June

And truly need there was to the old KingFor consolation: since the mournful dayOf Psyche's fate he took no comforting,But only for a speedy death would pray;And on his head his hair grew silver-white.--Such on life's topmost bough is sorrow's blight,When the stout heart is cankering to decay.

Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quickComfort and solace to their sire to lend.But as not seldom they who nurse the sickWill take the malady from them they tend,So happ'd it now; for they who fail'd to cheerGrew sad themselves, and in that palace drearIncreased the evil that they came to mend.

And them the unhappy father sent to seekWhere Psyche had been left, if they might findWhat monster held her on the savage peak;Or if she there had died of hunger pined,And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter'd bonesMight still be gather'd from the barren stones;Or if her fate had left no trace behind.

So just upon this time her sisters bothClimb'd on the cliff that hung o'er Psyche's vale;And finding there no sign, to leave were lothEre well assured she lurk'd not within hail.So calling loud her name, 'Psyche!' they cried,'Psyche, O Psyche!' and when none repliedThey sank upon the rocks to weep and wail.

But Psyche heard their voices where she sat,And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleetThose mourners down unto the grassy plat'Midst of her garden, where she had her seat.Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pairCame swiftly sinking on his buoyant air,And stood upon the terrace at her feet.

Upsprang she then, and kiss'd them and embraced,And said 'Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn.I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced,But blest above all days since I was born:Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and seeHow little cause has been to grieve for me,And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.'

So entering by the golden gate, or e'erThe marvel of their hither flight had waned,Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhereTheir eyes that lit on beauty were enchain'd;And Psyche's airy service, as she bade,Perform'd its magic office, and display'dThe riches of the palace where she reign'd.

And through the perfumed chambers they were led,And bathed therein; and after, set to sup,Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed,And wine more precious than its golden cup.Till seeing nothing lack'd and naught was theirs,Their happiness fell from them unawares,And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up.

At last one said 'Psyche, since not aloneThou livest here in joy, as well we wot,Who is the man who should these wonders own,Or god, I say, and still appeareth not?What is his name? What rank and guise hath he,Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth theeAbove all others in thy blissful lot?'

But Psyche when that wistful speech she heardWas ware of all her spouse had warn'd her of:And uttering a disingenuous word,Said 'A youth yet unbearded is my love;He goeth hunting on the plains to-day,And with his dogs hath wander'd far away;And not till eve can he return above.'

Then fearing to be nearer plied, she roseAnd brought her richest jewels one by one,Bidding them choose and take whate'er they chose;And beckoning the Zephyr spake anonThat he should waft her sisters to the peak;The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak,They rose on high, and in the wind were gone.

Nor till again they came upon the road,Which from the mountain shoulder o'er the plainLed to the city of their sire's abode,Found they their tongues, though full of high disdainTheir hearts were, but kept silence, till the strengthOf pride and envious hatred burst at lengthIn voice, and thus the elder gan complain:

'Cruel and unjust fortune! that of threeSisters, whose being from one fountain well'd,Exalts the last so high from her degree,And leaves the first to be so far excel'd.My husband is a poor and niggard churlTo him, whoe'er he be, that loves the girl.Oh! in what godlike state her house is held!'

'Ay,' said the other, 'to a gouty loonAm I not wedded? Lo! thy hurt is mine:But never call me woman more, if soonI cannot lure her from her height divine.Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to saveThe wealth of which so grudgingly she gave;Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine.

'She but received us out of pride, to showHer state, well deeming that her happinessWas little worth while there was none to know;So is our lot uninjured if none guess.Reveal we nothing therefore, but the whileTogether scheme this wanton to beguile,And bring her boasting godhead to distress.'

So fresh disordering their dress and hair,With loud lament they to their sire return,Telling they found not Psyche anywhere,And of her sure mischance could nothing learn:And with that lie the wounded man they slew,Hiding the saving truth which well they knew;Nor did his piteous grief their heart concern.

Meanwhile her unknown lover did not ceaseTo warn poor Psyche how her sisters plan'dTo undermine her love and joy and peace;And urged how well she might their wiles withstand,By keeping them from her delight aloof:For better is security than proof,And malice held afar than near at hand.

'And, dearest wife,' he said, 'since 'tis not longEre one will come to share thy secrecy,And be thy babe and mine; let nothing wrongThe happy months of thy maternity.If thou keep trust, then shalt thou see thy childA god; but if to pry thou be beguiled,The lot of both is death and misery.'

Then Psyche's simple heart was fill'd with joy,And counting to herself the months and days,Look'd for the time, when she should bear a boyTo be her growing stay and godlike praise.And 'O be sure,' she said, 'be sure, my prideHaving so rich a promise cannot slide,Even if my love coud fail which thee obeys.'

And so most happily her life went by,In thoughts of love dear to her new estate;Until at length the evil day drew nigh,When now her sisters, joined in jealous hate,Set forth again, and plotted by the wayHow they might best allure her to betrayHer secret; with what he their angle bait.

That night her husband spake to her, and said'Psyche, thy sisters come: and when they climbThe peak they will not tarry to be spedDown by the Zephyr, as that other time,But winging to the wind will cast themselvesOut in the air, and on the rocky shelvesBe dasht, and pay the penalty of crime.

'So let it be, and so shall we be saved.'Which meditated vengeance of his fearWhen Psyche heard, now for their life she craved,Whose mere distress erewhile had toucht her near.Around her lover's neck her arms she threw,And pleaded for them by her faith so true,Although they went on doom in judgment clear.

In terror of bloodguiltiness she nowForgot all other danger; she adjured,Or using playfulness deep sobs would plowHer soft entreaties, not to be endured:Till he at last was fain once more to grantThe service of the Zephyr, to enchantThat wicked couple from their fate assured.

So ere 'twas noon were noises at the doorOf knocking loud and voices high in glee;Such as within that vale never beforeHad been, and now seem'd most unmeet to be.And Psyche blush'd, though being alone, and roseTo meet her sisters and herself uncloseThe gate that made them of her palace free.

Fondly she kiss'd them, and with kindly cheerSought to amuse; and they with outward smileO'ermask'd their hate, and called her sweet and dear,Finding affection easy to beguile:And all was smooth, until at last one said'Tell us, I pray, to whom 'tis thou art wed;'Mong gods or men, what is his rank and style?

'Thou canst not think to hide the truth from us,Who knew thy peevish sorrows when a maid,And see thee now so glad and rapturous,As changed from what thou wert as light from shade;Thy jewels, too, the palace of a king,Nor least the serviceable spiriting,By everything thy secret is betray'd:

'And yet thou talkest of thy wondrous manNo more than if his face thou didst not know.'At which incontinently she began,Forgetful of her word a month ago,Answering 'A merchant rich, of middle age,My husband is; and o'er his features sageHis temples are already touch'd with snow.

'But 'gainst his wish since hither ye were brought'Twere best depart.' Then her accustom'd spellSped them upon the summit quick as thought;And being alone her doing pleased her well:So was she vext to find her love at nightMore sad than ever, of her sisters' spiteSpeaking as one that coud the end foretell.

'And ere long,' said he, 'they will spy again:Let them be dash'd upon the rocks and die;'Tis they must come to death or thou to pain,To separation, Psyche, thou and I;Nay, and our babe to ill. I therefore craveThou wilt not even once more these vipers save,Nor to thy love his only boon deny.'

But Psyche would not think her sisters' crimeSo gross and strange, nor coud her danger see;Since 'twere so easy, if at any timeThey show'd the venom of their hearts, that sheShould fan them off upon the willing gust.So she refused, and claiming truer trust,Would in no wise unto their death agree.