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

But Creon, sitting in his chamber, thought:
“Surely I deem my hero may be brought
To change his mate, for in his heart I see
He wearies of his great felicity;
Like fools, for whom fair heaven is not enough,
Who long to stumble over forests rough
With chance of death: yet no more will I say,
But let the bright sun bring about the day.”

Now such an one for daughter Creon had
As maketh wise men fools, and young men mad,
Who yet in Corinth at this time was not,
But dwelt afar upon a woody spot

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Anigh Cleonæ; whither oft before
Had Jason gone for chasing of the boar
With Creon and his folk; and on a day
With the old king again he took his way
To that dark wood, whereto, about the noon,
They came, well harbingered by thrushes' tune,
And there straight fell to hunting of the boar;
But, either through default of woodland lore,
Or bidden by the king, huntsmen and all
The king's stout servants from the chase did fall,
And Jason with him soon was left alone.
And both saw that the day should soon be done,
For 'midst the thick trees was it nigh twilight,
Then Jason said: “Surely our bed to-night
Will be beneath these creaking boughs and black.”
“Nay,” said the king, “surely we shall not lack
Soft golden beds such as old men desire,
Nor on the hearth the crackling of the fire,
For hereby is a little house of mine,
Where dwells my daughter Glauce, near the shrine
Of round-armed Juno; there, with two or three,
Matrons or maids, she guardeth reverently
The altar of the Goddess.”

With that word
Forward his jaded horse old Creon spurred,
And Jason followed him; and when the sun
His burning course that day had well-nigh done,
The king and Jason came anigh the place
Where stood the house upon a swarded space
Amidst thick trees, that hedged it like a wall,
Whose shadows now o'er half the lawn did fall,
While 'twixt their stems the low sun showed like fire,
And in the east the still white moon rose higher.

But midmost there a glittering roof of gold
Slim shafts of pale blue marble did uphold,
And under it, made by the art divine
Of some dead man, before a well-wrought shrine,

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Watching her altar, kind and satisfied
The Golden Goddess stood all open-eyed:
And round her temple was a little close
Shut by a gilded trellis of red rose
From off the forest green-sward; and from thence
Carried by winds about the beechwood dense,
The scent of lilies rose up in the air,
And store of Juno's fowl was roosting there,
Or moving lazily across the grass.

But from the temple did the two kings pass
Unto a marble house that was thereby,
Not great indeed, but builded cunningly,
And set about with carven images,
Built in a close of slim young apple-trees;
A marble fountain was there nigh the door,
Wherein the restless water trickled o'er
A smooth-hewn basin coloured like a shell,
And from the wet pink lip thereof it fell
By many a thin streak into a square pool,
From whence it ran again, the grass to cool,
In a small stream o'er sand and earth and flint,
Edged all about with fragrant blue-flowered mint,
Or hidden by the flat-leaved quivering sedge.
But from the pool's smooth-wrought and outmost edge
There went a marble step the fount to meet,
Well worn by many a water-drawer's feet.

And thereon now they saw a damsel stand,
Holding the basin's lip with either hand,
While at her feet a brazen ewer stood;
But when she heard them coming from the wood,
She turned about, and seeing men near by,
Caught up the brazen vessel hastily,
And swiftly ran back towards the marble house;
But Creon, in his voice imperious,
Cried: “Hither, Glauce, am I grown so old,
That without fear thou canst no more behold
Thy father, Creon? Nay, come near, O child,

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And bid us welcome to the forest wild.”

Then straight she stopped, and setting down the urn,
Unto her father and his guest did turn,
While o'er his saddle-bow old Creon bent,
Rejoicing in her beauty as she went;
And for one moment every scheme forgat,
For raising this thing and abasing that;
As well he might, for as in poor array
She drew on towards them at the end of day,
With raiment fluttering in the evening breeze,
She seemed like Her, the crown of Goddesses,
Who o'er the dark sea at the sunset came
To be in heaven a joy, on earth a flame.
Blushing, she came to Creon's saddle-bow
And kissed him, who said, smiling: “Fearest thou
Thy father, grown the oldest of old men?
How wilt thou look upon this stranger then,
Who is no God, though such he seems to be,
But Jason, leader of the Minyæ?”
Somewhat she started at the glorious name,
And o'er her face deeper the red flush came,
As she, with upraised face and shamefast eyes,
Said: “Welcome, winner of the guarded prize!
Good hap it is indeed that thou art come
Unto my little-peopled woodland home.
Come then, my lords, to what awaits you here;
Not rich Mæonean wine, nor dainty cheer
Your lips shall taste, but of fair simple flowers,
Plucked at the edges of the beechen bowers,
Your drink shall savour, and your meat shall be
Red-coated squirrels from the beechen tree.”

Then fain to hide her eyes and blushing face,
She turned from them, and at a gentle pace
Unto the pillared porch she led the twain.
There they alighting the dark house did gain,
And there they ate and drank, making such cheer
As fasting men will do; and still anear

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Was Glauce to them, telling every maid
How such and such a thing should be arrayed;
And ever the Thessalian's eager eyes
Did follow her, and to his heart did rise
Vague feelings of a new-found happiness.

But now as the round moon was growing less
And waxing brighter, and of fitting food
The kings had eaten as they thought it good,
Then Creon said: “O daughter, rise and take
This full cup to the hero for my sake,
And bid him drink thereof, and tell thee all
That unto him at Æa did befall,
And what fate did as still he journeyed home.”

Then unto Jason did the maiden come,
Bearing the cup, and when he saw her thus,
The lapse of time seemed strange and piteous;
For he bethought him of that other tide,
When certain-seeming death he did abide
In King Æetes' hall; and when she drew
Anigh unto him, back the past years flew,
And he became that man entrapped again,
And newly felt, as then, that joyous pain,
And in his hand as then the cup he took,
With the warm fingers, and as then her look
Sent fire throughout his veins; yea, and as then
He had no heed of any Gods or men.

Therewith her musical sweet voice he heard,
Speaking again the king her father's word:
“O Jason, if it please thee tell me all
That unto thee at Æa did befall,
And what thou sawest as thou journey'dst home,
And how it happed thee to thy land to come.”

But ever as she spake she gazed at him,
And with new thoughts her simple eyes did swim,
Thinking her happy that this man had wed;
And therewithal she turned from pale to red,
And red to pale. Then said he: “Thou shalt know,

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O fair king's daughter, all I have to show.”
And so the story of the Fleece began,
And how fair Argo crossed the water wan;
While from his glittering eyes, deep sunk with eld,
The wily king those beauteous folk beheld,
As still from Jason's lips poured forth the tale,
And she sat listening, whiles with cheeks grown pale
And parted lips, and whiles with downcast eyes,
And blushing for the thoughts that would arise
Uncalled for; and thus passed that eve away
Till time of rest came. Then until the day,
In his fair silken bed did Jason dream
Of Argo struggling with the unknown stream,
And all the wonders of their bygone quest,
And well-known faces long time laid to rest.