But therewithal, for laughter at their feasts, They brought them the G.o.ds' jesters, such as be Quick-chattering apes, that yet in mockery Of anxious men wrinkle their ugly brows; Strange birds with pouches, birds with beaks like prows Of merchant-ships, with tufted crests like threads, With unimaginable monstrous heads.

Lo, such as these, in many a gilded cage They brought, or chained for fear of sudden rage.

Then strewed they scented branches on the floor, And hung rose-garlands up by the great door, And wafted incense through the bowers and halls, And hung up fairer hangings on the walls, And filled the baths with water fresh and clear, And in the chambers laid apparel fair, And spread a table for a royal feast.

Then when from all these labours they had ceased, Psyche they sung to sleep with lullabies; Who slept not long, but opening soon her eyes, Beheld her sisters on the threshold stand: Then did she run to take them by the hand, And laid her cheek to theirs, and murmured words Of little meaning, like the moan of birds, While they bewildered stood and gazed around, Like people who in some strange land have found One that they thought not of; but she at last Stood back, and from her face the strayed locks cast, And, smiling through her tears, said, "Ah, that ye Should have to weep such useless tears for me!

Alas, the burden that the city bears For nought! O me, my father's burning tears, That into all this honour I am come!

Nay, does he live yet? Is the ancient home Still standing? do the galleys throng the quays?

Do the brown Indians glitter down the ways With rubies as of old? Yes, yes, ye smile, For ye are thinking, but a little while Apart from these has she been dwelling here; Truly, yet long enough, loved ones and dear, To make me other than I was of old, Though now when your dear faces I behold Am I myself again. But by what road Have ye been brought to this my new abode?"

"Sister," said one, "I rose up from my bed It seems this morn, and being apparelled, And walking in my garden, in a swoon Helpless and unattended I sank down, Wherefrom I scarce am waked, for as a dream Dost thou with all this royal glory seem, But for thy kisses and thy words, O love."

"Yea, Psyche," said the other, "as I drove The ivory shuttle through the shuttle-race, All was changed suddenly, and in this place I found myself, and standing on my feet, Where me with sleepy words this one did greet.

Now, sister, tell us whence these wonders come With all the G.o.dlike splendour of your home."

"Sisters," she said, "more marvels shall ye see When ye, have been a little while with me, Whereof I cannot tell you more than this That 'midst them all I dwell in ease and bliss, Well loved and wedded to a mighty lord, Fair beyond measure, from whose loving word I know that happier days await me yet.

But come, my sisters, let us now forget To seek for empty knowledge; ye shall take Some little gifts for your lost sister's sake; And whatso wonders ye may see or hear Of nothing frightful have ye any fear."

Wondering they went with her, and looking round, Each in the other's eyes a strange look found, For these, her mother's daughters, had no part In her divine fresh singleness of heart, But longing to be great, remembered not How short a time one heart on earth has got.

But keener still that guarded look now grew As more of that strange lovely place they knew, And as with growing hate, but still afeard, The unseen choirs' heart-softening strains they heard, Which did but harden these; and when at noon They sought the shaded waters' freshening boon, And all unhidden once again they saw That peerless beauty, free from any flaw, Which now at last had won its precious meed, Her kindness then but fed the fire of greed Within their hearts--her gifts, the rich attire Wherewith she clad them, where like sparks of fire The many-coloured gems shone midst the pearls The soft silks' winding lines, the work of girls By the Five Rivers; their fair marvellous crowns, Their sandals' fastenings worth the rent of towns, Zones and carved rings, and nameless wonders fair, All things her faithful slaves had brought them there, Given amid kisses, made them not more glad; Since in their hearts the ravening worm they had That love slays not, nor yet is satisfied While aught but he has aught; yet still they tried To look as they deemed loving folk should look, And still with words of love her bounty took.

So at the last all being apparelled, Her sisters to the banquet Psyche led, Fair were they, and each seemed a glorious queen With all that wondrous daintiness beseen, But Psyche clad in gown of dusky blue Little adorned, with deep grey eyes that knew The hidden marvels of Love's holy fire, Seemed like the soul of innocent desire, Shut from the mocking world, wherefrom those twain Seemed come to lure her thence with labour vain.

Now having reached the place where they should eat, Ere 'neath the canopy the three took seat, The eldest sister unto Psyche said, "And he, dear love, the man that thou hast wed, Will he not wish to-day thy kin to see?

Then could we tell of thy felicity The better, to our folk and father dear."

Then Psyche reddened, "Nay, he is not here,"

She stammered, "neither will be here to-day, For mighty matters keep him far away."

"Alas!" the younger sister said, "Say then, What is the likeness of this first of men; What sayest thou about his loving eyne, Are his locks black, or golden-red as thine?"

"Black-haired like me," said Psyche stammering, And looking round, "what say I? like the king Who rules the world, he seems to me at least-- Come, sisters, sit, and let us make good feast!

My darling and my love ye shall behold I doubt not soon, his crispy hair of gold, His eyes unseen; and ye shall hear his voice, That in my joy ye also may rejoice."

Then did they hold their peace, although indeed Her stammering haste they did not fail to heed.

But at their wondrous royal feast they sat Thinking their thoughts, and spoke of this or that Between the bursts of music, until when The sun was leaving the abodes of men; And then must Psyche to her sisters say That she was bid, her husband being away, To suffer none at night to harbour there, No, not the mother that her body bare Or father that begat her, therefore they Must leave her now, till some still happier day.

And therewithal more precious gifts she brought Whereof not e'en in dreams they could have thought Things whereof n.o.ble stories might be told; And said; "These matters that you here behold Shall be the worst of gifts that you shall have; Farewell, farewell! and may the high G.o.ds save Your lives and fame; and tell our father dear Of all the honour that I live in here, And how that greater happiness shall come When I shall reach a long-enduring home."

Then these, though burning through the night to stay, Spake loving words, and went upon their way, When weeping she had kissed them; but they wept Such tears as traitors do, for as they stepped Over the threshold, in each other's eyes They looked, for each was eager to surprise The envy that their hearts were filled withal, That to their lips came welling up like gall.

"So," said the first, "this palace without folk, These wonders done with none to strike a stroke.

This singing in the air, and no one seen, These gifts too wonderful for any queen, The trance wherein we both were wrapt away, And set down by her golden house to-day-- --These are the deeds of G.o.ds, and not of men; And fortunate the day was to her, when Weeping she left the house where we were born, And all men deemed her shamed and most forlorn."

Then said the other, reddening in her rage, "She is the luckiest one of all this age; And yet she might have told us of her case, What G.o.d it is that dwelleth in the place, Nor sent us forth like beggars from her gate.

And beggarly, O sister, is our fate, Whose husbands wring from miserable hinds What the first battle scatters to the winds; While she to us whom from her door she drives And makes of no account or honour, gives Such wonderful and priceless gifts as these, Fit to bedeck the limbs of G.o.ddesses!

And yet who knows but she may get a fall?

The strongest tower has not the highest wall, Think well of this, when you sit safe at home By this unto the river were they come, Where waited Zephyrus unseen, who cast A languor over them that quickly pa.s.sed Into deep sleep, and on the gra.s.s they sank; Then straightway did he lift them from the bank, And quickly each in her fair house set down, Then flew aloft above the sleeping town.

Long in their homes they brooded over this, And how that Psyche nigh a G.o.ddess is; While all folk deemed that she quite lost had been For nought they said of all that they had seen.

But now that night when she, with many a kiss, Had told their coming, and of that and this That happed, he said, "These things, O Love, are well; Glad am I that no evil thing befell.

And yet, between thy father's house and me Must thou choose now; then either royally Shalt thou go home, and wed some king at last, And have no harm for all that here has pa.s.sed; Or else, my love, bear as thy brave heart may, This loneliness in hope of that fair day, Which, by my head, shall come to thee; and then Shalt thou be glorious to the sons of men, And by my side shalt sit in such estate That in all time all men shall sing thy fate."

But with that word such love through her he breathed, That round about him her fair arms she wreathed; And so with loving pa.s.sed the night away, And with fresh hope came on the fresh May-day.

And so pa.s.sed many a day and many a night.

And weariness was balanced with delight, And into such a mind was Psyche brought, That little of her father's house she thought, But ever of the happy day to come When she should go unto her promised home.

Till she that threw the golden apple down Upon the board, and lighted up Troy town, On dusky wings came flying o'er the place, And seeing Psyche with her happy face Asleep beneath some fair tree blossoming, Into her sleep straight cast an evil thing; Whereby she dreamed she saw her father laid Panting for breath beneath the golden shade Of his great bed's embroidered canopy, And with his last breath moaning heavily Her name and fancied woes; thereat she woke, And this ill dream through all her quiet broke, And when next morn her Love from her would go, And going, as it was his wont to do, Would kiss her sleeping, he must find the tears Filling the hollows of her rosy ears And wetting half the golden hair that lay Twixt him and her: then did he speak and say, "O Love, why dost thou lie awake and weep, Who for content shouldst have good heart to sleep This cold hour ere the dawning?" Nought she said, But wept aloud. Then cried he, "By my head!

Whate'er thou wishest I will do for thee; Yea, if it make an end of thee and me."

"O Love," she said, "I scarce dare ask again, Yet is there in mine heart an aching pain To know what of my father is become: So would I send my sisters to my home, Because I doubt indeed they never told Of all my honour in this house of gold; And now of them a great oath would I take."

He said, "Alas! and hast thou been awake For them indeed? who in my arms asleep Mightst well have been; for their sakes didst thou weep, Who mightst have smiled to feel my kiss on thee?

Yet as thou wishest once more shall it be, Because my oath constrains me, and thy tears.

And yet again beware, and make these fears Of none avail; nor waver any more, I pray thee: for already to the sh.o.r.e Of all delights and joys thou drawest nigh."

He spoke, and from the chamber straight did fly To highest heaven, and going softly then, Wearied the father of all G.o.ds and men With prayers for Psyche's immortality.

Meantime went Zephyrus across the sea, To bring her sisters to her arms again, Though of that message little was he fain, Knowing their malice and their cankered hearts.

For now these two had thought upon their parts And made up a false tale for Psyche's ear; For when awaked, to her they drew anear, Sobbing, their faces in their hands they hid, Nor when she asked them why this thing they did Would answer aught, till trembling Psyche said, "Nay, nay, what is it? is our father dead?

Or do ye weep these tears for shame that ye Have told him not of my felicity, To make me weep amidst my new-found bliss?

Be comforted, for short the highway is To my forgiveness: this day shall ye go And take him gifts, and tell him all ye know Of this my unexpected happy lot."

Amidst fresh sobs one said, "We told him not But by good counsel did we hide the thing, Deeming it well that he should feel the sting For once, than for awhile be glad again, And after come to suffer double pain."

"Alas! what mean you, sister?" Psyche said, For terror waxing pale as are the dead.

"O sister, speak!" "Child, by this loving kiss,"

Spake one of them, "and that remembered bliss We dwelt in when our mother was alive, Or ever we began with ills to strive, By all the hope thou hast to see again Our aged father and to soothe his pain, I charge thee tell me,--Hast thou seen the thing Thou callest Husband?"

Breathless, quivering, Psyche cried out, "Alas! what sayest thou?

What riddles wilt thou speak unto me now?"

"Alas!" she said; "then is it as I thought.

Sister, in dreadful places have we sought To learn about thy case, and thus we found A wise man, dwelling underneath the ground In a dark awful cave: he told to us A horrid tale thereof, and piteous, That thou wert wedded to an evil thing, A serpent-bodied fiend of poisonous sting, b.e.s.t.i.a.l of form, yet therewith lacking not E'en such a soul as wicked men have got.

Thus ages long agone the G.o.ds made him, And set him in a lake hereby to swim; But every hundred years he hath this grace, That he may change within this golden place Into a fair young man by night alone.

Alas, my sister, thou hast cause to groan!

What sayest thou?--_His words are fair and soft;_ _He raineth loving kisses on me oft,_ _Weeping for love; he tells me of a day_ _When from this place we both shall go away,_ _And he shall kiss me then no more unseen,_ _The while I sit by him a glorious queen_---- --Alas, poor child! it pleaseth thee, his kiss?

Then must I show thee why he doeth this: Because he willeth for a time to save Thy body, wretched one! that he may have Both child and mother for his watery h.e.l.l-- Ah, what a tale this is for me to tell!

"Thou prayest us to save thee, and we can; Since for nought else we sought that wise old man, Who for great gifts and seeing that of kings We both were come, has told us all these things, And given us a fair lamp of hallowed oil That he has wrought with danger and much toil; And thereto has he added a sharp knife, In forging which he well-nigh lost his life, About him so the devils of the pit Came swarming--O, my sister, hast thou it?"

Straight from her gown the other one drew out The lamp and knife, which Psyche, dumb with doubt And misery at once, took in her hand.

Then said her sister, "From this doubtful land Thou gav'st us royal gifts a while ago, But these we give thee, though they lack for show, Shall be to thee a better gift,--thy life.

Put now in some sure place this lamp and knife, And when he sleeps rise silently from bed And hold the hallowed lamp above his head, And swiftly draw the charmed knife across His cursed neck, thou well may'st bear the loss, Nor shall he keep his man's shape more, when he First feels the iron wrought so mysticly: But thou, flee unto us, we have a tale, Of what has been thy lot within this vale, When we have 'scaped therefrom, which we shall do By virtue of strange spells the old man knew.

Farewell, sweet sister! here we may not stay, Lest in returning he should pa.s.s this way; But in the vale we will not fail to wait Till thou art loosened from thine evil fate."

Thus went they, and for long they said not aught, Fearful lest any should surprise their thought, But in such wise had envy conquered fear, That they were fain that eve to bide anear Their sister's ruined home; but when they came Unto the river, on them fell the same Resistless languor they had felt before.

And from the blossoms of that flowery sh.o.r.e Their sleeping bodies soon did Zephyr bear, For other folk to hatch new ills and care.

But on the ground sat Psyche all alone, The lamp and knife beside her, and no moan She made, but silent let the long hours go, Till dark night closed around her and her woe.

Then trembling she arose, for now drew near The time of utter loneliness and fear, And she must think of death, who until now Had thought of ruined life, and love brought low; And with, that thought, tormenting doubt there came, And images of some unheard-of shame, Until forlorn, entrapped of G.o.ds she felt, As though in some strange h.e.l.l her spirit dwelt.

Yet driven by her sisters' words at last, And by remembrance of the time now past, When she stood trembling, as the oracle With all its fearful doom upon her fell, She to her hapless wedding-chamber turned, And while the waxen tapers freshly burned She laid those dread gifts ready to her hand, Then quenched the lights, and by the bed did stand, Turning these matters in her troubled mind; And sometimes hoped some glorious man to find Beneath the lamp, fit bridegroom for a bride Like her; ah, then! with what joy to his side Would she creep back in the dark silent night; But whiles she quaked at thought of what a sight The lamp might show her; the hot rush of blood The knife might shed upon her as she stood, The dread of some pursuit, the hurrying out, Through rooms where every sound would seem a shout Into the windy night among the trees, Where many a changing monstrous sight one sees, When nought at all has happed to chill the blood.

But as among these evil thoughts she stood, She heard him coming, and straight crept to bed.

And felt him touch her with a new-born dread, And durst not answer to his words of love.

But when he slept, she rose that tale to prove.

And sliding down as softly as might be, And moving through the chamber quietly, She gat the lamp within her trembling hand, And long, debating of these things, did stand In that thick darkness, till she seemed to be A dweller in some black eternity, And what she once had called the world did seem A hollow void, a colourless mad dream; For she felt so alone--three times in vain She moved her heavy hand, three times again It fell adown; at last throughout the place Its flame glared, lighting up her woeful face, Whose eyes the silken carpet did but meet, Grown strange and awful, and her own wan feet As toward the bed she stole; but come thereto Back with dosed eyes and quivering lips, she threw Her lovely head, and strove to think of it, While images of fearful things did flit Before her eyes; thus, raising up the hand That bore the lamp, one moment did she stand As man's time tells it, and then suddenly Opened her eyes, but scarce kept back a cry At what she saw; for there before her lay The very Love brighter than dawn of day; And as he lay there smiling, her own name His gentle lips in sleep began to frame, And as to touch her face his hand did move; O then, indeed, her faint heart swelled for love, And she began to sob, and tears fell fast Upon the bed.--But as she turned at last To quench the lamp, there happed a little thing That quenched her new delight, for flickering The treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fair A burning drop; he woke, and seeing her there The meaning of that sad sight knew full well, Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell.

Then on her knees she fell with a great cry, For in his face she saw the thunder nigh, And she began to know what she had done, And saw herself henceforth, unloved, alone, Pa.s.s onward to the grave; and once again She heard the voice she now must love in vain "Ah, has it come to pa.s.s? and hast thou lost A life of love, and must thou still be tossed One moment in the sun 'twixt night and night?

And must I lose what would have been delight, Untasted yet amidst immortal bliss, To wed a soul made worthy of my kiss, Set in a frame so wonderfully made?

"O wavering heart, farewell! be not afraid That I with fire will burn thy body fair, Or cast thy sweet limbs piecemeal through the air; The fates shall work thy punishment alone, And thine own memory of our kindness done.

"Alas! what wilt thou do? how shalt thou bear The cruel world, the sickening still despair, The mocking, curious faces bent on thee, When thou hast known what love there is in me?

O happy only, if thou couldst forget, And live unholpen, lonely, loveless yet, But untormented through the little span That on the earth ye call the life of man.

Alas! that thou, too fair a thing to die, Shouldst so be born to double misery!

"Farewell! though I, a G.o.d, can never know How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget, Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem The wavering memory of a lovely dream."

Therewith he caught his shafts up and his bow, And striding through the chambers did he go, Light all around him; and she, wailing sore, Still followed after; but he turned no more, And when into the moonlit night he came From out her sight he vanished like a flame, And on the threshold till the dawn of day Through all the changes of the night she lay.

At daybreak when she lifted up her eyes, She looked around with heavy dull surprise, And rose to enter the fair golden place; But then remembering all her piteous case She turned away, lamenting very sore, And wandered down unto the river sh.o.r.e; There, at the head of a green pool and deep, She stood so long that she forgot to weep, And the wild things about the water-side From such a silent thing cared not to hide; The dace pushed 'gainst the stream, the dragon-fly, With its green-painted wing, went flickering by; The water-hen, the l.u.s.tred kingfisher, Went on their ways and took no heed of her; The little reed birds never ceased to sing, And still the eddy, like a living thing, Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet.

But 'midst these fair things, on that morning sweet, How could she, weary creature, find a place?