Poetical works of the late F. Sayers to which have been prefixed the connected disquisitions on the rise and progress of English poetry, and on English metres, and also some biographic particulars of the author, supplied by W. Taylor |
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Pandora, a Monodrama.
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 | Poetical works of the late F. Sayers |  |
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Pandora, a Monodrama.
Jam signa ruendi
His dedit ------ confusaque rursus
Natura timet.
Claudian.
His dedit ------ confusaque rursus
Natura timet.
Claudian.
143
How my heart throbs with joy—a hand divine
Has form'd these finished limbs; celestial fire
Darts thro' my veins; the choicest gifts of gods
Are pour'd upon me—can I e'er forget
Their splendid council in the flame-tipp'd clouds,
When first from Vulcan's touch I sprang to life,
And dazzled shrunk before their blaze of glory?
Aloft, on golden throne, great Jove was seated;
O'er his broad front the clustering tresses fell,
And mildly beam'd his eyes—arise, ye gods,
His awful voice exclaim'd, arise, and shed
Your richest blessings on Pandora's form:
He spake; majestic from his side arose
The queen of heaven; around thy steps she cried,
Shall float a stately grace—With roses crown'd,
The laughter-loving Venus next advanc'd,
Light as the summer breeze, and smiling said,
O'er thy fair cheeks I cast a crimson tint,
Thy melting eyes shall swim in softest lustre,
Thy swelling breasts be moulded to the form
Of Hebe's cup, be white as drifted snow—
And while she spake, a thousand odours rose,
A thousand sportive loves, brisk fluttering round,
Fann'd the warm air—The god with golden locks
Then came—be eloquent as fair, he cried,
For what avails the radiance of thine eyes,
The blossoms of thy cheek, if honied words
Dwell not upon thy lips?—thy speech shall fall
Soft as the dews of eve; then circling gods
Press'd on me to bestow their varied honours;
Enough, cried Jove, she's perfect—take this casket
Fast bound in glittering ribs, and bear it hence
To where Prometheus 'bides—beware, O nymph,
To ope its silver clasps—I bow'd obedient—
This casket!—is Prometheus then so lov'd?
Daring Prometheus?—from the fiery cope
He stole forbidden flames—the vulture tore
His bleeding heart—and do the gods reward him?
To him they doom Pandora; doom to him
The rare device this adamant enfolds.
Why is it thus?—what enviable gift
Is here contain'd?—not look at it!—O Jove,
Where was the goddess of the tinted arch,
Thy wonted messenger?—why, to my hands
Consign the prize?—perchance the god was sportive,
And wish'd to try me—'t is an empty casket—
Or if 't is not, its secret store, perhaps,
Would prove to me a bane—I'll think no more of 't—
How broad the way, 't is trac'd with milky beams—
Lo there's the earth, it floats in circling air,
Its towering hills are tipp'd with steady light;
In yon dark shades, the billowy waters lurk;
Once huge and shapeless, now a viewless mind
Has mov'd its jarring atoms, rang'd its forms,
And o'er its fertile surface, scatter'd wide
The glow of life—ah! how I long to stray
Amid its flowery vales—there quiet dwells—
No more the giant arms high heap the mountains
To reach this starry bridge, no more the lightnings
Flash horribly around—all, all, is peace—
I soon shall reach it—how the fam'd Prometheus
Will gaze enamour'd on my youthful charms.
What?—can Jove send him too a nobler gift
Than fair Pandora?—sure the casket holds
Ambrosial food—that makes the gods immortal—
Would I could taste it!—nay, 't is poison rather—
O deep revenge! and thus to snatch Prometheus,
Delighted, from my arms—it cannot be—
Jove bade me bless the earth, he bade me rear
A blooming offspring—would he slay my husband?
Ah! were it thus?—I'll ope it—shall I thwart
The dread commands of heaven?—some dire distress
Would fall upon me—Think what dreadful woes
Prometheus suffer'd—think what endless pangs
Torment the Titans—theirs were crimes indeed—
But what is this?—Among the other gods
I well remember Mars; he cast upon me
A furious look; be bold, he cried, O maid,
Be bold above thy sex—and now's the time—
O'er the vast sky a solemn silence broods;
No eye beholds me; I've already pass'd
The monsters of the air, the fiery archer,
The flaming goat, the writhing serpent's folds;
Whate'er the casket holds it cannot 'scape me—
What if it 'scapes, and Jove should know my guilt?
Sure this all-perfect form, these smiles of love,
The touching accents of my rosy lips,
May win forgiveness from the thunderer's self—
Yes, yes, the god expects my disobedience—
I tremble still—assist me, Mars—'t is done! [Opening the casket.
What!—empty!—empty!—yet methought a wind,
As of a thousand rushing wings, blew swift
Athwart my face—ah me! what grisly forms
Float in the air—see, see, they grimly smile,
And mocking, point at me—speak, speak, who are ye?
[A voice from the air.
Has form'd these finished limbs; celestial fire
Darts thro' my veins; the choicest gifts of gods
Are pour'd upon me—can I e'er forget
Their splendid council in the flame-tipp'd clouds,
When first from Vulcan's touch I sprang to life,
And dazzled shrunk before their blaze of glory?
Aloft, on golden throne, great Jove was seated;
O'er his broad front the clustering tresses fell,
And mildly beam'd his eyes—arise, ye gods,
His awful voice exclaim'd, arise, and shed
Your richest blessings on Pandora's form:
He spake; majestic from his side arose
The queen of heaven; around thy steps she cried,
144
The laughter-loving Venus next advanc'd,
Light as the summer breeze, and smiling said,
O'er thy fair cheeks I cast a crimson tint,
Thy melting eyes shall swim in softest lustre,
Thy swelling breasts be moulded to the form
Of Hebe's cup, be white as drifted snow—
And while she spake, a thousand odours rose,
A thousand sportive loves, brisk fluttering round,
Fann'd the warm air—The god with golden locks
Then came—be eloquent as fair, he cried,
For what avails the radiance of thine eyes,
The blossoms of thy cheek, if honied words
Dwell not upon thy lips?—thy speech shall fall
Soft as the dews of eve; then circling gods
Press'd on me to bestow their varied honours;
Enough, cried Jove, she's perfect—take this casket
Fast bound in glittering ribs, and bear it hence
To where Prometheus 'bides—beware, O nymph,
To ope its silver clasps—I bow'd obedient—
This casket!—is Prometheus then so lov'd?
Daring Prometheus?—from the fiery cope
He stole forbidden flames—the vulture tore
His bleeding heart—and do the gods reward him?
To him they doom Pandora; doom to him
The rare device this adamant enfolds.
145
Is here contain'd?—not look at it!—O Jove,
Where was the goddess of the tinted arch,
Thy wonted messenger?—why, to my hands
Consign the prize?—perchance the god was sportive,
And wish'd to try me—'t is an empty casket—
Or if 't is not, its secret store, perhaps,
Would prove to me a bane—I'll think no more of 't—
How broad the way, 't is trac'd with milky beams—
Lo there's the earth, it floats in circling air,
Its towering hills are tipp'd with steady light;
In yon dark shades, the billowy waters lurk;
Once huge and shapeless, now a viewless mind
Has mov'd its jarring atoms, rang'd its forms,
And o'er its fertile surface, scatter'd wide
The glow of life—ah! how I long to stray
Amid its flowery vales—there quiet dwells—
No more the giant arms high heap the mountains
To reach this starry bridge, no more the lightnings
Flash horribly around—all, all, is peace—
I soon shall reach it—how the fam'd Prometheus
Will gaze enamour'd on my youthful charms.
What?—can Jove send him too a nobler gift
Than fair Pandora?—sure the casket holds
Ambrosial food—that makes the gods immortal—
Would I could taste it!—nay, 't is poison rather—
146
Delighted, from my arms—it cannot be—
Jove bade me bless the earth, he bade me rear
A blooming offspring—would he slay my husband?
Ah! were it thus?—I'll ope it—shall I thwart
The dread commands of heaven?—some dire distress
Would fall upon me—Think what dreadful woes
Prometheus suffer'd—think what endless pangs
Torment the Titans—theirs were crimes indeed—
But what is this?—Among the other gods
I well remember Mars; he cast upon me
A furious look; be bold, he cried, O maid,
Be bold above thy sex—and now's the time—
O'er the vast sky a solemn silence broods;
No eye beholds me; I've already pass'd
The monsters of the air, the fiery archer,
The flaming goat, the writhing serpent's folds;
Whate'er the casket holds it cannot 'scape me—
What if it 'scapes, and Jove should know my guilt?
Sure this all-perfect form, these smiles of love,
The touching accents of my rosy lips,
May win forgiveness from the thunderer's self—
Yes, yes, the god expects my disobedience—
I tremble still—assist me, Mars—'t is done! [Opening the casket.
What!—empty!—empty!—yet methought a wind,
147
Athwart my face—ah me! what grisly forms
Float in the air—see, see, they grimly smile,
And mocking, point at me—speak, speak, who are ye?
Thanks to her who gave us birth;
Eager sailing to the earth,
We haste to act the deeds of woe,
And prey on all that breathes below.
PANDORA.Eager sailing to the earth,
We haste to act the deeds of woe,
And prey on all that breathes below.
Ah me! who are ye?—wretched, wretched woman!
[The voice continues.
Bloody strife, and knawing Care,
Pride, and Hatred, and Despair,
Hover o'er thee in the air;
We haste to act the deeds of woe,
And prey on all that breathes below.
PANDORA.Pride, and Hatred, and Despair,
Hover o'er thee in the air;
We haste to act the deeds of woe,
And prey on all that breathes below.
What have I done?—hush, hush, a softer sound!
[Another voice from the air.
Hear, thou luckless maiden, hear,
Cease thy sorrow, cease thy fear,
Tho' yon grim troop on mortal shore
Haste the tide of grief to pour,
Hope shall join the gloomy throng,
Hope shall breathe her cheering song,
And bending o'er the troubled heart,
Gently steal the poison'd dart,
Hope shall bid the tempest cease,
And whisper future hours of peace.
Cease thy sorrow, cease thy fear,
Tho' yon grim troop on mortal shore
Haste the tide of grief to pour,
Hope shall join the gloomy throng,
Hope shall breathe her cheering song,
148
Gently steal the poison'd dart,
Hope shall bid the tempest cease,
And whisper future hours of peace.
| Poetical works of the late F. Sayers | |