Читать книгу The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Excluding the Eight Dramas - Bridges Robert - Страница 8

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HADES.

I am the King of Hell, nor prone to vex

Eternal destiny with weak complaint;

Nor when I took my kingdom did I mourn

My lot, from heav'n expell'd, deny'd to enjoy

Its radiant revelry and ambrosial feast,

Nor blamed our mighty Sisters, that not one

Would share my empire in the shades of night.

But when a younger race of gods arose,

And Zeus set many sons on heav'nly seats,

And many daughters dower'd with new domain, 10

And year by year were multiply'd on earth

Their temples and their statu'd sanctities,

Mirrors of man's ideas that grow apace,

Yea, since man's mind was one with my desire

That Hell should have a queen—for heav'n hath queens

Many, nor on all earth reigns any king

In unkind isolation like to me—

I claimed from Zeus that of the fair immortals

One should be given to me to grace my throne.

Willing he was, and quick to praise my rule, 20

And of mere justice there had granted me

Whome'er I chose: but 'Brother mine,' he said,

'Great as my power among the gods, this thing

I cannot compass, that a child of mine,

Who once hath tasted of celestial life,

Should all forgo, and destitute of bliss

Descend into the shades, albeit to sit

An equal on thy throne. Take whom thou wilt;{52}

But by triumphant force persuade, as erst

I conquer'd heav'n.' Said I 'My heart is set: 30

I take Demeter's child Persephone;

Dost thou consent?' Whereto he gave his nod.

And I am come to-day with hidden powers,

Ev'n unto Enna's fair Sicilian field,

To rob her from the earth. 'Tis here she wanders

With all her train: nor is this flow'ry vale

Fairer among the fairest vales of earth,

Nor any flower within this flow'ry vale

Fair above other flowers, as she is fairest

Among immortal goddesses, the daughter 40

Of gentle-eyed Demeter; and her passion

Is for the flowers, and every tenderness

That I have long'd for in my fierce abodes.

But she hath always in attendant guard

The dancing nymphs of Ocean, and to-day

The wise Athena and chaste Artemis

Indulge her girlish fancy, gathering flowers

To deck the banner of my golden brother,

Whose thought they guess not, tho' their presence here

Affront his will and mine. If once alone 50

I spy her, I can snatch her swiftly down:

And after shall find favour for my fault,

When I by gentle means have won her love.

I hear their music now. Hither they come:

I'll to my ambush in the rocky cave. [Exit.

{53}

ACT I

Enter Chorus of Oceanides, with baskets.

OCEANIDES.

Gay and lovely is earth, man's decorate dwelling;

With fresh beauty ever varying hour to hour.

As now bathed in azure joy she awakeneth

With bright morn to the sun's life-giving effluence,

Or sunk into solemn darkness aneath the stars 60

In mysterious awe slumbereth out the night,

Then from darkness again plunging again to day;

Like dolphins in a swift herd that accompany

Poseidon's chariot when he rebukes the waves.

But no country to me 'neath the enarching air

Is fair as Sicily's flowery fruitful isle:

Always lovely, whether winter adorn the hills

With his silvery snow, or generous summer

Outpour her heavy gold on the river-valleys.

Her rare beauty giveth gaiety unto man, 70

A delite dear to immortals.

2

And one season of all chiefly deliteth us,

When fair Spring is afield. O happy is the Spring!

Now birds early arouse their pretty minstreling;

Now down its rocky hill murmureth ev'ry rill;

Now all bursteth anew, wantoning in the dew

Their bells of bonny blue, their chalices honey'd.

Unkind frost is away; now sunny is the day;

Now man thinketh aright, Life it is all delite.

Now maids playfully dance o'er enamel'd meadows, 80

And with goldy blossom deck forehead and bosom;

While old Pan rollicketh thro' the budding shadows,

Voicing his merry reed, laughing aloud to lead

The echoes madly rejoicing.

{54}

3

We be Oceanids, Persephone's lovers,

Who all came hurrying joyfully from the sea

Ere daybreak to obey her belovëd summons.

At her fancy to pluck these violets, lilies,

Windflow'rs and daffodils, all for a festival

Whereat shé will adorn Zeuses honour'd banner. 90

And with Persephone there cometh Artemis

And grave Pallas … Hilloo! Already they approach!

Haste, haste! Stoop to gather! Seem busy ev'ryone!

Crowd all your wicker arcs with the meadow-lilies;

Lest our disreverenc'd deity should rebuke

The divine children of Ocean.

[Enter Athena, Persephone, and Artemis. Persephone has a basket half fill'd with gather'd flowers.]

ATHENA.

These then are Enna's flowery fields, and here

In midmost isle the garden of thy choice?

PERSEPHONE.

Is not all as I promist? Feel ye not

Your earthborn ecstasy concenter'd here? 100

Tell me, Athena, of thy wisdom, whénce

Cometh this joy of earth, this penetrant

Palpitant exultation so unlike

The balanc't calm of high Olympian state?

Is't in the air, the tinted atmosphere

Whose gauzy veil, thrown on the hills, will paint

Their features, changing with the gradual day,

Rosy or azure, clouded now, and now

Again afire? Or is it that the sun's

Electric beams—which shot in circling fans 110

Whirl all things with them—as they strike the earth

Excite her yearning heart, till stir'd beneath{55}

The rocks and silent plains, she cannot hold

Her fond desires, but sends them bursting forth

In scents and colour'd blossoms of the spring?—

Breathes it not in the flowers?

Ath. Fair are the flowers,

Dear child; and yet to me far lovelier

Than all their beauty is thy love for them.

Whate'er I love, I contemplate my love

More than the object, and am so rejoic'd. 120

For life is one, and like a level sea

Life's flood of joy. Thou wond'rest at the flowers,

But I would teach thee wonder of thy wonder;

Would shew thee beauty in the desert-sand,

The worth of things unreckt of, and the truth

That thy desire and love may spring of evil

And ugliness, and that Earth's ecstasy

May dwell in darkness also, in sorrow and tears.

Per. I'd not believe it: why then should we pluck

The flowers and not the stalks without the flowers? 130

Or do thy stones breathe scent? Would not men laugh

To see the banner of almighty Zeus

Adorn'd with ragged roots and straws?—Dear Artemis,

How lovest thou the flowers?

ARTEMIS.

I'll love them better

Ever for thy sake, Cora; but for me

The joy of Earth is in the breath of life

And animal motions: nor are flowery sweets

Dear as the scent of life. His petal'd cup,

What is it by the wild fawn's liquid eye

Eloquent as love-music 'neath the moon? 140

Nay, not a flower in all thy garden here,

Nor wer't a thousand-thousand-fold enhanc't

In every charm, but thou wouldst turn from it

To view the antler'd stag, that in the glade{56}

With the coy gaze of his majestic fear

Faced thee a moment ere he turn'd to fly.

Per. But why, then, hunt and kill what thou so lovest?

Ar. Dost thou not pluck thy flowers?

Per. 'Tis not the same.

Thy victims fly for life: they pant, they scream.

Ar. Were they not mortal, sweet, I coud not kill them.

They kill each other in their lust for life; 151

Nay, cruelly persecute their blemisht kin:

And they that thus are exiled from the herd

Slink heart-brok'n to sepulchral solitudes,

Defenceless and dishonour'd; there to fall

Prey to the hungry glutton of the cave,

Or stand in mute pain lingering, till they drop

In their last lair upon the ancestral bones.

Per. What is it that offends me?

Ath. 'Tis Pity, child,

The mortal thought that clouds the brow of man 160

With dark reserve, or poisoning all delite

Drives him upon his knees in tearful prayer

To avert his momentary qualms: till Zeus

At his reiterated plaint grows wrath,

And burdens with fresh curse the curse of care.

And they that haunt with men are apt to take

Infection of his mind: thy mighty mother

Leans to his tenderness.

Per. How should man, dwelling

On earth that is so gay, himself be sad?

Is not earth gay? Look on the sea, the sky, 170

The flowers!

Ath. 'Tis sad to him because 'tis gay.—

For whether he consider how the flowers,

—Thy miracles of beauty above praise—

Are wither'd in the moment of their glory,

So that of all the mounting summer's wealth

The show is chang'd each day, and each day dies,{57}

Of no more count in Nature's estimate

Than crowded bubbles of the fighting foam:

Or whether 'tis the sea, whose azure waves

Play'd in the same infinity of motion 180

Ages ere he beheld it, and will play

For ages after him;—alike 'tis sad

To read how beauty dies and he must die.

Per. Were I a man, I would not worship thee,

Thou cold essential wisdom. If, as thou say'st,

Thought makes men sorrowful, why help his thought

To quench enjoyment, who might else as I

Revel among bright things, and feast his sense

With beauty well-discern'd? Nay, why came ye

To share my pastime? Ye love not the flowers. 190

Ath. Indeed I love thee, child; and love thy flowers—

Nor less for loving wisely. All emotions,

Whether of gods or men, all loves and passions,

Are of two kinds; they are either inform'd by wisdom,

To reason obedient—or they are unconducted,

Flames of the burning life. The brutes of earth

And Pan their master know these last; the first

Are seen in me: betwixt the extremes there lie

Innumerable alloys and all of evil.

Per. Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well: 200

I am a child, and ye would nurse me up

A pupil in your school. I know ye twain

Of all the immortals are at one in this;

Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feud

With Aphrodite, and ye fear for me,

Lest she should draw me to her wanton way.

Fear not: my party is taken. Hark! I'll tell

What I have chosen, what mankind shall hold

Devote and consecrate to me on earth:

It is the flowers: but only among the flowers 210

Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue,

Having no other uses: I have found{58}

Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not.—

She loves vines, olives, orchards, 'the rich leas

Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,[1]

But for the idle flowers she hath little care:

She will resign them willingly. And think not,

Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd,

Or rank a meaner goddess unto man.

His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom, 220

Pleasures above necessities, and thus

He ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guess

Where rich men only and superfluous kings

Around their palaces reform the land

To terraces and level lawns, whereon

Appointed slaves are told, to tend and feed

Lilies and roses and all rarest plants

Fetch'd from all lands; that they—these lordly men—

'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odours

May pace in indolence: this is their bliss; 230

This first they do: and after, it may be,

Within their garden set their academe:—

But in the poorest villages, around

The meanest cottage, where no other solace

Comforts the eye, some simple gaiety

Of flowers in tended garden is seen; some pinks,

Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path;

Where oft at eve the grateful labourer

Sits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun:

And even the children, that half-naked go, 240

Have posies in their hands, and of themselves

Will choose a queen in whom to honour Spring,

Dancing before her garlanded with may.

The cowslip makes them truant, they forget

The hour of hunger and their homely feast

So they may cull the delicate primrose,

Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty;

With unconsider'd hecatombs assuring{59}

Their dim sense of immortal mystery.—

Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave 250

All men shall love me, shall adore my name,

And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers.

Ath. Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May Zeus

Give thee a better province than thy thought.

[Music heard.

Ar. Listen! The nymphs are dancing. Let us go!

[They move off.

Come, Cora; wilt thou learn a hunting dance?

I'll teach thee.

Per. Can I learn thy hunter-step

Without thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet?

Ar. Give me thy hand.

Per. Stay! stay! I have left my flowers.

I follow.

[Exeunt Athena and Artemis.

[Persephone returning to right slowly.

They understand not—Now, praise be to Zeus, 261

That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know

Something that Pallas knows not.

[She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket in hand on her knees, facing the audience.]

Thou tiny flower!

Art thou not wise?

Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone,

Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion,

Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd

Till thou art seen?—And how so wisely, thou,

Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270

While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip,

—He would not risk a seventh for all his worth—

He thought to attain unique magnificence

By sheer simplicity—a pointed oval

Bare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown old

He will his young idea quite abandon,{60}

In his dishevel'd fury wantoning

Beyond belief. … Some are four-leaved: this poppy

Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief,

Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag—280

I think he watch'd a summer-butterfly

Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case,

Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue

And sleek the velvet of his painted wings:—

And so doth he.—Between such different schemes,

Such widely varied loveliness, how choose?

Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd,

Most intimately mine; to mortal men

My emblem: tho' I never find in one

The sum of all distinctions.—Rose were best: 290

But she is passion's darling, and unkind

To handle—set her by.—Choosing for odour,

The violet were mine—men call her modest,

Because she hides, and when in company

Lacks manner and the assertive style of worth:—

While this narcissus here scorns modesty,

Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim:

Her scent, a saturation of one tone,

Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:—

Whereas this iris—she outvieth man's 300

Excellent artistry; elaboration

Confounded with simplicity, till none

Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find

A scented iris, I should be content:

Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.—

To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet;

Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee

Wearing thee in Olympus.—Help! help! Ay me!

[Persephone rises to her feet, and amidst a contrivance of confused darkness Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and drags her backward. Her basket is thrown up and the flowers scattered.]