Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

He ended; and the Princess made reply:
“O Father, hear me pleading for the God.
“No youngling Power is he, but, old as Time,
“Who under many changing names fulfills
“His being, changeless in perpetual change.
“He is the life that throbs in burning stars,
“And gleams in clouds; from whom sweet longings come,
“Fierce joys, and thoughts dreadful and beautiful,
“Shadows of mightier worlds by mightier suns
“Thrown in glad colours on the world of man.
“Of him is song that honours human life,
“And the wild sweet enthusiasm of love,
“And ecstasy, and dream and oracle.
“He is the trampler on the foaming grape,
“Wearer of ivy, king of lonely flutes,
“And chiming strings that haunt the midnight air;
“Joyer in lifted hills and shaking woods,
“Great lord of purple glooms and lurking lights.
“Yet all this flush of life, this flaming power,
“Is crown'd with beauty, spher'd with perfect law,
“And orbed with peace; and as from sightless root
“Dawns, leaf by leaf, the pure ethereal flower
“That feeds on sunbeams, so from passion springs
“The inner love which clothes the perfect soul
“With the white garment of its blameless joy.”

“Daughter, ” replied the King, “enough is said.

“Never henceforth to this usurping God
“In all my Cretan realm shall fane be reared,
“Or prayer be breathed, or solemn ode be sung.”

“O King! O father!” thus the Princess cried,
“Recall thy words, for Gods are not as men,
“Nor is the painted show or semblance all,
“But thro' the senses shining evermore
“The Godlike visits men. Recall thy words.”
So spake the Princess, with a noble zeal;
To whom the Sovereign of all Crete replied:
“I cannot act upon a woman's whim,
Nor, trusting in fair possibilities,
“Let go ripe certainty. Did I not see,
“With scarce-believing eyes, a rabble-rout
“Of youths, all frenzied with the juice of grapes,
“Shake the still courts of my metropolis?
“Did not men stream with tipsy revelry
“Thro' our imperial city? Were not doors
“Opened and shut, and from their secret bowers
“Young maidens borne away with shout and song,
“For all their mothers' weeping? —But enough!
“I have decreed that Bacchus never more
“Have welcome here; and to make good my word,
“Have overthrown his statues and his shrine,
“Disclaiming all obedience. Silence then
“With meek retirement best beseems my child.”
“O father, thou hast said,” the Princess cried,
“I will not speak nor answer any more:
“The Gods will aid the Gods.” Inclining low
Before the king she stood as one that stands,

In the dread presence of omnipotent Power,
Speechless and helpless, curbing her chafed will,
Then, sad and slow, with stately step retired.

Thro' many a spacious street the Princess past,
And grove all beautiful with marble shapes,
And regal square throng'd with the silent life
Which patient sculptors lure from lifeless stone;
Still on, until she heard the whispering trees
That fringed the palace gate. Here fingering winds,
With song of birds amid the dancing leaves,
And sigh of reed and rush and waving grass,
Troubled the else inviolable calm:
The daylight waned: the red and menacing moon
Showed near and large, and with dim shapeless fears
Perplexed her heart, till Ariadne saw
From starry heights, in worlds invisible,
Hope fall, as falls to earth a heavy stone
Which some strong hand has hurled above the clouds;
Yet paused she not, but thro' the palace gates,
Unfolding for her, entered, and beheld
Within, half hidden in the swathing grass,
Urania, her fair daughter, haply here
Deserted by the women, when the din
And outcry of the frantic populace
Rolled up to heaven, and they bewildered sought
Refuge in secret cave or tangled wood.

The child lay sleeping on her folded arm;
Her hair, astray in golden tendrils, fell
Shadowing her face and neck; and lightly came
And went the breath between her parted lips,

Twin rosebuds, while one happy smile, no more,
Ruffled the summer calm of looks as clear
As waters dreaming in a tranquil pool.

Then o'er the slumberer Ariadne leant,
And woke her, breathing warmly on her face
And fanning her light hair; so never more
Awakened. But the child, low murmuring, said:

“Kiss, kiss me, mother dear, and clasp my hand,
“And say farewell to me ere I depart,
“Where all day long the lovely children play
“On pleasant fields of yellow asphodel:
“Clasp, clasp me, mother, ere I fade from life,
“And kiss me as I kissed thee yesterday.
“I shall not need thy kisses any more,
“When a pale shade I play with shades as pale.”

So spake she; but her words were lent by Death,
In that great darkness where new stars appear,
And Ariadne, at these low sweet sounds—
The last sweet sounds that she might ever hear—
Spoke not, but knelt, and from that dying brow
Parted the waving gold, and kissed her child,
Who, smiling, from her kisses faded fast.
There was no moan, no sigh, no falling tear,
Nor stifled sob for her who thus from life
Gently withdrew; but Ariadne knelt
Folding her hands beside that fair dead child,
With a prophetic soul that knew its woes,
And welcomed every evil it divined.

So leave them, with no wail upon the night,
To the calm Gods and to the patient stars.