The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

He woke at last, and fresh and joyous felt,
As forth he went; no sword within his belt
He set that morn; he bore no biting spear;
But clad he was in gold and royal gear,
Such as a King might bear in Saturn's reign;
And in such wise the great hall did he gain,
And on the ivory throne he sat him down,
And felt the golden circle of the crown,
But light as yet, upon his unused head,

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Then to his presence were strange people led;
Hunters from far-off corners of the realm,
Shipmen with hands well hardened by the helm,
Merchants who in strange tongues must bid him thrive,
And dainty cherished things unto him give:
And still he wearied, and their words forgot,
And wondered why the other King came not.

But yet, before the ending of the morn,
The casket that his own hands once had borne,
Was brought unto him by a man who spake
In this wise:

“King Jobates bids thee take,
O King Bellerophon, what lies herein,
And saith that since thine office doth begin
This day, right good it were to judge of this—
If the man did so utterly amiss
To strive to keep his oath. He bids thee say
Withal if thou wilt have what yesterday
He gave unto thine hands—and, taking it,
Forget wild dreams that o'er the year did flit.”

Then King Bellerophon looked down, and drew
A letter from that casket that he knew,
And opened it and read; and in such wise
It gave the key to half-deemed mysteries.
“King Prœtus to Jobates, King of men,
Sends goodly greeting.—Dost thou mind thee when
I saved thee from the lions? then I had
One gift from thee which has not made me glad,
Thy daughter; though a Goddess, all men said,
Had scarce been fairer at my board and bed.—
Another thing thou gav'st me then,—an oath
To do my bidding once, if lieve or loath
It were to thee. Now bring all to an end,
And slay the man who bears this—once my friend,

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And still too close unto my memory,
That on my skirts his treacherous blood should lie.
Take heed, though, that I say, myself, at whiles,
‘The Gods are full of lies and luring smiles,
And know no faith.’ And this Bellerophon
May be a God; but even such an one
As seemeth kind beyond the wont of men,
Just and far-seeing, brave in those times when
Men's hearts grow sick with fear. Lo, such is he,
And yet a monster! He shall dwell with thee
Life-long, perchance; and once or twice Desire
Shall burn up all these things, as with a fire;
And he shall tread his kindness under foot,
And turn a liar e'en from his heart's root,
And turn a wretched fool. Yea, what say I?
Turn a mere trembling coward, loth to die;
Rather than be all this. So take him, then,
While yet thou deem'st him first of mortal men,
And in forefront of battle let him fall;
Or, lonely, on some foeman's spear-swept wall,
If it may be;—that he may leave behind
A savour, sweet in some men's mouths, nor find
That he has fallen to hell while yet he lives.
“Such counsel to thee, friend, King Prœtus gives—
A hapless man. But happy mayst thou dwell,
As thou shalt keep thy faith. Live hale and well!”
Not clear he saw these latter words of it,
For many a memory through his heart did flit,
Blinding his eyes belike: at last his head
He raised, and to the messenger he said:
“Say to Jobates that I deem the man
Did even with his oath as such men can,
Who fear the Gods so much they may not tell
What gifts men give them. Say that all is well,

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That I will take the gift he gave to me,
And long right sore that World's Desire to see.”
So the man went, and left Bellerophon
Pensive, and pondering on the days long gone
That brought him unto this: his happy love
The heart within him did to pity move;
He thought: “Alas! and can it ever be
That one can say, ‘Thou art enough for me—
And I, and I—wilt thou not suffer it,
That I, at least, before thy feet may sit
Until perchance I grow enough for thee?’
Alas, alas! and can it ever be
That thus a heart shall plead and plead, in vain?”
So did he murmur; but withal a strain
Of merry music made him lift his head
Slaying all thought of suffering folk or dead;
And even as a man new made a God,
When first he sets his foot upon the sod
Of Paradise, and like a living flame
Joy wraps him round, he felt, as now she came,
Clear won at last, the thing of all the earth
That made his fleeting life a little worth.
My heart faints now, my lips that tell the tale
Falter to think that such a life should fail;
That use, and long days dropping one by one,
As the wan water frets away the stone,
Should change desires of men, and what they bring,
E'en while their hearts with sickening longing cling
Unto the thought that they are still the same,
When all they were is grown an empty name.
O Death-in-life, O sure pursuer, Change,
Be kind, be kind, and touch me not, till strange,
Changed too, thy face shows, when thy fellow Death
Delays no more to freeze my faltering breath!