What ailed thee then to be born?

Was there not evil enough, Mother, and anguish on earth Born with a man at his birth, Wastes underfoot, and above Storm out of heaven, and dearth Shaken down from the shining thereof, Wrecks from afar overseas And peril of shallow and firth, And tears that spring and increase In the barren places of mirth, That thou, having wings as a dove, Being girt with desire for a girth, That thou must come after these, That thou must lay on him love?

Thou shouldst not so have been born: But death should have risen with thee, Mother, and visible fear, Grief, and the wringing of hands, And noise of many that mourn; The smitten bosom, the knee Bowed, and in each man's ear A cry as of perishing lands, A moan as of people in prison, A tumult of infinite griefs; And thunder of storm on the sands, And wailing of wives on the sh.o.r.e; And under thee newly arisen Loud shoals and shipwrecking reefs, Fierce air and violent light, Sail rent and sundering oar, Darkness; and noises of night; Clashing of streams in the sea, Wave against wave as a sword, Clamour of currents, and foam, Rains making ruin on earth, Winds that wax ravenous and roam As wolves in a wolfish horde; Fruits growing faint in the tree, And blind things dead in their birth Famine, and blighting of corn, When thy time was come to be born.

All these we know of; but thee Who shall discern or declare?

In the uttermost ends of the sea The light of thine eyelids and hair.

The light of thy bosom as fire Between the wheel of the sun And the flying flames of the air?

Wilt thou turn thee not yet nor have pity, But abide with despair and desire And the crying of armies undone, Lamentation of one with another And breaking of city by city; The dividing of friend against friend, The severing of brother and brother; Wilt thou utterly bring to an end?

Have mercy, mother!

For against all men from of old Thou hast set thine hand as a curse, And cast out G.o.ds from their places.

These things are spoken of thee.

Strong kings and goodly with gold Thou hast found out arrows to pierce, And made their kingdoms and races As dust and surf of the sea.

All these, overburdened with woes And with length of their days waxen weak, Thou slewest; and sentest moreover Upon Tyro an evil thing, Rent hair and a fetter and blows Making b.l.o.o.d.y the flower of the cheek, Though she lay by a G.o.d as a lover, Though fair, and the seed of a king.

For of old, being full of thy fire, She endured not longer to wear On her bosom a saffron vest, On her shoulder an ashwood quiver; Being mixed and made one through desire With Enipeus, and all her hair Made moist with his mouth, and her breast Filled full of the foam of the river.

ATALANTA

Sun, and clear light among green hills, and day Late risen and long sought after, and you just G.o.ds Whose hands divide anguish and recompense, But first the sun's white sister, a maid in heaven, On earth of all maids worshipped--hail, and hear, And witness with me if not without sign sent, Not without rule and reverence, I a maid Hallowed, and huntress holy as whom I serve, Here in your sight and eyeshot of these men Stand, girt as they toward hunting, and my shafts Drawn; wherefore all ye stand up on my side, If I be pure and all ye righteous G.o.ds, Lest one revile me, a woman, yet no wife, That bear a spear for spindle, and this bow strung For a web woven; and with pure lips salute Heaven, and the face of all the G.o.ds, and dawn Filling with maiden flames and maiden flowers The starless fold o' the stars, and making sweet The warm wan heights of the air, moon-trodden ways And breathless gates and extreme hills of heaven.

Whom, having offered water and bloodless gifts, Flowers, and a golden circlet of pure hair, Next Artemis I bid be favourable And make this day all golden, hers and ours, Gracious and good and white to the unblamed end.

But thou, O well-beloved, of all my days Bid it be fruitful, and a crown for all, To bring forth leaves and bind round all my hair With perfect chaplets woven for thine of thee.

For not without the word of thy chaste mouth, For not without law given and clean command, Across the white straits of the running sea From Elis even to the Acheloan horn, I with clear winds came hither and gentle G.o.ds, Far off my father's house, and left uncheered Iasius, and uncheered the Arcadian hills And all their green-haired waters, and all woods Disconsolate, to hear no horn of mine Blown, and behold no flash of swift white feet.

MELEAGER.

For thy name's sake and awe toward thy chaste head, O holiest Atalanta, no man dares Praise thee, though fairer than whom all men praise, And G.o.dlike for thy grace of hallowed hair And holy habit of thine eyes, and feet That make the blown foam neither swift nor white Though the wind winnow and whirl it; yet we praise G.o.ds, found because of thee adorable And for thy sake praiseworthiest from all men: Thee therefore we praise also, thee as these, Pure, and a light lit at the hands of G.o.ds.

TOXEUS.

How long will ye whet spears with eloquence, Fight, and kill beasts dry-handed with sweet words?

Cease, or talk still and slay thy boars at home.

PLEXIPPUS.

Why, if she ride among us for a man, Sit thou for her and spin; a man grown girl Is worth a woman weaponed; sit thou here.

MELEAGER.

Peace, and be wise; no G.o.ds love idle speech.

PLEXIPPUS.

Nor any man a man's mouth woman-tongued.

MELEAGER.

For my lips bite not sharper than mine hands.

PLEXIPPUS.

Nay, both bite soft, but no whit softly mine.

MELEAGER.

Keep thine hands clean; they have time enough to stain.

PLEXIPPUS.

For thine shall rest and wax not red to-day.

MELEAGER.

Have all thy will of words; talk out thine heart.

ALTHAEA.

Refrain your lips, O brethren, and my son, Lest words turn snakes and bite you uttering them.

TOXEUS.

Except she give her blood before the G.o.ds, What profit shall a maid be among men?

PLEXIPPUS.

Let her come crowned and stretch her throat for a knife, Bleat out her spirit and die, and so shall men Through her too prosper and through prosperous G.o.ds; But nowise through her living; shall she live A flower-bud of the flower-bed, or sweet fruit For kisses and the honey-making mouth, And play the shield for strong men and the spear?

Then shall the heifer and her mate lock horns, And the bride overbear the groom, and men G.o.ds, for no less division sunders these; Since all things made are seasonable in time, But if one alter unseasonable are all.

But thou, O Zeus, hear me that I may slay This beast before thee and no man halve with me Nor woman, lest these mock thee, though a G.o.d, Who hast made men strong, and thou being wise be held Foolish; for wise is that thing which endures.

ATALANTA.

Men, and the chosen of all this people, and thou, King, I beseech you a little bear with me.

For if my life be shameful that I live, Let the G.o.ds witness and their wrath; but these Cast no such word against me. Thou, O mine, O holy, O happy G.o.ddess, if I sin Changing the words of women and the works For spears and strange men's faces, hast not thou One shaft of all thy sudden seven that pierced Seven through the bosom or shining throat or side, All couched about one mother's loosening knees, All holy born, engrafted of Tantalus?

But if toward any of you I am overbold That take thus much upon me, let him think How I, for all my forest holiness, Fame, and this armed and iron maidenhood, Pay thus much also; I shall have no man's love For ever, and no face of children born Or feeding lips upon me or fastening eyes For ever, nor being dead shall kings my sons Mourn me and bury, and tears on daughters' cheeks Burn, but a cold and sacred life, but strange, But far from dances and the back-blowing torch, Far off from flowers or any bed of man, Shall my life be for ever: me the snows That face the first o' the morning, and cold hills Full of the land-wind and sea-travelling storms And many a wandering wing of noisy nights That know the thunder and hear the thickening wolves-- Me the utmost pine and footless frost of woods That talk with many winds and G.o.ds, the hours Re-risen, and white divisions of the dawn, Springs thousand-tongued with the intermitting reed And streams that murmur of the mother snow-- Me these allure, and know me; but no man Knows, and my G.o.ddess only. Lo now, see If one of all you these things vex at all.