May

After long sleep when Psyche first awokeAmong the grasses 'neath the open skies,And heard the mounting larks, whose carol spokeDelighted invitation to arise,She lay as one who after many a leagueHath slept off memory with his long fatigue,And waking knows not in what place he lies:

Anon her quickening thought took up its task,And all came back as it had happ'd o'ernight;The sad procession of the wedding mask,The melancholy toiling up the height,The solitary rock where she was left;And thence in dark and airy waftage reft,How on the flowers she had been disburden'd light.

Thereafter she would rise and see what placeThat voyage had its haven in, and foundShe stood upon a little hill, whose baseShelved off into the valley all around;And all round that the steep cliffs rose away,Save on one side where to the break of dayThe widening dale withdrew in falling ground.

There, out from over sea, and scarce so highAs she, the sun above his watery blazeUpbroke the grey dome of the morning sky,And struck the island with his level rays;Sifting his gold thro' lazy mists, that stillClimb'd on the shadowy roots of every hill,And in the tree-tops breathed their silvery haze.

At hand on either side there was a wood;And on the upward lawn, that sloped between,Not many paces back a temple stood,By even steps ascending from the green;With shaft and pediment of marble made,It fill'd the passage of the rising glade,And there withstay'd the sun in dazzling sheen.

Too fair for human art, so Psyche thought,It might the fancy of some god rejoice;Like to those halls which lame Hephæstos wrought,Original, for each god to his choice,In high Olympus; where his matchless lyreApollo wakes, and the responsive choirOf Muses sing alternate with sweet voice.

Wondering she drew anigh, and in a whileWent up the steps as she would entrance win,And faced her shadow 'neath the peristyleUpon the golden gate, whose flanges twin--As there she stood, irresolute at heartTo try--swung to her of themselves apart;Whereat she past between and stood within.

A foursquare court it was with marble floor'd,Embay'd about with pillar'd porticoes,That echo'd in a somnolent accordThe music of a fountain, which aroseSparkling in air, and splashing in its tank;Whose wanton babble, as it swell'd or sank,Gave idle voice to silence and repose.

Thro' doors beneath the further colonnade,Like a deep cup's reflected glooms of gold,The inner rooms glow'd with inviting shade:And, standing in the court, she might beholdCedar, and silk, and silver; and that allThe pargeting of ceiling and of wallWas fresco'd o'er with figures manifold.

Then making bold to go within, she heardMurmur of gentle welcome in her ear;And seeing none that coud have spoken word,She waited: when again Lady, draw near;Enter! was cried; and now more voices cameFrom all the air around calling her name,And bidding her rejoice and have no fear.

And one, if she would rest, would show her bed,Pillow'd for sleep, with fragrant linen fine;One, were she hungry, had a table spreadLike as the high gods have it when they dine:Or, would she bathe, were those would heat the bath;The joyous cries contending in her path,Psyche, they said, What wilt thou? all is thine.

Then Psyche would have thank'd their service true,But that she fear'd her echoing words might scareThose sightless tongues; and well by dream she knewThe voices of the messengers of prayer,Which fly upon the gods' commandment, whenThey answer the supreme desires of men,Or for a while in pity hush their care.

'Twas fancy's consummation, and becauseShe would do joy no curious despite,She made no wonder how the wonder was;Only concern'd to take her full delight.So to the bath,--what luxury could beBetter enhanced by eyeless ministry?--She follows with the voices that invite.

There being deliciously refresht, from soilOf earth made pure by water, fire, and air,They clad her in soft robes of Asian toil,Scented, that in her queenly wardrobe were;And led her forth to dine, and all aroundSang as they served, the while a choral soundOf strings unseen and reeds the burden bare.

P athetic strains and passionate they wove,U rgent in ecstasies of heavenly sense;R esponsive rivalries, that, while they stroveC ombined in full harmonious suspense,E ntrancing wild desire, then fell at lastL ull'd in soft closes, and with gay contrastL aunch'd forth their fresh unwearied excellence.

Now Psyche, when her twofold feast was o'er,Would feed her eye; and choosing for her guideA low-voiced singer, bade her come exploreThe wondrous house; until on every sideAs surfeited with beauty, and seeing noughtBut what was rich and fair beyond her thought,And all her own, thus to the voice she cried:

'Am I indeed a goddess, or is thisBut to be dead: and through the gates of deathPassing unwittingly doth man not missBody nor memory nor living breath;Nor by demerits of his deeds is cast,But, paid with the desire he holdeth fast,Is holp with all his heart imagineth?'

But her for all reply the wandering tongueCall'd to the chamber where her bed was laidWith flower'd broideries of linen hung:And round the walls in painting were portray'dLove's victories over the gods renown'd.Ares and Aphrodite here lay boundIn the fine net that dark Hephæstus made:

Here Zeus, in likeness of a tawny bull,Stoop'd on the Cretan shore his mighty knee,While off his back Europa beautifulStept pale against the blue Carpathian sea;And here Apollo, as he caught amazedDaphne, for lo! her hands shot forth upraisedIn leaves, her feet were rooted like a tree:

Here Dionysos, springing from his carAt sight of Ariadne; here upleptAdonis to the chase, breaking the barOf Aphrodite's arm for love who wept:He spear in hand, with leashèd dogs at strain;A marvellous work. But Psyche soon grown fainOf rest, betook her to her bed and slept.

Nor long had slept, when at a sudden stirShe woke; and one, that thro' the dark made way,Drew near, and stood beside; and over herThe curtain rustl'd. Trembling now she lay,Fainting with terror: till upon her faceA kiss, and with two gentle arms' embrace,A voice that call'd her name in loving play.

Though for the darkness she coud nothing see,She wish'd not then for what the night denied:This was the lover she had lack'd, and she,Loving his loving, was his willing bride.O'erjoy'd she slept again, o'erjoy'd awokeAt break of morn upon her love to look;When lo! his empty place lay by her side.

So all that day she spent in companyOf the soft voices; and Of right, they said,Art thou our Lady now. Be happilyThy bridal morrow by thy servants sped.But she but long'd for night, if that might bringHer lover back; and he on secret wingCame with the dark, and in the darkness fled.

And this was all her life; for every nightHe came, and though his name she never learn'd,Nor was his image yielded to her sightAt morn or eve, she neither look'd nor yearn'dBeyond her happiness: and custom broughtAn ease to pleasure; nor would Psyche's thoughtHave ever to her earthly home return'd,

But that one night he said 'Psyche, my soul,Sad danger threatens us: thy sisters twainCome to the mountain top, whence I thee stole,And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain.Answer them not: for it must end our loveIf they should hear or spy thee from above.'And Psyche said 'Their cry shall be in vain.'

But being again alone, she thought 'twas hardOn her own blood; and blamed her joy as thiefOf theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr'd;When she their care might be their care's relief.All day she brooded on her father's woe,And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.

Then question'd why she wept, she all confest;And begg'd of him she might but once go nighTo set her sire's and sisters' fears at rest;Till he for pity coud not but comply:'Only if they should ask thee of thy loveDiscover nothing to their ears above.'And Psyche said 'In vain shall be their cry.'

And yet with day no sooner was alone,Than she for loneliness her promise rued:That having so much pleasure for her own,'Twas all unshared and spent in solitude.And when at night her love flew to his place,More than afore she shamed his fond embrace,And piteously with tears her plaint renew'd.

The more he now denied, the more she wept;Nor would in anywise be comforted,Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept,Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed,And see themselves the palace where she reign'd.And he, by force of tears at last constrain'd,Granted her wish unwillingly, and said:

'Much to our peril hast thou won thy will;Thy sisters' love, seeing thee honour'd so,Will sour to envy, and with jealous skillWill pry to learn the thing that none may know.Answer not, nor inquire; for know that IThe day thou seest my face far hence shall fly,And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.'

But Psyche said, 'Thy love is more than life;To have thee leaveth nothing to be won:For should the noonday prove me to be wifeEven of the beauteous Eros, who is sonOf Cypris, I coud never love thee more.'Whereat he fondly kisst her o'er and o'er,And peace was 'twixt them till the night was done.