sleep, and on the grass they sank; Then straightway did he lift them from the bank, And quickly each in her fair house set down, Then flew aloft above the sleeping town.

Long in their homes they brooded over this, And how that Psyche nigh a goddess is; While all folk deemed that she quite lost had been For nought they said of all that they had seen.

But now that night when she, with many a kiss, Had told their coming, and of that and this That happed, he said, “These things, O Love, are well; Glad am I that no evil thing befell.

And yet, between thy father's house and me Must thou choose now; then either royally Shalt thou go home, and wed some king at last, And have no harm for all that here has passed;

Or else, my love, bear as thy brave heart may, This loneliness in hope of that fair day, Which, by my head, shall come to thee; and then Shalt thou be glorious to the sons of men,

And by my side shalt sit in such estate That in all time all men shall sing thy fate.” But with that word such love through her he breathed, That round about him her fair arms she wreathed;

And so with loving passed the night away, And with fresh hope came on the fresh May-day. And so passed many a day and many a night. And weariness was balanced with delight,

And into such a mind was Psyche brought, That little of her father's house she thought, But ever of the happy day to come When she should go unto her promised home.

Till she that threw the golden apple down Upon the board, and lighted up Troy town, On dusky wings came flying o'er the place, And seeing Psyche with her happy face

Asleep beneath some fair tree blossoming, Into her sleep straight cast an evil thing; Whereby she dreamed she saw her father laid Panting for breath beneath the golden shade

Of his great bed's embroidered canopy, And with his last breath moaning heavily Her name and fancied woes; thereat she woke, And this ill dream through all her quiet broke,

And when next morn her Love from her would go, And going, as it was his wont to do, Would kiss her sleeping, he must find the tears Filling the hollows of her rosy ears

And wetting half the golden hair that lay Twixt him and her: then did he speak and say, “O Love, why dost thou lie awake and weep, Who for content shouldst have good heart to sleep

This cold hour ere the dawning?” Nought she said, But wept aloud. Then cried he, “By my head! Whate'er thou wishest I will do for thee; Yea, if it make an end of thee and me.”

“O Love,” she said, “I scarce dare ask again, Yet is there in mine heart an aching pain To know what of my father is become: So would I send my sisters to my home,

Because I doubt indeed they never told Of all my honour in this house of gold; And now of them a great oath would I take.” He said, “Alas! and hast thou been awake

For them indeed? who in my arms asleep Mightst well have been; for their sakes didst thou weep, Who mightst have smiled to feel my kiss on thee? Yet as thou wishest once more shall it be,

Because my oath constrains me, and thy tears. And yet again beware, and make these fears Of none avail; nor waver any more, I pray thee: for already to the shore

Of all delights and joys thou drawest nigh.” He spoke, and from the chamber straight did fly To highest heaven, and going softly then, Wearied the father of all gods and men

With prayers for Psyche's immortality. Meantime went Zephyrus across the sea, To bring her sisters to her arms again, Though of that message little was he fain,

Knowing their malice and their cankered hearts. For now these two had thought upon their parts And made up a false tale for Psyche's ear; For when awaked, to her they drew anear,

Sobbing, their faces in their hands they hid, Nor when she asked them why this thing they did Would answer aught, till trembling Psyche said, “Nay, nay, what is it? is our father dead?

Or do ye weep these tears for shame that ye Have told him not of my felicity, To make me weep amidst my new-found bliss? Be comforted, for short the highway is

To my forgiveness: this day shall ye go And take him gifts, and tell him all ye know Of this my unexpected happy lot.” Amidst fresh sobs one said, “We told him not

But by good counsel did we hide the thing, Deeming it well that he should feel the sting For once, than for awhile be glad again, And after come to suffer double pain.”

“Alas! what mean you, sister?” Psyche said, For terror waxing pale as are the dead. “O sister, speak!” “Child, by this loving kiss,” Spake one of them, “and that remembered bliss

We dwelt in when our mother was alive, Or ever we began with ills to strive, By all the hope thou hast to see again Our aged father and to soothe his pain,

I charge thee tell me,— Hast thou seen the thing Thou callest Husband?” Breathless, quivering, Psyche cried out, “Alas! what sayest thou?

What riddles wilt thou speak unto me now?” “Alas!” she said; “then is it as I thought. Sister, in dreadful places have we sought To learn about thy case, and thus we found

A wise man, dwelling underneath the ground In a dark awful cave: he told to us A horrid tale thereof, and piteous, That thou wert wedded to an evil thing,

A serpent-bodied fiend of poisonous sting, Bestial of form, yet therewith lacking not E'en such a soul as wicked men have got. Thus ages long agone the gods made him,

And set him in a lake hereby to swim; But every hundred years he hath this grace, That he may change within this golden place Into a fair young man by night alone.

Alas, my sister, thou hast cause to groan! What sayest thou?— His words are fair and soft; He raineth loving kisses on me oft, Weeping for love; he tells me of a day

When from this place we both shall go away, And he shall kiss me then no more unseen, The while I sit by him a glorious queen —— — Alas, poor child! it pleaseth thee, his kiss?

Then must I show thee why he doeth this: Because he willeth for a time to save Thy body, wretched one! that he may have Both child and mother for his watery hell —

Ah, what a tale this is for me to tell! “Thou prayest us to save thee, and we can; Since for nought else we sought that wise old man, Who for great gifts and seeing that of kings

We both were come, has told us all these things, And given us a fair lamp of hallowed oil That he has wrought with danger and much toil; And thereto has he added a sharp knife,

In forging which he well-nigh lost his life, About him so the devils of the pit Came swarming — O, my sister, hast thou it?” Straight from her gown the other one drew out

The lamp and knife, which Psyche, dumb with doubt And misery at once, took in her hand. Then said her sister, “From this doubtful land Thou gav'st us royal gifts a while ago,

But these we give thee, though they lack for show, Shall be to thee a better gift,— thy life. Put now in some sure place this lamp and knife, And when he sleeps rise silently from bed

And hold the hallowed lamp above his head, And swiftly draw the charméd knife across His cursed neck, thou well may'st bear the loss, Nor shall he keep his man's shape more, when he

First feels the iron wrought so mysticly: But thou, flee unto us, we have a tale, Of what has been thy lot within this vale, When we have‘ scaped therefrom, which we shall do

By virtue of strange spells the old man knew. Farewell, sweet sister! here we may not stay, Lest in returning he should pass this way; But in the vale we will not fail to wait

Till thou art loosened from thine evil fate.” Thus went they, and for long they said not aught, Fearful lest any should surprise their thought, But in such wise had envy conquered fear,

That they were fain that eve to bide anear Their sister's ruined home; but when they came Unto the river, on them fell the same Resistless languor they had felt before.

And from the blossoms of that flowery shore Their sleeping bodies soon did Zephyr bear, For other folk to hatch new ills and care. But on the ground sat Psyche all alone,

The lamp and knife beside her, and no moan She made, but silent let the long hours go, Till dark night closed around her and her woe. Then trembling she arose, for now drew near

The time of utter loneliness and fear, And she must think of death, who until now Had thought of ruined life, and love brought low; And with, that thought, tormenting doubt there came,

And images of some unheard-of shame, Until forlorn, entrapped of gods she felt, As though in some strange hell her spirit dwelt. Yet driven by her sisters’ words at last,

And by remembrance of the time now past, When she stood trembling, as the oracle With all its fearful doom upon her fell, She to her hapless wedding-chamber turned,

And while the waxen tapers freshly burned She laid those dread gifts ready to her hand, Then quenched the lights, and by the bed did stand, Turning these matters in her troubled mind;

And sometimes hoped some glorious man to find Beneath the lamp, fit bridegroom for a bride Like her; ah, then! with what joy to his side Would she creep back in the dark silent night;

But whiles she quaked at thought of what a sight The lamp might show her; the hot rush of blood The knife might shed upon her as she stood, The dread of some pursuit, the hurrying out,

Through rooms where every sound would seem a shout Into the windy night among the trees, Where many a changing monstrous sight one sees, When nought at all has happed to chill the blood.

But as among these evil thoughts she stood, She heard him coming, and straight crept to bed. And felt him touch her with a new-born dread, And durst not answer to his words of love.

But when he slept, she rose that tale to prove. And sliding down as softly as might be, And moving through the chamber quietly, She gat the lamp within her trembling hand,

And long, debating of these things, did stand In that thick darkness, till she seemed to be A dweller in some black eternity, And what she once had called the world did seem

A hollow void, a colourless mad dream; For she felt so alone — three times in vain She moved her heavy hand, three times again It fell adown; at last throughout the place

Its flame glared, lighting up her woeful face, Whose eyes the silken carpet did but meet, Grown strange and awful, and her own wan feet As toward the bed she stole; but come thereto

Back with dosed eyes and quivering lips, she threw Her lovely head, and strove to think of it, While images of fearful things did flit Before her eyes; thus, raising up the hand

That bore the lamp, one moment did she stand As man's time tells it, and then suddenly Opened her eyes, but scarce kept back a cry At what she saw; for there before her lay

The very Love brighter than dawn of day; And as he lay there smiling, her own name His gentle lips in sleep began to frame, And as to touch her face his hand did move;

O then, indeed, her faint heart swelled for love, And she began to sob, and tears fell fast Upon the bed.— But as she turned at last To quench the lamp, there happed a little thing

That quenched her new delight, for flickering The treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fair A burning drop; he woke, and seeing her there The meaning of that sad sight knew full well,

Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell. Then on her knees she fell with a great cry, For in his face she saw the thunder nigh, And she began to know what she had done,

And saw herself henceforth, unloved, alone, Pass onward to the grave; and once again She heard the voice she now must love in vain “Ah, has it come to pass? and hast thou lost

A life of love, and must thou still be tossed One moment in the sun‘ twixt night and night? And must I lose what would have been delight, Untasted yet amidst immortal bliss,

To wed a soul made worthy of my kiss, Set in a frame so wonderfully made? “O wavering heart, farewell! be not afraid That I with fire will burn thy body fair,

Or cast thy sweet limbs piecemeal through the air; The fates shall work thy punishment alone, And thine own memory of our kindness done. “Alas! what wilt thou do? how shalt thou bear

The cruel world, the sickening still despair, The mocking, curious faces bent on thee, When thou hast known what love there is in me? O happy only, if thou couldst forget,

And live unholpen, lonely, loveless yet, But untormented through the little span That on the earth ye call the life of man. Alas! that thou, too fair a thing to die,

Shouldst so be born to double misery! “Farewell! though I, a god, can never know How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet

The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget, Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem The wavering memory of a lovely dream.” Therewith he caught his shafts up and his bow,

And striding through the chambers did he go, Light all around him; and she, wailing sore, Still followed after; but he turned no more, And when into the moonlit night he came

From out her sight he vanished like a flame, And on the threshold till the dawn of day Through all the changes of the night she lay. At daybreak when she lifted up her eyes,

She looked around with heavy dull surprise, And rose to enter the fair golden place; But then remembering all her piteous case She turned away, lamenting very sore,

And wandered down unto the river shore; There, at the head of a green pool and deep, She stood so long that she forgot to weep, And the wild things about the water-side

From such a silent thing cared not to hide; The dace pushed‘ gainst the stream, the dragon-fly, With its green-painted wing, went flickering by; The water-hen, the lustred kingfisher,

Went on their ways and took no heed of her; The little reed birds never ceased to sing, And still the eddy, like a living thing, Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet.

But‘ midst these fair things, on that morning sweet, How could she, weary creature, find a place? She moved at last, and lifting up her face, Gathered her raiment up and cried, “Farewell,

O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwell With thee in heaven, let me now hide my head In whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!” And with that word she leapt into the stream,

But the kind river even yet did deem That she should live, and, with all gentle care, Cast her ashore within a meadow fair. Upon the other side, where Shepherd Pan

Sat looking down upon the water wan, Goat-legged and merry, who called out, “Fair maid Why goest thou hurrying to the feeble shade Whence none return? Well do I know thy pain,

For I am old, and have not lived in vain; Thou wilt forget all that within a while, And on some other happy youth wilt smile; And sure he must be dull indeed if he

Forget not all things in his ecstasy At sight of such a wonder made for him, That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim, Old as I am: but to the god of Love

Pray now, sweet child, for all things can he move.” Weeping she passed him, but full reverently, And well she saw that she was not to die Till she had filled the measure of her woe.

So through the meads she passed, half blind and slow, And on her sisters somewhat now she thought; And, pondering on the evil they had wrought, The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile.

“Alas!” she said, “can death make folk so vile? What wonder that the gods are glorious then, Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men? Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be!

Once did I think, whatso might hap to me, Still at the worst, within your arms to find A haven of pure love; then were ye kind, Then was your joy e'en as my very own —

And now, and now, if I can be alone That is my best: but that can never be, For your unkindness still shall stay with me When ye are dead — But thou, my love! my dear!

Wert thou not kind?— I should have lost my fear Within a little — Yea, and e'en just now With angry godhead on thy lovely brow, Still thou wert kind — And art thou gone away

For ever? I know not, but day by day Still will I seek thee till I come to die, And nurse remembrance of felicity Within my heart, although it wound me sore;

For what am I but thine for evermore!” Thenceforth her back upon the world she turned As she had known it; in her heart there burned Such deathless love, that still untired she went:

The huntsman dropping down the woody bent, In the still evening, saw her passing by, And for her beauty fain would draw anigh, But yet durst not; the shepherd on the down

Wondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown, As on the hill's brow, looking o'er the lands, She stood with straining eyes and clinging hands, While the wind blew the raiment from her feet;

The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet, That took no heed of him, and drop his own; Like a thin dream she passed the clattering town; On the thronged quays she watched the ships come in

Patient, amid the strange outlandish din; Unscared she saw the sacked towns’ miseries, And marching armies passed before her eyes. And still of her the god had such a care

That none might wrong her, though alone and fair. Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day, Till all her hope had well-nigh passed away. Meanwhile the sisters, each in her own home,

Waited the day when outcast she should come And ask their pity; when perchance, indeed, They looked to give her shelter in her need, And with soft words such faint reproaches take

As she durst make them for her ruin's sake; But day passed day, and still no Psyche came, And while they wondered whether, to their shame, Their plot had failed, or gained its end too well,

And Psyche slain, no tale thereof could tell.— Amidst these things, the eldest sister lay Asleep one evening of a summer day, Dreaming she saw the god of Love anigh,

Who seemed to say unto her lovingly, “Hail unto thee, fair sister of my love; Nor fear me for that thou her faith didst prove, And found it wanting, for thou, too, art fair,

Nor is her place filled; rise, and have no care For father or for friends, but go straightway Unto the rock where she was borne that day; There, if thou hast a will to be my bride,

Put thou all fear of horrid death aside, And leap from off the cliff, and there will come My slaves, to bear thee up and take thee home. Haste then, before the summer night grows late,

For in my house thy beauty I await!” So spake the dream; and through the night did sail, And to the other sister bore the tale, While this one rose, nor doubted of the thing,

Such deadly pride unto her heart did cling; But by the tapers’ light triumphantly, Smiling, her mirrored body did she eye, Then hastily rich raiment on her cast

And through the sleeping serving-people passed, And looked with changed eyes on the moonlit street, Nor scarce could feel the ground beneath her feet. But long the time seemed to her, till she came

There where her sister once was borne to shame; And when she reached the bare cliff's rugged brow She cried aloud, “O Love, receive me now, Who am not all unworthy to be thine!”

And with that word, her jewelled arms did shine Outstretched beneath the moon, and with one breath She sprung to meet the outstretched arms of Death, The only god that waited for her there,

And in a gathered moment of despair A hideous thing her traitrous life did seem. But with the passing of that hollow dream The other sister rose, and as she might,

Arrayed herself alone in that still night, And so stole forth, and making no delay Came to the rock anigh the dawn of day; No warning there her sister's spirit gave,

No doubt came nigh the fore-doomed soul to save, But with a fever burning in her blood, With glittering eyes and crimson cheeks she stood One moment on the brow, the while she cried,

“Receive me, Love, chosen to be thy bride From all the million women of the world!” Then o'er the cliff her wicked limbs were hurled, Nor has the language of the earth a name

For that surprise of terror and of shame. Now, midst her wanderings, on a hot noontide, Psyche passed down a road, where, on each side The yellow cornfields lay, although as yet

Unto the stalks no sickle had been set; The lark sung over them, the butterfly Flickered from ear to ear distractedly, The kestrel hung above, the weasel peered

From out the wheat-stalks on her unafeard, Along the road the trembling poppies shed On the burnt grass their crumpled leaves and red; Most lonely was it, nothing Psyche knew

Unto what land of all the world she drew; Aweary was she, faint and sick at heart, Bowed to the earth by thoughts of that sad part She needs must play: some blue flower from the corn

That in her fingers erewhile she had borne, Now dropped from them, still clung unto her gown; Over the hard way hung her head adown Despairingly, but still her weary feet

Moved on half conscious, her lost love to meet. So going, at the last she raised her eyes, And saw a grassy mound before her rise Over the yellow plain, and thereon was

A marble fane with doors of burnished brass, That‘ twixt the pillars set about it burned; So thitherward from off the road she turned, And soon she heard a rippling water sound,

And reached a stream that girt the hill around, Whose green waves wooed her body lovingly; So looking round, and seeing no soul anigh, Unclad, she crossed the shallows, and there laid

Her dusty raiment in the alder-shade, And slipped adown into the shaded pool, And with the pleasure of the water cool Soothed her tired limbs awhile, then with a sigh

Came forth, and clad her body hastily, And up the hill made for the little fane. But when its threshold now her feet did gain, She, looking through the pillars of the shrine,

Beheld therein a golden image shine Of golden Ceres; then she passed the door, And with bowed head she stood awhile before The smiling image, striving for some word

That did not name her lover and her lord, Until midst rising tears at last she prayed: “O kind one, if while yet I was a maid I ever did thee pleasure, on this day

Be kind to me, poor wanderer on the way, Who strive my love upon the earth to meet! Then let me rest my weary, doubtful feet Within thy quiet house a little while,

And on my rest if thou wouldst please to smile, And send me news of my own love and lord, It would not cost thee, lady, many a word.” But straight from out the shrine a sweet voice came,

“O Psyche, though of me thou hast no blame, And though indeed thou sparedst not to give What my soul loved, while happy thou didst live, Yet little can I give now unto thee,

Since thou art rebel, slave, and enemy Unto the love-inspiring Queen; this grace Thou hast alone of me, to leave this place Free as thou camest, though the lovely one

Seeks for the sorceress who entrapped her son In every land, and has small joy in aught, Until before her presence thou art brought.” Then Psyche, trembling at the words she spake,

Durst answer nought, nor for that counsel's sake Could other offerings leave except her tears, As now, tormented by the new-born fears The words divine had raised in her, she passed

The brazen threshold once again, and cast A dreary hopeless look across the plain, Whose golden beauty now seemed nought and vain Unto her aching heart; then down the hill

She went, and crossed the shallows of the rill, And wearily she went upon her way, Nor any homestead passed upon that day, Nor any hamlet, and at night lay down

Within a wood, far off from any town. There, waking at the dawn, did she behold, Through the green leaves, a glimmer as of gold, And, passing on, amidst an oak-grove found

A pillared temple gold-adorned and round, Whose walls were hung with rich and precious things, Worthy to be the ransom of great kings; And in the midst of gold and ivory

An image of Queen Juno did she see; Then her heart swelled within her, and she thought, “Surely the gods hereto my steps have brought, And they will yet be merciful and give

Some little joy to me, that I may live Till my Love finds me.” Then upon her knees She fell, and prayed, “O Crown of goddesses, I pray thee, give me shelter in this place,

Nor turn away from me thy much-loved face, If ever I gave golden gifts to thee In happier times when my right hand was free.” Then from the inmost shrine there came a voice

That said, “It is so, well mayst thou rejoice That of thy gifts I yet have memory, Wherefore mayst thou depart forewarned and free; Since she that won the golden apple lives,

And to her servants mighty gifts now gives To find thee out, in whatso land thou art, For thine undoing; loiter not, depart! For what immortal yet shall shelter thee

From her that rose from out the unquiet sea?” Then Psyche moaned out in her grief and fear, “Alas! and is there shelter anywhere Upon the green flame-hiding earth?” said she,

“Or yet beneath it is there peace for me? O Love, since in thine arms I cannot rest, Or lay my weary head upon thy breast, Have pity yet upon thy love forlorn,

Make me as though I never had been born!” Then wearily she went upon her way, And so, about the middle of the day, She came before a green and flowery place,

Walled round about in manner of a chase, Whereof the gates as now were open wide; Fair grassy glades and long she saw inside Betwixt great trees, down which the unscared deer

Were playing; yet a pang of deadly fear, She knew not why, shot coldly through her heart, And thrice she turned as though she would depart, And thrice returned, and in the gateway stood

With wavering feet: small flowers as red as blood Were growing up amid the soft green grass, And here and there a fallen rose there was, And on the trodden grass a silken lace,

As though crowned revellers had passed by the place The restless sparrows chirped upon the wall And faint far music on her ears did fall, And from the trees within, the pink-foot doves

Still told their weary tale unto their loves, And all seemed peaceful more than words could say. Then she, whose heart still whispered, “Keep away.” Was drawn by strong desire unto the place,

So toward the greenest glade she set her face, Murmuring, “Alas! and what a wretch am I, That I should fear the summer's greenery! Yea, and is death now any more an ill,

When lonely through the world I wander still.” But when she was amidst those ancient groves, Whose close green leaves and choirs of moaning doves Shut out the world, then so alone she seemed,

So strange, her former life was but as dreamed; Beside the hopes and fears that drew her on, Till so far through that green place she had won, That she a rose-hedged garden could behold

Before a house made beautiful with gold; Which, to her mind beset with that past dream, And dim foreshadowings of ill fate, did seem That very house, her joy and misery,

Where that fair sight her longing eyes did see They should not see again; but now the sound Of pensive music echoing all around, Made all things like a picture, and from thence

Bewildering odours floating, dulled her sense, And killed her fear, and, urged by strong desire To see how all should end, she drew yet nigher, And o'er the hedge beheld the heads of girls

Embraced by garlands fresh and orient pearls, And heard sweet voices murmuring; then a thrill Of utmost joy all memory seemed to kill Of good or evil, and her eager hand

Was on the wicket, then her feet did stand Upon new flowers, the while her dizzied eyes Gazed wildly round on half-seen mysteries, And wandered from unnoting face to face.

For round a fountain midst the flowery place Did she behold full many a minstrel girl; While nigh them, on the grass in giddy whirl, Bright raiment and white limbs and sandalled feet

Flew round in time unto the music sweet, Whose strains no more were pensive now nor sad, But rather a fresh sound of triumph had; And round the dance were gathered damsels fair,

Clad in rich robes adorned with jewels rare; Or little hidden by some woven mist, That, hanging round them, here a bosom kissed And there a knee, or driven by the wind

About some lily's bowing stem was twined. But when a little Psyche's eyes grew clear, A sight they saw that brought back all her fear A hundred-fold, though neither heaven nor earth

To such a fair sight elsewhere could give birth; Because apart, upon a golden throne Of marvellous work, a woman sat alone, Watching the dancers with a smiling face,

Whose beauty sole had lighted up the place. A crown there was upon her glorious head, A garland round about her girdlestead, Where matchless wonders of the hidden sea

Were brought together and set wonderfully; Naked she was of all else, but her hair About her body rippled here and there, And lay in heaps upon the golden seat,

And even touched the gold cloth where her feet Lay amid roses — ah, how kind she seemed! What depths of love from out her grey eyes beamed! Well might the birds leave singing on the trees

To watch in peace that crown of goddesses, Yet well might Psyche sicken at the sight, And feel her feet wax heavy, her head light; For now at last her evil day was come,

Since she had wandered to the very home Of her most bitter cruel enemy. Half-dead, yet must she turn about to flee, But as her eyes back o'er her shoulder gazed,

And with weak hands her clinging gown she raised, And from her lips unwitting came a moan, She felt strong arms about her body thrown, And, blind with fear, was haled along till she

Saw floating by her faint eyes dizzily That vision of the pearls and roses fresh, The golden carpet and the rosy flesh. Then, as in vain she strove to make some sound,

A sweet voice seemed to pierce the air around With bitter words; her doom rang in her ears, She felt the misery that lacketh tears. “Come hither, damsels, and the pearl behold

That hath no price? See now the thrice-tried gold, That all men worshipped, that a god would have To be his bride! how like a wretched slave She cowers down, and lacketh even voice

To plead her cause! Come, damsels, and rejoice, That now once more the waiting world will move, Since she is found, the well-loved soul of love! “And thou poor wretch, what god hath led thee here?

Art thou so lost in this abyss of fear, Thou canst not weep thy misery and shame? Canst thou not even speak thy shameful name?” But even then the flame of fervent love

In Psyche's tortured heart began to move, And gave her utterance, and she said, “Alas! Surely the end of life has come to pass For me, who have been bride of very Love,

Yet love still bides in me, O Seed of Jove, For such I know thee; slay me, nought is lost! For had I had the will to count the cost And buy my love with all this misery,

Thus and no otherwise the thing should be. Would I were dead, my wretched beauty gone, No trouble now to thee or any one!” And with that last word did she hang her head,

As one who hears not, whatsoe'er is said; But Venus rising with a dreadful cry Said, “O thou fool, I will not let thee die! But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown

And many a day thy wretched lot bemoan. Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be But I will find some fitting task for thee, Nor will I slay thee till thou hop'st again.

What, thinkest thou that utterly in vain Jove is my sire, and in despite my will That thou canst mock me with thy beauty still? Come forth, O strong-armed, punish this new slave,

That she henceforth a humble heart may have.” All round about the damsels in a ring Were drawn to see the ending of the thing, And now as Psyche's eyes stared wildly round

No help in any face of them she found As from the fair and dreadful face she turned In whose grey eyes such steadfast anger burned; Yet midst her agony she scarcely knew

What thing it was the goddess bade them do, And all the pageant, like a dreadful dream Hopeless and long-enduring grew to seem; Yea, when the strong-armed through the crowd did break,

Girls like to those, whose close-locked squadron shake The echoing surface of the Asian plain, And when she saw their threatening hands, in vain She strove to speak, so like a dream it was;

So like a dream that this should come to pass, And‘ neath her feet the green earth opened not. But when her breaking heart again waxed hot With dreadful thoughts and prayers unspeakable

As all their bitter torment on her fell, When she her own voice heard, nor knew its sound, And like red flame she saw the trees and ground, Then first she seemed to know what misery

To helpless folk upon the earth can be. But while beneath the many moving feet The small crushed flowers sent up their odour sweet, Above sat Venus, calm, and very fair,

Her white limbs bared of all her golden hair, Into her heart all wrath cast back again, As on the terror and the helpless pain She gazed with gentle eyes, and unmoved smile;

Such as in Cyprus, the fair blossomed isle, When on the altar in the summer night They pile the roses up for her delight, Men see within their hearts, and long that they

Unto her very body there might pray. At last to them some dainty sign she made To hold their cruel hands, and therewith bade To bear her slave new gained from out her sight

And keep her safely till the morrow's light: So her across the sunny sward they led With fainting limbs, and heavy downcast head, And into some nigh lightless prison cast

To brood alone o'er happy days long past And all the dreadful times that yet should be. But she being gone, one moment pensively The goddess did the distant hills behold,

Then bade her girls bind up her hair of gold, And veil her breast, the very forge of love, With raiment that no earthly shuttle wove, And‘ gainst the hard earth arm her lovely feet:

Then she went forth, some shepherd king to meet Deep in the hollow of a shaded vale, To make his woes a long-enduring tale. But over Psyche, hapless and forlorn,

Unseen the sun rose on the morrow morn, Nor knew she aught about the death of night Until her gaoler's torches filled with light The dreary place, blinding her unused eyes,

And she their voices heard that bade her rise; She did their bidding, yet grown faint and pale She shrank away and strove her arms to veil In her gown's bosom, and to hide from them

Her little feet within her garment's hem; But mocking her, they brought her thence away, And led her forth into the light of day, And brought her to a marble cloister fair

Where sat the queen on her adornéd chair, But she, as down the sun-streaked place they came, Cried out, “Haste! ye, who lead my grief and shame.” And when she stood before her trembling, said,

“Although within a palace thou wast bred Yet dost thou carry but a slavish heart, And fitting is it thou shouldst learn thy part, And know the state whereunto thou art brought;

Now, heed what yesterday thy folly taught, And set thyself to-day my will to do; Ho ye, bring that which I commanded you.” Then forth came two, and each upon her back

Bore up with pain a huge half-bursten sack, Which, setting down, they opened on the floor, And from their hempen mouths a stream did pour Of mingled seeds, and grain, peas, pulse, and wheat,

Poppies and millet, and coriander sweet, And many another brought from far-off lands, Which mingling more with swift and ready hands They piled into a heap confused and great.

And then said Venus, rising from her seat, “Slave, here I leave thee, but before the night These mingled seeds thy hands shall set aright, All laid in heaps, each after its own kind,

And if in any heap I chance to find An alien seed; thou knowest since yesterday How disobedient slaves the forfeit pay.” Therewith she turned and left the palace fair

And from its outskirts rose into the air, And flew until beneath her lay the sea, Then, looking on its green waves lovingly, Somewhat she dropped, and low adown she flew

Until she reached the temple that she knew Within a sunny bay of her fair isle. But Psyche sadly labouring all the while With hopeless heart felt the swift hours go by,

And knowing well what bitter mockery Lay in that task, yet did she what she might That something should be finished ere the night, And she a little mercy yet might ask;

But the first hours of that long feverish task Passed amid mocks; for oft the damsels came About her, and made merry with her shame, And laughed to see her trembling eagerness,

And how, with some small lappet of her dress, She winnowed out the wheat, and how she bent Over the millet, hopelessly intent; And how she guarded well some tiny heap

But just begun, from their long raiments’ sweep; And how herself, with girt gown, carefully She went betwixt the heaps that‘ gan to lie Along the floor; though they were small enow,

When shadows lengthened and the sun was low; But at the last these left her labouring, Not daring now to weep, lest some small thing Should‘ scape her blinded eyes, and soon far off

She heard the echoes of their careless scoff. Longer the shades grew, quicker sank the sun, Until at last the day was well-nigh done, And every minute did she think to hear

The fair Queen's dreaded footsteps drawing near; But Love, that moves the earth, and skies, and sea, Beheld his old love in her misery, And wrapped her heart in sudden gentle sleep;

And meanwhile caused unnumbered ants to creep About her, and they wrought so busily That all, ere sundown, was as it should be, And homeward went again the kingless folk.

Bewildered with her joy again she woke, But scarce had time the unseen hands to bless, That thus had helped her utter feebleness, Ere Venus came, fresh from the watery way,

Panting with all the pleasure of the day; But when she saw the ordered heaps, her smile Faded away, she cried out, “Base and vile Thou art indeed, this labour fitteth thee;

But now I know thy feigned simplicity, Thine inward cunning, therefore hope no more, Since thou art furnished well with hidden lore, To‘ scape thy due reward, if any day

Without some task accomplished, pass away!” So with a frown she passed on, muttering, “Nought have I done, to-morrow a new thing.” So the next morning Psyche did they lead

Unto a terrace o'er a flowery mead, Where Venus sat, hid from the young sun's rays, Upon the fairest of all summer days; She pointed o'er the meads as they drew nigh,

And said, “See how that stream goes glittering by, And on its banks my golden sheep now pass, Cropping sweet mouthfuls of the flowery grass; If thou, O cunning slave, to-day art fain

To save thyself from well-remembered pain, Put forth a little of thy hidden skill, And with their golden fleece thy bosom fill; Yet make no haste, but ere the sun is down

Cast it before my feet from out thy gown; Surely thy labour is but light to-day.” Then sadly went poor Psyche on her way, Wondering wherein the snare lay, for she knew

No easy thing it was she had to do; Nor had she failed indeed to note the smile Wherewith the goddess praised her for the guile That she, unhappy, lacked so utterly.

Amidst these thoughts she crossed the flowery lea, And came unto the glittering river's side; And, seeing it was neither deep nor wide, She drew her sandals off, and to the knee

Girt up her gown, and by a willow-tree Went down into the water, and but sank Up to mid-leg therein; but from the bank She scarce had gone three steps, before a voice

Called out to her, “Stay, Psyche, and rejoice That I am here to help thee, a poor reed, The soother of the loving hearts that bleed, The pourer forth of notes, that oft have made

The weak man strong, and the rash man afraid. “Sweet child, when by me now thy dear foot trod, I knew thee for the loved one of our god; Then prithee take my counsel in good part;

Go to the shore again, and rest thine heart In sleep awhile, until the sun get low, And then across the river shalt thou go And find these evil creatures sleeping fast,

And on the bushes whereby they have passed Much golden wool; take what seems good to thee, And ere the sun sets go back easily. But if within that mead thou sett'st thy feet

While yet they wake, an ill death shalt thou meet, For they are of a cursed man-hating race, Bred by a giant in a lightless place.” But at these words soft tears filled Psyche's eyes

As hope of love within her heart did rise; And when she saw she was not helpless yet Her old desire she would not quite forget; But turning back, upon the bank she lay

In happy dreams till nigh the end of day; Then did she cross and gather of the wool, And with her bosom and her gown-skirt full Came back to Venus at the sun-setting;

But she afar off saw it glistering And cried aloud, “Go, take the slave away, And keep her safe for yet another day, And on the morning will I think again

Of some fresh task, since with so little pain She doeth what the gods find hard enow; For since the winds were pleased this waif to blow Unto my door, a fool I were indeed,

If I should fail to use her for my need.” So her they led away from that bright sun, Now scarce more hopeful that the task was done, Since by those bitter words she knew full well

Another tale the coming day would tell. But the next morn upon a turret high, Where the wind kissed her raiment lovingly, Stood Venus waiting her; and when she came

She said, “O slave, thy city's very shame, Lift up thy cunning eyes, and looking hence Shalt thou behold betwixt these battlements, A black and barren mountain set aloof

From the green hills, shaped like a palace roof. Ten leagues from hence it lieth, toward the north, And from its rocks a fountain welleth forth, Black like itself, and floweth down its side,

And in a while part into Styx doth glide, And part into Cocytus runs away, Now coming thither by the end of day, Fill me this ewer from out the awful stream;

Such task a sorceress like thee will deem A little matter; bring it not to pass, And if thou be not made of steel or brass, To-morrow shalt thou find the bitterest day

Thou yet hast known, and all be sport and play To what thy heart in that hour shall endure — Behold, I swear it, and my word is sure!” She turned therewith to go down toward the sea,

To meet her lover, who from Thessaly Was come from some well-foughten field of war. But Psyche, wandering wearily afar, Reached the bare foot of that black rock at last,

And sat there grieving for the happy past, For surely now, she thought, no help could be, She had but reached the final misery, Nor had she any counsel but to weep.

For not alone the place was very steep, And craggy beyond measure, but she knew What well it was that she was driven to, The dreadful water that the gods swear by,

For there on either hand, as one draws nigh, Are long-necked dragons ready for the spring, And many another monstrous nameless thing, The very sight of which is well-nigh death;

Then the black water as it goes crieth, “Fly, wretched one, before you come to die! Die, wretched man! I will not let you fly! How have you heart to come before me here?

You have no heart, your life is turned to fear!” Till the wretch falls adown with whirling brain, And far below the sharp rocks end his pain. Well then might Psyche wail her wretched fate,

And strive no more, but sitting weep and wait Alone in that black land for kindly death, With weary sobbing, wasting life and breath; But o'er her head there flew the bird of Jove,

The bearer of his servant, friend of Love, Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew, And asked her why she wept, and when he knew, And who she was, he said, “Cease all thy fear,

For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear, And fill it for thee; but, remember me, When thou art come unto thy majesty.” Then straight he flew, and through the dragon's wings

Went carelessly, nor feared their clatterings, But set the ewer, filled, in her right hand, And on that day saw many another land. Then Psyche through the night toiled back again,

And as she went, she thought, “Ah! all is vain, For though once more I just escape indeed, Yet hath she many another wile at need; And to these days when I my life first learn,

With unavailing longing shall I turn, When this that seemeth now so horrible Shall then seem but the threshold of her hell. Alas! what shall I do? for even now

In sleep I see her pitiless white brow, And hear the dreadful sound of her commands, While with my helpless body and bound hands I tremble underneath the cruel whips;

And oft for dread of her, with quivering lips I wake, and waking know the time draws nigh When nought shall wake me from that misery — Behold, O Love, because of thee I live,

Because of thee, with these things still I strive.” Now with the risen sun her weary feet The late-strewn roses of the floor did meet Upon the marble threshold of the place;

But she being brought before the matchless face, Fresh with the new life of another day, Beheld her wondering, for the goddess lay With half-shut eyes upon her golden bed,

And when she entered scarcely turned her head, But smiling spake, “The gods are good to thee, Nor shalt thou always be mine enemy; But one more task I charge thee with to-day,

Now unto Proserpine take thou thy way, And give this golden casket to her hands, And pray the fair Queen of the gloomy lands To fill the void shell with that beauty rare

That long ago as queen did set her there; Nor needest thou to fail in this new thing, Who hast to-day the heart and wit to bring This dreadful water, and return alive;

And, that thou may'st the more in this thing strive, If thou returnest I will show at last My kindness unto thee, and all the past Shalt thou remember as an ugly dream.”

And now at first to Psyche did it seem Her heart was softening to her, and the thought Swelled her full heart to sobbing, and it brought Into her yearning eyes half-happy tears:

But on her way cold thoughts and dreadful fears Rose in her heart, for who indeed could teach A living soul that dread abode to reach And yet return? and then once more it seemed

The hope of mercy was but lightly dreamed, And she remembered that triumphant smile, And needs must think, “This is the final wile, Alas! what trouble must a goddess take

So weak a thing as this poor heart to break. “See now this tower! from off its top will I Go quick to Proserpine — ah, good to die! Rather than hear those shameful words again,

And bear that unimaginable pain Which she has hoarded for to-morrow morn; Now is the ending of my life forlorn! O Love, farewell, thou seest all hope is dead,

Thou seest what torments on my wretched head Thy bitter mother doth not cease to heap; Farewell, O Love, for thee and life I weep. Alas, my foolish heart! alas, my sin!

Alas, for all the love I could not win!” Now was this tower both old enough and grey, Built by some king forgotten many a day, And no man dwelt there, now that bitter war

From that bright land had long been driven afar; There now she entered, trembling and afraid; But‘ neath her doubtful steps the dust long laid In utter rest, rose up into the air,

And wavered in the wind that down the stair Rushed to the door; then she drew back a pace, Moved by the coolness of the lonely place That for so long had seen no ray of sun.

Then shuddering did she hear these words begun, Like a wind's moaning voice, “Have thou no fear The hollow words of one long slain to hear! Thou livest, and thy hope is not yet dead,

And if thou heedest me, thou well may'st tread The road to hell, and yet return again. “For thou must go o'er many a hill and plain Until to Sparta thou art come at last,

And when the ancient city thou hast passed A mountain shalt thou reach, that men now call Mount Tænarus, that riseth like a wall ‘ Twixt plain and upland, therein shalt thou find

The wide mouth of a cavern huge and blind, Wherein there cometh never any sun, Whose dreadful darkness all things living shun; This shun thou not, but yet take care to have

Three honey-cakes thy soul alive to save, And in thy mouth a piece of money set, Then through the dark go boldly, and forget The stories thou hast heard of death and hell,

And heed my words, and then shall all be well. “For when thou hast passed through that cavern blind, A place of dim grey meadows shalt thou find, Wherethrough to inmost hell a path doth lead,

Which follow thou, with diligence and heed; For as thou goest there, thou soon shalt see Two men like peasants loading painfully A fallen ass; these unto thee will call

To help them, but give thou no heed at all, But pass them swiftly; and then soon again Within a shed three crones shalt thou see plain Busily weaving, who shall bid thee leave

The road and fill their shuttles while they weave, But slacken not thy steps for all their prayers, For these are shadows only, and set snares. “At last thou comest to a water wan,

And at the bank shall be the ferryman Surly and grey; and when he asketh thee Of money for thy passage, hastily Show him thy mouth, and straight from off thy lip

The money he will take, and in his ship Embark thee and set forward; but beware, For on thy passage is another snare; From out the waves a grisly head shall come,

Most like thy father thou hast left at home, And pray for passage long and piteously, But on thy life of him have no pity, Else art thou lost; also thy father lives,

And in the temples of the high gods gives Great daily gifts for thy returning home. “When thou unto the other side art come, A palace shalt thou see of fiery gold,

And by the door thereof shalt thou behold An ugly triple monster, that shall yell For thine undoing; now behold him well, And into each mouth of him cast a cake,

And no more heed of thee then shall he take, And thou may'st pass into a glorious hall Where many a wonder hangs upon the wall; But far more wonderful than anything

The fair slim consort of the gloomy King, Arrayed all royally shalt thou behold, Who sitting on a carven throne of gold, Whene'er thou enterest shall rise up to thee,

And bid thee welcome there most lovingly, And pray thee on a royal bed to sit, And share her feast; yet eat thou not of it, But sitting on the ground eat bread alone,

Then do thy message kneeling by her throne; And when thou hast the gift, return with speed; The sleepy dog of thee shall take no heed, The ferryman shall bear thee on thy way

Without more words, and thou shalt see the day Unharmed if that dread box thou openest not; But if thou dost, then death shall be thy lot. “O beautiful, when safe thou com'st again,

Remember me, who lie here in such pain Unburied; set me in some tomb of stone. When thou hast gathered every little bone; But never shalt thou set thereon a name,

Because my ending was with grief and shame, Who was a Queen like thee long years agone, And in this tower so long have lain alone.” Then, pale and full of trouble, Psyche went

Bearing the casket, and her footsteps bent To Lacedæmon, and thence found her way To Tænarus, and there the golden day For that dark cavern did she leave behind;

Then, going boldly through it, did she find The shadowy meads which that wide way ran through, Under a seeming sky‘ twixt grey and blue; No wind blew there, there was no bird or tree,

Or beast, and dim grey flowers she did but see That never faded in that changeless place, And if she had but seen a living face Most strange and bright she would have thought it there,

Or if her own face, troubled yet so fair, The still pools by the road-side could have shown The dimness of that place she might have known; But their dull surface cast no image back,

For all but dreams of light that land did lack. So on she passed, still noting every thing, Nor yet had she forgotten there to bring The honey-cakes and money: in a while

She saw those shadows striving hard to pile The bales upon the ass, and heard them call, “O woman, help us! for our skill is small And we are feeble in this place indeed;”

But swiftly did she pass, nor gave them heed, Though after her from far their cries they sent. Then a long way adown that road she went, Not seeing aught, till, as the Shade had said,

She came upon three women in a shed Busily weaving, who cried, “Daughter, leave The beaten road a while, and as we weave Fill thou our shuttles with these endless threads,

For here our eyes are sleepy, and our heads Are feeble in this miserable place.” But for their words she did but mend her pace, Although her heart beat quick as she passed by.

Then on she went, until she could espy The wan, grey river lap the leaden bank Wherefrom there sprouted sparsely sedges rank, And there the road had end in that sad boat

Wherein the dead men unto Minos float; There stood the ferryman, who now, seeing her, said, “O living soul, that thus among the dead Hast come, on whatso errand, without fear,

Know thou that penniless none passes here; Of all the coins that rich men have on earth To buy the dreadful folly they call mirth, But one they keep when they have passed the grave

That o'er this stream a passage they may have; And thou, though living, art but dead to me, Who here, immortal, see mortality Pass, stripped of this last thing that men desire

Unto the changeless meads or changeless fire.” Speechless she shewed the money on her lip Which straight he took, and set her in the ship, And then the wretched, heavy oars he threw

Into the rowlocks and the flood they drew; Silent, with eyes that looked beyond her face, He laboured, and they left the dreary place. But midmost of that water did arise

A dead man, pale, with ghastly staring eyes That somewhat like her father still did seem, But in such wise as figures in a dream; Then with a lamentable voice it cried,

“O daughter, I am dead, and in this tide For ever shall I drift, an unnamed thing, Who was thy father once, a mighty king, Unless thou take some pity on me now,

And bid the ferryman turn here his prow, That I with thee to some abode may cross; And little unto thee will be the loss, And unto me the gain will be to come

To such a place as I may call a home, Being now but dead and empty of delight, And set in this sad place‘ twixt dark and light.” Now at these words the tears ran down apace

For memory of the once familiar face, And those old days, wherein, a little child ‘ Twixt awe and love beneath those eyes she smiled; False pity moved her very heart, although

The guile of Venus she failed not to know, But tighter round the casket clasped her hands, And shut her eyes, remembering the commands Of that dead queen: so safe to land she came.

And there in that grey country, like a flame Before her eyes rose up the house of gold, And at the gate she met the beast threefold, Who ran to meet her open-mouthed, but she

Unto his jaws the cakes cast cunningly, But trembling much; then on the ground he lay Lolling his heads, and let her go her way; And so she came into the mighty hall,

And saw those wonders hanging on the wall, That all with pomegranates was covered o'er In memory of the meal on that sad shore, Whereby fair Enna was bewept in vain,

And this became a kingdom and a chain. But on a throne, the Queen of all the dead She saw therein with gold-embracéd head, In royal raiment, beautiful and pale;

Then with slim hands her face did Psyche veil In worship of her, who said, “Welcome here, O messenger of Venus! thou art dear To me thyself indeed, for of thy grace

And loveliness we know e'en in this place; Rest thee then, fair one, on this royal bed And with some dainty food shalt thou be fed; Ho, ye who wait, bring in the tables now!”

Therewith were brought things glorious of show On cloths and tables royally beseen, By damsels each one fairer than a queen, The very latchets of whose shoes were worth

The royal crown of any queen on earth; But when upon them Psyche looked, she saw That all these dainty matters without flaw Were strange of shape and of strange-blended hues

So every cup and plate did she refuse Those lovely hands brought to her, and she said, “O Queen, to me amidst my awe and dread These things are nought, my message is not done,

So let me rest upon this cold grey stone, And while my eyes no higher than thy feet Are lifted, eat the food that mortals eat.” Therewith upon the floor she sat her down

And from the folded bosom of her gown Drew forth her bread and ate, while with cold eyes Regarding her‘ twixt anger and surprise, The Queen sat silent for awhile, then spoke,

“Why art thou here, wisest of living folk? Depart in haste, lest thou shouldst come to be Thyself a helpless thing and shadowy! Give me the casket then, thou need'st not say

Wherefore thou thus hast passed the awful way; Bide there, and for thy mistress shalt thou have The charm that beauty from all change can save.” Then Psyche rose, and from her trembling hand

Gave her the casket, and awhile did stand Alone within the hall, that changing light From burning streams, and shadowy waves of night Made strange and dread, till to her, standing there

The world began to seem no longer fair, Life no more to be hoped for, but that place The peaceful goal of all the hurrying race, The house she must return to on some day.

Then sighing scarcely could she turn away When with the casket came the Queen once more, And said, “Haste now to leave this shadowy shore Before thou changest; even now I see

Thine eyes are growing strange, thou look'st on me E'en as the linnet looks upon the snake. Behold, thy wisely-guarded treasure take, And let thy breath of life no longer move

The shadows with the memories of past love.” But Psyche at that name, with quickened heart Turned eagerly, and hastened to depart Bearing that burden, hoping for the day;

Harmless, asleep, the triple monster lay, The ferryman did set her in his boat Unquestioned, and together did they float Over the leaden water back again:

Nor saw she more those women bent with pain Over their weaving, nor the fallen ass, But swiftly up the grey road did she pass And well-nigh now was come into the day

By hollow Tænarus, but o'er the way The wings of Envy brooded all unseen; Because indeed the cruel and fair Queen Knew well how she had sped; so in her breast,

Against the which the dreadful box was pressed, Grew up at last this foolish, harmful thought. “Behold how far this beauty I have brought To give unto my bitter enemy;

Might I not still a very goddess be If this were mine which goddesses desire, Yea, what if this hold swift consuming fire, Why do I think it good for me to live,

That I my body once again may give Into her cruel hands — come death! come life! And give me end to all the bitter strife!” Therewith down by the wayside did she sit

And turned the box round, long regarding it; But at the last, with trembling hands, undid The clasp, and fearfully raised up the lid; But what was there she saw not, for her head

Fell back, and nothing she rememberéd Of all her life, yet nought of rest she had, The hope of which makes hapless mortals glad; For while her limbs were sunk in deadly sleep

Most like to death, over her heart‘ gan creep Ill dreams; so that for fear and great distress She would have cried, but in her helplessness Could open not her mouth, or frame a word;

Although the threats of mocking things she heard, And seemed, amidst new forms of horror bound, To watch strange endless armies moving round, With all their sleepless eyes still fixed on her,

Who from that changeless place should never stir. Moveless she lay, and in that dreadful sleep Scarce had the strength some few slow tears to weep. And there she would have lain for evermore,

A marble image on the shadowy shore In outward seeming, but within oppressed With torments, knowing neither hope nor rest But as she lay the Phoenix flew along

Going to Egypt, and knew all her wrong, And pitied her, beholding her sweet face, And flew to Love and told him of her case; And Love, in guerdon of the tale he told,

Changed all the feathers of his neck to gold, And he flew on to Egypt glad at heart. But Love himself gat swiftly for his part To rocky Tænarus, and found her there

Laid half a furlong from the outer air. But at that sight out burst the smothered flame Of love, when he remembered all her shame, The stripes, the labour, and the wretched fear,

And kneeling down he whispered in her ear, “Rise, Psyche, and be mine for evermore, For evil is long tarrying on this shore.” Then when she heard him, straightway she arose,

And from her fell the burden of her woes; And yet her heart within her well-nigh broke, When she from grief to happiness awoke; And loud her sobbing was in that grey place,

And with sweet shame she covered up her face. But her dear hands, all wet with tears, he kissed, And taking them about each dainty wrist Drew them away, and in a sweet voice said,

“Raise up again, O Psyche, that dear head, And of thy simpleness have no more shame; Thou hast been tried, and cast away all blame Into the sea of woes that thou didst bear,

The bitter pain, the hopelessness, the fear — Holpen a little, loved with boundless love Amidst them all — but now the shadows move Fast toward the west, earth's day is well-nigh done,

One toil thou hast yet; by to-morrow's sun Kneel the last time before my mother's feet, Thy task accomplished; and my heart, O sweet, Shall go with thee to ease thy toilsome way;

Farewell awhile! but that so glorious day I promised thee of old, now cometh fast, When even hope thy soul aside shall cast, Amidst the joy that thou shalt surely win.”

So saying, all that sleep he shut within The dreadful casket, and aloft he flew, But slowly she unto the cavern drew Scarce knowing if she dreamed, and so she came

Unto the earth where yet the sun did flame Low down between the pine-trunks, tall and red, And with its last beams kissed her golden head. With what words Love unto the Father prayed

I know not, nor what deeds the balance weighed; But this I know, that he prayed not in vain, And Psyche's life the heavenly crown shall gain; So round about the messenger was sent

To tell immortals of their King's intent, And bid them gather to the Father's hall. But while they got them ready at his call, On through the night was Psyche toiling still,

To whom no pain nor weariness seemed ill Since now once more she knew herself beloved; But when the unresting world again had moved Round into golden day, she came again

To that fair place where she had borne such pain, And flushed and joyful in despite her fear, Unto the goddess did she draw anear, And knelt adown before her golden seat,

Laying the fatal casket at her feet; Then at the first no word the Sea-born said, But looked afar over her golden head, Pondering upon the mighty deeds of fate;

While Psyche still, as one who well may wait, Knelt, calm and motionless, nor said a word, But ever thought of her sweet lovesome lord. At last the Queen said, “Girl, I bid thee rise,

For now hast thou found favour in mine eyes; And I repent me of the misery That in this place thou hast endured of me, Although because of it, thy joy indeed

Shall now be more, that pleasure is thy meed.” Then bending, on the forehead did she kiss Fair Psyche, who turned red for shame and bliss; But Venus smiled again on her, and said,

“Go now, and bathe, and be as well arrayed As thou shouldst be, to sit beside my son; I think thy life on earth is well-nigh done.” So thence once more was Psyche led away,

And cast into no prison on that day, But brought unto a bath beset with flowers, Made dainty with a fount's sweet-smelling showers, And there being bathed, e'en in such fair attire

As veils the glorious Mother of Desire Her limbs were veiled, then in the wavering shade, Amidst the sweetest garden was she laid, And while the damsels round her watch did keep,

At last she closed her weary eyes in sleep, And woke no more to earth, for ere the day Had yet grown late, once more asleep she lay Within the West Wind's mighty arms, nor woke

Until the light of heaven upon her broke, And on her trembling lips she felt the kiss Of very Love, and mortal yet, for bliss Must fall a-weeping. O for me! that I,

Who late have told her woe and misery, Must leave untold the joy unspeakable That on her tender wounded spirit fell! Alas! I try to think of it in vain,

My lyre is but attuned to tears and pain, How shall I sing the never-ending day? Led by the hand of Love she took her way Unto a vale beset with heavenly trees,

Where all the gathered gods and goddesses Abode her coming; but when Psyche saw The Father's face, she fainting with her awe Had fallen, but that Love's arm held her up.

Then brought the cup-bearer a golden cup, And gently set it in her slender hand, And while in dread and wonder she did stand, The Father's awful voice smote on her ear,

“Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear! For with this draught shalt thou be born again. And live for ever free from care and pain.” Then, pale as privet, took she heart to drink,

And therewithal most strange new thoughts did think, And unknown feelings seized her, and there came Sudden remembrance, vivid as a flame, Of everything that she had done on earth,

Although it all seemed changed in weight and worth, Small things becoming great, and great things small; And godlike pity touched her therewithal For her old self, for sons of men that die;

And that sweet new-born immortality Now with full love her rested spirit fed. Then in that concourse did she lift her head, And stood at last a very goddess there,

And all cried out at seeing her grown so fair. So while in heaven quick passed the time away, About the ending of that lovely day, Bright shone the low sun over all the earth

For joy of such a wonderful new birth. Or e'er his tale was done, night held the earth; Yea, the brown bird grown bold, as sounds of mirth Grew faint and scanty, now his tale had done,

And by his mate abode the next day's sun; And in those old hearts did the story move Remembrance of the mighty deeds of love, And with these thoughts did hopes of life arise,

Till tears unseen were in their ancient eyes, And in their yearning hearts unspoken prayers, And idle seemed the world with all its cares. Few words they said; the balmy odorous wind

Wandered about, some resting-place to find; The young leaves rustled‘ neath its gentle breath, And here and there some blossom burst his sheath, Adding unnoticed fragrance to the night;

But, as they pondered, a new golden light Streamed over the green garden, and they heard Sweet voices sing some ancient poet's word In praise of May, and then in sight there came

The minstrels’ figures underneath the flame Of scented torches passing‘ twixt the trees, And soon the dusky hall grew bright with these, And therewithal they put all thought away,

And midst the tinkling harps drank deep to May. Through many changes had the May-tide passed, The hope of summer oft had been o'ercast, Ere midst the gardens they once more were met;

But now the full-leaved trees might well forget The changeful agony of doubtful spring, For summer pregnant with so many a thing Was at the door; right hot had been the day

Which they amid the trees had passed away, And now betwixt the tulip beds they went Unto the hall, and thoughts of days long spent Gathered about them, as some blossom's smell

Unto their hearts familiar tales did tell. But when they well were settled in the hall, And now behind the trees the sun‘ gan fall, And they as yet no history had heard,

Laurence, the Swabian priest, took up the word, And said, “Ye know from what has gone before, That in my youth I followed mystic lore, And many books I read in seeking it,

And through my memory this same eve doth flit A certain tale I found in one of these, Long ere mine eyes had looked upon the seas; It made me shudder in the times gone by,

When I believed in many a mystery I thought divine, that now I think, forsooth, Men's own fears made, to fill the place of truth Within their foolish hearts; short is the tale,

And therefore will the better now avail To fill the space before the night comes on, And unto rest once more the world is won.