MELEAGER.

Pray thou thy days be long before thy death, And full of ease and kingdom; seeing in death There is no comfort and none aftergrowth, Nor shall one thence look up and see day's dawn Nor light upon the land whither I go.

Live thou and take thy fill of days and die When thy day comes; and make not much of death Lest ere thy day thou reap an evil thing.

Thou too, the bitter mother and mother-plague Of this my weary body--thou too, queen, The source and end, the sower and the scythe, The rain that ripens and the drought that slays, The sand that swallows and the spring that feeds, To make me and unmake me--thou, I say, Althaea, since my father's ploughshare, drawn Through fatal seedland of a female field, Furrowed thy body, whence a wheaten ear Strong from the sun and fragrant from the rains I sprang and cleft the closure of thy womb, Mother, I dying with unforgetful tongue Hail thee as holy and worship thee as just Who art unjust and unholy; and with my knees Would worship, but thy fire and subtlety, Dissundering them, devour me; for these limbs Are as light dust and crumblings from mine urn Before the fire has touched them; and my face As a dead leaf or dead foot's mark on snow, And all this body a broken barren tree That was so strong, and all this flower of life Disbranched and desecrated miserably, And minished all that G.o.d-like muscle and might And lesser than a man's: for all my veins Fail me, and all mine ashen life burns down.

I would thou hadst let me live; but G.o.ds averse, But fortune, and the fiery feet of change, And time, these would not, these tread out my life, These and not thou; me too thou hast loved, and I Thee; but this death was mixed with all my life, Mine end with my beginning: and this law, This only, slays me, and not my mother at all.

And let no brother or sister grieve too sore, Nor melt their hearts out on me with their tears, Since extreme love and sorrowing overmuch Vex the great G.o.ds, and overloving men Slay and are slain for love's sake; and this house Shall bear much better children; why should these Weep? but in patience let them live their lives And mine pa.s.s by forgotten: thou alone, Mother, thou sole and only, thou not these, Keep me in mind a little when I die Because I was thy first-born; let thy soul Pity me, pity even me gone hence and dead, Though thou wert wroth, and though thou bear again Much happier sons, and all men later born Exceedingly excel me; yet do thou Forget not, nor think shame; I was thy son.

Time was I did not shame thee, and time was I thought to live and make thee honourable With deeds as great as these men's; but they live, These, and I die; and what thing should have been Surely I know not; yet I charge thee, seeing I am dead already, love me not the less, Me, O my mother; I charge thee by these G.o.ds, My father's, and that holier breast of thine, By these that see me dying, and that which nursed, Love me not less, thy first-born: though grief come, Grief only, of me, and of all these great joy, And shall come always to thee; for thou knowest, O mother, O b.r.e.a.s.t.s that bare me, for ye know, O sweet head of my mother, sacred eyes, Ye know my soul albeit I sinned, ye know Albeit I kneel not neither touch thy knees, But with my lips I kneel, and with my heart I fall about thy feet and worship thee.

And ye farewell now, all my friends; and ye, Kinsmen, much younger and glorious more than I, Sons of my mother's sister; and all farewell That were in Colchis with me, and bare down The waves and wars that met us: and though times Change, and though now I be not anything, Forget not me among you, what I did In my good time; for even by all those days, Those days and this, and your own living souls, And by the light and luck of you that live, And by this miserable spoil, and me Dying, I beseech you, let my name not die.

But thou, dear, touch me with thy rose-like hands, And fasten up mine eyelids with thy mouth, A bitter kiss; and grasp me with thine arms, Printing with heavy lips my light waste flesh, Made light and thin by heavy-handed fate, And with thine holy maiden eyes drop dew, Drop tears for dew upon me who am dead, Me who have loved thee; seeing without sin done I am gone down to the empty weary house Where no flesh is nor beauty nor swift eyes Nor sound of mouth nor might of hands and feet, But thou, dear, hide my body with thy veil, And with thy raiment cover foot and head, And stretch thyself upon me and touch hands With hands and lips with lips: be pitiful As thou art maiden perfect; let no man Defile me to despise me, saying, This man Died woman-wise, a woman's offering, slain Through female fingers in his woof of life, Dishonourable; for thou hast honoured me.

And now for G.o.d's sake kiss me once and twice And let me go; for the night gathers me, And in the night shall no man gather fruit.

ATALANTA.

Hail thou: but I with heavy face and feet Turn homeward and am gone out of thine eyes.

CHORUS.

Who shall contend with his lords Or cross them or do them wrong?

Who shall bind them as with cords?

Who shall tame them as with song?

Who shall smite them as with swords?

For the hands of their kingdom are strong.