Ode

O that the earth, or only this fair isle wer' oursAmid the ocean's blue billows,With flow'ry woodland, stately mountain and valley,Cascading and lilied river;Nor ever a mortal envious, laborious,By anguish or dull care opprest,Should come polluting with remorseful countenanceOur haunt of easy gaiety.For us the grassy slopes, the country's airiness,The lofty whispering forest,Where rapturously Philomel invoketh the nightAnd million eager throats the morn;With doves at evening softly cooing, and mellowCadences of the dewy thrush.We love the gentle deer, the nimble antelope;Mice love we and springing squirrels;To watch the gaudy flies visit the blooms, to hearOn ev'ry mead the grasshopper.All thro' the spring-tide, thro' the indolent summer,(If only this fair isle wer' ours)Here might we dwell, forgetful of the weedy cavesBeneath the ocean's blue billows.

CH. Hail, mighty Mother!--Welcome, great Demeter!--(1) This day bring joy to thee, and peace to man!

DEM. I welcome you, my loving true allies,And thank you, who for me your gentle tempersHave stiffen'd in rebellion, and so longHarass'd the foe. Here on this field of flowersI have bid you share my victory or defeat.For Hermes hath this day command from ZeusTo lead our lost Persephone from Hell,Hither whence she was stolen.--And yet, alas!Tho' Zeus is won, some secret power thwarts me;All is not won: a cloud is o'er my spirit.Wherefore not yet I boast, nor will rejoiceTill mine eyes see her, and my arms enfold her,And breast to breast we meet in fond embrace.

CH. Well hast thou fought, great goddess, so to wrestZeus from his word. We thank thee, call'd to shareThy triumph, and rejoice. Yet O, we pray,Make thou this day a day of peace for man!Even if Persephone be not restored,Whether Aidoneus hold her or release,Relent thou.--Stay thine anger, mighty goddess;Nor with thy hateful famine slay mankind.

DEM. And what can ye have seen that I know not?--His sorrow?--Ah my sorrow!--and ye bidMe to relent; whose deeds of fond compassionHave in this year of agony built upA story for all time that shall go wand'ringFurther than I have wander'd;--whereto all earsShall hearken ever, as ye will hearken now.

CH. Happy are we, who first shall hear the taleFrom thine own lips, and tell it to the sea.

DEM. Attend then while I tell.----Parting from Hermes hence, anger'd at heart,Self-exiled from the heav'ns, forgone, alone,My anguish fasten'd on me, as I wentWandering an alien in the haunts of men.To screen my woe I put my godhead off,Taking the likeness of a worthy dame,A woman of the people well in years;Till going unobserv'd, it irked me soonTo be unoccupy'd save by my grief,While men might find distraction for their sorrowsIn useful toil. Then, of my pity ratherThan hope to find their simple cure my own,I took resolve to share and serve their needs,And be as one of them.

CH. Ah, mighty goddess,Coudst thou so put thy dignities away,And suffer the familiar brunt of men?

DEM. In all things even as they.--And sitting downOne evening at Eleusis, by the wellUnder an olive-tree, likening myselfOutwardly to some kindly-hearted matron,Whose wisdom and experience are of worthEither where childhood clamorously speaksThe engrossing charge of Aphrodite's gifts,Or merry maidens in wide-echoing hallsWant sober governance;--to me, as thereI sat, the daughters of King Keleos came,Tall noble damsels, as kings' daughters are,And, marking me a stranger, they drew from meA tale told so engagingly, that theyGrew fain to find employment for my skill;--As men devise in mutual recompense,Hoping the main advantage for themselves;--And so they bad me follow, and I enter'dThe palace of King Keleos, and receivedThere on my knees the youngest of the house,A babe, to nurse him as a mother would:And in that menial service I was proudTo outrun duty and trust: and there I liv'dDisguised among the maidens many months.

CH. Often as have our guesses aim'd, dear Lady,Where thou didst hide thyself, oft as we wonder'dWhat chosen work was thine, none ever thoughtThat thou didst deign to tend a mortal babe.

DEM. What life I led shall be for men to tell.But for this babe, the nursling of my sorrow,Whose peevish cry was my consoling care,How much I came to love him ye shall hear.

DEM. Demophoön.Yea, ye shall hear how much I came to love him.For in his small epitome I readThe trouble of mankind; in him I sawThe hero's helplessness, the countless perilsIn ambush of life's promise, the desireBlind and instinctive, and the will perverse.His petty needs were man's necessities;In him I nurst all mortal natur', embrac'dWith whole affection to my breast, and lull'dWailing humanity upon my knee.

DEM. What I coud do to save man was my thought.And, since my love was center'd in the boy,My thought was first for him, to rescue him;That, thro' my providence, he ne'er should knowSuffering, nor disease, nor fear of death.Therefore I fed him on immortal food,And should have gain'd my wish, so well he throve,But by ill-chance it hapt, once, as I held himBathed in the fire at midnight (as was my wont),--His mother stole upon us, and ascareAt the strange sight, screaming in loud dismayCompel'd me to unmask, and leave for everThe halls of Keleos, and my work undone.

CH. 'Twas pity that she came!--Didst thou not grieve to loseThe small Demophoön?--Coudst thou not save him?

DEM. I had been blinded. Think ye for yourselves ...What vantage were it to mankind at largeThat one should be immortal,--if all besideMust die and suffer misery as before?

CH. Nay, truly. And great envy borne to oneSo favour'd might have more embitter'd all.

DEM. I had been foolish. My sojourn with menHad warpt my mind with mortal tenderness.So, questioning myself what real giftI might bestow on man to help his state,I saw that sorrow was his life-companion,To be embrac't bravely, not weakly shun'd:That as by toil man winneth happiness,Thro' tribulation he must come to peace.How to make sorrow his friend then,--this my task.Here was a mystery ... and how persuadeThis thorny truth?... Ye do not hearken me.

CH. Yea, honour'd goddess, yea, we hearken still:Stint not thy tale.

DEM. Ye might not understand.My tale to you must be a tale of deeds--How first I bade King Keleos build for meA temple in Eleusis, and ordain'dMy worship, and the mysteries of my thought;Where in the sorrow that I underwentMan's state is pattern'd; and in picture shewnThe way of his salvation.... Now with me--Here is a matter grateful to your ears--Your lov'd Persephone hath equal honour,And in the spring her festival of flowers:And if she should return ... [Listening.Ah! hark! what hear I?

DEM. Hermes; and not alone.She is there. 'Tis she: I have won.

DEM. (aside). Ah! can it be that out of sorrow's night,From tears, from yearning pain, from long despair,Into joy's sunlight I shall come again?--Aside! stand ye aside!

HER. Mighty Demeter, lo! I executeThe will of Zeus and here restore thy daughter.

PER. Sweet Mother, thy embrace is as the welcomeOf all the earth, thy kiss the breath of life.

DEM. Ah! but to me, Cora! Thy voice again...My tongue is trammel'd with excess of joy.

PER. Arise, my nymphs, my Oceanides!My Nereids all, arise! and welcome me!Put off your strange solemnity! arise!

CH. Welcome! all welcome, fair Persephone!(1) We came to welcome thee, but fell abash'dSeeing thy purple robe and crystal crown.

DEM. And thou too doff thy strange solemnity,That all may see thee as thou art, my Cora,Restor'd and ever mine. Put off thy crown!

PER. Awhile! dear Mother--what thou say'st is true;I am restor'd to thee, and evermoreShall be restor'd. Yet am I none the lessEvermore Queen of Hades: and 'tis meetI wear the crown, the symbol of my reign.

DEM. What words are these, my Cora! EvermoreRestor'd to me thou say'st ... 'tis well--but thenEvermore Queen of Hades ... what is this?I had a dark foreboding till I saw thee:Alas, alas! it lives again: destroy it!Solve me this riddle quickly, if thou mayest.

HER. Divine Demeter, thou hast won thy will,And the command of Zeus have I obey'd.Thy daughter is restor'd, and evermoreShall be restor'd to thee as on this day.But Hades holding to his bride, the FatesWere kind also to him, that she should beHis queen in Hades as thy child on earth.Yearly, as spring-tide cometh, she is thineWhile flowers bloom and all the land is gay;But when thy corn is gather'd, and the fieldsAre bare, and earth withdraws her budding lifeFrom the sharp bite of winter's angry fang,Yearly will she return and hold her throneWith great Aidoneus and the living dead:And she hath eaten with him of such fruitAs holds her his true bride for evermore.

PER. Rejoice, dear Mother. Let not vain lamentTrouble our joy this day, nor idle tears.

DEM. Alas! from my own deed my trouble comes:He gave thee of the fruit which I had curs'd:I made the poison that enchanted thee.

PER. Repent not in thy triumph, but rejoice,Who hast thy will in all, as I have mine.

PER. It was my childish fancy (thou rememb'rest),I would be goddess of the flowers: I thoughtThat men should innocently honour meWith bloodless sacrifice and spring-tide joy.Now Fate, that look'd contrary, hath fulfill'dMy project with mysterious efficacy:And as a plant that yearly dieth downWhen summer is o'er, and hideth in the earth,Nor showeth promise in its wither'd leavesThat it shall reawaken and put forthIts blossoms any more to deck the spring;So I, the mutual symbol of my choice,Shall die with winter, and with spring revive.How without winter coud I have my spring?How come to resurrection without death?Lo thus our joyful meeting of to-day,Born of our separation, shall renewIts annual ecstasy, by grief refresht:And no more pall than doth the joy of springYearly returning to the hearts of men.See then the accomplishment of all my hope:Rejoice, and think not to put off my crown.

DEM. What hast thou seen below to reconcile theeTo the dark moiety of thy strange fate?

PER. Where have I been, mother? what have I seen?The downward pathway to the gates of death:The skeleton of earthly being, striptOf all disguise: the sudden void of night:The spectral records of unwholesome fear:--Why was it given to me to see these things?The ruin'd godheads, disesteem'd, condemn'dTo toil of deathless mockery: conquerorsIn the reverse of glory, doom'd to ruleThe multitudinous army of their crimes:The naked retribution of all wrong:--Why was it given to me to see such things?

DEM. Not without terror, as I think, thou speakest,Nor as one reconcil'd to brook return.

PER. But since I have seen these things, with salt and fireMy spirit is purged, and by this crystal crownTerror is tamed within me. If my wordsSeem'd to be tinged with terror, 'twas becauseI knew one hour of terror (on the dayThat took me hence) and with that memoryColour'd my speech, using the terms which paintThe blindfold fears of men, who little reckonHow they by holy innocence and love,By reverence and gentle lives may winA title to the fair Elysian fields,Where the good spirits dwell in ease and lightAnd entertainment of those fair desiresThat made earth beautiful ... brave souls that spentTheir lives for liberty and truth, grave seersWhose vision conquer'd darkness, pious poetsWhose words have won Apollo's deathless praise,Who all escape Hell's mysteries, nor come nighThe Cave of Cacophysia.

DEM. Mysteries!What mysteries are these? and what the Cave?

PER. The mysteries of evil, and the caveOf blackness that obscures them. Even in hellThe worst is hidden, and unfructuous nightStifles her essence in her truthless heart.

DEM. What is the arch-falsity? I seek to knowThe mystery of evil. Hast thou seen it?

PER. I have seen it. Coud I truly rule my kingdomNot having seen it?

PER. 'Tis not that I forget it; tho' the thoughtIs banisht from me. But 'tis like a dreamWhose sense is an impression lacking words.

PER. Nay, but surelyThe words of gods and men are names of thingsAnd thoughts accustom'd: but of things unknownAnd unimagin'd are no words at all.

PER. What can be spoken is nothing: 'twere a pathThat leading t'ward some prospect ne'er arrived.

PER. Something is possible. This cavern liesIn very midmost of deep-hollow'd hell.O'er its torn mouth the black Plutonic rockIs split in sharp disorder'd pinnaclesAnd broken ledges, whereon sit, like apesUpon a wither'd tree, the hideous sinsOf all the world: once having seen withinThe magnetism is heavy on them, and they crawlPalsied with filthy thought upon the peaks;Or, squatting thro' long ages, have becomeRooted like plants into the griping clefts:And there they pullulate, and moan, and strewThe rock with fragments of their mildew'd growth.

PER. Nay but the outward aspect, figur'd thusIn mere material loathsomeness, is noughtBeside the mystery that is hid within.

PER. Are there not matters past the thought of menOr gods to know?

DEM. Thou meanest wherefore thingsShould be at all? Or, if they be, why thus,As hot, cold, hard and soft: and wherefore ZeusHad but two brothers; why the stars of heavenAre so innumerable, constellatedJust as they are; or why this SicilyShould be three-corner'd? Yes, thou sayest well,Why things are as they are, nor gods nor menCan know. We say that Fate appointed thus,And are content.--

PER. Suppose, dear Mother, there wer' a temple in heaven,Which, dedicated to the unknown CauseAnd worship of the unseen, had power to drawAll that was worthy and good within its gate:And that the spirits who enter'd there becameNot only purified and comforted,But that the mysteries of the shrine were such,That the initiated bathed in lightOf infinite intelligence, and sawThe meaning and the reason of all things,All at a glance distinctly, and perceivedThe origin of all things to be good,And the énd good, and that what appears as evilIs as a film of dust, that faln thereon,May,--at one stroke of the hand,--Be brush'd away, and show the good beneath,Solid and fair and shining: If moreoverThis blessëd vision were of so great powerThat none coud e'er forget it or relapseTo doubtful ignorance:--I say, dear Mother,Suppose that there were such a temple in heaven.

DEM. O child, my child! that were a temple indeed.'Tis such a temple as man needs on earth;A holy shrine that makes no pact with sin,A worthy shrine to draw the worthy and good,A shrine of wisdom trifling not with folly,A shrine of beauty, where the initiatedDrank love and light.... Strange thou shouldst speak of it.I have inaugurated such a templeThese last days in Eleusis, have ordain'dThese very mysteries!--Strange thou speakest of it.But by what path return we to the CaveOf Cacophysia?

PER. By this path, dear Mother.The Cave of Cacophysia is in all thingsT'ward evil, as that temple were t'ward good.I enter'd in. Outside the darkness wasBut as accumulated sunlessness;Within 'twas positive as light itself,A blackness that extinguished: Yet I knew,For Hades told me, that I was to see;And so I waited, till a forking flashOf sudden lightning dazzlingly reveal'dAll at a glance. As on a pitchy nightThe warder of some high acropolisLooks down into the dark, and suddenlySees all the city with its roofs and streets,Houses and walls, clear as in summer noon,And ere he think of it, 'tis dark again,--So I saw all within the Cave, and heldThe vision, 'twas so burnt upon my sense.

PER. Nay, the thingsNot to be told, because there are no wordsOf gods or men to paint the inscrutableAnd full initiation of hell.--I sawThe meaning and the reason of all things,All at a glance, and in that glance perceiv'dThe origin of all things to be evil,And the énd evil: that what seems as goodIs as a bloom of gold that spread thereo'erMay, by one stroke of the hand,Be brush'd away, and leave the ill beneathSolid and foul and black....

DEM. Now tell me, child,If Hades love thee, that he sent thee thither.

PER. He said it coud not harm me: and I thinkIt hath not. [Going up to Demeter, who kisses her.

DEM. Nay it hath not, ... and I knowThe power of evil is no power at allAgainst eternal good. 'Tis fire on water,As darkness against sunlight, like a dreamTo waken'd will. Foolish was I to fearThat aught coud hurt thee, Cora. But to-daySpeak we no more.... This mystery of HellWill do me service: I'll not tell thee now:But sure it is that Fate o'erruleth allFor good or ill: and we (no more than men)Have power to oppose, nor any will nor choiceBeyond such wisdom as a fisher hathWho driven by sudden gale far out to seaHandles his fragile boat safe thro' the waves,Making what harbour the wild storm allows.To-day hard-featured and inscrutable FateStands to mine eyes reveal'd, nor frowns upon me.I thought to find thee as I knew thee, and fear'dOnly to find thee sorrowful: I find theeFar other than thou wert, nor hurt by Hell.I thought I must console thee, but 'tis thouPlayest the comforter: I thought to teach thee,And had prepared my lesson, word by word;But thou art still beyond me. One thing onlyOf all my predetermin'd plan endures:My purpose was to bid thee to EleusisFor thy spring festival, which three days henceInaugurates my temple. Thou wilt come?

DEM. Joy and surprise make tempest in my mind;When their bright stir is o'er, there will be peace.But ere we leave this flowery field, the sceneOf strange and beauteous memories evermore,I thank thee, Hermes, for thy willing service.

HER. Have thy joy now, great Mother; and have thou joy,Fairest Persephone, Queen of the Spring.

Fair Persephone, garlands we bring thee,Flow'rs and spring-tide welcome sing thee.Hades held thee not,Darkness quell'd thee not.Gay and joyful welcome!Welcome, Queen, evermore.Earth shall own thee,Thy nymphs crown thee,Garland thee and crown thee,Crown thee Queen evermore.