Читать книгу The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Excluding the Eight Dramas - Bridges Robert - Страница 10

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CHORUS.

Song.

Lo where the virgin veilëd in airy beams,

All-holy Morn, in splendor awakening,

Heav'n's gate hath unbarrèd, the golden

Aerial lattices set open.

With music endeth night's prisoning terror, 660

With flow'ry incense: Haste to salute the sun,

That for the day's chase, like a huntsman,

With flashing arms cometh o'er the mountain.{72} Inter se. That were a song for Artemis—I have heard Men thus salute the rising sun in spring— —See, we have wreaths enough and garlands plenty To hide our lov'd Persephone from sight If she should come.—But think you she will come?— If one might trust the heavens, it is a morn Promising happiness—'Tis like the day 670 That brought us all our grief a year ago.— ODE. O that the earth, or only this fair isle wer' ours Amid 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 countenance Our haunt of easy gaiety. For us the grassy slopes, the country's airiness, 680 The lofty whispering forest, Where rapturously Philomel invoketh the night And million eager throats the morn; With doves at evening softly cooing, and mellow Cadences 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 hear On ev'ry mead the grasshopper. All thro' the spring-tide, thro' the indolent summer, 690 (If only this fair isle wer' ours) Here might we dwell, forgetful of the weedy caves Beneath the ocean's blue billows. Enter Demeter. Ch. Hail, mighty Mother!—Welcome, great Demeter!— (1) This day bring joy to thee, and peace to man!{73} Dem. I welcome you, my loving true allies, And thank you, who for me your gentle tempers Have stiffen'd in rebellion, and so long Harass'd the foe. Here on this field of flowers I have bid you share my victory or defeat. 700 For Hermes hath this day command from Zeus To 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 rejoice Till 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 wrest Zeus from his word. We thank thee, call'd to share 710 Thy 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. Say not that word 'relent' lest Hades hear! Ch. Consider rather if mankind should hear. Dem. Do ye love man? Ch. We have seen his sorrows, Lady … Dem. And what can ye have seen that I know not?— His sorrow?—Ah my sorrow!—and ye bid 721 Me to relent; whose deeds of fond compassion Have in this year of agony built up A story for all time that shall go wand'ring Further than I have wander'd;—whereto all ears Shall hearken ever, as ye will hearken now. Ch. Happy are we, who first shall hear the tale From thine own lips, and tell it to the sea. Dem. Attend then while I tell.— —Parting from Hermes hence, anger'd at heart, 730{74} Self-exiled from the heav'ns, forgone, alone, My anguish fasten'd on me, as I went Wandering 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 soon To be unoccupy'd save by my grief, While men might find distraction for their sorrows In useful toil. Then, of my pity rather 740 Than 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 down One evening at Eleusis, by the well Under an olive-tree, likening myself Outwardly to some kindly-hearted matron, Whose wisdom and experience are of worth 750 Either where childhood clamorously speaks The engrossing charge of Aphrodite's gifts, Or merry maidens in wide-echoing halls Want sober governance;—to me, as there I sat, the daughters of King Keleos came, Tall noble damsels, as kings' daughters are, And, marking me a stranger, they drew from me A tale told so engagingly, that they Grew fain to find employment for my skill; —As men devise in mutual recompense, 760 Hoping the main advantage for themselves;— And so they bad me follow, and I enter'd The palace of King Keleos, and received There on my knees the youngest of the house, A babe, to nurse him as a mother would:{75} And in that menial service I was proud To outrun duty and trust: and there I liv'd Disguised among the maidens many months. Ch. Often as have our guesses aim'd, dear Lady, Where thou didst hide thyself, oft as we wonder'd 770 What chosen work was thine, none ever thought That 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. Ch. What was he named, Lady? Dem. Demophoön. Yea, ye shall hear how much I came to love him. For in his small epitome I read The trouble of mankind; in him I saw 780 The hero's helplessness, the countless perils In ambush of life's promise, the desire Blind and instinctive, and the will perverse. His petty needs were man's necessities; In him I nurst all mortal natur', embrac'd With whole affection to my breast, and lull'd Wailing humanity upon my knee. Ch. We see thou wilt not now destroy mankind. Dem. What I coud do to save man was my thought. And, since my love was center'd in the boy, 790 My thought was first for him, to rescue him; That, thro' my providence, he ne'er should know Suffering, 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 him Bathed in the fire at midnight (as was my wont)— His mother stole upon us, and ascare At the strange sight, screaming in loud dismay Compel'd me to unmask, and leave for ever 800{76} The halls of Keleos, and my work undone. Ch. 'Twas pity that she came!—Didst thou not grieve to lose The small Demophoön?—Coudst thou not save him? Dem. I had been blinded. Think ye for yourselves … What vantage were it to mankind at large That one should be immortal—if all beside Must die and suffer misery as before? Ch. Nay, truly. And great envy borne to one So favour'd might have more embitter'd all. Dem. I had been foolish. My sojourn with men 810 Had warpt my mind with mortal tenderness. So, questioning myself what real gift I 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 persuade This thorny truth? … Ye do not hearken me. 820 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 me A temple in Eleusis, and ordain'd My worship, and the mysteries of my thought; Where in the sorrow that I underwent Man's state is pattern'd; and in picture shewn The way of his salvation. … Now with me —Here is a matter grateful to your ears—830 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?{77} Ch. We hear no sound. Dem. Hush ye! Hermes: he comes. Ch. What hearest thou? Dem. Hermes; and not alone. She is there. 'Tis she: I have won. Ch. Where? where? 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! 840 Enter Hermes leading Persephone. Her. Mighty Demeter, lo! I execute The will of Zeus and here restore thy daughter. Dem. I have won. Per. Sweet Mother, thy embrace is as the welcome Of 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! 850 Ch. Welcome! all welcome, fair Persephone! (1) We came to welcome thee, but fell abash'd Seeing thy purple robe and crystal crown. Per. Arise and serve my pleasure as of yore. 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 evermore Shall be restor'd. Yet am I none the less 860 Evermore Queen of Hades: and 'tis meet I wear the crown, the symbol of my reign. Dem. What words are these, my Cora! Evermore Restor'd to me thou say'st … 'tis well—but then{78} Evermore 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. Per. Let Hermes speak, nor fear thou. All is well. Her. Divine Demeter, thou hast won thy will, 870 And the command of Zeus have I obey'd. Thy daughter is restor'd, and evermore Shall be restor'd to thee as on this day. But Hades holding to his bride, the Fates Were kind also to him, that she should be His queen in Hades as thy child on earth. Yearly, as spring-tide cometh, she is thine While flowers bloom and all the land is gay; But when thy corn is gather'd, and the fields Are bare, and earth withdraws her budding life 880 From the sharp bite of winter's angry fang, Yearly will she return and hold her throne With great Aidoneus and the living dead: And she hath eaten with him of such fruit As holds her his true bride for evermore. Dem. Alas! alas! Per. Rejoice, dear Mother. Let not vain lament Trouble 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: 890 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. Dem. I have but half my will, how hast thou more? Per. It was my childish fancy (thou rememb'rest), I would be goddess of the flowers: I thought That men should innocently honour me With bloodless sacrifice and spring-tide joy. Now Fate, that look'd contrary, hath fulfill'd My project with mysterious efficacy: 900{79} And as a plant that yearly dieth down When summer is o'er, and hideth in the earth, Nor showeth promise in its wither'd leaves That it shall reawaken and put forth Its 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, 910 Born of our separation, shall renew Its annual ecstasy, by grief refresht: And no more pall than doth the joy of spring Yearly 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 thee To 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: 920 The skeleton of earthly being, stript Of 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'd To toil of deathless mockery: conquerors In the reverse of glory, doom'd to rule The multitudinous army of their crimes: The naked retribution of all wrong:— Why was it given to me to see such things? 930 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 fire My spirit is purged, and by this crystal crown Terror is tamed within me. If my words Seem'd to be tinged with terror, 'twas because{80} I knew one hour of terror (on the day That took me hence) and with that memory Colour'd my speech, using the terms which paint The blindfold fears of men, who little reckon 940 How they by holy innocence and love, By reverence and gentle lives may win A title to the fair Elysian fields, Where the good spirits dwell in ease and light And entertainment of those fair desires That made earth beautiful … brave souls that spent Their lives for liberty and truth, grave seers Whose vision conquer'd darkness, pious poets Whose words have won Apollo's deathless praise, Who all escape Hell's mysteries, nor come nigh 950 The Cave of Cacophysia. Dem. Mysteries! What mysteries are these? and what the Cave? Per. The mysteries of evil, and the cave Of blackness that obscures them. Even in hell The worst is hidden, and unfructuous night Stifles her essence in her truthless heart. Dem. What is the arch-falsity? I seek to know The mystery of evil. Hast thou seen it? Per. I have seen it. Coud I truly rule my kingdom Not having seen it? Dem. Tell me what it is. 960 Per. 'Tis not that I forget it; tho' the thought Is banisht from me. But 'tis like a dream Whose sense is an impression lacking words. Dem. If it would pain thee telling … Per. Nay, but surely The words of gods and men are names of things And thoughts accustom'd: but of things unknown And unimagin'd are no words at all. Dem. And yet will words sometimes outrun the thought. Per. What can be spoken is nothing: 'twere a path{81} That leading t'ward some prospect ne'er arrived. 970 Dem. The more thou holdest back, the more I long. Per. The outward aspect only mocks my words. Dem. Yet what is outward easy is to tell. Per. Something is possible. This cavern lies In very midmost of deep-hollow'd hell. O'er its torn mouth the black Plutonic rock Is split in sharp disorder'd pinnacles And broken ledges, whereon sit, like apes Upon a wither'd tree, the hideous sins Of all the world: once having seen within 980 The magnetism is heavy on them, and they crawl Palsied with filthy thought upon the peaks; Or, squatting thro' long ages, have become Rooted like plants into the griping clefts: And there they pullulate, and moan, and strew The rock with fragments of their mildew'd growth. Dem. Cora, my child! and hast thou seen these things! Per. Nay but the outward aspect, figur'd thus In mere material loathsomeness, is nought Beside the mystery that is hid within. 990 Dem. Search thou for words, I pray, somewhat to tell. Per. Are there not matters past the thought of men Or gods to know? Dem. Thou meanest wherefore things Should be at all? Or, if they be, why thus, As hot, cold, hard and soft: and wherefore Zeus Had but two brothers; why the stars of heaven Are so innumerable, constellated Just as they are; or why this Sicily Should be three-corner'd? Yes, thou sayest well, Why things are as they are, nor gods nor men 1000 Can know. We say that Fate appointed thus, And are content.— Per. Suppose, dear Mother, there wer' a temple in heaven,{82} Which, dedicated to the unknown Cause And worship of the unseen, had power to draw All that was worthy and good within its gate: And that the spirits who enter'd there became Not only purified and comforted, But that the mysteries of the shrine were such, That the initiated bathed in light 1010 Of infinite intelligence, and saw The meaning and the reason of all things, All at a glance distinctly, and perceived The origin of all things to be good, And the énd good, and that what appears as evil Is 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 moreover This blessëd vision were of so great power 1020 That none coud e'er forget it or relapse To 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 initiated Drank love and light. … Strange thou shouldst speak of it. I have inaugurated such a temple 1031 These last days in Eleusis, have ordain'd These very mysteries!—Strange thou speakest of it. But by what path return we to the Cave Of Cacophysia? Per. By this path, dear Mother. The Cave of Cacophysia is in all things T'ward evil, as that temple were t'ward good. I enter'd in. Outside the darkness was{83} But as accumulated sunlessness; Within 'twas positive as light itself, 1040 A blackness that extinguished: Yet I knew, For Hades told me, that I was to see; And so I waited, till a forking flash Of sudden lightning dazzlingly reveal'd All at a glance. As on a pitchy night The warder of some high acropolis Looks down into the dark, and suddenly Sees 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—1050 So I saw all within the Cave, and held The vision, 'twas so burnt upon my sense. Dem. What saw'st thou, child? what saw'st thou? Per. Nay, the things Not to be told, because there are no words Of gods or men to paint the inscrutable And full initiation of hell.—I saw The meaning and the reason of all things, All at a glance, and in that glance perceiv'd The origin of all things to be evil, And the énd evil: that what seems as good 1060 Is as a bloom of gold that spread thereo'er May, by one stroke of the hand, Be brush'd away, and leave the ill beneath Solid 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 think It hath not. [Going up to Demeter, who kisses her. Dem. Nay it hath not, … and I know The power of evil is no power at all Against eternal good. 'Tis fire on water, As darkness against sunlight, like a dream 1070 To waken'd will. Foolish was I to fear{84} That aught coud hurt thee, Cora. But to-day Speak we no more. … This mystery of Hell Will do me service: I'll not tell thee now: But sure it is that Fate o'erruleth all For good or ill: and we (no more than men) Have power to oppose, nor any will nor choice Beyond such wisdom as a fisher hath Who driven by sudden gale far out to sea Handles his fragile boat safe thro' the waves, 1080 Making what harbour the wild storm allows. To-day hard-featured and inscrutable Fate Stands to mine eyes reveal'd, nor frowns upon me. I thought to find thee as I knew thee, and fear'd Only to find thee sorrowful: I find thee Far other than thou wert, nor hurt by Hell. I thought I must console thee, but 'tis thou Playest the comforter: I thought to teach thee, And had prepared my lesson, word by word; But thou art still beyond me. One thing only 1090 Of all my predetermin'd plan endures: My purpose was to bid thee to Eleusis For thy spring festival, which three days hence Inaugurates my temple. Thou wilt come? Per. I come. And art thou reconcil'd, dear Mother? 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 scene Of strange and beauteous memories evermore, I thank thee, Hermes, for thy willing service. 1100 Per. I thank thee, son of Maia, and bid farewell. Her. Have thy joy now, great Mother; and have thou joy, Fairest Persephone, Queen of the Spring.{85}