University of Virginia Library

And in my dream, which seem'd no dream at all,
Methought I follow'd my celestial Guide
From path to path, from emerald glade to glade;
And ever as we went, methought the path
Grew with the summer shadows silenter,
While overhead from the great azure folds
Began to stray the peaceful flocks of stars.

Now I perceived before that Spirit's feet
A light like moonlight running, and I heard,
Far away, mystically, in my dream,
The song of deep-embower'd nightingales.
Along the woodland path on either side
There glimmer'd marble hermæ crown'd with flowers,
And 'mid the boughs hung many-colour'd lamps
Like fruit of amber, crimson, purple, and gold.
Last on mine ears there fell a sudden sound
Like shepherds piping or like fountains falling,
A sound that gather'd volume, and became
As music of innumerable harps
And lutes and muffled drums, and therewithal
A heavy distant hum as of a crowd
Of living men together gathering.

Then did I mark that all the forest way
Was thronging unaware with hooded shapes
Who moved in the direction of that sound;
Shadows they seem'd, yet living; and as they went
They to each other spake in quick low tones
And hurried their dark feet as if in haste.
Tall in their midst shone that fair God my Guide,
To whom I whisper'd as we stole along,
‘What Shapes are these?’ and ‘Pilgrims like thyself,’
The Spirit cried; ‘but hush, for we are nigh
The midmost of the Shrine.’ Ev'n as he spake,
Out of the shadow of the woods we stept,
While on our ears the murmur of the crowd
Grew to low thunder, as of waves that wash
Silent, in darkness, up some ocean strand;
And lo! we saw before us thick as waves
Thousands that gather'd in their pilgrims' weeds
Within a mighty Amphitheatre
Hewn in a hollow of the grassy hills,—
And faces like the foam-fleck'd sides of waves,
Before some wind of wonder blowing there,
Flash'd all one way and multitudinous
Far as the eye could see or ears could hear,
Watching a far-off curtain, on whose folds
Two words in fire were written: ‘ΕΠΟΣ. ΑΝΑΓΚΗ.’
More vast that crowded Amphitheatre
Than any hewn in olden time by man,
And round it, and before it, and beyond
That curtain, gather'd crags and monoliths
All rising up to peaks of glittering snow
And in a starry daylight darkening.

Amid that murmur as of sullen seas
Fair Eros moved, and of the shadowy throng
Not one look'd round to gaze, while I and he
Crept to a place, and finding seats of stone
Rested, with eager crowds on either side;
And then I heard a shadow at my back
Murmur some question in an antique speech,
And unto his another voice replied
‘Βροτειος’—then the murmur of that throng
Was changed to quick sounds in the same sweet speech
Spoken as music by my guide divine.
But as I prick'd mine ears to list for more
There came a solemn silence, and behold,
Suddenly, to a sound of lutes and drums,
The curtain dark descended.

Far away,
Upon a sward as green as emerald,
There sat, with wine-gourd lying at his side,
Wild poppies tangled in his hoary hair,
Silenos,—at whose feet a naked nymph
Lay prone with chin propt in her hollow'd hands
Uplooking in his face and reading there
Deep-wrinkled chronicles as soft as sleep;
And overhead among the wild ravines,
On patches of green emerald, leapt his goats,
While far above the sunshine swept like wind
Across the darkness of the untrodden peaks.
To the low music of an unseen choir
Silenos smiling spake, and as he spake
The white goats leapt, the soft light stirr'd o'erhead,
The white clouds wander'd through the peaceful blue.
For of much peace he told, of golden fields,
Of shepherds in dim dales Arcadian,
Of gods that gather'd the still stars like sheep
Dawn after dawn to shut them in their folds
And every dawn did loose them once again,
Of vintage and of fruitage, and of Love's
Ripe kisses stolen in the reaping time.
Sweet was his voice, and sweet that mimic scene—
So sweet I could have look'd and heark'd for ever;
And on that sight the throng was hungering,
When suddenly the choral music ceased,
And wearily up the mountains came a wight
Clad like a pilgrim of an antique land.
Tall was he, yet of human height, but there,
Upon that mighty stage, he seemed as small
As pixies be that play in beds of flowers;
And him Silenos greeted, and those twain
Sat on the grassy carpet flower-bestrewn;
And then the stranger told a seaman's tale
Of heroes sailing in their wingèd ships
To flash on Troia like a locust-swarm,
And among those he named his own fair name—
Ulysses.

Not as in the nether world,
Within some bright and lamp-lit theatre,
The drama calmly moves from scene to scene,
And actors speak their measured cadences
And make their exits and their entrances,
Not thus did that colossal spectacle
Flow on; but as a bright kaleidoscope
Is shaken in the hand, and with no will
Trembles, dissolves, in ever-wondrous change,
The scenes upon that mighty stage did fade,
While the deep voices of the unseen choir
Were rising, falling, all within my dream.
So, even as that grey-hair'd Marinere
Spake with Silenos on the mountain side,
All strangely vanish'd; and before our sight,
To martial music blown through tubes of brass
The Grecian phalanx brighten'd, and afar,
Beyond the Grecian tents as white as snow,
The towers of Ilium crumbling like a cloud
Burnt brazen in the sunset. Suddenly
The shining phalanx and the snow-white tents
Shrunk up like leaves, and in their stead the earth
Was strewn with brightness of a thousand flowers
'Mid which a great pavilion lily-white
Bloom'd,—in its centre, seated like a queen,
Helena! Oh, the wonder of that face,
That miracle of lissome loveliness,
That ripe red rose of womanhood supreme!
More fair she seem'd, seen thus from far away,
Than Cytherea rising from the sea
Or seated naked on the lover's star
Strewing the seas beneath her silvern feet
With pearls and emeralds all a summer night!
And from her body and from her breath there came
Waft of rich odours that o'erpower'd the sense,
And all around, strewn thick as fallen leaves,
Were kings and warriors with dishevell'd hair
Kissing her naked feet and with mad eyes
Uplooking in her face!

Then did I cry:
‘Oh happy Earth, where seed like this is sown,
And grows to such a womanhood divine!
Before the glory of that one fair face
Gods die, gods fade, there is no god but Love!’
And turning, I beheld each face that gazed
Was shining as anointed, for the throng
Was drmking all the sight with rapturous eyes;
But like a marble statue in his place
Stood that pale god my guide—as stone to flesh
His beauty that had seem'd so warm before
Was to that woman's on the mimic stage,
And ever on her face he fix'd his eyes
With hunger of a pity infinite!
There was a silence as of summer seas;
The heart stood still, while brighter and more bright
That glory grew,—till like a chrysolite,
It dazzled all those upward-looking eyes:
Then slowly, softly, silent as a cloud,
Veiling that miracle of womanhood
The curtain rose.

There was a sultry pause,
Such as there comes on summer days of calm,
When every leaf doth seem to hold its breath
And in the golden mirror of the pool
The lily's shadow lies like alabaster.
Each creature in that mighty company
Half closing heavy eyelids, brooded o'er
His own thick heart-beats; only Eros stood
Calm, mute as marble, very fair and pale,
Folding his arms, and on the curtain dark
Reading his own sweet name!

Again there came
Vibrations of low music, strangely blown
From out the very hollows of the earth;
These quicken'd, trembl'd, till there wildly rose
The shrieking sharp of flutes innumerable,
To which once more, curling black folds to earth,
The curtain fell. And lo! on that great stage
Gleam'd Argos, and the statues of the gods
Looming phantasmic in a blood-red moon,
And Clytemnestra on the palace-roof
Uplifting to dark heavens sown thick with stars
A face fix'd white in one avenging spasm
Of murderous pallor; and her stature seem'd
Gigantic, on the high cothurnus raised;
And not a feature of the woman changed,
All kept one horror of the mask they wore,
Yea, not until afar the bale-fire burn'd
On Ida, did she speak, descending slow,
And like low thunder, from the mask's thick tube,
Her voice was wafted onward to mine ear.
But as she spake that midnight air was cloven
By such a shriek as only once on earth
Was heard by mortal ears.—Cassandra wail'd!

It seem'd as if in answer to that wail
Chaos had come and all the graves of old
Given up their dead; for suddenly the stage
Was cover'd with gigantic shrouded shapes,
Who stood and raised their hands to heaven and shriek'd!
And in the dim, low light of blood-red stars
Tower'd Agamemnon bleeding from his wounds;
Iphigenia, like a spectre pale,
Half kneeling, hands uplifted, at his feet;
Orestes, with a dagger in his grip,
Clutching the marble woman, while she shrieked:
‘Hold, child! strike not this bosom whence so oft
With toothless gums thy mouth hath drunk the milk;’
Eleokles, with fratricidal knife;
Œdipus groping for his daughter's hand,
And white as any lamb that Virgin's self;
And in the background, glaring with cold eyes,
Dumb as a pack of lean and hungry wolves
Full of blood-hunger, the Eumenides!

A wind of horror o'er that gathering grew,
And lo! I shiver'd like a rain-wash'd leaf,
While from the throats of those pale spectres came
Fierce supplications and anathemas
On Zeus, and that pale skeleton that broods
For ever at his footstool, Anarchy.
‘God! God!’ they shriek'd, and ever as they shriek'd
They gnash'd their teeth and rent their luminous robes
And wept anew. Meseem'd it was a sight
Too much for human vision to endure!
Suddenly, as a black cloud swallowing up
Pale meteors of the midnight, once again
Uprose the curtain.

Then in a low voice,
Still shuddering with that horror past, I spake:
‘Hear'st thou that cry, which from the dark beginning
Pale souls, fate-stricken, have cast up at heaven?
How shall these things have peace?’ and in mine ears
'Twas answer'd: ‘As the innumerable waves
Sink after tempest to completest calm,
For surcease of the mighty tumult pass'd,
So these wild waifs of being grow subdued
To subtle music of sublime despairs;
For out of wrath comes love, and out of pain
Dumb resignation brooding like a dove
On sunless waters, and of unbelief
Is born a faith more precious and divine
Than e'er blind Ignorance with his mother's milk
Suck'd smiling down! But, hark!’ and as he spake,
There came a twittering as of birds on boughs,
A music as of rain pattering on leaves;
And to this murmur the great curtain fell,
Revealing slopes of greenest emerald
By shallow rivulets fed with flashing falls,
And far away soft throbb'd the evening star,
And everywhere across those pastures sweet
Moved Lambs as white as snow! Then as I gazed
I heard Apollo singing on the heights
A shepherd's song divine, and as he sang
Those lambs their faces to the light upturn'd,
And each was human: a sweet woman's face,
With large still heavenly eyes wherein there swam
Dews of a dark desire; and lo, I knew
The daughter of Colonos, golden-hair'd,
Electra, still and pensive as a star,
Alcestis pallid from the kiss of Death,
The daughters of Danaos, and the seed
Of Epaphos and Io; and, behold!
Quietly through those mystical green meads
Stole the fair Heifer's self, as white as snow,
Star-vision'd, woman-faced, miraculous,
Come after many wanderings to such peace
As only Love's immortals ever know.
Then down the mountain-sides, a tiger-skin
Back from his shoulders blowing, lute in hand,
As brown as any mortal mountaineer,
Apollo, the glad Shepherd, hastening came,
And cried, ‘Rejoice! rejoice! for Zeus is dead!’
And from a thousand throats those lambs did seem
To bleat in human tones, while Io raised
Her moon-like head and utter'd her sad heart
In one rejoicing cry! Then did I turn
My startled eyes on Eros questioning,
And found his face like all those faces round
Was shining as anointed, while his eyes
Were fix'd on that great stage whence thrill'd a voice
Which murmur'd on: ‘Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!
Now shall the sad flocks of Humanity
At last find peace!’

In mine own heart of hearts
I echoed ‘Peace!’ and that great company
Breathed as a forest's multitudinous leaves
Breathe balmily after rain; but suddenly
That scene kaleidoscopic changed once more,
Came then a thunder as of gathering clouds,
Flashing of torrents down black mountain-sides,
A storm, a troubled darkness, in whose midst
A voice went crying aloud, ‘Zeus is!—Zeus reigns!’
And then, the darkness vanishing, behold!
The scene show'd mountains to whose snowy peaks
Fierce cataracts frozen in the act to fall
Clung chained in ice,—and in the midst thereof
Gigantic, silent in his agony,
With all the still cold heaven above his head,
Prometheus Purkaieus!

Meseem'd he slept:
His eyes were softly closèd, and he smiled
Like one who sleeps yet dreams; and his white hair
Had grown through long eternities of pain
Down to his feet, clothing his limbs like wool,
And the fierce wedge of adamant that pierced
His breast and vitals was with countless years
Rusted blood-red, and hoary all he seem'd
As those ice-ribbèd peaks that hemm'd him round.
Transfixèd were his mighty feet and hands,
As when by Kratos and dark Bias nail'd
To those hard rocks, and brightly yet he bled,
For silently the fountains of his heart
Distill'd their blood like dew!

Sad was that sight,
And yet I gazed upon it with sweet joy,
For round the head of that great Sufferer,
And on his face, and on his closèd lids,
There brooded peace most absolute and power
Sublimely self-subdued. Afar away
Came voices of the Okeanides,
Singing their sad primæval seabirds' song;
And listening with quick spiritual ears,
Methought I heard, faint as a sound in sleep,
The murmur of these deep eternal seas
Which wash for ever the weary feet of Earth.

Then up those desolate heights, from ledge to ledge
Of living granite, came a godlike shape,
Gigantic, yet smooth-flesh'd and young of limb,
With eagle-eye that faced the midday sun
And shrank not, leading slowly (as one leads
A wounded horse that falters with its pain)
An aged Centaur,—man from brow to breast,
Bearded and mighty-brow'd and venerable,
But bodied like some grey and mighty steed;
And lo, I knew the first was Herakles,
The second Cheiron; and behold, this last
Was faint thro' one green wound upon his breast,
Deep, bloody, and he stagger'd as he came,
And ofttimes fell upon his quivering knees
And moan'd aloud, beating the solid rock
With hoofs of iron into sparks of fire.

Thereon, I turn'd to Eros questioning:
‘Why cometh Cheiron, led by Herakles?’
And Eros, on whose face there shone a light
New and ecstatic as the rising moon,
Answer'd: ‘Until another immortal god
Contentedly shall take the cup of death,
Taking his stand in that pale Sufferer's place,
Prometheus must abide and drink his doom;
But Cheiron, weary from his wound and weak,
Elects to perish in that pale god's stead,
And hither cometh led by Herakles,
That so the prophecy may be fulfilled.

And lo, amid the rocks of that ravine,
Face unto face with that pale Sufferer,
Uprose those twain, and slowly at the sound
Prometheus woke, and shaking from his eyes
Eternities of the white blinding hair,
Gazed in their faces dumbly, even as one
Who wakes confusedly and mingles still
That which he sees and that which he hath dream'd.
But Herakles cried loud with clarion-voice
‘Prometheus!’ and the Titan stared and smiled,
Remembering; but as his woeful eyes
Fell upon Cheiron's ghastly lineaments
He trembled, moaning, Who is he that stands
Beside thee, bleeding?’—and the god replied,
‘Cheiron the Centaur, come to take thy place,
To wear thy chains, to suffer, and to die!

Suddenly, for a moment, that strange scene
Was blotted from the vision, and there rose
A sound as if of many fountains leaping,
Of many wild winds blowing, of many voices
Uplifted in a troublous melody;
And when the darkness melted and again
That portent gather'd on the straining sight,
The moon was out and stars serenely bright,
And Herakles had freed Prometheus,—
Who, standing awful in the moonlight gazed
Around him with a sad and stony stare.
And whiter now he seem'd than any snow,
Clothed in the sorrow of his hoary hairs.
Then, as his chains fell from him with a clang
Of sullen iron, from afar away
There came a cry, ‘Prometheus is free—
Rejoice! Rejoice!’ and through those wild ravines
From crag to crag, the weary echoes moan'd
‘Rejoice!’ but pallid still Prometheus stood
Chattering his teeth, while slowly Herakles
Led Cheiron to the rock of sacrifice,
Lifting the chains.

Even then the dark still air
Was pierced by such a shriek as froze the blood,
Shook reason on her throne and palsied will—
A shriek of eldritch laughter; and, behold!
There suddenly swarm'd in upon that stage
Pigmies innumerable, dragging in
A mighty Cross of blackest ebony!
As swift as thought they set it in the chasm,
Where for eternities of misery
The Titan wail'd, and still they laugh'd aloud,
That the deep chasms of the mountain rung.
Then all the stars shrank up, and the pale moon
Grew red and shrivell'd, but round Cheiron's brow
Swam suddenly a luminous aureole!
And, lo, his face seem'd changed, and it grew young,
And, as it changed, his nether limbs of beast
Swoon'd into limbs of white humanity,—
And, lo, I knew him for that Man Divine
Whose wan face gazeth from the cloudy Book
With wistful eyes! Beneath the mighty Cross,
Crouch'd like a lion couchant hoary hair'd,
Prometheus waited, while invisible hands
Raised up that other to his place of pain.
Then did the laughter cease, as Herakles
Transfix'd him thro' the shuddering hands and feet,
When dropping chin upon his breast he moan'd,
‘My god, my god, hast thou forsaken me?’
Thrilled thro' the core of that great multitude
A moan of deep insufferable woe!
And I, with heavy hand upon my heart,
Turn'd unto Eros; turning, saw him stand
Transfigured—on his hands and on his feet
Stigmata red and bloody—round his head
An aureole such as that other wore;
And on the Crucified he fix'd his eyes,
And still the Crucified gazed down upon him,
And each was as the image of the other!
Two faces, far asunder, yet the same,
Two faces, one upon that mighty stage,
One in the midst of that vast multitude,
Shone silent, and the moon was white on both!

It was a sight too sad for mortal soul
To look upon and live. I shriek'd and swoon'd,
And dropt upon the earth as still as stone;
While all that pageant and that multitude
Pass'd into night as if they had not been!