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CHORUS.

I (α)

Bright day succeedeth unto day—

Night to pensive night—310

With his towering ray

Of all-fathering light—

With the solemn trance

Of her starry dance.—

Nought is new or strange

In the eternal change.—

As the light clouds fly

O'er the tree-tops high,

So the days go by.—

Ripples that arrive 320

On the sunny shore,

Dying to their live

Music evermore.—

Like pearls on a thread—

Like notes of a song—

Like the measur'd tread

Of a dancing throng.—

(β)

Ocëanides are we,

Nereids of the foam,

But we left the sea 330

On the earth to roam

With the fairest Queen

That the world hath seen.—{62}

Why amidst our play

Was she sped away?—

Over hill and plain

We have sought in vain;

She comes not again.—

Not the Naiads knew

On their dewy lawns:—340

Not the laughing crew

Of the leaping Fauns.—

Now, since she is gone,

All our dance is slow,

All our joy is done,

And our song is woe.—

II

Saw ye the mighty Mother, where she went

Searching the land?

Nor night nor day resting from her lament,

With smoky torch in hand. 350

Her godhead in the passion of a sorrow spent

Which not her mind coud suffer, nor heart withstand?—

2

Enlanguor'd like a fasting lioness,

That prowls around

Robb'd of her whelps, in fury comfortless

Until her lost be found:

Implacable and terrible in her wild distress;

And thro' the affrighted country her roars resound.—

3

But lo! what form is there? Thine eyes awaken!

See! see! O say, 360

Is not that she, the furious, the forsaken?

She cometh, lo! this way;

Her golden-rippling hair upon her shoulders shaken,

And all her visage troubled with deep dismay.

{63}

DEMETER (entering).

Here is the hateful spot, the hollow rock

Whence the fierce ravisher sprang forth—

(seeing the nymphs) Ah! Ye! I know you well: ye are the nymphs of Ocean. Ye, graceful as your watery names And idle as the mimic flames That skip upon his briny floor, 370 When the hot sun smiteth thereo'er; Why did ye leave your native waves? Did false Poseidon, to my hurt Leagued with my foe, bid you desert Your opalescent pearly caves, Your dances on the shelly strand? Ch. Poseidon gave us no command, Lady; it was thy child Persephone, Whose beauty drew us from the sea. Dem. Ill company ye lent, ill-fated guards! 380 How was she stolen from your distracted eyes? Ch. There, where thou standest now, stood she companion'd By wise Athena and bright Artemis. We in flower-gathering dance and idle song Were wander'd off apart; we fear'd no wrong. Dem. In heav'n I heard her cry: ye nothing heard? Ch. We heard no cry—How coudst thou hear in heaven? Ask us not óf her:—we have nought to tell.— Dem. I seek not knowledge óf you, for I know. Ch. Thou knowest? Ah, mighty Queen, deign then to tell If thou hast found her. Tell us—tell us—tell! 391 Dem. Oh, there are calls that love can hear, That strike not on the outward ear. None heard save I: but with a dart Of lightning-pain it pierc'd my heart,{64} That call for aid, that cry of fear. It echo'd from the mountain-steeps Down to the dark of Ocean-deeps; O'er all the isle, from ev'ry hill It pierc'd my heart and echoes still, 400 Ay me! Ay me! Ch. Where is she, O mighty Queen?—Tell us—O tell!— Dem. Swift unto earth, in frenzy led By Cora's cry, from heav'n I sped. Immortal terror froze my mind: I fear'd, ev'n as I yearn'd to find My child, my joy, faln from my care Wrong'd or distresst, I knew not where, Cora, my Cora! Nor thought I whither first to fly, 410 Answ'ring the appeal of that wild cry: But still it drew me till I came To Enna, calling still her name, Cora, my Cora! Ch. If thou hast found her, tell us, Queen, O tell! Dem. Nine days I wander'd o'er the land. From Enna to the eastern strand I sought, and when the first night came I lit my torch in Etna's flame. But neither 'mid the chestnut woods 420 That rustle o'er his stony floods; Nor yet at daybreak on the meads Where bountiful Symaethus leads His chaunting boatmen to the main; Nor where the road on Hybla's plain Is skirted by the spacious corn; Nor where embattled Syracuse With lustrous temple fronts the morn; Nor yet by dolphin'd Arethuse; Nor when I crossed Anapus wide, 430 Where Cyane, his reedy bride,{65} Uprushing from her crystal well, Doth not his cold embrace repel; Nor yet by western Eryx, where Gay Aphrodite high in air Beams gladness from her marble chair; Nor 'mong the mountains that enfold Panormos in her shell of gold, Found I my Cora: no reply Came to my call, my helpless cry, 440 Cora, my Cora! Ch. Hast thou not found her, then? Tell us—O tell! Dem. What wonder that I never found Her whom I sought on mortal ground, When she—(now will ye understand?)— Dwelt in the land that is no land, The fruitless and unseason'd plain Where all lost things are found again; Where man's distract imaginings Head-downward hang on bat-like wings, 450 'Mid mummied hopes, sleep-walking cares, Crest-faln illusions and despairs, The tortur'd memories of crime, The outcasts of forgotten time? Ch. Where is she, Queen?—where?—where? Dem. Nor had I known, Had not himself high Helios seen and told me. Ch. Alas! Alas! We cannot understand— We pray, dear Queen, may great Zeus comfort thee. Dem. Yea, pray to Zeus; but pray ye for yourselves, That he have pity on you, for there is need. 460 Or let Zeus hear a strange, unwonted prayer That in his peril he will aid himself; For I have said, nor coud his Stygian oath Add any sanction to a mother's word, That, if he give not back my daughter to me, Him will I slay, and lock his pining ghost{66} In sleepy prisons of unhallowing hell. Ch. (aside). Alas! alas! she is distraught with grief.— What comfort can we make?—How reason with her?—469 (to D.) This coud not be, great Queen. How coud it be That Zeus should be destroy'd, or thou destroy him? Dem. Yea, and you too: so make your prayer betimes. Ch. We pray thee, Lady, sit thou on this bank And we will bring thee food; or if thou thirst, Water. We know too in what cooling caves The sly Fauns have bestow'd their skins of wine. Dem. Ye simple creatures, I need not these things, And stand above your pity. Think ye me A woman of the earth derang'd with grief? Nay, nay: but I have pity on your pity, 480 And for your kindness I will ease the trouble Wherewith it wounds your gentleness: attend! Ye see this jewel here, that from my neck Hangs by this golden chain.

[They crowd near to see.

Look, 'tis a picture,

'Tis of Persephone.

Ch. How?—Is that she?—

A crown she weareth.—She was never wont

Thus … —nor her robe thus—and her countenance

Hath not the smile which drew us from the sea.

Dem. Daedalus cut it, in the year he made

The Zibian Aphrodite, and Hephaestus 490

O'erlookt and praised the work. I treasure it

Beyond all other jewels that I have,

And on this chain I guard it. Say now: think ye

It cannot fall loose until every link

Of all the chain be broken, or if one

Break, will it fall?

Ch. Surely if one break, Lady,

The chain is broken and the jewel falls.

Dem. 'Tis so. Now hearken diligently. All life

Is as this chain, and Zeus is as the jewel.{67}

The universal life dwells first in the Earth, 500

The stones and soil; therefrom the plants and trees

Exhale their being; and on them the brutes

Feeding elaborate their sentient life,

And from these twain mankind; and in mankind

A spirit lastly is form'd of subtler sort

Whereon the high gods live, sustain'd thereby,

And feeding on it, as plants on the soil,

Or animals on plants. Now see! I hold,

As well ye know, one whole link of this chain:

If I should kill the plants, must not man perish? 510

And if he perish, then the gods must die.

Ch. If this were so, thou wouldst destroy thyself.

Dem. And therefore Zeus will not believe my word.

Ch. Nor we believe thee, Lady: it cannot be

That thou shouldst seek to mend a private fortune

By universal ruin, and restore

Thy daughter by destruction of thyself.

Dem. Ye are not mothers, or ye would not wonder.

In me, who hold from great all-mother Rhea

Heritage of essential motherhood, 520

Ye would look rather for unbounded passion.

Coud I, the tenderness of Nature's heart,

Exist, were I unheedful to protect

From wrong and ill the being that I gave,

The unweeting passions that I fondly nurtured

To hopes of glory, the young confidence

In growing happiness? Shall I throw by

As self-delusion the supreme ambition,

Which I encourag'd till parental fondness

Bore the prophetic blessing, on whose truth 530

My spirit throve? Oh never! nay, nay, nay!

That were the one disaster, and if aid

I cannot, I can mightily avenge.

On irremediable wrong I shrink not

To pile immortal ruin, there to lie{68}

As trophies on a carven tomb: nor less

For that no memory of my deed survive,

Nor any eye to see, nor tongue to tell.

Ch. So vast injustice, Lady, were not good.

Dem. To you I seem unjust involving man. 540

Ch. Why should man suffer in thy feud with Zeus?

Dem. Let Zeus relent. There is no other way.

I will destroy the seeds of plant and tree:

Vineyard and orchard, oliveyard and cornland

Shall all withhold their fruits, and in their stead

Shall flourish the gay blooms that Cora loved.

There shall be dearth, and yet so gay the dearth

That all the land shall look in holiday

With mockery of foison; every field

With splendour aflame. For wheat the useless poppy 550

In sheeted scarlet; and for barley and oats

The blue and yellow weeds that mock men's toil,

Centaury and marigold in chequer'd plots:

Where seed is sown, or none, shall dandelions

And wretched ragwort vie, orchis and iris

And garish daisy, and for every flower

That in this vale she pluckt, shall spring a thousand.

Where'er she slept anemones shall crowd,

And the sweet violet. These things shall ye see.

—But I behold him whom I came to meet, 560

Hermes:—he, be he laden howsoe'er,

Will heavier-laden to his lord return.

HERMES (entering).

Mighty Demeter, Mother of the seasons,

Bountiful all-sustainer, fairest daughter

Of arch-ancestral Rhea—to thee Zeus sendeth

Kindly message. He grieves seeing thy godhead

Offended wrongly at eternal justice,

'Gainst destiny ordain'd idly revolting.{69}

Ever will he, thy brother, honour thee

And willingly aid thee: but since now thy daughter 570

Is raised to a place on the tripartite throne,

He finds thee honour'd duly and not injur'd.

Wherefore he bids thee now lament no more,

But with thy presence grace the courts of heav'n.

Dem. Bright Hermes, Argus-slayer, born of Maia,

Who bearest empty words, the mask of war,

To Zeus make thine own words, that thou hast found me

Offended—that I still lament my daughter,

Nor heed his summons to the courts of heav'n.

Her. Giv'st thou me nought but these relentless words?

Dem. I send not words, nor dost thou carry deeds. 581

But know, since heav'n denies my claim, I take

Earth for my battle-field. Curse and defiance

Shall shake his throne, and, readier then for justice,

Zeus will enquire my terms: thou, on that day,

Remember them; that he shall bid thee lead

Persephone from Hades by the hand,

And on this spot, whence she was stol'n, restore her

Into mine arms. Execute that; and praise

Shall rise from earth and peace return to heav'n. 590

Her. How dare I carry unto Zeus thy threats?

Dem. Approach him with a gift: this little wallet.

[Giving a little bag of seeds.

I will not see thee again until the day

Thou lead my daughter hither thro' the gates of Hell. [Going. Her. Ah! mighty Queen, the lightness of thy gift Is greater burden than thy weighty words.

[Exeunt severally r. and l.

CHORUS.

(1) Sisters! what have we heard!

Our fair Persephone, the flower of the earth,

By Hades stolen away, his queen to be.

(others) Alas!—alas!—ay me! 600{70} (2) And great Demeter's bold relentless word To Hermes given, Threatening mankind with dearth. (others) Ay me! alas! alas!— (3 or 1) She in her sorrow strong Fears not to impeach the King of Heaven, And combat wrong with wrong.— (others confusedly) What can we do?—Alas!— Back to our ocean-haunts return To weep and mourn.— 610 What use to mourn?— Nay, nay!—Away with sorrow: Let us forget to-day And look for joy to-morrow:— [(1) Nay, nay! hearken to me!] Nay, how forget that on us too— Yea, on us all The curse will fall.— [(1) Hearken! I say!] What can we do? Alas! alas! 620 (1) Hearken! There's nought so light, Nothing of weight so small, But that in even balance 'twill avail Wholly to turn the scale. Let us our feeble force unite, And giving voice to tears, Assail Poseidon's ears; Rob pleasure from his days, Darken with sorrow all his ways, Until his shifty mind 630 Become to pity inclined, And 'gainst his brother turn. (others) 'Tis well, thou sayest well. (2) Yea; for if Zeus should learn That earth and sea were both combined Against his cruel intent,{71} Sooner will he relent. (others) 'Tis well—we do it—'tis well.— (1) Come let us vow. Vow all with one accord To harden every heart 640 Till we have won Poseidon to our part. (all) We vow—we do it—we vow. (1) Till we have conquer'd heav'n's almighty lord And seen Persephone restored. (all) We vow—we vow. (1) Come then all; and, as ye go, Begin the song of woe. Song. Close up, bright flow'rs, and hang the head, Ye beauties of the plain, The Queen of Spring is with the dead, 650 Ye deck the earth in vain. From your deserted vale we fly, And where the salt waves mourn Our song shall swell their burd'ning sigh Until sweet joy return.