In the dark house, and straightway did decline
With meek denial the luxurious seat,
The liberal board for welcome strangers spread,
But sate down lowly at the dark queen’s feet,
And told her tale, and brake her oaten bread.
And when she had given the pyx in humble duty,
And told how Venus did entreat the queen
To fill it up with only one day’s beauty
She used in Hades, star-bright and serene,
To beautify the Cyprian, who had been
All spoilt with grief in nursing her sick boy, —
Then Proserpine, in malice and in joy,
Smiled in the shade, and took the pyx, and put
A secret in it; and so, filled and shut,
Gave it again to Psyche. Could she tell
It held no beauty, but a dream of hell?
PSYCHE AND VENUS.
(Metamorph., Lib. VI.)
AND Pysche brought to Venus what was sent
By Pluto’s spouse; the paler, that she went
So low to seek it, down the dark descent.
MERCURY CARRIES PSYCHE TO OLYMPUS.
(Metamorph., Lib. VI.)
THEN Jove commanded the god Mercury
To float up Psyche from the earth. And she
Sprang at the first word, as the fountain springs,
And shot up bright and rustling through his wings.
MARRIAGE OF PSYCHE AND CUPID.
(Metamorph., Lib. VI.)
AND Jove’s right-hand approached the ambrosial bowl
To Psyche’s lips, that scarce dared yet to smile, —
“Drink, O my daughter, and acquaint thy soul
With deathless uses, and be glad the while!
No more shall Cupid leave thy lovely side;
Thy marriage-joy begins for never-ending.”
While yet he spake, — the nuptial feast supplied, —
The bridegroom on the festive couch was bending
O’er Psyche in his bosom — Jove, the same,
On Juno, and the other deities,
Alike ranged round. The rural cup-boy came
And poured Jove’s nectar out with shining eyes,
While Bacchus, for the others, did as much,
And Vulcan spread the meal; and all the Hours
Made all things purple with a sprinkle of flowers,
Or roses chiefly, not to say the touch
Of their sweet fingers; and the Graces glided
Their balm around, and the Muses, through the air,
Struck out clear voices, which were still divided
By that divinest song Apollo there
Intoned to his lute; while Aphrodite fair
Did float her beauty along the tune, and play
The notes right with her feet. And thus, the day
Through every perfect mood of joy was carried.
The Muses sang their chorus; Satyrus
Did blow his pipes; Pan touched his reed; — and thus
At last were Cupid and his Psyche married.
PARAPHRASES ON NONNUS.
HOW BACCHUS FINDS ARIADNE SLEEPING.
(Dionysiaca, Lib. XLVII.)
WHEN Bacchus first beheld the desolate
And sleeping Ariadne, wonder straight
Was mixed with love in his great golden eyes;
He turned to his Bacchantes in surprise,
And said with guarded voice,— “Hush! strike no more
Your brazen cymbals; keep those voices still
Of voice and pipe; and since ye stand before
Queen Cypris, let her slumber as she will!
And yet the cestus is not here in proof.
A Grace, perhaps, whom sleep has stolen aloof:
In which case, as the morning shines in view,
Wake this Aglaia! — yet in Naxos, who
Would veil a Grace so? Hush! And if that she
Were Hebe, which of all the gods can, be
The pourer-out of wine? or if we think
She’s like the shining moon by ocean’s brink,
The guide of herds, — why, could she sleep without
Endymion’s breath on her cheek? or if I doubt
Of silver-footed Thetis, used to tread
These shores, — even she (in reverence be it said)
Has no such rosy beauty to dress deep
With the blue waves. The Loxian goddess might
Repose so from her hunting-toil aright
Beside the sea, since toil gives birth to sleep,
But who would find her with her tunic loose,
Thus? Stand off, Thracian! stand off! Do not leap,
Not this way! Leave that piping, since I choose,
O dearest Pan, and let Athene rest!
And yet if she be Pallas.. truly guessed..
Her lance is — where? her helm and ægis — where?”
— As Bacchus closed, the miserable Pair
Awoke at last, sprang upward from the sands,
And gazing wild on that wild throng that stands
Around, around her, and no Theseus there! —
Her voice went moaning over shore and sea,
Beside the halcyon’s cry; she called her love;
She named her hero, and raged maddeningly
Against the brine of waters; and above,
Sought the ship’s track, and cursed the hours she slept
And still the chiefest execration swept
Against queen Paphia, mother of the ocean;
And cursed and prayed by times in her emotion
The winds all round —
Her grief did make her glorious; her despair
Adorned her with its weight. Poor wailing child!
She looked like Venus when the goddess smiled
At liberty of godship, debonair;
Poor Ariadne! and her eyelids fair
Hid looks beneath them lent her by Persuasion
And every Grace, with tears of Love’s own passion.
She wept long; then she spake:— “Sweet sleep did come
While sweetest Theseus went. O, glad and dumb,
I wish he had left me still! for in my sleep
I saw his Athens, and did gladly keep
My new bride-state within my Theseus’ hall;
And heard the pomp of Hymen, and the call
Of ‘Ariadne, Ariadne,’ sung
In choral joy; and there, with joy I hung
Spring-blossoms round love’s altar! — ay, and wore
A wreath myself; and felt him evermore,
Oh, evermore beside me, with his mighty
Grave head bowed down in prayer to Aphrodite!
Why, what a sweet, sweet dream! He went with it,
And left me here unwedded where I sit!
Persuasion help me! The dark night did make me
A brideship, the fair morning takes away;
My Love had left me when the Hour did wake me;
And while I dreamed of marriage, as I say,
And blest it well, my blessed Theseus left me:
And thus the sleep, I loved so, has bereft me.
Speak to me, rocks, and tell my grief to-day,
Who stole my love of Athens?”....
HOW BACCHUS COMFORTS ARIADNE.
(Dionysiaca, Lib. XLVII.)
THEN Bacchus’ subtle speech her sorrow crossed: —
“O maiden, dost thou mourn for having lost
The false Athenian heart? and dost thou still
Take thought of Theseus, when thou may’st at will
Have Bacchus for a husband? Bacchus bright!
A god in place of mortal! Yes, and though
The mortal youth be charming in thy sight,
That man of Athens cannot strive below,
In beauty and valour, with my deity!
Thou’lt tell me of the labyrinthine dweller,
The fierce man-bull, he slew: I pray thee, be,
Fair A
riadne, the true deed’s true teller,
And mention thy clue’s help! because, forsooth,
Thine armed Athenian hero had not found
A power to fight on that prodigious ground,
Unless a lady in her rosy youth
Had lingered near him: not to speak the truth
Too definitely (put till names be known —
Like Paphia’s — Love’s — and Ariadne’s own.
Thou wilt not say that Athens can compare
With Æther, nor that Minos rules like Zeus,
Nor yet that Gnossus has such golden air
As high Olympus. Ha! for noble use
We came to Naxos! Love has well intended
To change thy bridegroom! Happy thou, defended
From entering in thy Theseus’ earthly hall,
That thou may’st hear the laughters rise and fall
Instead, where Bacchus rules! Or wilt thou choose
A still-surpassing glory? — take it all, —
A heavenly house, Kronion’s self for kin, —
A place where Cassiopea sits within
Inferior light, for all her daughter’s sake,
Since Perseus, even amid the stars, must take
Andromeda in chains æthereal!
But I will wreathe thee, sweet, an astral crown,
And as my queen and spouse thou shalt be known —
Mine, the crown-lover’s!” Thus, at length, he proved
His comfort on her; and the maid was moved;
And casting Theseus’ memory down the brine,
She straight received the troth of her divine
Pair Bacchus; Love stood by to close the rite:
The marriage-chorus struck up clear and light,
Flowers sprouted fast about the chamber green,
And with spring-garlands on their heads, I ween,
The Orchomenian dancers came along
And danced their rounds in Naxos to the song.
A Hamadryad sang a nuptial dit
Eight shrilly: and a Naiad sate beside
A fountain, with her bare foot shelving it,
And hymned of Ariadne, beauteous bride,
Whom thus the god of grapes had deified.
Ortygia sang out, louder than her wont,
An ode which Phoebus gave her to be tried,
And leapt in chorus, with her steadfast front,
While prophet Love, the stars have called a brother,
Burnt in his crown, and twined in one another
His love-flower with the purple roses, given
In type of that new crown assigned in heaven.
PARAPHRASE ON HESIOD.
BACCHUS AND ARIADNE.
(Theog. 947.)
THE golden-hairëd Bacchus did espouse
That fairest Ariadne, Minos’ daughter,
And made her wifehood blossom in the house;
Where such protective gifts Kronion brought her,
Nor Death nor Age could find her when they sought her.
PARAPHRASE ON EURIPIDES.
ANTISTROPHE.
(TROADES, 853.)
LOVE, Love, who once didst pass the Dardan portals,
Because of Heavenly passion!
Who once didst lift up Troy in exultation,
To mingle in thy bond the high Immortals! —
Love, turned from his own name
To Zeus’s shame,
Can help no more at all.
And Eos’ self, the fair, white-steeded Morning, —
Her light which blesses other lands, returning,
Has changed to a gloomy pall!
She looked across the land with eyes of amber, —
She saw the city’s fall, —
She, who, in pure embraces,
Had held there, in the hymeneal chamber,
Her children’s father, bright Tithonus old,
Whom the four steeds with starry brows and paces
Bore on, snatched upward, on the car of gold,
And with him, all the land’s full hope of joy!
The love-charms of the gods are vain for Troy.
Note. — Rendered after Mr. Burges’ reading, in some respects — not quite all.
PARAPHRASES ON HOMER.
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
(Iliad, Lib. VI.)
SHE rushed to meet him: the nurse following
Bore on her bosom the unsaddened child,
A simple babe, prince Hector’s well-loved son,
Like a star shining when the world is dark.
Scamandrius, Hector called him; but the rest
Named him Astyanax, the city’s prince,
Because that Hector only, had saved Troy.
He, when he saw his son, smiled silently;
While, dropping tears, Andromache pressed on,
And clung to his hand, and spake, and named his name.
“Hector, my best one, — thine own nobleness
Must needs undo thee. Pity hast thou none
For this young child, and this most sad myself,
Who soon shall be thy widow — since that soon
The Greeks will slay thee in the general rush —
And then, for me, what refuge, “reft of thee,
But to go graveward? Then, no comfort more
Shall touch me, as in the old sad times thou know’st-
Grief only — grief! I have no father now,
No mother mild! Achilles the divine,
He slew my father, sacked his lofty Thebes,
Cilicia’s populous city, and slew its king,
Eëtion — father! — did not spoil the corse,
Because the Greek revered him in his soul,
But burnt the body with its dædal arms,
And poured the dust out gently. Bound that tomb
The Oreads, daughters of the goat-nursed Zeus,
Tripped in a ring, and planted their green elms.
There were seven brothers with me in the house,
Who all went down to Hades in one day, —
For he slew all, Achilles the divine,
Famed for his swift feet, — slain among their herds
Of cloven-footed bulls and flocking sheep!
My mother too, who queened it o’er the woods
Of Hippoplacia, he, with other spoil,
Seized, — and, for golden ransom, freed too late, —
Since, as she went home, arrowy Artemis
Met her and slew her at my father’s door.
But — oh, my Hector, — thou art still to me
Father and mother! — yes, and brother dear,
O thou, who art my sweetest spouse beside!
Come now, and take me into pity! Stay
F the town here with us! Do not make thy child
An orphan, nor a widow, thy poor wife!
Call up the people to the fig-tree, where
The city is most accessible, the wall
Most easy of assault! — for thrice thereby
The boldest Greeks have mounted to the breach, —
Both Ajaxes, the famed Idomeneus,
Two sons of Atreus, and the noble one
Of Tydeus, — whether taught by some wise seer,
Or by their own souls prompted and inspired.”
Great Hector answered:— “Lady, for these things
It is my part to care. And I fear most
My Trojans, and their daughters, and their wives,
Who through their long veils would glance scorn at me,
If, coward-like, I shunned the open war.
Nor doth my own soul prompt me to that end!
I learnt to be a brave man constantly,
And to fight foremost where my Trojans fight,
And vindicate my father’s glory and mine —
Because I know, by instinct and my soul,
The day comes that our sacred Troy must fall,
And Priam and his people. Knowing which,
I have no such grief for all my Troj
ans’ sake,
For Hecuba’s, for Priam’s, our old king,
Not for my brothers’, who so many and brave
Shall bite the dust before our enemies, —
As, sweet, for thee! — to think some mailed Greek
Shall lead thee weeping and deprive thy life
Of the free sun-sight — that, when gone away
To Argos, thou shalt throw the distaff there,
Not for thy uses — or shalt carry instead
Upon thy loathing brow, as heavy as doom,
The water of Greek wells — Messeis’ own,
Or Hyperea’s! — that some stander-by,
Marking thy tears fall, shall say, ‘This is She,
The wife of that same Hector who fought best
Of all the Trojans, when all fought for Troy— ‘
Ay! — and, so speaking, shall renew thy pang
That, ‘reft of Him so named, thou shouldst survive
To a slave’s life! But earth shall hide my corse
Ere that shriek sound, wherewith thou art dragged from Troy.”
Thus Hector spake, and stretched his arms to his child.
Against the nurse’s breast, with childly cry,
The boy clung back, and shunned his father’s face,
And feared the glittering brass and waving hair
Of the high helmet, nodding horror down.
The father smiled, the mother could, not choose
But smile too. Then he lifted from his brow
The helm, and set it on the ground to shine:
Then, kissed his dear child — raised him with both arms,
And thus invoked Zeus and the general gods: —
“Zeus, and all godships! grant this boy of mine
To be the Trojans’ help, as I myself, —
To live a brave life and rule well in Troy!
Till men shall say, ‘The son exceeds the sire
By a far glory.’ Let him bring home spoil
Heroic, and make glad his mother’s heart.”
With which prayer, to his wife’s extended arms
He gave the child; and she received him straight
To her bosom’s fragrance — smiling up her tears.
Hector gazed on her till his soul was moved;
Then softly touched her with his hand and spake.
“My best one— ‘ware of passion and excess
In any fear. There’s no man in the world
Complete Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Page 123
