July

'What think you, sister:' thus one envious fiendTo other spake upon their homeward route,'What of the story that our wit hath glean'dOf this mysterious lover, who can shootIn thirty days from beardless youth to prime,With wisdom in his face before his time,And snowy locks upon his head to boot?

'Ay,' said the other, 'true, she lied not well;And thence I gather knows no more than we:For surely 'tis a spirit insensibleTo whom she is wedded, one she cannot see.'Tis that I fear; for if 'tis so, her childWill be a god, and she a goddess styled,Which, though I die to let it, shall not be.

'Lament we thus no longer. Come, consultWhat may be done.' And home they came at night,Yet not to rest, but of their plots occultSat whispering on their beds; and ere 'twas lightResolving on the deed coud not defer;But roused the sleeping house with sudden stir,And sallied forth alone to work their spite.

And with the noon were climb'd upon the peak,And swam down on the Zephyr as before;But now with piercing cry and doleful shriekThey force their entrance through the golden door,Feigning the urgency of bitter truth;Such as deforms a friendly face with ruth,When kindness may not hide ill tidings more.

Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din,And saw their countenances wan and wornWith travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin,Their hair dishevel'd and their habits torn,For trembling scarce coud ask what ill had hapt;And they alert with joy to see her trapt,Launch'd forth amain, and on their drift were borne.

'O Psyche, happiest certainly and blestUp to this hour,' they said, 'thou surely wert,Being of thy fearful peril unpossest;Which now we would not tell but to avert.But we in solemn truth thy spouse have foundTo be the dragon of this mountain ground,Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt.

'As yesternight we rode upon the windHe issued to pursue us from the wood;We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn'd,His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl'd hood.Lo, now betimes the oracle, which saidHow to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed,Is plainly for thy safety understood.

'Long time hath he been known to all that dwellUpon the plain; but now his secret lairHave we discover'd, which none else coud tell:Though many women fallen in his snareHath he enchanted; who, tradition saith,Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel deathThey pass in turn upon the summits bare.

Renounce the spells of this accursed vale.We come to save thee, but we dare not stay;Among these sightless spirits our senses quail.Fly with us, fly!' Then Psyche, for her soulWas soft and simple, lost her self-control,And, thinking only of the horrid tale,

'Dear sisters,' said she, and her sobbing speechWas broken by her terror, 'it is trueThat much hath hapt to stablish what ye teach;For ne'er hath it been granted me to viewMy husband; and, for aught I know, he mayBe even that cruel dragon, which ye sayPeer'd at you from the forest to pursue.

''Tis sure that scarcely can I win his graceTo see you here; and still he mischief vowsIf ever I should ask to see his face,Which, coming in the dark, he ne'er allows.Therefore, if ye can help, of pity show,Since doubt I must, how I may come to knowWhat kind of spirit it is that is my spouse.'

Then to her cue the younger was afore:'Hide thou a razor,' cried she, 'near thy bed;And have a lamp prepared, but whelm thereo'erSome cover, that no light be from it shed.And when securely in first sleep he lies,Look on him well, and ere he can arise,Gashing his throat, cut off his hideous head.'

Which both persuading, off they flew content,Divining that whate'er she was forbidWas by her lover for her safety meant,Which only coud be sure while he was hid.But Psyche, to that miserable deedBeing now already in her mind agreed,Wander'd alone, and knew not what she did.

Now she would trust her lover, now in turnMade question of his bidding as unjust;But thirsting curiosity to learnHis secret overcame her simple trust,O'ercame her spoken troth, o'ercame her fear;And she prepared, as now the hour drew near,The mean contrivances, nor felt disgust.

She set the lamp beneath a chair, and clokedThickly its rebel lustre from the eye:And laid the knife, to mortal keenness stroked,Within her reach, where she was wont to lie:And took her place full early; but her heartBeat fast, and stay'd her breath with sudden start,Feeling her lover's arm laid fond thereby.

But when at last he slept, then she arose,All faint and tremulous: and though it beThat wrong betrayeth innocence with shewsOf novelty, its guilt from shame to free,Yet 'twas for shame her hand so strangely shookThat held the steel, and from the cloke that tookThe lamp, and raised it o'er the bed to see.

She had some fear she might not well discernBy that small flame a monster in the gloom;When lo! the air about her seem'd to burn,And bright celestial radiance fill'd the room.Too plainly O she saw, O fair to see!Eros, 'twas Eros' self, her lover, he,The God of love, reveal'd in deathless bloom.

Her fainting strength forsook her; on her kneesDown by the bed she sank; the shameless knifeFell flashing, and her heart took thought to seizeIts desperate haft, and end her wicked life.Yet coud she not her loving eyes withdrawFrom her fair sleeping lover, whom she sawOnly to know she was no more his wife.

O treasure of all treasures, late her own!O loss above all losses, lost for aye!Since there was no repentance coud atoneFor her dishonour, nor her fate withstay.But yet 'twas joy to have her love in sight;And, to the rapture yielding while she might,She gazed upon his body where he lay.

Above all mortal beauty, as was hers,She saw a rival; but if passion's heartBe rightly read by subtle questioners,It owns a wanton and a gentler part.And Psyche wonder'd, noting every signBy which the immortal God, her spouse divine,Betray'd the image of our earthly art;

His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks,And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl'd chin,The full and cushion'd eye, that idly speaksOf self-content and vanity within,The forward, froward ear, and smooth to touchHis body sleek, but rounded overmuchFor dignity of mind and pride akin.

She noted that the small irradiant wings,That from his shoulders lay along at rest,Were yet disturb'd with airy quiverings,As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest;She feared he was awaking, but they keptTheir sweet commotion still, and still he slept,And still she gazed with never-tiring zest.

And now the colour of her pride and joyOutflush'd the hue of Eros; she, so cold,To have fired the passion of the heartless boy,Whom none in heaven or earth were found to hold!Psyche, the earthborn, to be prized aboveThe heavenly Graces by the God of love,And worshipt by his wantonness untold!

Nay, for that very thing she loved him more,More than herself her sweet self's complement:Until the sight of him again upboreHer courage, and renew'd her vigour spent.And looking now around, she first espiedWhere at the bed's foot, cast in haste aside,Lay his full quiver, and his bow unbent.

One of those darts, of which she had heard so oft,She took to try if 'twas so very keen;And held its point against her finger softSo gently, that to touch it scarce was seen;Yet was she sharply prickt, and felt the fireRun through her veins; and now a strange desireTroubl'd her heart, which ne'er before had been:

Straight sprang she to her lover on the bed,And kisst his cheek, and was not satisfied:When, O the lamp, held ill-balanced o'erhead,One drop of burning oil spill'd from its sideOn Eros' naked shoulder as he slept,Who waken'd by the sudden smart upleptUpon the floor, and all the mischief eyed.

With nervous speed he seized his bow, and pastOut of the guilty chamber at a bound;But Psyche, following his flight as fast,Caught him, and crying threw her arms around:Till coming to the court he rose in air;And she, close clinging in her last despair,Was dragg'd, and then lost hold and fell to ground.

Wailing she fell; but he, upon the roofStaying his feet, awhile his flight delay'd:And turning to her as he stood aloofBeside a cypress, whose profoundest shadeDrank the reflections of the dreamy nightIn its stiff pinnacle, the nimble lightOf million stars upon his body play'd:

'O simple-hearted Psyche,' thus he spake,And she upraised her piteous eyes and hands,'O simple-hearted Psyche, for thy sakeI dared to break my mother's stern commands;And gave thee godlike marriage in the placeOf vilest shame; and, not to hurt thy grace,Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands.

'But thou, for doubt I was some evil beast,Hast mock'd the warnings of my love, to spyUpon my secret, which concern'd thee least,Seeing that thy joy was never touch'd thereby.By faithless prying thou hast work'd thy fall,And, even as I foretold thee, losest allFor looking on thy happiness too nigh:

'Which loss may be thine ample punishment.But to those fiends, by whom thou wert misled,Go tell each one in turn that I have sentThis message, that I love her in thy stead;And bid them by their love haste hither soon.'Whereat he fled; and Psyche in a swoonFell back upon the marble floor as dead.