THE ORACLE.

O father of a most unhappy maid, O King, whom all the world henceforth shall know As wretched among wretches, be afraid To ask the gods thy misery to show,

But if thou needs must hear it, to thy woe Take back thy gifts to feast thine eyes upon, When thine own flesh and blood some beast hath won. “For hear thy doom, a rugged rock there is

Set back a league from thine own palace fair, There leave the maid, that she may wait the kiss Of the fell monster that doth harbour there: This is the mate for whom her yellow hair

And tender limbs have been so fashioned, This is the pillow for her lovely head. “O what an evil from thy loins shall spring, For all the world this monster overturns,

He is the bane of every mortal thing, And this world ruined, still for more he yearns; A fire there goeth from his mouth that burns Worse than the flame of Phlegethon the red —

To such a monster shall thy maid be wed. “And if thou sparest now to do this thing, I will destroy thee and thy land also, And of dead corpses shalt thou be the King,

And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go, Howling for second death to end thy woe; Live therefore as thou mayst and do my will, And be a King that men may envy still.”

What man was there, whose face changed not for grief At hearing this? Psyche, shrunk like the leaf The autumn frost first touches on the tree, Stared round about with eyes that could not see,

And muttered sounds from lips that said no word, And still within her ears the sentence heard When all was said and silence fell on all ‘ Twixt marble columns and adorned wall.

Then spoke the King, bowed down with misery: “What help is left! O daughter, let us die, Or else together fleeing from this land, From town to town go wandering hand in hand

Thou and I, daughter, till all men forget That ever on a throne I have been set, And then, when houseless and disconsolate, We ask an alms before some city gate,

The gods perchance a little gift may give, And suffer thee and me like beasts to live.” Then answered Psyche, through her bitter tears, “Alas! my father, I have known these years

That with some woe the gods have dowered me, And weighed‘ gainst riches infelicity; Ill is it then against the gods to strive; Live on, O father, those that are alive

May still be happy; would it profit me To live awhile, and ere I died to see Thee perish, and all folk who love me well, And then at last be dragged myself to hell

Cursed of all men? nay, since all things must die, And I have dreamed not of eternity, Why weepest thou that I must die to-day? Why weepest thou? cast thought of shame away.

The dead are not ashamed, they feel no pain; I have heard folk who spoke of death as gain — And yet — ah, God, if I had been some maid, Toiling all day, and in the night-time laid

Asleep on rushes — had I only died Before this sweet life I had fully tried, Upon that day when for my birth men sung, And o'er the feasting folk the sweet bells rung.”

And therewith she arose and gat away, And in her chamber, mourning long she lay, Thinking of all the days that might have been, And how that she was born to be a queen,

The prize of some great conqueror of renown, The joy of many a country and fair town, The high desire of every prince and lord, One who could fright with careless smile or word

The hearts of heroes fearless in the war, The glory of the world, the leading-star Unto all honour and all earthly fame — — Round goes the wheel, and death and deadly shame

Shall be her lot, while yet of her men sing Unwitting that the gods have done this thing. Long time she lay there, while the sunbeams moved Over her body through the flowers she loved;

And in the eaves the sparrows chirped outside, Until for weariness she grew dry-eyed, And into an unhappy sleep she fell. But of the luckless King now must we tell,

Who sat devising means to‘ scape that shame, Until the frightened people thronging came About the palace, and drove back the guards, Making their way past all the gates and wards;

And, putting chamberlains and marshals by, Surged round the very throne tumultuously. Then knew the wretched King all folk had heard The miserable sentence, and the word

The gods had spoken; and from out his seat He rose, and spoke in humble words, unmeet For a great King, and prayed them give him grace, While‘ twixt his words the tears ran down his face

On to his raiment stiff with golden thread. But little heeded they the words he said, For very fear had made them pitiless; Nor cared they for the maid and her distress,

But clashed their spears together and‘ gan cry: “For one man's daughter shall the people die, And this fair land become an empty name, Because thou art afraid to meet the shame

Wherewith the gods reward thy hidden sin? Nay, by their glory do us right herein!” “Ye are in haste to have a poor maid slain,” The King said; “but my will herein is vain,

For ye are many, I one aged man: Let one man speak, if for his shame he can.” Then stepped a sturdy dyer forth, who said,— “Fear of the gods brings no shame, by my head.

Listen; thy daughter we would have thee leave Upon the fated mountain this same eve; And thither must she go right well arrayed In marriage raiment, loose hair as a maid,

And saffron veil, and with her shall there go Fair maidens bearing torches, two and two; And minstrels, in such raiment as is meet The god-ordainéd fearful spouse to greet.

So shalt thou save our wives and little ones, And something better than a heap of stones, Dwelt in by noisesome things, this town shall be, And thou thyself shalt keep thy sovereignty;

But if thou wilt not do the thing I say, Then shalt thou live in bonds from this same day, And we will bear thy maid unto the hill, And from the dread gods save the city still.”

Then loud they shouted at the words he said, And round the head of the unhappy maid, Dreaming uneasily of long-past joys, Floated the echo of that dreadful noise,

And changed her dreams to dreams of misery. But when the King knew that the thing must be, And that no help there was in this distress, He bade them have all things in readiness

To take the maiden out at sun-setting, And wed her to the unknown dreadful thing. So through the palace passed with heavy cheer Her women gathering the sad wedding gear,

Who lingering long, yet at the last must go, To waken Psyche to her bitter woe. So coming to her bower, they found her there, From head to foot rolled in her yellow hair,

As in the saffron veil she should be soon Betwixt the setting sun and rising moon; But when above her a pale maiden bent And touched her, from her heart a sigh she sent,

And waking, on their woeful faces stared, Sitting upright, with one white shoulder bared By writhing on the bed in wretchedness. Then suddenly remembering her distress,

She bowed her head and‘ gan to weep and wail But let them wrap her in the bridal veil, And bind the sandals to her silver feet, And set the rose-wreath on her tresses sweet:

But spoke no word, yea, rather, wearily Turned from the yearning face and pitying eye Of any maid who seemed about to speak. Now through the garden trees the sun‘ gan break,

And that inevitable time drew near; Then through the courts, grown cruel, strange, and drear, Since the bright morn, they led her to the gate. Where she beheld a golden litter wait.

Whereby the King stood, aged and bent to earth, The flute-players with faces void of mirth, The down-cast bearers of the ivory wands, The maiden torch-bearers’ unhappy bands.

So then was Psyche taken to the hill, And through the town the streets were void and still; For in their houses all the people stayed, Of that most mournful music sore afraid.

But on the way a marvel did they see, For, passing by, where wrought of ivory, There stood the Goddess of the flowery isle, All folk could see the carven image smile.

But when anigh the hill's bare top they came, Where Psyche must be left to meet her shame, They set the litter down, and drew aside The golden curtains from the wretched bride,

Who at their bidding rose and with them went Afoot amidst her maids with head down-bent, Until they came unto the drear rock's brow; And there she stood apart, not weeping now,

But pale as privet blossom is in June. There as the quivering flutes left off their tune, In trembling arms the weeping, haggard King Caught Psyche, who, like some half-lifeless thing,

Took all his kisses, and no word could say, Until at last perforce he turned away; Because the longest agony has end, And homeward through the twilight did they wend.

But Psyche, now faint and bewildered, Remembered little of her pain and dread; Her doom drawn nigh took all her fear away, And left her faint and weary; as they say

It haps to one who‘ neath a lion lies, Who stunned and helpless feels not ere he dies The horror of the yellow fell, the red Hot mouth, and white teeth gleaming o'er his head;

So Psyche felt, as sinking on the ground She cast one weary vacant look around, And at the ending of that wretched day Swooning beneath the risen moon she lay.

Now backward must our story go awhile And unto Cyprus the fair flowered isle, Where hid away from every worshipper Was Venus sitting, and her son by her

Standing to mark what words she had to say, While in his dreadful wings the wind did play: Frowning she spoke, in plucking from her thigh The fragrant flowers that clasped it lovingly.

“In such a town, O son, a maid there is Whom any amorous man this day would kiss As gladly as a goddess like to me, And though I know an end to this must be,

When white and red and gold are waxen grey Down on the earth, while unto me one day Is as another; yet behold, my son, And go through all my temples one by one

And look what incense rises unto me; Hearken the talk of sailors from the sea Just landed, ever will it be the same, ‘ Hast thou then seen her?’ — Yea, unto my shame

Within the temple that is calléd mine, As through the veil I watched the altar shine This happed; a man with outstretched hand there stood, Glittering in arms, of smiling joyous mood,

With crisp, black hair, and such a face one sees But seldom now, and limbs like Hercules; But as he stood there in my holy place, Across mine image came the maiden's face,

And when he saw her, straight the warrior said Turning about unto an earthly maid, ‘ O, lady Venus, thou art kind to me After so much of wandering on the sea

To show thy very body to me here,’ But when this impious saying I did hear, I sent them a great portent, for straightway I quenched the fire, and no priest on that day

Could light it any more for all his prayer. “So must she fall, so must her golden hair Flash no more through the city, or her feet Be seen like lilies moving down the street;

No more must men watch her soft raiment cling About her limbs, no more must minstrels sing The praises of her arms and hidden breast. And thou it is, my son, must give me rest

From all this worship wearisomely paid Unto a mortal who should be afraid To match the gods in beauty; take thy bow And dreadful arrows, and about her sow

The seeds of folly, and with such an one I pray thee cause her mingle, fair my son, That not the poorest peasant girl in Greece Would look on for the gift of Jason's fleece.

Do this, and see thy mother glad again, And free from insult, in her temples reign Over the hearts of lovers in the spring.” “Mother,” he said, “thou askest no great thing,

Some wretch too bad for death I soon shall find, Who round her perfect neck his arms shall wind. She shall be driven from the palace gate Where once her crowd of worshippers would wait

From earliest morning till the dew was dry On chance of seeing her gold gown glancing by; There through the storm of curses shall she go In evil raiment midst the winter snow,

Or in the summer in rough sheepskins clad. And thus, O mother, shall I make thee glad Remembering all the honour thou hast brought Unto mine altars; since as thine own thought

My thought is grown, my mind as thy dear mind.” Then straight he rose from earth and down the wind Went glittering‘ twixt the blue sky and the sea, And so unto the place came presently

Where Psyche dwelt, and through the gardens fair Passed seeking her, and as he wandered there Had still no thought but to do all her will, Nor cared to think if it were good or ill:

So beautiful and pitiless he went, And toward him still the blossomed fruit-trees leant, And after him the wind crept murmuring, And on the boughs the birds forgot to sing.

Withal at last amidst a fair green close, Hedged round about with woodbine and red rose, Within the flicker of a white-thorn shade In gentle sleep he found the maiden laid

One hand that held a book had fallen away Across her body, and the other lay Upon a marble fountain's plashing rim, Among whose broken waves the fish showed dim,

But yet its wide-flung spray now woke her not, Because the summer day at noon was hot, And all sweet sounds and scents were lulling her. So soon the rustle of his wings‘ gan stir

Her looser folds of raiment, and the hair Spread wide upon the grass and daisies fair, As Love cast down his eyes with a half smile Godlike and cruel; that faded in a while,

And long he stood above her hidden eyes With red lips parted in a god's surprise. Then very Love knelt down beside the maid And on her breast a hand unfelt he laid,

And drew the gown from off her dainty feet, And set his fair cheek to her shoulder sweet, And kissed her lips that knew of no love yet, And wondered if his heart would e'er forget

The perfect arm that o'er her body lay. But now by chance a damsel came that way, One of her ladies, and saw not the god, Yet on his shafts cast down had well-nigh trod

In wakening Psyche, who rose up in haste And girded up her gown about her waist, And with that maid went drowsily away. From place to place Love followed her that day

And ever fairer to his eyes she grew, So that at last when from her bower he flew, And underneath his feet the moonlit sea Went shepherding his waves disorderly,

He swore that of all gods and men, no one Should hold her in his arms but he alone; That she should dwell with him in glorious wise Like to a goddess in some paradise;

Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace That she should never die, but her sweet face And wonderful fair body should endure Till the foundations of the mountains sure

Were molten in the sea; so utterly Did he forget his mother's cruelty. And now that he might come to this fair end, He found Apollo, and besought him lend

His throne of divination for a while, Whereby he did the priestess there beguile, To give the cruel answer ye have heard Unto those lords, who wrote it word by word,

And back unto the King its threatenings bore, Whereof there came that grief and mourning sore, Of which ye wot; thereby is Psyche laid Upon the mountain-top; thereby, afraid

Of some ill yet, within the city fair Cower down the people that have sent her there. Withal did Love call unto him the Wind Called Zephyrus, who most was to his mind,

And said, “O rainy wooer of the spring, I pray thee, do for me an easy thing; To such a hill-top go, O gentle Wind, And there a sleeping maiden shalt thou find;

Her perfect body in thine arms with care Take up, and unto the green valley bear That lies before my noble house of gold; There leave her lying on the daisies cold.”

Then, smiling, toward the place the fair Wind went While‘ neath his wing the sleeping lilies bent, And flying‘ twixt the green earth and the sea Made the huge anchored ships dance merrily,

And swung round from the east the gilded vanes On many a palace, and from unhorsed wains Twitched off the wheat-straw in his hurried flight; But ere much time had passed he came in sight

Of Psyche laid in swoon upon the hill, And smiling, set himself to do Love's will; For in his arms he took her up with care, Wondering to see a mortal made so fair,

And came into the vale in little space, And set her down in the most flowery place; And then unto the plains of Thessaly Went ruffling up the edges of the sea.

Now underneath the world the moon was gone, But brighter shone the stars so left alone, Until a faint green light began to show Far in the east, whereby did all men know,

Who lay awake either with joy or pain, That day was coming on their heads again; Then widening, soon it spread to grey twilight, And in a while with gold the east was bright;

The birds burst out a-singing one by one, And o'er the hill-top rose the mighty sun. Therewith did Psyche open wide her eyes, And rising on her arm, with great surprise

Gazed on the flowers wherein so deep she lay, And wondered why upon that dawn of day Out in the fields she had lift up her head Rather than in her balmy gold-hung bed.

Then, suddenly remembering all her woes, She sprang upon her feet, and yet arose Within her heart a mingled hope and dread Of some new thing: and now she raised her head,

And gazing round about her timidly, A lovely grassy valley could she see, That steep grey cliffs upon three sides did bound, And under these, a river sweeping round,

With gleaming curves the valley did embrace, And seemed to make an island of that place; And all about were dotted leafy trees, The elm for shade, the linden for the bees,

The noble oak, long ready for the steel Which in that place it had no fear to feel; The pomegranate, the apple, and the pear, That fruit and flowers at once made shift to bear,

Nor yet decayed therefor, and in them hung Bright birds that elsewhere sing not, but here sung As sweetly as the small brown nightingales Within the wooded, deep Laconian vales.

But right across the vale, from side to side, A high white wall all further view did hide, But that above it, vane and pinnacle Rose up, of some great house beyond to tell,

And still betwixt these, mountains far away Against the sky rose shadowy, cold, and grey. She, standing in the yellow morning sun, Could scarcely think her happy life was done,

Or that the place was made for misery; Yea, some lone heaven it rather seemed to be, Which for the coming band of gods did wait; Hope touched her heart; no longer desolate,

Deserted of all creatures did she feel, And o'er her face sweet colour‘ gan to steal, That deepened to a flush, as wandering thought Desires before unknown unto her brought,

So mighty was the God, though far away. But trembling midst her hope, she took her way Unto a little door midmost the wall, And still on odorous flowers her feet did fall,

And round about her did the strange birds sing, Praising her beauty in their carolling. Thus coming to the door, when now her hand First touched the lock, in doubt she needs must stand,

And to herself she said, “Lo, here the trap! And yet, alas! whatever now may hap, How can I‘ scape the ill which waiteth me? Let me die now!” and herewith, tremblingly,

She raised the latch, and her sweet sinless eyes Beheld a garden like a paradise, Void of mankind, fairer than words can say, Wherein did joyous harmless creatures play

After their kind, and all amidst the trees Were strange-wrought founts and wondrous images; And glimmering‘ twixt the boughs could she behold A house made beautiful with beaten gold,

Whose open doors in the bright sun did gleam; Lonely, but not deserted did it seem. Long time she stood debating what to do, But at the last she passed the wicket through,

Which, shutting clamorously behind her, sent A pang of fear throughout her as she went; But when through all that green place she had passed And by the palace porch she stood at last,

And saw how wonderfully the wall was wrought, With curious stones from far-off countries brought, And many an image and fair history Of what the world has been, and yet shall be,

And all set round with golden craftsmanship, Well-wrought as some renowned cup's royal lip, She had a thought again to turn aside: And yet again, not knowing where to bide,

She entered softly, and with trembling hands Holding her gown; the wonder of all lands Met there the wonders of the land and sea. Now went she through the chambers tremblingly,

And oft in going would she pause and stand, And drop the gathered raiment from her hand, Stilling the beating of her heart for fear As voices whispering low she seemed to hear,

But then again the wind it seemed to be Moving the golden hangings doubtfully, Or some bewildered swallow passing close Unto the pane, or some wind-beaten rose.

Soon seeing that no evil thing came near, A little she began to lose her fear, And gaze upon the wonders of the place, And in the silver mirrors saw her face

Grown strange to her amidst that loneliness, And stooped to feel the web her feet did press, Wrought by the brown slim-fingered Indian's toil Amidst the years of war and vain turmoil;

Or she the figures of the hangings felt, Or daintily the unknown blossoms smelt, Or stood and pondered what new thing might mean The images of knight and king and queen

Wherewith the walls were pictured here and there, Or touched rich vessels with her fingers fair, And o'er her delicate smooth cheek would pass The long-fixed bubbles of strange works of glass:

So wandered she amidst these marvels new Until anigh the noontide now it grew. At last she came unto a chamber cool Paved cunningly in manner of a pool,

Where red fish seemed to swim through floating weed And at the first she thought it so indeed, And took the sandals quickly from her feet, But when the glassy floor these did but meet

The shadow of a long-forgotten smile Her anxious face a moment did beguile; And crossing o'er, she found a table spread With dainty food, as delicate white bread

And fruits piled up and covered savoury meat, As though a king were coming there to eat, For the worst vessel was of beaten gold. Now when these dainties Psyche did behold

She fain had eaten, but did nowise dare, Thinking she saw a god's feast lying there. But as she turned to go the way she came She heard a low soft voice call out her name,

Then she stood still, and trembling gazed around, And seeing no man, nigh sank upon the ground, Then through the empty air she heard the voice. “O, lovely one, fear not! rather rejoice

That thou art come unto thy sovereignty: Sit now and eat, this feast is but for thee, Yea, do whatso thou wilt with all things here, And in thine own house cast away thy fear,

For all is thine, and little things are these So loved a heart as thine, awhile to please. “Be patient! thou art loved by such an one As will not leave thee mourning here alone,

But rather cometh on this very night; And though he needs must hide him from thy sight Yet all his words of love thou well mayst hear, And pour thy woes into no careless ear.

“Bethink thee then, with what solemnity Thy folk, thy father, did deliver thee To him who loves thee thus, and void of dread Remember, sweet, thou art a bride new-wed.”

Now hearing this, did Psyche, trembling sore And yet with lighter heart than heretofore, Sit down and eat, till she grew scarce afeard; And nothing but the summer noise she heard

Within the garden, then, her meal being done, Within the window-seat she watched the sun Changing the garden-shadows, till she grew Fearless and happy, since she deemed she knew

The worst that could befall, while still the best Shone a fair star far off: and mid the rest This brought her after all her grief and fear, She said, “How sweet it would be, could I hear,

Soft music mate the drowsy afternoon, And drown awhile the bees’ sad murmuring tune Within these flowering limes.” E'en as she spoke, A sweet-voiced choir of unknown unseen folk

Singing to words that match the sense of these Hushed the faint music of the linden trees.